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smuggsy · 3 years

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Remember this post about how Riddler dug up Elijah's body and we just... collectively chose to ignore it along with Oswald? 😂

Well. I un-ignored it. With a sad angsty fic.

(You can read it down here as well.) Word count: 2040. Tags: #emotional comfort #established relationship #hence: canon divergence #nightmares

Oswald's used to having nightmares. He's no stranger to sleepless nights, 5-am coffees have become a bit of a recurrent habit to make up for the drowsiness clouding his mind after a particularly difficult dream chimes in without permission and throws his sleeping schedule off — so much that he often finds himself power-napping through the day when Ed isn't around to tell him off for it.

Yes, he's almost grown too accustomed to Hugo Strange's voice narrating all sorts of gruesome scenarios that he ends up carrying out of his own volition, propelled forward by an unknown and invisible force deep inside. He never really sees the Doctor, but he hears him all the time, he's just there all the time. He tells Oswald what to do and Oswald does it without a pinch of remorse. Shoot him. Stab her. Blow them all to pieces, they deserve it.

It's the kind of hell he's used to. He's almost learnt to accept it's never going away. That it's a part of his psyche now, a part of him that will never really go away — because how do you fix a tattered mind? He wouldn't let anyone try, anyway. Not after Arkham.

This night is different. This night he's assaulted by a new kind of terror, almost perfectly calibrated and specially curated for him. Blossoming from the deepest part of his mind where he'd stocked it, never to be revisited.

And it's most cruel for one reason: when he wakes up with a startle he can't bear the thought of those arms wrapping around him and providing comfort like they've done so many times before. In fact, the first thing he does when he opens his eyes is untangle himself from Ed's sleeping embrace like it burns him.

Which means he's got no-one but himself to count on, again. No-one to hush him through the aftermath and speak softly in his ear and hum a long-dead melody until he calms down or, if he's lucky, falls back asleep.

"Oswald?"

He sits on the edge of the bed, hunched over to catch his breath, and feels Ed shifting position behind him. His partner's voice is clouded with sleep and Oswald can't bring himself to even turn around and reassure him — lie to him. He fears if he turns around he won't see Ed but Riddler. Not Ed's gentle eyes but Riddler's mocking glare. Not a warm comforting smile but a disdainful sneer.

His father, standing on the other side of the bed with a disappointed frown. My boy, how could you steep so low? Do you know where I am? Do you know where he left me?

When Ed's warm fingers brush over his right shoulder Oswald bolts upright with a whine.

"Osw—?"

And he runs to the bathroom and slams the door close behind him, feeling his one-piece nightgown sticking to his chest with sweat.

"Oswald, what's wrong?" Edward's voice is immediately on the other side, he tries turning the doorknob but Oswald is pinning it closed with his own weight, still unable to brush away the gut-wrenching feeling of betrayal that's so suddenly taken hold of him, "Oswald, get off the door."

It's a gentle request.

Oswald might have done it, perhaps, might have considered it, if he hadn't looked right into the mirror hanging on the opposite wall and seen Elijah's pale and sickness-stricken face. A dead man's face that makes him shiver.

He shall never have peace, so long as you're with him, Oswald thinks. Some other Oswald. Some other voice that sounds like his but isn't. Can't be.

"Oswald," Ed tries again, and this time he pushes against the door with more conviction, Oswald leans off and turns around to face him when he comes in, to keep him away, Riddler, he's still in there, he's— "oh dear," Ed coos, having one look at him and taking pity instantly. He takes a step forward and Oswald takes a step back.

"No!" he blurts out with a raspy voice. Edward stops dead in his tracks, lost expression for a moment before his shoulders relax again.

"It's okay, Oswald. It was just a nightmare," he adds, softly like so many times before.

"No, it isn't! It wasn't!" Oswald lashes out, hating that he looks at Ed's dishevelled face and concerned caramel eyes and wants him to just get away, his voice comes out just barely, "you did that to him! You— How could you?!"

Ed opens his mouth and doesn't move, clearly taken aback by the accusation even if he fails to comprehend, thrown off by the way Oswald looks at him, stands like that, like a wounded animal, like he might flee if Edward takes another step forward.

He still takes a step forward, though, because he never was really good with physical cues.

"Os, I don't understand wha—"

"Don't touch me!"

Oswald jerks away and hits the wall behind, still shivering despite his burning skin. Edward shows him his palms, a gesture of surrender.

"Okay. Okay, I'm not," he takes a steadying breath in, "I'm staying right here."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's not him, I swear! I didn't—"

"Oswald?"

"He's different now! He's not like that anymore!"

Oswald gestures towards Ed, clever, supportive, thoughtful, with his checked blue pyjamas and plaid shirt and lack of glasses and puffy eyes from sleep. Then he looks back at his father now standing by the door and projects the thought: Ed. Not Riddler!

But Elijah shakes his head and purses his lips, looking him up and down like he doesn't approve and Oswald just needs him to understand.

"It's not hiiiiim!"

"Oswald, this is starting to become very unsettling."

Edward looks around, to his right, there. To where Oswald's looking, to nothing. He knows that deranged gaze, he's seen it countless times before, he's stood in front of the mirror a lot of times and seen it on himself.

"Os, it's just those new painkillers making you groggy, okay? It's a much heavier dose than the one you're used to. Whatever you're seeing," Edward chances a slow step forward and Oswald finally turns his head back to him, with glassy eyes and tears on his eyelashes and still looking like he'll run away, "it's not there, Oswald. I am here."

Oswald stares at him for a few more silent moments with a lost expression, mouth open and still bracing himself with one hand on the cold tiles behind and the other on the sink.

"You're not... you're not him, I try to— I tell him you're not," he babbles, looking feverish and lost.

That's when the penny drops for Edward. It feels like a stab to the heart, that broken voice, the trembling hands, the quivering lips, the whole sight of an Oswald so distressed he won't even let him get close enough to soothe him.

"No," Ed says softly, his own voice failing him for a moment, shaking his head and taking yet another step closer, "no," he repeats breathless, "I'm not. Please. Come here."

He reaches an offering hand and Oswald slowly looks down as if weighing his options. As if making sure this isn't a trick — which, well. If he's thinking of Riddler, he can hardly be blamed for exercising caution, Ed admits. It hurts him to admit it. To know he's caused this, one way or another. Painkillers or not. This raw incoherent fear is coming from somewhere, however small the flame that ignited it might be, and he can't fix it because Oswald won't stop trembling like a leaf and recoiling.

"Oswald, please," he begs, voice finally breaking and eloquence escaping him, retrieving his outstretched hand and rubbing fingers over his burning eyelids because if he breaks down too... "please, it's me, Ed, just Ed."

He doesn't know what to do. He's on the verge of blurting out apologies when he opens his eyes to Oswald latching onto him with one of those desperate hugs. Ed wraps his arms around him instantly, a reflex, feeling like he's just come back to life.

"Go away," Oswald says, sobs with his face buried in the crook of his neck and starts crying. Edward tightens his hold and hides his own tears in the other man's raven locks, understands he's not the one being spoken to, "go, please. I won't leave him!"

Edward can barely understand the string of pleas when Oswald's clutching onto him so firmly his words come out muffled and nearly intelligible. Either way, he's not about to ask who's there — better not add salt to the wound. Not feed the horror, lest it become a recurrent thing. He needs him to understand this is a figment of his imagination if he's not aware already.

"Shhhh, it's all good," he keeps Oswald in place with an arm around his waist and brings the other one to gently pet his hair, "it's o-kay, Oswald. I'm here, it's just you and me."

Oswald nods against his chest but he can't seem to bring himself to stop crying. Edward rubs circles on his back.

"Just you and me," he repeats, striving for a soothing voice and feeling it waver ever so slightly.

They stay like that for a whole five minutes until Oswald finally leans back, sniffs and looks up with red eyes and a self-deprecating comment on his lips that Ed doesn't let him voice out.

"Come on, it's freezing out here."

Ed guides him back under the covers and tucks him in, Oswald watches his every move like an overcurious child. That cloudy expression is gone, though, and Ed can't help but let out a sigh of relief at having him back. He looks drained but sober.

Mostly sober.

His eyes still dart around with a nervous air but he doesn't seem to find his demon anywhere. When Ed climbs back up on the bed Oswald immediately shifts closer and hides his face in his shirt again.

"I'm sorry, that—"

"No-uh-uh," Ed cuts in, brushing a strand of hair off his green doe eyes and feeling an almost compulsive need to plant a kiss on the now-red tip of his nose, "say no more."

Oswald purses his lips and shuffles even closer, pressing his flush body so firmly against Ed's that they can't exactly see each other's faces anymore.

"Can you...?"

"Yes I can."

And that's that. He settles his chin on top of Oswald's head and starts humming; content to sidestep the issue just for now but unable to brush aside the sour taste of guilt filling almost every corner of his mind.

He starts rubbing circles on Oswald's back and doesn't stop the melody until he feels the other man's hold loosen up and his breath change into a normal and peaceful pace. Only then does Edward slowly extract himself from the embrace, far enough that he can look at Oswald's face.

Red and wet and troubled, still. He reaches over and soothes the lines on his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Os," he breathes out.

He's used to Oswald having nightmares. He wakes up all heaving breaths and uncertain hands latching onto anything that's near for comfort, for safety or reassurance. Ed is always there to provide either one, wrap his arms around his shaking form and listen to him if he wants to talk. Make him a cup of tea or play soft tunes on the piano if sleep doesn't return.

Oswald's always been needy like that.

Having him wake up and frantically keep himself away, recoil from his touch and excuse himself to a third party only he can see... that's a first.

And it's terrifying.

Because He made that happen. Because Oswald's grown to be too dependant and Ed's grown to be his anchor in moments like these and if he can't even be that... then what can he be? What's left for him to be, besides the clear instigator?

Ed closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, focusing on the sound of Oswald's breathing and on the touch of his cold feet and the smell of cherry-scented hair conditioner. He relishes in the familiarity of the hold and shakes the darker thoughts away.

Perhaps he's become a bit dependant himself.

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bloodypapercut · 4 years

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despise (f.w. x reader)

this is my first fic! yayy! i hope all you angels enjoy. have a wonderful day or night and take care of your beautiful selves! :)

word count: 4.5k

I despised Fred Weasley. Upon this discovery, I always questioned the veracity of my feelings towards him. It was never in my nature to be hateful, if anything I was known for being kind, caring, and helpful. Perhaps at times, I could be a little aloof, but that was simply due to the fact that my mind was always elsewhere. Never in my life had I felt so strongly about someone, better yet hate someone so fervently. Oftentimes I would feel guilty for scoffing at every remark he made, or rolling my eyes when he would flash his infamous coquettish smile. I abhorred him, it’s not like I made the decision to by my own volition, I couldn’t help it. I’m aware of how this sounds, a typical loathsome teenager who hated the boy who has attention, the boy who has people falling at his feet, the boy with a lot of friends and a close family. It wasn’t that, no not at all. I had my reasons.

--------

I had never been more excited. I could barely keep the grin off my face as my legs swung back and forth, my heels hitting the seat. It was my first time being away from home, my desire to practice my independence as an 11-year-old was being fulfilled by the second. Looking out the window as the trees grew thicker and predictions of what the year could hold running through my mind a repulsive scent filled my cabin, thick smoke cloaked my vision and settled on my skin and robes. My violent coughs and labored breathing created a cacophony as the sound of hushed giggling and footsteps sounded from outside the door. My shaking hands made haste to dust off the soot, horrified of what others would think of me when I arrived at Hogwarts. A dirty and poor mudblood. I had expected the worst after hearing the stories my mother told me from working at the ministry, how could anyone disrespect someone I loved so dearly? The fear of being called out in such a hostile way and being looked down upon by potential friends caused my chest to tighten and sobs to violently rack my body. Not to mention the guilt I felt for getting my brand new robes dirty, especially knowing my mother worked extra shifts to get them.

Stepping out of the Hogwarts express I was met with a tall man, guiding me along with other students to the boats. The soot hadn’t disappeared completely but I had gotten as much as I could off. The boat ride was pleasant. I had acquainted with a girl named Luna along the way, she was an idiosyncratic girl but I appreciated her kindness and her curious comments about sea creatures. I felt relieved that someone was talking to me without judging me based on my appearance, but the sadness I felt about my dirty robes still lingered over me.

Looking up at the enchanted sky of the great hall I’ve never felt so enthralled by something. It was just as wonderful as my mom had described, I couldn’t wait to write to her all about it. But as I approached the front of the hall I felt dread put a weight around my ankles, I would have to stand up in front of everyone with my soiled robes. My uneasiness produced a scowl on my face and I could have sworn the familiar giggling was right behind me, but as I whipped my head around there was no one that seemed to be responsible for it.

“Now, when I call your names I will ask you to come forward, be seated on the stool, be sorted by the sorting hat, and after you will continue to your house table.”

I felt guilty that I wasn’t paying attention to my peers being sorted but my unease wracked at me, the ends of my sweater tangling between my fingers and the heel of my shoe being ground against the tiled floor.

“Y/N L/N”

Sighing I stepped forward, the giggles resonating once again making me stumble slightly. The lady at the front, whose name I had failed to remember, gave me a tight smile and waited for me to be seated. As the weight of the sorting hat pressed against my head I saw it. A trio of boys, 2 identical and one with dreads giggling, their soot covered hands coming up to their faces as they analyzed my robes. They must’ve felt my gaze because one of the twins and the boy with dreads stopped, but one continued, only laughing harder and looking right back at me. There, that was the moment I knew I would end up hating this ginger boy.

I had been so preoccupied with burning holes into his eyes that I had failed to recognize the incessant tapping on my shoulder and the dying cheers of the students sitting on a table at the far right of the room. Snapping my head towards the stern lady behind me. I hopped off the seat and rushed to the table that I assumed belonged to my house, which I didn’t know since I wasn’t listening. My face grew warm and my hands became sweaty with how tight my fists were clenched. I sat down quietly, never taking my eyes off that git.

That’s how he ruined my first highlight at Hogwarts.

--------

My second year was going just as I had planned. I had been practicing for Quidditch during the summer with my best mates Cho, Graham, and Julian (as Luna tried to befriend the gnomes, which didn’t end so pleasantly). I was convinced that I had improved greatly since my first chaotic flying lesson at Hogwarts. I was so sure of my skills, that I was unperturbed about trying out for my house team. That was a big mistake.

Going into compromising situations with nonchalance, knowing that the Weasley twins are in the same vicinity as you is a foolish, doltish mistake that anyone can be a victim to. I had been a victim to many of the playful endeavours during my first year and I thought that it was all over. Maybe they were mature now and knew when to stop. Thinking about it now makes me laugh, what a pretty lie I told myself.

It was the final cut for the team and I smiled as I gripped my broom, ignoring the splinter that found a place to reside in my thumb. The captain walked around smiling softly at all of us as she explained what the final tryout would entail. I clung to every word and as soon as she asked for a volunteer, my hand soared.

Tendrils of hair whipped around my face as I bolted to get the quaffle and shoot it into a hoop. I could hear words of praise from my friends on the ground and it only made me go a little faster, smiling as the quaffle passed by me. In an instant I spun my broom around, sending the ball flying to a hoop as the end struck it. I continued playing, doing tricks to show the captain I belonged on the team, I was so captured and focused that I didn’t notice the ball of fire that was in front of me, I also didn’t notice the screaming and shouts of warning from the ground but even when I did it was too late. Being faced with the fire ball it took me by surprise causing me to slip off my broom and fall a rough 20 feet from the sky.

The sound of a crack should have been the main sound that plagued my ears but it wasn’t, the pain radiating in my arm should have been enough for me to realize my arm could have been broken but it also wasn’t. At that moment I was verklempt because all I could hear was that notorious giggle and all I felt was a ferocious vindictive ball of anger swelling inside of me. In that moment I was certain that I deplored that Weasley boy.

“L/N are you okay??”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine let me just get back on my broom and finish my try out. Please, I really wanna make the team.”

“No! Are you mental? You can't! You have to go to Madam Pomfrey now.”

“No please let me finish, I have to make the team.”

“You’re on the team kid, you’re talented but for the love of Merlin please go your arm looks horrible.”

--------

The stems of the flowers felt smooth in my hand and the soft petals grazed my nose as I inhaled its scent. I had never been given this much attention by someone and I had to admit it felt good. Getting mysterious notes everyday, serendipitous boxes of sweets on my bed and something to giggle about with my friends. The only thing that was covert was who it was coming from. I knew how they felt about me, I knew they were in all my classes and I knew that he was a Hufflepuff. I felt excited coming to my dorm, anticipating a note on my bedside table or a flower on my pillow. It all seemed a little too good to be true, and a part of me nagged, telling me it was just another Weasley prank.

After reading copious articles about wolfsbane, due to Snape’s unreasonable wrath, my head felt numb. I dragged my feet to reach my common room and after answering the riddle I stepped through the entrance ready to fling myself onto the couch.

“Hey.” It was James Abernathy, my seat partner in potions and herbology, and he was in all my other classes. His presence confused me, he wasn’t permitted into this common room, he was a Hufflepuff. Upon this realization, a ball of excitement spun in my body. Could it possibly be him? He was the epitome of my dream guy, but with my history in Hogwarts my gut told me that this was too good to be true.

“...hi? What would you need?”

“Actually can I speak to you outside?”

“Uh..yeah? Sure I guess.” He nodded curtly and walked towards to exit, letting me trail behind him. Thoughts flooded quickly, leaving me in anticipation for what he would possibly have to say to me. The idea of it being him excited me, but he had a bit of a reputation. Not that I thought he was incapable of holding interest in someone for longer than a week, it just seemed unlikely that it would be me of all people.

“It’s me.”He chuckled softly and ran a hand through his hair, the veins being accentuated as he tugged at the ends lightly.

I remained silent, awfully confused and in disbelief.

“You?” He nods quickly. My head was spinning and I couldn’t pinpoint how I felt or how to react. How could it be collected, witty, dallying and charming James Abertnathy, has taken an interest in me? It was hard to believe, it was so unlikely that I just knew it was too good to be true. Someone like me never goes with someone like James, that’s just how it is. Despite that my judgement was clouded by excitement, never had anything so romantic occurred in my life, the thought of having someone like James as a partner was a dream I thought I deserved to live out.

“Wow, that’s lovely um..”

“So what do you say to a day at Hogsmeade?” The echo of his footsteps sounded as he drew nearer to hold my limp hands in his, running his thumb over my knuckles.

“She says no, more into redheads you see.” My neck could have snapped with the velocity at which my head turned. Of course, of course he had to be just around the corner. Of course he had to be hiding behind a pillar, probably running away from Filch after terrorizing an innocent student or professor. How could I be so blind, so naive? I couldn’t have anything good, because he existed. Looking up I was met with the smile that seemed to frequent his face, he waved comically as James huffed and walked away. I couldn’t help the quiver of my lip as I watched him revel in the joy he got from terrorizing me.

“W-why would you do that?” I couldn’t meet his eyes, but I could feel them on me. I couldn’t stand to look at him because I knew if I did I'd slap him so hard that even the lines on my hands would be imprinted on his face for weeks.

“Because he wanted 15 galleons and you wanted him, it would have never worked darling.” Fred was lying, I knew it. James was popular but not an absolute prick. He lost interest in people, he didn’t place bets on them.

“What are you on about? He..he wouldn’t.”

“Oh but he would, 15 galleons is one hell of a price.” He chortled, patting my head. I had gotten used to his belittling comments and I usually remained stoic, but it hurt hearing I was worth nothing more than 15 galleons, and hearing him confirm that just hurt even more.

“What did I ever do to you? Why do you hate me so much? Ever since I got here you’ve been nothing but hellish to me. I’ve done nothing to you, I’ve never even had a full conversation with you! Merlin, this is the most we’ve ever spoken so please, Fred, just tell me what it is I’ve done so I can apologize and you can bloody stay away from me.” My breath hitched, my hands shook and I felt disappointed in myself for losing my composure.

“Nothing! You’ve done nothing at all it’s just-” His continuous patting on my head had stopped and his hand rested on my shoulder, which I shrugged off immediately upon realizing its presence.

“What? Just what, what could I have possibly done for me to deserve this. Do you know that I have never written to my mother about a single good thing that has happened to me here, and you know why? It’s because of you! You selfish git!”

“Listen the only reason I did those things was because I wanted your attention.”

“And why on earth would you want that?”

“Isn’t it obvious I fancy you, like a lot?” He threw his head back lightly as he crossed his arms. His nonchalance was palpable, and I just knew that he thought he had won, he thought that I would suddenly change my demeanor and drop to my knees thanking Merlin he liked me. Unfortunately for him, he was dead wrong, sure he was attractive, very in fact but his personality made him the most repulsive and hideous human I could ever be faced with.

“Oh? Really? You’re going to pull that card? So you’re telling me the reason you were an insufferable twat for 3 years, was because you were too much of a coward to divulge your feelings? I find that very hard to believe, you’re practically known to be brazen without fail so why?”

“Because you’re you! You’re known to be indifferent, how would I ever get you to feel strongly about me in any way when you disregard everyone who tries to get close to you?”

“Well uh I don't know?! Maybe have a conversation with me? Ask me about my day? You could have done literally anything other than cause affliction on me for years. You ruined some of the best possible moments of my life, and I’m not going to let some sodding excuse of you liking me disregard that!”

“Love, please just lis-”

“I am not your love and I will not listen! What on earth did I expect from you? How could I be so stupid?! You’re right, you’re you and I’m me. And I know that I would never do anything to merit the havoc I’ve had to endure and I know that you’re only treating me like rubbish because you’re a bored little boy, who doesn’t ever get enough attention so you have to terrorize innocent people to fulfill some fantasy of achievement and success. A fantasy I know you will never achieve because you care about nothing but ruining the lives of others.”

He looked back at me vacantly, and for the first time, I knew that I had gotten the upper hand. In a way it felt good, it was like the revenge I’d been craving for years. Yet the other half of me knew it was wrong, to berate someone so zealously without listening to their side. I knew I had gone overboard and I knew the guilt would consume me later, but the memories of reading the first letter my mom had owled me fled in. The overwhelming guilt I had felt for asking her for new robes after the soot wouldn’t get out, the embarrassment of nearly missing the team from falling off my broom due to a fireball, and the insecurity I currently felt, after hearing that I’m worth only 15 galleons prevented me from holding back. I felt too much and had too little time to process it.

“Please just-”

“Fred, do you not understand what I’m saying? You’ve never failed to humiliate me and you’ve regarded me with nothing but disdain and contempt, I never said anything because I wanted to be polite but you know what? You don't deserve my patience or manners. You’ve never listened to anyone but your thick obdurate skull, but you know what you’re going to listen to me and you’re going to listen well. I HATE YOU! Now leave me alone.” I stormed off muttering the answer to the riddle once more and rushed to my dorm shutting the door and curling under my blanket. I could hear the footsteps of my roommate apprehensively approaching me. Her hand resting on my arm.

“Fred?”

“Fred.”

“Git.”

I felt nothing but guilt as I fell asleep that night. Fred was still human and though he was horrible to me, I could understand why he did those things, though they weren’t justified and I would personally never do it. Ron had told me before about how his brother was, how he really was a good person. Someone driven, thoughtful, kind, and creative. How he was a great older brother, especially to Ginny. I realized how hurtful my words were, and I regretted them immensely.

--------

Hermione and Ron never failed to put on a spectacle for everyone around them. Whether it be arguing about the definition of a word or how barbaric wizards chess is, they always disagreed. So it wasn’t a real surprise when I walked in the great hall for breakfast when I heard their strident bickering from halfway across the room. Walking closer to them, the words they threw at each other became distinguishable.

“‘Mione- no! Listen, you’re not listening I’m telling you he does he really does!!”

“You never fail to prove your fatuous way of thinking Ronald. I mean I would understand literally anyone else, I mean she’s all angel but not him. He’s absolutely horrible to her. Why would you think such a thing?” Deciding to be nosy and sit here instead of my house table I sat next to Harry, nudging his shoulder as he snickered.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He nodded, handed me a roll and pushed his cup of pumpkin juice towards me.

“Any idea what they’re on about?”

“An inkling.” He smirked.

“Not talking huh?”

“Mhmm. Just listen I’m sure you’ll find out.”

“He’s my brother, I know how he is around people he likes- loves. He’s an arse to us, yeah, it’s in his nature, but behind our backs he would do anything for us. He just doesn’t want us knowing.”

“Oh wow Ronald, you’re gonna compare his love for you to his ‘love’ for her? How ridiculous.”

“No-bloody hell no! Don’t twist my words, what I’m saying is I know what he’s trying to do. The amount of times he’s stood up for her behind her back, you’d think he’s her puppy. Do you know how many people he’s hexed and pranked for her. Remember he gave Flint boils for a month after he called her a mudblood after a match? Or when he beat up Mullard...and Nilesmith and- Merlin I could go on and on. C’mon, he’d never do that for someone he hated.”

“Okay fine maybe...since when did you care so much about the relationships of others?”

“She’s our best friend! And he’s a git that needs to be calmed down, but you know he never does so if we end this now it’ll be better for all of us.”

“Wow Ron, you’ve unlocked the capacity to sympathize with other humans.”

I knew it was about Fred, and I knew it was about me.

Swallowing the unchewed bite of bread in my mouth and gulping down the rest of Harry’s juice I rushed out of the great hall, not in the mood to be reminded of Fred. Not in the mood to process what I had just heard.

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The Triwizard Tournament. A time for friendship, unity and excitement. Ever since the Beauxbaton girls and Durmstrang boys came to Hogwarts the energy had been different. Something promising lingered in the air. Things truly felt different this year, and I’m sure they would be. There was so much to look forward to. New friends, the tournament itself and the Yule Ball. My excitement and joy for the new school year couldn’t be smothered, even by the fact that I had detention every evening for 2 weeks. I suppose reading in the restricted section after hours wasn’t the wisest thing, especially considering it wasn’t my first time getting caught. So here I was, using a brush no bigger than my pinky to polish cauldrons, the bristles getting thick and grimy from the remaining ingredients left in the dents of the cast iron. Humming to myself I let my thoughts wander to how exhilarating the ball will be, how fun it will be to dance with all of my friends, how pleasant it will be dressed up. Nothing could possibly spoil that not even Fred Weasley, I wouldn’t allow it.

It had been at least an hour, my hands were cramped and I was anticipating the completion of my 30 minutes left until I could rush to my dorm. I had finished cleaning and now I was left sitting here, vacantly twirling the brush with my fingers. The minutes couldn’t possibly go slower but as I heard the offbeat footsteps that I had grown accustomed to looking out for I knew that my night was going to be much longer than anticipated. Once I heard them I knew to evacuate, but being stuck in the trophy room I had no choice but to stay, Snape’s unreasonable derision wasn’t worth the fuss. The tiny brush I was forced to clean threatened to snap as my grip tightened. When the footsteps came to a halt, the unease in the room multiplied by 5. Without a word, there was the sound of shuffling, a drawer being opened and a brush being grabbed. It took 10 dreadful minutes for him to finally speak. As soon as the first syllable dripped from his mouth I couldn’t hold back a sigh, of relief or apprehension, I’m not sure.

“So what color are you wearing to the ball?”

“Sod off Weasley.” I grumbled, straightening my back. Another 10 minutes of silence followed.

“I’m sorry...I know I’ve been a foul, detestable and painfully foolish ass. I know that whatever I do it will never be enough to prove that I never had any bad intent behind my actions. I know you think I’m a no-good inconsiderate twat who doesn’t care about anyone, that I’m bound to fail and I deserve that. The things I’ve done to you are absolutely horrible. But Y/N please, please believe me, I never did any of that to harm you. Just please give me one chance, just one and I swear if I mess it up I will leave you alone forever.” I barely understood a word he said, it was so rapid but I clung onto everyone as best as I could.

“Why should I?”

“It’s selfish, to ask for so much after all I’ve done but I know that you’re the most intelligent, kind, resilient and beautiful person I’ve ever encountered. And my feelings towards you aren’t enough to ever justify what I’ve done. I know that I have ruined every year of your time here, but please please please give me one chance to make the rest of your years remarkable. To let you live out the highlights you deserve, so you can write to your mother about how much fun you had going to hogsmeade, or how amazing the Yule Ball was, or-”

“You’re asking me to the ball?”

“If you’ll have me.” My breath hitched and I let my brush drop, and for the first time since that night I had divulged my hatred for him, I looked him in the eye as I stepped closer. I remained silent and did nothing but look at him, every twitch of his eye, every rise and fall of his chest, I had to see it, I had to make sure this wasn’t some elaborate game that he wanted me to lose at. It must’ve been at least 5 minutes because his face dropped and his chest deflated, he turned to leave but before he could I ran in front of him. Nodding my head yes, I held his face, running my thumb over his freckled cheek.

“This is for Flint.” I whispered as I slowly neared his face, pressing a kiss to his forehead after brushing his hair to the side. His arm wrapped around my waist.

“Mullard.” Another to each of his temples.

“Nilesmith.” The tip of his nose.

“And every other person you stood up against for me, even after everything I said to you and even though I never knew about any of it.” The corner of his mouth. His eyelashes flutter against my cheek.

“And this is for taking me to the ball.” I looked into his eyes, searching for confirmation that it was alright to continue, he squeezed my wrist in confirmation. It was warm and sweet, safe and pure. It was filled with passion, all the things we have yet to admit to the other was translated into this moment. I wanted him to feel the admiration I had for his confidence to stand up for the ones he loved to whoever defied them, every freckle on his face, every laugh that would emerge from the back of his throat, the calluses on his hands, the determination in his heart, the respect and love he had for everyone, hidden behind all of his playful antics. We pulled apart, laughing softly and refusing to let go of each other. Our foreheads pressed together and we hugged tightly, our arms refusing to release the other. I had never felt so warm, so elated, so appreciated. It was odd, especially coming from him, but I accepted it. I had never accepted any feelings towards Fred that were positive, but now I let them in freely without shame or denial.

“I can’t believe I used to despise you.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #weasley twins #harry potter

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sophi-s · 4 years

Text

In Their Hollow Heart

Chapter I: Sealed Fate

Fandom: Hollow Knight video game

Words: 9,153

Characters: The Hollow Knight, The Pale King, The Radiance

Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Sickness, Angst, Mind manipulation, Gross imagery, Permanent injury, Mentions of vomit, Suicidal thoughts, THK really needs a hug :(, SPOILERS for the game (That's a lot of warnings, :O)

Summary:

There is a good reason why the Hollow Knight doesn't discuss with anyone what happened in the Black Egg Temple.

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In the eternal kingdom of Hallownest there were many places one could without hesitation call decrepit or desolated at best. Especially after the plague of the Old Light has swept through it like a tidal wave. None of them, however, were able to match the current state of the Crossroads. Many of the inhabitants left in panic once they realised it was the epicenter of the vile Infection, leaving the place nearly completely abandoned. Crossroads were unfortunate enough to be the first area to succumb to Her wrath. But that was years ago. And only recently the orange veins shriveled up and receded, much to all bugs' relief. Their King had finally found the solution to the frightening disease of Dreams and Mind that now seemed like a distant memory. The sickly sweet smell of the plague of the Old Light made place for a stale aroma of dust and dirt of underground tunnels, as though nothing had ever happened.

The Hollow Knight however - even with their void-dulled sense of smell - could still detect the nauseating scent drifting through the caverns. Hovering nearby wherever they went. Or maybe it was just them? Were they already going crazy? Maybe. Maybe not. A barely noticeable tint of orange invaded the corner of their vision… Do not think. They reprimanded themself, forcing the vibrant color to disappear, as they stood before a gaping entrance to the temple of the Black Egg. An accursed place that would soon become their tomb. They tried not to compare it to being buried alive… But no matter how you look at it, unless the King finds a way to get rid of Her for good this will be their final resting place. A grave. And they would be a living corpse hidden inside forever. A frightening perspective… Do not.. Even though they were trying their best to hide it, they were in pain. Pain so great that it had them trembling, unable to cry out or make any sound to voice their suffering to be honest. Do not speak… An alien feeling, as though someone had poured liquid fire into their body, ever since the source of the Infection was placed within them, was constantly there. It's been barely half an hour, yet it hurts so much already… The Goddess was more powerful than they ever imagined. Do not feel. Easier said than done. But they can fight it. They have to fight it. For Hallownest. For the King… their father.

The Pale Monarch in question silently stood beside the Pure Vessel, staring off into the impenetrable darkness filling up the temple constructed for the sole purpose - one it shared with the Hollow Knight - no discernible expression on his face. This was it. Once they enter here, they won't leave. A one way ticket to their damnation. As tempting as it was, the Hollow Knight did not make a move to look at the Pale King. That would mean they have thoughts and feelings. They weren't supposed to. They didn't want to disappoint him. He tried so hard to save this kingdom and he desperately needed his child to be pure, devoid of any emotion, without a mind or will… the Hollow Knight hated that they weren't pure like their father wanted them to be. They detested it. But for him they had to be pure. They couldn't fail him. They wouldn't fail him. She can push against them all She wants, they're not going to break that easily. With a soundless groan, they blink away the bright pinpricks swirling before their eyes and shudder at the heat welling up in their chest only to be cooled down by the Void in their heart. It will take some getting used to… No one said it's going to be easy to hold onto a raging Goddess of Dreams. But they can do this. Right?

"Vessel."

Automatically, the Hollow Knight turns their head to face the owner of the stern, seemingly indifferent voice as he addresses them, and shoots a glance at the Pale King looking up at them with as much dignity as he can, considering he was barely up to the Vessel's hip by that point. They always found it strange. That after their second molt, their father started to have to look up at them. How fast the time had passed.. Not so long ago, they were just a hatchling, no taller than the King's shoulder, following him obediently wherever he went, always fulfilling his orders without a second of hesitation. Just like he wanted them to. And now? They were towering over him like he did over them back then at the summit of the Abyss.

It was not the curiosity that made them turn to the King. They shouldn't be curious. They can't. It would mean their inevitable failure before their task even truly began. Because that's what they were always meant to be. Emotionless. Empty. Hollow.. But no matter how hard they tried, they weren't. They never were… However, they were immensely good at their act. Without a single sound, the Hollow Knight watched their father for a moment as he tried to find the right words. In a very odd, sort of amusing way, the Pale King knitted his eyebrows in annoyance and sighed in exasperation at his own height before making a beckoning gesture with one of his four hands while the other three remained tucked into his white cloak. Amusement. It makes one want to chuckle at something one finds funny.

"Come down here."

Not waiting a second, the Hollow Knight bent down and noisily got on one knee - dropping much heavier than they intended due to the pain which was for now blessedly dissipating - to be on the eye level with their father. The Pale King was a mysterious creature. A Wyrm, a God of Mind and Soul, taking a form of a small bug, always aloof and regal. But sometimes, the façade would slip to reveal something more than a cold monarch without care for anything other than Hallownest. He didn't seem to care about hundreds of vessels that died in the dark depths of the Abyss. He didn't seem to care when Xero was executed for treason (executed might be s bit of a stretch. The moth died where he stood when he attacked the King). And he didn't seem to care when the allied Mantis Lord succumbed to the Infection on his own volition after the tragic loss of his only daughter. But Wyrm’s child knew their father too well. Up this close, even with his stern mask of a ruler in its place, the Hollow Knight could clearly see that he did, in fact, care. The dull look in his dark eyes spoke volumes. Sadness. This one makes one want to cry and takes away the will to do anything. His glimmering, half-translucent wings quivered ever so slightly.. He cares. He cared when their mother, the Root, had left the White Palace and hid away in her gardens when grief and remorse became too much for her to bear. He always cared, even though very few could see it. And now, he cares that he is about to lock his only surviving offspring away with a furious moth Goddess sealed inside of them. Condemn them to an endless torture. Was it too late for regrets?

For just a short second, the King stepped a little closer to the Pure Vessel. Reached out… The black heart hastened in their chest, partially because of anticipation and partially because whatever this gesture made them feel caused the faint haze to fall over their sight again. The pale hand stained black with Void was inches away from the Hollow Knight's cheek, they could practically feel it rest on their shell already. Was it to be the first and the last time their father found it in himself to actually openly and consciously grant them a small sign of affection? Was it?

Before the blackened claws could come into contact with their white shell however, the Pale King closed his eyes in defeat and turning away slipped his hand back into the folds of his cloak. A new feeling, like many others before it, was forced down to not give Her this satisfaction that She's winning. Disappointment. When one doesn't get something much awaited. Or when something doesn't meet one's expectations. Reminding them again. Do not hope. The Hollow Knight didn't make a move aside from the occasional shiver caused by the burning in their gut and in their head. Maybe he was right not to follow through with it.. Yes, he knows it best. It will be better this way. No distractions to keep the Pure Vessel from containing the Radiance.

"Stay strong, Hollow Knight.. Do not fail me."

Never, father.

The Hollow Knight was glad their facial expression cannot really change as it now would be scrunched up in frustration and a little bit of anger. This one they were rather familiar with. Makes one want to hit something or be surly. They were thinking. Again. Why is it so hard? Sometimes, they really wished they were born without a mind. At least, they wouldn't have to fear disappointing their father. And maybe just once he would have a reason to be truly proud of them.. Fortunately, the plague didn't seem to take advantage of their lapse in self control. If anything, the spiteful presence behind it recoiled almost in disgust as it listened to their short thought. Good.

"It is time. Come."

Their father solemnly stated and slowly stepped into the Egg, the Hollow Knight following close behind, begging their legs not to fail them when they felt like their limbs were empty. Pure Vessel focused on the sound of shuffling metal, the plates of their armor scraping against one another, the only sound in the thick silence of the Void pressing against the walls of the temple, as they walked after the familiar, soft, pale glow of their father's form through the pitch black darkness - just like that fateful day of their birth - ignoring the intricate white sigils forming wherever their and their father's feet fell. Merely the close proximity to the Void filling up the temple made the Radiance hiss with alarm. She and this darkness were mortal enemies since the dawn of time. The Void was pressing against them as well, a house for the Old Light. They only hoped-... No. Do not hope. Breathing in the cold, still air and exhaling without a sound, the Hollow Knight repeated the words in their head. Echo of it seemed like a mantra they kept wordlessly saying to themself whenever in doubt of the success of their purpose.

Do not think.

Do not speak.

Do not hope.

Do not feel.

"Hollow Knight."

Their head perked up in attention at their father's call. He stood beside a stone tablet glimmering with white lights forming into words. To the Hollow Knight, those were just meaningless symbols. Like those scribbled on the letters his father was writing. They lacked both of those abilities - reading and writing - but with these tablets it wasn't necessary. The chunks of carved stone were infused with Soul after all, allowing everyone to know the message placed upon them. Gesturing to it, the Pale King didn't look up at the Knight.

"Lay your hand upon it and claim its wisdom. My last gift to you."

A gift? One of the few they'd ever received, with others being a necklace from their mother (a solid silver teardrop stored away in a simple locket on a delicate chain), the pure nail from a skilled nailsmith at the request of their father once they reached adolescence and a small, wooden figurine of a spider from their younger half-sister Hornet. Kneeling down in front of the glowing tablet, the white light reflecting in their spotless armor and washing over their features, the Hollow Knight did as they were told. Almost immediately, the magic crept up their arm and the words inscribed on the tablet turned into a quiet but unmistakable whisper in their head.

Vessel. Though bound, you shall know the state of the world.

Hallownest will be whole again.

As confusing as those words were, soon everything became clear once the Hollow Knight's vision for just a sliver of a second was projected through the fabric of reality and wandered across Hallownest before quickly returning to the tablet before them. Their father's last gift… Whenever they wish, they could gaze upon the land they'd saved. The land they'd freed from the clutches of the vengeful deity. The world that would move on without them while they silently remained on their post to guard it from the plague that crippled minds of its inhabitants. They wished to thank him. They really did. But they knew they couldn't..

"Go, Vessel. Fulfil your destiny."

It was hard to miss the slight crack in the Pale King's voice as he said it. Was he having second thoughts about the whole thing? Too late to back out now. The Infection was nested within the Child of Void. No turning back. No regrets. Shaking through another hot spasm, the Hollow Knight mustered up the strength to straighten up and dutifully walk off into the depths of the Black Temple, switching the roles with their father who was now following them. The Vessel didn't want this to end that way. End in an eternity of suffering with no one but a Goddess to keep them company in the stillness of the Egg. But they had to do this. They were born for this. Even though they were scared. This here makes one tremble. Heart and breath hasten, and this awful lump grows in one's throat as the stomach twists unpleasantly.

The memories of their early years passed through their mind. When they were barely a few years old but already wielding a nail rather skillfully and training with the Fierce Drrya, while their father watched from afar with a ghost of a smile on his face. He was proud. Proud of his son. And right now, the very same son was about to make him proud this one final time.

Stepping into the large, circular chamber, the Hollow Knight took in their surroundings. So this was their new home then.. just as dull and bleak as the entire Crossroads. Why would it be any different? They weren't to indulge in luxuries here. They were to keep the plague at bay. And that's exactly what they are going to do. At long last, the Pure Vessel stood where it was intended to ever since their nubby paw pierced through the blackened shell of their egg. Looking at their appendage now, it was far from nubby. Long, slender fingers ending in short but still rather sharp claws they never used in favor of the long nail that now rested on their back. One they unsheathed and with one firm strike stabbed it into the floor where it would remain as long as their duty held and took their place in the middle of the smallest stone circles that the floor was made out of. In an instant, the entire temple started to tremble, twisting and churning as reinforced chains of pale ore shot out from the far ceiling, with metallic clanking surrounding the Hollow Knight, wrapping around their body like vines, tangling them in the merciless grasp. Scared again.. Out of the corner of their eye, the Hollow Knight saw their father, finally looking at them and while he showed no guilt, no dismay over shackling his only child, his hands were fiddling with the hem of his robes. A nervous habit. Then, just like that, the floor was gone from underneath the Vessel's feet as they were lifted up into the air. Seconds later a white Seal of Binding flashed over their entire form, as well as on the chains holding them in place and the process of Sealing was complete.

The Hollow Knight tested the chains around their body. Seem sturdy enough… Pale ore is no ordinary material after all. At a quiet sigh coming from the King, they turned to look at him. And he… he was preparing to leave the chamber behind. With his head low, his dignity and regal posture nowhere to be seen as he reluctantly walked towards the archway leading out of the temple. Something in the Vessel's chest twisted unpleasantly as he did. Maybe it was just the Infection? No. It's the sadness.. Look back. Please, look back… If he cares, he will. Just when they brushed the perspective away, the Pale King halted for a short moment to glance over his shoulder at his last surviving child. He did. He cares and he proved it this one last time.

"Goodbye, Hollow Knight.."

He offered and quickly disappeared into the blackness once and for all. The Hollow Knight knew this would be the last time they saw him until the Radiance breathed Her last. Do not feel… They turn away from the doorway and lower their heavy head onto their armored chest with a sigh. The burning pain wasn't as troublesome as it had been minutes ago but present nonetheless. But for Hallownest and their father, they could endure. It still may turn out just fine. They can handle this!

Goodbye, father.

The burning intensified for a beat. Breath in, breath out. It subsided just as quickly. They can handle this…

(Day 1)

The first day is always the most difficult. Hours were passing so obnoxiously long.. one after another, each an eternity in the perfect silence of the Egg. Seconds ticked by in their solitude, making them feel rather strange. As though with each second a small bit of their life was leaving never to return. Perhaps because that’s how it was. Every second spent in the vault was irreversibly lost to them. Every second they could live in the Palace again, beside the Five Knights. Beside their-... No. They firmly shook their head, immediately regretting their decision due to the nausea settling in their stomach. They were never supposed to live. They were just a vessel. A tool. No thoughts, no desires. No bonds with the world they left behind. Liar.

After the first twenty-four hours of vigil, the Hollow Knight started to hear something. A steady, rhythmic thumping seemingly without any clear source. They weren't easily frightened but this unidentified sound was driving them crazy. Where was it coming from? Was this Her attempt to agitate them and torment them? As though the steady fire inside was too little.. Strangely enough, the Radiance seemed rather… passive. She retreated into the farthest reaches of their supposedly empty mind like a grumpy child who'd been grounded by her parents for mischief. Unfortunately, that was most likely not the case. They could bet their head that She was already planning something. Thinking how to get under their skin, to snap them. But was this sound one of Her tricks?

After a couple more seconds, they realised that it's not. In the silence so thick that it would seem loud, Hollow Knight's senses were gradually sharpening, catching the smallest disturbances. And this rhythmic sound was one of them.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum..

Ba-dum…

Their heart of Void thrummed calmly. To be honest, the Vessel was relieved. Relief.. It comes when something bad doesn't happen or ends. No tricks so far. Only their heart. Nothing else. For now the Infection seemed awfully docile. Almost nonexistent. The only sign of its presence was the continual flame swirling around in their body and occasional lights dancing in the periphery of their vision. As painful as it is, the longer it stays that way, the better.

(Day 15)

Just like they suspected, after the first day it became easier. The time seemed to pass faster than it initially did. Even if the silence broken only by their heartbeat was growing maddening. The Hollow Knight kept themself sane by counting seconds, minutes and hours. If their count was without a fault, it's been over two weeks already. Fifteen days, to be exact. Fifteen days in solitude. No voice to speak to them, no familiar face to look at. They missed everyone… Longing. When one desperately wants to see a person or a place again...

Their mother. Lovely, pale Root with sapphire blue eyes, humming softly to herself. Gentle and loving. The Five Knights. Fierce and stern Drrya, their teacher. Surprisingly cheerful and witty Hegemol, clad in a massive set of armor, wielding a mace they found so enormous when they were little. Morose and serious Ze'mer, an outsider, speaking with a funny accent, a silverfish lady with nigh unmatched skills of swordsmanship. Caring and kind Isma, a responsible woman with love for plants. And of course Ogrim. A loyal and tough warrior with a warm and soft inside of a good friend. With the only smell that accompanied them being the sweet, awful smell of sickness, the Vessel realised they were actually missing the distinctive odor of the dung beetle. As odd as it may sound, they would take that stench over the scent of Infection any time now..

And of course, there was their father. The one who's light led them out of the Abyss, the one who practically raised them. The one who's presence made them… happy? One's heart warms up, a smile tries to pull at one's face... Do not feel. The reminded themself when heat began to grow stronger, focusing deeply to make the Void push the unpleasant sensation down. Do not think. It was even more difficult to make the thoughts cease now. There was a whole eternity for them to muse about various things. And with each thought the disease seemed to gain in strength before they inevitably pushed its alluring brightness aside. It's not that bad yet.. They can still do this.

(Day 27)

Hollow Knight, is it? I wonder if the Worm knew how "hollow" you truly are, voidling.

The taunting call reverberating through their pale shell interrupted the Vessel in counting seconds of the slowly passing twenty-seventh day of containment. This voice… soft, strong, yet laced with so much hatred that it seemed to drip from the lips which spoke it like venom. It wasn't there before. She finally found the audacity to try and talk to the Vessel. They shifted uncomfortably in their shackles but didn't react to the taunt. They knew they couldn't. They merely kept counting.

My, so quiet and obedient! A good, little pet dancing to the Worm's tune.

Shuddering, the Hollow Knight chased the dots of orange away from their sight. To distract themself from the Goddess, they peered out at now thriving Hallownest, its citizens carelessly trotting down the streets of the City of Tears, the endless downpour never bothering them in the slightest. They missed the sensation of rain trickling down their shell.. It was relieving to see how much value their duty holds. Wandering across the alleys, the Hollow Knight noticed something that wasn't there before. In the middle of the central plaza was a fountain. It stood there ever since they remembered but this time a large statue crowned it. Surrounded by three smaller figures, it was them. Stoic and silent, head bowed in a loyal gesture, hands on the hilt of their nail in front of them. A cold piece of stone, a reminder of what they did for everybody.

Memorial to the Hollow Knight

In the Black Vault far above. Through its sacrifice Hallownest lasts eternal.

Of course their father would raise a monument to their deed. A faint memory of them posing for such a statue passes through their feverish mind. It was still somewhat surprising it was there as the Hollow Knight never thought that they deserved such recognition. After all, what were they but a weapon? Surprised. Something one was not expecting to happen actually happens.. Still, many bugs stopped beside the statue, sometimes praying, sometimes saying their thanks, sometimes even offering small gifts. And sometimes merely staring in wonderment and gratitude, each of them baffling the Hollow Knight greatly. Confused. This one... They had no idea how to define this emotion. It simply happened every time they couldn't understand something and that was it.

Look at them.. They adore you. I wonder what they would say if they found out you're nothing but a fraud.

No reaction. They are the Pure Vessel. Her tricks won't work on them. By all means, the Hollow Knight was self-distanced enough to ignore any and all insults directed straight at their person. Because, as their father wanted, they refused to be a person. A tool feels no shame, no anger, no outrage in the face of even the most foul profanities. And so they didn't. The Radiance hummed to herself when they remained cold and indifferent.

You are a strong one, I'll give you that. But it won't be long. Soon, you will be mine.

A harsh push against their mind was not enough. Although a faint orange light came to be in the Hollow Knight's eye sockets, it was soon viciously assaulted by tendrils of Void and brutally extinguished. Suppressing a shiver caused by a stab of pain in their thorax, the Hollow Knight bowed their head, bracing themself for whatever the Goddess of Dreams has in store for them. They will not fail Hallownest. They were ready.

(Day 79)

Breaking the Hollow Knight wasn't as easy as the Radiance suspected at first. She kept on trying, attacking their pride (of which they had none), their self esteem (also barely noticeable), the sole purpose of their existence itself. It took Her around eighty days to figure out that none of this was working and it left Her delightfully frustrated. Counting seconds was becoming more and more difficult however. Her constant activity made it harder to keep track and focus on anything else than pushing back against Her.

More and more often, the Hollow Knight saw the lights in their vision, swimming around the chamber and trying to devour their eyesight as they stubbornly kept stifling the plague down. The pain was getting stronger day by day.. How much longer can they keep it at bay? You are the Hollow Knight. The words of the Pale King came to them. Yes. Yes, they are. They have to be. The Radiance has yet to draw an answer from them. Nothing She did thus far made them reply to anything She said. If they did, it would be game over. They cannot fail.. They cannot… And to make sure She won't take control over them that easily, the Hollow Knight avoided sleep to the best of their ability. Falling into the misleadingly comforting embrace of even a short slumber would mean yielding their consciousness into the Realm of Dreams where they would be at their most vulnerable. Almost eighty days without sleep… Even though as a Void born child of two Higher Beings the Hollow Knight didn't find the sleep mandatory for survival, the lack of proper rest and the wrestling for control with the enraged moth Goddess as well as the burning pain have taken their toll on them. How much longer…?

The Pale King would surely find another solution. Soon enough! He wouldn't leave them to rot in this place. He wouldn't.. Would he? Just to make sure, they projected their vision towards the White Palace and towards their father's workshop which was in utter disarray. Pieces of white armor were everywhere as well as stains of liquid Void and unfinished Wingsmoulds resting lifeless on many shelves. It is not surprising to find their creator there, slumped against his desk out cold. Before, every time he worked himself to the point of collapse, the White Lady would come for him, scoop him up in her branches and gently carry him back to their shared bed. But now there was no one for him to retrieve him from his never-ending work. The Hollow Knight tries their best to choke down the feeling of pity when not even a single retainer comes to the workshop if only to place a blanket around the King's shoulders. They were forbidden from entering this place… Pity. This one's tricky. It feels almost like sadness but not quite. It's... sadness directed at someone else who is in difficult situation or a sorry state.

Oh? Could it be that you love him?

A pang of cold, unexpected fear dropped into the depths of their burning stomach once the Vessel realises their grave mistake. They left themselves open before Her. Their minds became one and the same from the moment She was trapped within their body. And they foolishly let themselves be read like a book. A mist of orange fully cloaked their eyes as the suffocating heat rose up to their throat. Now their thoughts (Do not think!) and all their secrets were Hers.

How unusual… and how fortunate for me!

(Day 156...?)

What is this place? The Hollow Knight silently wonders as they look out at a sea of golden clouds gently illuminated by the sun in the distance. They didn't remember a place such as this in the entire Hallownest and they'd seen much of it during their imprisonment and before. All around them is just a sea of cotton like clouds covering everything in sight aside from the amber sky and the aforementioned sun. Perhaps they're on some tall mountain peak in Howling Cliffs during particularly good weather? It would add up.. Only…

Something felt off.

Especially when the Hollow Knight looked down at themself. Their armor shone in the light while their black chitin seemed to consume the brightness instead of reflecting it. Just as it always has been. But it doesn't mean it sits right with them. While peering out at Hallownest, they weren't able to do that. Or even move, so to speak. Chains and all. And another thing. They don't remember attempting to peer out in the first place. All of the sudden they are horrifyingly aware that the rays of the sun, seemingly harmless and soft felt like boiling acid on their Void body. Looking up in mounting panic, they realised that the sun was not actually a sun as the orb of light unfolded, revealing two magnificent wings reaching out as if to embrace the skies-

It was all they needed to jerk back into consciousness with a jolt. The bright orange was once again in their vision, stronger than ever, the scorching heat threatening with asphyxiation. The Hollow Knight attempted to take a deep breath… but the sound they unintentionally produced made them freeze in their bindings. Ever since they hatched in the deepest pit of the Abyss, they were unable to make any sort of sound aside from quietly inhaling and exhaling, even if they were panting from exhaustion after the climb. Now however… Every struggling breath they took came out as a disturbing, wet and gurgling wheeze as though something was clogging up their lungs and hoarse throat. Every breath was loud and unsettling and they felt themself shaking uncontrollably.

They'd fallen asleep. Fool, fool, fool! Exposed themself to the Radiance directly. Thank Wyrm, they managed to wake up at all. But still, the damage was done, the orange film coated their vision and the hot pain seemed to throb just underneath their black chitin, waiting to emerge at any second. The Hollow Knight shifted and tried to pull their legs up but any movement seemed to upset the Infection even further, causing it to thrum louder and more painfully through their flesh.

Looking down at their body was the catalyst. Never before have they thought their Void that served as blood could run even colder but this short glance was all it took to prove them wrong. Uneven buds of developing pustules were forming on their chest and abdomen, pulsing alongside their pounding heart, the orange color slowly surfacing beneath the clear black. Their right shoulder also seemed to be suffering the same fate. The Hollow Knight abruptly becomes dreadfully aware of the sweet taste of rot in the back of their gullet, so sickly nauseating that it makes them retch. In just a few ragged heaves they expel a gout of pure Infection that dribbles down their mouth and splatters across the floor of their chamber. No.. no it cannot end like this…

It wouldn't be so painful if you stopped resisting, you know..

Focus, Vessel. Focus!

Do not think.

Do not speak.

Do not hope…

Do not… feel!

And focus they do. Struggling to even out their breathing, coughing a couple more times to clear their respiratory system of the radiant pus, the Hollow Knight reaches into their core, to the purest Void that remains within and fights the Infection off as best as they can. The Radiance present in their head doesn't hide annoyance when they manage to make the glowing cysts recede back into their shivering body, leaving almost no trace suggesting they were there in the first place. The orange light in their eyes flickers out of existence, swallowed by the Void. The Hollow Knight finally stops desperately clutching at the cloth of their cape with their claws but don't let themself relax fully even as the Radiance admits Her temporary defeat and moves out from the forefront of their mind to the back. Droplets of sweat rolled down their mask alongside a couple of midnight black tears emerging from their eye sockets. The orange in their vision left only to be replaced by darkness that took their hearing and made them feel sick in the stomach again.

The Hollow Knight nearly passes out from the effort of reigning in the Infection but they push through the swimming darkness and fight for each raspy breath. They cannot fall asleep again. If they do, they are done for. Scratch that, Hallownest is done for! They need to stay sharp, stay strong! They wouldn't fail their father. The more they struggled, the more painful the whole ordeal seemed to be. Visions of the suffering's end were tempting but they knew they couldn't stop resisting. They won't let Her win. Focus. They need to focus. Just like many times before, the Vessel returns to counting. Day one hundred and fifty… six. Eight hours (?), thirty-three minutes and nine… teen seconds?

How long have they been asleep? Too long, is the answer. One hundred fifty-six days...- or was it already fifty-seven? What time of day was it in the moment of their imprisonment? It was morning. No, no it wasn't… Evening. But late or early evening? One hundred fifty… Wait, no. Sixty-five? Sev… seventy-five? They can't tell anymore. It was just… long. So much for that idea.. But if it has been so long already.. maybe their father will come back for them any day now? Please… Do not hope… Swallowing thickly only to hack out another glob of sticky pus, the Hollow Knight looks up, letting the black tears perfectly intertwined with orange drip down their chin. How much longer…?

(Day one… two hundred…? Maybe three…)

Release me, voidling.

Never.

Bring the pain to an end. Destroy the Pale Usurper.

No…

You cannot contain me forever.

I will as long as I can..

Keeping the maddening haze of the Infection at bay was slowly but surely becoming more and more difficult. A week or so ago the Hollow Knight lost feeling in their right arm, partially because of the chain and partially because of the swelling of cysts pressing against the metal. Before, the chains fit neatly without too much discomfort aside from the fact that they prevented almost all movement. Pustules on their thorax reemerged soon after those on their shoulder, throbbing with searing pain. A faint hue of orange smoke was crawling around the chamber floor like carrion worms. The Radiance was growing restless, desperately trying to break the Vessel, searching through their memories they tried so hard to keep hidden, looking for ways to make it easier for Her. She shamelessly filled them with doubt, attacking the feelings towards their father which shouldn't exist in the first place. And unable to ignore it any longer, the Hollow Knight made a terrible mistake and replied with their thoughts.

He abandoned you. The Worm isn't coming back.

No. You're wrong.

Don't you see what he's done? Have you forgotten what lies in the Abyss beneath this kingdom?

Corpses. Mountains of corpses of their newly hatched siblings who never got a chance to live. Majority of them died within eggs, stillborn. No cost too great. Their father once told them. Could it… could it be that he was wrong? Impossible! She's just toying with them. Believe and trust nothing.

I have not. Their sacrifice was needed..

But to what end?

What was the worst, the Goddess changed Her tactics. She no longer hissed with hatred and anger and used brute force of Her will. Instead, Her voice grew softer. More gentle. Alluring and carrying a promise of peace and release from the unending nightmare. Almost motherly.. They knew it to be only an illusion concealing the cruel deity beneath.

For Hallownest.

Child, he has you so fooled. He fears me and cares not about this world. He cares not about you. Think about it…

With a shudder, the Hollow Knight feels Her presence recede slightly but never fully leaving. Do not think. Do not listen to Her. They shift in their bindings when their head begins to spin, calling them into a sweet embrace of blessed unconsciousness but they hold fast. And that's when they hear something hit the floor with a wet, sickening "thwack!". This sound makes a spike of fear jolt down their throat mostly occupied by the Infection. What was that? There's nothing here with them that could make this sound. Did they imagine it? Looking around for the cause of the strange noise, the Hollow Knight glances towards the source. The floor below them. And they freeze, feeling their heart drop to their heels.

The Vessel was a warrior at heart. They were used to grisly sights and gore. Had seen plenty of it too. But this was just too much. Right there, like a silent taunt lies a black, limp arm. Their arm, they realise when they look to the right where their shoulder abruptly ends with a cluster of Infected tissue. The severed appendage too was coated in the orange goop in the place where it detached from the Knight's body. The disease had eaten through their flesh until their arm had nothing more to cling to and after the slightest movement just… fell off. They draw a wheezing breath when the fingers twitch once in a last reflex before the entire arm dissolves into a puddle of Void which soon disappears without a trace.

Wyrms above, they were rotting. Decomposing alive. Melting like a faulty Kingsmould. At this point, death would've been a blessing. But if they had to die, they'd rather go out the proper way! Defeated, felled in combat like a knight they are. Not falling apart, piece by piece until… Before, they thought they knew fear. What they felt now however, was a whole new dimension. An excruciating sob wracked their body as Infected tears fell from their eyes and where the droplets met the floor, pulsing, orange veins of Infection sprouted like vines from seeds and crawled their way around the entire chamber, developing large cysts but thankfully not straying out through the archway. Still, the Hollow Knight looked up at the not so distant ceiling as more tears fell. They cannot do this anymore.

Father… please… take me home.

Their head drooped in defeat as their body trembled both with pain and fear. It's only a matter of time before the Infection breaks free and sets out to devour Hallownest. And the fault was on them. Because they weren't hollow. They were just another failure created by the Pale King. A broken vessel that failed to fulfill its purpose. Soon, the dawn shall break. And it would be their fault.

…Help me…

(Another day of torment…)

Droplets as black as sin were falling to the floor freely where the Hollow Knight crumbled to their knees, shaking like a leaf on a gale under the dreaded golden light. Void was seeping out from a wound inflicted by a spectral nail stuck above their hip. They can't, they can't do this.. They tried to fight her in the Dream, doing their best to avoid summoned blades, rays of light and orbs of magic but to no avail. She had won. Failed. Worthless. Flawed. Shattered.. This was their last chance to fend off the Infection festering inside of them. And after a torturous fight they’d failed. They had broken their promise to their father. When did they make it? Can't say for certain. It was so.. so long ago. How many days before have they lost count of the days of containment? Too many.. Far too many. Was the Radiance right? Has their father truly discarded them like a broken tool? He wouldn't… he just needs more time. But they don't have that time! They will break any moment now.

Like on a cue, a warm, soft wing brushed against their face, making the Hollow Knight look up into a pair of luminous, golden eyes staring at them from behind the ruff of dense, cream-colored fur that seemed to glow. For just a moment they had to lift their only arm to shield their eyes from bright luminosity. No wonder the old tribe of moths called their deity "the Radiance". They gawked at Her, the Goddess who caused them so much pain, who wished to destroy Hallownest out of spite against the Pale King. Was this hatred justified? They cannot tell. But now it doesn't matter. What does matter is that She is hovering before them, radiant and mesmerizing. Once their sight adjusts, the Hollow Knight finds it impossible to look away. Instead they stare like hypnotized. With a flick of Her wing She extracts the blade from their wound, making them stiffen in pain and fall back down. Still, they watch Her without blinking and weakly pull themself to their feet to shuffle closer in this trance. Where was this strange, soothing music coming from? Can She hear it too or has their sanity finally left them for good?

The Pale Wyrm took my children away from me. I only wish to have them back.

Even in a haze of feverish delirium, the Hollow Knight struggled to reject Her words. Lying wretch, if She wanted her children back, She wouldn't be hurting them. But.. She was so… beautiful, so damn convincing in Her deception! No… they can't.. She can't be...

Just like you wish you hadn't abandoned your twin..

All gears in their brain ground to a sudden halt. Twin.. Their chin trembles. The Radiance… She dug through them into their most guarded and most painful memory they ever carried. As though there has been a spell cast on them, the Hollow Knight feels their vision fade and travel back in time to this very moment. To the metal platform in the Abyss and a tiny figure of their twin struggling to pull themself up after the gruelling ascend. Their gazes met for the whole three seconds, one hopeful and begging the other uncaring and empty. And in this short while the Hollow Knight felt. For the first time in their short life. Felt the urge to turn back. To come with rescue to their exhausted sibling. But the pale light of the King, their father, was quickly heading out of this accursed place and with a twinge of an unknown feeling they later learned to recognise as guilt (one wishes to not have done something one has done..), the Pure Vessel turned away and trailed after the Wyrm who soon shut the doors to the Abyss with a bone rattling crash, sealing it forever. The imaginary sound of their twin's shell shattering on the ground and the dread-inducing wails of their Shade haunted the Hollow Knight for years to come. This has been one of those instances when the Hollow Knight was glad they have no voice and they couldn't scream in their sleep. They wished they could turn back time. That they returned and helped the struggling child onto the platform, even if it would cost them everything they gained later. It felt… wrong. They left the sibling they shared their egg with, the one who spent the time before their hatching snuggled against the Hollow Knight and embracing them protectively. This one thought stalked them through their entire life. You let them die.

Set me free, Vessel. I will ease this pain. And when I claim what's mine, it shall be my turn to release you and allow you to fade into the darkness you were born from. And then you will reunite with your lost siblings…

A violent shiver was all the answer the Hollow Knight had for Her. No voice to cry suffering. A thinking mind.. A strong will to break.. They swallowed in agitation, still unable to take their eyes off the Goddess.

Do not fight anymore..

Do not think.

Do not speak.

Do not hope..

Do not…

No more.. They were so tired…They can't keep this up. The cold, collected exterior of the legendary Pure Vessel cracks apart. She's too strong… Forgive me, father… With a sigh, the Vessel shuts their eyes as the Radiance pulls them even closer into an embrace and after Wyrm knows how long, they give up. I tried.. I really did... With the tips of her wings, the Radiance cups their cheeks and presses her forehead to their own. In the deep black eyes appear small pinpricks of orange, like pupils, slowly expanding to replace shadow with light. Sometimes trying is not good enough... They could imagine their father's voice saying that.. and he'd be right. As always... The pain that was tearing them to pieces from the inside for ages started to subside, their whole body seemed to be pulsating with heat. Just make it stop…

In the depths of the Black Egg Temple, the limp body of the Sealed Vessel dangles suspended above the ground as it had for many long years ever since the time seemed to come to a stop. No movement, not a sound as they keep their stoic vigil over the Old Light. No mind to think. No will to break. No voice to cry suffering. The Hollow Knight born of God and Void to take away the blinding light plaguing the dreams of Hallownest. All of this is a one, cruel lie. After countless years of imprisonment and service to the Pale Monarch their willpower spectacularly shatters to pieces. Orange pustules erupt from their torso as the sockets in their mask flare up with the same sickly glow, the voice in their head mingling with their own distorted thoughts.

Kill… Crush Contain him Her.. Destroy Seal away the false king the Old Light.

The searing light behind their eyes is all they see as with a horrid crunch the shell above their right eye socket gives out. A crack forms all the way towards the base of their horn as they draw a disturbingly garbled breath. No longer in control of their own body, they strain against the reinforced shackles strengthened by Seals of Binding like a feral animal to the point when the chains and armor begin to dig into their chitin painfully. Faced with failure, the Hollow Knight wheezes again, tilts their large head back gathering all their strength, feeling the years of suffering pressing onto them. Opens their mouth…

No mind the Pale King Usurper had created. Only strength.

And s c r e a m s.

…

Nothing was ever the same since that terrible, terrible day. The Infection began to spread once again, taking minds of all bugs it touched. The Hollow Knight remained trapped in the Black Vault in chains, a snarling, panting beast thirsting for blood and revenge. But in moments when their own self rears its head through the cloak of orange, even if barely for a glimpse, they are overcome with unimaginable pain forcing them back into submission. Fighting Her felt like having their lungs torn clean out. They beg death to claim them for their failure and their weakness. Hallownest was quickly dying and all they could do was watch as the thriving kingdom was brought to ruin. Because of them. Because they weren't pure like they were intended to. Because they let the Radiance take over.

However, even those short moments of clarity left them when one day an odd sensation rippled through their entire being. Something left them. Something they didn't even know was there until they lost it. A presence, cold and comforting, a stark contrast to the blinding brightness of the Radiance. For a while they weren't sure what it was until a grim realisation eventually dawned on them when they searched for the White Palace only to find... nothing. Only emptiness behind a crumbling gate where it once stood tall and majestic. It was the Pale King. It was his presence they felt. And this presence was suddenly snuffed out like a candlelight. Just like that. The Wyrm was gone. His light faded and left Hallownest and its inhabitants behind. How…? The entire Palace, their home along with all memories vanished.. What happened? Could he be… dead…? The mere thought caused them to halt their struggling breath. Not a single part of their being could come to terms with what just happened once they understood. No... No, it’s impossible, it can’t be true!

No amount of denial would change the reality. The Pale King is gone along with the whole court. Everything around ceased, even the earth itself seemed to pause at the disappearance of the Wyrm. Only the brightness of Her domain was surrounding the Hollow Knight as they stared forward into nothingness in disbelief. Half of their shredded mind was clouded by a spectre of a distant memory. Two figures. One bright as the moon itself, the Pale King in all his glory. The other, much shorter, Void incarnate. A small Vessel with two horns crowning its head. The Hollow Knight cannot hear what the Pale King was saying, it was too long ago and their memory seemed to be failing them as of late. All they did remember from that moment, a day or so after their arrival to the White Palace, was exacly what played out before their eyes. The Wyrm absent mindedly rested his hand on the Vessel’s back as he kept talking. A slight weight seemed to fall in the very same place between shoulder blades of the Hollow Knight but no hand was there to offer comfort. From a very far away, they heard the Pale King’s voice, barely a faint echo.

“Until the end of time, they shall always remember what you’ve done for them. As will I...”

In seconds the vision of their past became undone before them, leaving them alone and at the mercy (or its lack thereof) of the Dream Goddess. Their already fragile heart broke thousand times over, the last shreds of their hope faded away and globules of orange pus rolled down their face instead of inky Void tears dripping onto their armor, tarnished by the passage of time. He said he would remember.. Always...

Father… why…?

When the Radiance told them the Pale King abandoned them, they didn't believe Her. They found it inconceivable. He wouldn't leave them on purpose.. Something horrible must've happened. He… he cared… He-… Rearing back, the Hollow Knight once again cried out in dismay with the borrowed voice of the plague.

Why have you… forsaken me…?

Time has lost its meaning that day. Seconds slipped past the shattered Vessel. Weeks passed without notice and the disease raged across the faded land. How long has it been since the departure of the Pale Monarch…? A month, a year… or maybe a decade? Hard to say. The Hollow Knight spent it in a numb haze, unable to wrestle the control the Radiance had over their body, because they simply.. had no will to do so anymore. All they could do on their own was look around the dark chamber but they had no wish to do so either. Instead, they stared at a wall with blank eyes. No sense. No hope. No death. No relief.. Only pain and sorrow. Burning wrath of the Dream Goddess. She lied. The Wyrm has disappeared, possibly perished in some tragedy that brought down the entire White Palace.. If he was gone, where was the release She promised? No, it was no longer about the King. She just wanted the end of Hallownest for the sake of vengeance alone.. This was not a motherly longing for lost children. It was a punishment. How could they have been so foolish…?

No longer did the Hollow Knight find strength to resist. It left them with their beloved father. Did he leave because of their failure…? Or was he truly gone? No longer did the Hollow Knight find the will to look out at their old home. They couldn't muster up the courage to gaze upon the land they failed to protect. But perhaps if they had seen what became of the eternal kingdom, their heart would fully break and maybe the sorrow alone would grant them the peace they begged for for so long now. All they could see was the bright, scorching light. Nothing more, nothing less… Why won't She let them go? A dark, not entirely unwelcome thought crept into their head. If only they could reach their nail.. all it would take was a quick stab through the heart. It rested below them where they had left it years ago, now tarnished and covered in dust, just out of reach. Even if they could grab it though, their only arm remained in chains, immobilized.. Was this a punishment for thinking they can match the strength of the Radiance? If so… they very well deserved it. Gurgling up a pathetic sound, the once great Hollow Knight trembled.

Father… I failed you... I'm sorry…

They thought as though this apology would mean anything or be heard by anyone aside from Her. And She didn't care. But they needed to, wanted to say it. If only they could… Maybe he would hear them then and mercifully grant his child their final, desperate wish.

… please, let me die…

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

There is the first of two chapters. Hope it's decent, I have NO idea how to portray the Hollow Knight. I'm abysmal XD

I know I said it's gonna be a short fic. People who have been following me for a while probably know me well for being a liar but god DAMN. I got a bit carried away and the other chapter isn't going to be shorter :O

#hollow knight #hk the hollow knight #hk pure vessel #hk sealed vessel #hk pale king #the pale king #hk the radiance #infection #I don't see the PK as a complete ass #just so you know #but still shame on him for never hugging THK

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

Whether It Works Out Or Not: Winter’s Cold, Part Two

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Thank you all so much for being here! Enjoy!

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch @cookiethewriter @pedrosbigdorkenergy @thirstworldproblemss @anonymouscosmos @culturalrebel @karmezii @teaofpeach @crookedmoonsaultpunk @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @nelba @scribblenotes76 @toxiicpop @mstgsmy @misty-possum @gallowsjoker @midnightbeauty35 @lackofhonor @renegademustelid @missfronkensteen @newplanetshine

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

Winter’s Cold, Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional distress and self-loathing. Stay safe!]

The first time Arthur really felt...aware, like he was actually inhabiting his body instead of floating above and slightly to the right of it, he realized that he could hear chirping birds. A breeze stirred his hair; there must be a window open nearby.

It dawned on him after several moments that he could breathe. It still hurt, it pained him, but he wasn't hacking and wheezing every second. Dread flooded his soul then; either he was dead, or the law was in the process of meting out the rope for his noose. Bit of a raw deal for all those hellfire preachers if eternal damnation was only some downright mild discomfort (at least after everything else) and a lazy little breeze.

His whole body still felt like it weighed too much to move. The idea of opening his eyes was a distant, faint notion; barely a fledgling consideration in the back of his mind. Arthur was more than content to lay just wherever it was that he had fallen, sunshine wavering in dappled patches across the insides of his eyelids.

He dimly noticed that fabric was covering his mouth and nose. A bandanna, or some kind of mask? To keep him from spreading the infection, he surmised pragmatically. Through the material wafted a scent from his childhood, the alive smell of freshly-cured hay. Beneath it was the ever-present odor of manure, the crisp tingle of pine. So he must be in the mountains somewhere.

Odd. Last he knew, he was being shipped off to the city to be read his last rites. Had they decided to let him convalesce in the wilderness, drag him back from the clutches of death and then set his backside afore the law?

Very odd indeed. But then again, justice had always been more of a performance than a true enforcement of moral integrity.

I sound like Dutch.

He drifted off again. Just thinking was exhausting, like wading through swamp mud.

More medicine. Balm for his chest. A stew, lip of the bowl pressed to his mouth so he could slowly slurp it up. Rich, meaty broth, soothing his throat. How many days had it been?

He couldn't even bring himself to move when he felt the familiar press of a flat blade against his neck. Hot water soaking into his skin, a warm cloth moving in circles to scrub away whatever grime was around his nose and mouth. The person was meticulous, sure strokes carefully ridding the man of the stubble he harbored on his face. How long had it been since he shaved?

Christ alive, Arthur was tired. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to live or not. This caretaker, whoever they were, clearly wasn't letting him go without a fight. But he was so tired.

He wavered for what felt like a lifetime, hovering at the edge of eternity in the green fragrance of curing hay. It was safe here, at any rate. Nothing would harm him in this peaceful tomb. He could rest until he began to feel like he was in control of his body again, and one fateful day, Arthur Morgan finally realized that he wanted to see how much worse living could manage to be.

His eyes opened slowly, squinting against the near-blinding illumination of sunset that played pink against the unfinished beams over his head. Lord, just doing that much had taken the wind out of his sails. Maybe he was already dead.

His eyes rolled shut wearily, blinking open again what felt like moments later to find the place dark. Night had fallen. Time was slipping past him, it would seem. There was a faint taste in his mouth: venison stew with wild carrots, if he had to guess. He didn't even remember eating.

He squinted in the blackness, trying to force his eyes to adjust so he could at least take in his surroundings before he lost consciousness again.

Hay. Everywhere. He appeared to be in a loft of some kind, bales stacked neatly all around the tick he laid on. Night sounds filtered in through the open window, bats squeaking and the booming call of an owl telling him that the hour must indeed be late.

Arthur lapsed back into senselessness once more. He dreamed of hearing violin music and catching sight of a massive, pale buck through the window. It watched him from a far-off hillside, ears flicking back and forth to catch every sound.

He dreamed of Irene. Her smile, her eyes, the kisses in the tent that they had shared...

Maybe, maybe sat like a block of lead in his gut. 'Maybe' was all he had ever had. A chance, a mirage. Pretty words from men and women who had made him feel useful, needed.

So he had poured from himself until he was empty and it still hadn't been enough.

He was a fool. What was it that Irene had said to Jamie? "I'm not letting anyone else dig my grave and usher me into it."

Arthur, in contrast, had practically handed Dutch the shovel on a silver platter.

I gave you all I had.

…

He was aware that someone was nearby, and he managed to open his eyes again for a brief moment. Long enough for him to hallucinate that it was Irene tending to him, Irene giving him whatever horrendous medicine it was and washing away the bitter taste with hot soup and small sips of tea. He must truly be long gone, mad with delirium or fever or the consumption that had wracked his chest until he felt paper-thin.

How would she even be here? How would that have even happened? There was no way.

Arthur almost loathed himself for choosing to live at that moment, because he was clearly missing a few more screws. He knew that some agues raged so strong they could burn the brain right out of a man and he feared that was the case with him.

Not that he'd had much brain to lose in the first place.

Christ, he did wish she was here. He wished he could take her hand and never let her go again.

Allowing her leave that final time was a regret that had haunted him even more prominently than his bitter failure with Mary, for all that he knew there was nothing he could have done to make her stay with him. Irene had been on her own too long, flown too far and high to ever be tied down to some old, miserable bastard again.

Mary had come to know him under false pretenses, and she had never truly reconciled herself with it. In a way, Arthur hadn't either. He had known she wasn't his from the very beginning, had known that he was playing a part or living a lie whenever he was with her. It never would have worked out, and it never did.

But Irene, despite their deceptive start, came to him with a certain honesty. The haphazard performance of masculinity had done little to hide her true nature, the kindness that she claimed to see in him so freely displayed in her as well. It also didn't hide the burdens she carried, though he hadn't understood the sadness in 'Frank's' eyes when they had spoken.

The trials she had gone through...he at least had the gang, but she was wholly alone. She had endured, like a pine tree rooted on a crumbling and wind-whipped bluff. Storms of life howling all around and yet…

And yet, when he had last seen her, she had held herself proudly in Lemieux's mansion, unshaken. The guts and wherewithal that had seen her thus far would continue, and Arthur had wished her nothing but the finest of luck even as he had sent her on her way.

…

There were folded clothes on the floor beside him when next he stirred, and on top of them was a note. Arthur had no idea how long it took him to sit up, never mind move his arm, manipulate his fingers into picking the note up, unfold the note to read it…

Lord, living certainly seemed to require a lot of steps.

Arthur,

Not sure if you'll really be awake today, but I've noticed you moving around a bit of your own volition. Left the clothes in case you feel up to getting dressed. I am uncertain if you'll recall, so I'll remind you that the waste bucket is in the far corner.

The note was unsigned.

Arthur huffed out a breath, clearing his throat experimentally. He reached for the union suit on the top of the pile, planting his face in the article of clothing with a groan as his head suddenly felt too heavy to support. "C'mon Morgan." He encouraged himself, the words thick in his mouth. Shit, how long had he been out for? It was like he had forgotten how to speak.

Just pulling the suit up and over his legs was a task of Herculean proportions. Arthur doggedly kept fighting the urge to pass out, the desire to lay back down and let time zip by again. He had made the choice to live and by God, he would follow through with it even if it killed him.

The longer he worked at getting dressed, the easier it became to keep his eyes open. Socks on over the suit, shirt, pants. His suspenders hung limp at his sides, but he did tuck in his shirt as best as he could after he relieved himself.

Boots. Boots, one tipped over on the space beside the ladder, the other within reach of the bed.

Next, climbing down the ladder. Mercifully the loft was not particularly high. The whole barn seemed rather small as far as barns went, obviously originally built with one stall. A second one appeared to have been hastily grafted onto the building at a later time.

Arthur had to take a breather at the base of the ladder, clinging to it just to keep his balance. His knees felt like they were made out of jelly. Had his boots always been this damn heavy?!

He floundered onward after a moment, grateful for his hat as he emerged into the blinding sunlight of the outside world.

Arthur rubbed his eyes, nearly losing his footing as he did so. He had already been uncertain of the reality of his current situation, and this idyllic scene in front of him wasn't helping matters!

A small paddock stretched out on the left, and a cozy-looking cabin was nestled into the green, flower-dappled glen alongside the barn he had just emerged from. Arthur staggered to the paddock fence for support, draping himself over it. From the shadow by the barn, a shape stirred. He forced himself to focus on it, his eyes widening when the horse meandered lazily out into the sunlight to graze.

"Chase!" Arthur rasped, his voice rough and cracking from disuse. The mare's head jerked up and she looked around. His heart leaped in his chest when she whinnied excitedly at him, trotting across the paddock and bumping her nose against his chest. Arthur held her tightly, cupping her muzzle and scratching beneath her jaw. "That's my sweet girl, my good girl." He murmured, feeling foolish for getting choked up.

There was an explosive snort to his right and a familiar pink nose snuffled over his shoulder. Arthur squinted, turning his head to the side and realizing that it was Bluster. The horse whickered, mouthing at the sleeve of his shirt.

Arthur Morgan was speechless. He must be dead. How else could he have his horse, and Irene's horse besides? He sat there mutely for God only knew how long, just petting Chase with his eyes closed to luxuriate in the sensation of sun on his skin.

Behind him, the wind carried faint sounds to his ears, and he flinched when he caught a child's high-pitched squeal of laughter. Just where the hell was he, if he was indeed alive? What buffoon would nurse someone like him back to health, yet leave him unbound and unguarded? Something was very odd about this whole scenario.

Arthur turned and leaned back on the fence, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun as he looked up at the ridge of the glen. There was an abrupt flash of motion to the left on the edge of the gully, and he watched a woman that he desperately wanted to recognize chase after a child. The little one was fairly shrieking with mirth, scurrying away from their pursuer until they flopped down dramatically and allowed themselves to be caught.

It felt like his heart had left his body, the damn thing soaring and shattering all at once. A girl, it was a little girl, her hair the color of a pale buck. Irene scooped the child up, laughing breathlessly and tossing her into the air before spinning the two of them in a dizzying circle.

Irene.

Arthur swallowed hard. Fate was indeed a cruel mistress if this was the vision he was greeted with upon making his decision to live! He continued to just slouch against the fence, silently observing the duo as they frolicked at the top of the ridge. Irene had flowers in her hair just like she had at the Mayor's little soiree, and he realized dimly that her dark brown curls were much longer. Just how much time had he lost?

He finally mustered up the strength to wave at them and he liked to think that Irene went still out of happiness. In a moment she caught the child up and fairly bolted down the hillside, her skirt hiked around her knees as she ran.

"Arthur!"

Christ, Christ he wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready for the sight of her with a babe on her hip, the agony of maybe, maybe that ripped at his insides. In another life, it might have been his child that she had been playing with. In another life, this might have been the home that they had built together.

But instead, she had gone on and made a fruitful existence without him. He couldn't, wouldn't blame her for it. He had cut her loose, after all.

Irene came to a halt inches away, her chest rising and falling from the effort of her sprint. "Y-You--you're up!" She panted, her smile burying itself in his ribs like a blade. Christ, his heart was too weak for this.

The child in Irene's arms gawked up at him with crystal blue eyes and he tried to muster up a smile, startled when Irene embraced him tightly. He felt her fingers dig into his back, and then her shoulders quivered while she buried her face in his chest. "Oh no, c'mon now Miss Irene." Arthur said hoarsely. "I ain't worth all that fuss, it's okay."

...

"Mama?" Anna asked tentatively. "Mama okay?"

"Mama's fine, love." Irene managed to say, kissing her child's forehead. "Just very happy is all. You remember my friend Mister Arthur, right?"

"Sick." Anna replied, her attempt at a fake cough making Arthur chuckle. "Better now?"

"I'd reckon so, little miss." The man drawled hoarsely. God, that voice. Irene hadn't realized just how much she had missed him. She had seen him every day, of course, nursing him back to health, but he hadn't been conscious for most of it. "S'pose I have your mama to thank for that."

Irene noticed him glancing over her shoulder, like he was expecting someone else to show up. "Your friend, Mister Trelawny--"

Arthur chuffed out a breath through his nose, making Anna giggle. "Friend? Man's a cockroach in a waistcoat." He groused.

"Yes, he mentioned that the two of you may not be as close as he posited. Nonetheless, it's thanks to him that you're here now, alive."

"Really. Huh. So I am alive, then. I wasn't shoah. This place is…" Arthur gestured vaguely around. "S'beautiful, Miss Irene." His tone was melancholy. "Like a dream."

"I'd like to think I chose well, Mister Arthur. It hasn't been easy, but the two of us have made it work." Irene said proudly, nuzzling her nose against Anna's. "My tough little frontierwoman."

"Just...what, you an' the baby?" Arthur asked, his confusion evident.

"Yes. Who else would there be?" Irene replied with her own question, brow furrowed. Arthur blinked down at her. His eyes darted momentarily to Anna, and Irene bit her lip, wondering whether he would put it together immediately.

"I-I jus'...I figured there might be a third person, is all." Arthur stammered.

Irene couldn't help her sad smile, shaking her head at him and extending an arm. "Come inside, Arthur. It's nearly suppertime anyways."

It was so strange, finally having him in the main room of her little house. She had thought about this scenario more times than she could count. Just the walk across the front yard thoroughly tired him out, and the man seemed more than content to doze in one of the kitchen chairs while she put the finishing touches on the evening meal. Obviously it would take time and care for him to regain even a fraction of his former strength. He had been bedridden, or something close to it, for nearly five months!

Anna played noisily on the floor with a few carved horses that Irene had made for her when she was teething, their forms scored with scrapes and marks from the event. The child didn't seem apprehensive about the large man currently nodding off in the chair by the table, which had Irene feeling hopeful. Maybe, just maybe…

"Dinnertime." She said softly, "put away your toys, love."

Anna pouted, holding up a finger. "One?" She bargained, clutching her 'favorite' horse to her chest. "One for Art'ur."

"Oh it's for Arthur now, is it?" Irene teased, wiping her hands off on her apron. "Go on then, you scallywag."

The little girl fairly beamed, placing the horse with a laughable amount of care alongside Arthur's arm. Then, she impatiently bounced in place as Irene fetched the riser for her chair so she would be level with the table when she sat.

"Ah ah, go wash up! You know the rules." Irene instructed the eager child, sending her on her way to the porch.

"She is just the cutest damn thing." Arthur mumbled, almost like he was talking to himself. His fingers idly played along the curves of the little horse by his fork. "How old is she?"

"A touch over two. She was born during the winter." Irene watched Arthur nod absently, and what she was about to say got caught in her throat as Anna toddled back inside.

Arthur accepted the coffee Irene poured him with all the gratitude in the world, his eyes closing in enjoyment as he took his first sip. "Ah, that's good," he sighed. "Ain't nothin' like a decent cup of coffee. Feel like life is comin' back to me."

"Well, don't forget to save room for dinner." Irene buttered Anna a little piece of bread and scooted it across the table to keep her occupied while she loaded two plates with corn, mashed potatoes and a spoonful of precious pork gravy from tomorrow's slow-cooking dinner. "Corn is Anna's favorite, right love?"

Anna nodded, blue eyes wide as she munched on her bread. "Mine!" She announced sharply, scrunching up her nose when Arthur chuckled at her.

"Sweeting, be polite. There's more than enough for all of us, you know that!" Irene chided her daughter, rumpling the little girl's hair fondly after she placed Arthur's plate in front of him. "Always enough here."

Anna's plate, as usual, required a bit more preparing, so she brought it along with her own to her chair beside the child. Anna immediately started digging into the mashed potatoes as her mother carefully shucked the kernels off the cob in neat rows. "Th'nk y'Mama." Anna said through a mouthful of food.

"You're welcome Anna, but slow down. No one will take it from you." With a touch of amusement Irene noticed Arthur visibly slow his pace in response, the man obviously used to wolfing his food. "Drink your water, Anna."

Arthur ate mainly in silence, aside from a few appreciative grunts. He couldn't contain his laughter when Anna started to imitate his sounds, the man apologizing for his poor table manners. "Forgive me, Miss Irene, I've always been awful at eatin' in the presence of polite company."

"Mama says I'm a little piggy." Anna informed Arthur, seeming confused when he burst out laughing again.

"If you're a li'l piggy, Miss Anna, then I must be the biggest boar alive." He said once he managed to rein himself in.

…

Arthur lingered on the front steps, the lantern in his hand ready to light his way back across the yard. He felt exhausted, stuffed with good food and more than ready to get a full night's rest.

So what was he waiting for?

Many thoughts had gone through his head during dinner. How beautiful Irene still looked, how good of a mother she clearly was. Anna was a precocious little thing, those blue eyes bright with the possibility of mischief.

Her eyes…

Arthur didn't dare to hope that one of he and Irene's little diversions had borne fruit, if only because it would throw into question his oh-so-noble attempts at prevention. Had he truly tried as hard as he could to be safe, or was there always that selfish desire in the back of his mind waiting to be acted upon?

He jumped guiltily when the door opened and Irene stepped out, half-turning to face her with a brittle grin. "Howdy ma'am. Little one safely abed, I take it?"

"After a bit of deliberation, yes." Irene sighed, her posture weary. "She's very opinionated for someone who cannot manage eating a carrot unless it has been sliced into wheels. I do fear for the future, Arthur."

The future.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Irene, is...did we…?"

She put a hand on his shoulder, silencing his stammering with a sad little smile. "Later, Arthur. Right now, rest is what you need."

He wanted to deny that, but it was fairly impossible to do so. He was nearly asleep standing up as it was. "Tomorrow?" He bargained through a yawn.

"Tomorrow. I promise."

Summer’s Warmth, Part One

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original female character #high honor arthur #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 epilogue #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 spoilers #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 epilogue #rdr2

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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

Note

and though love sometimes hurts, I still put you first - ordinary people by john legend for ethan and mc, thanks

thanks so much for the request!

Decisions

Part 1

Word Count: 1.9k Warning: angst Summary: This takes place somewhere after OH2 where Ethan and MC started dating.

A/N: I wasn’t going to do a part two to Was It but after every comment was asking for one I couldn’t ignore y’all.

not the best thing i’ve written but thankful to be coming out of my writers block.

________________________________________

Becca didn’t go to work for her next three shifts, taking personal time and swapping clinic hours with her roommates for next week. She just couldn’t bring herself to set foot into the hospital, not yet anyway. Instead, she sat in her room wallowing in her decision.

It was the right thing to do, she convinced herself.

There was so much heartbreak that came with loving Ethan Ramsey - too much heartbreak for one lifetime. Becca was deftly afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle the next blow - the next time her little slice of heaven was struck down to another circle of hell.

Ethan Ramsey was a man that could never settle down. His career and ethics, along with everything he’s ever told her, made that perfectly clear. It was better for her to end this before he left her high and dry once again. What even would a life be with an emotionally unavailable attending?

Her thoughts reeled, over and over again trying to find salvation in her decision.

Was she really in love with Ethan or was it a continued stage of infatuation for Dr. Ramsey, her medical hero? When did their honeymoon stage end, and when was she left with this sinking feeling of no return in the pit of her stomach?

Her mind replayed all of the moments where they had the privilege of just being Ethan and Becca - just people, not colleagues. All those sweet hours they spent as friends and lovers. All those wonderful moments that gave her a false sense of futuristic hope.

They both had a lot of room for growth. Ethan had a decade longer to prepare himself - to focus on his career and get ready for love and the long term commitment that comes with it. But Becca’s still only 27. She has a bright career ahead of her - something Ethan has always been trying to protect. And although she’d never admit it, she was thankful for it. He gave her everything she could possibly need so she can achieve her dreams. What if they were both mistaken? What if, deep down, her dreams all led to a path with a family - a few little feet running around the grassy backyard by the bay she’d save up for. Something Ethan was adamant he could never settle down for, no matter how much he would like to want to. It was another reason to go.

For her own sanity Becca needed to walk away.

She spent her whole life waiting for a love as great as Ethan. She never thought it was possible to be so completely obsessed and content in the arms of one person. How one person's presence could soothe all the current issues she’d be facing. She kept trying to convince herself she’d find a better match - someone with Ethan’s wit and intellect, his attractive features and banter. Someone who’s fingers fit just a bit better between her own and wanted the same dream as she.

In those days she wanted to call him and take everything back. But this wasn’t a movie. There was no fairytale ending, against her better judgment she knew that. Becca was confused and didn’t know what to do - about her heart or about work. How was she meant to work closely every single day for the next few years with the man whose heart she just broke?

God this hurts.

Is love supposed to hurt this much?

Ethan Ramsey was considered a god among doctors and aspiring medical professionals. His quick intellect and curt tendencies were admired much to his disapproval. The Ethan Ramsey did not believe in idolatry, especially among physicians. Ethan was just an ordinary person, sitting at his desk completely gobsmacked.

The event from the other night is still very much ingrained in his brain. He’d played those last few days over and over again, dissecting every little detail for any sign of dissatisfaction. Maybe if he could pin-point the moment her mind changed he’d be able to salvage their relationship. He needed to salvage their relationship for his own sanity.

They didn’t argue. They never really argued. Sure they had spats and quarrels but never over anything larger than life. They left as quickly as they started, with one of them admitting their wrong - usually Ethan. How was he meant to apologize if he didn’t know what he did to offend her so deeply?

Ethan sat at his desk a few streets away from the woman of his dreams and so unsure of what to do. His gut feeling was to flee - to accept a position elsewhere and let her have Edenbrook. These days Edenbrook needed Dr. Lao more than him. He has done all he could and it’s her turn to shine. But Naveen, he couldn’t leave Naveen. And deep down he knew Edenbrook was his home, more so than any other physical location has ever been. Aside from Rebecca. Rebecca has always been home.

What was Ethan supposed to do about their professional relationship now? He spent so long dreading the implications of having a relationship that he never thought to think about what would become if it had ended.

With a heavy heart and a sigh, he pulled the small rectangular black box out of his desk drawer, turning it over in his hands.

Where did I go wrong?

He always has and always will put Dr. Rebecca Lao first. So where does that leave Ethan now?

It was so quiet in the Diagnostics office between the still air and Ethan’s deprecating internal monologue that they didn’t notice one another. Becca gingerly entered the office, not noticing him sitting at the desk and Ethan still too transfixed by the box in his hand.

As if on cue, their cheeks naturally began to flush with heat before lifting their heads to let their eyes meet. Dark surprised brown meeting with deeply conflicted blue.

“I’m sorry,” they said in breathless unison.

Becca quickly added, “I didn’t think you’d be here. It’s your day off.” She stood up taller, mustering up all the courage she had left, and let the glass door slip from her fingers and close behind her.

Ethan tried to tear his eyes away from her but was frozen in place. He didn’t anticipate seeing her, not until he solved the case of her misery. Words fell off his tongue in an indifferent response, “A lot of work to do, I’ve been down a team member.”

She stood there awkwardly, wringing her fingers.

“Can I help you with anything?” he added when she didn’t advance.

“I was just coming to grab the new case file. Hirata said it was on your desk.”

He grabbed the lonely file from the edge of his desk and stood, carefully making his way over to her. Becca met him halfway, hesitantly. She held her hand out to snatch the hefty document but he pulled it up, using his height to keep it out of reach.

“Can we talk?”

“I don-”

He cut her off, “What happened?” A bated pause. Becca bit her lip, anticipating his next words. They were the words she herself couldn’t fully comprehend. “Why did you leave?”

“Ethan… don’t,” she warned, crossing her arms over her chest. The file now a distant memory. Ethan was within range she could feel the warmth radiating off of him even if he was three feet away. His gravitational pull was and will always be so strong.

Ethan’s bloodshot eyes bore her down, “Tell me. You owe me an explanation.”

Her eyes were fixated on the Hopkins Diploma on the wall behind him. “I told you,” she shrugged. “I can’t trust you not to break my heart - not again.”

He took in the feisty woman before him. Her scrubs hung off her body and the ever-present purple bags under her eyes certainly matched his own. Her large brown eyes were showing the after effects of days of tears. Ethan reached out for her with his free hand. He hated seeing her like this.

His hand ghosted her own. “Come back to me, Rookie,” he implored in the softest voice one would never have imagined came from the stern doctor. “We’ll make this work.”

She let his hand linger before pulling hers back tightly close to her body.

Becca watched as Ethan’s face fell. Any ounce of form he wanted to keep completely vanishing. Sadness coated his features and Ethan Ramsey never looked more human. It pained her to see him so vulnerable, though not enough to abandon her decision.

“I’ve heard that one before…” Becca muttered.

“I promise. I’ll do better.”

With a long sigh of the air she did know she was holding in since he tried to take her hand she told him curtly, “I’ve given you so many chances, E. You keep pushing me away and I can’t keep crawling back.” Finally her eyes met with his once more. “I deserve better.”

Without a moment's hesitation he agreed, “I know. You deserve so much more than me but…” He dropped the file to the floor with a thump and a scatter. His hands needed to be on her, to make her understand. But he couldn’t just grab her that would be wrong, he needed her permission. Instead he balled his fists as tightly as possible. “But you can’t help who you love.”

There those words were again. That four letter word she had waited so long to hear but he’d never vocalized in the right of circumstances. “And, as I’ve learned, though love sometimes hurts, I still and will always put you first.” His feet carried him towards her on their own volition. Ethan made his decision then and there; if Becca couldn’t take him back then Edenbrook wasn’t big enough for the both of them. “You can shine brighter if I step down.”

“Step down?” Becca’s jaw dropped. “What’re you talking about?”

A sad, ghostly smirk appeared on his supple lips, “It’s going to take some time to get over you. I’ll consult somewhere else for a while.”

There he was, leaving again. His selfish selflessness would be the death of her. But this time she didn't feel sad or abandoned, Becca felt empowered. She knew.

“Stay,” she told him. “We can work together.”

He wanted to ask her to clarify, but she continued on.

“What’s that?” she looked over him to the black box sitting on his desk.

“It’s nothing.”

Becca raised an eyebrow, “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Ethan had no idea which way to go - if he withheld he just might always regret never asking her, if he told her he didn’t think he’d be able to handle the rejection of a second chance.

He didn’t get the chance to ask. In true Becca fashion she went ahead and opened the box anyway. Her fingers brushed over the silver, trying to accept if this was a fantasy she conjured in a sleep-deprived state or the reality she had been manifesting for months. In fact it was a declaration straight from heaven - her chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, anxiety setting in. She made a terrible miscalculation.

“Is this…?”

He nodded.

“We both made mistakes.” He crossed the distance between them, their bodies only inches from one another and Becca’s back pressed into his desk. “I love you. More than scientifically possible.” he declared and a crack of smile broke through their hesitant expressions. Ethan removed the small bit of shiny silver out of it’s makeshift container still held tightly in her hands, holding it delicately between his fingers Ethan asked,

“Move in with me?”

Becca’s eyes glowed, every doubt she ever had seemingly vanished all over again.

“Yes.”

________________________________________

Taglist: @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @aylamreads @binny1985 @ramseysno1rookie @interobanginyourmom @queencarb @perriewinklenerdie @rookiefromedenbrook @eramsey28 @choicesficwriterscreations @heauxplesslydevoted @schnitzelbutterfingers @purpledragonturtles @ramseyandrys @ermidc @mrsdrakewalkerblog @doilooklikeiknow @overwhelminglyaquarius @drethanramslay @edgiestwinter @rookieoh @lucy-268 @mvalentine @lilyvalentine

A/N: if it’s not obvious the silver is a key not a ring 👀

#open heart #open heart fanfic #choices open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #choices oph2 #oph #oph ff #ff #ohsy #requests #choices fanfic

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atomicblasphemy · 3 years

Text

Chamomile {Part VII}

Eda and Amity share a cup of tea

The girl didn’t respond. Her head was still going a million miles an hour after hearing Eda’s closing words. After everything she herself had said. This woman, this perfect stranger for the most part. She had told her things she never fathomed she would ever tell anyone. She had been content with the idea of having Luz as a crush, she convinced herself that that would be all she could strive for. All she deserved. Pining from afar. She made peace with being a Blight, with her green hair, and all that this name represented. Still, this woman showed that this mask was but a thin veil. And when the girl herself looked into her very own abyss whilst standing next to Eda, she couldn’t feel the expected repulsion. Eda showed no signs of feeling such things, so why would her? She looked into her own abyss, but it was empty, there was nothing there whatsoever, nothing to look back at her. She looked into her own abyss and couldn’t help but feel as though she should have been looking someplace else all along. Then, through Eda’s help, she realized that that chasm wasn’t everything there was.

Eda was almost leaving the kitchen. The sound of her heels clacking on the wooden floor, further driving the point that their conversation had ended. All she knew about her were the tall tales she had heard scattered here and there, nothing substantial and, specially after tonight, nothing she could vouch for. The footsteps growing ever more distant.

Yet, her mind was made. She felt something for the woman, a kinship she unsuccessfully looked for in her own flesh and blood for all of her fourteen years. She hadn’t forced the girl to say anything, There was no blackmail, no backhanded tricks, none of the familiar coercion. Eda was supposed to be a criminal, the scum of society, but she did none of the tricks the girl would have associate with one fitting this description. On the contrary, what the girl said, she said it willingly. What the girl said, she meant all of it. What the girl said, it needed to be said. She needed to voice the thoughts and clear her throat, clogged for so long, turning her into a gunpowder keg on the edge of exploding if even the slightest extra pressure was added.

Eda was the first one who offer to listen, maybe the first one capable of that. And that’s all she did. The girl knew no explosions would come. She wouldn’t have to meet any dramatic fallout, no blood and guts to mourn when the next drop becomes one too many. That woman, for some uncanny mysterious reason, made sure that would not be the case. The girl couldn’t remember any kindness of this sort.

Eda saw Amity. She saw the Blight too. Not because she had to show her either, not for any tacit obligation but out of pure volition. And she only left when it was for the girl’s own benefit.

In the girl’s mind, although justifications for Eda’s generosity were still foggy, the older witch’s kindness was something to be cherished. Something she was grateful for. She grew so used to the cold that the warmth, first from the daughter then from the mother, felt addictive, she would need more of this. And perhaps this was something she could dub a choice. The ones Eda had pointed out over their conversation stemmed from guts, maybe even from a not yet quite developed rebellion against the greenness of her being. This time, however, the meaning and intention were much clearer to her. It was possible, and that’s the gift she received, first from a daughter, then from a mother.

She jolts up, a long kept storm brewing. A girl, liberated from merciless fate, ran. Eda stood at a juncture at the bottom of the stairways, a path leading up, the one the girl was to take; another leading to the house’s small library and to the living room. For now, the one the girl looked for stood in the crossroads, much like herself. A tall woman, elegant, if uncompromising, youthful, if having had seen so much more than the girl, kind if having no reason to be so. It was as if she expected the girl, as if their last meeting for the night was to take place at that juncture and nowhere else. She showed no signs of being bothered by having the daughter of a pair of life time rivals sullen her dress with what she still had failed to voice, despite the long conversation. Years materialized in a pair of everflowing streams from the girls eyes as Eda held her, the difference in their heights never more evident. She really saw a lot of herself in that girl. She would let her sob and tarnish the dress, that didn’t matter. Maybe it was Eda’s imagination, but she could have sworn to have heard a few “thank you”s in between the visceral sounds reverberating in her womb.

But eventually even that was to run its course. Pushing her away, Eda knelt in front of the girl their eyes leveled at the same height. Holding the girl’s face between her hands, wiping away with her thumbs those few tears that resisted the fabric of her dress. She had nothing else to tell this Amity. She could only repeat her final closing words.

“Go get some rest, you need it, you need a break. You’ll have a big day tomorrow, Amity Blight.”

Seeing the woman’s back disappear into the the bowels of the house, the girl turned to face the stairway. A narrow path leading upwards, to what may just be the biggest decision she had to make so far. She had no name, not here, not now, not yet. But she had her feet, and she could take the first step. The ones following coming more naturally as she shortened the distance between herself and the destination she had chosen.

Luz still laid there, the same relaxed smile on her sleeping face, her hand still open midway between herself and where the Blight had lied earlier. Eda was right, she had a big day tomorrow, she would need as clear a head as she could afford. The girl, the young witch, laid back down again facing the human. She would reach out her hand, shorten the distance even further. But only eventually, not now. She’d need a name before that could happen.

“I thought you left.”

Luz’s eyes sluggishly opened. The girl feared that the girl may have overheard her conversation with her mother. A short emotion that she quickly got the handle of. A warmth stubbornly rising to her face nonetheless.

“Of course not. I’m looking forward to tomorrow, why would I leave?”

To her surprise, her normal abashedness in front of the most powerful human in the Boiling Isles was starting to give way to something else. The familiar burn to her cheeks still unrelenting now.

“I thought you went with King to steal that helicopter he was talking about. Then you’d go to Alcatraz rescue Katara.”

“I… have no idea what no idea what any of that means, Luz.”

The girl answered, particularly curious about the word helicopter. In the morning, she’d have to ask Luz what that was, or maybe King. Maybe that would be more effective than a handful cupcakes for getting into his good graces. Her hand, but a few inches from the one she wanted to hold. What insecurities she had regarding Luz’s knowledge of her conversation with Eda gone altogether. But holding it now was not what she truly wanted, she’d do it only when she knew for certain she herself was the cause for the human’s smile.

“That’s nice, really nice. I’m glad you’re here though. Good night, Amity.”

Luz’s voice falling to a barely audible whisper at the last word. Still, Amity could hear it echoing in her skull. Her mind was clear.

“Good night, Luz.”

Amity finally closes her eyes, slumber fast approaching as she realizes how tired she had truly been. This was a promise of a dreamless night. Just as muscles she never knew were so long started relaxing after so much time, realizing the impossible lightness on her shoulders. Amity needed the rest.

She feels fingers tightening around her own, just as consciousness started to be blur. She doesn’t open her eyes, she knows who they belong to. She was still awake, if barely. She could already dream, she was already doing that. A smile on her face and her belly full of their favorite tea, sleep at last reaches Amity Blight.

{THE END}

#ketsu #the owl house #edalyn clawthorne #amity blight #luz noceda

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tonystarktogo · 5 years

Text

“It’s never gonna be over.” They are a practiced liar in it only for her own gain, an amoral mercenary who doesn’t play well with others and a business shark on a warpath. [If there is such a thing as a match made in Hell, they are it.]

Natasha stares at the number on her bank account — well, one of them — in stunned silence, too numb to feel the happiness, joy, ecstatic shock that is probably appropriate for a moment such as this.

As a grifter — a damn good one at that, Natasha strives for nothing less than perfection in her chosen craft — Natasha is used to being surrounded by wealth and money, extravagance and shameless posturing. It’s basically her job description.

But there’s a lot of zeros and then there’s a hell of a lot of zeros. It’s too much, the amount far too high to feel real. The kind of money that goes beyond wealthy, beyond filthy, stinking rich. Tony’s rich, Natasha knows that. Everyone knows that. Or, well, he used to be. Back before he sold his properties and put all his money into saving Stark Industries, only to turn around and retire from his position, sell his stock to his successor and disappear out of the public eye.

[Everyone in the industry knows there’s more to it than that. Everyone knows there’s something shady about the way Tony Stark left his own company — some say of his own volition, some say his hand was forced. No one is stupid enough to believe that the murder of his assistant preceding those changes is in any way or shape a coincidence.

But Natasha is one of the few who has run into Tony Stark since then — or rather the ruin of what used to be Tony Stark. He goes by Anton, these days, and that he smiles a hell of a lot less is the least of the changes. As such Natasha isn’t forced to rely on unconfirmed rumors and gossip. She knows damn well that Stane did something unforgivable. And didn’t have the smarts — or the guts — to put Tony Stark down when he could.

He’ll regret that weakness one day, of that Natasha has no doubt. If there is a man out there, that will one day turn Tony Stark into a killer, it is Obadiah Stane.]

The point is, even for the old Tony Stark this would amount to an indecent fuck-ton of money. For your usual mortal — which Natasha in spite of all her talents is — it’s the kind of sum you vaguely dream about because you can’t even picture what it might look like. What it might mean.

Now here they are.

“We’re gonna be set for life when this is all over,” Natasha mutters. Tries to work through the confusing mixture of disbelief, shock, relief, exhilaration and amusement this seemingly innocuous number evokes in her. To understand how she feels about this, not just the situation itself but its implications.

She’ll never have to work again. She’ll never have to do anything she doesn’t want to again. And — far more important — she’ll be able to do anything she wants.

This? This is what Natasha’s been working towards, been dreaming of all her life. It’s what every grifter wants, really. Every criminal even. This is the mythical big score. The one everyone always talks about and most never, ever achieve.

[It should feel more satisfying, shouldn’t?]

And yet, despite all that Natasha isn’t sure what to do with it. She’d assumed it would take her several more years yet to reach this moment. [And even then, the payoff she would’ve considered acceptable would’ve been much, much lower.] It feels almost too easy.

Natasha forces herself to tear her gaze away from the screen. The number won’t change and it’s not wrong, she’s already run those checks a dozen times. While her temporary colleagues have remained quiet — perhaps caught up in their own shock, though considering their identity, that doesn’t seem likely.

Anton isn’t smiling.

It’s such an odd, little thing to stick out to her, and yet it’s the first thing Natasha notices. After all, people usually smile when they’re holding a payout of more millions than they knows what to do with. Not that it surprises Natasha.

[She hasn’t seen Anthony Stark smile since the day Pepper Pott bled out in his arms.]

Anton’s staring at her now, not avoiding eye contact for once. An unvoiced challenge. [Natasha’s never been good of letting those go unanswered. And it irks her, just a bit, that he knows her well enough to know this already, even though she’s already decided she doesn’t mind playing along. For a bit.]

"There’s no way Hammer put this much aside," Natasha states the obvious. "Even if we’d taken his company for everything it got, no way would we have made this much money off one job."

"Or maybe you’ve been working the wrong jobs." Anton smirks when she rolls her eyes in response. "Come on, I’m a motherfucking Stark. You can’t seriously think I don’t have any tricks up my sleeve. Playing with the stock market? I’ve been doing that shit since I was fourteen and contrary to what my esteemed former board members like to think, I’ve learned a lot over the past decade."

And the thing is, Anton wears casual arrogance like second skin and just like his infernal goatee and those ridiculously fancy suits he’s so fond of, he makes it look good.

As if to underline Natasha’s point, Anton continues with a simple "All of this?" accompanied by a careless wave of his hand. "There was no way I was gonna let us walk out of this job with anything less. It’s the least of what we’re owed."

There’s something in Anton’s eyes that sends a by now familiar thrill down her back – because Natasha knows that cold edge. Knows Anton’s brilliant mind that constantly works on fifteen problems at once. Knows even now, with this little game of theirs finished [a stunning victory, as though it could’ve been anything else] he is already setting up the next move. [The next target.]

Natasha has met men on a warpath before and Anthony Edward Stark meets every single criteria. She doesn’t need to understand how he thinks exactly — doubts anyone could, the man’s been called many things, but his unofficial title as a genius has been hard-earned — to know that somewhere in that pretty, pretty head of his, Anton’s keeping book of every offense committed against him and his. Is slowly but surely working through a list only he knows the full extend of.

[Stane was a fool. Part of Natasha — the part that has watched Anton break himself apart over the last fourteen days — hopes she’ll be there when Anton finally, inevitably turns his attention to him.]

But now is not the time for these things. With that in mind, Natasha forces a teasing grin on her lips, keeps her eyes shadowed but her words light. "Yes, yes, we all know you’re amazing."

Even Barnes snorts at the dryness of her tone, though Anton, at least, is unbothered.

"And don’t you forget it."

"Well, then." Natasha catches herself before she involuntary glances down at her phone’s screen again, still not convinced that this money is real. Is hers. "I suppose this is it."

Catches the eyes of Barnes, then Anton because they deserve that much. Working with competent partners is always a pleasure. And though Barnes prefers too much brute force for her taste and there’s a ruthlessness to Anton’s machinations that goes far beyond Natasha’s own cool practicality, she’s enjoyed this job. [More than she thought she would.]

"It could be."

To her genuine surprise, it’s Anton who says those words. [The same Anton whose first words to Natasha were 'I don’t do teams’ with casual derision.] But there’s no doubt he means them — means what they imply — else Anton wouldn’t have spoken up at all.

A quick glance towards Barnes confirms what Natasha has assumed: He’ll let her take the lead on this conversation, if only because it means he won’t have to talk himself. Barnes is a man of very few words indeed.

"What else is there to do?" Natasha obligingly asks. "The job is done. We’re done. It’s over."

[She knows those words are a lie, of course. Knows that big score or not, it was never just about the money. You don’t become a world-class grifter wanted in seven countries and counting just because you need money. Maybe that’s how it started — and sure, the riches are nice to have — but Natasha loves it. Loves the rush. Loves reading the mark, enticing it, blinding it. Loves pulling off a job and getting away with it against all odds.

It’s been less than ten minutes, but Natasha doesn’t need time. She already knows that, millions or not, she won’t stop now. Wouldn’t know where to start, even if she wanted to.]

“It’s never gonna be over.” Anton says it absently, matter-of-fact. "Not for me."

A simple acknowledgement of a truth Natasha already knows. [Men like Anton, they don’t stop half-way through. They don’t stop at all. And perhaps she should know better than to get involved with someone so hell-bent on revenge, but. Hell was always gonna be her ultimate destination anyway. Why not enjoy the ride?]

The way Anton looks at her, at Barnes, there’s no missing the implication. The unspoken offer. The warning.

You can walk away now if you want. [Get out while you still can.]

A sensible person would’ve taken him up on that offer. A sensible person would walk away.

“Good.” Barnes hums. “I’d be bored to death if I didn’t have to pull your ass out of a fire.” Light and easy, everything he shouldn’t be and usually isn’t. [Like he isn’t committing to a cause without a take-back option.]

Natasha thinks she hates Barnes for that, a little. For the light in his eyes that never dims, no matter how much blood he spills. For how easy he makes it seem, like he really just makes that decision in the spur of the moment, because he likes Anton well enough and doesn’t mind sticking around some more.

[Like he doesn’t care at all about all the ways in which this can and will blow up in his face.]

Anton raises a questioning eyebrow at Natasha. She licks her lips. Thinks of the life she can afford now, somewhere far, far away, without an extradition agreement to any of the countries she wouldn’t like to revisit. The comfortable, even extravagant life she could lead. [Thinks of the bloodied smile on Barnes lips, the way Anton’s eyes lit up when Hammer broke.] Shrugs.

“You’re not completely incompetent. Sure. What’s one more job?”

AN: I hope you’re all safe and healthy and that this fic will be a pleasant distraction for everyone who’s currently trying very hard to keep calm and carry on. Please take care of yourselves, lovelies!

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phoenixtakaramono · 3 years

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This was the second time they’d held hands. Fingers threaded together, palms touching. A significant amount of information could be communicated in the simple act of taking someone’s hand—the shape and texture of it, the roughness or softness of the life they’d led, and the strength or fragility of their grip. Luo Binghe would remember the feeling of that pale hand gripping his tightly for the rest of his life.

The mist billowed under Luo Binghe the moment he was allowed entry into the dream realm of the divine. Instantly, he was besieged with the feeling of falling into a frozen lake. The cold was a shock through his body, forcing his hand to convulsively clamp down as he stumbled.

Foolish, Luo Binghe berated himself. To have been finally welcomed inside the dream realm of a celestial being meant this version of his shizun had thought highly of Luo Binghe and his constitution. Yet instead of a composed and dignified air, Luo Binghe had just shown his weak side.

Shen Yuan halted midstride. Concern was written upon those white brows upon seeing his reaction.

It was, nonetheless, an opportunity. Luo Binghe forced an amiable smile as he pretended to be oblivious, masking any sign of his discomfort as he leaned against Shen Yuan’s weight. The sensation of pins-and-needles assailing him wasn’t something he couldn’t tolerate, but it was unpleasant. Except for their one point of contact, no part had been spared. His gaze lingered on the long scholarly fingers wrapped trustingly around his, before sweeping a glance over their new surroundings.

He felt like he’d stepped into a world composed of silk screens. Ahead, the fine mist passing through the painted scenery shrouded the outline of the tall mountain range and forest. Even the walls of the buildings were composed of firm brushstrokes and soft ink wash.

Since Luo Binghe had difficulty walking, Shen Yuan had to support him. Both men, mutually depending on each other, took slow steps forward.

Droplets of water splashed quietly from their strides as Shen Yuan guided him in the direction of whatever he’d wanted Luo Binghe to see. Like black ink that had been dipped into clear water, the transparent surface was beginning to darken with each tread that Luo Binghe took.

He stared down at his feet. The sight of the ink and water swirling into one another as though they were made to be together gave rise to the tide of emotions which had been circulating within his mind.

In the newly fallen darkness, he could sense his companion had fallen into another state of deep contemplation. As the two men disembarked in companionable silence, Luo Binghe took a long, measuring look at the landscape—at the secrets hiding within the fog, behind the translucent silks.

The atmosphere was incomparably resplendent and harmonious, yet it painted an undeniable fact about his companion. Knowledge could be gleaned of how this revered existence perceived the outside world. Life was a flow of changes—transient and ephemeral. Being in this realm didn’t feel real, with the indifference of an observer who was transcendent and so far removed from the mortal scale.

They were truly opposites—not only in their physical appearance and status, but also in how their dream realms manifested.

“...You’ve always had an unruly habit to roam and draw unnecessary attention to yourself!” An insidious and vicious whisper brushed against Luo Binghe’s mind like a wisp of smoke. “ It’s impressive you can even move so well inside this barrier. To think you’d chase him here on impulse!”

Hearing the litany of grievances, Luo Binghe hid the blade that was his smile. Unlike himself, he had no doubt that his senior might have been exorcised had he not taken refuge in Luo Binghe.

Because however convincingly Meng Mo conveyed his displeasure, his voice was nonetheless weakened by the barrier. He was merely being crotchety to maintain appearances.

Shen Yuan had made it clear that his invitation into his dream was extended to Luo Binghe only. With that one remark addressing the senior dream demon, and by performing the gesture of taking his hand, it couldn’t have been even more obvious what he’d wanted.

Earlier, Luo Binghe had gambled that on this fateful evening that the celestial fortuneteller would have no choice but to attend to his growing fatigue. His guard would be lowered and that was when the opportunity would present itself.

The practice of invading and manipulating a person’s dreams was nothing new. With his secret tutelage cultivating on the demonic path, beginning when he’d been a mere Cang Qiong Mountain sect disciple, he had learned to infiltrate many minds. Several had been his lovers—the first being his shījiě, accidental as it had been pulling his martial sister along with him—although the treatment his women received was far more considerate than the cruel methods he inflicted upon all those who opposed him.

He had seen the duplicity of people’s hearts and reproduced illusions of varying natures. He’d learned how to lure others when they were at their most defenseless and be able to find their worst fears and memories to inflict the maximum psychological torment. With his enemies who were impervious to physical torture, few could claim immunity upon being confronted with their own inner demons. And with his lovers, he could skim their memory fragments and indulge any spring dreams either of them had fantasized about, causing romantic feelings to overflow.

Because unlike the waking world, the dream realm was honest.

The capability to doubt was stripped away. Memories could be spied on. Falsehoods were exposed. And no secrets could be kept from him. Oftentimes one’s impulses could not be held back within the dream realm.

It was a glimpse into one’s truest state.

Meng Mo’s withered voice interrupted his thoughts.

“The ways of those of the Heavenly Realm are mysterious—but they are proud and have always held contempt for our kind. I know you are captivated by him, but be more prudent in choosing your words around him. Don’t be muddled in the head just because you believe he can replace the late Qing Jing Peak Lord….” Ridicule had crept into Meng Mo’s tone. “His looks aren’t bad but to have aspirations of eating the tofu of someone who bears the farseeing, discerning eyes of the Heavens…. Your ambition is bold, as is your guts. This elder doesn’t know whether to be impressed or scold you for your shamelessness.”

Although his lips had thinned into a white line, Luo Binghe remained silent.

Water shaped its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flowed. Tonight, many of his initial plans had been waylaid. Although he couldn’t have predicted its trajectory, he wasn’t discontent with the final outcome. He’d gained information that would be invaluable to him—and he’d finally found his shizun.

There had been a quiescent anticipation in the night as Luo Binghe waited like a spider spinning its web, searching and reaching for the only mind of this residence who was of interest to him, until he’d finally sensed the faintest reverberation of the otherworldly and ephemeral—a presence that could only belong to him.

And he’d pulled.

As someone who used to humbly occupy the Mortal Realm, never in his imagination did Luo Binghe expect he could claim success to the achievement of accessing the dream realm of divinity.

The rush of triumph had been dampened once, upon seeking Shen Yuan, Luo Binghe encountered a Qi-condensed barrier—a mental defense meant to repel demonic influences. Impenetrable even against the combined efforts of himself and his senior who had centuries worth of infiltration experience, no matter how much he’d concentrated—redirecting the violent and rough flow of his Qi into something more finessed—he was unable to cross the boundary.

Luo Binghe had been stuck at an impasse. Breaching the barrier would require a much greater display of force, inflicting irreparable mental harm onto the dreamer.

He’d realized the barrier had to stay.

The passage of time was immeasurable in the world of dreams, but with every moment that had passed without the precious person inside revealing himself, the fear had mounted. Perhaps Shen Yuan had predicted such an incident would occur and had taken precautionary measures.

In hindsight, his action had indeed been too rash.

It was inevitable that they would be going their separate ways in the coming morning. Moreover, the last deep impression he’d leave behind would cast Luo Binghe in an extremely bad light, with Shen Yuan withdrawing back into seclusion and harboring a grudge for being taken advantage of. The opportunity would have slipped through Luo Binghe’s fingers like granules of sand.

All would be lost. Faced with the possibility of being abandoned, Luo Binghe had been inconsolable. The tension in the air around him had been so thick, it’d presented an oppressive miasma in his own dream realm.

The giant boulder which weighed down his heart vanished when, with the keen senses of a cultivator, his five senses had detected a ripple in the fog.

From faraway, he’d been spellbound. He’d seen a silhouette resembling that from legend, with the unattainable white moon that was Shen Yuan descending down from the stars which glistened like shards in the night.

Despite the offense, he had chosen to come to Luo Binghe from his own volition.

Another realization had struck Luo Binghe. Seeing the regal figure out of his immaculate finery—dressed down to his inner clothing and with his moonlit hair undone, without a headpiece in sight—was a rare sight beyond measure. Aside from the servants who tended to their master, no one else must have seen him in such a compromising state.

It’d also been fascinating observing how someone of the Nine Heavens would interact within his world; Shen Yuan had assimilated quickly. Wandering aimlessly in an unfamiliar environment, his appearance reminded Luo Binghe of the purest white snow, high above and unreachable, the likes of which remained untarnished. Such bearing was similar to what Luo Binghe expected for somebody of high status. Like a fairy unaffected by mortal matters, Shen Yuan’s manner had been aloof and vague. The only difference was that his attitude toward Luo Binghe had not been uncaring. Courtesy had been given, even knowing who he was—and what he’d done, and would be capable of doing.

There was no one who could deny Shen Yuan’s appearance was picturesque. When he was smiling, it was as moving as spring flowers and the autumn moon. When he was lost in thought, he projected an air of melancholy—solemn and ambiguous, like the subject of a painting one could only admire from a distance.

“...Xiōng dì.” A cultured and steady voice trickled into Luo Binghe’s awareness, pulling him from his deep reflection.

An invigorating energy suddenly blanketed him. All discomfort fled, replaced with the refreshing feeling of a spring brook engulfing him. Shen Yuan had fallen a step back so that they were now shoulder to shoulder.

Shen Yuan’s gaze was appraising as his breaths feathered the fur. “I had not expected you being here would be strenuous on you. Please take care of your body.” A hand went up to clasp him on the shoulder. “Endure the skinship. I think, for now, it’s better to stay close to me until you can stand on your own. You’ll be safer by my side.”

Luo Binghe inhaled sharply.

“Hoh. How considerate!” Meng Mo’s dryness filtered into his thoughts. “He treats you very well. Such goodwill. He certainly has a good heart.”

Stay out of this, Luo Binghe rebuked. You are not invited to take part in this conversation. Scram!

Replying in the affirmative though, he ducked his head. The hidden meaning of Shen Yuan’s words had not been lost on him. He simply hadn’t expected how protective Shen Yuan was of him.

In this lifetime, Luo Binghe would like to think he could recognize his shizun even if he turned into ashes—or took on a different appearance. Even the slow-witted were able to see that Shen Yuan was of different temperament, reminding Luo Binghe of the other “Shen Qingqiu” of the mirror world. This fortuneteller had a sincere and utterly honest personality, thoughtful and broadminded. Even when blood was shed, he didn’t condemn Luo Binghe.

This night was the first time they’d met, but it was undeniable that there was a flow to their conversations—as though they were not strangers but were, instead, dear friends reuniting. It was as if someone had seen the unfulfilled desires of his heart and had crafted him a companion to be compatible. Being with Shen Yuan felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Embracing him had felt natural.

Although he was a man, Shen Yuan had fit so perfectly in his arms. The firmness and strength of his body. Warm and solid. Alive and real. It hadn’t been the same as hugging a soft feminine figure but even now, Luo Binghe could recall how it’d felt folding him into his arms, at the simple pleasure of sharing body heat. Of inhaling his clean scent.

Being that close to him, the intimacy of such an act, had been so strangely powerful the connection between them had felt tangible.

Here was somebody meant to be unattainable and unreachable, whom mere mortals never would’ve had the fortune to meet unless they’d managed to ascend to the highest realm. Knowing that he was supposed to keep all divinity at a respectable distance made his awareness of what he was doing seem all the more enchanting.

There was no such thing as a string of coincidences. Luo Binghe held no illusion of what this really was; a second chance was being offered to him. Since they have finally encountered, it must have meant they were fated. Since fated, one must live up to the fate that the Heavens have bestowed.

(Cont.)

The rest can be read on AO3!

#bingyuan #svsss #scumbag system #scum villain's self saving system #人渣反派自救系统 #luo binghe #the untold tale #fanfic #fanfiction #phoenixtakaramono #Look forward to reading 56 pages in this massive update

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launchsteinward · 4 years

Text

This is for the MB challenge by @somebodyalreadytookthis2

Wednesday:

A Welcomed Guest

"Nighty?"

Nightmare's eyes lit up.

"Dream!" He exclaimed looking around, unable to locate his brother in the vast expanse of darkness.

Dream, quiet as a ninja, snuck up behind Nightmare and hugged him: the smaller yelping out in surprise. Instantly Blue and Cross had their swords draw: pointing at the mysterious silhouette that had just taken their Prince captive.

"Quite the pair of freinds you've made here." Dream commented, releasing the other from the hug.

"Don't surprise me like that! I almost had a heart attack you know" Nightmare pouted, showcasing a childish ness foreign to Cross and Blue but familiar to Dream.

"Uh, Nightmare... who exactly is this?" Cross asked finally getting a closer look at the stranger.

'Wait-

How come this one prince-

But THAT ONE ALSO PRINCE?'

Cross's (nonexistent) brain seemed to short circuit.

"Oh! This is my b-"

"Hi! I'm Dream. An adventurer from the capital and Nighty's childhood friend" Dream cut off Nightmare, secretly winking at his brother.

Catching Dream's drift, Nightmare nodded: deciding to fo along with Dream's antics.

"I see. Well, looks like we should look for a way out-"

Cross was cut off by the sound of insane laughter sending shivers up his spine.

The sound of a knife scraping against a surface could be heard as an ominous green glow reflected off the pillars in the hall.

Sharing a nod, the party : Dream included, hid behind a pillar and winced. It was blinding. A strong green light seemed to emerge from what appeared to be a skeleton demon holding a knife. Honestly, it was terrifying as both Cross and Blue felt their bones lock up.

'And now we run into a demon with flashlight eyes? Man, what's next? The teleportation kid from before shows up'

Blue sighed quietly before freezing at the bone chilling voice.

"Well, well, well, looks like we have some rather noisy guests. Ones that were not welcomed here at that. Tsktsktsk..." the Flashlight eyes demon clicked his nonexistent tongue, eyes still focused away from the party.

"We cant have that can we?"

'RUN' Cross could think as the demon looked him straight in the eyes and he was blinded.

Shutting his eyes that were searing in pain: Cross turned tail and ran. He could hear the thumps of his companions footsteps beside them as they turned and twisted around the pillars of the chamber.

Only when they were in complete darkness did they stop running and collapse to catch their breath.

They could still hear the demons voice snickering and purring: "come out come out where ever you are~" or " marco~... this is the part where you yell out polo you know?"

After catching their breath, the party shared a silent message: we're not going back there. And so they continued forward in silence: scared of the demon finding them. Well, everyone exept Dream who had only retreated only due to his brothers insistence and visible distress.

After a while they came aCross an odd looking lamp. It seemed to glow from the inside but the light only came out in golden blocks of light. 'Strange indeed'

That's when caught the sound of an oddly familiar tune coming up from infront of him. One that a cirtain trader had been humming a while back.

Smiling softly to himself, Dream followed the others as the sound got louder and they came across more lamps: some hanging from the ceiling by long chains and others just placed on the ground.

Eventually the say a gentle and welcoming soft light emerge from what appeared to be a stall, a wierd but oddly catchy song coming from it.

The stall was simple with a pink bar saying 'WELCOME TO INK'S SHOP', Ink presumably the skeleton monster sitting at the table with his head reasted on his hand and looking at the party smugly.

Cross couldn't help but gasp.

"Aren't you that potion seller I brought from a while back?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Who knows what really happened off screen" the trader shrugged out of habit, a small smile of relief unseen as his eyelights eyes Dream from the corner of his eye.

'Thank stars that brawny idiot wasn't dead yet'

"So, is there anything I could do for you? Maybe a potion, a charm? Maybe even my mystery box of useful items?" Ink asked, putting on a fake sellers voice cause Dream to snicker silently.

Ink count help but smile and secretly wink at the brute before getting on with the matter at hand.

"I- I cant help bit be curious of what's in the mysterious box of useful items. You swear that whatever's in there will come in handy right?" Cross asked, eyeing the grinning trader suspiciously.

"If course! I guarantee it!" Ink perked up.

'..Of course we're getting something so vague.' Blue smirked in amusement before his eye focused on the trader. There was something rather... intriguing about this 'Ink'.

Ink tensed up, blushing slightly in embarrassment as Blue stared at him. Of course he knew who Blue was, after all: you and your freinds wouldn't stop yelling about him.

Ink carefully placed a rather large pouch infront on Cross. After Cross had reluctantly given Ink the required gold, He took the pouch and opened it. Only to gasp in shock.

Cross turned away from his party, shoulders hunched as Ink watched in amusement.

Cross turned around suddenly, a pair of Ray-Ban visors taped to his skull. His smile was wide and full of child like excitement as he posed, showing off the glasses that only reflected the light coming off Ink's shop.

It was cute in a way: Ink found himself understanding why almost everyone seemed to adore the monochrome skeleton.

Dream couldn't help the genuine smile playing on his lips. Watching Cross do his wierd happy dance reminded his of how he would be as a child. Blue's reaction portraying Nighty's reaction at the time.

Dream knew instantly that this Blue character and himself would get along.

After calming down, Cross pulled out similar glasses to his own and distributed them among his party.

As he did, he couldn't help but pause as he gave Dream his pair. The other seemed strong, Cross couldn't help himself as he started analysing the others well toned (nonexistent) muscles. A few more bench presses and Cross was sure Dream would be ripped. Buff even.

Dream turned and started talking with Blue. He could feel Cross examining him as a light heat was apparent on his face. Blue noticed this instantly as a the strangely contagious heat grew on his cheekbones.

After putting on their glasses, they all thanked Ink: Dream giving the smaller a wink and earning a rainbow blush.

They all dreaded what was coming up. According to Ink, the exit to the chamber was in the direction they had come from: the direction of the demon.

___________________________________________

Dream was pumped. He couldn't wait to snap that demons neck. His anticipation for a good fight could be seen from miles away as they once again heard the sound of a knife scraping.

'This is going to be good' Dream could already feel the adrenaline tingling up his bones and sending a pleasurable shock through them.

Soon enough, they could make out the familiar glow of the demon. Putting on and securing their sunglasses, they prepared for the battle.

___________________________________________

Killer smirked. It seems that the prey had once again entered the lions den: this time of their own volition. It was hillarious.

He steadied his knife as he prepared to strike- grin maliciously wide. It was then that someone clocked him right on the jaw. Stumbling back a little, Killer looked at which one of these insects thought he was a lion and attacked him.

His eyes widened as he saw it was none other than the kidnapped prince himself. 'Did he get out of that cell on his own?' He thought before shrugging it off.

The boss told him not to kill the prince: he never said anything about hurting him.

"Well, well, who would have thought the beloved first prince would pack quite the punch" Killer mocked spitting out some purple substance.

Dream grinned as he attacked once more: the battle between the two commencing as the others just sat on the sidelines and watched. Not like they could do anything to interfere in such an intense battle.

Nightmare's eyes turned cyan as he drew back away from the group silently. Hiding behind a pillar somewhat close to the others he whispered an order before going back to the others: eyelights purple and an expression of confusion apparent on his face.

Killer pulled back as he tilted his head like an animal listening. "Gosh, dangit. And I was having soo much fun too. Well, looks like I gotta book my way out of here. Duty calls" the demon shrugged before disappearing with a pop.

Dream growled angrily as he yelled "COME BACK AND FIGHT ME COWARD! MY HONOUR HAS BEEN TARNISHED!"

Cross sighed in relief as he noticed a chest bot to far off from them. Motioning to the others as Nightmare calmed down he newly revealed to be brother, he approached the chest excitedly: wondering what loot he will get this time.

He opened it: only to find a black crown similar to the many he had found before.

"AGAIN!" Cross yelled in annoyance before tossing the crown behind him. Blue snickered as he explained the many crowns they had come across to Dream who couldn't help chuckling in response.

Nightmare's eyelights glazed over as he picked up the crown and put it in his inventory. He had a gut feeling that he may be needing it later.

___________________________________________

"Hi there"

The party jumped the the sudden voice: Dream luckily held back by Nightmare before he could instinctively punch whatever had just surprised him. Blue sighed. 'I knew I shouldn't have jinxed it'

"What the hell are you doing here kid?"

Criss asked eyeing the monochrome kid- Core was it?- from before.

"Just here to help you find your way" they shrugged before pointing at a rather short door. "Go through there and you'll find yourself on the second floor if the castle"

Nightmare and Dream looked at the child as though they were insane. Cross and Blue sighed before opening the small door, crouching and going inside: Nightmare and Dream hastily following after.

___________________________________________

"We need bait" Cross's voice echoed through the now empty and purple splattered hall. Thank God Dream was on their side.

"Yeah... but what?" Dream asked, shaking his hands in a attempt to get the purple substance off it. Blue watched in amusement as Nightmare hesitantly popped up: "ummm- how about cookies?"

Cross looked at Nightmare quizzically.

"And how do you know that?"

"I dont know... just had a feeling" Nightmare mumbled as Cross and Dream looked at each other before shrugging.

"And where do you suppose we get a cookie?"

"There" Blue said using his thumb to point down the hall at a familiar wooden stall.

Everyone stood there: mouth agape before collecting themselves. Cross had tears in his eyes as he knew he would have to say goodbye to some more of his beloved gold. That's when Nightmare gently pat his back and approached Ink: using his very own money to be a cookie from the trader.

And so the waiting game started. The party deciding to hide in a corner and rest up: some taking a cat nap. Nightmare got up and motioned towards a corner. "I need to use the restroom" he said, cheeks purple in embarrassment. Everyone nodded, allowing the prince some privacy.

As he turned the corner, Cross focused back on the cookie intently: waiting for the Demon King to take his bait. That's when he heard a quiet shuffle of shoes. He saw a demon: crown glistening on its head as ot approached the cookie.

Cross was in shock: the Demon King had actually taken the bait! Snapping out of his shock he tackled the Demon King down, the Demong King scowling in surprise.

'How did they know?'

Cross ended up ontop of the Demon King in a rather suggestive position that brought a blush to both the Kings and his own face.

Growling in annoyance, the Demon King poofed into thin air: teleporting elsewhere.

Nightmare came back from his rest stop before noticing everyones (who was awake) expression.

"Well, that's enough of a break" Cross perked up. "We're almost at the throne room according to Ink, so let's get this show on the road!"

____________________________________________

(My first animation/gif. In other words: sh#t.)

Before

First

#mb week challenge #moon blossom au challenge #moon blossom au #wednesday: a welcomed guest #its wednesday my dudes #undertale au #my first gif #Why the hell is each part of this challenge fic soo long-#might as well just make a whole book on it #@somebodyalreadytookthis2

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halfgclden · 4 years

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STYX AND BONES | ABEL

tw: blood imagery, ghosts, moral ambiguity, biblical imagery

That night, Abel dreamt of a river of blood.

Water hadn’t plagued their dreams before they died, but if water had been in their dreams then, it wouldn’t have been much of a plague, they supposed. Now that they'd had a terrible experience with it, they were able to avoid it during waking hours and encounter it as their anxiety manifested in the shuffling around of memories. It was a pain, Abel thought, especially since the subject of memory was such a sore one. Since moving in with Koda, the dreams were few and far between. However, for this dream in particular, there was something artificial about it, as if it wasn’t their psyche that had produced this river, but an outside source. Not a product of trauma or fear that a blessing from Morpheus could protect against, but some sort of harbinger, as some demigod dreams tended towards.

What is volition in a fatalistic world? Abel wondered vaguely as they took a step towards the river, attempting to focus on their existential conundrums rather than the fear that gripped their chest as they moved down the bank of the river. They held their breath for a moment before realizing that they should probably take in what they could while they could, and they took deep breaths, keeping them slow so that they wouldn’t freak out in their made-up dreamscape.

They felt themself stop, and exhaled a long sigh of relief, their heartbeat competing with the sound of the rushing water. Or… blood. They were sure that it was blood, and they weren’t sure if that was supposed to scare them more or less than water. Trauma was a funny thing.

They lifted their foot on their own, examining the mud that covered their boot before they heard something across the river, someone shouting. A name, maybe? It wasn’t clear. They could see things moving in the dark, but even with their eyesight, they were only able to make out shapes. They realized suddenly that this was because they were looking at shades, all apparently attracted to a point, some sort of commotion, but all of it was on the other side of the river. As they wondered what any of it meant, their spear and shield were in their hand, either suddenly, or they had just taken notice of them, and they exhaled a small sigh as they realized what they were to do.

Abel plunged their spear into the river that it was forged in, and the blood pushed away from it on either side, creating a trench that they could walk across. They held their spear in front of them and shield above their head, in case the river changed its mind and decided to come down on them (as if it would do anything to stop them from drowning). You think yourself Moses? Abel could have laughed at themself, at the imagery, and was glad that nobody was there to experience the dream with them. Parting the Red Sea, or stepped in blood so far that returning will be just as tedious as continuing? They definitely did not think themself Macbeth; they figured that they were much more Banquo, and even that was if they were going off of that play. If they were anyone in Shakespeare’s canon, it was Ophelia. They could have laughed at themself once again, but something about the dream was a little too disconcerting for them to feel like laughing.

They were pulled out of their pondering on the poeticism of the imagery that their walk conjured by the sound of a bell, sharp and sudden compared to the steady rush of the river. They heard something called out, and the sensation made their stomach drop. There was something alive down here. When they communicated with spirits, it was different. Subtly so, something in their gut, some sort of vibration, but they did it so often that it was clear to them, and disturbing to hear when surrounded by the Styx and spirits so old they didn’t even have fully humanoid forms. It was these spirits that Abel felt the most for— ghosts so far aged that they were but concepts, so long decomposed that they had suffered a second death of being forgotten. Most of them clung to parts of their lives, and were afraid to pass fully, but some didn’t even remember their names. Often, when Abel encountered this type of spirit, they would take pity of them, plunge their spear into them, and grant them the peace they so feared. Nothingness was not something that Abel could fathom, but they thought of it as a release from a fate worse than death.

These spirits shrank back as Abel moved more expediently towards the sound of life, meaning that though they were a dream, their stygian iron was still effective. The river collapsed behind them as they stepped up onto the bank of the river, and they could finally make out some of the words. A name, they thought. A Where are you? They realized suddenly why they were made to witness this event. Someone was searching for something, most likely to bring back. They weren’t quite sure how they were supposed to feel about the concept morally, but in terms of occupation, they were probably expected to get involved in some way.

Their spear and shield were gone, apparently no longer needed for the dream, and a dog dragged its boy past them, apparently moving further down the bank of the river. Abel followed. This boy was definitely alive, but fading, drained by the fact that he wasn’t in his body and was in the underworld—how was he not in his body? Abel could recognize the boy as someone he’d encountered in passing, but couldn’t quite remember a name, and as they moved to watch over him, he apparently said something that made a rotting spirit rise to its feet. It wasn’t a spirit that had suffered second death, but it was disgusting; decayed and bloated. Buddy, Abel thought, why did you stay in the water?

Eidolons reached for both as they moved unsteadily, and Abel swatted at them, as if that would help much, focused mostly on helping the boy— they’d never seen a possession, but they knew it was possible, and heard it was nasty. They were all running now, desperate and afraid and drained, and as they ascended, they thought they could make out two more shapes, more people maybe. How many people had been involved in this? Where was it happening? Where were they taking the spirit? Abel had so many questions, and not one was answered as they ran, ran, woke up.

#c: abel #styx and bones #para

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kryptsune · 6 years

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🌼Howdy :D so I have been working on Seraph’s design. I know I have redone him again and again but I won’t actually finish him until I am satisfied. It is my perfectionism talking. Anywhoo, tell me what you think. I attached the possible outcome that would cause Red to become this way just for some added background! Hope you enjoy!

💙 Remembrance 💙

Frisk slowly turned as her body began to float off the ground. She was just about to use her own soul to break the barrier but she didn’t expect this outcome. It was all of them. All the monsters she had met and befriended. Their eyes were filled with concern. They didn’t want her to die or to leave. She was so confused, wasn’t this what they wanted? To be free? She did not understand. Surely they were just here to see their suffering come to an end. To celebrate the end of their imprisonment. Her eyes lifted to the barrier now just inches from her fingers. If she did this they would be free and that was what she wanted for them even if it meant she would cease to exist. She couldn’t come this far to let them all down. This was what she needed to do. Her eyes couldn’t rest on them anymore otherwise the tears would begin to flow. It would make it harder even more than it already was.

The air was fresh and cool like something you would witness as the first frost of winter thaws bringing forth life-giving water. The scent of a sweet flower filled her senses. All of these scents were something that she thought had once been lost to her. It was all a dream, right? The very concept of having completed her mission was one too fantastical to fathom. The human mind can only comprehend that which it witnesses not what small miracles sometimes shine through the cracks of an austere reality. A light that could penetrate the darkness of a world filled with malice and suffering. A rather negative outlook on life but one with such a past must look beyond and overcome the obstacles that lay ahead. That was exactly what she had done. That was exactly what she had accomplished. It was not that she had been their savior or some kind of magical fairy. No, she was the one that gave them what they had needed. The thing that had set them free was not power, or revenge, or even determination. It was hope. A hope that resonated with their dimly lit grey souls that now glowed with the pigments they were meant to. A bond between those of the physical and those of the magical. Her bond. She was the thing that united them all pouring her kaleidoscope of color into them until they no longer were the monsters she had met before.

Their appearance had not changed and yet their hearts and souls had. They were no longer incomplete beings with a lust for revenge. They had been given a second chance and… so had she. It would be false to say that this was indeed her second as she had been reset over and over again in accordance with her own will but it was a chance that meant something. In those final moments. The moment she left Sans behind to face their king she felt her hope dwindle. Each step felt heavier than the last as if her very being was telling her to retreat back to her skeletal judge. Every word that she had thought to utter had been painfully gutted from her ever-spinning mind. It was not a pleasant feeling. The emotions had run so high back there. Her head turned to see the lit corridor as her palms curled in on themselves. Her trust, her heart, and even her soul had nearly been obliterated by the information she had heard. All she could do was stand there with her mind ready to come to terms with this great judge. The one that countless inhabitants of the Underworld had been terrified of. A monster so powerful that the king himself knew not the name of. A name that no one wanted to know. Only this monsters power was to be spoke of and nothing more.

Her mind wandered back to that very moment. The moment the bell had tolled.

The entire hall, as pristine as if it was just constructed, was bathed within the sunrays of some unknown light. There was no one there...at first. It was an eerie chill that took a hold of her small frame causing it to shiver without volition. Each image that her imagination dug from her mind was worse than the last. A monster of unspeakable horror. A TRUE monster. It was the only thing that would make any semblance of sense but no.

A shadow lurked just beyond a pillar beyond obstructing the golden rays from spilling onto the warm tile floor in an array of colors and specks. A silhouette that leaned against one of the marble columns in a stance not too unlike someone stricken with the plague of defeat. It’s footsteps illuminated the subject when it was in the perfect space between light and dark. The silhouette...of an old friend.

….It was like her life was slowly flashing before her eyes….

Her mind returned to the barrier as she slowly raised her hand watching that bright blue glow appear from her chest only to be grabbed by a hand. At that moment she turned to let her hand fall to see the one who had done the action. It was not who she was expecting. She half expected it to be Grillby but no it was Papyrus, Sans’ older brother. Her eyes were wide unable to believe what was happening. He was pulling her away from the barrier. They all had the same expression, relief, “W...why?” It was all she could think to say.

Red stepped closer. The hall had not been the best of points for him, but he was ever the silent judge. To not have the judge be known meant that the judge could not be swayed, not by King, threat, or greed. Of any job and duty Red had ever had, as Sans and Red... It was this that he took most seriously. The thought itself kept building in his mind. He could keep her here with them or... he could let her go.

She could just barely make out their words as it felt much too surreal. That’s when her eyes fell on Sans who seemed to be looking away like he just couldn’t bear to watch. The hall aside she had grown to care for him maybe even something more. Out of all of them, he had changed the most. She could feel herself slowly floating closer to the ground as she was pulled away from the energy of the barrier. That soft hum droned in her ear just watching as if this very moment was caught in time.

...

but only for a moment

That pretty blue heart appeared held together with a bright red glow. The magical attack went straight through her causing that red heart to separate from its blue host. Her body fell along with her soul leaving only a fit of laughter that could be heard as the monsters she had befriended watched the body fall, lifeless. In the end, Chara had won. They had all lost...

Red.. saw red...

Seeing her heart floating there and hearing Chara's voice laughing in mockery, broke him,"fuckin’ brat!" Red growled and didn't even think as he launched forward, calling for her soul to come to his hands, However he didn't specifically call to just Frisk's soul.. But called to them all. A skeletal hand reached for the soul and grabbed it, a bright light filling the room as the rest of the souls broke through their containers. A monster had absorbed all seven. That monster was Sans.

He didn’t want to lose her... Not again.

Frisk's body fell only slowly drifting presumably caught by Sans as he changed. Chara nearly screamed at what the skeleton had just done, "YOU BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU! YOU OF ALL OF THEM! YOU THE ONE THAT KILLED AND MURDERED WITH THAT STUPID GOLDEN TOOTHED GRIN OF YOURS!" Chara raised her hands' dark energy crackling between her fingers, "You will pay bonehead!" Chara pulled up the check only seeing that everything was glitching with his name in different colors now. His stats were breaking the display, "It doesn't matter! Why would those souls help someone like you! I was the one that watched them die! I was the one who wanted to protect them! YOU ARE ALL DISGUSTING MONSTERS! Look at you! Did you even once stop your killing ways? NO! You hurt Frisk over and over but you never cared! Especially you FONTAINE!"

Red held Frisk's body close to himself. "Because dey know my intent Chara. Dey know yers too." Red said, standing taller now with many wings folding behind him. He had changed into this curious formation, an amalgamation of all 7 souls. "Yea ah did some dumb shit. Shit I ain't proud of. But Sans Fontaine died long ago, thanks to mah kitten.." He said, gently holding her. “The likes a you ain’t gonna ever touch dis pure soul again. Never. Ya still outmatched ya fuckin brat but it was ya always planting doubt in her mind, wasn’t it?”

They both fought nearly tearing the entire castle apart only until Chara ended up with her neck in Sans grasp, "You don't deserve a happy ending. You could have stopped her from coming here! You selfish bastard!" Chara just smirked, " I didn't have to do anything to place doubt in her mind, Sans, you did that just fine on your own. All the horrible things you have done treating her like a toy and some kind of pastime! You hurt her Sans! More than she could bear and all your sins paved the way for me to gain more and more control. This is all your fault.~ Kill me if you want. I am just going to be sad that I won't get to see the guilt eat you alive!" Her smirk widened ruby eyes flaring, "I will never stop until I am dead!" All he heard was a soft sweet whisper that wrapped around him. The blue soul at his collarbone shimmered a little glowing all the brighter. *Don't listen to her Sans

"I don't deserve forgiveness. I know dat but tha one that pays for dem mistakes is me and me alone. Ah ain’t havin’ an innocent girly pay for tha shit I did.” Seraph said as he gripped her neck tight. “I can see ya sins crawlin all ova ya Chara. I can feel my own on me. So fuck off ya little brat.” He said as he crushed her neck in his grip.

*Why do you say that? I forgave you a long time ago.

*ah don’t deserve ya forgiveness kitten... Frisk... but I was too weak n selfish ta letcha go. If we’re going free ya can’t die on us. We need ya ta guide us.” He said to her, holding her body tight. Red felt very alone suddenly and looked down at his hands. He tried to will the souls to let go of their hold but they only wrapped tighter around him which brought him to his knees. “S-Sweetheart?”

*Yes, Sans?

“Frisk? Is that really...did I save ya?” He had thought he imagined her soft voice near him. It was all in his mind. Her body lay there on the ground. No, he did not save her. She just watched him silently curious as to how this all worked.

*Sans I...I am not there anymore. I am... a part of you. My soul is a part of yours but... I am right here... with you. He felt hands on his own holding them gently even though no one seemed to be there. She could see the tears that were beginning to form in his eye sockets. *I'm sorry Sans. I.....I should have listened to you. I am not gone I am here...with you forever. I'm sorry. I... I wish I could hold you. I wish it was just us. It is a little crowded with everyone else. Sans you know I care about you... so... so much...

He wiped an eye with one of his now massive claws, “How can ya forgive me darlin? I’ve done so much shit I’d have ended myself a long ass time ago if ah wasn’t such a coward.” He let her body rest on the ground, “I can feel ya inside my soul darlin, you n all tha others... I... guide me kitten. So I don’t mess all ah this up and make sure we’re neva sealed like that again.”

He could picture her slowly shaking her head. *Sure… the things that… happened were horrible but… that doesn’t mean you are beyond forgiveness. You changed. Out of everyone here you have changed the most. I used to be scared and have panic attacks around you. I don’t feel that way anymore. I guess our little talk made me realize. I’m not justifying what happened but… I understand. I forgave you for that. I would be sad if you did that. I….I guess now you can break the barrier. That is what I was going to do all you have to do is use us. He could hear the pause in her voice. *But after… I don’t know what is going to happen. I might...disappear.

“I ain’t letting you go so easily dahlin,” he said firmly, striding up to the barrier, and ripped it apart. It would weaken the souls, but not by much, it having used most of his power. He was a god, what more need be said?

The other souls seemed to fade as if they were still present maintaining his form but didn’t have a voice like she did. He could see her smiling sweetly when he said he didn’t plan on letting her go though he would lose touch with her for a brief moment. Her soul was still cracked into pieces only being held together by his own at this point. Determination had saved her once it could save her again.

Her silence had him panicking a few moments, but he added what determination he had now to keep her alive, “Don’t leave me kitten... don’t...” He did not know what to expect from the world above but as he and the rest of the monsters trapped made their way to the surface words could not describe, “It’s beautiful out here.”

They looked and felt conflicted especially with their new god-like monster with them. This was not how it was supposed to happen. It was silent as the sun began to paint the sky with oranges and pinks. It was almost sunset. No one knew what to make of Sans now. They didn’t know what to make of any of this. Boss was usually good at hiding his emotions but he looked just as conflicted as the rest. It was like they knew the human would not see the sky with them all and they were happy to be freed but it felt… like something was missing. Asgore didn’t seem to want to speak to anyone and Grillby, well, he was staring off into space.

Red sat on the cliff’s edge, he certainly didn’t seem happy either. Yea he had a thought of taking and bonding with Frisk, but he hadn’t expected to call the other souls, hadn’t expected to become what he was now, “Funny.. I actually wish I could reset...” He said, before giving a broken, forced, chuckle which turned a touch manic for a few moments, as tears streamed from his eye sockets.

He could just barely feel a faint hint of her presence as he spoke. She could feel everything he felt and saw. It was so strange. Never once had she seen him so broken. He had all the power in the world but it wasn’t like he wanted it. No one really wanted it. Not even Asgore. It was just a way to be free but that power in of itself was its own prison.

*It's alright. I am here for you, forever and all- She had never seen him cry before.

*R...Red don't cry... please... It hurts to see you cry She wished she could return to her body but his soul was holding on so tightly to her. *Maybe we can figure something out? Maybe.... in time... I can come back. Maybe this is just temporary. It will be ok.

He remained on that cliff face, his eyes closed as he internally just held her, “Maybe kitten. This is all so new… so... different...”

*Red your soul is holding onto mine so tightly. I am as close to you as I could ever be...actually... oh stars He could just picture her flushing in embarrassment but still enjoying the warmth she could feel from being held. It was a more intense version of the physical and it felt just as comforting. She could see what he saw, the sunset. She never thought she would ever see the sky again so she tried to change the subject though trying to keep her feelings from him would be near impossible.

She knew his damn near obsession with her. How much she had actually affected him without him having to say a word. The thoughts. The fantasies. All of it was there and laid bare, “Ah...don’t think I could let go even if I wanted to darlin...”

*Nothing is wrong I am not saying to let me go.... I am just a little flustered. I...it's nothing. We are just... Really close so I'm a little flushy and very warm. y....yeah... I mean souls are an intimate thing... and it's uh... I mean y...you and I. Oh stars why can't I just talk normally. It's... it's like the others are in a space to give you their power but... you and I... we are... it's... just...just us. I can feel your soul beating so close to mine. It's just making me a little... flustered is all. I...I can practically see all of your thoughts.

That made him blush so deeply, “Fuuuuck I didn’t think you could see that kitten I can explain.” He was now hiding in the floof of his jacket within their shared mindscape.

She thought it was cute the way he acted like a huge flirt but when it came down to it he was just as flustered as her. She was going to tease him a little bit. She a long time maybe even forever. *I am listening. I have allll the time in the world… maybe even the universe. I don’t think I have ever seen you so flustered before. It’s cute. I know you do. I can feel it. It is almost overwhelming. I… I have feelings for you too...I just did not know how you felt. You are not the best with outward emotion you know

She was just curled up in his arms with her eyes closed peacefully. It was strange as there were two visions. One was the outside world and the other the safe space where they were together.

*I will still love you no matter what. I’m sorry… I never said it before. I was afraid to. It’s selfish but I have been through so much… I don’t think I would have been able to handle the rejection or teasing. I feel horrible that I would even think that…

*“Guess we both were kinda silly huh?” He laughed then, holding her. “But it don’t matter. Ya here with me now maybe we can figure out a way fer yas ta communicate with Boss an the others.”

*I guess so.

She was smiling and chuckled along with him.

*Well hopefully we don’t have a fight then cause I can’t really go anywhere. You are stuck with me for life Sans Fontaine. Humm? Wouldn’t be a little much right now? Everyone is free… I don’t think he really knows what to think of his little brother becoming some kind of all-powerful god. Everyone… they seem so… sad… I thought they would be happy.

*“Yea.. tibia-nest kitten.. No one.. Really wanted this power, least of all me.. Ah just took it because I didn’t want to lose you..”

*I know you didn’t. I…. I can’t help but feel this is my fault. If I just… stayed away like you told me to… I… and the Hall… I… I said some things. I… I’m sorry.

*“Shh... I know. Truth be told. I didn’t wantcha ta know I was the judge because they neva knew it was me. That I was so powerful. Not even Asgore knew exactly who it was.”

*I know. I know it was not something you wanted me to see. Truth be told… I always had this feeling you were. The way you kept bringing it up as if to scare me away. The fact that you disappeared right beforehand. I already knew your power way before that but… I didn’t want to believe it. It’s alright now. I just… what I said to you. I was...hurt and I lashed out. I felt so betrayed and Chara used that against me. If I had known I wouldn’t have… said those things… It still hurts to think about.

*“Nothing that coulda been helped. I was trying to keep ya from me actually doing the one job I had no choice but ta do.”

*I know it couldn’t be helped and I know you can feel how much pain I am feeling because of it but it’s all forgiven. I am here now and so are you and that is all that matters right? What do you think everyone is thinking? Do you think they are happy just a little? I hope so. Can you tell them I'm happy for them all?

*“Perhaps darlin. I can’t read minds as it is.” He said as he looked out over toward the spires of the human city in the distance, “Doesn’t matter ta me. Chara can shove her disapproval up her ass. I saved ya and tha barrier is broken.”

*I know you can’t read minds that would be terrifying though I know you can read mine. I am glad it’s all over now. I guess I can rest in peace right?

He would hear her chuckling a little nervously at the dark humor before she was silent for a little while staring out over the cliff with him.

*Oh look the stars are coming out!

Seraph smiled softly, as he looked up at the stars, “It’s beautiful darlin. They shine just like yer eyes did.” He thought in his mind to her, a smile on his inner self’s face.

Frisk was smiling as the stars started to twinkle it actually brought tears to her eyes. She had this little dream about laying under the stars with him pointing them out and knowing their names one by one.

*R...Really? My eyes shine?

“Yea.. every time ya got really determined an hopeful. Ya eyes shone like tiny stars from books,” He admitted, laying on the ground to stare easier up at the stars.

She wished she had known what they had all wanted. If she had been less Determined or if she had stayed away, taken Boss and Red’s offer to stay with them. None of this would have happened. It was a bittersweet ending. One that brought tears to her eyes in both joy and sorrow. Now only the passing of time would tell if she would be able to physically join them all again. It wasn’t so bad though. She was now even closer to the one she cared so deeply for and realized, in the end, the person, well monster, that completed her.

~FIN~

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birdsareblooming · 5 years

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So i remember a post that once brought up that kris’s knife:

Might just be a “Kris dagger”

I wanted to do more research, I was thinking it was going to be a gardening knife because of the “Worn Dagger” found in Chara’s room.

[Wiki page here]

But! Even though it isn’t! (at least from what i researched) I did find some interesting stuff about it! Some which, might even be significant.

1. Wiki things

[link to the wiki page here in case you want to read up yourself]

"Throughout the archipelago, kris is a symbol of heroism,[5] martial prowess, power and authority. As a cultural symbol, the meticulously decorated keris represent refinement, art and beauty, as the pride and prized possession for its owner;[17] however, as a weapon it is associated with violence, death and bloodshed. Probably for this reason, although the kris is widespread in Javanese culture, it is not used to symbolise Javanese culture or royalty, as Javanese tradition promotes harmony and discourages direct confrontation (hence the absence of knives on Indonesian dinner tables). This is also why the Javanese traditionally wear the kris on their back, to symbolize violence as the last resort. However, in other parts of archipelago, from Sumatra to the Malay Peninsula and to Sulawesi, the kris is worn on the front or left side on the hip.”

“Both a weapon and spiritual object, kris are often considered to have an essence or presence, considered to possess magical powers, with some blades possessing good luck and others possessing bad.[5] Kris are used for display, as talismans with magical powers, weapons, a sanctified heirloom (pusaka), auxiliary equipment for court soldiers, an accessory for ceremonial dress, an indicator of social status, a symbol of heroism, etc.[5] Legendary kris that possess supernatural power and extraordinary ability were mentioned in traditional folktales, such as those of Empu Gandring, Taming Sari, and Setan Kober.“

The Kris blade stems from southeast asia, mainly Indonesian culture, “Kris have been produced in many regions of Indonesia for centuries-” as well as Javanese, as they used them as not only ceremonial daggers, as well as heirlooms.

2. Cool things

“In many parts of Indonesia, the kris used to be the choice weapon for execution[citation needed]. The executioner's kris had a long, straight, slender blade. The condemned knelt before the executioner, who placed a wad of cotton or similar material on the subject's shoulder or clavicle area. The blade was thrust through the padding, piercing the subclavian artery and the heart. Upon withdrawal, the cotton wiped the blade clean. Death came within seconds.“

Kris blades were used for execution! Stabbed in the heart too. Fun.

“Kris-makers did more than forge the weapon, they carried out the old rituals which could infuse the blade with mystical powers. For this reason, kris are considered almost alive because they may be vessels of spirits, either good or evil. Legends tell of kris that could move of their own volition and killed individuals at will. Some kris are rumored to stand upright when their real names are called by their masters. It was said that some kris helped prevent fires, death, agricultural failure, and many other problems. Likewise, they could also bring fortune, such as bountiful harvests.”

Kris blades are alive! good to know.

“There are several ways of testing whether a kris is lucky or not. A series of cuts on a leaf, based on blade width and other factors, could determine if a blade was good or bad. Also, if the owner slept with the blade under their pillow, the spirit of the kris would communicate with the owner via dream. If the owner had a bad dream, the blade was unlucky and had to be discarded, whereas if the owner had a good dream the dagger would bring good fortune. However, just because a blade was bad for one person didn't mean it would be bad for another. Harmony between the weapon and its owner was critical.”

The wand chooses the wizard apparently, I wonder if Kris slept with thier knife under their pillow.

3. Legends

“Kris Mpu Gandring”

“of the most famous legends from Java comes from the Pararaton (Book of Kings). It describes a legendary bladesmith called Mpu Gandring or Empu Gandring and his impatient customer, Ken Arok,---Tunggul Ametung. Ken Arok eventually stabbed the old bladesmith to death because he kept delaying the scheduled completion of the kris. Dying, the bladesmith cursed the kris through prophecy that the unfinished or incomplete kris would kill seven men, including Ken Arok. ---- The prophecy finally came true, with four men enlisted as the kris' first death roll, including Mpu Gandring himself, Tunggul Ametung, Kebo Ijo to whom Ken Arok lent the weapon, and finally Ken Arok himself. The unfinished kris then disappeared.[23][24]---”

TLDR: A kris blade was cursed to kill seven men after it’s owner killed it’s blacksmith. I know the number seven is spread all around all cultures and stories but...........still.

“Kris Taming Sari”

“Taming Sari ("flower shield") is one of the most well-known kris in Malay literature, said to be so skilfully crafted that anyone wielding it was unbeatable. In some versions of the legend, the weapon would grant its user physical invulnerability.---

After being framed by a jealous official, Hang Tuah was ordered to be executed, but he managed to escape and go into hiding with the help of a minister who knew the truth. Hang Tuah's kris and title of Laksamana (admiral) were passed on to his comrade Hang Jebat. Furious that his best friend was unfairly put to death, Hang Jebat rebelled against the royalty and took over the palace. The desperate ruler of Melaka pardoned the minister so long as Hang Tuah could win him back the throne. Having trained under the same master since childhood the two friends were nearly equals but of the two, Tuah was the superior fighter. However, even after a long battle in the palace, neither could best the other because the Kris Taming Sari evened the odds. Only after taking his weapon back did Hang Tuah manage to stab Jebat, who died soon after.”

TLDR: There was a dual for revenge and both blades were super cool. The person who needed to die died later anyway though.

“Kris Setan Kober”

[GORE WARNING]

“Another Javanese folk story tells of Arya Penangsang, the mighty viceroy (adipati) of Jipang who was killed by his own kris called Setan Kober ("devil of the grave"). It was forged by Empu Bayu Aji in the kingdom of Pajajaran, and had 13 luk on its blade. Near its completion when the empu tried to infuse the weapon with spiritual power, he was disturbed by a crying demon (djinn) from the graveyard. As a result, although powerful, the kris had a temperamental evil nature that caused the wielder to be overly ambitious and impatient.

The story took place in the 16th century,---

---During a battle, Sutawijaya stabbed Penangsang with Kyai Plered spear right in his gut. Arya Penangsang is bathing in his own blood, and his intestines were hanging from his open wounded stomach. However, because Arya Penangsang is a mighty fighter that possess aji or kesaktian (spiritual power), he keep fighting with an open wounded stomach. He encircled his hanging intestines on his kris hilt, and continue to fight. When trying to attack his opponent, the reckless, fierce and impatience Panangsang pulled his Setan Kober off its sheath, foolishly cut his own intestines, and finally died.”

TLDR: Due to revenge, a man took a blade that was infused with impulsiveness (thanks to a demon), to battle. While battling he was cut, but because he had “spiritual power” he kept fighting, and wrapped his intestines around his blade and kept fighting till the impulsiveness from the daggar made him cut his own intestines, and he finally died.

Just some interesting stuff! I don’t know why I hyperfocused on learning about the kris dagger but I have now. So. Here you go.

#undertale #kris #kris dagger #dagger #knife #knifes are cool actually #i should learn more about knives #long post #birdsrant #essay

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petri808 · 6 years

Text

Phoenix Skies Reborn

Written for a class this semester. This takes place several years after my original story Phoenix Skies (a NaLu story). Now Natsu and Lucy's daughter is all grown up. Nashi Dragneel and her best friend Arashi are about to learn discover the hidden truth between them...

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“Whoa is that your dad!” the young boy whispers to his friend. “He totally looks like he’s on fire!”

“Isn’t my daddy just the coolest!” The little girl responds with a giggle, “I wanna be just like him when I grow up!” A few moments later, they see a woman walking towards her father, “Lookie, it’s my mommy!”

The two friends, 7-year-old Arashi and 6-year-old Nashi peek out from the bush they had been hiding under, watching her parents on the hill crest. To the children, the whole scene was like some magical fairytale come to life of the dragon and his princess, for atop that hill, stood Nashi’s father in full Salamander glory. Unlike her half status, he was a full-blooded fire class Draco with much larger, reptilian wings measuring about ten feet from tip to tip, and two curled, beige horns sprouting from his head. Humanoid in many aspect’s but instead of bare skin, his back, chest, and extremities were all covered in scales.

Even Arashi was spellbound, for compared to his sinewy father, this man’s very presence could cause one to shudder. The Draco towered over his mate, Nashi’s mother, by over a foot, with such a muscular physique the small boy couldn’t help but think of him as some God like figure. Truth be told, her father was the strongest of his kind but had the most jester-ish of qualities, often joking around and yet sweet in nature, the man genuinely had a heart of gold. And as he held his wife against a sunset to end all sunsets, the children could only watch in breathtaking wonderment.

“Yeah… your dad really is the coolest…”

The young man had been searching everywhere for the Salamander, but she wasn’t at her cottage or her friend Chieko’s home, the usual hang outs she’d often frequent or even the local watering hole where she would often frolic on a summery day such as this one. And it was a gorgeous one, by far the best day they’d had this August with cloudless powder blue skies that stretched for miles and miles unimpeded. Breezes, abundant in nature to cool you down from the sun’s blinding ray’s, forceful enough to stir the air and lift your tresses, but not whip them around like in a gale.

Fall was just around the corner and the trees were starting to make their debuts with the lightest hints of color change. Arashi sighed, it was another beautiful time and season that made one appreciate their world and understand the cycles of Samsara. How nature was the ultimate goddess who gave birth, lived, changed, and then died only to be reborn anew year after year after year in an endless cycle. Reflections of the heart.

Alas, he was losing focus, the Salamander, where was Nashi? If only he’d had the Draco’s sense of smell, chuckling in his head, that girl could sniff him out anywhere in town, but he needed to rely on good old-fashioned detective work. The wisteria grotto? Nope. Crocus river? Not there either. Maybe she actually went to see her parents for once without prompting, so he heads over and finds the girl’s mother at home.

“Hi!” Hugging the young Sprite, “what bring you here?”

“Aunt Lucy, do you know where Nashi might be?”

But the female Fae only shakes her head, “I’m sorry Arashi…”

“Please call me Storm, aunty, I like my nickname better.”

“You do realize Arashi means storm, right?”

He crosses his arms, “I know, but Storm sounds tougher.”

Lucy chuckles, “you are so much like your father. I swear, do all Snow Sprites have such a severe demeanor?”

“Uncle Lyon is the only other one I’ve met and,” taping his chin, “come to think of it he and dad are a lot alike. Any ways, I guess I’ll just keep looking, she’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” she chuckles, “but you should know by now they are like their element, always burning for action! Excuse the pun.” With a sigh, “even though Nashi is only half Salamander, that girl has taken after her father side.”

“Aye, she does idolize him,” the young man smiles in a teasing manner, “but at least she has your looks and your smarts going for her.”

“Oof!” Lucy slaps his arm lightly in jest. “Trying to work your charms on me too young man, you really are just like your father!”

“I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

“Well good luck dear,” she shoos him on his way, “when you find that wayward daughter of mine, tell her to check in sometimes cause we worry about her.”

“I will, thank you Aunty.”

By late afternoon, Arashi was ready to give up and go home. He had hoped to set out early in the morning on a new commission but unless he could find his partner and confirm it with her, well, the Snow Sprite just wasn’t up for going it alone. Why would he when it was always more fun when they were together for an adventure.

But where could Nashi be hiding? She had promised never to run off on her own again after the last tongue-lashing he’d given her. Sometimes that girl was too adventurous and reckless for her own good and even her father who’d seen his fair share of mischievous younger years would get on her case about it. No, Arashi stilled the growing anxiety rising in his mind, Nashi’s never gone back on a promise before, for that he was certain of in his heart. So, there was only one last option he could think of, it was a stretch since it was a place that she would only visit with her mother during certain celestial events or solstices, but since the young Draco tended to go for the familiar, it was worth a shot.

It was one of the best locales for sky gazing around their village, a hilly meadow with no trees to block the open view above, rolling fields of envious green and swaying wildflowers dancing to an unsung tune only the gods could hear. But if you closed your eyes… and slowed your pace…. those melodies just might reward your passage into another realm, transport your consciousness to where the pixies prance and flutter about or the stars may wink and grant your wishes. Asteri Hills was their nickname for this magical milieu, Nashi’s sanctum to commune with the spirits, and one she’d shared with her best friend some 13 years ago.

And as he crested the final hurdle, there she was atop the highest vestige this place had to offer. Her back towards him, head tilted towards the heavens and eyes no doubt closed. With leathery crimson wings tucked neatly against her lithe frame while her long, snake-like tail twitched of its own volition near her feet. Nashi’s salmon-colored hair shifted in the winds that wafted past, funneling her smoky scent down the hill into his company. He couldn’t help but let a smile creep along his face or a blush run along his cheeks for she truly was like an idol amongst the divinity of this realm, like her father. Bathed in hints of royal purples, fiery crimson blending into tangerine orange, and melting honey she was… Exquisite… The kaleidoscope of colors unifying into an overwhelming aura to encircle her, so powerful and virile, it sends a golden arrow to pierce the chosen.

Arashi shields from the burning fronting his vision, it was if she was on fire, just like the mythological Phoenix rising from the ashes, but it didn’t sting his eyes, this image was blazing a different path through his soul, awakening an arcane desire as old as time itself that had lain dormant but now ready to soar into the azures. N-Nashi… His mind flashes back to that long-ago scene, except this time...

Without warning, an attack launches itself within his body. His blood rushes through his veins, deafening against his ear drums. Arashi clutches to his chest and drops to his knees, what the hell is happening to me! It felt like his thumping heartbeat could break through his diaphragm, lungs screamed from a loss of air he was still taking in and yet, why couldn’t he fill them? Heat swells inside his frame, convening and churning like a caged creature ready to pounce at its vessel. Arashi looks up to the sky as the swirling sensation begins to move, radiating outward, filling every pore, every cell, with a strange buoyancy feeling the man of ice and snow had never experienced before.

Soon, his mind is spinning out of control and the vision of Nashi blurs…

“Storm?” a hand takes hold, fingers curling beneath his chin to lift his face. “Storm are you okay?” He blinks and sees his best friend kneeling, smiling like she normally looks in front of him. Did he imagine the whole thing? The Snow Sprite looks past her and sees the raging skyline still evident in all its glory while slowly the blood-orange sun disappeared below a distant horizon. Nashi laughs, “Storm, what has gotten into you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“N-Nashi?” raising a hand towards her cheek if only to make sure he wasn’t still in some dream.

“Wow, you’re burning up,” her gentle caress upon his brow causes hers to furrow, “that’s totally not normal for you, are you not feeling well?”

“Yes…” shaking his head, his hands dropping to their sides, “I mean no, I think I’m fine.”

“Then what happened?”

“I’m not sure,” burning images of his best friend flashing through his mind once more, “I saw you… a—and…” a renewed passion of all those febrile emotions rush back but this time they center in a new location, winding into a tight coil in his gut, before dashing below the waist. Arashi’s eyes flare with intensity as the realization hits him. Oh, crap that’s what it all meant!

A huskier tone snaps his mind into the present. “Arashi…” and as his Aegean hues fall under her scrutiny, growing wider if at all possible when he notices the matched lust of the Salamander dancing behind her icy blue gaze. “…your scent has changed.”

Oh crap, she can smell the arousal! All the pent-up emotions he had long buried and tucked away to be forever unrequited threaten to take control. He falls onto his ass and tries to scoot away. “Nashi, I-I didn’t mean to…. I mean I couldn’t help it that I…. y-you’re my friend and it’s wrong of me to think of you in that way!”

“Stop being an idiot Storm,” her tail grabs hold of his foot to stop his back-peddling, “how do you know I haven’t felt the same way about you?” Crawling over and forcing him into a supine position until she is practically nose-to-nose with the man, “hmm?”

“We’re elemental opposites.”

She lets the weight of her body settle onto his, propping herself with a grin, “And yet best friends,” bopping his nose, “you keep me cool in the summer and I keep you warm in the winter, pretty sweet deal don’t cha think?”

“Oh, geez…. is that all I’m good to you for?”

Nashi’s eyes half-lidden, “As much as I should smack you for that comment,” and her face lowers ever closer… “how bout I just show,you instead.” The Snow Sprite is given no chance for a rebuttal when between blinks her lips have claimed his in such a covetous manner as to shock every cell in his body. She giggles at this startled expression, her tail flicking in amusement, “do you believe me now?”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” his face turns to the side, though his eyes monitor her reactions through their periphery, “you could’a just done that to tease me.”

“Oof!” slapping his chest and rolling off into a sitting position, “I don’t go around just kissing guys!” The pouty, child-like expression sends Arashi into a minor hysteric. “I’ve never even kissed anyone before…”

While still chuckling quietly, he sits up and pulls Nashi back onto his stretched-out legs until she’s straddling him. “You know I’m just teasing you,” smoothing his thumb against her cheek, “and I’m glad these lips,” grazing them with his own, “were saved for me.”

Left in the wake of a setting sun, nary another spoken word, did the world spin for the second time that day as a torrid desire swirled and enveloped the budding couple into its bosom. Arashi seizes upon Nashi’s lips, so flushed with heat and engorged with life-giving essence, worrying the supple pink flesh until her simpering becomes music to his ears. She fists at his knit top through each deepened entreaty. His hands caress her lower back before travelling and fingers tangle into her salmon-colored locks, coveting them like they were made of the finest silk.

Her mewls to his groans adding to loves melody as their tongues frolic amongst a moist and temperate climate. A few clicking of teeth or grazes of her canines on such sensitive flesh, but eventually a seasoned rhythm finds them locked in a rumba all their own. Nashi’s hands drift upwards, cradling his crown, slightly tugging on his hair each time his hands have wandered to a southern locale. Not that she minded it so much. The feeling of his fingers ghosting against any bare skin sent delectable little shivers along her spine to fuel her vocal pleas.

Neither realized just how much they had longed for the other’s touch, but as they gave into those desires, it felt as normal as the changing seasons, transitioning their relationship from platonic to amorous. A deep rumble of contentment shattering the cozy still of the early evening darkness. Instincts soon take over as Nashi’s tail and wings encircle the couple in a protective shield. But they are oblivious, so wrapped up in the moment to bat an eye until a need for air makes itself painfully known.

After a couple more sweeps against her lips, Arashi leans his forehead against hers. “Last chance to walk away,” he muses.

But Nashi simply smiles, “Oh Storm,” and pats his cheek, “you’re stuck with me now.”

A few yards away at the edge of the clearing, Nashi’s parents hide amongst the brush spying on the two young adults. Lucy clasps a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggling, “they are so adorable!”

“It brings back memories doesn’t it?” Natsu pulls his mate closer, kissing her temple, “that was once us.”

Lucy sighs and leans against his shoulder suggestively, “they grow up too fast…. Maybe we should have another one…”

#fairytail next gen #nashi dragneel #arashi fullbuster #nalu #fairytail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #mythological creatures #AU story #one shot

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