#the way to understand humanity is by flinging them into the other and the void | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lieslab · 8 months ago

Text

The depths between: Prologue

Trigger warning: Reckless alcohol consumption and drowning.

Intro

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

The ocean isn’t much different from the land. Predators and prey all share the same space. The intelligent creatures overpower the smaller ones. The plankton is consumed by krill. Putting up little resistance, the krill is consumed via squid.

There’s a filling snack of squid for the seals. The seals and sea lions are left alone for the larger sharks and whales. Some of them can be swallowed whole. There’s no forgiveness in the vortex created by whales sucking in and swallowing large amounts of water.

The treacherous dark waters demand your caution. You’re either predator or prey. Even if you’re a human, you’re not immune to the murky depths of vast nothingness. There are things down there that humans have yet to fully understand.

Thousands of feet below, there are creatures just out of reach. Some stay closer to the sunlight and others trail the murky darkness. Don’t ask how they find their way, it’s one of the many mysteries of evolution.

They say that there are two types of humans. Good and evil tend to go hand and hand. You’re one or the other; there is no other choice. Are you full of resentment and wicked bitterness? Perhaps your blood is filled with something lighter and softer, something sickly sweet and pure.

The concept of sirens isn’t much different. In the world of sirens, there’s good sirens and there are evil sirens. One cannot live without the other. Year after year after year, the siren world keeps growing.

There are secrets hidden out of human sight. Things far beyond the realm of our understanding. At the top of the food chain, there are still things we should leave alone. There are things that aren’t quite right.

There’s a reason why survivors in horror movies are the ones who don’t go searching. The ones who think intellectually and choose logic over basic curiosity. Curiosity has the potential to kill the cat.

Go exploring and you might unearth something far out of grasp. You might find something that changes your life forever. If you’re not careful enough, it can and it will kill you without any hesitation.

_ _ _

In the beginning, there was a deep darkness. You couldn’t see your hands in front of you. The whole earth was nothing, but a void, then came the existence of light.

The humans bicker about the origins of earth. The creation of everything is constantly up for debate. It doesn’t matter what you believe because you’re here, aren’t you? You are here and the truth is that nobody knows. Nobody knows and that terrified people, so they came up with answers. They call those answers faith and to strengthen that faith, they created religion.

Since the beginning of whatever you believe, there’s one consistent theme; stories have been around since the origin. Parents pass them onto their kids and then their grandkids. Grandkids dish it out to their kids and their grandkids. Over and over again, the cycle repeats.

Lee Felix knew about stories. He remembered learning about God and good and evil. To be good guaranteed your place in heaven. All you needed was some faith, a clear conscience, and a dash of kindness.

He lived by the golden rule; treat others as you want to be treated. As a young man, he secured himself a job on a cruise ship. He loved that job more than life itself.

He liked making small talk with the guests. Some were more kind than others. As the days passed by, he collected more and more stories from people. Stories from younger couples with newborns. Stories from grandparents who appeared on the cruises with their entire families. There were the tales of singles hoping to find a summer fling.

There was something so joyous and vibrant about all of it. On the massive cruise ship, it was easy to forget that the vessel was floating on water. For months, Felix walked the upper deck and checked upon passengers down below.

He went wherever management told him to. Some days he found himself cleaning restrooms and other days, he helped out down in the kitchen. Every few days, there was always something new to do.

Along his time there, he got to know quite a bit of the crew and a variety of the guests. Since he worked there, he had his own room. Workers were granted the same things as first class passengers.

One of those things? Free unlimited alcoholic drinks. Not everyone could hold their liquor on the cruise ship. Perhaps it was a poor choice on behalf of the management, but it didn’t matter. It was already set in stone, everything was already done.

When Felix’s birthday came around, some of his favorite co-workers celebrated his birthday together. They shooed away the last guest and closed up the bar. After Felix’s first drink, things got hazy.

He knows that someone brought out a cake. He faintly remembers the artificial taste of chocolate. Everything was going great; people were laughing, alcohol was flowing, candles had been blown out and smoke lazily drifted into the air.

Then came the party games. Nobody is in their right mind after countless shots. Cheers of joy and chugging the bitter taste of alcohol. He remembered the stinging sensation that crept up his throat and the burn that followed.

The rest were muted voices and swirls of color. A bit of confusion here and there. The bright bar lights tilted and he couldn’t keep his balance. He stumbled, but nothing kept him upright. He was light as a feather and then there was darkness.

He stumbled back, his back pressed into a rail, and then he fell. Down, down, down, into the warm waters below. Too drunk to understand what happened, he went beneath the waves.

The salt water burned his nasal canal and then it filled his lungs. His arm shot out and brushed against something scaly. He shrieked silently. His voice blubbered and blew bubbles towards the surface.

He squirmed weightless beneath the water, but it was just a void. No air to breathe and no light to see. Nobody to hear your screams, no person to depend on for help, not a single soul to save you.

The warm water filled his lungs. The burning sensation was so raw that it struck something primal deep inside of him. His head dipped back and his fingers grasped nothingness, trying to find something to stop his descent into the dark waters below.

The feeling was intense and it didn’t fade. The burning and the choking, the coughing and the sputtering. In his woozy thoughts, all he could think about was oxygen, but it never came. Instead, his body sank further and further into the darkness.

Like the thousands before him, the clock struck out. There was too much water and not enough air. Humans aren’t equipped for billions of gallons of water. The darkened world stopped and so did his breathing.

The whites of his eyes rolled back into his head. Long dark lashes closed for a final time. The frantic movements and sloshing around him went still. Down, down, down he free fell.

The ocean swallowed his body whole. Another victim of the tides and another murder beneath the waves. Life is a tricky and funny thing. You can be a saint in this life, but death does not care.

When your time is up, it is up. There is no forgiveness and no mercy. Your soul is sucked out and a hollowed shell is left behind. Where does it go? Nobody truly knows. Faith doesn’t save everyone from the unknown.

Sometimes miracles happen, but unfortunately for Lee Felix, tragedy struck instead.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Next part: Chapter one

Taglist: @ilovetocas1 @vvislici0us @fr34k4c1dr41n @hamburgers101 @juskz

Masterlist

Requests, taglist, and inbox rules

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic #stray kids au #lee felix #lee felix x reader #lee felix x y/n #lee felix x you #stay

38 notes · View notes

saintsofwarding · 2 years ago

Text

SAINTS OF WARDING; HUNGRY DEMONS

Chapter 3: In Which A Certain Someone Learns their Actions have Consequences

Around him, above and below, spread a sea of swimming shadow. Heisenberg drifted through it, rags whipped around him in a spectral current. Curls of mold nosed at his hands, his boots, but they didn't grab hold. He was simply adrift, suspended in this void-place Rose had seen fit to fling him. Whispers brushed his face, winnowed through his hair; he clenched his hands, reaching out with his powers on instinct, but there was nothing. No metal, no magnetic warp.

He was powerless.

His boots touched ground, and he stumbled forward a few steps, breathing hard. Whispers rose, a chorus of distant voices, and as they did his surroundings smoothed into form. Mold slicked over cave walls; tendrils of darkness coursed outward from his boots, becoming rubble, cracks in the stone.

Hush settled, the dead silence of a place deep underground. All Heisenberg heard now were his unsteady breaths, the pulse of his own heartbeat in his head.

Rose? he said. There came no answer.

Candles guttered from niches in the rock, giving off weak light. In it, Heisenberg made out traces of paint.

He moved closer. They flickered in the ghostlight- primitive humanoid forms, daubed in yellow ochre and madder-red, black and mineral white. A column of people, led by four crowned figures. A ceremony, a coronation, a chalice, brimming with darkness. Those four crowned forms ringing dozens of smaller human figures. And at the core, bigger than any of the other imagery, was the curled, fetal form of the Black God itself.

Heisenberg touched the cool, damp paint, like he might glean understanding from it. He knew the story. It was the oldest story, the heart of all the fairy tales that infected the region like disease. There was no true version, just a game of telephone played by the devout. What mattered was that there were people searching for purpose, searching for god, and in the end that god had betrayed them.

Why are you showing me this? he growled to the darkness.

A subsonic rumble answered him. The rippling mold that made up the limits of this dream-place pulsed. When he turned, there was a passageway. It hadn't been there before.

Heisenberg left the cave paintings behind and ventured ahead. The darkness through the passageway had a substance- it pushed at him, warm and membranous. He pushed back at it, head down, feeling his way by touch. The candlelight was gone, and his surroundings were subsumed by that living mold Rose had summoned in the forest.

The passageway narrowed around him. The pulse grew stronger, vibrating through the matter of this place. He recognized it from deep in his dreams, deep in his consciousness. The heartbeat of the megamycete, the constant heartbeat of the entire village, the two living in symbiosis until someone got greedy. Was that the nature of all things? To live in balance until one day that balance was upset, and then came the apocalypse? Seemed damn depressing. But then again, Heisenberg had never been one for peaceful times.

Ahead, rippling through the curtains of mold-

Light glimmered.

Heisenberg pushed harder. He ripped his way through the darkness, through the tough, veiny tendrils that grasped and twined around his hands and wrists. The light grew stronger, illuminating the walls. No longer a cave, no longer natural stone and weeping water. Painted wooden panels; candlelight, warm and steady. He smelled spices and wood polish, damp and tea.

He stumbled into the light, the mold falling away. It was still there, veins spreading over the walls. He stood in the entryway of a house, dim and dusty. A house from the village; he recognized the style the shutters and walls were painted with, those primary colors and flat, representational forms. The top of his head nearly brushed the ceiling, and embroidered curtains were drawn over small windows. Outside: darkness.

Heisenberg stood, waiting. For what? He wasn't sure. On the walls hung picture frames, daguerreotypes of people with shadowed faces. On a shelf waited books, but when Heisenberg flipped one open, the pages were damp and mold-blackened, illegible.

Behind him was the passageway, the mold. There was a door there, Heisenberg thought with a snort, then stopped. How did he know?

I was smaller before.

Whispers rose- a faraway scream, a laugh sliding so close to Heisenberg's ear he flinched. As they faded, he heard it.

The woman, singing.

A low song, a lullaby. Soft and sweet and edged in bitterness. Heisenberg moved toward it, pulled as if by his own magnetism. A door swam from the gloom; it swung wide at a touch. Beyond was a small sitting room, made cramped by cushions and shelves of clutter, the detritus of a family that had lived a long, long time in these walls. The warmth of knitted wool; the tarnished gleam of old gilt. Bright copper and chipped paint and blue-and-white pottery worn by years of handling.

Heisenberg moved through it rigid and tense. He was too big for this house, now; he'd leave bloodstains if he touched anything. This was no place for him. He longed for his hammer, so he might smash apart this beautiful lie and kill it forever. He longed for his factory, for the scream of machinery and the pound of engines in his frontal lobe, the smell of hot metal and the surety of construction. Not this. Not her.

Not the woman in the chair by the fire, singing softly, rocking a bundle in her arms.

Her song trailed away as Heisenberg approached. Her face was in shadow. She wore a knit shawl, a long dress, much-mended near the hem.

Clever boy. I didn't hear you come in.

Heisenberg found his voice. Too clever for my own good.

I thought I'd never see you again...when Mother Miranda took you it was like I'd been torn apart. She began rocking again, back and forth and back and forth. But it was good. It was always good, when she chose one of us. When she blessed us with her regard.

The mold crept in around the edges. The candlelight flickered.

Always too clever for your own good, the woman whispered.

Why do I remember you? Heisenberg asked. Somewhere in his words he heard a boy's voice, far, far away, so far away it was nearly lost. Why is this place in my head?

You know why.

Heisenberg clenched his hands. The shadows deepened; the mold constricted. He heard a howl from beyond the house, a great cracking-tearing.

I don't want this. I don't want- you-

You'd rather have Miranda?

I won't be weak again. Not again. You hear me? He advanced on her. Look at me. Look at me so I know it's not real.

Mold veined up her skirt and shawl, up Heisenberg's boots and trousers. He ripped free. Look at me! You're free, Karl.

And when she lifted her head, when he saw the glistening, mold-black pit that was her face, the stuff already inside her, taking her apart, he wrenched a chair from a table and made good on his instincts. The chair shattered as he brought it down on her, on the baby, on the paper walls of his memories; shards spun into nothingness, into darkness, the world collapsing in on itself, nothing but mold. Heisenberg pitched forward, off balance, falling-

***

He came back to his body the exact instant he toppled backwards off the bucket. He hit the ground hard with the whuff of expelled breath. The pigeons burst into flight, clattering away. Heisenberg lay there, breathing hard, his heart pounding, his eyes hot. His mouth tasted of blood. He'd bit his tongue.

Fuck.

After a moment, he levered himself upright and knelt before Rose. "What was that?" he demanded. "What the fuck was that, you little-"

He stopped.

Something was wrong.

Rose was bigger. She'd grown. Her little pink baby sweater now exposed her hands and wrists; her wispy blonde hair now reached the nape of her neck. She stared at him, brow furrowed, taking sharp needle breaths, and her skin held a grayish cast, slick and unhealthy. Heisenberg reached up and plucked off his broken glasses, bending over the makeshift metal bassinet to get a better look.

"You okay, kid?" he muttered. His head pounded; his mouth was dry. He was way too sober to deal with this right now. He'd murder an orphanage for another bottle of whisky.

Metal squealed. Heisenberg was on his feet and around in seconds as the metal doors of the warehouse rattled and shook. Someone pounded at them from the outside; he could hear voices, now, muffled shouts. Flashlights danced in the gaps between door and frame.

Fuck. Fuck.

"We know you're in there!" Wham. Wham. Wham. Someone was using fists or a gun stock for blows like that. "Open up before we shoot you up!"

"Wiser words," Heisenberg muttered. Despite everything, a feral grin spread over his face. At least this would be simple. He lifted his hands and his power surged back to him, pops and crackles of blue sparks dancing over the warehouse's metal surfaces. Rebar, gears, jagged shards of engine casing. All would do.

"I said open up!" the voice came again.

"Your fucking funeral!" Heisenberg bellowed.

He slashed out his arm. The door crumpled like a tin can; with the scream of metal, it tore itself off its hinges and slammed aside. Light blazed into the warehouse, light and snow and shouts and cries; guns cocked, and in the midst of a good half-dozen silhouettes a horse snorted and reared. "What the-" yelled its rider, reining the animal around.

"There he is!" Another voice. "Get him!"

"No!" the rider commanded. "There was a baby-"

"She's here!"

The voice came from behind him. Heisenberg whirled, his metal onslaught forgotten. A man with a rifle slung over one shoulder knelt by the fire, by Rose. He had her in his arms. A door hung open by the back wall, behind a bunch of scrap wood; he must have been too zonked to see it before. Or maybe he was just a dumbass. The guy straightened, cradling Rose to him.

"I've got the baby!" he called.

"Let her go," Heisenberg snarled. "Put her down, or I'll crush you like a goddamn insect-"

Metal jabbed into his back. A gun barrel. He stiffened. Kill them, he urged himself. He could take these bastards, every one. Turn them into greasy smears on the dirt. Bring this whole warehouse down on their heads.

But one of them had Rose. Would they hurt her if he fought? Use her as collateral? He sure as hell would, if he was in their place.

He stayed where he was, his hands lifted. There was a surge through the warehouse as he dropped his control over the metal, dusty breeze ruffling his hair.

"We don't want a fight," the rider called. She had a low voice, slightly raspy. No-nonsense. "I saw what you did at the service station."

Whoever had the gun to his back prodded it deeper, forcing Heisenberg around. He squinted in the flashlight glare, wishing he had his glasses back on.

"Doesn't look too dangerous," muttered another goon.

"You saw it too, Andrei," snapped the rider. She was a stocky, youngish woman with dark hair in a braid, outfitted in a parka and thick sweater. "Don't mess with the human magnet, okay?"

"The lady's got the right idea," Heisenberg called. "Clearly you all know who you're dealing with, so shall we cut the bullshit and let me and the kid get on our way?"

"No," the woman said.

"Well, well. You want another demonstration, huh? That can be arranged." Heisenberg gave her a wolfish grin. "The way I screwed up that shop was pretty damn impressive, wasn't it?"

"That shop," the woman said coolly, "happens to be my grandmother's."

"Right," Heisenberg said.

"The girl you scared is my little sister."

"Ah." He laughed. "Heh."

Her face tensed, one hand curling around the strap of her rifle. Heisenberg glanced around. The whole group- the bearded guy with the gun to his back, the other members of the mob, the man holding Rose- wore identical tense looks, their affect haggard. Weary. They put on a good show, but he saw them for what they were- frightened animals baring their teeth.

Heisenberg sniffed. That couldn't all be for him. He knew from experience that kind of fear ran deeper.

"Something's up, right?" he said.

The woman on the horse stiffened. She stared down at him, over a nose that had clearly been broken a time or two.

"Something's wrong," Heisenberg said. He spread his hands, his grin widening. "I see how it is. You bunch think because I scared a couple hick bitches in the middle of bug-fuck-nowhere I'm the boogeyman, the source of all evil. Well, you're right, but not this evil. So you can go right ahead and fuck yourselves, because me and the kid have nothing to do with whatever your stupid little problem is-"

"Would you shut up?" the woman snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. "We know."

Heisenberg cocked his head. "Huh?"

She let out her breath, then swung her leg over the saddle pommel and dropped to the ground. Taking the horse's reins, she began stroking its mane, still staring at Heisenberg with a frown on her face. "We know," she said again. "That's not why...that's not why we're here. What you are...we've heard the stories. Read the fairy-tales. There's only one monster around these parts who can sing to metal like that. Some might scoff, but I'm the type who tends to believe in fairy tales."

She paused, lowering her eyes. "Especially when they can rip you apart."

After a beat, she gave the reins to one of her companions, then approached Heisenberg, slowly, her hands raised.

"We all saw the explosion two days ago," she said. "We all know something terrible happened on the other side of the mountain. Whatever it is...stirred things up."

"Such as?" Heisenberg said lightly.

"I...we...need your help." She glanced past his shoulder, toward Rose. "And from the looks of things, so do you. We're willing to give you what you need- whatever you need, for you and the baby- if you do what we ask in turn."

Heisenberg's grin softened to a smile. The woman peered up at him. Not that much. He wasn't taller than her by a lot.

That would make this easy.

"So?" she said. "Will you help us?"

"Nah," Heisenberg said.

He hauled off and punched her in square in the face. She snapped backward with a cry, an arc of blood glistening in the light, and stumbled to her hands and knees. Shouts filled the air; Heisenberg started to laugh, wild and raw, lifting his arms- the warehouse began to shake- he'd crush this place after all, crush it into-

Movement stirred to the side. He turned in time to see the gun stock coming toward him. There was a crunch, a red flare of agony-

Then nothing at all.

#saints of warding #re8 fanfiction #re8 #karl heisenberg #rosemary winters #karl heisenberg x oc #if ya wanna read it that way #resident evil village #chapter 3 #i certainly read it that way

7 notes · View notes

honestlywtfisgoingon · 2 years ago

Text

Let Me Show You —

Alex Law (Shallow Grave)

alex law x reader

description: sure, it was years before you knew either of them, but learning that your friend used to sleep with your boyfriend isn’t easy.

warnings: language, smut, fluff, david being a bitch, i didn’t rly edit i just ran my shit through grammarly and called it a day

a/n: shallow grave is one of my top ten fav movies and ewan is my top one fav human + there’s a serious drought in the alex law fic department so here you go *hands you this bullshit* also this ended up being sorta long for me, idk how that happened

words: 5,301

These past couple of days, you all groaned when you heard the jingle of keys that meant David was about to walk through the door. He had been coming home from work extremely tense and none of you really knew why. It could’ve been something very serious and personal, or something absolutely ridiculous. Either way, you all had to deal with it. While he had been pissy towards Juliet too, it was mostly Alex who got the brunt of his mood. You hated it, glaring at David anytime he sent a derogatory remark in Alex’s direction. David didn’t feel comfortable enough to go after you, therefore it was an effective enough defense, but it never seemed to shut him the fuck up for more than 15 minutes. Alex told you just to leave it as he was afraid that eventually David would treat you the same way. He could handle him, but God forbid anyone go after his girlfriend.

You all had hoped that the dark cloud that was David was lightening up as tonight’s dinner had been void of any conflict so far. There had been simple conversations exchanged and little jokes here and there, then David decided he had had enough. Maybe it was the non-existent look between Juliet and Alex that David had imagined or maybe she had laughed a little too hard at one of his jokes. He had always been attracted to her (no offense to Juliet but it’s not like he had many other options) and harbored subconscious jealousy over her and Alex’s past fling.

“Oh David, have a bit of fun! Lighten up,” Juliet encouraged him as he began to frown. All he did was come to the decision that this was the perfect time to bring all that up. Lovely.

“You’re having fun with Alex I think. I remember you used to have a lot of fun with Alex actually,” it wasn’t David’s actual words that got under Alex’s skin, it was the fact that he had said them in front of you, and for that purpose only.

Alex stood up from the dinner table abruptly. His hands were flexing, knuckles flashing red and white as he tried to control himself.

“Now you fucking—”

“What?” you cut him off with a small word. Alex looked at you, concern and a swell of other emotions in his eyes; worry, anger, panic—love. Of course, you knew what David was implying, but somehow it wasn’t clicking. These were people you knew, and this was something those people would never do. It just didn’t fit.

“David,” Juliet scolded him harshly, but her expression softened completely once she had turned to you. She hesitated, opening her mouth and then closing it quickly, clueless as to how to approach the subject. She took a deep breath in before saying, “It was a long time ago y/n. I’d forgotten all about it, it didn’t mean anything,”

so it did happen

“You didn’t want to tell me this?” you turned to Alex. your tone wasn’t angry, sad, or disappointed even, and that scared him. You were always hard to read, but over the course of your relationship, he had worked to understand you, to be there for you. At this moment it suddenly seemed as though everything he had learned was useless. All your little expressions, the inflections in your voice, anything that usually told him how to proceed, were gone. You had shut him out and purposely taken those with you.

“Juliet’s right, I’d forgotten about it—“

“That’s alright,” You said. You felt as though you had shut yourself out if that was even possible. It was as though your brain just gave out. You didn’t know how to feel about suddenly being told one of your friends had slept with your boyfriend. Before you knew either of them of course, but it was still there. You weren’t even jealous. You just wanted to retreat within yourself, not trusting what you knew anymore.

“y/n I need you to understand—“ he sat down so that he was eyeline with you.

“I do,” you gave a small smile that never reached your slightly melancholy eyes. It had begun to hit you, and he saw it. Alex knew that all he could try was to take his time when speaking to you.

“y/n please—“

“I do,” you said firmly. He hated this, and he hated David for it. The hand that he had laying on the table was now clenched just as his jaw was. If his priority wasn’t you right now he would be punching David into the floor.

You ate a couple more bites of your food, each spoonful carrying barely anything up to your mouth, and then announced that you were tired. The drag of your chair across the floor was uncomfortably loud amidst the painful silence. As you turned, Alex placed a gentle hand on your arm, trying to make you stay. He kept it there until he could no longer reach it as you continued to walk further away from the dinner table.

Alex couldn’t contain himself as soon as he heard the click of his door being shut by you, raising his voice as he said, “David you fucking prick. Saying shit like that in front of y/n. Making it sound like…like… Do what you like, but you shouldn’t have made her feel like that,” While he was fuming, Juliet just sat there, head in her hands, the only sound coming from her was a low groan. Alex was mildly disappointed that she was just letting David get away with crossing a line, but then again Juliet only ever did anything for herself, and going against David wasn’t in her best interest.

“It’s not my fault you never told her” David shrugged nonchalantly, but there was an all too satisfied look in his eye. “You know, keeping secrets doesn’t make for a healthy rel—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Alex said aggressively before stalking off to his room. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before opening the door, not wanting to scare you by coming in so heated. He closed the door behind him quietly when he saw you on his bed, or rather just your face. You had buried yourself under the covers of his bed, only your head poking out. In any other circumstance, he would’ve thought it was adorable.

You were staring at the ceiling, eyes focused on nothing. You had been overthinking for the past couple of minutes, wondering if Alex had lied to you about other things if he lied to you because he had loved Juliet, or if he secretly enjoyed sex with her more. Every happy moment with Alex played over and over in your head as you tried to figure out whether or not they were tainted secrets the whole time. The more time you spent thinking about it, the more insecure you became about your relationship. If left to yourself, you would’ve formed a whole map in your head with red threads pinned all over it, connecting things that you would’ve thought ridiculous yesterday. That was just how you worked, but Alex wasn’t going to let your anxieties get the best of you.

The mattress let out a soft squeak as he crawled onto the bed with you, laying on his side with his head propped up so that he could look at you. He looked at you while you chose to continue staring up at the empty air above you.

You didn’t know if you were ready to hear a speech, but you were always going to have to eventually.

“It was so long ago. It was empty. I was empty. When I met you, you changed that…” he started. Your silence gripped his heart and began to choke it, but he couldn’t do anything besides continue. He needed you to hear him, if only for you to hate him, but he could manage a whole lot better if he was sure you knew that he would never purposely hurt you. “I’d never fallen in love with anyone before you, and I’ll love only you… You’re stuck with me you see. I’m your little leech,” he said with a little nudge to your shoulder. You couldn’t help but smile at another one of his stupid comments. You always did, even when you were angry, although it was against your will most of the time. It made you lose your point, which had the unfortunate effect of making you even angrier. This time though, it helped to loosen some of the tension in your muscles that you didn’t realize you were holding. His brows loosened when he saw your expression, hoping that it meant you were loosening up. All too soon, your smile left.

“I know Alex. I know you love me,” you said it as a fact, something you could just repeat, but not necessarily feel. In your mind, you knew he did, but what happened at dinner had made your heart doubt against your will.

“Except you don’t,” he whispered, “Because I don’t show you enough. What was in the past was physical, but with you, oh darling I’d give you my soul. If you asked me to give up anything, honestly Juliet even, I doubt she’s a human anyway. She’s one of those classic empty shell types,” You let out an actual laugh this time. It was small, but the sound filled his chest. “I’d give it all up because all I need is you. you’re my world. Nothing in the past present or future could change that”

“Alex, I wouldn’t ask that of you. It’s not about her it’s about you not telling me,” you meant it. He could’ve slept with David for all you cared, all you wanted was a reason, and even then, you didn’t know if you’d believe it. “You can’t hide things like that,”

“If David hadn’t done what he did, I would have told you openly if it ever came up,” he jerked his head in the direction of the door, referencing the event that had just happened outside. He curled his lip a little at the thought of the man.

“I don’t know if I can trust that, if I can trust when you say that I mean something to you,” you were extremely wary at the moment. You knew he could be very convincing, using all the right language to charm, he was a writer after all. At the end of the day, all it was was bullshit, and you weren’t gonna take it.

“You mean more to me than I can express, and I’d give anything to have those words,” It was as though he heard your thoughts this time, not even daring to sweet talk you. He then dropped his voice to a gentle whisper. “But I want to try and show you.”

“How?” you couldn’t deny, you were genuinely intrigued.

“Of course, you can say no, you always can. You have rights and all that sort of thing,” It was the start of a ramble. He was nervous, and it was almost…sweet. Whatever he was about to say, he meant it, because he was about to be vulnerable and offer himself up to rejection, which was something he could not handle otherwise. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Let me show you that it’s more than sex, it’s a connection. Let me make love to you. Please,” he turned his face to where his nose grazed along your cheek, and you could feel his lips just barely make contact with your jaw. It was different, you could tell he was waiting for permission, a change from the usual Alex who could never wait to be all over you. You couldn’t deny that you weren’t immediately tempted by the idea. Your sex drive often rivaled Alex’s, which was saying something. You hesitated, thinking of his offer. You realized that you couldn’t figure out for the life of you what his idea of making love even was. He was always so rough and, well, slightly perverted. Was it going to be a quick fuck that confirmed your fears? But what if you didn’t regret it? In the end, you trusted yourself, your instincts, and faced him to where your nose almost touched his and nodded silently.

He sucked in another small breath, scared you would change your mind, then slid off the bed to stand up. He grabbed your hands and pulled you to sit up, making it easy for him to lift the edge of your, well, his graphic tee actually, and slowly remove it. Cold fingertips brushed against your skin, sending goosebumps all over your body. your hair was already fluffed up a bit by pulling the shirt over your head, and he was looking forward to seeing it even wilder after he was done declaring his love for you. He took turns, placing a kiss on each breast, his hands behind you as he unhooked your bra. It was something he had done before, but it still took him a little bit to figure out the “awful contraption”, as he called it. Still, he left no time to waste by sucking hard on your breasts. Purple marks will surely have bloomed in the place of each kiss by the time you woke up tomorrow, marks that said “his”. Looking down, you giggled when you saw his mildly frustrated expression while he continued toggling with the clip. When it finally released, he had a sort of kiddish excitement. The straps had begun to slip off your shoulders when he suddenly pulled it off completely, throwing it somewhere in the room. He smirked up at you.

well it’s not like she’ll be needing that

He proceeded to kneel and slid his hands up your thighs, feeling the smooth skin underneath your skirt. When he removed them they were slightly warmer from the heat of your skin, which you appreciated when he touched your stomach again as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your skirt and tugged. You lifted your hips in order for him to pull it off completely. The way you arched off the bed brought his face closer to exactly where he wanted to be. He swallowed hard when he saw what you were wearing, or barely wearing. When you lifted your legs so he could take off your underwear, you hooked one of your knees over his shoulder, bringing him even closer. The coolness of the air met your now fully exposed cunt, causing you to bite your lip.

He looked down at the lace in his hands. It was part of one of your prettier sets of lingerie, and you often wore something nice underneath your clothes in the very likely case that Alex would be ripping it off you later.

“Yeah I’m keeping these,” he smirked. Evidently, he really liked these new ones, placing the dainty cloth in the back pocket of his jeans with a wink.

“That’s new!” you have a little tug on his hair.

“Oi! I’m trying to make love to you,” he gave a light slap to your wrist as he smiled, but you could see his eyes darken as they always did when you pulled his hair. He laid his cheek against your thigh, placing a kiss on it with the corner of his lips. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him continue to lavish you with more affection. More open-mouthed kisses were bestowed on your thighs and down your calf, leaving wet marks from his tongue. Once your socks were pulled off and discarded as well, you were completely naked for him. To punctuate the moment, he placed one last kiss on your ankle.

Large hands caressed up the silhouette of your body again until he was fully stood up. You would miss the image of him on his knees for you, but you were looking forward more so to what he was going to do next.

The act of him cradling your head and lacing his fingers through your hair made you close your eyes, finding pleasure in the simple touches. The way he was holding you with such care made you melt. He leaned in and got close enough to where only the very tops of your lips touched, just breathing you in. You could barely even feel him until he pressed them against yours firmly, but not harshly. The kiss felt…whole.

His lips remained on your mouth as he ran his hands over your upper arms, eventually making their way up to your own hands, which had been pressed flat against his chest. He laced his fingers with yours and held them up to the sides of your head, using them to push you gently back onto the plush sheets of the bed. He didn’t let go of your hands even when he lifted himself over you, nudging open your legs with his knee in the same movement.

You couldn’t deny his profession of love was very revealing. Alex was being so soft, so careful with you. He was worshipping you; giving attention to each and every single part of your body. You knew this part of him existed, but that facet had never been on full display. It was getting you wetter by the minute.

A sense of great injustice overtook you when you saw that Alex was still covered in his clothes while you lay fully exposed for him. How could you admire the arms that would prop him up as he thrust into you if there was a jumper in between you two? In an attempt to remedy this, you slipped your hands under the hem with a whine and he pulled back to remove it quickly. It seemed as though he felt the same urgency to be skin to skin with one another as he hastily unbuttoned his pants and yanked them off. There was a thud of denim hitting the wooden floor and you could feel a flutter between your legs in anticipation. He slowed back down from his hurried stripping so he could reposition himself above you once more.

You enjoyed the smoothness of his back, running your fingertips along his spine, giving him chills. He took a moment to stare at you, tucking your hair behind your ear before kissing it, trailing down your neck, his fingers playing with your nipples at the same time. Leaning your head back, you savored the sensation, which only multiplied when he moved to flick them with his tongue. Heavy sighs earned from you became a frequent noise as he continued his ministrations. His chin glided down your stomach as he crawled backward. The feeling of his barely visible stubble was rough enough to raise your skin, giving you a slight burning but pleasant feeling. Strong hands gripped the inside of your parted thighs, massaging them as he looked up, now settled between them. Small love bites were given to each thigh, making you hiss. His tongue slid out between his lips, the tip finally making contact with your aching clit. There was no way you could avoid biting down on your lower lip as a small moan slipped past them. You found that you were unable to look away. When he flicked the tip of his tongue back and forth before kissing your clit once more, you felt the fleeting beginnings of an orgasm with each movement. It was only spurred on as he began to suck lightly on the most sensitive part of you as he slid his fingers in between your folds, feeling out how wet you were before one of his fingers slipped inside of you. You moaned and he hummed in response, overjoyed to know that you were already dripping for him. He was glad to know what he was doing was working.

He licked up and down your pussy as he curled a finger, enjoying the wet sound that came from pulling it in and out of you. Already lost in the pleasure of his touch, you couldn’t exactly say when he added another finger, but that’s what did it for you. A few more pumps of his fingers, twice the size of yours in length and thickness, and you were cumming with a shout of his name, legs spamming beside his head, bucking up and into his still open mouth.

When he lifted his head you could see his tongue dart out to lick the slick of you that was left all over the lower half of his face, including his nose. Something about him covered in you while he tried to catch his breath made your face grow hot. You clapped your hand over your mouth suddenly.

“Do you think they heard us?” all he did was grin widely at you while he crawled up on top of you to place a deep kiss on your lips. You smiled against his lips as you tasted yourself mixed with his own flavor.

“You’re cute— but sticky,” you giggled, realizing just how wet you must’ve been for him to be as completely drenched in you as he was.

“Mind you, that is your fault,” he wiped his face with the back of his hand, “and about the others hearing…well, I have no problem with them knowing how lucky I am to get you to make them. Do you?” he said as he caressed your features. You closed your eyes, still smiling, as you shook your head enthusiastically. “Just as I thought. Oh and,” he pressed a soft kiss on ur nose that had you blushing, “I love you,”

“I want all of you to show me,” you gave him a sweet yet seductive look. One thing he didn’t need to show you was how ready he was, as you felt it against your thigh. He felt so painfully hard, but you were just as excited for the pain that came from taking all of him in you. You’d never get used to how he stretched you, and you knew this to be a fact because if you weren’t already, there’s no way you ever would.

“Oh, my girl will have anything she wants,” a devilish smile was sent your way. Your face grew hot and you looked away as though you were shy, but the truth was: you couldn’t handle the intensity.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he reached down in between you to position himself. Wanting to help, you wrapped your hand around him as well. He only laughed at how impatient you were being.

“I’ll give you want you want, but I’d like to take my time with you,”

He pressed against your entrance slowly, kissing you passionately as he placed the tip inside. It was a tease when he pulled out what he had barely put in, but you forgave him when he began to push into you once more. his fingers could never prepare you for the sheer size of him, and it was pretty. oh, how he filled you, adjusting you to accommodate him agonizingly slow. it caused your eyes to screw up at the sting, earning heavy pleased sighs. Going deeper with each thrust, he pulled you close to him until the bones of your hips met and your bodies formed one.

You could tell he was using all his self-control, tempted to slam into you full force, but he wanted this to be about you. Not that you would’ve minded, but you could always have it that way in the second round if you really wanted to.

Only once he had finally buried every single inch of him inside of you did you fully release your breath. He filled you up to where you could feel the fullness all the way up in your stomach and began to pick up the pace. His forearm rested above your head, propping him up while one of his hands reached to hold your face in his palm, thumb running over your lips. You wrapped your hand around the arm above you, gently squeezing on his bicep. You had a thing for Alex’s arms. It wasn’t like he was built or anything like that, but the muscle he did have made him nothing short of an adonis to you. There was a similar beauty he saw in you, one that had a similar effect on him to where even that slight touch caused his eyelids to go heavy and light moans to escape him.

You opened your lips to extend your tongue so that the tip of yours met his before he was eagerly curling it inside of your mouth, moans mingling with each others’ as you continued to kiss. When he pulled his tongue out, it was only out of necessity so both of you could let the oxygen refill your lungs. He wasted no time though and began to suck on your bottom lip as he pulled your leg over his shoulder. You moaned loudly at the new angle, and the way your eyes began to flutter only encouraged him to speed up a little, breathing heavily with each thrust. An even pace had been established by now, allowing you to feel every ridge of his dick with each solid stroke.

“Alex please!” you repeated until the words only came out as a stutter. You pulsed around him with every drag of his cock and he dropped his head into your shoulder with a deep groan. His lips met the shell of your ear, his breath tickling you.

“Oh love—I can’t—oh fuck—you’re heaven—” Alex was whispering sweet and staggered praises into your ear as you began to feel the peak of pleasure creeping up. The only thing you could do was clutch his hair and burrow your head into his neck like you were holding on to him for dear life.

“I love you,” you spoke in a small gasp.

“I love you. I’m yours,” he breathed out. Already twitching inside you, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, but he still made sure to lift his head to see you before you came. You tried hard not to shut your eyes, desperately wanting to gaze into his blue ones, almost black as his pupils expanded.

“God y/n I—“ he said before you pulled his face down to kiss him with all the passion you could muster. At that very same moment, your nerves lit up and white hot euphoria washed over you. Alex whimpered against your lips and you felt his muscles tense as he was no doubt experiencing the same feeling, filling you up to his hilt as his cum flooded the deepest part of you. Both of your highs lasted longer than usual, but that also came with the consequence of being more exhausted than usual as well.

His body went limp but he rolled to the side before he could collapse on you, pulling your waist at the same time to bring you with him. The auburn in his hair was shining with sweat as you ran your hand through it. His cheekbones, his lashes, and all the other high points of his face were lit up by the moonlight streaming through the window.

my beautiful boy

He kissed your lips softly. When you and Alex opened your eyes, both of you paused for a moment before falling into giggles. Sex and life in general couldn’t stay serious for long with Alex. Now that you think about it, he probably just broke a record tonight for how long he’s gone without making a sarcastic comment, and yet, you realized you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He had shown that he looked at and loved you in a way that he never could with anyone else, and now you were excited to be able to go off laughing and pissing off other people together, now that your fears were soothed considerably. Sure, there would always be more obstacles to come, but not right now. You had become part of each other, and you could trust in that.

He laid on his back and you migrated to laying your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat as it began to return to a normal pace, chest still rising and falling quite heavily. Both of you were sticky with sweat, but neither of you cared. It was a mix of the two of you and there was an intimacy about it. Of all the senses, smell triggers memories more than any other, and you both hoped that soaking in the scent of your bodies would help imprint this moment in your brain. It would be hard to forget no matter what.

“I love you,” you whispered once more against his neck.

“Do you believe that I love you? Truly?” he was genuinely asking, able to pick out the tiny sliver of nervousness in his voice.

“Yes, I do.” you answered. “Alex Law is madly in love with me!” you laughed while cupping your mouth, pretending to shout.

more than you know, y/n

Gently moving you off of him, Alex scooted off the bed. You sat up with a confused and still dazed look in your eye. He was searching the room for something on the floor and walked back over the jumper he had stripped off earlier. Pulling the covers off of you, he parted your legs and cleaned you off carefully. You gazed at him with admiration. Neither of you usually minded skipping that step, but he wanted to take care of you. When he was done he casually tossed the cloth in the corner of the room.

“Wait Alex, that's your jumper!”

“Eh fuck that. It’ll be fine,” he told you as he crawled back on the bed and pulled the covers over the two of you.

“Are you really gonna wear that now?“

“It'll be fine. All I want right now is to cuddle my girl, and you’ve been such a good girl.”

He knew the effect those words had on you and you were more than happy to oblige, shimmying even closer to him. He was quick to curl his arms around you, settling to hold your waist while snuggled into the rather comfy spot on his chest you had found a while ago, tucked just under his chin. The palm you placed flat over his heart felt the release of an exhausted sigh mixed with the steady rhythm of his heart. It was one of your favorite things about cuddling with Alex; the feeling just comforted you. Another one of your favorite things was how much of a goddamn furnace he was. The weather was often cold, and so were you, but clutching onto Alex offered so much warmth. Your legs were tangled together as neither of you could tolerate any space between you two at this moment. You were the first to fall asleep. Not only were you absolutely spent from your body reacting to his touch, but the safety you felt with him allowed you to relax and slip into a peaceful slumber.

Unbeknownst to you, he could feel your own heart beating against the side of his chest where you were laying. He placed his hand over where yours was on his own and felt that they were in sync. When kissed the crown of your head and closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. Before finally drifting off, he was thinking about how this wasn’t truly over, how it was a temporary fix, but he was ready—no, eager to work so that you never had to doubt his trust or his love again.

#alex law ewan mcgregor #alex law #shallow grave 1994 #shallow grave #alex law x reader #alex law x y/n #ewan mcregor #ewan mcgregor x reader #alex law smut #alex law fluff #shallow grave smut #ewan mcgregor smut #obi wan kenobi #obi wan

378 notes · View notes

ichika27 · 3 years ago

Text

Saiyuki Reload -Zeroin- 11

A few more episodes and it’s over. I really wish they’d make another season that goes after Blast. Anyways, I understand why people enjoyed this arc in the manga cause it’s great! I’m so happy they decided to make a new adaptation of it.

Hazel has just woken up from a dream. He saw his past up to this point and wondered if anything would have changed if he had taken care that flower like his master asked him to back then. Hazel tells them that due to his desperation back then to be strong and become an exorcist, he got more enthralled with the "crow" rather than his master's words.

Sanzo asked if this so-called crow was the same guy who told Hazel about the Seiten Taisei and told the other two that he too had met this crow and that he knows of this crow's other persona (as the doctor).

And so Priest Ukoku Sanzo finally appears. Upon mentioning that Sanzo should've been taught by Komyou how to greet people, Sanzo fires a shot at him. Sanzo shoots the man multiple times but somehow, none seem to stick and Ukoku just calmly walks over towards him. When he finally got closer, Ukoku was able to hit Sanzo and dodge all of Sanzo's attacks.

Ukoku then manages to injure Sanzo's right arm so Sanzo ended up trying to use his sutra.

Sanzo was unable to finish his incantation as Ukoku seemed to have used his own power. Sanzo sees a vision of the sutra getting destroyed although it's fine in the real world. Sanzo tried to attack him again with his fist but Ukoku just happily dodged them all.

As he does this, Ukoku tells Sanzo all of the info he knew about him and then informs Sanzo of who his real parents were - Sanzo's biological father is Rin Tokou who is a 51 yo politician and his mother is 17 yo Kouran who is a daughter of a shop peddler. The two weren't able to be together due to politics and Kouran got driven out due to her pregnancy and passes away after giving birth. His father went missing shortly after and his whereabouts are unknown even now.

Ukoku continued to dodge and successfully attack Sanzo during his monologue. Ukoku then got to the part where Komyou died protecting Sanzo which pissed of Sanzo. He also said that there's no way Komyou could get killed by weak demons just like that so Komyou must've lost on purpose for Sanzo.

As Sanzo is on the ground from Ukoku's last attack, Gato jumps in to fight, asking Hazel to let him do what he wanted for three minutes. Ukoku shows that he also knows a lot about Gato - where Gato came from and how he met Hazel. Gato isn't affected by this as he thinks all Ukoku has is nothing but data.

Gato fires at Ukoku who runs up to him and dodges. When Gato grabbed Ukoku by the head to fling him away, Ukoku uses his powers and Gato finds one of his hands cut off. This made Hazel panic and tells Gato to move away from Ukoku as Gato may get erased.

Meanwhile, Sanzo managed to finally get up after desperately trying even though he's still in pain from having his limbs broken. He than says he feels ashamed if this was all he got as it meant he can't shoulder the name "Sanzo Party". Ukoku's response to this is to say that being unsuccessful at killing Goku was a miscalculation.

Ukoku activates his sutra, the Muten Scripture whose power is to turn everything - from attacks to even spaces - into nothingness. It could even turn reality into a void.

Ukoku explains how there are two things that humans use to confirm their existence: their "sense of self" (one's experiences and memories) and "others" (confirming one's existence through the eyes of others) which helps build up one another. He then asks what would happen if "Genjo Sanzo" never existed and proceeds to engulf Sanzo in darkness.

Slowly, Sanzo's memories are disappearing starting from the latest ones. Hazel tried to call out to him but he and Gato suddenly disappears or so it seems as Ukoku informs Sanzo that Sanzo is the one disappearing instead.

Sanzo's very existence is starting to disappear. Sanzo tries to run away from the darkness but it follows as Ukoku tells him that he no longer exist and the people he knew had never met him. Memories of meeting Gojyo and Hakkai slowly disappears with the lasts being Goku's.

As he sees the moment when he had met and freed Goku from the cave prison, Sanzo reaches out as he asks for it to stop...

And someone grabs his hand and pulls him out of the darkness flinging him towards a tree in the back lol.

Sanzo opens his eyes and sees his comrades in front of him with Gojyo and Goku arguing about whose fault it was that Sanzo now probably has additional injuries while Hakkai is healing him. Sanzo yells for the two to shut up but his body is still in too much pain and can't get up.

Ukoku says Sanzo must be ashamed to be seen by his comrades in a weak state but Goku responds by saying they've seen each other in such situations before as they travel together after all.

Ukoku smiles as he once again remembered the bet he had made with Komyou. With Komyou betting on the next rising sun.

---

Okay, I have so many thoughts and opinions on this episode’s contents and what I wanted to write here had been playing in my head for days. It felt like there’s so many things I’d be typing that I felt too lazy to start this hahaha. Since it’d be super long, I’d be putting it on a separate post.

It’s finally the battle between Sanzo and Ukoku!

Ukoku is that one annoying asshole villain who isn’t only hard to kill but is being a smug bastard while doing it. I appreciate the Genjo Sanzo lore though. I don’t doubt the info he’s got (how he got it, I dunno) although the part where Sanzo’s real dad went missing and hasn’t been found makes me wonder if he knew where the man was also (but then again, it doesn’t matter unless the guy would show up for some unfathomable reason later).

Ukoku Sanzo’s power is pretty scary the more you think about it. It’s literal nothingness. He can just make anything disappear in a blink of an eye and he can also make it so that you won’t even know what was gone if he wants to. The darkness can be scary but the fact that it can eat you not just from the inside mentally but also your time itself. Many people fear death and their impending last moments but what if those last moments meant there’d be nothing at all left of you at all? I personally believe in the afterlife but if there’s such a thing as the power to take everything away, then we won’t even have that.

It’s kinda rare to see Sanzo feel... scared. The current situation wasn’t something he could easily deal with and it’s trying to take away everything from him including himself. I love that at the end when his memories of reaching out to Goku switched to the current situation of Goku being the one to grab his hand to bring him back to the light. Sanzo took Goku out of his prison of basically nothing (no memories as they were sealed away and nothing much to do for 500 years of his life) and now Goku took Sanzo out of the darkness that was threatening to make Sanzo’s life basically nothing (memories being erased and his entire life not existing in the first place). It’s great!

And if we add the events of Gaiden in there: Goku took Konzen out of his boring monotone life by reaching out first. Konzen dies with his life meaning something and promising to reach out to Goku first next time they meet which he did and as stated above, he also saved Goku’s life of boring monotone imprisonment. Oh my god this show is continuing to give me the feels!

And the guys making a ruckus when Sanzo’s been saved (sort of, Goku broke his bones further by yeeting him to a tree). The last time they all saw each other, Goku and Hakkai were injured and unconscious and Gojyo was upset at Sanzo but now that they’re reunited, everyone is just talking and acting like they normally would. Like everything went back to normal and it didn’t feel wrong - none of them are faking their emotions or forcing things to be like it was before like nothing happened. This is just how they are as a group. As Goku said, they’ve been travelling together after all.

I wonder what happened to Hazel and Gato though. They just sort of suddenly disappeared. They’re probably still there so I’m wondering if they’d back up the Sanzo Party with the fight against Ukoku Sanzo.

I love this arc. I heard it was good but holy crap it’s better than I expected! The themes, the events, and all of the feels. I’ll miss this once this season ends. I guess we’d have until next week or two after this. Til then!

#saiyuki reload zeroin #saiyuki #sana_post

9 notes · View notes

jincherie · 5 years ago

Text

florescence | vi

❀ — pairing: taehyung x reader x seokjin ❀ — genre: hybrid au, hybrid tae, hybrid jin, poly au, fluff, smut (future), angst ❀ — words: 4.9k+ ❀ — rating: sfw...ish? ❀ — warnings: everything is smoothing over.... and now that angst is out of the way, oc is having to deal with some thoughts that now have the time to rise to the surface. so um. hickeys and also an almost risque dream ❀ — notes: happy birthday to me!!! i hope u enjoy this!!! every chapter we get closer and closer to the heat!!!!!!

Okay, so maybe you’re lonely, and maybe there is something missing in your life, a void that you maybe want to fill with a companion that may or may not be of human origin… You’re perfectly content not doing anything about it though, until your best friend calls you in desperate need for your help and you suddenly end up coming home with not one, but two hybrids that may or may not have been on the way to the chopping block had you not taken them in. They’re more than a little rough around the edges, and the situation is less than ideal but… maybe the best things don’t always come in perfect, shiny packages. Maybe they just need a little time to bloom.

— posted; 30.03.2020 // masterlist || prev. | next.

It seems that for all your many efforts over the weeks in reassuring the two hybrids that they’re wanted by you and that they can settle down and make this their home, it doesn’t really sink in until after the night you let them scent you.

Which, of course, makes sense considering that was what was making them unsettled in the first place. You knew that letting them do that would return their behaviour to normal, but you weren’t expecting that in the process it would also do a complete one-eighty.

It’s like a switch has been flipped.

The first thing you notice, is that when you all head to bed and you enter your room, closing the door behind you, they seem to hover outside of it for a moment before continuing to their own room. Now, the old you would be thinking why? But! This is the new you, the new-and-improved y/n who knows how to use google when she should! And since you’ve been referring to google and the more trustworthy sites you’ve found, you know that they’re probably battling the urge to be closer to you.

What you mean by that, is that you read that more often than not hybrids prefer to be as close to their owners as possible at all times—and this can also mean that they want to sleep in the same room. It soothes an instinctual part of them, apparently. You can understand it, plus, if you’re being honest…. You’re not as opposed as you should be.

The idea of getting to cuddle with them while you sleep makes you feel warm and gooey inside, but the thing is that after the way things were hinted to be going the other night… you kind of have to chase off more than inappropriate thoughts every time you think about it. You can’t help it! They’re both handsome, sweet boys, and—

You’re gonna stop yourself there.

“I’m home!”

You call out as soon as you enter through the door, an unnecessary act considering they could probably hear you all the way down the street if they really tried. Still, it’s habit. You used to yell it even when no one was here, because it made you feel less lonely. Kind of sad, now you think about it. You hum, reaching the bench and placing your things down on top of the counter.

You’re startled into yelping when thick arms slip around your waist, heat pressing against your back and a face mushing into your neck. The lack of whining tells you it’s Taehyung that has reached you first today, eager to cuddle close until every trace of any other hybrid’s scent is gone. They’ve taken to doing this every time you get home—at first you wanted to protest, since they barely let you get five steps through the door before accosting you, but after seeing how pleased and content they look after, you couldn’t be mad at them for it even if you wanted to.

“Tae,” you hum, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair; your nails run against the back of his ear by accident and something akin to a purr thrums through his chest. He presses his lips to the junction of your neck before nipping it lightly in greeting, arms tightening around your waist fractionally. “I missed you too.”

When he pulls away and moves around to your front, you’re taken aback by how pleased he seems to be that you pinpointed what he was trying to say. His big chocolate eyes with those long, pretty lashes are looking at you so earnestly you can’t help but coo, bringing your hands up to pinch his cheeks. They instantly flush pink beneath your grip.

“So cute,” you coo, grinning as you squish his cheeks like he’s a newborn baby and you’re an aunt who is performing her obligated first cheek-pinch. “My cute baby Tae, I really did miss you so much.”

Teasing him probably isn’t the best way to deal with the sudden overstimulation of your senses at how cute he is, but his reactions are always worth it. He’s growing so bold lately that even though he doesn’t talk still, you almost forget how shy he can be. Blushing, Taehyung steps forward and drops his head, headbutting your shoulder to hide his face. A laugh tumbles from your throat before you can even register it, arms coming up to hold him close. You’re gonna die from a heart attack at his cuteness one of these days, you just know it.

“Where’s Seokjin?” you ask after a moment of holding him, trailing your fingers down his spine soothingly. His tail wags in joy each time you do it.

At your question though, he pulls back, and you’re surprised to see a look of hesitation on his face. You tilt your head, wondering as to the cause of it. “Is he okay?”

Taehyung nods instantly, not wanting you to worry, and seems to make up his mind about whatever he was considering. He slips his hand into yours, entwining your fingers, and tugs you towards the stairs. You follow, letting him lead you easily—this works well with your plans since you wanted to get changed into your pyjamas anyway. You kind of expect him to take you to his room, but your eyes widen when you see him turn and pull you in the direction of yours. You don’t have a name for the light, fluttery feeling that occurs in your stomach.

The door is slightly ajar as you approach and Taehyung goes straight in, pushing it open softly before stepping to the side and halting, a somewhat sheepish expression crossing his face. You see why a moment later.

There, on the edge of your bed closest to the wall, is Seokjin. He’s curled up around the blankets, a blue material you quickly recognise as one of your shirts clutched against his chest as he snoozes. He looks so at peace, cheek mushed against his hand and his hair tousled so endearingly; you’re making your way over before you even realise it.

As you approach and take in the other side of the bed, the comforter rumpled and another shirt laying discarded atop the covers, you surmise that Taehyung must have joined the older male in his nap at some point as well. When you shoot him a knowing look, he purses his lips and averts his eyes somewhat guiltily, making you laugh softly.

“Seokjin,” you say quietly, resting a knee on the bed so you can lean over and nudge the fox’s shoulder. His hand uncurls from his chest and you tickle his palm with your fingers. “Seokjin.”

He grunts softly, smooshing his face into the bed for a moment. Reflexively, his fingers start to curl around your own. You try calling him to wake again, “Seokj—oop!”

The sensation of falling onto the bed has your stomach temporarily being left behind your body as you’re pulled down, arm instantly slipping over your waist. Your cheeks heat, heart thudding so loudly you’re sure Taehyung can hear it; right in front of you is Seokjin’s face, so close that if you leant forward even a centimetre your lips would brush his own. The knowledge has your blood pressure skyrocketing.

A soft sound, almost like a whimper, comes from behind you, and you turn your head to glimpse at the dhole hybrid who still has a hold on your other hand—his expression is almost indecipherable, a mix of fond, jealous, and somehow amused all at the same time. There’s something else in there that melts his citrine irises into dark honey, something that makes your stomach flip instinctively before you push it forcibly from your brain.

Brushing your thumb over his hand to soothe him, you then turn back to his brother and ponder how to proceed. You need to wake him up because, to be honest, you’re hungry as hell and want to sort out dinner already. He has your hand trapped and held against his chest, hugging your arm like a teddy, and so you free your other hand from Taehyung’s grasp (ignoring his soft protest) and bring it to cup his cheek. Admiring his features for a moment, you brush your fingertip down his nose, and then pass your thumb over his cheekbone; even asleep, he nuzzles easily into your touch. Your chest is so warm.

“Seokjin,” you murmur, not wanting to alarm him by being any louder. “Seokjin, wake up please.”

He mumbles unintelligibly, bringing the hand he has in his hold up to his cheek and nuzzling against it—honest to god you think your heart is going to explode like that bird in Shrek when Fiona sings to it. What are you supposed to do with these feelings! There’s so much of them!

Unable to help yourself, you end up channelling it the exact same way you did before. You pinch Seokjin’s cheek, huffing, “Seokjinnie, wake up, I’m hungry.”

Apparently the pinch did the trick, because in the next second he’s cracking his eyes open, blinking blearily. As soon as he catches sight of you—or really, as soon as he registers that it’s you in front of him that he’s been staring at the past few seconds—he freezes, mouth popping open.

He continues staring at you for one, two, three seconds. Then he jerks back like he’s been burned, flinging somewhat haphazardly into a sitting position with a yelped, “y/n!”

You take the opportunity to sit up and climb from the bed now that he’s released your hand, smiling at him cheekily. “Missed me, did you, bub?”

His face erupts into a violent blush, but surprisingly he doesn’t shy away. “No!” he denies, before realising how incriminating his current location and choice of teddy-bear is, and later amending, “… Maybe.”

You laugh, grabbing his hands and pulling him to a stand; fluidly, in the same movement his arms slip around your waist and he curls around you, face going straight to the other side of your neck to perform his daily evening scenting. You allow him until the soft trailing of his nose along your neck tickles too much and you let out a squeak, wriggling out of his hold.

“You guys are gonna kill me one day,” you remark, shaking your head with a smile. Still sleepy, Seokjin returns your smile with a dazed one of his own, his hand coming to clutch your sleeve as you beg to depart from the room. Taehyung rushes ahead to get the door, fluffy russet tail swishing happily behind him. “I missed you both too. What did you get up to today? I mean, besides napping in my bed.”

Seokjin lets out a protest at your teasing, but it doesn’t last long before he’s happily filling you in on the details of the day, running you through its contents in detail. You listen attentively, pulling out utensils and dishes for dinner as you do so. You only pause when Seokjin halts suddenly, and you feel his tentative touch on your elbow.

When you turn to him, it’s a determined, pleading look in his amber-hued eyes that greets you. “Can I cook tonight? I want to learn so I can make dinner for you. You always come back and make it for us after being away most of the day.”

Something akin to fluster creeps under your skin and warms your cheeks—you don’t know what to do with the way his words make your heart throb. “Oh, o-of course. You remember how to make spaghetti?”

At his fervent nodding, you relinquish the items in your hold to him and step back, moving to join Taehyung on the stools at the other side of the counter. Now that he’s gotten his question out of the way, Seokjin resumes his earlier chattering, speaking enough for the three of you. You did have some slight reservations about him cooking by himself, but as you watch you realise that he really has been paying avid attention every time you teach him how to make something. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’d taken notes and studied.

“We wanted to nap on the hammock outside, but it’s not the same without you,” Seokjin pouts, squinting his eyes as he slices onions. “Also, we kind of finished that season of The Dragon Prince without you… sorry.”

“That’s okay,” you answer immediately, before letting out a surprised gasp when something brushes your back. You didn’t even know Taehyung had moved until you feel him pressing against you from behind, slipping his arms over your shoulders to hang slackly and resting his chin on your head. “You’re very cuddly today, Tae.”

“He missed you,” Seokjin supplies without pause, pausing his cutting only to give the younger hybrid a fond look. His peppery tail sways and wags contentedly behind him. “You were gone extra early this morning, and he didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Ah,” you hum in realisation, tilting your head back to meet Taehyung’s gaze, your hand coming to touch one of the arms hanging over your shoulders. “Sorry, Tae. I’ll make sure to say goodbye in the future.”

To your utter surprise, the dhole hybrid lets out a sound oddly like a mew and a chirp blended into one. He brings his arms to hug your shoulders, face burying into your hair happily; you can feel his ears flick against your head and you focus on that instead of the way his hand had accidentally brushed against your chest when he moved his arm.

“You’re forgiven,” Seokjin informs you, amused. His words bring a smile to your face.

Seokjin is quick and concise while making your dinner, but spends a fair amount of time in the final stages making sure it tastes just right. By the time the food is served and steaming in a bowl in front of you, it’s barely been forty minutes and you’ve never been hungrier. The smell alone in the last twenty minutes has had you salivating consistently.

To Seokjin’s credit, it’s delicious and honestly better than your own cooking. You make sure to tell him so and he blushes, shoving a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth to hide his happy smile. The praise makes him glow with pride for the rest of the evening, Taehyung telling him in his own way that he enjoyed the meal too. You wonder if Seokjin would be interested in looking up other recipes, and make a note to look into finding a recipe book for him.

After eating, the three of you move somewhat lazily to the living room to watch something before you retire. Well, you say that loosely. What really happens as soon as you sit on the lounge is that your two hybrids lay on top of you and command all your attention in the form of cuddles. You’re so happy that things have resumed the way they were, better even. You feel soothed, and surprisingly a little bit giddy with anticipation for how things can only go up from here. As you turn on Netflix and catch up on the series they’d watched without you, you can’t help the way your thoughts stray to what is going to happen as soon as you call bedtime.

Honestly, you haven’t paused and let it sink in that you found Jin napping on your bed earlier. Do they do it often? It would explain a lot—namely the way your bed when you come home would sometimes be in a different way to how you left it in the morning. It also makes sense considering you’ve noticed how drawn they are to your room. It’s not like it’s explicitly out of bounds for them, but you get the sense that to them it’s a topic that they don’t know how to approach yet. You wonder if tonight you will catch them lingering on the way past your door again.

A few hours and several episodes later reveals that the answer is: yes.

You’ve just finished changing into your pyjamas, some shorts and a loose, thin singlet, when you catch familiar shadows moving from underneath your door. You smile, stretching as you make your way to the door as quietly as possible.

When you swing it open and catch two hybrids standing hesitantly outside it, you promptly scare the living daylights out of them.

“Sorry,” you say, grinning at the way Taehyung pouts grumpily at you and Seokjin places a hand over his heart. “Wanna tell me what you’re doing outside my door?”

At your question, their faces draw a blank. Apparently, they hadn’t realised that you noticed their usual lingering.

“Um,” Seokjin bites his lip, canines digging softly into the plump flesh. “No?”

You try not to laugh, for his sake. Your hybrids always blush to easily and while they look cute when they do you kind of wonder if there’s any long-term side effects of having that much blood rush to your head on the regular.

The longer the interaction goes on, the more flustered he gets. “Um. We were just going to bed. Goodnight—”

You don’t miss the way Taehyung smacks his arm, giving him a pointed look, and you decide to be the bolder person in this case. You made a promise to yourself after last time that you were going to be more attentive and proactive, and so here you are! Doesn’t mean you can’t tease them a little while you have mercy on them, though.

“Oh,” you say, letting out a sigh. “Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to sleep in here tonight, but if you want to go to your own bed it’s o—”

The way their eyes light up is almost comical, Seokjin cutting you off hurriedly. “No! No, we don’t want to—I mean, we like our bed, but i-if we can, um, sleep in yours…”

You opt not to say anything, simply stepping back and opening your door to them. They dart inside like they’re scared you’re going to change your mind, diving onto your bed and worming beneath the covers in record timing—you have to laugh as you climb into the space they left you in the middle. Using your remote, you make sure the light is off and your fan is on since you have a feeling you’re going to wake up overheated.

It’s only the fairy lights framing your window that cast a soft, blue glow over the handsome curves of your hybrids’ faces now, both of their eyes trained on you as you settled down onto your back. As soon as you’re comfortable, they dive forward and plant their faces in the respective sides of your neck they’ve claimed.

“Sorry,” Seokjin murmurs after a moment, nosing against your skin and inhaling softly. “It’s… a hybrid thing. Being around your scent is really… calming.”

“Oh,” you say, flustered. “So long as I don’t stink, then. Tell me if I insult your nose.”

“I don’t think you could ever smell bad, y/n,” he confesses lowly, Taehyung humming softly in agreement. The vibrations against your skin almost make you shudder.

“I’m flattered but I can assure you that’s not true,” you laugh, breath hitching as Seokjin buries his face further into your neck, nosing along your hairline.

“Whatever,” he mumbles, wriggling closer and hugging you tight. Taehyung almost fights him for the privilege of having an arm around your waist but settles for looping it over your ribs instead. “Go to sleep, ‘m sleepy.”

You roll your eyes, wondering how you never noticed his sassy streak earlier on, but oblige his request. Its warm in their hold, and as it usually does you find yourself quickly melting into the security of it, sleep coming easily. You pass out, limbs intertwined with those of your hybrids as you all slip into your respective dreams.

x—x—x

About midway through the night you find yourself waking, eyes blinking blearily at the ceiling before you even realise you’ve been roused from sleep. For a moment, you find yourself sifting through the fog of sleep in your mind for the reason why you’ve woken, until you become aware of a sensation at your neck.

It’s wet, you realise belatedly at the feeling of cool air brushing your sensitive skin, but that’s not all. Warmth travels down your spine and your thighs twitch with the urge to move at another sensation, one that takes you another moment to identify.

Someone… is sucking on your neck?

Your brain, even still hazy with sleep, is quick to piece it together after that. It’s Taehyung, soft chitters escaping him as his chest thrums with something akin to a purr against your shoulder. He’s still asleep, you surmise, but even in sleep he’s really ravaging your neck. Each soft suckle of your skin into his mouth is paired with the scrape of his teeth, a shudder fighting to roll down your spine as something a little too synonymous with pleasure shoots through you.

Distantly, you know you should push him off of you, but your head is so fuzzy and your heart is doing a tumble routine in your chest. You go to push him away softly by placing a hand on his shoulder but only end up bunching it in the material of his shirt when he moves lower and huffs before attaching his mouth to the tender junction of your neck and shoulder. The whine that rises in your throat thankfully gets caught before it can escape, your hand sliding up from Taehyung’s shoulder to touch his cheek.

Your finger accidentally brushes his mouth, but what catches you more off-guard is that he immediately detaches his mouth from your neck and goes for your finger instead, the hand wedged between you two holding it to his face as he nibbles and licks the skin there instead, much more gently than he had your neck. You think your heart is about to give out, but now that the sensations aren’t so overwhelming, you find yourself sinking back into sleep once more. You’re so tired, after all, and it’s so warm… it doesn’t take you long at all before you’re snoozing away once more.

x—x—x

When you went back to sleep, you weren’t expecting to be thrown back into a dream—but you have a fleeting realisation, for just a moment, that that’s where you’ve ended up.

Everything is a little foggy.

“you—you won’t… you never…”

You pause—you’re waiting for him to continue. You’re in his room, and you don’t know where Taehyung is. The shower? Maybe. Seokjin is confessing something to you, something to do with his hybrid nature. It filters through your brain—you’ve messed up again, but it’s something different this time…

“Why are you upset, Jin? You scent me, Taehyung scents me. I thought that was what you needed to feel more comfortable? And at ease?” you push softly, prodding for an answer that will finally enlighten you. You’re on the bed now, reaching for his hands—were you on the bed before? You can’t remember, but it somehow makes sense that you’re there now. His hands are startlingly, lucidly warm in your own.

“Y-yes! We do! Because we care about you!” his tone has grown sharper now, voice lower and rougher. “But you—you don’t do it, and you never do it, so how are we supposed to f—”

It clicks into place in your head about midway through his rant, what has got him all bothered this time—the information comes to you like a premonition. A hum escapes you, and you shuffle closer to him on the bed, watching his gaze rest elsewhere. At least, it does until he feels your hands come to his waist where it blends into the sight flare of his hips, material bunching in your grasp.

Maybe its because a part of you can tell that this is far too fuzzy and far-fetched to be real, that this is really just a dream, but something foreign and brazen wells up in you, fills every inch of your body like a hand slipping into a glove. You’ve never had these thoughts before, but at the same time… they don’t feel unfamiliar. The urge you’re feeling isn’t one you recognise but it doesn’t feel out of place.

Even so, when you move you’re surprised by your own boldness—its like you’re only controlling a portion of your own body, and the rest of it is acting out a script you’ve never seen.

“You think I don’t care about you because I haven’t ever scented you, Jinnie?” you ask, tone soft but clear. His ears flick towards you before flying back, his tail flicking once behind him. His cheeks are a familiar pink, but the heaviness of his golden eyes isn’t something you recognise—you struggle to discern, even in your dreamlike state of omnipotence, exactly what you’re seeing. An optimistic thought whispers across your mind; is it yearning you glimpse? “Even though I tell you every day, and every night, how much you mean to me?”

Seokjin stumbles over his words as he fumbles with his grip on you, eyes wide and stuck on your face. You don’t remember the transition, don’t think it even happened, but his back is pressed to the pillows now, and you hover above him. The soft cotton in your grasp is all too easily pushed up to allow your fingers to brush his skin—wasn’t his shirt different before? It’s not important enough to keep you occupied.

“N-no, I mean y-yes, b-but you—”

“Alright, Seokjin, I understand,” you breathe, meeting his gaze and taking in the way he shudders at your words, confusion flicking across his features. “You want me to scent you? I’ll scent you.”

The poor fox hybrid doesn’t even have a chance to orient himself after those words before you’re swinging a thigh over his hips, knees pressing into the lush bedding. He scrambles to adjust out of instinct, unintentionally helping you in the process as he tips you forward, your face landing against his neck. Immediately, he freezes, the slightest sound catching in his throat, and you know you’re on the right track. Distantly, you realise the dream would have carried you here no matter what.

You allow your arms to slip and embrace him, laying against him for a moment until you feel his racing heart calm just a tad; it’s an odd detail that sticks out to you amongst the fog of everything else. Then, you turn your head and take in a long, deep breath, and it starts thudding frantically away all over again. His hands clutch the material of your shirt tentatively, chest moving yours with it with each inhale.

Realising where your face is pressed, somewhat playfully you smile and hum against the smooth skin of his neck, feeling his whole body shudder beneath you in response. He rasps, voice thick, “y-y/n—”

He doesn’t finish whatever he begins to say, though, because in the next second you’re nuzzling your face against him, tip of your nose brushing the dip beneath his jaw before it’s replaced by your lips. He chokes mid-sentence, breath catching audibly in his throat, and you’ve never been so endeared and… other things, in your life.

Yearning, yearning, yearning—it fills you to the brim and you feel you’re about to overflow.

You don’t give him much of a chance to adjust, especially since you suddenly recall exactly how he was when you first let him scent you, barely a week ago.

At the sudden sensation of your tongue dragging along the flesh beneath his jaw, Seokjin jerks and whines.

You blink your eyes open, the harshness of the sunlight filtering in through the window making you snap them shut once more.

What. The fuck.

The details of the dream are still fresh in your mind, but you can feel them slipping away even as you ease your eyes open to check where you are. Okay, you’re in your room. What just happened, didn’t happen. What even…

As you lay and mull over the contents of your current reality, it sinks in exactly who and what happened in your dream—instantly, your face burns. You’re mortified, and only now do you suddenly recall the two hybrids that had been sharing your bed.

One of which, you just almost had a raunchy dream about.

To your surprise, though, when your gaze flicks to either side of you, the bed is empty of anyone but yourself. Instantly, relief flushes through you. They probably got up to make breakfast, and of course they have no idea about the contents of your dream. You’re just being paranoid because you’re somewhat ashamed right now.

God, you need to repent—but you’ll do that later. In the meantime, you’re just thankful that your two hybrid housemates are none the wiser to the mess that is currently going on in your brain.

Little do you know, that the reason they’d fled your bed early was because of the telling, sweet scent that begin to sink into their senses partway through your dream, and the instincts that had begun to rise within them in response to it.

a/n: happy birthday to me!! please let me know what u think and whether u enjoyed by leaving a like n reblog!!!! <3 <3

masterlist || prev. | next.

2K notes · View notes

anerdinallherglory · 4 years ago

Text

Approaching Sun (30)

Author’s Note: Happy late Valentine’s Day! Fun note: I actually started A.S. on this very same holiday a couple years back. And I did not expect the length or plot this story has taken at allll. Again, I am sorry this is so late. I am hoping to update a LOT more this summer (only one summer class this time!) Unless I get the new job that I am hoping for (fingers crossed). But if I get this job, my free time to write will really open up for me. So it’s a win-win for this story either way.

Also, I want to especially thank these readers: adarkunicorn, softshelldefence, seafoamsands, hatakeliz, harza4925, peachop, cheese-and-biscuits, epitomeofprocrastination, tamnobela, and andreeastroe. These readers really encouraged me to keep writing this story after I was ready trash and take it off all of its publishing sites. You can thank them this story continues.

To all my reviewers, I seriously love you ALL. I am hoping I will get to a point where I can take a break from student emails and respond to each and every one of your reviews in the future. That will be my new year’s resolution this year! I am going to be better. You are all amazing and bring me so much joy and encouragement.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29

Chapter 30: A Very Dangerous Game

Sasuke hated Kaguya’s sand dimension even more than he disliked the desert that covered the vast majority of the Land of Wind. This dimension was forever hot despite that the dimension’s otherworldly moon hung low in the dark horizon, a massive orb of blinding white that mirrored the Earth’s moon in exact replica. Sasuke had always felt like the illusion was a reminder of the Otsusuki people, and that Kaguya had designed this dimension to display something that reminded her of home. To Sasuke, the dimension moons eerily reminded him of Kaguya’s pupil-less irises, always watching the spaces that existed between nothing.

Glaring at it in paranoid response, Sasuke, deprived of chakra now, walked toward it slowly and determinedly as a challenge. He would show her exactly how her dimensions were now his domains. The Uchiha decided he would walk freely here because he couldn’t do as he pleased his own world. He wanted to scream curses at that eye-like globe, demanding the Otsusuki show up and take him on now in his weakened state.

“Come on!” he screamed. “All of you! What are you waiting for? Let’s get this over with! I will find you all eventually!” He wanted it done. He wanted this over. He wanted to have a life despite his promise to be the worlds’ sacrifice for peace.

As if to taunt him, Sasuke’s shuffling feet snagged over something in the sand, and he glanced down at his feet in surprise. A ninja’s vest, half-burnt away from acid, displayed itself like a green bearing flag left behind by those who had explored a barren planet. Even though Sasuke had been the only human to ever walk here, Sakura’s old vest that Sasuke had used as a teleport connection between dimensions back when he had been trapped here, always served as a call to his more current jumps. In other words, every time Sasuke had come here over the past couple of years, no matter where he opened the portal, he would always land within a few feet of it.

In the past, he had thought of removing it because it was a painful reminder in many ways. But as he returned consistently to the same spot, Sasuke began to theorize that it had something to do with his ability to travel here. At first, Sasuke believed it was because during teleportation, his path crisscrossed into a connection that had already been created and used before—this was the most likely explanation; his chakra simply wasn’t strong enough to rip a new tear in the fabric of space and time. But as he looked at it now, Sasuke wondered if there was more to it than that. Did emotions tie him to this piece of fabric? And because Sasuke’s friends always existed somewhere in the back of his mind, did his chakra seek it out as something familiar to secure itself to before flinging him through the vacuum of nothingness?

Sasuke glared back at the moon in hatred, wondering too, if it could be just a sick part of Kaguya’s illusions, knowing that the vest had in the past and always, always would continue to stop the Uchiha in his tracks. A temptation reminding him of a different life, one that would cause him to ignore the Otsusuki. Kaguya would want that.

He sat down beside it despite how much he wanted to turn and walk away from it as he always had. This time, he let it be his beacon out of the void, drawing some sort of strength from it in his chakra-deprived state. The whole point of being this exhausted was to avoid thinking of her, but the tattered shinobi vest always pricked him with guilt, especially now when he had left her alone in Sunagakure despite his promises of partnership. It was as if the green material had a voice of its own, saying “See how far she would go for you?” And Sasuke, keeping his thoughts private from the ever-watching rock above, would think to himself “I am doing this for her, too. She will understand eventually. She will accept just how far I am willing to go for this peace we both envision. We have the same goal.”

As Sasuke thought these thoughts again, Sasuke accepted that if they couldn’t be united in love, then at the very least, they would be united in the same goal, the same vision of happiness. It comforted him ever so slightly.

He sighed as he fingered the chakra pills at his waist, guilt invading his chest and suffocating him. How could he tell her his true feelings and make her accept what he was willing to accept? How could he satisfy the both of them and do the least damage?

Sasuke exhaled and leaned back in the sand once more to sleep, sweat beading across his brow in the high temperature. He turned on his side and faced the vest in exhaustion, pretending it was her—pretending to be satisfied with this small piece of the woman he loved and would ever allow himself to dream this close to.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The blackness pervaded all of Sakura’s senses as soon as her feet hit the ground opposite the giant hole she had just created in the sand. She blinked hard, hearing the cursing and alarmed proclamations of those she had attacked. The darkness was like a leaden mist before her eyes and Sakura instinctively created the sign of “release” for genjutsu. And whether it was from her lack of chakra, or because this was a ninjutsu, Sakura’s attempts yielded zero results. The blackness remained and blinded her past several inches in front of her face. When she heard Isao’s shout for her, she had no choice but to dart forward blindly, determined to reach him before someone else did.

“Let go of me!” the child screamed, his pursuer unfortunately catching up with him. Sakura navigated through the pillars of sand-dripping earth that now projected themselves in the air around her. With hands outstretched, she cursed herself. The blow had meant to disorient her opponents and it had, but this damn thickening darkness made it difficult to move forward through the landscape of her own destruction. Thankfully, the waterfalling crumble of sand masked her rushed footfalls.

The kunoichi drew upon her chakra once more, but it came as slowly as before, the medicine still lingering in her system with its toxic chakra clotting effects. Sakura moved hurriedly ahead, hoping that she wasn’t the only one choked with darkness.

Isao’s curses came and Sakura finally rounded a huge boulder to find herself facing the back of the thug’s head. He had his massive hands around the child’s throat, weapon tossed aside in favor of a crueler death to the victim that had caused him so much trouble. Despite his struggle for his life, Isao made eye contact with her the moment they were close enough to see each other. His attacker saw recognition register in the boy’s eyes and spun to face her. But it was too late. Sakura’s kunai was slicing the gray flesh of his throat before he even had time to see her, a final blow that had been delayed from earlier, but determined by fate to be his cause of death. The brutish ninja dropped to the ground instantly and Sakura justified the blood that pooled freely at her feet by remembering his cruel actions to the child that struggled to catch his breath before her.

Sakura picked up the abandoned weapon, the weight unfamiliar in her hands. The sound of the man’s death had betrayed her position, and the footsteps of his companions crunched closer to her location. Terrified, Sakura clutched the child, pushing him behind the jagged column of rock behind her.

“Isao,” she pleaded in a whisper. “You have to make a run for it.”

“I won’t leave you,” he declared, determined to fight to his death for her.

“The only thing you can do for me now is to go get help,” she said honestly. It was a half-truth. There were only a few realities before them, and Isao making it back to the village and bringing help was not likely due to how much time it would take. But Sakura was desperate to remove the brave child from the scenario. She cared too much to let him sacrifice himself for her.

“Miss—” he protested, but Sakura propelled him forward in the blinding darkness, an enemy’s footsteps rounding the earth that cloaked him. It was too late to argue, and Sakura turned to face the phantom-man who stepped toward her in visibility, shadows curling around him as he cleared a path through the inky mist.

Sakura faced him squarely, taking a defensive stance and raising the wicked katana with her sharper green eyes, sending a stare to him along the metal’s surface. The shadow-wielding ninja smirked and the rest of his crew appeared beside him.

“Go!” she screamed in final command at the child whose feet took off into the black at her back.

Sakura brandished the sword in confident threat at her attackers, herself serving as the shield between herself and Isao; they wouldn’t move an inch in pursuit of his direction if she had anything to do with it. Sakura had never wielded a sword before, but in the absence of chakra, she would become a master at it in this moment. Sakura was a kunoichi, a medic, a chakra control master, the pupil of a legendary Sanin, a rising legend herself, and today, she would add something else to her list. Scratch that. She would two things tonight: she would eradicate this new movement of anti-peace revolutionaries, and she would do it at disadvantage with the weapon of her enemy.

. . . . . . . .

As Isao ran, he clutched his side in pain, a sharp stab in his waist. The man who Sakura had killed moments before must have broken one of his ribs as he crushed Isao to the ground. At first, the young ninja pitched forward in blackness, half-debating to turn back to help the pink-haired ninja. But Isao knew the truth. He had been foolish to pursue her and her kidnappers alone and he cursed himself for his rash decisions in his fear of losing sight of them; he should have told someone else even if he lost their trail. Any of them, anyone at allwould have been better help to Miss Haruno than he had been.

Isao’s bravery amounted to nothing and it was evident in every piercing word from the medic kunoichi: The only thing you can do for me now is to go get help … Isao let the command fuel him forward despite the pain, until the night faded into morning hours later and the mighty walls of the Sand Village came into view.

He didn’t know how much time had passed and he didn’t wait to scream for help. The Kazekage was not in the village—he had overheard that much. Neither was the teammate that traveled with Miss Haruno. He yelled the only name he could think of, the name his heart still cried out to despite how much he hated him. The roaring sand shrouded his cries, and the prison walls would buffer it completely, but Isao begged to the air, shouting over and over, “FATHER! HELP ME!”

. . . . . . . .

The taste of the chakra pill was bitter, smoky and acrid. The Uchiha almost gagged trying to swallow it down, and he silently confirmed that Sai had been right—although Sasuke hated to agree with anything his entitled replacement said. What had he called them? Mudballs? Despite the accurate term, Sasuke feared his kunoichi companion more than he hated the taste, so he would keep the complaint to himself.

The pill pooled in his stomach and Sasuke took a breath, focusing on the ignition starting in his core. The rush of power was exhilarating as it topped off his chakra supply, overflowing visibly in a blue-purple halo around him. It sizzled along his skin and Sasuke grinned wickedly as a spiraling vortex appeared before him, much larger than any he had been able to create on his own before.

This was it! It was working! He pushed beyond the core dimension easily, his ready supply of chakra speedily fueling the tunnel between the void, but it ate and ate away at his energy and the color disappeared from his skin. Running off his own meager supply now, Sasuke exhaled and grinded his teeth in concentration. Finally, the connection was made and Sasuke threw himself through it.

He landed roughly, skidding to a halt, and he was ironically thankful for once for the Land of Wind’s high volume of sand. Sasuke found himself smirking up at the lightening sky as he recovered, because this was his first victory in a long struggle of jumping dimensions. To the Uchiha, it was proof that he was doing exactly what he was meant to do: beat Kaguya and the Otsusuki clan at their own game in their own territory. Giddy in his success, Sasuke used the last of his dwindling energy to rise to his feet, his thoughts immediately turning to the woman who had helped make this all possible—he hadn’t achieved this on his own; Sakura deserved the credit. And it was the first time that Sasuke could admit that he needed someone else’s help in his goal.

The dark walls of Sunagakure cut the bright morning horizon in half and Sasuke’s gut twisted in a combination of emptiness and guilt at the thought of returning to Sunagakure to face his friend after their… kiss. Sasuke was torn between finding her immediately to tell her that their plan had worked, pretending the kiss never happened in typical Uchiha fashion. But the time he had stolen away from her “to think” brought him to only one conclusion: he needed to apologize—again—and at least explain why. He had made her a promise to be a partner that depended on each other, and here Sakura was continuing to keep that promise, while Sasuke stole moments of happiness and bailed when he had to face the consequences. Suddenly remembering their sunset conversation the last time he had returned after leaving, Sasuke felt a fresh stab to his consciousness as he recalled her statement: “a part of partnership is communication.”

Sasuke slowly made his way toward the village gates. When he passed through the canyon-like entrance, people greeted him with “good mornings” while others stared openly at him. Their gazes were a little different, warmer, and Sasuke wondered if his teammate’s influence in the hospital had something to do with his newreception in Sunagakure now.

Feeling even more ashamed, Sasuke resolved himself for his female companion’s wrath and made a straight line for the hospital.

When he entered the hospital’s double doors, Sasuke came upon a scene that made his stomach drop into his feet. Kankuro, who was haggard from exhaustion, and had apparently returned sometime in the night, was fisting the collar of a hospital staff member.

“What do you mean they’re not here?” he bristled. “If she’s not in her rooms, then she should be here. Where’s Mako? Where’s the kid?”

“I don’t know sir,” came the panicked response from the employee, terrified to be facing the Kazekage’s right-hand man. “I’m sure they’re in the village somewhere.”

Hearing those words had Sasuke acting before thinking and the Uchiha rushed forward to fist the shirt of the same medic. “Are you talking about Sakura?” His eyes darted between the both of them and Kankuro’s grip released from the startled staff’s shirt in the same moment he shoved Sasuke’s own hand away.

“Where the hell have you been?” Kankuro accused icily, and a fire Sasuke didn’t even know he had left in him, surged from his throat in anger.

“What the hell is happening?” he demanded, taking another step toward the puppet wielder.

Kankuro pinched his nose in frustration, then beheld him in shock. “You mean Sakura isn’t with you?”

Sasuke eyes widened in immediate response, an answer refusing to form on his lips. Instead, he shouted, “You don’t know where she is?!”

Kankuro frowned deeper at his sudden animosity. “She hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning,” he explained quickly. “The innkeeper said she never came back to the inn. Mako, another medic, and Sakura’s young patient are missing too.”

Sasuke didn’t wait for any further explanation before he began sprinting up the stairs to the second floor of the hospital, the filter for his behavior now completely removed. Let everyone think what they want! That bastard! When Sasuke got ahold of Mako, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Sasuke’s feet were unusually heavy and his breath labored as he continued climbing to the third floor toward the medicine preparation room they had occupied together only recently.

“Sakura?!” He kicked open the door and furiously searched the vacant room with his eyes. After seeing no one, Sasuke stared at the empty couch where they had sat so close to one another the night before last. As if his memory of her there could recall her, Sasuke gazed openly at it, breathing hard.

Having followed the Uchiha, Kankuro appeared in the door behind him. “We’ve already checked the hospital. She isn’t here. We need to check the rest of the village, quickly!”

She couldn’t be missing. Was she really with that assistant of hers or that child? Were they off somewhere else doing something medical, or were they truly missing? Shit. Shit. Shit.

He turned on Kankuro in his unnerved rage. Sasuke wanted to demand where they had been, he and the Kazekage, but Sasuke remembered that Sakura had told him that they were investigating trouble near the border. He cursed himself again for being selfish and leaving her here alone.

As if reading his thoughts, Kankuro explained, “I was sent back by the Kazekage in the night. He is handling a situation regarding the ninja Sakura said ambushed you both in Tanigakure. The incidents were apparently related.”

“What do you mean?” Sasuke suddenly asked, a deep and cutting sensation coming over Sasuke that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time: fear.

Kankuro looked down and away from him, debating on how much to reveal. “With some unmentionable methods, we were finally able to find out who their target was,” he finally informed with a sigh. His eyes rose to meet Sasuke’s and the Uchiha saw the same raw fear mirrored in Kankuro’s eyes. “It’s Sakura.”

At the very moment that Sasuke’s knees felt like collapsing beneath his weight, the same staff member that the two ninja had threatened seconds before, came running into the room, panting heavily from having hiked the floors.

“Come quickly,” he urged between breaths, turning immediately to run back down the steps. “Isao has returned.”

Kankuro made eye contact with the Uchiha before they both bolted back down the stairs, taking two and three steps at time. Sasuke cursed his lack of chakra that kept him from just teleporting downstairs.

Sitting in a chair, the child clutched his side. Sasuke noticed that he kept trying to rise, but the staff held him down as they tried to bandage a wound on his arm. Deep purple finger marks circled around the child’s neck like a collar.

“Not me! Her! Go find her, please!” he shouted as he struggled against them.

“Calm down boy,” a woman medic urged. “We have to staunch the flow of blood from your arm.” The child looked at his wound as if he didn’t even know it had been there.

When Isao caught sight of Sasuke and Kankuro, he started to cry. “HELP! Please help!” he shouted, and they quickly moved to hover over the child. Kankuro suddenly kneeled before him, taking the gauze from the medic and wrapped the child’s arm himself as he questioned.

“Speak kid,” Kankuro urged, “What is going on?”

“Miss Haruno,” he choked between tears. “She’s still out there! Please, we have to go!”

Before Kankuro could ask the child why, Sasuke did something appalling, an act that Sakura would be disappointed in him for. His sharingan flashed bright, soaking up the last of his chakra like a sponge, and he caught the panicked child’s stare in his own crimson and purple one.

Just as he had to Isao’s father, Sasuke stepped into the child’s memories. Isao’s recollections were almost too overwhelming for Sasuke to handle at the moment, each image dripping with the fear in which young ones saw the ninja world. There was also bravery in them and familial concern for the pink-haired kunoichi. Sasuke skipped through the memories like speeding up a film, an act that made his head throb in pain. He didn’t care about his own state at the moment though, seeking the green-eyed face of the woman he had come to love.

There. Isao’s most recent memory Sakura was of her telling him “to go get help.” Sasuke didn’t have time to go back further and he let the memories play out from that point, mapping the child’s nighttime desert sprint, hours long, from the empty desert back to the gates of the village.

Not needing to explore the child’s mind further, he released Isao and they both gasped. Sasuke clutched his eye, ignoring the angry glare on Kankuro’s face. He didn’t care about Kankuro’s morals or even the child’s shocked state at that moment. There was only one thing he cared about. He would let the child explain the details to Kankuro; Sasuke didn’t have the time to explain things to Kankuro. Instead, the Uchiha did the unthinkable, playing the very dangerous game of popping another chakra pill into his mouth as he sprinted out the hospital doors.

#approaching sun #approachingsun #sasusaku #Happy Valentine's Day #Sakura Haruno #sasuke and sakura #ssfanfiction #sasusakufanfiction #Sasuke Uchiha #sasukeshinden #sasuke shinden #sakura hiden #naruto fanfiction #narutolightnovels

90 notes · View notes

one-with-the-floor · 5 years ago

Text

“Hold still.”

Aziraphale huffed and shifted on his knees.

“Hold. Still.”

“Dear, I really don’t see the point—”

“Do you want me to stab you in the eye?”

The angel looked up to stare at him incredulously. “Do I want you to—”

“No? Great! Then stop. Moving.”

Aziraphale grumbled and rolled his eyes, but he sat back on his heels and let Crowley lean in to continue lining his eyelids. “You know, angel,” Crowley said carefully, nudging Aziraphale’s face to the side where the light was better. “You could’ve leaned into this whole immortal look when you got here, if you wanted. It, ah. Suits you.” Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but Crowley poked him sharply in the shoulder. “If you start talking now you will end up with kohl in your hair, I swear to Heaven, Aziraphale, this is a very delicate process.”

“I just—”

Crowley waved the brush towards his face in a clear threat. Aziraphale stopped talking.

He worked in silence for a bit. This was the tricky bit, the wing, where the liner swung out past the eye in a decorative sweep. It took concentration even when he did it on himself, and he’d had decades of practice at that. Aziraphale’s skin was a new challenge, different in its give and smoothness, different in the way the brush pulled or glided or tugged. It didn’t help that he was so close; how was he supposed to think straight when he could smell Aziraphale’s soap, and feel his breath on his hands?

The brush nearly slipped, and he cursed under his breath. The kohl was such a sharp contrast to Aziraphale’s pale skin, one little wobbly line would show clear as day. Refocusing, he drew over it again. There. Even, smooth, perfect. Worthy of the face it adorned, now.

Crowley sat back to see the full effect, and had to stop himself from gasping aloud. Aziraphale looked breathtaking. The blue of his skirt brought out the warm pink of his skin, and the gold jewelry Crowley had (gently) bullied him into just drew attention to his wrists, his hips, his beautiful soft collarbones. He was absolutely stunning, and Crowley let himself stare, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. He could sit and look at this vision for centuries.

After a moment, Aziraphale’s forehead creased, his mouth drooped into a little pout, and he cracked one eye open. When he saw Crowley had moved away from his face, he gave up pretending to be still. “My dear?”

“Ngk!” Crowley quickly forced his expression to cooperate already and shifted to turn away. If he looked at Aziraphale much longer he just might start burning.

“Is it done, then?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley glanced over just in time to grab his hand away from his face.

“Hell’s sake, angel, I just finished that, don’t touch it!”

“I just wanted to see—”

“You’re gonna see it by smudging it all over your face?”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, it can’t be that bad.”

“You wanna test that? ‘Cause really, angel, be my guest, but—erk—” It was right then that Crowley realized he was still holding Aziraphale’s wrist, and he dropped it like his hand was burning as badly as his face. “Ah… er, any—anyway.” He turned away more fully this time, desperate to get the flames in his cheeks to shove off and leave him alone. “I’ll just, um. Here, yeah, just hold on a moment, I’ll do mine and then we can… uh, yeah, just a sec, won’t take long I can—”

A soft hand landed on his arm, and he froze in his tracks. “Let me.”

“...what?”

With gentle fingers, Aziraphale turned him back around. “Let me do it.”

Heaven, his eyes were lovely, he couldn’t so much as breathe in the glow of those eyes, how the hell was he supposed to string words together? “Ngk, that’s—er, I mean—I don’t—”

Suddenly there was a kohl brush very close to his face. “Hold still.”

“What—ANGEL!” He smacked the brush away. “Do you even know how to do it?”

Aziraphale shrugged, being frighteningly careless about where the brush was and coming very close to spilling the pot in his other hand. “I’ve seen you do Moses’s how many times now? It’ll be fine, my de—”

“You’re gonna get kohl all over me! This is a new skirt, and I just washed my hair, I’m not having you—”

“Dearest.” Aziraphale had no right sounding as amused as he did. “I promise I will not get kohl on your skirt. Or in your hair.”

“You… but you don’t…”

“I let you do mine. Let me do yours.”

Crowley protested, and then grumbled, and may have whined a little in between, but after enough eye rolling and scoffing to last most humans a decade, he settled down and let Aziraphale start to paint his eyelids.

The kohl was cool against his skin, but Aziraphale’s hand cupping his jaw was warm even through the heat of his blush. He was so gentle, smoothing the creases beside his eye with his thumb and tucking his fingertips just behind Crowley’s ear. If Crowley hadn’t been so tense, he might have melted right where he sat.

And then he couldn’t stop himself from melting, because Aziraphale lifted his face to the sun and brushed his hair out of the way, and then he didn’t stop, just kept carding fingers through his hair with one hand while the other dragged kohl along his lashline. It was still so new, the touching each other thing, and it nearly stopped Crowley’s heart every time.

Aziraphale’s thumb skated over his cheekbone, and Crowley revelled in the fact that he could feel the softness of his hand against the edge of his smile. He did it again, and then he whispered.

“Oh, you beautiful thing.”

Crowley’s eyes fluttered open before he could remember they were supposed to stay closed. Aziraphale was sitting back a little, the brush still in his hand as he gazed at Crowley with such solid intensity the demon really and truly thought this might be what the humans who went to heaven felt when they got there.

But then Aziraphale shook himself, and took a breath, and the intensity was gone. “Sorry, darling,” he said, leaning back in. “Nearly done, just close your eyes for me again.” And Crowley was left to desperately hope he wasn’t close enough to hear his heart trying to hammer all the way through his chest to reach him.

“...angel?” Crowley eventually said, when he thought he’d be able to speak without his voice cracking. He still couldn’t, as it turned out.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale responded, paying special attention to the corner of his left eye.

“I, um. I meant it. Earlier, when I said… when I said the, ah, that the immortal look suits you. It does, it, um, ngk. You—angel, you look really really good.”

Aziraphale hummed in response, and Crowley was so relieved he hadn’t burst into flame saying those words that it took him a moment to realize the angel sounded… unconvinced. Aziraphale’s hand ran over his hair again. “You’re too sweet, dear.” He tilted his chin again, angling his face to the side, and Crowley went willingly even as he raced to catch up with what Aziraphale meant. “But you’re the one who was meant for this, with your hair and your beautiful long legs and your cheekbones… You’re perfect as a deity, Crowley, much more so than I could ever be.”

Crowley’s eyes flew open. “Wait, angel—”

“There we are, all done.” And Aziraphale was pulling away, scrambling back and leaving Crowley behind. “I hope I didn’t… mess it up too badly.”

“Aziraphale—”

“Here, you should check it.” Aziraphale thrust a copper mirror into his hands. “Don’t worry if you want to fix it, I know I don’t really know what I’m doing, I won’t be offended.” Crowley wanted to throw the mirror back into the void and take Aziraphale’s hands instead, get them to stop twitching and yanking at his skirt and make him look up from the ground and understand how absolutely serious Crowley was. He almost did it, too, had the mirror in one hand ready to fling away, but then the sunlight caught and flashed on the metal and he glanced down, instinctively, and saw—

Oh. Oh, wow.

What the fuck made Aziraphale think he wasn’t good at this?

The kohl around Crowley’s eyes was flawless, all smooth lines and a perfect, slim wing at the corner. But that wasn’t even the half of it, Aziraphale had—heaven, Crowley never even did eyeshadow for himself, but Aziraphale had painted his eyelids a warm, pale green, fading lighter as it got closer to his nose. Green was never a color Crowley would have picked, for anything, but it—he liked it. Without even thinking, he knew he liked it. The shade made his eyes look warmer. Despite himself, despite everything, Crowley almost thought his eyes looked pretty like this.

“Aziraphale…” he said, not even trying to keep the awe out of his voice. “The, it’s, ngk. You—you gave me eyeshadow.”

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry, I got—a bit carried away, you can take it off, I just thought, with your hair—it looks so pretty in the sun, darling—” Aziraphale’s hands were locked on the fabric of his skirt, and he was looking anywhere but at Crowley. ”—and you, well, you picked a skirt that’s, that’s not black, for once, and I love the color, dear, that dark red looks absolutely lovely on you, so I just thought a little more color to tie it in with your eyes, because I really adore your eyes, so—”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley jumped forward, putting himself at Aziraphale’s side so he could reach out and turn his face to look at him. “Aziraphale, no, angel, that’s not what I meant. I love it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, the kohl outlines making them even bigger. “I… really?”

“Yes. Yes, angel. Thank you.” He let his hand slide down Aziraphale’s cheek, careful not to smudge the eyeliner. “And I meant what I said earlier. You look…” His voice caught on the word as his hand caught on Aziraphale’s jaw. “Angel, you’re bloody gorgeous.”

Aziraphale blushed, and heaven above, that just made his curls glow brighter. “Oh, my dear, I don’t know—”

“Oi! Let me finish.” That made him smile, at least, even if it was directed at the ground. “Aziraphale, you were made for this. Are—I mean you gotta be kidding me, angel, with your hair? Your hair looks like a halo most days, if that’s not ethereal I dunno what is. And fuck, you think my legs are good? Fucksake, angel, my legs are sticks. Your legs—heaven, Aziraphale, first time I saw your thighs I genuinely thought I was gonna discorporate. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Aziraphale looked up, finally, and his smile, even if it was small, was enough to light up the whole of the earth. “...thank you,” he whispered, his hands no longer clutching his skirt but resting gently between his legs. “My dear, thank you. You’re so very lovely to me.”

Crowley leaned across the short distance to press a gentle kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek. The angel turned away, but he was really smiling now, a little secret smirk meant just for them. Crowley let his arm drop down to wrap around his shoulder. “I mean it, angel.”

He saw Aziraphale peer back at him over his other shoulder and felt a soft grin on his own face. “I mean it too, dear. I really do.”

This is my submission for @whiteleyfoster‘s dtiys, which I did as a fic! I adore Prince of Omens, so it was really fun to do something in that world! [AO3 link]

#whiteleyfoster_dtiys #good omens #prince of omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #dtiys #my fic

3K notes · View notes

thedefenderoftheearth · 4 years ago

Text

slide

summary: Rose and TenToo start their journey together and it isn't always perfect but they're good together.

rating: T

word count: 2200

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30290310

On Day One, he knows the TARDIS is leaving before Rose does. She’s entirely captivated by this kiss, and he wants to be too (and is…mostly), but it’s his TARDIS, and his mind is big enough to think of both things at once–the love of his life re-entering it and the companion he’s not sure he can live without fading from it. He hates the thought but knows it’s true. He’s lived without Rose, knows he can do it…but he’s not sure if he can live without his ship.

When Rose breaks the kiss with a gasp and bolts toward his disappearing girl, he’s certain that he can’t. He takes the few strides to Rose, interlaces his fingers with hers because it’s the only thing he’s sure it’s okay to do. When they turn to look at each other, he wonders what he’ll be sure of tomorrow.

On Day Two, he wakes to a soft whirring sound--an electric toothbrush, he realizes. Rose is awake and coming out of the en suite. He doesn't know what to do with himself, so he flings the covers aside and hops out of the bed to meet her.

"Oh," she says, and she won't meet his eyes. "Um. Hi. You're awake."

"Yes," he confirms. "And you have a bit of toothpaste just...there." Without thinking and before she can stop him, he licks the pad of his thumb and swipes the corner of her mouth.

"Um. Thanks," she says, and she still won't look at him properly. "Um...I thought...I thought I'd pick up your suit from dry-cleaning. And then we could go shopping, get you some things. I won't be long." She hurries from the room with her head down, not even pausing to wait for an answer.

He's puzzled, but when he's certain she's gone, he sucks his thumb. He can't taste every component of the toothpaste, can't determine the exact structure of the methylcellulose like he used to. What he can taste is Rose, and that, he thinks, could merit a full day's worth of analysis.

It isn't until he goes into the bathroom to relieve himself that he realizes why Rose did her best not to see him.

He wonders if this is a problem human males have every morning.

If so, he wonders how he could possibly bear this every morning--this heat that's spreading across his face, down his neck, and to his shoulders that makes him feel like he could disintegrate on the spot and like he wouldn't mind if he did, because at least he wouldn't have to face Rose again.

On Day Three, she catches him in the kitchen with two fingers in a jar of raspberry jam. He freezes, smiles sheepishly, grows nervous when she doesn't say anything.

"You know," she finally says, taking the jar from him and replacing his fingers with her own, "this is an awful habit to get yourself into." Her tongue darts out to clean the messy glob on her fingers.

"Dreadful," he agrees, when he can finally speak. "Terribly rude." He takes the jar back to help himself to more jam.

They pass the jar between them a few times before she stops and places it on the counter.

Sticky fingers weave through his perfectly tousled hair as she pulls his mouth to her and he wants to whine about it, but his brain shorts out as she swipes her tongue along his bottom lip and oh--all right then.

On Day Nine, they're okay. They've fallen into a safe routine: she cooks breakfast and he cleans the dishes; they share the bathroom (and it's not long before they decide it isn't big enough for the two of them); they reach together for two Torchwood IDs hanging near the door; she drives and he changes the radio fifteen times before they arrive.

Neither of them takes any risks with the other, but it's good. They're good together.

On Day Twenty-Eight, he cooks breakfast and doesn't burn the toast. It earns him a proud hug from Rose. He thinks back to a day when a shop girl from the Powell Estate pronounces a word correctly and elicits the same response from him. He wonders what happened to that girl and marvels at the woman before him who has all of herself pressed up against all of him.

On Day Forty-One, he goes on his third date with Rose. He's not sure why she keeps referring to it that way but she does and has more than once--to her mum on the phone and even to Jake at Torchwood.

He doesn't understand why she emerges from the en suite in a dress he's never seen before and strappy heels that couldn't possibly be designed for comfort (and definitely not for running) or why she smells flowery and certainly good but not quite like herself.

When they return to the flat, he doesn't understand her frustrated sounds when he kisses her, when he tries to slow their snogging back down to just that, just like always, just like normal. She finally relents and succumbs to his pace. When they're both breathless, she snuggles close to him...until she can't anymore.

He's utterly baffled when he's suddenly asked to sleep on the couch, but for the first time since he came to live with Rose--the first time in his existence--he does.

On Day Fifty, he understands why they call it "getting lucky." His brain is shrouded in a blissful haze, yet singularly focused on one thing: he has just had sex with Rose Tyler. He's done the deed, gotten busy, mattress mamboed, knocked boots--he doesn't have boots; maybe he should get some--and he feels a little bit like whooping...but his bones are liquid and he's melting into the soft down of the bed. His hair is in a state of permanent shock, his eyelids droop half-mast, and his mouth is set in a goofy sort of half-grin that doesn't seem to want to fade, but he doesn't mind. He fights to keep his eyes open just to keep looking down at an equally happy Rose falling asleep with one arm across his chest, her hand above his single heart, and her legs tangled with his.

On Day Seventy-Seven, they spend the entire day in bed. He moans loudly.

She tells him through a stuffed-up nose to "shu' ub."

"'Shut up'? Really? These could be my last words, Rose Tyler. I'm going to die!"

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"It's just a cold."

"Is not. It's swine flu, bird flu, SARS--No." He gasps. "The Plague!"

"It's not the Plague. They didn't even have that here."He whines and moans and groans and "But Roooooose"s, and even though she's miserable herself, she brings him soup, blows on it when it's too hot, and patiently cleans him up when he sneezes in her face and half the bowl goes down his front.

On Day One-Hundred Twelve, they're not okay. Neither of them knows how they got to this point, but hurtful things are being flung carelessly to the air between them. Things like maybe if he came back, she'd leave with him--back to her own universe, back home. Things like maybe if the wanker did come back, he'd just steal his TARDIS, and he could be the one stuck on this stupid planet in this stupid world.

He pulls at the doorknob, tries to flee with some dignity, but the jamb sticks. He twists and pulls and jiggles the lock and finally it breaks free. Tears prickle in his eyes, and he wants to know why this stupid body has his tear ducts hardwired to his frustration. It's a dumb design; he doesn't feel like crying, he feels like running.

He winces when he hears the door slam behind him--he didn't really mean that--but it's done. He can't take it back. He runs.

On Day One-Hundred Fourteen, he runs home. She's ready for him when he walks in, and he isn't expecting that. He's expecting to at least be able to change out of the clothes he left in, the ones that are soaked through and clinging to his cold skin. Maybe even a shave and a steaming cup of tea. He doesn't get those things; they're going to have it out right now.

She unfurls herself from the blankets, rises from the couch with an un-drunk, already-cold mug of tea in her hand and strides toward him. They're toe-to-toe before he can find his voice.

"Still mad?"

She leans in close and he's nervous. "Yes," she says against his temple. "Definitely," against his jaw.

He shivers, swallows thickly, and thinks--knows--they should solve this with words, but when she pulls back to look at him like that, he thinks the words can wait.

They're both sorry, and that's enough for now.

They're a mess of tangled limbs and warm breath as they fall to the bed. His wet clothes are left on the carpet and oh, she's not going to like that later. He wonders how he has room for that thought when he's got a half-naked Rose Tyler in his arms, then he knows: he never wants to make her mad at him again.

Right now, he decides, he's going to make her very, very happy with him.

On Day One-Hundred Fifty, he thinks Rose might be pregnant. He wants to believe it's his superior Time Lord brain counting thirty days to the millisecond. He knows it's his human brain and his human something else.

He's not sure if she thinks that--that there might soon be three heartbeats between them again--but he thinks he's scared, delighted, anxious, proud, reckless, loving, loved, amazed.

He wonders if it's a human trick, to feel all these things at once and not explode into light. If so, it's better than any trick any Time Lord ever had.

On Day One-Hundred Fifty-Two, he finds out he's wrong when she throws a pillow at him and demands toffee and a backrub.

He's not sure why he isn't relieved, or of the reasons he should be.

On Day Two-Hundred Two, he drops a ring--the ring--down the garbage disposal and panics. He stares down the dark void of the drain in horror.

Neither of them are ready for the question to be asked, but that ring....It's The Ring, and he's not going to find a replacement. When his own hand fails him (as does chewing-gum-on-a-wire and the vacuum hose with a bit of nylon over the top) he admits defeat and calls a plumber.

When Rose asks what happened, he has to tell her he finally finished that sonic prototype, and it was rather less successful than one might have hoped--wellll, by that he means it was a complete failure.

She rolls her eyes and asks him what's for supper.

On Day Three-Hundred Ninety-Eight, he thinks they are ready, but she comes home with two zeppelin tickets.

"Fancy a trip?"

"Yes!" he exclaims too loudly. He's done so well so far. He's only had a few freak-outs--no, they weren't freak-outs. Slips, lapses, tiny episodes, he thinks. But oh, would he love to travel. He doesn't have the universe at his fingertips anymore, but this world is still different, still has a lot to offer. Maybe the Sphinx still has a nose because he wasn't there to meddle, and maybe the sand feels different under his feet there because the silicon dioxide content isn't the same in this universe. Maybe the Great Wall of China wasn't built, but there's one in Mexico, and maybe the view is still spectacular. Maybe the best chips on the planet aren't at their old haunt at the hole-in-the-wall on Baker and Twenty-Fourth. Maybe they're across the globe in Sydney, and maybe they can find them.

"Yes," he says quieter, and then, "Where?"

"Anywhere."

"Okay."

And they go.

On Day Four-Hundred Twelve, they're running for their lives from a hunter-gatherer group in the Amazon that he's managed to insult.

They run, and the humidity gives them an endless supply of sweat. Huge droplets pool from every pore making their hair stick close to their scalps and their clothes stick to their skin as though they'd just emerged from a swimming hole fully-clothed and a muddy one at that, with the way the forest wants to cling to them and never let go.

He knows it's just something in the way this adrenal-cortical system works that makes him think that maybe they're really going to die this time, something about these rubbish--wonderful--human hormones, but he says the words anyway.

"Will you marry me?"

"What?" she says between tight gasps for air.

"Marry me.”

"Her answer doesn't come immediately. He doesn't know if she's thinking or trying to find the air for the words or both, but he's dying every second.

"Okay," she says, then looks over her shoulder to the group gaining on them. "Can it wait?"

"Yes!" he exclaims. He hollers an indecipherable word, grabs her hand, and they run faster.

#ficandchips #yeah this is just me rebuilding my blog shhhh #i like never reread things i've written past a certain point #for fear of the cringe #but there is not much cringe here #and some phrases i still like #so #boop doop

23 notes · View notes

thecagedsong · 3 years ago

Text

Forgotten Light: Chapter 4: History

A/N: Hey guys! Afternoon update since I was busy with pancake breakfasts this morning. Another Kendra chapter. Ronodin gets a little pushy, but it’s still G rated and won’t ever get worse than this, you’ll see what I mean. Remember, you are supposed to hate him. Still playing around with the chapter title for this one, and some of you who caught my analysis post a few months ago might recognize some themes.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 4: History

Kendra picked another book off the shelf, noticed it was in a language she couldn’t read, and put it back. Over half the books in this library she couldn’t read, which seems like poor planning on her part.

She wasn’t even sure she wanted to read. It had sounded like a good way to get her mind off her apparently outrageous life story, but there was really no hope of thinking about anything else.

Kendra was the seventeen-year-old daughter of a noble family, very old fashioned, that obtained their status through years of keeping the undead enslaved and trapping dragons and other magical creatures considered dangerous to mortals. Kendra, as the eldest, was expected to follow in her family’s footsteps as jailors, but had grown doubtful that their way of life was right.

Kendra had met Ronodin at the engagement party for her arranged marriage with his cousin, Bracken. Ronodin teased her that his cousin was such an ugly bore, she had fled from Bracken right into Ronodin’s arms. (Kendra had rolled her eyes when he said that). He had been invited, as family, but Ronodin was far from welcome.

He wouldn’t tell her why just yet, but promised to soon, when they trusted each other a little more. Having nearly killed him, she agreed that that explanation could wait.

Ronodin and Kendra started meeting in secret, and talking. They fell in love strolling through the dragon prison her family kept. To throw suspicion off their meetings secret, they told her family that she was fine going through with her engagement with Bracken.

Her wedding was approaching in a couple of months, and they cared for each other more than ever. Kendra knew that not even her family’s love was worth marrying anyone but Ronodin. He had sounded so amazed when he quoted her, awed that someone so amazing could ever feel that way about him.

Kendra had blushed at her own boldness, and simultaneously felt heartbroken over that fact that she had given that feeling up. She was attracted to Ronodin, certainly, but when she tried to summon the life changing love he talked about, she had nothing. Just attraction and the feeling that he was speaking to someone else.

She had apologized, and he said she would just have to let him court her again. He’d do it as many times as it took to stick, he had laughed. He would understand if she wanted to break off their engagement, but he hoped she would still give him a chance.

Kendra promised to think about it.

They devised a plan, to take place just after she and her brother participated in a coming of age trial specific for their family against the dragons of sanctuary. It was a disgusting spectacle, offering the dragons their freedom once a generation, if they can claim the wizenstone first. It would be the last thing her parents ever forced her to do, she had vowed, and arranged for it to look like her servant had kidnapped her in the immediate aftermath.

For, despite everything, Kendra loved her family. They tried to follow the traditions of their ancestors without cruelty, and they had faced hundreds of trials together. By staging her own kidnapping, she would be breaking their hearts, but in a way they would understand. She would preserve their reputation, and be utterly free.

And that was apparently who she was. Kendra hadn’t counted on losing her memory, but maybe she had felt okay doing it for her brother when she knew about her fake kidnapping going to occur. She must have trusted herself to fall in love with Ronodin again, and Ronodin to take care of her. It was a lot of trust to place in someone.

Kendra did wish she had a family picture. If she went to such great lengths to protect them, then she must have wonderful memories of them, locked under the enchantment. She picked up another book, this one in English, The Forgotten Crown.

The library kept with the crimson and black theme, and she picked a black leather armchair by a fireplace. Normal fire, this time, not blue. It was strange, when things were lit by blue fire, it washed out the red and made the black look like a void. Ronodin must have handled the design choices, she couldn’t imagine picking this out herself under any circumstances.

She wanted to warm her feet, but didn’t think she could move the heavy chair, so sat on it sideways. Her black dress rode up her thighs, but the exposed skin felt the warmth from the fire, so she didn’t bother with modesty while alone. Mendigo was standing guard, he’d knock if someone was going to come in.

Kendra curled up with her book, and started reading about what the author called the six great crowns. They were the pillars of immortality that moved the natural world through its extremes: The crowns of the Giants, the Dragons, the Underking, and the Demons, the Fairies, and the Fair Folk. Humans were the interlopers, and the author took a three whole pages to describe why humans were the absolute worst.

Their sins included but were not limited to:

-Having the audacity to not always want immortality

-Ignoring boundaries like disrespectful heathens

-Killing immortals

-Assuming they have purpose

-Not tasting good

And their greatest sin of all: daring to change. Their ability to change affected even perfectly happy immortals, how dare they! After the rant on humans, Kendra got absorbed in the discussion on the powers and functionality of each crown, and there was a diagram of how they related to each other.

It started with an upside-down triangle. Fairies on the top left corner, Demons on the top right, and the Fair Folk at the bottom point. These three crowns were defined by their morality. The Fairy Crown on light, innocence, and creation. The Demon crown on darkness, pain, destruction, and cruelty. The Fair Folk were the forgotten crown, the main topic of the book, after the background was set. They were entirely neutral, and refused to take part in wars, and only ever offered to broker peace. Their power came from their neutrality, and the author recorded rumors of the horrible fall that came from the one time they broke their neutrality.

Kendra was tempted to skip ahead, but the background came first for a reason. The second triangle overlaid the first to create a six-pointed star. They were creatures based on space. Giants were the lower left corner, and took the sky, the Underking on the lower right took the places below ground, and Dragons stood at the top able to dwell high in the air and a ways underground. Their morality mapped the first triangle. Dragons had the capacity to create and destroy, love goodness or love evil, and came in every space on that morality line. Sky Giants tended between creation and neutrality, while the undead and the underking worked between destruction and neutrality.

The first triangle also worked within the second. The fairies tended between the air and the land, Demons below and on the land, while the fair folk, in the opposite of dragons, could only dwell on the land.

The opposites were also important. Dragons were many things, but it was extremely difficult for them to be neutral. Demons and Sky Giants avoided each other’s domains, so it was most difficult to understand their relationship. The Fairy Realm and the Under Realm however, were the most combative pair of opposites. Neither could tolerate the other. Darkness would swallow light, or light banish darkness, it came down to strength, and there was very little middle ground.

What middle ground there was came from the rare case where beings abandoned their magical alignment for the opposite, spiritual alignment. There were rumors of a demon sworn to pacifism, that occasionally helped naiads, and —

There was a single booming knock, the door flinging open with a bang. Kendra spazzed, fumbling her book and sinking into the armchair. The book fell, and Kendra glared at her “fiancé”, who was chuckling at her again.

“You look lovely,” Ronodin said, pausing to take in her disheveled state.

“Your whole ‘let’s make Kendra jump’ deal makes me think yesterday wasn’t the first time I’ve attempted to kill you,” she said. Well, one sleep ago. Time was hard without clocks or the sun.

That made him laugh once more, and Kendra couldn’t help but smile in return.

“No, not the first time, and probably not the last,” he said with a grin, “But you’ve never regretted holding back.” His eyes flicked to her pale legs.

Pale, bare legs. Kendra squeaked, and tried to pull her dress down, but only managed to flip herself onto the floor. She stood up with burning cheeks and a huff.

“I’m sorry, you’re just so easy to rile up. I love that look in your eye,” Ronodin said.

“Mendigo! Come here,” Kendra called, and the puppet came into the room. “Mendigo, next time, please do some gentle knocking yourself instead of letting the guest attempt to destroy the door before entering.”

Mendigo nodded.

Kendra turned and was about to say something when Ronodin squinted at her.

“Oh, right, sorry,” she said, and with a couple of deep breaths managed to dim her own light. It was an odd sensation, like walking around with her fist clenched. She would get into the habit again eventually.

Ronodin led her into another room down the little hallway of their living space, where Chinese takeout was set up for the meal.

“I’m going to take a guess and say my suave fiancé can’t cook?” she said, noticing the cartons.

“If you’re going to be rude, you don’t have to eat,” Ronodin said, pulling out her chair for her.

“Do I know how to cook?” she asked.

Ronodin shrugged, “I don’t think so, you usually had servants for that, and you lost any memory of experiences that would help you cook. We’ll just stick to take out for now.”

“You have any trouble out there?”

“If you mean your family, no,” he said. “You seemed to have pulled it off, and no one knows where you went. It won’t be long, I think, before we can find somewhere else, if that’s what you still want.”

“Yes please,” Kendra said, serving herself some friend rice. It smelled good, even if she couldn’t remember if she liked it or not, “Look, maybe its part of the fairy thing, but I can’t live in hiding forever. This place is really nice, even if it could use some color, but if you’re going to make me fall in love with you again, its not going to be here. Sorry.”

“I’m working on it, I promise,” he said, pulling her free hand into his and giving it a kiss. He pressed it to his heart, like he had done when Seth had made her touch him with the glove, and it made her blush again.

“I need that hand for eating,” she complained, lightly twitching her hand to reclaim it. It wasn’t like she was repulsed by Ronodin, but his overly physical affection got tiresome.

“You can have it back if you promise to hold your chopsticks right,” he said.

Kendra huffed, “Not all of us grew up using these. And even if I had, I lost my memory. You should be giving me a lot more breaks than you are for that.”

He simply waited, smiling, still holding her hand tightly. Kendra sighed, “Fine, show me how?”

Ronodin grinned and helped position her fingers. Kendra ordered the variety that Ronodin had brought in order from most favorite to least, and Ronodin commented on what his favorites were.

“Careful, you’re going to want the left overs,” Ronodin said, when Kendra eyed the remainder of her favorite. “I met with our host on my way back in.”

“Oh? I thought you said I arranged this myself before I came down here.”

Ronodin sighed dramatically, “Yes, and part of your ‘oh so brilliant’ arrangement was to loan your wonderful and talented fiancé out to our host for errands. I have to go out tonight. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but tomorrow night is probably the soonest we can hope for.”

“Oh,” Kendra said. Sure, he was often annoying, but he cared for her and was the only company she had besides Mendigo. “I guess I’ll explore the library some more.” She stood up to throw her dishes in the sink.

“You could do that,” he said, coming up behind her. “Or you can ask nicely for your other present.”

“I have the feeling asking nicely doesn’t actually go very far with you,” she put her hands on her hips and faced him, “And presents are meant to be given, not asked for.”

Ronodin’s arm snaked forward, pulling her into a kiss. She had a moment to flail, then he released her, and it was over. “You’re right, my favors have costs. Lucky for you, you just paid in full,” he teased.

“Ronodin!” she said, flushing and shoving him away. “Don’t do that.”

He just grinned cheekily and held a shopping bag towards her.

Kendra snatched it from his hands. “I mean it. I’ve known you two very stressful days, no kissing yet.”

Ronodin bowed his head in mock humility, “My lady, I didn’t mean to irritate you. I had to try the old fairy tale cure somehow. Alas, it appears true love’s kiss wasn’t the cure to this curse.”

She wanted to protest that of course it didn’t work, she didn’t love him. But she’d pulled that line once before to get him to back off and he always looked haunted when she did that. Haunted and sad, she didn’t have the heart to keep throwing that in his face, no matter how rude he was. This was at least as difficult for him as it was for her. And a small kiss didn’t hurt her, not really.

Instead she changed the subject by looking in the bag. “Wood blocks, books, fabric, and paint?”

“Your hobbies were another reason your family was suffocating,” Ronodin explained, “You liked carving, painting, and sewing more than dragon slaying and ‘monster’ hunting. Each of these materials comes from a magic source. The wood comes from different enchanted trees, the fabric is made from the hair of a goat the size of a house or lotus fibers, and the paints are mixed with tears and blood of various magical creatures.”

“Why is that important?”

“Because you are one of the select few beings that can craft magic items,” Ronodin said, “Part of you is that everfull wellspring of magic. You’ve done amazing at dimming it by the way, your control after just a day is astounding. But you can also recharge magical items that have run out of power, and when using the right materials, you can create new ones.”

Kendra’s eyebrows raise, “I thought…” she chased the elusive fact down, “I thought only wizards can create magical items.”

“They create it by crafting a vessel, using the same materials, and then binding their own magic into the object through an enchantment. You can skip that part, with the unlimited magic source you have at your disposal. You are more limited in what you can create, especially when starting out, you generally have to stick to reinforcing and enhancing the properties of the materials you’re using. When you do it right, the item will retain its magic long after you’ve put it down.”

“Wow,” she said, “And I could paint, sew, and carve?”

He nodded, “Enchanting items wasn’t at all in your family’s plans for you, so you tended to craft in secret. It will probably take you a while to pick up the skills again, but at least you’ll have something to occupy yourself if the library fails. The books in there provide some basic theories that will help.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling and holding the bag close. “This was really thoughtful. I know that since I gave up my memory and my family in one swoop, I don’t have a chance at getting them back. But little connections like this help me feel…a little less lost.”

“I love you, Kendra,” he said, simply, “I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

Kendra smiled back uncertainly, unable to reply in kind. He seemed disappointed when she didn’t respond, but moved on to helping her set up a crafting room.

What kind of person led the life that she did? What would it take for old Kendra to not be a stranger anymore? Ronodin was a lot of things, but he deserved so much more than to have her break his heart at every turn.

#This is Ronodin at his worst tbh #Forgotten Light #Forgotten Light Chapter 4 #Kendra Sorenson #Ronodin the unicorn #Not my favorite chapter #Mostly background stuff #Might post another chapter tonight if I feel like it #Fablehaven #Dragonwatch

19 notes · View notes

greytoiletpaper · 4 years ago

Text

Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the same-ish street-siblings universe as First Contact by @cryptids-and-muses and @a-sketchy-character @streetsiblings (they’re still awesome). I present to you... Angst.

Drizzle | AO3

Chapter 2: Deluge

Felipe Garzonas falls.

Jason cannot find it in himself to care. The man was human garbage at best-

A shriek of anguish rents the air, a woman's, while the stalking man pounces on her and bays with his manic glee.

-and they were just going to let him go? No dice. Jason did not push him off the edge, but it’s still satisfying enough for him to know the man is gone now.

It is here, on this rooftop, that Jason understands that the horrors of the world can never be contained, only controlled. In what ways, he isn’t sure yet, but when he thinks of killing, all he can imagine is a figure adorned in a red helmet, ruthless and proud.

When Bruce takes Jason away from the scene, long crimson snakes flow off Garzonas’ body with the deluge, painting the face of Gotham.

Cass believes Jay when he says he didn’t kill Garzonas. He can lie like the best of them, but he can never hide anything from her. Bruce still doesn’t believe him even when she says as much.

“You’re a danger to yourself and the people around you,” Bruce is saying. Cold is the only way that Cass can describe his body.

For as long as she has been with Bruce, Cass has not thought of David. But looking at him now, a small, insidious part of the man that projects the urge to control (something she had only seen from David) starts to slip through. She is so thrown about what to think that she almost misses him firing Jay as Robin.

“No.”

“But Cass-.”

“No.”

Jason resists the urge to groan at his sister. Above them, the three names of his potential mothers are displayed clearly and brightly.

“I get why you don’t want me to. But think of what will happen if we manage to bring one! We could- we could-.”

“My brother,” Cass says, with finality. She gestures to the names (although ‘Sandra Wu-san’ in particular catches both their eyes). “Not theirs.”

Cass makes that stance she always does when she wants him to stop, her back hunched and her eyes pleading. He hates it when she does that, which is why he bites back a sigh.

“Fine. I’ll leave it alone,” Cass has been trying harder to get her smile right. Her effort shows when she gives him a mega-watt grin when he relents.

“My family, love,” She says as she hugs him before leading him away to raid the freezer for Neapolitan.

Later that night, Jason leaves his copy of Huckleberry Finn on her nightstand. He has to make sure that she doesn't think he'd left her behind when he goes. As Jason leaves the window wide open, his sole companion is the rain for the first time in years.

Gotham feels it as it happens. As the madman clubs her boy over and over with his crowbar. She feels every bruise, every bone that fractures, every act of pure, unadulterated cruelty inflicted on Jason.

Her eldest cradles the body, surrounded by a field of debris and smoke left in the wake of the monster that is the Joker. She washes the blood away with her tears.

When Cassandra wakes to see her brother’s prized possession on her nightstand, she instantly knows and never lets it go, even as the sky opens up in time with her tears.

As the casket lowers into the earth, she absently notes no rain, not a cloud in sight. Somehow, in the void that is the Jason-shaped hole in her heart, she realises he would have hated it.

“I think… I want to have my burial when it rains. Gives a whole ‘nother meaning to bleary doesn’t it?” Jason had confessed that once, a slight chuckle drawing from his chest. It fades as fast as it came. He looked away, then. “I don’t think I’d rest in peace without it.”

Cassandra fills the silence with the hymns of her tears – droplets staining the well-loved pages of the last piece of her brother – and hopes that it will be enough.

In her mind, her efforts are for naught when they devolve into wails as the first shovelfuls of dirt encase the ebony coffin.

The first thing she sees when she enters the cave is- is the atrocious thing. All the noise in the cave seems to phase out. The squeaking of the bats. The banter between Dick and Babs. The low murmurs of Bruce and Alfred in the corner. All she can focus on is the caricature of her brother in full view of everyone in the Batcave. She looks at it, and the world becomes a sea of pink and brown and white. The uniform he died in still bloody and ragged; all her thoughts a cacophony of wailing; iron on her tongue; roaring in her ears; she feels nothing in her but pain.

Jason Peter Todd

A Good Soldier

She hates it. Hates it with a passion because Jason was so much more than a soldier. He was her Jay, her brother, everything; all she has left of him is a small paperback and this disgusting mockery of his memory.

But he’s Batman, and he grabs her by the arms and pins her, even as her legs kick out viciously. She headbutts him and manages to push him off, nailing him square in the jaw with her knee as she flips back.

“Cassandra-.” Batman starts.

“Mine,” She snarls, eyes blazing and her hand pushing Bruce away from her. Even with the pads of his armour, she knows it hurts. She turns to leave.

“Not Robin. My Jay. My Brother. My Jason.”

Standing in Jason’s room, Cassandra closes the window he left open. She notices a picture frame on his nightstand. It’s of them, Huckleberry Finn spread between their legs and their foreheads pressed together.

Cass curls into a ball and clutches his treasures to her chest, sobbing because there is no rain to fill the vacuum she’s found herself in.

Far, far away, a man between worlds shatters the dimensions. The ripple disturbs Gotham, but she cannot deny her love of the results.

Gotham watches as her prodigal son begins his dramatic return; rising from below to walk above once again.

“So, is it really true that you took down Troia when you were only thirteen? All on your own?” The new Robin, Tim, is okay. Really. Cassandra just can’t look him at and see someone else in the uniform. When she doesn’t answer, the boy seems to fidget nervously. She doesn’t even know what his eyes look like.

“I–I guess, since I’m here to be Batman’s new Robin, I was hoping I could be the Robin to –.”

Cassandra doesn’t even let the boy finish before she leaves.

Jason wakes up drowning. It’s not water that enters his lungs, but an unnatural, sickly green liquid that vexes and rots and makes his body feel like he’s on fire. Nandra Parbat is where he is when he’s calmed down from being dipped into the Lazarus Pit, trapped in a fortress of assassins that want to mould a Bat into one of them. It’s an entirely different League.

This time, Cass is not here to keep them away.

When she meets Steph, Cassandra is enamoured because the girl smiles and laughs (except she still isn’t the same, no one is), almost just like Jason. But there are slight differences between the girl and her brother. Her hugs are great, but they don’t feel right. She smells like lavender instead of the rain. Despite how much the girl likes to joke with her, not one of them manages to draw out her smile.

Cassandra holds onto the girl like a lifeline anyway.

What bone she can throw, Steph has an uncanny knack of finding things that others take ages to locate, which is helpful enough for right now since Tim is still missing. It doesn’t help when Steph reads that Tim is in a warehouse with none other than The Joker.

He’s practising his aim when she comes in, almost plucking the gun out of his hand. Jason grips the girl’s arm and flings her over his back. Rose Wilson, a wolfish grin plastered on her face and snowy hair fanning under them, doesn’t even look fazed.

“Wow Jace, if you wanted to pin me you could have just asked,” His only friend in this place is what keeps him sane; when the Joker of his nightmares haunts the edges of his mind, she is there to let him know it isn’t real. Despite how different they are, she’s a breath of fresh air in this hellhole they’re in. He should probably tell her how he feels.

“You’re such a fucking chicken-shit,” Is what comes out of his mouth instead. Rose only smirks at him, silver mane and eyes with almost the same mischief his sister had.

“Your aim still sucks balls by the way.”

He growls, raising his arm to let his gun do the barking.

Ranting and raving greet her as she sneaks in through a window, a litany of nonsense and stammers echoing around the warehouse. She drops from the catwalk as silently as she can, but the madman obviously still hears her as his head bends at an impossible angle to look right at her.

“Oh. Look who showed for quality time with Uncle Jay!” She doesn’t mean to, but Cassandra flinches, and the Joker’s twisted grin shifts. Big mistake. “Oh? Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” It takes every inch of willpower in her not to rasp the words, but Joker sees through it regardless.

“What? Don’t like my name?” The Joker pouts, but it looks more like a sneer. “It’s just me yaknow? Your Uncle Jay.”

Another flinch, and the Joker steps closer, a snake in the reeds.

“Mister Jay,” He’s stalking closer now; her body won’t move. “JayJay.”

“Jaybird,”

“Jay,” She is so still as the Joker seems to tower over her, his sick grin crueller and sharper (David flashes in her mind) than any other time she has ever seen it. Poison flows from his mouth like saliva as he croons.

“That’s what you called him, isn’t it? When he was still here, your precious Robin. Not this -,” He gestures to Tim, who is wide-eyed and struggling. “-phoney replacement. Want me to-? Let me tell-.” The Joker stops, frowning at the ground before continuing, his voice aberrantly low. “When I beat him over and over with that crowbar – pink with blood and brown with dirt over the white of his skin –, do you want to know what he was saying?

“The only thing that came out of that pretty little mouth of his was how sorry he was that he was for leaving ‘Cass’ behind.” The madman leers at her. “Was that you? Cass? I gotta tell you, the whole apology shtick got really boring after a while, but…

“I’ll tell you one thing. Something you can keep between just you and your Uncle Jay,” He leans in close to her ear. “I think that our Jay is almost just like me now!”

The madman cackles, his eyes sick and twisted, and his body is nothing but mania. Something in Cassandra, strained and twisted for the past three years, finally snaps.

She strikes him, harsher than she’s struck anyone ever before. So severely, she can feel his ribcage snap. His flesh becomes mince under her fists. He stumbles and contorts as she overwhelms him with every piece of her fury. The gale-force that is Cassandra Todd blows through the Joker, who laughs and laughs and laughs.

The monster scrambles for his gun, suddenly slick and focused. Cassandra snaps off the comic ‘Pow!’ that sticks out of the muzzle when he fires it at her. She backhands his face with the full force of her knuckles, knocking him down, and all he does is chortle. The Joker’s body twists and squirms as he is pinned in place. She raises the broken end of the comic and skewers his leg into the ground.

The Joker’s mouth froths. His eyes are bloodshot as he becomes more depraved and maunders yet, he’s still fucking laughing. Laughing as his spittle flecks onto every surface around them when he thrashes. Laughing even as she clenches the sides of his head and pulls. Laughing even as they both feel his flesh strain and shear as she tries to tear it off. The part of her that has so vehemently denied killing now cries for bloodlust. For this is justice, this is vengeance, this is for her, Jay. Cassandra, with all her might, prepares to wrench off the monster’s head and-.

And Batman pushes her off him. Batman blocks her assault on his body when Cassandra rebalances herself. Batman protects the god damn fucking Joker. She roars with her rage, her grief, and doesn’t even feel the sedative that Tim plunges into her side until it’s too late.

Glaring at Bruce, at Batman, all she sees from his body is fear and concern and all the latter is directed at the death-worshipping monster he cradles in his arms. Absently, before it all goes to black, she thinks she should leave. Leave without Batgirl, without Jason, without everything she has ever cared for.

She does, and like her brother, the tears of Gotham are the only family she has left.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

52 notes · View notes

thegeminisage · 3 years ago

Text

writing that’s not supposed to be writing but that’s just supposed to play the mental movie for you:

"I'm not trying to smother you, man," Dean says. "But I can't—if anything happened to you—" He stops again. "Sammy, let us handle the demons. God knows you've done enough." He closes his eyes briefly against the memory of Sam's face right before he fell. It's okay, Dean. I got him.

"Dean," Sam starts, like he's gearing up to dig in his heels on this one, but he's cut off by a distant boom. It sounds almost like thunder, but summer is long over and there’s no flash of lightning to explain the noise.

Dean squints out into the dark. "Did you hear that?"

Something massive and unidentifiable rises up behind the woods, blotting out the stars behind it, then swoops back down.

Sam grips the porch railing so hard his knuckles whiten. "Is that demon smoke?"

Boom. This one rattles every window in Bobby's house, close enough that Dean feels it in his feet. "Sam, get inside," he says, keeping his eyes on the treeline.

"Dean, what if that’s Balthazar? We have to—"

Something in the distance glows bright white and then fades behind the trees. The wind's starting to pick up. "I said get inside! Now!"

Bobby opens the front door. "What in the hell—"

"Both of you, get down!"

Too late. The light explodes—

When Meg’s perception settles, she's standing in tall dry grass that ripples in the sulfur-scented wind, dark wandering silhouettes barely visible against the deep blood-red of the sky. Something huge and jagged juts up out of the ground. For a moment everything is very still.

This is even worse than she thought. It's dark inside Sam Winchester's soul.

Then there's a sound like a thunderclap and the ground heaves beneath her feet. Around her, the shadows all stumble off their mysterious paths. She hears a child sobbing somewhere in the dark. That jagged thing the distance—it might once have been a wall—comes further apart, piece after piece crashing to the ground. The sky’s faint red light flickers dangerously.

Meg picks her way across the unsteady ground to the nearest shadow and turns it to face her. It's Sam-shaped, younger than the version outside, but its teeth are bared and its eyes demon-black. "It's a prison,” Sam’s voice snarls, "made of bone and flesh and blood and fear. And you sent me back there!"

"What the hell," Meg hisses, and lets go. She doesn’t understand why the words sound so familiar until she sees the brand, the binding link that she put on that arm to keep herself in Sam’s body. She’s looking at the memory of herself. And if the echo of Meg is here, then Lucifer's must be too.

One of the shadows glances over at her: little-boy Sam, clutching a parcel in his hand. "Dad lied to me. I want you to have it." Another shadow, twenty-two with floppy hair, passes by on her other side. "I have these nightmares. And sometimes—they come true." She wheels around. Another Sam on his knees, black veins spreading over his face, screaming: "Dean! Let me out of here! Let me out! Dean!"

Once Meg crosses the last of the wall, the sky gives way to absolute blackness save for a single spark in the distance. Were Meg able to feel, she knows she would be frozen to the bone. She recognizes this place; she spent decades of Hell-time studying it from the outside. This is the Lightbringer's Cage.

Like a camera lens zooming in, the spark rushes towards her until an endless wall of flames fills her vision. Behind the fire: bars, chains upon chains, and six hundred and sixty-six locks to hold the Cage closed. Many are broken, most by her own hand.

"Lucifer," she breathes, and pushes forward heedless of the flames. Fire, her old friend—it will not hurt her here.

Being inside the Cage is like standing in the eye of a hurricane. Two enormous shapes, incomprehensible even to her own mind, circle in the void above her, bleeding malice. The first has wings made of a hundred thousand quivering hands reaching out from a body with too many eyes. The second form is an undulating mass of razorblades and barbed wire and silvery scales, each engraved with tiny ticking clockwork, each razor-sharp. There's another Sam, bleeding and broken, curled around himself on the parched bedrock below. His screams are silent; she couldn't hear them anyway above the clash as the two shapes come together. Lucifer and Michael, still fighting after all this time.

Meg trembles. Even as a memory, the power of Lucifer's true form overwhelms her.

"Lucifer!" she calls. "Morningstar!"

He turns toward her, the attention terrifying and blinding, like being caught in a floodlight. Immediately his brother swoops in for the kill. With a shriek of grating metal and crunching bone, the angels slice into each other with a viciousness Meg has rarely seen even in all her time in Hell.

Finally they see it, a hole in the world opening up wider and wider by the second, dividing the stone that stretches up endlessly into the gray sky.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean says. The air is getting colder. "Come on, I know you know this song—"

"Please," Sam laughs, but he does; he's heard it so many times it could be his own lullaby, and when the chorus comes in— "Eeeeexit light!" he shouts, head thrown back. He can't hit a note either. The gate fills their vision; there is nothing else. "Eeeenter ni-ight!"

"Taaake my hand," Dean crows, looking at Sam instead of the looming oblivion before them, and he's smiling too, grinning from ear to ear. He almost looks young again. "We're off to Never-Never La—"

Castiel jerks his hand up, wreathing Meg's host body in flame, but she does not burn. "You think fire can hurt me?" she snarls, eyes gone yellow and glowing. The fire flies off of her, embers stinging his skin, and she slides back into smoke and hurtles towards him.

Castiel wraps his tattered wings tight around his vessel and then flings them open, sending Meg slamming into the wall of the barn. Chunks of wood and rot fall all around him as he squints to see where she's gone.

There—a sound to his right. She cracks a solid punch to his jaw that leaves him reeling; she must be very angry to fight like a human.

The lights flicker and go out. Dread crawls into Jesse's chest as he stumbles out of bed, limbs feeling clumsy and heavy, breath fogging in the air. A tall, hulking figure materializes out of the shadows on the wall behind Ben and raises something in its hand—a weapon.

A machete.

A frisson of terror, dark and inexorable, rushes up Jesse's spine. He lunges, desperate to stop that wicked blade before it meets Ben's neck, and feels the pain slice into his shoulder instead. That's nothing, his skin is already stitching itself back together, but the impact sends them both sprawling and it takes Jesse a few disorienting seconds to stagger back to his feet. When he finally jerks upright, he comes face-to-face with the ghost.

At first Jesse doesn't recognize him. It's hard to make out any features past the charred exterior: there's an empty space where the ghost's mouth should be, blackened and burned completely away. He sees blond hair, an upturned nose, strong shoulders. But when Jesse meets its eyes—

He knows those eyes. How they looked in the firelight; how they looked as their own light went out. Even after three years, there are some faces you never forget.

Argent forces himself up to his elbows, coughing. "Derek?" He tries not to jostle his wound too much when he rolls over. It's difficult to see through the dust the spray of bullets kicked up, but he's able to make out the black shape of Derek's shifted form lying motionless ground a few yards away.

Don't be dead, Argent thinks blankly, ice flooding his veins. Don't be dead.

Derek's not dead. He makes it to his feet before Argent does, then immediately staggers and falls over again.

Snow blankets the roof of the watchtower and slicks under Arthur's boots, and in such conditions it's nigh impossible to keep his footing. Visibility is wretched, for up here the wind blows the snow between them, buffeting them back and forth over the icy floor. His father is getting older, yes, but he's still a skilled swordsman, and Arthur, fighting left-handed, is at a distinct disadvantage. He has no shield and wears no armor, not even chainmail; the only thing standing between him and his father's blade is his very flammable cloak.

Arthur's not sure he could kill his father now even if he did want to. He's no match for him like this.

His father's crown has fallen off his head, rolled away to some distant corner. His cloak is damp with snow and singed by fire. His eyes flash gold, sometimes; when they do fire races up the edge of his blade, making him doubly dangerous. Arthur's magic has finally been brought to heel, but his father's is going mad, there one second and gone the next, the flames dying and rising again unpredictably. Presently his sword, still alight with flames, comes down in a hard overhead blow. Arthur blocks in time, but his father's strength is greater—Arthur stumbles all the way back to the battlement, his back leaning out over the open air while their blades are still locked.

"Did you not say once that I deserved to die?" his father hisses, golden-eyed. He looks like some kind of monster. "Think of the things I've done, Arthur. The innocents that have died in my fight against evil! Did you not want to put a stop to it?"

Merlin takes the stairs two at a time, gasping for breath. "Arthur?" he calls, heedless of the danger, but there is no reply. The tower is utterly silent, save for the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls. Just a little further, he's almost at the top—

Merlin stops short. A thin line of scarlet cuts through the frozen gray stairs, creeping towards him and pooling around his boots. He thinks he can hear something dripping. He follows the line with his eyes, up, up, and slowly it widens—

It's blood. The stairs are covered with it—the ladder, the trap door...

"Arthur!" Merlin shouts again, and scrambles forward, slipping through the blood, not caring that it stains his hands and clothes, only that it is still warm, it can't be too late, it can't be—

Cas has his feet propped on the table, his coat draped over the chair. He's got a beer in his hand. He looks like shit, because he always looks like shit; he's just got one of those vessels. From this angle, Dean can only see the back of him, and his face, angled to look at Sam, in profile. He's smiling.

"Nothing," Dean mumbles, and lays his cheek down on the cool surface of the table. His heart's going over-time again. He thinks about being in this kitchen a year ago and trashing the hell out of it. If this were the real Cas, Dean would beat his face in.

Dean hears the clink of Cas setting the bottle down in the sink. He feels rather than sees Cas come over to stand beside him. And then Cas kneels, so that Dean, head still down, sees his face there sideways. And he can't not look at him unless he moves.

Dean's vision swims. The pounding in his head gets worse. One of the vampires grabs Dean's hair and, yeah, no, that's more than far enough. Dean knees it in the balls.

Pain as the fangs tear out of his flesh. The vampire howls, hunched over—and then it stops dead, trembling, and begins to scream. Light and fire start pouring from all the orifices in its head, and every cell in Dean's body goes slack with relief. Dean knows it's Cas before the vampire's corpse falls to reveal him standing there.

The vamp behind Dean takes off. Dean shouts as the fangs leave his neck, but there's no way he's letting it get away that easy. He takes aim and hurls his machete after it like he's skipping a stone—it spins through the air and takes the vamp's head clean off. "Go get it," Dean pants to Cas. He doesn't have time to go back for it now. He slips his hand inside Cas's trench coat and pulls the machete out of its sheath on Cas's belt instead. "Thanks, Cas."

Mom squints at the projector as they crowd into the library. "Is that Hatchet Man? They must have made more of them while I was dead."

"Yeah, this is the last one. Came out in '89."

"Dean," Sam says, somehow putting decades of disappointment with Dean's taste in movies into a single word. "You're inflicting these on Jack?"

"Trick or treat," Hatchet Man says. "Time to slice and dice."

"We let him drink beer," Dean argues. "What's a few R-rated movies?"

In the movie, someone screams. They all watch Hatchet Man show some unsuspecting skateboarder his own insides.

The bunker's red emergency lights come on. There's a shadow standing in front of him. Dean blinks. Dad, he thinks, and his father's boots swim into focus. But—

Dean scrambles back, looking up, up, up—

Dean holds up his hands. Fine, whatever, let them have their fun. The pit itself is on the far side of the bunker, in a little dip that's mostly out of sight of the road, so it's not like anybody's gonna see. But the sun's been up for a few hours now, and the four inches of snow that fell overnight makes everything look so much brighter, and Dean's just not used to a daytime fire in a hole.

A realization strikes Dean then, and he smiles. "Hey, Sammy," he calls, and Sam looks up. "You forgot the salt."

Sam throws his head back and laughs.

LIIIKE idk if this makes any sense. but there it is. that’s what insane people do we write in a way that involves no words interrupting the mental movie. i am so bad at proper prose this is the only way i know how to do it

#personal #liz loves writing #got distracted reading my [redacted] fic and nearly regressed into accursed [redacted] fandom #not today satan

4 notes · View notes

atlasfreak · 4 years ago

Text

hell is hot from your mistakes

chapter one; Tumblr Edition

The afterlife is a mess of time and space. Dream got the brunt end of that mess, of time, and bad luck follows Tommy even in death. Dream is mere seconds too late reviving him.

Tommy wakes up in a familiar, unfamiliar world in a familiar, unfamiliar body that looks so much like an old friend of his, and yet he remembers everything when really, he shouldn't. His brother's voice guides him, the Nether is blistering heat and dust and his hands are hoofed.

ArchiveOfOurOwn link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073104 or THIS.

Dream has the book and he's at work.

He's surrounded by blood, and corpses. Bodies. His hands are stained red and so is the face of the boy beside him and the fur of the cat in front of him. He's drawn a circle out of the red and the cat lays, set to look sleeping, in the center.

He's missing his mask - it's broken, shattered. The sharp porcelain edges are red, too, cut on the soft skin of his dead cat to draw his ring of blood. Cut on his fingers, too, as he had aligned the shards to smile up at him.

Dream stands and opens the book. It's akin to an inventory; incorporeal pages that the warden can't take away. He reads quietly and he checks his preparations and he double checks it and he triple checks it and then he glances over the translucent pages and-

And yet, the cat's corpse is still.

He waits longer. Waits for the cat to blink open its eyes, jump back to its feet. Waits for it to meow and rub against his legs.

But it stays limp and cold and lifeless.

The same as it has been for the past six tries.

Dream slams his fists on the ground, snarls. "Work! Fucking work! WORK! Bring it back!"

He's furious.

He did everything the book said, everything the book asked. He followed every step down to the letter, every drop of ink. And it didn't fucking work.

He didn't kill his protagonist for nothing. He needs to get out. He needs to get out. He needs it to work. He'll do it, he'll figure it out, he'll get it to go. He'll get the cat to come back and he'll get Tommy to come back and he'll get out, even if he has to tear through the obsidian with his bare hands.

He feels wet on his cheeks, he hears it drip onto cold fur. He's furious. He's furious.

"WORK!" he screams, and it listens.

There's no poof of smoke or swirl of magic. No glowing bodies, no floating corpses, no showy tricks.

But there is soft, shaking paws. They bat at his face, at his tears. Tender, haunted eyes bore into his.

"Oh," he murmurs, wiping at his eyes. He stares at the saltwater on his fingers as it turns mixes with red and turns polite pink, then looks up at the living, breathing cat with its front legs on his and head tilted worriedly. "Oh."

The cat meows gently, butting his hand. It has been through so much for just a little cat, so much. It bumps against his fingers again.

Longing for his kindness, his warm attention. The quiet compliments and pets from before the light faded from its eyes.

The sweet Dream who gave it his food, who showered it in affection.

He swipes an arm through the air, flinging it across the room. It screams death's scream as its tiny body is thrown to the starving lava and Dream watches it squeal and screech and burn away.

That Dream is dead. He died a very, very long time ago. The cat is living in the past.

Well... lived.

But he did it. He brought it back, he cracked the code. After so many attempts, he did it. Tears. Regret, remorse, grief - whatever. Pain.

Dream turns his eyes to the mangled body of TommyInnit.

Broken and beaten and bruised and bloody, he's not touched it. Not even to brush blonde hair out of gray eyes (they were blue once. They aren't anymore). Too afraid he'd mess something up, that he wouldn't be able to fulfill his promise.

He feels a smile stretch across his face. He grins, and he grins like a madman.

"Tommmmmy," he crows. "Ready for another round?"

The corpse is silent. Of course it is. It's dead! But Dream can fix that, yes.

"Oh, I sound like Wilbur," Dream whispers. "Wilbur! Oh, I'll get him, next!" He claps his hands, his eyes light up like a storm - a dangerous one. A very dangerous one. "And Schlatt, too, bring them all back, why don't we? Bring them all back!"

He doesn't need to draw still blood, no need to cut Tommy's pale skin on the glazed shards of his mask; the crimson already stains his hands. He draws a new circle - a big one.

Dream slams his fist into the wall. He hears a sick crunch and gasps, fire shooting up his arm. He laughs, he laughs. Tears pools from his eyes and he lets them fall onto limp blonde hair and he feels victory surge through his veins and fucking hell, his hand hurts like the devil, but he knows Tommy's eyes will flutter open and he knows Tommy will scream loud enough to be heard all the way from here to the Arctic.

Nevermind that- he did it. He's done it. He can bring people back.

He's a god.

He's a god, he's a god. He can bring people back to life! Nobody else can do that. An admin is nothing compared to a god. He's- he's the most powerful person on the server.

He brought the cat back. He brought Tommy back!

He brought Tommy back, and yet Tommy doesn't open his eyes.

"Go on," Dream mutters, kicking at the boy. "Get up."

Tommy doesn't move, he doesn't respond, doesn't shout curses or scream or swear. Dream frowns.

He leans down, studies the body. He grabs a cold hand and he holds his fingers to the wrist, checking.

No pulse.

It didn't work.

Dream sits back. Why didn't it work? "Why didn't it work?" he echoes aloud. "Can I not- why didn't it go? Why didn't it work?"

He wishes he hadn't killed his only company. Dull green eyes stare at the lava, at the molten bubbles. At the swirling heat that had mercilessly swallowed up the cat - Pussboy, he reminds himself bitterly - and Dream sits down and he tries again.

And again.

And Tommy stays dead.

Is this the afterlife?

It can't be. Tommy was there - he saw it. The afterlife is blank. It's a void, it's all light. This place is dark.

It's empty, too. No warm brown eyes, no surprised yellow. Wilbur is not waiting with open arms and a gaping wound, and Schlatt is not staring at him with cold shock and pale skin.

This place is not death. Tommy's seen death.

What is it then? If it's not death, what is it?

He opens his eyes.

It's not dark, he notes first. It's red. Very red. His first thought is blood, but it's very much not blood. He turns around, trying to find a hint of color - any color, any color but red - and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

There's a piglin there - a baby piglin is glaring at him. It has downy fur and no tusks or sword or crossbow. It's a child, barely days old.

"Hello?" Tommy tries, but it comes out odd. He looks around and he looks down at himself and all at once, he realises a few small things about his appearance, and then he realises one big thing. The big thing.

He isn't human.

He has hooves on his hands and feet, his ears are on the top of his head. A tail lays behind him and his skin is covered in soft, orange-ish pink fluff. Just like the piglin next to him.

He doesn't scream. He wants to, but he doesn't. He simply shuts his eyes and covers his mouth.

Ok, Wilbur, I'll play fuckin'- I'll play cards with you, just get me out of here. Get me out of here.

He could almost swear he hears his brother laughing at him.

Tommy opens his eyes- he's still here, in hell, with a piglin.

It squeaks at him. Tommy shuts his eyes again, so it squeaks again.

When Tommy doesn't respond, it hits him.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Tommy screeches- every blow feels like he's reliving his own death. His voice comes out a garbled piglin mess - is his throat not equipped for English? "Stoppit!

He feels the ground vanish from under his feet and he feels a brief panic surge through him - what a way to go, huh? Well, what a run. A short run, but a run regardless. Time, Tommy thinks, to go back to the white place, the Zone, because a baby piglin beat him to death. That's a couple steps down from Dream beating him to death, probably, and a couple steps up from dying to a baby zombie, Phil.

(When Phil dies, will he come to the Zone, with us?)

But Tommy's not even there himself, he realises, because he still feels the warm of the Nether on his face.

When he opens his eyes, Wilbur is not there, waiting. The piglin child is. He still sees red and he still sees the piglin child. He still is a piglin child. He's alive. He's not going back to the white.

Suddenly, Tommy can breathe again.

He finally looks up. He's dangling by the scruff, and there's a big piglin holding him with hooves like his. An adult piglin with blank white eyes. He can't tell if they're full of affection or scorn, but he doesn't want to find out.

And that must be mother! Tommy hears a voice mock.

"Shut up, Wil," he grumbles. The baby piglin crosses its arms as Tommy is lifted out of reach.

The adult piglin growls at him, sniffs at his head. Like she's making sure he's not dead. It kicks at the violent little baby, a warning, then places Tommy down again.

Tommy would flip the other child off, but he only has three fingers.

Don't be so mean, Tommy! Wilbur chastises, his voice echoing through Tommy's mind like Chat did. That's your brother!

"It's not my brother," Tommy spits.

He, Wilbur corrects.

Tommy growls. The big piglin growls back.

Tommy shuts his mouth.

"Wil, the hell is going on?" he decides to ask instead. The other two tilt their heads in confusion as he mutters what must be gibberish to them - and it sounds like gibberish to himself, really. But Wilbur seems to understand.

I mean, hell if I know, Wilbur's voice seems to move around, standing by his left now. Tommy glances over, but there's nobody there. Just his - he gags - brother, the piglin. Looks like you got reincarnated.

"Reincarnated? That's when you throw food back up, innit?"

That's regurgitated, Tommy. It's when you die and then are born again.

The big piglin stands up and oinks at them. Tommy know, deep down in his little piglin brain, that she wants him and the other to follow. She leads them through the underbrush as Tommy continues muttering to his real brother, the one who has taken the place of his old chorus.

"I'm a piglin," Tommy huffs as he stumbles through the roots. He takes pride in knowing he's not the only idiot, as the other baby pig trips and falls, too - neither of them are used to walking. Especially not on hooves.

You are a piglin, Wilbur's voice confirms. Tommy sighs.

"Like Technoblade," he says. "I'm a piglin, like Technoblade."

Wilbur pauses to think. Yes, that sounds about right.

"Did Techno die too? Was he a human once?"

I'm not omnipotent, Tommy. I don't know Technoblade's life story.

"Oh."

I don't think he's the same as you, though. Technoblade is really tall, and he has a mane. You don't have a mane. Nor does your mother.

"Think he's one of those axe pigs? In the bastions?"

A brute? Yes. He's a brute, I think.

"Damn right 'e is," Tommy growls. "Nasty fuck. Prick."

No, no, Tommy. A bastion piglin is called a piglin brute. Technoblade is literally a brute.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Tommy stares at the ceiling, blankly. Part of him worries a stalactite will come barreling down to crush him. "Life as a piglin is boring. I would like to come back to the DreamSMP."

Wilbur laughs. Tommy snorts, too- what a joke. Wanting to go back. But it's true. He misses it. He missed it in exile and he missed it while imprisoned. He misses it now.

No, no, this is interesting, Wilbur says. I'm stuck here with you, anyway. Even if I wan't to, I can't take you back. I don't want to though, I'm having fun.

"It's boring, is what it is!" Tommy drawls. "You're only having fun cos you get to watch, Disembodied-Voicebur!"

Big Piglin guides them to a nook- a small Netherrack cave yawning out from under a sheer cliff. She sniffs at their heads again as they follow her into the cavern, making sure they didn't up and zombify on the journey. When she's sure they're still alive, she grunts at them. Sleep time. You're young, so you need to sleep.

She lays almost like an Overworld pig, Tommy notes.

You'll probably never see Overworld mobs ever again.

It's not Wilbur's voice, it's his own. A quiet thought, a thought he made, and it shakes Tommy to his core.

Wilbur sighs, his voice practically drips with apprehension. Don't- don't lose hope, Tommy. Technoblade, remember? He got to the Overworld. You... you can do it too.

Tommy's piglin brother lays down, too. More humanlike than their mother, but still not quite human enough to comfort Tommy.

But regardless, he copies.

Goodnight, Tommy.

"Goodnight, Wilbur. It's.. good to have you back. I think."

Wilbur doesn't respond.

Tommy shuts his eyes. Sleep doesn't come easy as it should for a baby piglin, but he's not surprised - he's not really a baby piglin. He's TommyInnit in the form of a baby piglin.

He's an imposter - at least, he definitely feels like one.

When his eyelids finally grow too heavy and the sironsong of sleep finally lures him off the side of the ship, he dreams. He dreams of dark cells and a smiling mask.

And in that dark cell, Dream glares at it - the mask. He avoids the empty eyes of the body in the corner. He knows they're still empty, despite his efforts. His best efforts. He's so drained. So tired.

He hears potatoes splash into the water in the corner, turns to watch them bob. Sam has remembered that he is in there.

Dream drags himself to the water, tilts his head to glare up into the darkness. "Why not fucking kill me?!" he screams up the tunnel. "Why not just kill me, Sam? I killed him."

Sam does not respond.

"You can't, can you? You want my help. My book."

Sam does not respond.

Dream snarls and throws the spuds at the lava, they burn like his cat did. He hears a sigh echo from above him, but no more food falls.

"Don't starve yourself," Sam growls. "I'll bring more tomorrow."

Dream does not respond.

He turns to Tommy's body and despite it all, he keeps trying. He keeps trying. Tommy does not respond.

11 notes · View notes

herpronuonsarefemslash · 3 years ago

Text

TEASER - Bioweapons and Beef Stew - Chapter 2

Kara's pod goes into the wrong wormhole and she ends up in the Mass Effect universe. SEE MORE HERE: https://www.patreon.com/alephthirteen/posts?filters%5Btag%5D=Bioweapons%20and%20Beef%20Stew

=====

Shepard anchors her fingers around Liara's hipbones and pushes herself away. Tendrils twitch and try exposing Liara's hungry sex to cool air.

Her yelp of protest is not far from what she's heard humans call hiccups.

She's also kept her walls up. Somehow. Somehow a human, with no innate defenses against the meld--bar perhaps, her own stubbornness--has kept Liara at the edges of her mind. Pleasure has built and built and built, but she hasn't been allowed the meld, so she can't come. Not really. She's asari. She needs more than a muscular twitch, a burst of neurotransmitters and a gush of slick to release the pressure.

Crude but effective stasis fields pin her feet to the carpet while muscular arms are more than enough to pin her hands. At her request, they turned the lights off so that Liara's self-consciousness about her appearance wouldn't stop them. In her defense, she had expected to be drowning in the sparkling void of meldspace seconds after Shepard touched her, where there is no universe but each other and where any doubt she might have about whether Shepard is pleased with what she's seeing would be solved instantly because she would just know.

Shepard is just exploring rather than doing anything and it's driving her mad.

Fingertips walk along the skin because humans can't see in full darkness. Tiny, quiet huffs to draw Liara's scent, followed by a tilt of the head that makes hair tickle across the asari's skin and a pause. What she's noting in those contemplative moments, Liara shudders to imagine. Lazy drags of tongue at the crease of her thighs, from mound up to her breast and returning down the plane of her belly almost to her azure and then damnably retreating, at the inside of her wrists, one lashing lick against each of her ribs, a fierce suck under her chin that must have left a mark. Shepard's mouth is everywhere except the places--azure, tender spots on her back, the neck folds, her crests--everywhere except the places that might make her come or make her do what this damnable human thinks is coming.

Liara feels like she's a platter of food at a restaurant in the Presidium, nibbled and sampled and reviewed but not actually enjoyed to the fullest.

It's been hours, she thinks. Days. Weeks. Athame's mercy. She might have been lying here long enough for a galactic extinction cycle while Shepard explores.

Surely human soldiers are taught not to torture prisoners?

She tickles the hand holding hers fast and Shepard releases her. She pulls hard enough to bring her arm up and lay it out across her belly, and pokes at her lover's omnitool until she can get the lights on.

"Let..." she huffs.

"Yes?" Shepard asks, looking up from where she'd rested her chin on Liara's lap and fluttering her lashes oh-so-innocently. "Let you what?"

"Let me come."

"I need to meld, Shepard. I'm not sure if you're familiar with asari reprod-FUCK!"

The professor in her started lecturing. She was distracted too long and Shepard took the opportunity to turn her face down, climb over her and push her cheek to the sheets with one rough shove.

Shepard's tongue is laving across the jewel at the back of the skull, where all of Liara folds and crests meet. It's too good. It's too much. It's too much by light-years.

"Keep talking," Shepard snarls. "I love that you're smart."

She tries to explain about the layers of pleasure her body needs from a mate and about Tevura's Three Blades, about the sacred threes that echo throughout her culture. Maiden, Matron and Matriarch. Plaything, Lover, and Bondmate. Touching, Sampling and Blending. Tries to explain the way biotics, sexual pleasure, the meld and motherhood aren't separate aspects of being asari but that taken together, they are being asari, and all else are little tricks they use to experience those gifts.

Every time she catches her breath enough to speak, Shepard's teeth or tongue latch on to a neckfold, or dance through a crevice between, or a nip at crest-tip or her lips curl around the jewel where crests and folds meet and suck with building ferocity that makes Liara sag and moan into the bedsheets.

Finally, Shepard retreats.

"A good start?"

Liara calls on her biotics, flings Shepard into the air and then pulls her back to the bed, pinning her with as many points of stasis field as her pleasure-melted brain can concoct. She climbs on top and straddles Shepard's hips with her own. Surely now her tormentor understands. She must be able to feel Liara's azure weeping slick onto her...what did she say humans called it?

Shepard's grin--her damnable grin--is so wide it splits her face.

"I want you to make me come. You're a terrible lover, Shepard. Goddess knows how many times you've brought me halfway and refused to do more."

Shepard chuckles.

"Then as a matriarch's daughter, I think you should take what you are owed, princess."

Was it that easy? The entire time? Goddess. I did admit that I was a virgin. She was waiting for me to

take the lead...

"Let me in, Shepard. Now."

With little more than a nudge, Shepard's psyche yields and Liara's spilling into her mind, their mind, this space where two are one. Memory rushes and crashes like floodwater through a desert canyon.

Smoke and fire and blood and screams. Burning cities. Little children clinging to her exhausted, dirty body while she shushes them. Face after face sneering before Shepard's pistol or her biotics ends them.

She's a killer and a protector. She uses warpfire to melt a batarian slaver's skull down slowly, like a candle under a heatlamp while she takes his victim and pulls the crying turian child into her side to hide the violence, gritting her teeth as his spiny head scratches narrow wounds into her arm.

Pleasure blooms like a supernova behind Liara's eyes. It's as if all the half-ruined orgasms Shepard gave her collided and tangled and collapsed to a pinprick and exploded into something far more.

Meldspace thins as she can't maintain it against the trembling waves reaching down every nerve and then rippling back. She can feel and see her surroundings again and she sees Shepard's panting and spent, smearing a palmful of Liara's own slick over her belly. Her knees are damp from the soaked sheets.

"You're a messy one, Liara T'Soni. Good thing you look so sweet when yo-"

Liara leans down and covers her human's mouth with a kiss before she can say another stupid thing, swallowing whatever jibe or joke or tease while thanking Athame that the meld helps her know she's not wasting a proclamation of love.

=====

Oh.

She's messed up because she's hard and because the cause of it is painting wet breath across her wrist. Liara is using her right arm as a pillow and she's probably never getting it back. She's shifting in her sleep, dragging the firm curve of her ass against Shepard's throbbing, weeping cock while her hand holds firm around her back, fitting Shepard's body close and preventing any possibility of a gentlewoman's retreat.

Sex dreams spill from her bedmate's brain into her own and Liara murmurs half-words in Serraci, including her name.

If this is what morning wood is like, she's going to give Alenko thirty percent less shit when he shows up grumpy at a ninety-second wakeup evac drill.

"Please," Liara groans, voice sleep-scratchy and thick. "I need to feel you. Right there, Shepard. You feel so good inside me."

She tries to shake the sleeping temptress, and all she gets out of it is a catlike state that makes lifting her off about as likely as juggling a droplet of water.

"Lee."

She mumbles something else, something filthier and in English borrowed from her brain and shifts back, pressing as much of Shepard's skin against her scales as she can.

Her little Bluejay's brain bombards Shepard with images of exactly what she's imagining and some miraculous asari reflex guides Liara's hand across her skin, like she'll sleep better if the other body in the meld feels pleasure.

Liara wakes with a moan. Shepard is on top of her, pinning her with her weight alone. Her knees are inside Liara's, keeping her spread. Fingers are dancing through her crown, evading the hungry pulsations of the tendrils and fingers are on her crest-tip, squeezing hard as Shepard dares. She's sucking her jewel again and she sobs and moans and smears pleasure across her pillow from drool-slicked lips.

"Shepard..."

The lips abandon her jewel, but Shepard doesn't retreat, her breath ghosting across the tortured nerves. "Easy, baby. I could feel you dreaming. I'm sorry," she pants. "I had to have you."

"That's why we have the dreams, siame. To lure. When I do, wake me like this, please," Liara manages to croak out between her pants. "Always wake me like this." Then she feels it pressed against her ass.

Hard and hot and veiny, Shepard's pulse counted out in drumbeats. It must feel alien to Shepard too, this new organ, but she hides it well, jogging her own hips slightly and smearing something slick from the trembling tip.

"Can..." Shepard gulps.

"I want you inside, Shepard."

"Meld, so I don't hurt you."

=====

The intercom crackles.

"Update for you, commander."

"Joker," Shepard snarls. "I swear to god, if you were listening, I will have you Cat-6'ed for your porn collection. If you're lucky."

"No, ma'am. But congratulations to you and the doc. Got an unidentified object off our bow. Lifepod, we think but doesn't match any known models. Came in for a close pass. One aboard. Looks like a human female, twenty or a bit younger. Systems are powered and it looks like she's in cryo."

Shepard raises her hand to her omni and mutes the channel.

"Feel like solving a mystery, Bluejay?"

Liara turns her head to steal a kiss before Shepard dismounts her. Seed and her own slick pour out like a tide.

"I would love nothing more, Commander."

"Careful," Shepard teases, landing a teasing slap on her ass. "I might get jealous of the abstract concept of knowledge."

#femshep x liara #abo #mass effect #kara zor el #crossover #alpha!shepard

4 notes · View notes