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lord-westley · 4 years ago

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Hi hun, I don't know if your requests are open right now, but I could really use some sort of comfort Imagine right now and I was hoping I could come and ask you. It doesn't even have to be a full set of Headcanons, just a short blurb about some Characters will do if that's fine with you.

I've been really struggling with my chronic illnesses lately, and I keep imagining the Fellowship taking care of me, so I thought I'd ask for an Imagine about that. I have a really weird condition where my right leg is physically longer than my left, which causes really intense pain in my hip and leg and also difficulty walking, so I've been really struggling with that lately. There's also the chronic fatigue from my sleep apnea, I'm absolutely covered in bruises that I don't remember getting, the classic anxiety and depression and executive dysfunction.. it's just been a difficult week tbh.

I'd appreciate any kind words right now. Thanks for being so kind and supportive to me, it means more than you could ever know. I hope it's alright that I ask this of you. Godspeed, hun 💕

Comfort HC’s

Platonic!Fellowship x Reader

Post LOTR; Comfort

Warnings: Mentions chronic pain, anxiety, depression, PTSD

A/N: Hello Ro! I’m sorry this took a while, I hope the pain eases soon and that these headcanons help. If you ever need to talk, my DM's are open anytime!

You’ve known the Fellowship ever since you were a little girl. You met them when your parents sent you off to Imladris to seek the aid of Lord Elrond, one of the greatest healers in Middle-Earth. For you had an unusual physical condition, where your right leg grew longer than your left. It made walking difficult and a burning pain to spiderweb from your hip down.

Lord Elrond tried everything he could in his power to help you, and yet there was little he could do except ease the pain. No amount of magic can prevent physical growth.

The tears that welled up in your eyes that day pained him more than any wound can. A child, barely twelve years old, experiencing such excruciating pain right in front of him, and yet he can’t do anything about it. And from that moment on, he promised to you that he’d do anything he can to help you, and care for you.

So with the permission of your worried parents, Lord Elrond gave you an offer to stay in Imladris for as long as you wish. To heal and receive the care you need. Which you kindly accepted.

For years up to adulthood, you lived in Imladris; drinking Athleas tea every morning and night for the pain and sleep apnea. While it wasn’t a cure, it helped make life much more bearable. Allowing you to enjoy certain activities and walk around with only half the pain.

During those years you became great friends with the Fellowship. For they travelled often to Imladris to visit and rest between trips. They became your family, always joking and telling stories of their travels; teaching you new tricks and how to defend yourself. And in return you’d tell them stories of the elves around you. How the Ellon in the smithy loves to tease the Elleth in the bakery. Or how the children would braid flower crowns for you.

The boys know of your difficulties with your leg and illnesses. They’re constantly worried for you; asking how you are, helping when the pain begins to spike and holding you when you begin to cry. Everytime it starts getting bad again, they tell you it's okay to feel weak and to cry. That you don’t have to be strong all the time.

Aragorn

Aragorn is surprisingly soft despite his tough exterior

He believes that crying and venting about your frustrations is the most healthy way to deal

So on days you are having a rough time he’ll sit down with you in his lap, holding you tightly into his chest. One arm around your body and one hand in your hair

Aragorn will let you cry and yell into him, all while pressing small kisses into your hair

He’s not a very wordy person, so it’s not often he will whisper sweet things, but when he does. It’s always so soft and helps relax you

“Deep breaths Hun, It’ll be okay”

Legolas

A soft baby- an absolute angel when it comes to comforting you

Legolas is very big on grounding yourself and staying focused on your surroundings

So when he notices you’re beginning to have a rough time, nearing a panic attack, He preps a cup of Athleas tea and brings you to a private area

He’ll have you sit between his legs, and his arms gently wrapped around you torso

Legolas will have you ground yourself by telling him 3 things you smell, feel, hear and see

“Close your eyes, little one and listen… Listen to the birds sing”

As you begin to relax, he whispers praises, proud of how strong you are

“You’re doing so well, I’m proud of you”

Boromir

I love this man oml

If you’re bedridden due to the pain he’d 100% do whatever you ask of him

Need more pillows? Steals them from every. Single. Bedroom.

“Boro- holy crap how many did you take!?”

“Uh.. all?”

There is now a national shortage of pillows

Need more warmth? Will make a nest of blankets and wrap you up in his cloak

Comfort?? CUDDLES FOR DAYS

Boromir is there for you every step of the way

If you start crying, He might cry with you- absolutely hates seeing you in such pain

“I’m sorry- Im so sorry Darling. I wish there was more I could do for you”

Gimli

In true Gimli fashion, when he notices your anxiety he 100% wants to fight whoever triggered it

He gets a bit aggressive in the beginning, insisting to fist fight your problems away

but when you tell him that it’s something that can't be fought off, that its a constant thing, he calms down and just

“Oh”

“Oh oh wait Im so sorry”

Cue soft Gimli

Will rub your back affectionately while speaking softly

Asking if there is anything he could do to help

Another babe who will do anything you ask of him

If the panic attack happens in public, Gimli will bring you somewhere more private

He’ll shield you with his body from the eyes of the public and glare at anyone who dares stare

Not very good with soft comfort but if you ever need to feel safe and protected go to him

“Dont worry Lassie” (head pats) “I’ll protect you, You’re safe now”

Frodo

Sweet darling baby angel bean

He completely understands your anxieties and pain

Frodo did carry the one ring across middle earth after all

He absolutely has PTSD from it, so there have been many times the two of you would stay up late together when you can’t sleep, drinking tea

You find comfort in the fact that he’s quite similar to you, and vice versa

Most often, you guys will talk about what's going on and comfort each other

On the nights the two of you don’t wish to talk, Frodo will read stories to you

His voice is so soft and comforting, It never fails to lull you to sleep

“None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window” He reads aloud, peaking up at you and notices the way your lips part, a soft snore emitting. He hums, “Goodnight Y/N, sleep well”

Sam

This hobbit is such a softie

He understands that with mental disorders, you may forget to eat or care for yourself

So he always watches you, making sure you’re eating and you aren’t

Oh boy

Will cook your favorite meals and make you sit with him to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner

“Ah, I hope you enjoy the meal. I made your favorite!”

“Thank you, Sam..”

Ensuring you drink your water

Or if you don’t like plain water, make some tea. Anything really to make sure you get your fluids

As a gardener, Sam is busy quite often, tending to, well, gardens

He’ll set up a picnic nearby for you with finger sandwiches, drinks, and fruit that way you had company and can relax fully in the peacefulness of nature

Definitely will give you a bouquet of flowers at the end of the day

“I picked these for you Y/N!”

Merry and Pippin

Okay so these two are together cause well. They’re always together

Except that one scene

Absolute kings of distraction when you’re feeling depressed

You might want to just sleep it off- but we all know that never really helps

They’ll make so many jokes and sing and dance around just to make you laugh

Which often leads to them singing even louder and cruder, annoying every elf in the area

“Lucky Annie was a lady who’d been pleased by many men- They all would sail away but then they’d come right back again”

Yes they sing sea shanties

Oops

On days that you don’t have the energy to deal with such shenanigans, they’ll tone it down

The three of you will often be found in the field during these days, Tossing a ball back n forth

Or giggling amongst yourself, gossiping about the rest of the fellowship

“I don’t know Merry, Gandalf is kinda hot in an old man way”

“Pippin what the hell”

231 notes · View notes

lillianofliterature · 4 years ago

Text

LOTR preferences || 2/?

main masterlist | imagines/preferences masterlist

DO NOT REPOST.

if gifs not sourced, they were found on google, lmk if they’re yours! I couldn’t make out the url on the elrond one or I would have linked it!

I wrote these sort of in an imagine style to make it more immersive since the prompt for this one is dialogue based.

some are longer than others (by a lot, oops) and some phrases or descriptors may have been repeated a few times, but there’s so many characters and I only have one brain and I didn’t feel like reading through all of them again to make them all perfectly unique. it’s been a long road writing these xD

elvish translations: melamin = my beloved/my love, melda = beloved/dear/sweet

tw: slight gore mentioned in aragorn’s

(more below the cut-off)

their first ‘i love you’ (confession)

aragorn | word count: 647

Aragorn was always quiet about his feelings and often times reserved, being an introverted person. Those three words came when he could no longer withstand the pressure of not telling you how he truly felt. The risk of your eyes wandering to find another had crossed his mind more than once and the possibility of something happening before he had had the chance to overcome his nerves was overwhelming. And one day, as he was in the midst of this inner turmoil, you slit your hand open while sharpening the blade of your sword against a whirling grindstone.

He had been nearby, working with the string of his bow, when your cry of pain pierced the air. The sword rattled to the ground as you stood and pressed your hand against the palm of the other in your best effort to quench the rush of blood. Without a second’s hesitation, he came to your aid and whisked you into the smithy shop where there was a store of medical supplies for such an incident.

In his panic, he chastised you.

“Why aren’t you wearing the guard I gave you? I explicitly told you not to use the grindstone without it!”

Tears burned in your eyes as he poured a stout smelling liquid over the wound. “I took it off because it was chafing my wrist when I pushed against the blade,” you said.

“It would have prevented this, (Y/n). Look at what you’ve done to yourself!”

“Aragorn, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for it to happen!”

“You must obey my instruction when I give it to you. I do not speak just to hear my own voice.”

There was a tense pause in your urgent conversation as he rinsed your hand in a basin of cool water and examined the wound up close with gentleness. His relief was audible as he realized the cut was much smaller than the loss of blood had let on. With a slower pace, he began bandaging your hand with linens.

His voice softer, he spoke again. “I tell you these things to protect you, (Y/n), not to patronize you.”

“I know,” you sniffled.

He could see that his chastisement had startled you as much as the wound itself. He hadn’t meant to make you uncomfortable, but he needed you to know how serious this could have been, how badly you could have injured yourself.

“I apologize for my harshness,” - he caught your gaze with his own as he continued - “But I need you to take care of yourself. Especially when I offer you the means to do so.”

He knotted the linen and tugged at the cloth with his teeth before snipping it short with a pair of shears lying nearby. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent a wave of chills across your skin. When he glanced up at you, he saw a twinge of embarrassment in your expression.

“I always end up doing something reckless or clumsy, no matter how much I try to better myself,” you muttered. Avoiding his gaze, you stared at your wrapped hand as he released it from his grasp.

The next words that left your mouth caught him off guard.

“Why do you bother with me, Aragorn?”

He swallowed.

His eyes drifted downward to your bandaged hand. Carefully, he took it in both of his and cradled it between his palms. Your breath caught in your throat, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. Of course, there was none. When his eyes flickered up to meet yours, there was something glimmering in his eyes. Something quiet and untamed. Tender.

“I care for you, (Y/n). I care for you very deeply. So deeply, in fact, that I think there is no better word for it than love,” he confessed, gently tracing his thumb over your knuckles. “I love you, melamin.”

boromir | word count: 952

Boromir had never been one to display much emotion. He had been taught from a young age that a man was not a creature of sentiment or expressive feeling, so he was not well versed in the commitment of making himself vulnerable. It wasn‘t until he began to see how this pattern of detachment and stalwart solemnness began to affect your relationship that he worked harder to make larger strides in undoing the toxic misogyny his father had engrained in him since boyhood.

You of course knew that Boromir had an emotional side; a softer, sweeter disposition he bore around his younger brother and even around you on occasion – before he subconsciously corrected himself. He had begun to notice that whenever he puffed his chest or resumed that “manly” behavior, you pulled away from him. You grew quieter, you sought solitude, you became annoyed more easily. His arrogance, you knew, often acted as a wall of self-preservation. But you were tired of being on the other side of that wall, waiting to be let in.

It was after an argument between the two of you that he realized this wall of his was going to have to come down. Even though he had been defensive at first, he soon realized his refusal to be wrong, his hesitance at expressing emotion, his worry about becoming vulnerable – it wasn’t worth the risk of losing you.

You had since shown him that emotion wasn’t a weakness, it was a strength. He knew you understood where his hesitance and his way of thinking brimmed from, you always made the effort to understand. You weren’t asking him to change – you were asking him to grow.

To allow himself to be Boromir. Fully, completely, without restraint.

This was his moment, so to speak, in which he knew he was ready to give you everything. His pride had been holding him back for so long under his father’s approval – it was finally time for him to trust you and allow himself the comforts of self-expression.

He was ready to say it first. He was ready to be the one to get vulnerable first.

On the evening he decided to take his first big step into that growth, Minas Tirith basked in the white hue of moonlight. He sat beside you quietly, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts. Twirling in between your fingers was a pale blossom from the White Tree that he had plucked for you. Patiently, you waited. You could tell by his calm demeanor and open countenance that something had shifted within him since your last talk – his shoulders were relaxed as he walked, he had let himself stroll along slowly beside you instead of marching quickly like a soldier. He seemed relieved. At peace.

“I have something I must ask of you, my dear,” he began.

Your attentive gaze gave him permittance to continue.

“Your forgiveness,” – his hand covered yours as his voice softened – “I want to apologize for my arrogance throughout our courtship thus far. It was not my intention to hurt you with my attachment to my own pride.”

You leaned forward to interrupt him, but he held up his hand to stop you. You hadn’t wanted him to apologize – you didn’t blame him for a learned behavior he had had no choice in being raised into. But evidently, Boromir felt in necessary to express his remorse. Shutting him down was the last thing you wanted to do, especially if this was what he felt was right. You decided to listen.

“I never knew that I would find someone who would open me up like you have. I never even knew there was such a possibility for me to learn to allow myself to feel as you have. You know I was never allowed to show weakness as a child, or what my father perceived as weakness,” he glanced down at your intertwined hands as he swallowed over his next words, “I was not even allowed to cry. It was not the way of a soldier, or a steward’s son.”

When his eyes lifted to meet yours again, you could see the glistening of his tears in the moonlight. You tightened your grip on his hand, covering it with your other.

He seemed comforted by this as he continued. “But I am able to do so now, to allow myself to feel and become vulnerable. I owe you my thanks for that, (Y/n). If it weren't for you, I fear I never would have allowed myself to grow, to become a better man. A stronger man.”

He leaned forward suddenly, his peaceful expression shifting into excitement. “I love you, (Y/n), with a passion that even the fires of Mordor could not compare. And I thought that I would have to swallow my emotions to be the man you wanted, but instead you had given me freedom I have never been offered before.”

“Oh, Boromir,” you murmured. The image of his smiling face blurred as your own tears gathered and spilled over your cheeks. Your eyes fell to the blossom in your hands and the promise it held of everything to come – of what you already had, here, in his company.

His thumb gently tugged at your cheek as he wiped your tears. When you softened to his touch, he cradled the curve of your jaw in his hand. You leaned into him, covering his hand with your own.

This is all you had ever wanted.

For Boromir to be free, for his heart to be opened, for him to accept your love.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, pressing your lips to the palm of his hand that caressed your face.

faramir | word count: 522

The complete opposite of his brother, Faramir had little to no trouble in connecting to his more emotional side. In fact, he was always eager to shower others in kindness and compassion. It had long been the thing his father hated most about him – Faramir was weak in Denethor’s eyes. Luckily, Faramir’s gift for sentiment could not be so easily squelched. It was what you loved most about him.

Faramir adored you all the more for your acceptance of his openness and empathetic abilities. He never had to filter himself around you or attempt to not be “too much”. He was expressive, kind, and vulnerable. He wasn’t afraid to cry, he wasn’t hesitant in displaying his softer side. He was just Faramir, the way Faramir was supposed to be. And in your eyes, he was perfect.

Those words of declaration, those three tender notes of sweet promise, when they finally came, did not necessarily come as a surprise. He had always been upfront with his feelings towards you – and respectful - with his affection and doting words of affirmation. Shy, but honest. But that did not mean they meant any less when you heard them spoken for the first time.

Faramir, though he had long known that he loved you, had not planned the moment he would confess to you. He knew the right moment would happen along, and happen along it did.

One fine afternoon in the sunlit halls of the library halls, your laughter echoed with an unkempt ferocity that made his heart melt. Evidently, the way he had attempted in retelling his brother’s joke was far funnier than the actual content of it. You had laid your hand upon his shoulder as you doubled over in a chortling fever of amusement. In seconds, his embarrassment had been assuaged your beautifully wild laugh that in turn encouraged his own to spill forth.

There you both stood under the setting beams of the warm sun that filtered into the halls, leaning into each other for support as you felt your sides begin to ache. His gentle hands gripped your forearms as you gasped for breath between cheerful bouts of laughter. He had been able to calm his jovial fit much sooner as his admiring gaze fell almost blissfully solemn.

He couldn’t look away from your lips that were split into a wide smile, unconcerned whether your laugh was ladylike or if your posture was stiff. Those little crinkles in the corners of your glimmering (e/c) eyes were like the fine details of a painting. Oh, how deeply he had fallen for you.

When you finally began to catch your breath and your laughter had quieted enough for a lower octave to be heard, the words slipped effortlessly between his smiling lips with a soft chuckle. “I love you.”

Your boisterous laughter faded into breathy vowels as you asked, “What did you say?”

“I love you,” he repeated.

His smile didn’t waver. He was so sure, so sincere.

You could only smile up at him graciously, a light laugh of merriness flowing through you.

How perfect this moment was, how blissfully perfect.

eomer | word count: 413

It happened one the eve before a long patrol - that could result in battle - that he and his men were preparing for. Eomer, knowing he could promise himself a certain outcome, did not want to leave you waiting until he returned to say all that he needed to. He wanted to be sure he left no loose ends fraying in his absence. He wasn’t one to leave things to chance.

As he walked out to the stables to prepare his supplies and brush out his steed, you followed along with him, eager to spend every minute you had left together before his departure. There were inquiries and concerns exchanged while he filled Firefoot’s bale with oats and cleaned his shoes of any muck. When he was reassured that you and Eowyn would care for each other in his absence, he felt one last thing needed to be said.

His hands wove through Firefoot’s mane as he considered his next words, soothing the horse’s nervous anticipation. The lull in conversation reminded of you how close dawn truly was. He would be gone soon and you would be left to worry and pray for his safe return. Busying yourself with tasks that would seem miniscule in comparison.

He patted the broad neck of his steed before wiping his hands clean and stepping nearer to you. “There’s something I think you should be aware of before I go,” he began.

His tone made you worry.

“I think we are both aware of our feelings for each other since our courtship began,” he took your hands in his as he paused for breath, “It’s no surprise to you that I feel passionately for you. I don’t think it would be news for you to hear these words, but I would feel better having spoken them before I take my leave.”

You waited on baited breath. Was he truly going to say it after all this time?

“I love you, (Y/n), with every inch of my being, and I plan to act on that knowledge when I return.”

Yes, you already knew he loved you, and he knew you loved him. But to hear those words spoken aloud after the years you had pined for each other and in the months you had courted, it was the last bit of resolve you needed to face the world while he was away. And evidently it was the last bit of peace he needed to carry himself forward.

eowyn | word count: 312

Eowyn had long been sure of her love for you, but had lacked the courage to admit it. of course, she had no qualms with being the first to say it – of course a woman could say it first just as easily as a man and with just as much meaning. But when would the right time occur? How could she be sure you felt the same? That she would not be left with a gaping pang of regret?

But Eowyn, against all of her worries, knew the moment when it came.

And of course, her bravery shown through.

Her confession did not happen under the moonlit stars or in the halls of her uncle, nor even in the walls of her homeland. It happened in the uncomfortable, sweaty musk of battle as arrows pierced hide and swords battered shields. It happened as an enemy blade came bearing down on your armor as you lie defenseless in the wreckage, your weapon thrown own of reach.

You had accepted your death just as the thudding of boots came nearer and the Uruk’s bloodthirsty gaze drifted upwards, its blade halted. The beast stepped over your impaired body and poised the tip of its blade toward the approaching figure with a twisted smirk – and it was then that the sharp twang of her blade meeting the Uruk’s pierced the air. She parried quickly, shoving the beast back into a stumble. She stood over you, wielding her shield and blade with grace and courage enough for a hundred men – or perhaps a thousand.

“You will not harm the one I love!” she shouted.

Your heart raced in the frenzy chaos of the moment – both from adrenaline and from the realization that Eowyn, the great lady warrior, the bravest heart you had ever met, had confessed her love for you while protecting you with her own life.

elrond | word count: 928

Elrond was extremely mindful of his feelings and how he attached himself to others. He was quiet, reserved, and did not care for taking unwise chances – especially when it came to feelings such a love. He had given much thought to the subject and took his time in considering what his feelings might be – if it was simply the fleeting sensation of infatuation, a connected sensation of friendship, or truly the sensation of love itself.

When he found his every thought resolved itself back to you and nearly everything he saw or read prompted him to share it with you, he knew that he had fallen in love. And thus, it soon came time to be honest with you about his earnest feelings for you. It was time to finally say it.

During a private dinner with him, Elrond had prepared his words carefully. As he dotted the corners of his mouth with a red satin cloth, he cleared his throat. But before he could speak, your voice incidentally interrupted him.

“Elrond, do you think I’m a witless human?”

The words he had almost spoken caught in his throat. He lifted his gaze to yours across the table, studying the remorseful expression that had overcome the smile you had worn only minutes ago. He had felt that something about you was off that evening; your spirit seemed dampened like the fallen leaves of autumn when drenched with the harvest’s cool rain.

“Of course not. Why would you ever think that?”

He watched as you toyed with a piece of warm pastry, poking at the flakey crust distractedly. “I suppose I- I…I worry that I am unworthy of your company. You are a great lord and I am nothing but a wanderer who happened upon your halls years ago. There are many who are still uncertain of me, many who would rather I leave your courts and make my home elsewhere.”

“Anyone who say such things about you must be the witless creature, (Y/n), not you,” he reassured.

Your eyes met his. There was an urgency to your tone, an urgency that taunted him unintentionally. “I am dull and plain, milord. I do not belong in your world of elegance and majesty. I am like the dust of the earth and you- you are like stardust.”

Still silence fell as Elrond processed your words. You had returned to formalities, which you seldom did unless the situation called for it. This time, in the comfort of your shared solitude, it was not expected of you. Where had this all come from? Had someone chastised you? Spoken ill of your character?

He rose slowly from his chair and made his way to you. You kept your eyes on your plate, suddenly overwhelmed by a bashful sense of embarrassment. Every step he drew nearer, your pulse quickened.

The warmth of his hand stilled the nervous fidgeting of yours.

As near as he was to you now, knelt by your chair, you wondered if he could see the tears burning in your eyes. You blinked, dissolving the blurry liquid from your vision. You held your breath very still, only taking shallow breaths –you feared anything deeper would encourage more emotions to present themselves.

When his other hand swept your hair from your face, your breath caught in your throat. “You are the furthest thing from dull, melda. Do not compare yourself to the dust that is trampled by the feet of beasts – you are far more precious than even the light of the stars. You are worth far more than you give yourself credit for.”

The soft touch of his finger pulled your chin towards him, warranting your gaze to meet his. “I have spent these last two months considering how I might tell you this, and I find that is more perfect a time than ever,” he paused only to admire your eyes and the loveliness that reflected in them, “I am in love with you, (Y/n), and I fall more in love with you each day that passes.”

Your (e/c) widened and you felt your chest tighten – how could this be possible? How could he, the great elven lord of Rivendell, think of you as anything more than a wanderer? No matter how much you doubted yourself, you knew you could trust his words, despite the shock they invoked. He was never one to speak with haste or make himself vulnerable to anyone apart from his children. You were stunned to silence, waiting for him to take it back. But he never did.

In fact, his brows drew together in an expression of absoluteness and he spoke again in a calmer, more pronounced tone. He took one of your hands in his and pressed it to his heart. “You are the most marvelous creature that has ever walked into my life. I am the one who has been graced by your presence. You have enriched my life when before it was simple and lonely…you are stardust, melamin, not me.”

Your sorrowful tears turned to joy as they poured from your eyes and spilled over your flushed cheeks. When you leaned forward to embrace him, he opened his arms to accept your human display of affection. A little too enthusiastic, it might have been – you wrapped your arms over his shoulders, pulling yourself to the ground where he knelt.

His chuckle reverberated against your body and you found yourself wondering how you had ever doubted your belonging here with him – there was no other place in Middle-Earth that could hold your heart.

arwen | word count: 420

Arwen had known from the moment she had met you that something was meant to last between the two of you. Call it instinct, desire, or elven wisdom – whatever it might’ve been, she felt it clearly much like her father’s visions. Although she hadn’t been sure if it was the bonds of friendship or kindred spirits for some time, until her connection to you was proven by your shared desire to be near each other whenever you could.

She confessed to you on the morning of your departure with part of her father’s guard to oversee the treaties between your peoples. There was much riding upon the success of your deliverance and the treaties themselves – there was much hanging in the air, stiffening the backs of many anxious elves that mounted their steeds alongside you. Just as you finished loading your saddle, her voice carried across the yard of the stables and met your ears, drawing your attention towards you.

“I thought you were supposed to be with the farewell party at the gates?” You inquired. The smile her presence brought onto your lips warmed her heart.

“I am,” she drew near until she was within arm’s reach of you, “I came to say goodbye personally. I have something to tell you before you go.”

“Oh? What is it, my lady?”

“I want to offer you this,” – she took your hand in hers and discreetly place something within the grasp of your fingers, folding them back over it – “If you would but promise to take great care of it.”

Opening the palm of your hand, you found the cool glint of the Evenstar glistening back at you. To say that you were stunned was an understatement – surely this was not what it seemed to be. Was she offering her heart to you?

“Arwen, are- are you asking…?”

“I am offering you my heart with this jewel, that you may carry me with you while we are parted.”

You searched her eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but you found none. She knew what she was doing, placing this jewel in your care. She was offering you her love, her fidelity, her loyalty. Herself.

“But this must mean that-“

“That I love you,” she murmured, taking a step closer. She curled your fingers around the Evenstar again, this time enclosing her hands around yours. Her eyes flickered down as she placed a soft kiss to your knuckles, sealing her promise. “And I will be waiting for you when you return home.”

legolas | word count: 259

It came in during one of the many nights that you sat close by him during the Feast of Starlight in his father’s halls. When he had seen your ceremonial gown laced with silver ribbon and your hair flowing free of any braids or decorum, he felt as though every thought and feeling he had harbored for you in his heart had been sealed by that moment. The need to confess his feelings came on so strongly that he could hardly speak throughout the feast, knowing the next words that passed through his lips would be ones of affirmation and promise.

It happened in the basking glow of moonlight, just after you pointed out the constellations that glimmered brightly above you. He had placed his hand over yours gently, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.

You glanced at him as his fingers enclosed around yours. His glimmering blue eyes narrowed down at your delicate hand, not yet meeting your inquiring gaze. His brows dipped together as though he were working very hard at thinking of what to say.

“Legolas?”

He swallowed back his nerves before looking up to say, “(Y/n), you have been like my very own star, illuminating every part of my being with your passion. I think it must be time that I tell you just how much I care for you,” - his other hand came to cup the hand he held, encasing it in the warmth of his touch - “I love you, (Y/n), with a fire that burns brighter than the sun itself.”

galadriel | word count: 207

The lady Galadriel, even in her vast grace and eloquence, could not find the words to say all that she felt for you. In the dusk of a summer evening over a private supper, she handed you a carefully folded letter that had been sealed with silver thread. You took it gingerly, looking up at her with curious eyes before unfolding its contents and delving into her written speech.

In it she had poured everything - from the moment she had met you to the very minute she had realized how her heart was binding itself to yours with the slow cadence of the changing seasons. She expressed that though her life had spanned a great millennium, you had brought a youthful curve to her smile, a liveliness she had not known for some time. At the very end of her confession that had been penned with her delicate penmanship were the concluding words of affection. She was in love with you.

When you looked up at her, the letter quivering in your hands, she glanced away momentarily before saying, “Every word I wrote is but the truth I feel in my heart,” her smile was as dignified as ever, “and I cannot deny it any longer.”

haldir | word count: 365

He will have thought about it for a very long time and have every word prepared to the syllable. The setting was carefully planned, the way he spoke and carried himself was rehearsed - for declaring your lifelong love for someone was no lighthearted matter. It could determine the course of his existence, as well as yours. Haldir wanted nothing less of himself than utter perfection, knowing well that you were worth every bit of his effort (and so much more).

So there he waited in the beauty of the Lothlorien moon glow for your arrival. He had your favorite delicacies made in the kitchens by the skilled elves in the upper palace. There were pastries filled with tart berries and lathered with warm crème, a centuries-aged mulled wine, and votives shimmering in the grass. All to tell you that he loved you - to declare his heart as yours.

But all of that changed when you arrived suddenly and rushed up the slope to meet him. Unexpectedly, you took him in your arms and held him there without warning. There was a quiver to your body that he felt against his skin. He returned the gesture without hesitation.

“Melda, what is it that troubles you?”

You spouted off about how horrible your day had been and how glad you were to have had this meeting with him, how it had kept you going throughout the gradual disappointments that had taken place since that morning. You went on to tell him how much he meant to you - all without explicitly saying ‘i love you’, but somehow he knew that had been what you meant.

Without thinking, he said it over you shoulder in a whisper just loud enough to be heard by your human ears. It hadn’t been the way he had carefully planned out, but somehow it had been sweeter this way than any other way he could have imagined. It was natural, pure, and made his heart full.

“I love you too, Haldir,” you murmured in return. He permitted himself to succumb to your human expression of affection completely as he tightened his embrace and gently nestled his chin over your shoulder.

gimli | word count: 346

The saying “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” must have applied to dwarves as well. For one night as you and the other members of your Fellowship bedded down for a meal and a few hours’ rest, the savory flavor you managed to infuse in the meager ingredients you rationed had done just that to Gimli, son of Gloin. It had been only a brief moment between handing him his own helping and sitting down next to him with your own that the words of adoration escaped his mouth.

“My love be yours, lass! This brew is delicious!” He had proclaimed, his voice rising higher above the hushed sounds of delight as the others enjoyed your cooking. Then his own words registered in his hungry mind - as they did to the rest of the group.

The spoon halted in his mouth as he froze stiff under the several inquiring looks from around the fire. Legolas’ expression was contorted in such a confused way, Gimli would have make a jab at the elf had he not been the object of attention himself. He hadn’t thought it possible for the dwarf to harbor feelings - well, positive ones, at least.

Your smile drove the dwarf’s cheeks into a reddening fit. “Your what be mine?”

“Uh, ah,” he swallowed quickly and slurped in another mouthful of broth, “I dedn’t say anythin’.”

“Oh, I think you did, Gimli,” Aragorn chimed in with a wide grin on his face.

“I think he might ‘a said he loved her!” One of the hobbits proclaimed, encouraging a roar of laughter around the fire.

Gimli muttered something over his bowl of stew that he cradled close to his beard. You smiled at him, knowing he was too embarrassed to even offer a rebuttal. It may not have been outright or plainly spoken, but you could see through the hard-pressed and unfeeling exterior he always wore that there was something soft not too far below the surface. You were happy to hold the affections of a certain red-haired, axe-wielding dwarf.

frodo baggins | word count: 612

Frodo loved nothing more than a peaceful day spent in the flickering shade of the forests and crossing through little creeks and rivers - especially if you were with him. He often invited you to tag along with him on his adventures to find a good reading spot or explore some hidden oasis of the Shire he had yet to discover. He always wanted to be with you.

On one such day, Frodo couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every thought turned and found its way back to you. Each time he tried to concentrate on the book he cradled in his hands, his eyes wandered readily to find your peaceful face indulged in your own little world, just content to have his company without the need for conversation.

He adjusted himself where he sat in the forked trunk of a comfortable tree and tried one last time to immerse himself in the paragraphs printed on the yellowed pages of his book. It was no use.

Minutes passed and Frodo couldn’t try any longer. His eyes settled on the texture of your (h/c) hair that you had left down that day with no braids or ribbons tying portions of it back. The midday sun that filtered through the canopy of trees sent waves of gold across those soft tendrils he loved tucking behind your ear. You sat primly at the base of the tree, weaving the stems of flowers together.

Quietly, he admired the contour of your nose, the curve of your cheeks, the delicate shape of your lips and the pink tongue that poked out every now and then as you tried to concentrate on your pleats. A dreamy smile took over his quaint expression. The contented sigh that passed between his lips pulled your gaze up to meet his.

His sweet smile encouraged your own to make an appearance. Both of your hearts fluttered. “What’s that look for?”

“I was just admiring how beautiful you are with sunlight in your hair,” he said. His voice was sugary and tender. It reminded you of the rich pastries his uncle offered you each time you came for a meal. So delicately ruch with sweetness that it sat in your belly and warmed, mixing perfectly with the twang of a hot berry tea. Frodo was like that - the perfect mix of everything natural and sweet. Pure.

Your blush overtook your expression and your averted your gaze bashfully. As your thoughts rushed with anticipation, wondering what was to come next, if anything. Perhaps he would say something else or return to his book, you couldn’t be sure.

There was the definitive sound his book snapping shut and the scuffle of his feet as he hopped down from the tree. You teased him with a glance when he sat next to you and tucked his legs underneath him, turning your fingers around the stems of budding dandelions. His eyes studied your face for a moment longer before he wandered down to follow the steady work of your hands.

“What are you making?”

“I’m weaving a bookmark for you,” you answered. “After it dries, you can take it out and use it for other books.”

There was that fluttering in his heart again.

“You’re marvelous,” he whispered.

A short chuckle escaped you and your eyes widened with a mix of shock and curiosity. “I’m just weaving flowers, Frodo. It’s nothing special.”

His hand covered yours. Your fingers stilled.

“Of course it is. Anything you do becomes special.”

“Frodo, I-...”

“I love you, (Y/n).”

“You- you what?”

He traced his finger along your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear like he always did. “I love you.”

samwise gamgee | word count: 1,084

Sam had planned every minute of his confession. He would invite you to supper, cook every bit of it himself, and put it all in a picnic basket to be eaten in the quaint garden of his home. He had rehearsed his words over and over again, both to Frodo and the looking glass that hung by the front door.

When you arrived that evening, it was obvious that something was turning in that head of his (he was never any good at being discrete), but you didn’t let on as if you suspected anything. You figured that if Sam had planned something special, he would enjoy the surprise on your face better than the curious questions that would deflate his excitement. With a basket in tow, he led you back out the front door and onto the stone steps of his beautifully gardened walkway.

You paused to admire the lilies and tall-reaching sunflowers as he bickered with the key in the lock. Unfortunately, both of you were too distracted to notice the picnic basket slipping from his grasp. Before either of you could react, the beautifully packed picnic had tumbled out onto the dusty stones around your feet.

A loaf of bread that had been carefully wrapped in parchment seemed unscathed, as did the little pot of warm stew that had been tied shut with a thick ribbon over the lid. The jars of honey and jam clinked as they rolled into each other, a packed cheese board tumbled out and into the grass, and a lovely golden pie feel top-first onto the porch step with a splat.

Your first instinct was to clasp your hands over your mouth and stare idly at the unfortunate mess. Your eyes flicked to Sam, who stood with his back to you and his hand still on the key that stuck out of the door. His shoulders sank and an audible sigh of remorse left his lips.

“Oh, blast it!” he exclaimed under his breath, bending over to turn the basket right-side up.

Poor Sam.

“Oh, Sam! I’m so sorry!” You stepped forward out of your daze and tucked the jars in your arms. You picked up the stew that had only barely spilled a few drops when it tipped, careful not to knock the lid off anymore. When you set them down by the basket, you noticed the pie that had been smashed had splattered onto Sam’s feet and trousers. Helplessly, he tried to shake the gooey tart off, but to no avail.

“Let me go inside and get some towels,” you offered. Scooting between him and the doorpost – and narrowly avoiding the pie yourself – you took the key from his fingers and twisted it back, opening his front door wide open and quickly heading for the bathroom.

When you came back, damp towel in hand, Sam was slumped by the grass, picking up the cheese and berries that had hopped out like little frogs. You sighed at the sight of it, knowing he had most likely prepared and cooked every bit of this meal himself. You couldn’t help but notice that he looked rather defeated.

Approaching him, you could hear him muttering under breath, things like, “Samwise, you blundering fool” and “now the night’s all ruined because of your clumsiness”. Gently, you placed your hand on his shoulder and bent over to capture his attention. He stood and looked at you, a frown drooping his eyebrows together. It was enough to make your heart break right then and there.

“Here, leave that to me and let’s get you cleaned up.”

Taking his hand, you led him to the little bench by the potted tomatoes and gestured for him to sit. He sat down with a groan and reached for the towel, which you pulled out of reach. “It’s alright, Sam, I can clean it off.”

“You don’t have to do that, (Y/n),” he interjected. There was an embarrassed twinge in his tone.

“I know I don’t, but I want to help. You went to all this trouble to give me a lovely evening out and I want to do what I can to help make it happen still,” you reassured. You knelt by his feet and began wiping the crème and berries from his trousers, letting the water soak in and draw the hue out.

“Oh,” he sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his hand, “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

You glanced up at him curiously, quirking a brow. “Sam, it’s alright. It’s just one date – we can always try again and next time I’ll lock the door for you. Or I can carry the basket, although I can’t promise I won’t be the one to drop it.” Your snickering didn’t seem to assuage his deflated excitement.

“No, tonight was-…I was going to- to-...”

You leaned back on your haunches, your hands still. He was going to what?

“Sam?”

His silent anxiousness worried you. Tenderly, you placed a hand on his knee and bent forward to try and catch his gaze again. Bashfully, his eyes darted up, but they did not meet yours. Instead he focused on your hand that settled on his knee and found himself smiling softly, despite the tears that had welled in his eyes.

Following his gaze, you realized what you had done – the heat rose in your cheeks and you began to pull away, but his hand stopped you. With a sweet touch, he wove his together with yours and looked up at you. Your pulse quickened - you had never seen that look before, in his eyes. The one where they shimmered almost like stars and his smile tipped to the side. He looked almost blissful.

“I had planned on telling you I love you. I had everything planned, including baking your favorite pie with little hearts woven into the crust. I wanted tonight to be special, so you would remember it when we’re old and grey and start forgetting what we ate for second breakfast.”

Sam watched as your smile grew, shrank into shock, and then grew again. When you sprang forward and enveloped him, it took a moment for him to register your sudden warmth pressed against him. But when he did, he happily returned the gesture and wrapped his arms under yours, tucking his chin over your shoulder. He could smell the sweet scent of lavender wafting from your beautiful hair.

“Sam, I’ll never forget this night for as long as I live.”

merry brandybuck | word count: 409

With Meriadoc Brandybuck, nothing was ever subtle. The young hobbit had planned his confession like he might any other adventure or trip across the country. From morning until night, Merry had something in store for you to slowly build to the moment he was prepared to confess his truest feelings.

It started with pulling you out your door at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise over Bywater Pool with a quaint breakfast in the square (which you forgave him for when he presented those deliciously warm muffins) and was then followed by a light frenzy of morning shopping from the markets that were selling sweet-tasting goods and homemade wares. He had seen the way you had eyed that little locket with the (f/c) jewel dangling from it and bought it when you weren’t looking, slipping it into his vest pocket.

Not long after you had visited your friends in the Green Dragon Inn, there had been a lovely wagon-ride through the rich Green Hill countryside to reach the borders of the Shire, followed by a lunch under the trees of the forest in the curve of the hillside shadows. He watched fondly as you went about collecting flowers to braid into a crown for the two of you. After your meal had been finished (along with a day full of snacks and goodies he had brought along), he had led you on a hike the rest of the way to Tuckborough where the Great Willow sat patiently waiting for dusk.

There, underneath the swaying loveliness of the weeping branches, he turned out his pocket and clasped the necklace around you from behind.

A gasp escaped your surprised smile, “What is this?!”

“I saw you eyeing it this morning when we were in the square,” he planted himself beside you, tucking your hair behind your shoulder, “And I thought you should have it.”

“Oh, Merry,” you looked down and marveled at its glimmering beauty, pressing your fingers to the chain, “You really shouldn’t have! This cost a few good silver pieces!”

There was pure adoration in his eyes when you looked at him, a look you hadn’t seen so fully expressed before. It was then, in the pause between phrases, that he said it all with just a look. You had never felt such butterflies before.

“No price could ever compare to the amount of my love for you, (Y/n).”

Oh, he was smooth. He was very smooth.

pippin took | word count: 430

Pippin mightn’t have been the most creative when it came to planning elaborate dates or settings in which to confess his innermost feelings with, but he was no less sincere. When the quick knock had come at your door one morning before you had even had the chance to devour your first meal of the day, you hadn’t expected to find him standing anxiously on the other side.

He wore that same crooked smile that alighted his whole face and held tightly in his hands was a bouquet of wildflowers. By the looks of them, he must has run up the lane carrying them - some daisies had lost a few petals and you spotted the dirt-knotted roots hanging from his hands from where he had pulled them from the earth. It was messy and imperfect, but it was Pippin.

There was something so endearing about his childlike naivety when it came to the “proper” way of presenting things, such as the mop of unkempt curls on his head, the bruised flowers in his clenched hands, and the wide-eyed energy he never went without. You loved every bit of it.

You certainly hadn’t expected him to suddenly become shy when he began to explain the bouquet he placed in your hands, his fingers lingering over yours a little longer than necessary. He was never one to be slow to speak.

“I-I, uh, I thought you might like these pretty flowers, y’know, because pretty things like other pretty things,” he smiled for a moment and bounced on his feet, until he seemed to register his own words and how they might be taken, “Uh, not- not that I see you as a ‘thing’ or...anything.”

“I know what you mean, Pip,” you smiled at him through the blossoms as you pressed them to your nose, inhaling their sweet scent.

“I also came to- uh- to tell you about my feelings.”

“Your feelings?”

“Ah, those,” he giggled and spared a glance at his feet, “I just meant that I have feelings for someone. For you, that is. I mean. And, uh, I wanted to come out and say it. Like that.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh, Pippin, that’s wonderful becau-”

“I love you, that is,” he concluded before adding a rushed, “You don’t have to say the same, of course. I was just putting it out there.”

You tucked in your widening smile and concealed your blush behind your daisies. “I do feel the same way. Would you like to come in for breakfast?”

You knew he never turned down a meal.

tags: @moony-artnstuff @wellfuckmyexistence

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monstersdownthepath · 3 years ago

Text

5e Otherworldly Patron: The Mother of Filth

scratching squirming skitter gnawing swarming stalking slither clawing wasting breeding dripping screaming rotting feeding sickness dreaming

Something is wrong with you. There’s this itch, this... foulness you cannot alleviate. You picked it up from somewhere, something, someone, and it hasn’t lessened in the time you’ve had it. A persistent cough, a rash you cannot get rid of, some sour taste at the back of your throat, some crawling within your ears, or nose, or behind your eye. It’s something, it’s there, it won’t go away. An illness, you’ve told yourself. A simple disease. It will pass, you’ve said, it will pass in time.

it has been years.

Years of this. These symptoms, these rashes and sores and blisters, this coughing and sneezing and aching and fever. It’s made you pitiful. No one will look at you anymore, not directly. They’ll talk to you, yes, but only if you talk to them first. Sometimes, though, they’ll act like they can’t hear you. Many of them don’t even seem to notice as you move towards them, silently standing aside to let you pass without interrupting whatever they were doing. Sometimes it seems like they don’t even know they’re ignoring you.

Maybe you’ve started taking advantage of that, maybe you cannot stand it, but once you realized it was happening, something in you changed. Your sickness became worse, the symptoms more pronounced. Nothing could alleviate them. And then, a... thing formed inside you. A lump or a weight in your belly, or your chest, or your head. Now that it’s here, it feels... strange. It’s not comforting, but you feel it’s natural. Like this was supposed to happen, some logical progression of whatever foulness has seeped into you. In a way, you feel like you expected it. Maybe you were even waiting for it.

Now, in your fevered dreams, you swear there’s something else in them with you. Something trying to communicate with you. There are no words you understand, merely feelings. Ideas. Sensations. Some sort of... directions or instructions. In your addled mind, you’ve found yourself wondering: just what would happen if you followed them?

EXPANDED SPELL LIST The following spells are added to the Warlock spell list for you:

1st: Grease, Ray of Sickness

2nd: Web, Blindness/Deafness

3rd: Stinking Cloud, Feign Death

4th: Greater Invisibility, Giant Insect

5th: Cloudkill, Insect Plague

-Miserable Pity

By 1st level, you’ve already lived with this illness for years. It’s made you an unapproachable creature, a leper, something that mortal minds view with a mix of pity and fear; others will interact with you if you interact with them, but most of them will unconsciously avoid looking at you, listening to you, and especially avoid touching you.

This does have its benefits: Once per short or long rest as a reaction to being targeted with an attack or a spell attack, you may force the attack roll or spell attack roll to be made with disadvantage by momentarily revealing your pitiful nature. In addition, this pity largely prevents you from suffering penalties when interacting with other living creatures, as they subconsciously refuse to notice how much the sickness has taken from you. In their minds, while you don’t appear healthy, you at least resemble a functioning member of society. Undead, constructs, and most animals can see through this aura; aside from verminous creatures or well-trained mounts, animals will often refuse to approach you, shrinking away unless pressed into the interaction, which could have consequences. Certain other creatures, such as Fiends or Celestials, may also see past this aura of pity as well at the DMs discretion.

-Averted Eyes

This subconscious ignorance of your presence has an additional benefit: At 1st level, you gain proficiency with Stealth. If you are already proficient, your proficiency bonus for this skill is doubled.

-Scratching Squirming Skitter Gnawing

inside you feel them inside chewing eating everything else that would hurt you. they’re your allies, not your enemies. Certainly, it may have hurt at first, it may have been repulsive at first, but they’re here to help. They’re here to provide for you, protect you.

At 6th level, your body plays host to grotesque parasites that conditions you to things far worse. You’re bolstered against foul elements, if only because there’s less of you to affect. You become resistant to Poison damage, have advantage on saving throws to avoid becoming Poisoned, and you are unharmed by any disease you contract, though you still bear their symptoms and contagious diseases you contract remain contagious. Diseases you contract never heal on their own.

-Swarming Stalking Slither Clawing

Some days in the past you’ll wake up to find a rodent or roach perched on your chest. Now, though, there’s significantly more. Vermin crawl within your clothes, skittering across your skin, nesting in your hair. They mean you no harm, nor will they cause any. In time, you may grow used to them. You may love them as they love you.

At level 10, each time you complete a short or long rest, vermin will gather onto your person, attracted by the call of your illness. They move to shield your body from attacks, granting you temporary HP equal to your Warlock level. While you have any temporary HP from this ability you have resistance to Necrotic damage. In addition, verminous creatures (such as rats and mice, centipedes, flies, spiders, etc) will never willingly attack you unless you cause them harm first.

Your Miserable Pity ability keeps others from noticing your vermin coating just as easily as it kept them from noticing your pox.

-A Mother’s Love

New life. That’s all that it is. New and beautiful. Others call it Filth, call it garbage, or waste, or even worse: A plague, an infection, a cancer. They can’t understand; this isn’t a plague, it’s a blessing.

At 14th level, the Mother gives you a grand gift. A piece of her manifests within you, a tumorous growth that partially emerges from an unobtrusive location on your body, such as your stomach or back. This bloated thing alerts you to incoming danger and can even take hold of your spells for you should your attention falter. You gain Blindsense out to 10ft, able to sense hidden or invisible creatures within that radius. In addition, if your concentration on a spell is broken, you may use your reaction to re-establish a hold on the magic, as though your concentration was never lost. Once you do this, you must complete a long rest before doing it again.

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INVOCATIONS

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Hacking Cough Prereq: Mother of Filth patron

As an action, you can share your misery, retching and coughing upon a creature within 10ft of you. That creature must succeed a Constitution save versus your Warlock spell DC or become poisoned for 1 minute. A creature poisoned in this way may make a Constitution save at the end of their turn to end the condition, but they take 1d4 Poison damage on a failure. Once you’ve used this ability a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, you must complete a long rest before doing so again.

Scrounger Prereq: Mother of Filth patron

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and you have been desperate for a very, very long time. You gain proficiency in Constitution saving throws, and can consume rotted or diseased food and drink without suffering any consequences.

Record of Roaches Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Pact of the Tome

Your Book of Shadows is replaced with an unnerving, chitin-covered tome. While in possession of this tome, you may conjure a swarm of ravenous roaches in a 10ft cube within 30ft of you as an action. This space is difficult terrain, and creatures entering it or beginning their turn in it take 1d6 magical slashing and 1d6 Poison damage. This corrupted space lingers for 1 minute, or until you use this ability again. You may use this feature three times, and regain all uses after a long rest.

Dripping Blade Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Pact of the Blade

Your pact weapon becomes coated in a layer of toxic grime. A creature damaged by your pact weapon takes an additional 1d6 Poison damage. If you critically strike an enemy with your pact weapon or strike a creature who is not aware of you, that creature becomes infected with Sewer Plague, which incubates and progresses as normal.

Fecund Familiar Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Pact of the Chain

When summoning a new familiar, instead of choosing an empowered familiar from the Pact of the Chain, you may instead summon two of the following in any combination: a spider, a rat, a bat, or a cockroach (use the statistics of a crab). Both of these creatures are your familiars and share a mind split between multiple bodies. At level 10, you may maintain three familiars at the same time. At level 16, you may have four.

Filthy Friends Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 5

Sometimes they were all you had. As an action, you may command vermin from your surroundings to a single point within 60ft of you that you can see, summoning either a Swarm of Insects or a Swarm of Rats in that space. These swarms will obey your mental commands until brought to 0 HP or until 1 minute passes, at which point they disperse. Once you use this ability, you must complete a short or long rest to do so again.

Tatterdemalion Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 6

Over the course of a long rest, you can construct a piecemeal armor for yourself from rags, scavenged leather, and broken metal bits. Wearing this makes your AC equal 10 + your Constitution modifier + your Charisma modifier. Only you or another Warlock of the Mother of Filth can benefit from this armor, and it may be enchanted as normal armor can be, if you desire.

Pernicious Poison Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 7

Poison damage you inflict with your Warlock spells and abilities does full damage to creatures with resistance to Poison, and upon reaching level 12, your poisons deal half damage to creatures immune to Poison. In addition, once per long rest, you may use your bonus action to select a single creature within 100ft that you can see, infesting them with insidious Filth. That creature loses any immunity to the poisoned condition it has and gains vulnerability to Poison damage. At the start of that creature’s turn, it may make a Constitution save against your Warlock spell save DC to end this effect.

Don’t Ignore Me Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 8

If they won’t look at you, you’ll take advantage of it. Once per turn, you can deal an extra 2d6 damage to one creature you hit with an attack if you have advantage on the attack roll. The attack must use a finesse or a ranged weapon. You don't need advantage on the attack roll if another enemy of the target is within 5 feet of it, that enemy isn't incapacitated, and you don't have disadvantage on the attack roll. At level 12, this damage increases to 3d6, and it increases to 4d6 at level 16.

Vermin Lord Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 10

You can cast Dominate Beast at will as a 5th level spell without expending a spell slot, but only to control verminous creatures (an insect, arachnid, or rodent Beast with an Int of 2 or less). This control lasts for 10 minutes and requires no concentration from you, but you may only maintain control of up to 5 creatures at a time (a swarm counts as 1 creature). Controlling a new one ends the oldest instance of the effect. You cannot target the same creature with this effect again until you complete a long rest.

Retching Wretch Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 10, Hacking Cough

Your Hacking Cough’s range becomes 30ft. Whenever you successfully poison a creature with Hacking Cough, choose one of the following options:

Clawing, Gnawing: The creature is wracked with muscle aches. As long as it is poisoned, it takes a -2 penalty to Strength and Dexterity-based attack rolls, skill checks, and saving throws.

Dreaming, Screaming: The creature is afflicted with a terrible delirium and fever. As long as it is poisoned, it takes a -2 penalty to Intelligence and Wisdom-based attack rolls, skill checks, and saving throws.

Plaguebringer Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 10

You add Infestation and Contagion to your list of spells known. These are Warlock spells for you, and do not count towards your total spells known. You may cast Infestation as a bonus action so long as you still have temporary HP from Swarming Stalking Slither Crawling.

Contaminate Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 12

As an action, you can will the Filth to well up from the world around you, choking the ground and air. The Filth coats a 30ft radius around you with noxious gas, slick muck, and crawling things, transforming it into difficult terrain for everyone but you. Any creature besides you moving into or within the area takes 1d8 Poison damage per 5ft it travels. This supernatural muck lasts for 24 hours before fading away. You may use this ability once, regaining its use after a long rest.

Wasting Breeding Dripping Screaming Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 15

The lump or weight within sups upon your flesh and blood in amounts so minute you likely won’t even notice, but it’s always hungry for a more substantial meal. If you take slashing or piercing damage from an enemy adjacent to you, you can attempt to feed it by using your reaction; a Swarm of Rot Grubs erupts from the wound into the space of your attacker, and the swarm immediately uses its reaction to attack them with advantage.

This Swarm of Rot Grubs is friendly to you and any creature you designate as an ally, and will follow you telepathic commands. If left without orders, it will crawl towards the closest living enemy it can perceive to attack them, or to the closest pile of carrion within 30ft. After 1 minute passes, the swarm is too consumed by hunger and turns on itself, dying messily. Once you spawn a swarm in this way, you must complete a long rest before it can be done again.

Sire of Stagnation Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Contaminate, lvl 20

Patches of Filth created by Contaminate last until cleaned up by an outside force, such as a massive storm, powerful magic, or the concentrated efforts of a group of people working for 12 hours. Each day the Filth patch remains, it spawns a swarm of Filthbreed Vermin (roll 1d6; 1: swarm of rats, 2: swarm of insects, 3: swarm of maggots, 4: swarm of spiders, 5: swarm of scarabs, 6: swarm of rot grubs). A Filthbreed Swarm creates a 5ft patch of Filth otherwise identical to the one spawned by Contaminate when it is slain, requiring a concentrated effort to clean that takes 4 hours.

At the DMs discretion, more powerful Filthbreed creatures may arise from especially massive patches of Filth.

Hive Mind Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 20, Vermin Lord

You may maintain control of up to 25 creatures at once with your Vermin Lord ability, and the effect lasts indefinitely until dispelled. They no longer receive saving throws.

----------

Fun author’s note: Going to make a more generic version of this Patron later to fit into other people’s sessions without relying on my cosmology; you can indeed just use this creature as a different spirit of pestilence and filth, but I’m also just creating a Horseman of Pestilence-esque patron later as soon as I’m more inspired which shuffles a bunch of stuff already present here around while adding some new, more obviously vile options.

#original concepts #d&d homebrew #dnd homebrew #5e homebrew #tw: disease #tw: body horror #tw: parasites

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Ready

Summary: “I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

Picks up right where the show left off. Not technically a fix-it, as I didn’t change anything, but I promise it gets better.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of (canon) child abuse and neglect, mentions of past trauma, working through trauma, denial, bit of pining (but, like, in a denial sort of way), some fluff, some angst (but not as much as there is fluff)

Author’s Note: So many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock for endless suggestions, fixes, and beautiful images (header AND dividers!!!). Thanks to all my friends for cheering me on, especially @thoughtslikeaminefield ; I probably wouldn’t have kept going with the story without you.

This is my first Destiel story and my first time posting in a while. Please be kind.

Word Count: 7704

In case you missed it: ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

Dean isn’t sure how long he’s been in heaven, at least not by heaven’s timeframe. Probably years, maybe even a couple of decades. He doesn’t age in heaven, and time works differently, running fast and stretching slow.

For Dean, heaven is a chance to rest, catch up with his massive found family, and just breathe for the first time since he was a kid. No worrying about Sam, no waiting for the next monster to pop out, no prepping for the next apocalypse.

Nothing like heaven to give a guy time to kick his boots off and just relax.

Unfortunately, relaxing has never come easy to Dean. Sure, he can go through the motions (binge watching horror movies, binge drinking, hell, just bingeing in general), but relaxing is an entirely different matter.

Relaxing means letting his guard down. It means giving up his hypervigilance. It means sleeping hard and staying asleep until he wakes naturally and unassisted by attackers. It means spending long moments reminding himself the monster at the end of the book is really gone.

Sam is safe. Everyone he’s ever loved is safe and close, where he can reach them.

Almost everyone.

...

Jake Walker is born on the ninth of July at twenty-one seconds past 9:14 AM. His mother Samantha is exhausted after a two-weeks-early delivery, but both she and the baby are strong and steady. Her wife didn’t faint, none of the medical team ever sounded the least worried, and she heard her son’s first shocked wail as he came into the world. Exhausted, but definitely good.

His mom Betty, on the other hand, is an absolute wreck. She’s been anxious the entire pregnancy, despite good news from the doctor at every visit, and she is terrified that the unexpected early arrival of their son means her worst fears are just beginning.

Betty takes slow, calming breaths, focusing on not clamping down too hard on Sam’s hand. She has to stay strong, calm, for her new family. She has to keep her head on straight, in case—in case —

“Your son is absolutely fine, seems he just had a real particular time he wanted to arrive. Here he is.”

Betty opens her eyes to find a delivery nurse beaming at her, proffering a small, swaddled bundle.

“Never seen such a calm baby. Here, he’s been waiting for you.”

Betty looks down into the startlingly clear, mossy green eyes gazing up at her from the squashed, serene little face, and she feels something click into place in the middle of her chest. Samantha leans her head back against her pillow, letting out a long slow breath as she smiles, and Betty’s pulse slowly finds its way back to something like normal.

“We’ve been waiting for you, too, big guy.”

...

Trauma doesn’t heal in a day, not even in heaven. All the shit Dean remembers — all the shit he tried to forget — everything he ever managed to suppress — drives him from his bed at night, leaving him sleepless on his front porch, staring blankly into the night, or tinkering on Baby in the garage, digging into the perfect engine, determined to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts.

Dean has never been an idiot, no matter how many times he played the fool in life. The people he and Sam couldn’t save, the people he let down, none of those deaths are on him. Dean isn’t responsible for the pain and suffering, but he’s haunted by it all the same.

The problem is, haunts don’t go away on their own. Every hunter knows that.

It’s not that he wants forgiveness; how can he be forgiven for something he isn’t responsible for? He needs to see those people, though, see that they’re okay and at peace. He has to make sure everyone is where they should be, safe and at least content. And even if he ultimately isn’t their killer, didn’t want their deaths, would have done anything to prevent them, he still needs them to know...to know everything.

He needs absolution.

And if the person who needs to hear those things the most is MIA, well, they’ve got a history of not saying a lot of things face to face. There’s always prayer, right?

Dean starts by visiting a couple of people he hadn’t been able to save along the way, feeling strangely like someone following a twelve step program. Objectively, (ie, according to the people he talks to), he’s got nothing to apologize for. He did his best; he made tough decisions in situations forced upon him. They don’t blame him in the least, and most are truly and obviously thankful for his intervention.

Their words don’t make much of a dent in the mountain of guilt Dean carries on his shoulders, but it’s a start.

Once or twice, Dean finds himself looking up at the sky, so far from empty, opening his mouth to call out — an action so common on earth it nearly became reflex —but he stops himself both times. He’s not ready for that conversation.

But he needs to talk to someone closer to him, a deeper connection than the monster victims he’s been visiting.

He’s restless, needs to move a little, needs to talk to…

Someone. He needs to talk to someone. But he can’t. Hell, he can’t even say the name.

Pacing the garage turns to a wandering ramble down the road, past Sam and his family’s house, past Mom and Dad’s house (there’s a conversation or fifty that he’s not ready for), until he finds himself in front of what can only be described as a hobbit hole. He shakes his head, not for the first time, the corner of his mouth tilted up as he knocks on the circular front door.

He’s greeted by bright red hair, a surprisingly crushing hug, and one of the brightest smiles Dean has ever seen.

“Hey, Charlie. Can we, uh...You up for a walk? I was hopin we could talk for a while.”

...

Jake grows quickly and steadily, always near the top of all his growth charts but never alarmingly so. He’s bright, quick to anger and quick to laugh, and fiercely loving. He is both his mothers’ boy, always up for a cuddle or a wrestle, and he loves to build block towers and demolish them with equal abandon.

He makes his displeasure with vegetables known early on. On this particular morning, he introduces his strained peas to the kitchen wall with surprising velocity. Betty knows better than to encourage this attitude, so she hides her smile behind calm, controlled admonition as she offers another spoonful.

Jake looks her straight in the eyes, his smile dazzling and laughter bright, and she knows she hasn’t fooled him one bit. She sighs and lets her own smile match his. He won her over the day he was born; there’s not much point trying to fight it now.

“Come on, babe, eat your peas and we’ll see about some of those stewed apples left over from Mommy’s pie filling. Deal?”

She scrunches her nose and wiggles her eyebrows. Jake’s little eyes widen at her expression, and he tries to imitate it before dissolving into giggles. Betty takes the opportunity to poke a spoonful of peas into his open mouth.

She’s not spent much time around kids before this, but Betty swears she’s never seen a baby look so resigned and exasperated in real life. But she’s played her trump card. He’s too young for the crust, but a couple of spoonfuls of smashed up fruit (apple is his favorite), and Jake is guaranteed to eat just about anything she presents.

“Pie?” she asks.

Jake smiles and opens his mouth wider.

...

“SURPRISE!!!”

The last time he was shocked this badly, Sam didn’t let him forget that fucking cat for years. Or ever, really. Seems like everyone he ever knew is stuffed into his living room, barely leaving room for the balloon bouquets and a massive… That’s not a cake, it’s…

That’s the most beautiful apple pie Dean has ever seen in his entire life.

Dean is engulfed by arms, hugging and patting and slapping his back (was that a pinch on his ass?), everyone eager to get their turn with him, wishing him a happy birthday, saying they can’t wait until he opens his presents, it’s so good to see him, he’s looking so rested!

He manages to extract himself from the wellwishers, citing parental obligations, and finally makes his way over to Mary, smiling warmly and offering him a knife and a plate. His eyes flick anxious from his mom to the golden brown circle of perfection before him, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Mary’s smile widens.

“I didn’t lay a hand on it except to take it out of the box. Happy Birthday, Dean.”

Six plates of pie later, Dean reclines on his couch, letting the relaxed atmosphere of the party sink into his bones. The excitement and crowd of early have begun to wind down, leaving a double handful of family, both blood and found, all telling the most embarrassing, terrible Dean stories they can think of.

It’s possible Dean’s never laughed this hard in his entire life.

He heaves a deep sigh of contentment and props his feet ponderously on the coffee table, draping an arm across the back of the couch and surveying the room.

Donna, one of the apparent party conspirators, tosses him a sparkling grin over her shoulder before turning back to a rather animated conversation with Charlie about the length of Dean’s wig at the LARPing battle. Sam and Kevin are recounting Dean’s worst cooking disasters to Garth’s wife, and Bobby is entertaining Mary with Dean’s disastrous attempt to flirt with the pizza delivery girl who delivered to Bobby’s house most weekends when Sam and Dean would stay with him.

If Dean had to describe one perfect day, this would be just about it, down to the flakiness of the pie crust and the amazing collection of horror movies and original vinyls he’s been gifted. Almost every single person he could possibly want present is there, and since he isn’t dwelling on absence today, Dean decides to push his wandering thoughts out of his head and just soak it all in.

Every muscle in his body hums contentedly, and Dean feels strangely warm and peaceful, but excited, all at once. It’s weird, just sitting here and enjoying the moment, not worrying about the next minute or hour or day or even year. He’s full of pie, he’s got great tunes to look forward to, and there’s nothing to worry about.

He’s happy.

Naturally, that’s when the panic sets in. This won’t last; it never does. Happiness can’t last. He learned that a long time ago.

Sure, it’s heaven, but he doesn’t deserve to be here, so something is going to spoil it for him, for everyone. Probably Dean himself, he thinks as his eyes dart from his mom to his dad. Dean always seems to find a way to fuck things up, couldn’t take care of Sam, couldn’t keep himself alive, couldn’t even keep the Empty from—

“Hey, birthday boy.” Jody’s voice somehow reaches Dean through his darkening thoughts, and he comes back to himself in stages, focusing on the warmth of her hands on his shoulders. She stands behind the couch, leaning down to squeeze his shoulders. “Wanna get some air?”

He nods blindly and climbs numbly to his feet. Jody guides him efficiently out the door and points Dean in an arbitrary direction. They walk for what could be moments or hours as Dean plows through the morass in his mind.

“I get it,” Jody finally says.

Dean glances sharply at her.

“I still have random panic attacks sometimes, wondering if Alex is safe at the hospital, if this is going to be the hunt that gets Claire.” Her eyes are fixed on some point in the distance, and he gets the feeling she’s deliberately not meeting his eyes. “I check on Owen every thirty minutes on my bad nights, and I have to lay hands and eyes on Sean to convince myself he’s really there before I can calm down. It always takes me a minute or sixty to make myself remember where we are, where everyone is, and that there isn’t some big or even small bad waiting around the corner or under the bed.”

Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, stuffing down his automatic reassurances. The first half of his life was spent avoiding conversations like this, and it took him a long time to unlearn the knee-jerk reaction to brush off people’s concerns with some variation of “Everything’s fine.”

Jody, with an awareness born of decades of hunting and parenthood, senses his discomfort. She slows her steps and catches Dean’s elbow, turning him gently to face her.

“That feeling in your gut when the happiness comes, the panic, that knowledge deep, deep down that everything good is bound to turn to shit.” Jody reaches out and wipes a trickle of moisture from Dean’s face.

It’s not raining, he thinks, frowning. Where the hell did that come from?

“You're going to unlearn it. You’re the toughest bastard I’ve ever met, Dean, and you've been through literal hell. If anyone has earned their happiness up here, it’s you. You’re allowed to be happy, and someday you’ll know it.”

Dean would love to reply right now, to contradict Jody. He’d love to remind her of all the bad calls he made, of all the torturing he did in hell, of all the lies he told...

But this knot in his throat is choking him. And still Jody persists.

“I know how goddamned stubborn you are, but you’re not stupid either. We have nothing to forgive you for. Maybe once you’ve talked to everyone on your list, you’ll see that, too. But in the meantime, take a deep breath, give me a hug, and at least say in your head that you’re allowed to enjoy yourself at your own damned birthday party, even if you can’t admit it out loud.”

And if the damp patch on Jody’s shoulder bothers her as they stroll back to Dean’s house to grab a couple of beers, at least she’s tactful enough to not mention it.

...

Jake takes care of his family. He’s a fairly serious, empathetic toddler, quick to kiss other’s ouchies. After receiving his first Elmo bandage, Jake insists on bandaging his stuffed puppy’s tail, his tyrannosaurus rex’s left eye (“He fight with stegosaurus,” Jake solemnly informs Samantha as he presses the adhesive strip in place), and then an old, almost-healed shaving cut on Betty’s left knee.

“Mama better now?” Jake asks, somehow managing to sound strictly professional and absurdly adorable at the same time. He looks up to Betty for approval, and she wonders how she manages to let him touch the ground at all with how much she just wants to hold him all day long.

“Mama so much better now,” she informs him, careful to stay serious. He rewards her with the golden smile that is the highlight of her days before rushing off to find someone else he can fix up.

Both Betty and Samantha marvel in his quickness to share his snacks. They never refuse an offered Cheerio from him, no matter how damp or sticky (though a few of those disappear quickly when Jake’s attention wanders).

The discussion over a first pet is fairly quick and decisive. Everyone agrees the pet must be something fluffy that can be cuddled. Betty vetoes anything smaller than a cantaloupe, citing her clumsiness and tendency to step on things that should never be trod upon. Jake vetoes cats, saying he just doesn’t trust them, and Mommy and Mama share one of their silent conversations before Samantha speaks up.

“A puppy it is, then, Jakey. Let’s go look up some good breeds.”

Their first pet is a rescue named Garth, at Jake’s adamant insistence, though they're still not sure where he learned that name in the first place. Garth is clumsy, awkward, easy-going, and the most spoiled and cared for pet in the neighborhood.

Jake’s little sister Tabitha comes along shortly before his fourth birthday, and he takes to big brotherhood with an authority and self-assurance that delights every stranger the family meets. When she eventually starts walking, Jake is right by her side, guiding each one of her toddling little steps while a beaming Mommy and Mama follow close behind.

No one is even a little surprised when Tabby’s first whole word is “Hake.” She masters the letter j eventually, but continues to refer to his big brother by the name she gave him for most of the rest of their lives. Jake doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

“It was just a matter of time,” Samantha says one night, as she and Betty are getting ready for bed one night not long after Tabby has given Jake his new moniker. “You know what I mean?”

Betty, who has known exactly what Sam means since the day she literally tripped over her future wife at university, smiles and turns down the covers on her side of the bed.

“That’s Jake,” she says. They’ve spent hours, discussing their son’s odd, charming quirks long into the night, offering up phrases like “old soul” and “wise,” and eventually realized nothing they said could ever completely encompass the loving little person they somehow managed to bring into the world.

“That’s Jake,” Sam agrees, and turns her version of Jake’s golden smile on her wife. Mischief sparkles in her eyes, and Betty wonders how she ended up with three people in her life that she absolutely cannot win against.

“Ready to get sweaty, Betty?”

Betty groans but can’t hold back her grin. “You are the absolute worst, and that is exactly why I love you.”

…

Sam manages to shock Dean when he insists on a big family Christmas. His extra years on earth apparently helped the younger Winchester warm to the idea of holidays, finally getting to enjoy them with his son as he never did during his own childhood.

Sam doesn’t have to try very hard to talk everyone into celebrating. Things have been calm and serene, more than a little on the uneventful side, and Dean figures it will add some variety to his afterlife. Something to plan, something to look forward to that won’t be crashed by murderous Elder Gods or various other supernatural entities.

Probably.

Dean secretly loves that feeling of finding the perfect present for someone, something he was never really in a position to do back on earth. He takes a deep breath, proactively reminding himself that this is okay, this is allowed, this is good, that everything is not only okay but actually kind of great, really.

He can be happy. He can. He can do this.

The shade of red Sam’s face turns before he finally dissolves into laughter is a thousand percent worth the degradation of actually gifting someone a signed vinyl copy of Celine Dion’s first solo album.

“It’s perfect, Dean. Thanks, man.” Sam pulls his brother into a hug, and his giant paw slapping Dean in the middle of the back literally knocks the panic right out of him. Deans huffs, at a loss for words, and hugs Sam back perhaps just a smidge too forcefully before letting him go.

“You’ll never top Sapphire Barbie for best Christmas present, but this runs a close second.” Sam shakes his head, still grinning as he reads over the back cover of the album while Mary and John look on, varying levels of confusion and amusement on their faces.

“What’s he talking about, Dean?” John asks. He takes a long drink of his whiskey. “Sapphire Barbie? Some kinda code word or something?”

Sam and Dean glance at each other, their shoulders tensing automatically. For a moment, Dean can actually feel the phantom hunger pains transposed over the current fullness of his belly, and he can see a tiny Sam (still way more hair than necessary), huddled despondent and hungry under a shitty, moth-eaten motel blanket, convinced there would be no Christmas.

“Dean, uh...accidentally got me a Barbie for Christmas one year, it was — a, uh — yeah, he wanted to make sure I got a present, so he grabbed it, and…” Sam trails off.

John huffs a confused laugh, and Dean’s hackles rise at the scoff, so like Sam’s and yet so much more...condescending. John rises from the couch and goes to refill his glass. Sam seems content to let the moment pass, but something in Dean’s gut, something latent and ignored since his heavenly ascension, sparks and smolders bitterly.

“How the hell do you ‘accidentally’ get somebody a Barbie?” John asks, still chuckling, and Dean suddenly realizes he’s real fucking tired of biting his tongue.

“I stole the Barbie. Stole a couple of other things, too. A Christmas tree, some decorations, a baton.”

Mary glances between her sons, confused, before turning to John. “Where were you while this happened?”

A parade of emotions march over John’s face: confusion is followed by slow recognition. Guilt makes a quick appearance only to be chased away by dull, ashamed anger.

Dean can practically see John’s mind flashing through the scenario, recalling more about the hunt than his own sons on that cold, nasty Christmas Eve. He knows the instant his dad reverts to default setting of laying the blame on his eldest son. Dean braces himself automatically, his body viscerally reacting to the familiar storm on his father’s face.

Dean has the fleeting thought that at least his dad is drinking from a glass now; ought to hurt a lot less than being hit with a whole bottle.

“You left your brother to go steal from somebody else’s home on Christmas? After what happened with the shtriga?”

Dean knows true anger, near rage, for the first time in heaven, and the bitter wash of it through him is cutting and all too familiar.

“Pretty stupid thing to do, I know, but I wasn’t even twelve yet, so I wasn’t making the wisest of decisions.”

“Not even twelve?” Mary cuts in. “Sam? Does anybody feel like explaining this to me?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean, anything could have—”

But Dean had a lifetime of being plowed under by his dad’s inability to take responsibility, has had way more than enough of shouldering the blame for shit he should never have been left with in the first place.

“I was thinking that somebody should get a seven-year-old something for Christmas, should make sure he has enough to eat. Where were you, Dad? What were you thinking? Because you sure as hell weren’t thinking about us.”

That knot starts up in Dean’s throat again, the muscles tightening against the fear that blossoms in his chest, echoed from decades of training. Sam’s hand finds Dean’s arm, and Dean looks to him. Instead of the caution or reproach he’s expecting, though, all Sam simply nods.

“Say it, Dean.”

Dean stands slowly, facing John Winchester with every bit of strength he’s built, every bit of courage he’s earned from a lifetime of terror, and realizes that the angry, bitter man before him is no more a threat to him anymore than Chuck is. And without looking, he knows Sam stands behind him, solid and resolute.

“I wasn’t even twelve. It was Christmas, and you abandoned us. Yeah, I stole Sam a Barbie doll. You know what I got for Christmas that year? The year before? Every fucking year before that for almost as long as I can remember?”

John opens his mouth, even now unable to admit his faults, but Dean barrels on before his dad can get a word out.

“Not a damn thing from you. Not one damn thing. Not presents, not food, not a warm place to sleep or a word of thanks or approval. Not even a fucking phone call to say Merry Goddamn Christmas.” Dean pauses one last time, and it suddenly feels like he’s towering over the man whose shadow always felt too dark, too large, too suffocating; the man whose respect he used to crave more than food and water.

“What about me, Dad? Huh? What about me?”

Dean doesn’t recall leaving his parents’ house, doesn’t remember driving home, but he finds himself on his own front porch, leaning forward in his rocking chair. He takes in a long, deep breath before scrubbing his hands through hair and leaning against the back of the chair.

A breeze rifles the leaves of a nearby tree, ruffling Dean’s hair. He taps his thumb against the arm of the chair and takes a long moment to breathe in the night air.

Dean lets his thoughts roll around for a while. The stars creep slowly across the black, the crickets chirp, and the breeze continues to tickle through Dean’s mussed hair.

“You and I could write the book on shitty dads, am I right, kid?”

He’s not sure why he decides to talk to Jack. Just nice to have someone to talk to, knowing they’re not going to talk right back.

“Could just cut him out. Dunno how that’d work in heaven.” He thinks a moment, then grins to himself. “Not sure Mom’d let me get away with that. Sam would back me up, though.” Dean grins into the somehow not-empty night. “I would be the guy that brings a family feud into paradise, huh?”

Dean takes in the wilderness around him, the empty house at his back, the extra rocking chair for...a visitor, he supposes. He has learned today that heaven, as perfect as it is, still holds anger and bitterness and loneliness, and he figures that’s to be expected.

“You still did good, kid. You and me, we did good even with our shitty old men in and outta our lives. Glad we cut yours out for good. Guess I’ll figure out how to deal with mine eventually. All I’ve got now is time, anyway.”

Dean pushes up slowly, still surprised at the lack of cricks, pops, and aches that accompanied the action his last couple of years on earth.

“Night, Jack,” he says into the wind. He glances over at the empty rocking chair one last time. “If you see him, tell him —just tell him—”

Dean frowns, shakes his head, and turns his back on the night.

…

Jake’s not a crier, not really. There are inevitable tears that come with bad falls, but Jake sheds tears like it’s a physical reaction that he’s getting out of the way so he can move on.

So when Betty goes to change the sheets in her son’s room, only to find him silently crying on the floor, she panics. Sheets flop forgotten to the side as she drops next to his, reaching instinctively for his still-plump cheeks.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, Mama, I’m sorry I scared you,” he sniffles, his eyebrows down low on his small forehead.

Jake has never lied in his entire young life, and Betty is torn because he is obviously upset about something, but his face is full of nothing but truth and confusion.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Jakey,” she says, settling on the floor next to him and opening her arms. He instantly climbs into her lap, hooking his own arms around her neck and nuzzling under her chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Can you tell me what made you cry?”

“I...I don’t know,” he says, his little voice quiet and heavily confused. “I was playing with Tabby, she was helping me build a tower with my blocks, and then Mommy came to get Tabby for her snack.”

Betty is stumped. Jake has never had any kind of separation anxiety, as far as she can tell. He’s spent nights with both sets of grandparents, even a couple of weekends with aunts, uncles, and cousins, and never shed so much as a single tear.

“You...are you crying because you miss Tabby? She’s right in the next room, baby, you can go with her for snack time, you know that.”

“No, Mama, I —I don’t know why I’m crying. Tabby hugged me, she said she loved me, then she went with Mommy, and I felt...really happy. Like —the happiest ever, and...it was too much happy?”

The last part comes out as a question, and honestly Betty isn’t sure how to answer it.

“Well, baby,” she starts hesitantly, not sure where to lead this particular discussion. “Can you explain what you mean when you say ‘too much happy’?”

He snuggles closer against her chest, his forehead pressing along her jaw. “I dunno. I think...maybe I’m not supposed to be that happy? Is that why the tears came out? Because I got more happy than I’m supposed to get? Was I wrong, Mama?”

Betty breathes slowly, tightening her hold on the little boy in her arms. “You weren’t wrong, Jake. You can be as happy as you want. There’s never too much happy, I promise.”

She feels him shift, and she looks down to meet his clear, green gaze. He studies her carefully, scrutinizing her expression, and she’s reminded why she’s always been so very careful to tell her children the truth, albeit on levels they can understand.

“You pinky promise?”

The proffered pinky is smudged, pudgy, and absolutely perfect. Betty hooks her pinky finger with her son’s, bumping his nose gently with her own.

“Jakey, you have my eternal permission to be as happy as you are capable of feeling. And no one is ever allowed to take that from you. Good?” He nods, and she carefully brushes the tear tracks from his cheeks. “Sometimes feelings are really big, and they’re just a little too big for your body. They have to find a way out, and that’s why the tears come out.”

“Is that why you cry when you watch the kissy movies?” he asks, suddenly smiling. “Your feelings are too big, too?”

“Yup. We’ve got big feelings in this family, Jakey. Better get used to it, kiddo.”

...

More time passes. Dean walks, he talks, he goes through the motions. He heals a little with every conversation, every time he reaches out, and even though some of the wounds feel as fresh as the day he got them, eventually all that’s left are faint scars. He’d never willingly erase the scars, anyway. He earned them, and he’ll be damned if something like a little death and talk therapy could just wipe them away.

Gradually — so gradually Dean doesn’t realize it until Donna makes a comment one night after their regular poker game — Dean learns to not only let his guard down but drop it entirely. He’s shocked to realize the loss of his emotional armor doesn’t even bother him.

Dean works on Baby, drinks with Bobby, teaches Mary how to make an apple pie from scratch, and even manages to have a couple of honest, semi-civil conversations with his father. They don’t exactly reach Andy and Opie levels of father-son bonding, but John does eventually manage to grudgingly admit he fucked up some (a lot). Dean supposes anyone can make progress in heaven if they try hard enough.

He’s talked to everyone he can think of, settled scores, smoothed ruffles, filled himself to bursting with absolution. Dean is so absolved he thinks he might punch the next person who pats him on the back and tells him how much good he’s done for the world.

And still, he comes home every night to that extra rocking chair.

He waits now, waits while he talks with Sam, waits while he walks through the woods, waits while he changes Baby’s oil. He can’t shake the feeling that something is coming. He can feel it around himself, like a suit of armor or a second skin. Nothing terrible, nothing ominous, but something. Which is weird because nothing ever seems to happen in heaven, not really.

Could be he’s just bored, but Dean doesn’t think that’s it. Not entirely.

He talks to Jack nightly now. It’s a habit, something to help Dean talk through and untangle his thoughts into something he can understand. He looks forward to their talks, being able to get his feelings out without being either validated or rebuffed. Just letting some steam off.

He’s done it for so long that he can barely remember the night he started. Dean knows Jack can hear him, but the kid’s been true to his word, stayed hands off and radio silent. He lets mortals deal with their own issues, keeping himself and the supernatural world well away. Even the angels leave people alone in heaven.

Especially the angels, Dean grudgingly admits to himself, late one night after leaving Sam’s house. Instead of going home to that extra rocking chair, he drives Baby slowly, aimlessly, yet somehow ends up back on that same bridge where he met up Sam all those years ago.

He parks right at the end (no traffic in heaven) and strolls out to the middle, scuffing his boots and sending little puffs of dust in the air. His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, out of habit more than anything else, and he lifts his gaze from the ground up to the full moon in the sky.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly. “Hope it’s goin good for you.Things are pretty good here. I know you know, you’re everywhere and all that,” Dean waves his hand vaguely, then continues, “Just wanted to let you know, I guess. I didn’t tell you enough, but we—I —really appreciated you. Appreciate you. You, uh...you did real good, kid. Then and now.” He pauses, then takes a breath, standing straight and letting all pretense go.“Please tell Cas...he did good, and...I miss him. And I know you’re all taking the hands-off approach, but —I dunno, maybe...he could —stop by? Or…”

The silence around Dean is heavy, comforting like a thick blanket.

Or a tan trenchcoat, he thinks.

“Jack —“

He cuts himself off, though. He spent all this time in heaven working through rivers of bullshit, wearing down mountains of lies and self-loathing until he can finally be honest and open with everyone. And if he’s going to be honest with himself tonight, Jack isn’t who he needs to talk to.

“Sorry kid, I gotta put you on hold.”

Purgatory flashes before his eyes, that sense of loss and being lost, the desperation and certainty that he’d never see his best friend again.

I can’t do this anymore, he thinks. I can’t pretend anymore. And I’m done lying to myself.

“Cas. Castiel. I hope you can hear me. I miss you. I don’t know where you are. Bobby said you were here, that you helped remake this place into something pretty damned awesome, but I never see you. I can feel you sometimes, can tell some things are up here just because you put ‘em there. Someone will tell a story, and I swear I can feel you standing right beside me, can almost hear you frowning and not understanding the joke. I…”

He knows there’s something left —knows he hasn’t found the right words yet. He has no idea what that right thing is, or even what he’s still waiting for, but he figures if he just barrels on, it’ll come to him.

“There was too much in the way, back on earth, in Purgatory. Too much always coming after us, trying to kill us or worse. I got in my own damned way, never knew what to say or how to say it. Didn’t think I deserved...I should’ve…”

He’s not sure what’s more bizarre, that he’s praying to someone who probably won’t respond — probably can’t even hear him — or that he’s doing so in a place wildly opposite from that last time he prayed like this.

Dean isn’t sure how he keeps ending up in this situation, but here he is, gasping out his feelings to the night air, barely able to squeeze the words past that perpetual knot in his throat.

“It’s a lot clearer up here, more room to breathe and think. This heaven you and Jack made...it’s great. Hell, it’s damn near perfect. But there’s no you. And I just can’t see my heaven as right without you. I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

A wispy cloud, silver in the moonlight, drifts across an otherwise flawless sky. Dean stares upwards for several minutes, wondering if Cas can see the same stars tonight, wherever he is.

“Maybe...I don’t know if you can come back. Or if you even left. I don’t know how any of it works.”

He’s on the cusp. He can almost taste the next step.

Dean’s at a loss, though. He could be brave: he could say everything he should’ve said in that last moment, everything he should have told Cas.

Or he could take the comfortable path, revert to being a dick and tell Cas exactly how he feels about all this silent treatment, about the no-show in heaven or not telling him about his deal with the Empty until it was too late, about waiting until the last second so Dean would have no time—

Or he could do both.

Both is good.

Metal railings squeak under Dean’s punishing grip. He’s not sure when he grabbed hold of the bridge itself, but right now he needs all the support he can get.

“You left me! You should have told me, given me a chance. Another chance, just one more. I’m sorry, Cas, I knew but I didn’t. I— I should’ve told you, should’ve held you, I could have—“

The tears flow unimpeded, the air squeezed from his lungs in convulsive gasps, but Dean can’t stop now.

“I should have told you everything I felt, every day. I should have trusted you more, and I’m so sorry. You were always family, you were always there for me when I needed you. We both fucked up so many times, lost so much time together. I was so angry at you, at me, at everyone and everything, and I let it get in the way.”

The silence around him is maddening. Here he is, ripping his guts out in the middle of the bridge, and all he gets back is crickets and evening breezes. Dean shoves off the railing, too frantic to stay still.

“Gimme something, Cas, anything! I’m pouring my heart out! I fucked up, and I’m sorry, and I swear I’m gonna do better, but you’ve gotta give me the chance! Just...just give me some sort of answer, please? Let me know you’re there!”

The silence persists.

Just as quickly as Dean’s rage crescendos, it fizzles suddenly. He drops to the ground, back and head slamming hard against the side of the bridge as he lets out a roar of helpless rage. His fists grip his hair, teeth grinding against the wave of helplessness that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I missed my chance, I waited too long, I should’ve said— I should have—“

And then it comes to him.

His hands draw down from his hair, scrubbing his face before steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize.

“I’m an idiot.” His voice is barely audible, even to his own ears, but he has no doubt his words will reach their intended destination. “This place you built, you and Jack, it’s as good as it gets. I deserve it, I earned it. I got my family, I got the easy life for a while. I got my family. I had my rest. There’s only one thing left in the universe I need, only one person I want.”

Dean stands, dusting himself off and turning his face back up to the stars.

“I’m ready, Cas. I— I love you. And I’m ready for the next thing. Whatever that is. However that is. As long as—”

One last pause.

“As long as you’re there, that’s all I need.”

...

The inevitable day of separation comes: Jake’s first day of kindergarten. Samantha is proud of her guardian warrior, knows he’s going to succeed at everything he puts his little bullheaded mind to. Betty hopes very hard that he won’t be too lonely without Tabitha there with him. Tabitha only knows that Jake’s finger tastes good and makes her gums feel better when she chews on it.

Jake, as always, approaches this monumental step with aplomb and logic.

“I’ll give it a shot,” he says casually as his little sister gnaws on his thumb. “An’ if I don’t like it, I’ll just stay here and take care of Tabby. You an’ Mommy can go to work, then, ‘kay, Mama? I can make nut butter n’ jelly sammiches. But I’ll try it out.”

...

School isn’t so bad, Jake decides on his second day. His teacher Mrs. Harris seems to know what she’s doing (she already knows who she can trust with scissors and glue), and the other kids are nice enough. There’s different toys (“learning tools”, Mrs. Harris calls them), so that’s interesting enough, but—

Something is missing.

“Can you tell me what you mean, Jakey?” Betty asks at dinner that night. “Are there supplies you need? We got everything on the list.” She wipes a smear of sweet potato off Tabitha’s face before looking back to her son. His mouth is turned down in a frown of concentration, like he’s trying to remember something.

“I don’t need anything, Mama, just...someone. I need someone. My friend hasn’t come to school yet.”

“It takes time to make friends, baby,” Samantha says. “It’s only the second day of school. Have you tried asking anyone to play yet?”

“Yeah, and they’re fun and all, but they aren’t my friend. My friend isn’t here yet,” Jake says. Then his frown vanishes with the sudden mood change of a five-year-old, and he turns beseeching eyes on Betty, aiming unerringly at the softer target. “I finished my green beans. That means dessert now, right, Mama?”

Jake decides on the third day that the best place to wait for his friend (he just knows he’s going to show up any day now) is the playground.

“My friend likes the playground,” he murmurs. “That’s good, I like the playground, too.” He eats his lunch slowly, watching the other kids wolf down their food so they can have extra playtime. He’s barely finished his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, though, when he’s distracted by movement on the other side of the play yard. The door to the school opens and the school secretary steps out. Then she turns and gently pulls someone out from behind her.

A small boy stands in the doorway, white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks. His blue tie is a little loose, as if he’s been tugging on it, and his tan jacket is a little too big, hanging loosely around his small frame. His hair looks like someone was in too much of a rush to comb it properly. He clutches a pink piece of paper in one hand and, in the other, a backpack inexplicably decorated with flying, winged slices of pizza.

“Late drop-off, parent had to run,” the secretary tells Mrs. Harris before tiptoeing out of the room.

With an anxious glance at the other children, the boy scuttles forward and immediately trips over his own untied shoelaces.

Jake is at the little boy’s side before anyone else can react, kneeling down to check on him. The prone child is too shocked to cry, both by the fall and by the sudden appearance of this unknown factor. Jake checks him over, then nudges him until he sits up.

“You gotta keep ‘em double tied,” Jake says seriously. “Or else that’ll happen all the time.” Without waiting for an answer, Jake sets about the laborious task of looping each set of laces in turn, rabbits chasing each other around trees and down holes until the shoes are secure.

Jake climbs to his feet and reaches down, gripping the other boy’s shoulders and helping him stand. A dark smear of jelly stains the shoulder of the coat in the shape of a smudged purple handprint.

“Thank...thank you,” the smaller boys whispers. He lifts his eyes hesitantly, and clear blue meets olive green for the first time. “I’m Chris.”

“I’m Jake.” He thinks for a long moment, frowning. Something is settling in his chest, something big and permanent and scary; at first he thinks it’s too much.

Then he thinks back to what Mama told him: you can be as happy as you want.

He smiles at Chris. “You’re with me. You’re the one I was waiting for.”

Hope and just a bit of delight flicker across Chris’s eager face.

“I am? You mean it?”

Jake nods and grabs his new friend’s hand. “Yep. Now you’re here, that’s all I need. And nobody's allowed to take you from me, Mama said so. C’mon, let’s play cars.”

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votederpycausemufins · 4 years ago

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I promise you by the end of this chapter, both of the bots are being held in the arms of someone. who those people are... uhhh well you better read the chapter. it is definitely no one bad.

@petrichormeraki @helleborusangel

Tubbo struggled against the ropes that tied them to a chair. He had been put in a room with someone else, but it was still too dark to see. He wasn’t sure if Ranboo was still there, but Tubbo was face to face with the screen that matched Dream’s mask. With the bright light, it was hard to distinguish the rest of the form from the dark room, but Tubbo could just make out the shape of the body.

From the short time he had known the pair of bots, he was pretty sure this was Grumbot. He tried to say something, but the cloth in their mouth made it tough. Still, he watched as the screen tilted from the robot tilting its head, so Tubbo tried again. He kept repeating a single word over and over until it was understood, then the robot moved and suddenly Tubbo was squinting their eyes as the room filled with light.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust, but when they did, he finally got a good look at the robot. A large crack was on the screen with a dent near it on the monitor. There were also similar dents on other places of the robot’s body. The buttons that had been on the robot’s chest had been torn out and the light next to them was also cracked. There were three holes in a line on the robot’s side where something had pierced it, sparks occasionally appearing through them. Finally, the normally clean body was covered with burn marks and mud and other things.

Tubbo couldn’t help but feel sad for him. Obviously he’d been stuck with Dream and the admin hadn’t been caring for the bot. And that made Tubbo’s heart hurt. He had listened to Dream and ended up exiling Tommy just when they had all come up with a different plan. He had been so upset at Techno for what he had done that he ended up leaving Tommy to something like this. It was a miracle he was even willing to still be around Tubbo.

The sound of a snort made Tubbo look around. He couldn’t tell the source, but there was the sound of cloven hooves lightly clopping on the ground and moving closer. Tubbo smiled sadly when Michael finally came into view, then tilted his head as the ziglin grabbed Grumbot’s arm. Grumbot turned to look at Michael, who was spooked a little and pulled away with a squeal to hide behind the chair Tubbo was stuck in.

Tubbo wanted to comfort Michael, but couldn’t really move to do that. He tried pulling against the ropes again, but then paused as the light from the screen flickered in front of him. He watched as the image was changing to how the bot’s face normally looked, like he was trying to get back to normal, but eventually the screen was back to just a smile. Still, that alone gave Tubbo some hope for the bot. He tried a bit more, and it started to feel like one of the bindings was coming a little loose. He started focusing on that one arm, but then froze when something touched it. A small snort then came from the same area and Tubbo was able to watch out of the corner of his eye as Michael used a toy sword to help cut the ropes. Since it was a toy and not that sharp, it took a bit, but finally the rope snapped.

Tubbo was glad to have their arm free and pulled out the fabric gagging their mouth. Once it was gone, he pulled Michael into a one armed hug. “Good job Michael! I’m sorry I was gone so long. I’m sure you missed me.”

Tubbo talking seemed to get someone’s attention, because now the person in the other chair was moving, muffled noises coming from them. “Can you try to help them out too?”

Michael nodded and went over to the other person as Tubbo continued to free themself. Once he was, he went over to help Michael with the other person, who Tubbo instantly recognized. They were easily able to get the ropes off Tommy, but instead of a cloth or rope preventing him from speaking, a metal shackle of sorts was covering his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t think we can easily get that off.”

Tommy nodded in understanding before looking over to Grumbot, Tubbo following his gaze. The robot was still just standing there, having done nothing to prevent them escaping. “Tommy, I don’t want to leave Michael here and I’m not sure I can lift Grumbot. Can you carry him?”

Tommy nodded and attempted to pick the robot up, but he was met with it pulling an axe out and attacking him. A muffled yell came from Tommy and Tubbo pulled him back. “Okay, not picking him up then. But I don’t want to just leave him here.”

Tommy held up some of the discarded rope and formed it into a lead. He held it up to Tubbo as a suggestion, making Tubbo reluctantly nod. “I guess that could work, though I wish we had a better option.”

Tubbo helped tie the rope around Grumbot’s waist and then let Tommy have the other end of the rope before picking Michael up. “I’ll message the others that we have him.”

Tommy nodded and Tubbo pulled out their communicator to send a message. He was almost done with it when someone spoke, making him pause. “I. W-w-w-want. M-my. D-bzzt.” Tubbo looked up, seeing that the voice had been Grumbot, whose face was currently back to it’s mustachey self.

“Your dads? We’re trying, don’t worry.” Tubbo attempted to comfort the bot by patting him, but Grumbot just flinched away and Tubbo pulled their hand back. He then finished up the message and sent it. “Let’s go. I’m sure Grian will see it in a moment.”

Dead plants were strewn about and anything the red plants weren’t touching were instead coated in a thin layer of mycelium. Everyone was injured enough that they lay on the ground from the wounds. The person who got them to that state was currently staring up at the red egg-shaped plant in the corner of the cavern, blade in hand. “Were it under any other circumstance, I may have said yes, but a mother protects her children.”

The sword was stabbed into the egg a multitude of times until the attacker was absolutely sure it was dead. Around them, the people who had been affected by the egg seemed to be coming out of a bit of a daze. Bad sat up, rubbing his head and opened an eye to see the egg killer in front of him. They bent down and then stood back up holding Jrumbot. “This is mine.”

“Wh-Hey! You still can’t just take him like that!”

“Hmm, I assumed your care for him was simply due to the control of the plant. I see I assumed wrong.” They brushed a hand over the remaining vines on Jrum. “Hmm, these will be removed after he has woken up and I can see how he is doing. I wouldn’t want them to have taken a host.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is a chance the plant may try keeping itself alive through the plants growing within this child. It should not be too much of a problem to remove once they have awoken. But that will require waiting.”

“Wait, so are you one of Jrum’s parents?” The demon spoke and slowly stood up. “Why are you only getting here now?”

“As far and the child is concerned, I am not, and yet am. The one I use as a host is one of their parents. We have a reluctant alliance as we both want to protect. However, I cannot do much more than this, so the spores from my mycelium will not cause you any trouble.”

The demon looked over at the dead egg. “How did you kill it without getting yourself killed?”

“It was weak. The host I have taken is very strong. A lineage of death and Watchers trained as admin among other things. It is disappointing to see a child of such a person fall to an organism such as this. Now, the previous question of the delayed arrival. Time has been distorted and what was a few days has become a few months.”

“That’s a thing that can happen?”

“Yes. It is more common of an occurrence than one may think.”

Then Jrum stirred before waking up with a slight yawn. “Dad?”

“Almost.”

Jrum looked up at the one holding him then frowned. “Oh… I was asking for my new dad.” And he crossed his arms.

“You must answer some questions first. First of all, are you able to change the color of your screen?”

“Yeah, but why would I?”

“Change it to blue, then you may change it back. This is simply a test.” Jrum rolled his digital eyes, but shifted everything to a blue hue before changing back. “Good. Now you are to ignore this threat, but if you hear a response to the threat, please inform me. Is that understood?”

“Why should I?”

Bad leaned over to make sure he could be seen by Jrum. “They’re just making sure you’re doing okay. Can you please tell them if you do?”

Jrum nodded and then the threat came, the grayish-purple of their eyes spreading out from the sockets. “If you still hold any control, you will come to regret it as you are infected from the inside out and you experience every minute bit of pain that you caused others even unintentionally.” Then the growth receded and they spoke again in a calmer voice. “Did you hear anything?”

Jrum shook his head. “No. Is that good or bad?”

“Very very good.” Bad answered, which made Jrum smile.

“I will be able to remove these remaining plants with little harm, but it may take a while and I will need to go dormant once more while they are killed.” Bad opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off. “I will return to remove the spores when they have completed their work. They would just cause more damage if they remained in a being such as this.”

“Alright, good to know.”

The main vines around Jrum’s antenna were pulled off and discarded to the floor. Then a kiss was pressed to the bot’s forehead before the grayish-purple color disappeared from the eyes and were replaced by Grian’s normal eyes. “Hoo boy, how much did I miss?” He looked around at all the dead flora. “My guess is a lot.”

“I’ve just gotten a message. Someone has found and recovered Grum. We should find them before the admin attempts to take him back once more.” Xannes spoke, having received the message with his helmet. “I’m attempting to as for- Hmm, that is concerning.”

Mumbo looked over to the hacker. “What’s wrong?”

“I received a message with their coordinates, but also their current predicted end coordinates. They were sent by a name of someone not in the group. Also their group includes Tommy, who is most definitely the one currently next to you in bed, meaning his hels version is there instead.”

“Can I ask who’s in the group?”

“The one to send the message is Tubbo. They say they are with Tommy, Grum, and someone by the name of Michael.”

“Can you stay here and watch over Tommy? One of us needs to stay and I-”

“Yeah yeah, go see your kid.”

Mumbo nodded and made sure Tommy was tucked in well before getting up and following the coordinates that had been messaged to him as well. He had absolutely no idea how much time he had, so he ran a bit before using his elytra to get into the air and hope to find the group.

He was getting to the point something had happened to them or he had missed them when Mumbo spotted the bright green of Tubbo’s shirt. He did his best not to crash while landing and then caught up to the group. “Hey! Tubbo! Grum!” Tubbo stopped walking to turn around meanwhile ‘Tommy’ started to move faster. “Hey! Get back here!”

Tubbo turned to look at Tommy trying to escape with Grumbot while the robot did nothing to struggle. He quickly set Michael down and ran forward to grab the rope around Grumbot and start pulling the other way. In a few moments, Michael was at Tubbo’s side attempting to help, though he had trouble actually grabbing the rope. When Mumbo reached them, he took his sword out and sliced the rope, causing everyone else to fall from the lack of tension.

“Tommy! Why were you trying to take Grum away?” Tubbo asked.

“Because that’s not Tommy. He’s currently unconscious in bed. This must be Theseus.”

“Oh.” Tubbo looked over at the copy whose eyes shifted back to a brown color. “Why were you trying to take Grum?” Theseus tapped the metal around his mouth. “Why didn’t you just ask earlier. Grum, are you able to take that off his mouth?”

Grum nodded and walked over to Theseus and hesitantly removed the shackle before his arm was grabbed by Theseus. “God that was easy. I’m trying to take him because I know Dream is after him, and this time I’m not letting any of you getting in the fucking way. Two times was enough.”

Mumbo started to move forward, but an axe was put to Grum’s neck. “Look, right now this is the only thing letting people respawn. If he dies, that won’t happen. So I wouldn’t move closer if I were you. Look, all I’m going to do is use this piece of scrap metal as bait and then get out of here with the admin, if you can even call him that anymore with this thing being the console. In fact, speaking of. I’m guessing it could just teleport him here. Can’t you?” Theseus looked down to Grumbot, who nodded. “Alright. Do it.”

Mumbo and Tubbo winced as some sparks flew out from Grumbot as he processed the request. In a few moments, Dream had appeared right in front of Theseus and he let go of the robot to grab him instead. “Finally! Took long enough!”

Mumbo immediately ran over to Grumbot and picked him up, holding him close. “Hey don’t worry. We’re going to get you home and fix you up.” Mumbo whispered comfortingly as the bot trembled in his arms.

Theseus smacked Dream with the dull part of his axe head, cracking the mask he wore and knocking the admin out. Theseus held Dream by the fabric of his hoodie, just letting him hang there. “Now I’m sure you want me out of here. Send me to the hels dimension of this place or else.”

Mumbo could feel as Grum stiffened up and some sparks shocked him, but a moment later Theseus and Dream were gone. The redstoner had hoped that once the admin and Grum were in different universes, it would help the bot, but he still looked the same, stiff and trying to remain emotionless. “Let’s get back to EX.”

#hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommy #tubbo #michael_beloved #grumbot #hels!tommy #grian #mother spore grian #jrumbot #badboyhalo #the blood vines #mumbo jumbo #evil xisuma #tommyinnit

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dccomicsimagines · 4 years ago

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Mirror Image - Young Justice Imagine

Requested by Anon - Can you write where the reader is the male twin of Artemis; who looks just like Sportsmaster, and is planning to dye his hair while thinking negatively to himself because of the unconscious reactions that his mom and sisters give him? And what their reactions would be when they find out?

***

You sighed, unlocking the door to the apartment. It was late, probably around ten o’clock. You had to meet with a group from school to work on a project. Gotham Academy was all about group work. It made you miss your old school. You were still wondering how you and your twin, Artemis, got scholarships. It was suspicious.

“Who is it?” Paula, your mother, asked. She rolled out into the hallway. Her smile dropped when she saw you. You saw her eyes flash dangerously.

“Mom, it’s me.” A wave of exhaustion washed over you.

“Oh, sorry con trai.” Paula relaxed. Your heart lifted slightly at the nickname. Her smile returned. “How was your project? Did you get your work done?”

You kissed her cheek as you went to the kitchen. “Good. We’ll ace the project for sure.” Getting a drink from the fridge, you cursed your genes again. Why couldn’t you have looked more like your mother? You hated that your appearance always made her think of your father first.

“Artemis is in her room. Will you make sure her homework is done?” Paula watched as you quickly finished your drink.

“Yeah, sure.” You placed your cup in the sink and left to Artemis’ room. The door was shut with soft music playing inside. You bit your lip before timidly knocking on the door.

“Mom! I said I’m working on it!” The door opened. Artemis gasped. “Dad.” Suddenly, her fist went flying toward your face, but you ducked just in time.

You caught her fist. “It’s me, but thanks for that.” Your heart sank. “Mom wanted me to make sure you have your homework done.”

Artemis yanked her fist out of your grasp. “Sorry, you just look so much like him since you got your last growth spurt.” She crossed her arms, blushing in embarrassment. “I’m working on it.”

“Do you want help?” You found yourself asking her, despite the urge to go lock yourself in your room.

She made a face that reminded you of the time where she almost stabbed you in the eye with one of her arrows. It was caused by a fight that your father instigated between the two of you. Now you really wanted to run. “I got it.”

“Fine. Night.” You hurried away and escaped to your room. Locking your door, you sighed, leaning against it. The mirror on your wall glowed from the streetlight drifting in through the window. You glared at it. It shined back your reflection and even you almost thought you were your father for a brief second. You pulled off your shoe and tossed it at the mirror. It shattered, sending glass everywhere.

“(Y/N), what was that?!” your mom asked, her voice coming down the hall.

“Nothing, Mom. My mirror just fell off the wall,” you said through the door.

Paula knocked on your door. “Are you alright?”

You debated opening the door, but then you thought about how her eyes would narrow as she would first see your father instead of you. “Yeah, don’t worry about me.”

“Okay.” Paula sounded hurt. You heard her roll back down the hall.

“I can never win.” You whispered, closing your eyes tiredly.

***

You adjusted your mask. “Remember we’re not related. Green Arrow just happens to be our mentor. That’s how we know each other,” Artemis said sternly.

“Yes, you tell me everyday.” You sighed. Artemis relaxed and led you to old phone booth zeta tube in an Gotham alleyway. “And keep my mask on.”

Artemis turned to look at you. There was the flash of pure resentment before it faded. Even with the mask on, you still looked very much like your father. “You look way too much like Dad.”

“I get reminded every day.” You nodded for her to go in first. She bit her lip. Guilt flared in her eyes. It made you only feel slightly satisfied. She went inside. The computer spoke and she disappeared in the gold light.

You entered the zeta tube. The computer’s voice echoed as you closed your eyes at the bright light. You started walking forward to find yourself suddenly walking into the cave.

“Woah, did you and (Y/H/N) come together today?” Kid Flash aka Wally teased at Artemis. He made kissing noises. You shook your head, smiling when Artemis flipped him off. Wally laughed before zooming off to somewhere. The scent of freshly made cookies floated in the air.

M’gann flew into the room with a plate of cookies in her hand. “I tried this brookie recipe.” She stopped by you. “Want one, (Y/N)? It’s half cookie half brownie.”

“Sure, thanks.” You took one and bit into it. It was still warm, melting into your mouth. “This is great, M’gann.”

She blushed. “You’re welcome.” She flew away. You watched her go to Artemis and offer her a cookie. Finishing off the cookie, you headed to the training room. Conner was inside, lifting weights.

“Hey Conner.” You joined him. He grunted in response. “You want me to add another weight to that? Looks too easy for you.”

“I’m fine. Everything is fine.” Conner gave you a look that made you glad he didn’t have heat vision.

“You okay?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Because you don’t sound fine.”

“Are you okay?!” Conner dropped the weight. It crashed to the floor with a loud echoing boom. “I said I’m fine.”

You flinched, frowning. “I get it. I’ll leave you alone.” You turned toward the door. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Conner sighed. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat, picking up the weight to put it away. “I...I went to see Superman. He still won’t talk to me.” You turned back to him, surprised.

“What an asshole.” You smiled, sitting down on the bench. Conner kept his back to you.

“Yeah, I guess he is,” Conner chuckled. You watched the tension drain out of his shoulders. “It’s just hard. I was always meant to replace Superman if he should fall. It never occurred to me that he wouldn’t want to meet me.” Conner frowned, crossing his arms. “I can’t get away from it. I get reminded every time I look in the mirror.”

You nodded. “I get it.” Conner looked at you curiously. “I look a lot like my dad to the point everyone in my family thinks I’m him for a second before they see me.” You realized Artemis would kill you for mentioning your family, but you figured it was safe as long as you didn’t mention your family was also Artemis’.

“Most people would be happy to look like their father.” Conner sat down next to you. You gave him a sad smile.

“My father is not a good man.” You swallowed hard.

Conner snorted. You both fell silent for a long time. A weight left your chest for a time, knowing you were with someone who first saw you for yourself. However, reality came crashing back as Batman’s voice called everyone to the mission room. Conner got up to leave first, but stopped and looked back at you. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

“You’re welcome.” You followed him, getting a rare genuine smile from Conner.

***

“What are you doing here?” Cheshire hissed in your face as she sat on your chest with her knees on your arms to hold you down. “I told you I don’t need your help.”

“Jade, it’s me, (Y/N).” You groaned. Jade had grown since the last time she tackled you way back before she ran away from home. You had grown too, but she was still making it hard for you to breathe.

She relaxed and climbed off you. “Sorry. You just look so much like our father.”

“Right.” You coughed, sitting up. The mission had gone haywire, and you got separated from everyone else. You were just about to get your bearings when Jade jumped you. “How are you, sis?”

Jade snorted, taking her mask off. She offered you a hand. You eyed it before taking it and getting to your feet. “You joined the Justice League group with Artemis, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, and you joined the League of Assassins.” You shook your head, rubbing your sore back. She hit you hard. “I can’t believe you work with Dad.”

“Shut up. It’s the job.” Jade crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Does your group know who our family is? Artemis desperately doesn’t want them to know. She let me go last time we met to prevent me from spilling the beans.”

“No.” You glanced around, taking in the surroundings. “They think we only know each other because of Green Arrow.” You frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Jade just smirked before putting her mask back on. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She patted your shoulder. “It was nice to see you, little brother.” She threw down a smoke bomb and disappeared. You coughed, the smoke going straight into your lungs. “You should change your face. They’re going to find out if you keep looking so much like our father.” Her voice echoed in the room.

You caught your breath. “Where did you...” Suddenly, something hit you hard on the back of the head and everything went black.

***

A bright light blinded you as you opened your eyes. Your head throbbed like it was being run over by a semi truck. “He’s awake,” Batman said as a black form appeared in your vision. The soft surface you laid on shifted.

“Oh, thank god.” Suddenly, you felt arms wrap around you. From the voice, you guess Artemis was hugging you. “Don’t you ever do something like that again.” She smacked your arm.

“Ouch.” You moaned, blinking as the room came into focus. You sat up. The clean white walls of the cave’s med bay surrounded you. It made you want to puke. “Don’t hit me.”

Suddenly, a bright light shined into your eye. You jumped, but a heavy hand rested on your shoulder. “I’m checking your pupils.” Batman turned off the light and slowly you were able to see again. “They’re dilating normally, but I suspect you have a concussion at least.”

Artemis held you tighter and you felt sicker. “Is there a garbage can?” You swallowed hard, a metallic taste forming in your mouth. Artemis jumped away from you and stuck a bucket in your face just in time.

You felt Batman rubbing your back as you gagged. Artemis went to the door. The rest of the team’s voices floated in, but Artemis wouldn’t let them in. It was at this point you realized your mask was off. Your heart sank.

Once you were done, Batman took the bucket away and handed you a glass of water. “What happened?” he asked.

You sipped the water, glancing toward Artemis. Batman followed your gaze. “Artemis, go call Green Arrow,” he said pointedly. She blinked in surprise before stepping out of the room. Once the door was shut, Batman turned back to you.

“I got separated from the others.” You sipped more water as your mouth dried out. “And Cheshire jumped me.”

Batman stared at you. You hated that you couldn’t see his eyes. His mouth was a firm line. “Your sister?”

You swallowed hard, glancing at the door in case Artemis came in. “Yeah, she thought I was my dad, but then she relaxed when she saw it was me. We talked a little, then she disappeared with a smoke bomb and I got hit in the head.” You touched the back of your head, wincing at the lump there.

He frowned. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head only to have the pain in your head intensify. “Ouch.”

“Take it easy.” Batman examined the lump on the back of your head.

“She asked if I was on the Team with Artemis and I said yes. I asked if she was with the League of Assassins and she said yes. That was it, I didn’t betray the Team.” Your eyes widened, chest tightened.

“I know you wouldn’t. Calm down.” Batman pushed you to lay down again, moving your head so you didn’t lay on the lump. “We’re going to have to do a few scans to make sure you didn’t crack your skull. Your mother has already been called and is up to date on the situation.”

You sighed. “Damn it. I don’t want to worry her.” You closed your eyes, suddenly very tired.

“Rest now.” Batman patted your arm. You tried to relax, but a nagging memory of your father popped into your head. He laughed, saying you were very much his son, pride radiating from him. You didn’t remember when that happened.

“How long did it take everyone to find me?” you whispered, eyes still closed. Batman was still nearby, washing out the bucket.

“Twenty minutes. Why?” Batman came back to your side. You heard him set the bucket on the bedside table.

“Was I alone?” A long silence followed and you knew your answer. “Sportsmaster was with me, wasn’t he?”

Batman cleared his throat. You opened your eyes to look at him. “He was, but he ran off when Superboy attacked him. The rest of the team didn’t see him.”

You sighed. “Great. Just great.” You closed your eyes, hating your face once more.

***

Artemis glared at you from the doorway of your bedroom. At least you knew the hatred in her eyes was for you alone this time. “I can’t believe Superboy saw you with your mask off and next to Dad.”

“I was unconscious, Artie. What did you want me to do?” You shifted on your bed, staring up at the ceiling that was way too familiar for comfort. A week of bedrest was way too long.

“Wally was asking me why you look so much like Sportmaster,” Artemis exploded, throwing her arms in the air. “I told him I don’t know, because I don’t know you!”

You flinched. Her words stabbed at your heart. “It’s okay. I can explain it when I finally get off bedrest.”

“Robin’s been snooping around too!” Artemis kicked a shoe on your floor. It slammed against the broken mirror that you had placed on the wall again. The mirror crashed to the floor, breaking the rest of the glass.

“Artemis!” Paula rolled down the hall with fire in her eyes. “Leave your brother alone. He needs his rest.” She saw the broken mirror. “Clean this up now!”

Your sister stormed off. “It’s fine, Mom,” you said. Paula came to your bedside and rested her hand on your forehead. “Mom, I have a concussion, not a fever.”

“I know.” She frowned. “I don’t like that your father hit you.”

“We don’t know if he did.” You bit your lip, looking away from her. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her eyes flash. She wasn’t seeing you again. Exhaustion washed over you, deep into your bones. “I’m tired.”

“Yes, rest.” Paula left the room. Artemis came in and cleaned up the glass. You pretended to be asleep. Your heart burned with the determination to take Jade’s advice and change your face.

***

You stared at the box of hair dye as you stood in the boys’ locker room at the cave. It took you a long time at the drug store to get up the courage to buy it, and now you had to work up the nerve to use it.

Today was your first day of freedom after the week on bedrest. The lump on your head disappeared, but you still felt a dull ache once and a while. However, you promised yourself that you would change your appearance today. The cave seemed the safest place to do that. No one was here at the moment.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the box and read the instructions. It was complicated, but you took out the different bottles. You took off your shirt.

“What are you doing?” Conner’s voice sounded from behind you.

You screamed, dropping one of the dye bottles into the sink. Luckily, you didn’t open it yet.

Conner snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously? I scared you?”

“I didn’t think anyone was around.” You lined the bottles up. Blood rushed to your face, unable to look at Conner. He came over and picked up the dye box. You waited for him to say something.

“You’re going to have to do your eyebrows too or it will look strange,” Conner said, picking up the instructions.

You looked at him with wide eyes. “So you’re not going to talk me out of it?”

“Why?” Conner blinked. “It’s not like we’re doing plastic surgery or something. Hair color isn’t that big of a deal. M’gann does it all the time.”

“M’gann’s a shapeshifter.” You bit your lip. Nerves made you jumpy.

Conner grunted, shrugging his shoulders. He set the instructions down and picked up the first bottle. You smiled, glad to have the help.

***

“I’m home,” you called as you entered the apartment. You had a skip in your step. Your hair a new, shockingly different color. Thanks to Conner, the dye job turned out better than you hoped.

“Con trai?” Paula came out of the kitchen with a plate in hand. Upon seeing you, the plate dropped to the floor. “What did you do to your hair?”

“What? I like it.” You smiled when the look of anger and disappointment didn’t come over her. She was finally seeing you first. You could have danced from joy.

A deep frown came to Paula’s lips. Your joy faltered. “Wash it out of your hair now.” She pointed to the bathroom.

“It’s not going to work, Mom. I’ve already washed my hair and it’s here to stay.” You shrugged, hiding your pain behind indifference.

Artemis appeared in the doorway. “What the hell, (Y/N)?” Her eyes almost popped out of her head at your hair.

You smiled, happy when she saw you for you. It was working. “What? It’s my hair. I can do what I like.” You looked at Artemis. Her jaw was on the floor. “Now you don’t have to worry about everyone thinking I look like Dad, huh?”

“Is that why you did this?” Paula asked, taking your hand. “(Y/N), I’m proud that you look so much like your father. He was...is a handsome man.”

You wondered if she was sane. A bitter laugh escaped you as you pulled your hand away from Paula’s. “Seriously?” You looked at Artemis who was scowling. “Both of you never see me first. It’s always Dad. Don’t think I don’t see it.” You snapped at Paula before she could speak. The hurt look on her face made you hesitate, but your pain kept you going. “It’s always this flash of anger and hate before you finally realize it’s me. I’m sick of it.” You spun away to your bedroom, but Artemis grabbed your arm.

“That’s not true...” she began, but you jerked your arm out of her grasp.

“You know it is.” You narrowed your eyes dangerously at her. “Come on, weren’t you just yelling at me the other day for having my mask off and making the team wonder why I look like Sportsmaster?” Her eyes dropped. “Yeah, can’t say anything, can you?” Your voice was colder than you ever heard it be before.

Hurrying to your bedroom, you slammed the door and locked it. Your cheeks were wet with what you thought might be tears, but you told yourself it wasn’t. You didn’t care, yet your cheeks stayed wet for a long time.

***

“(Y/N), I have dinner,” Artemis whispered through your bedroom door. “It’s your favorite.” Your stomach rumbled at the thought, but you stayed lying on your bed.

“Go away.” You turned on your side to face away from your door.

Artemis sighed loud enough for you to hear. Little scratching sounds came from the door before it opened. “You’re going to eat. I don’t care.” Artemis came in. You turned to find Paula’s credit card in her hand. She used that to open the lock, a trick Jade had taught you both.

You narrowed your eyes at her. She glowered back at you. “I’m not hungry, Artie.” You laid back down and turned away from her.

“Look, I’m sorry.” She set the tray of food down on your bedside table. The smell made your stomach growl loudly. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I was ashamed of you because you were unlucky enough to look exactly like Dad.”

You turned and took the food, unable to stop yourself. “Whatever,” you mumbled between bites.

“Don’t whatever me. I’m trying to make amends.” She crossed her arms. “And I like your new hair by the way. I mean I was shocked at first, but you do look good.”

Raising an eyebrow, you eyed her as you took a bite of food. “You really think so?”

“Yeah.” She pursed her lips. “You should talk to Mom. She’s hurt, and she cleaning the kitchen to the point where nothing will be left if we don’t stop her.”

“Can I finish eating first?” You laughed, happier than you had been in a long time.

Artemis giggled, plopping down beside you and stealing some of your food. “You’re always thinking about food.”

“I’m always thinking about food? You just stole some.” You nudged Artemis, making her laugh. Suddenly, you felt she was your sister again and for the first time in a long time, you were comfortable in your own skin.

#artemis #artemis crock #artemis crock imagine #artemis imagine #male reader #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert #young justice #young justice imagines #jade nguyen #jade nguyen imagine #cheshire #cheshire imagine

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snowdice · 4 years ago

Text

A Twist of Fate {Part 6} (Everything’s Fine Universe) [Dice Roll 13]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Remus & Janus & Patton, Remy & Patton

Characters: Janus, Patton, Remus, Remy

Summary: It wasn’t unheard of for people to gain soulmarks later in life, but it was quite rare. Usually fate was set in stone. Yet, when one’s fated death was prevented, fate had to make some adjustments.

As he fell, Patton may have felt a strange prickling feeling across his skin. He however, was not paying attention to that, far too distracted and confused. All he knew was that by the time he hit the ground, both of his hands were covered with marks. Later when he went home he’d notice even more in other places, but the ones he noticed when he hit the ground were the obvious ones on his hands.

Then, there was Janus. Janus had only one soulmark on his body. At least. He had only one soulmark that hadn’t been burnt off years ago. When he landed on top of Patton, he did not notice the marks that suddenly appeared on his arms and face. Patton did, however, notice two little designs appear on him: one along the side of his nose and the other right below the scaring on the left side of his face. The second was already colored in by the time they hit the ground.

Universe: Soulmate AU and Superhero AU

Genre: The Dice Roll said fluff and it is… but… it’s more fluff and angst, hurt/comfort-ish

Notes: Child abuse, homelessness, malnutrition, acid burns, platonic soulmates, car accidents mentioned, blood mentioned, death mentioned, chronic pain, abnormal growth

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Patton hurried to his front door, his mind frantically trying to figure out what he was going to say to Remy when he opened it. Yesterday, Remy had been his only soulmate, but now that was very much not the case. Patton wouldn’t know how to begin to explain the change even if he didn’t have two easily spooked children in his kitchen right now. Even if he knew where to start, he wouldn’t be able to explain without bringing up Evan and Jimmy, and their trust in him was so fragile, he feared even saying their names aloud to someone they did not know would shatter it forever.

He wanted to tell Remy though, if for no other reason than to have someone he knew and trusted to talk to about it. Patton had done his best to take everything in stride, but his head had been spinning since yesterday. Part of him thought he really had been hit by that car, and he was now having a vivid hallucination as he died. Maybe his mind was recalling the conversation about wanting children he’d had earlier in the day and was spinning a web of dreams before his consciousness faded away.

…Reality had yet to truly sink in even after a night’s rest.

He’d stayed up later than usual after he’d managed to finally find a sleeping arrangement that the children would tolerate. He’d taken the time to find and categorize every single new soulmark on his body before finally letting himself collapse into bed long past midnight. Considering what he’d found, it still took him a while to calm his brain enough to sleep.

There were, of course, the first ones he’d noticed on his hands. Three of these were in the middle on the back of his hands. Evan’s stood alone on his left hand. It was slightly towards the wrist, but still firmly in the territory that meant it was a parent-child relationship. Jimmy’s and one of the unfilled in soulmarks were on his right hand. They were so close together than someone might mistake them for one soulmark if one was not filled in and the other not.

The other two on his hands drifted more towards the side of each hand, close to, but slightly out of the range of a parental soulmark. When he cross referenced it with a diagram on the internet, he found it was more than likely a very close uncle like relationship. He wondered if, or well, hoped that those might match up with Remy’s two parental ones. It would be what made the most sense, after all.

That was five new soulmarks, but that was not where the surprises ended. When he’d finally gotten a chance to look at himself in the mirror, he’d been shocked to find a little crescent moon shaped outline on his neck. That was. Well. Patton had not expected that. It made sense, he guessed, that it was on his neck. He had definitely not expected a romantic soulmark which would be more towards the chest. He’d never really had those feelings, after all. On his neck meant it was a platonic soulmate, but not exactly friends. They probably shared the children as soulmates, at least the three definitely parental soulmates. It was probably a good thing considering all of the children Patton was suddenly responsible for. Or at least… he hoped he would be responsible for.

Those six had been startling enough, but he’d also gotten a few more. His back was now filled with friendship soulmarks that had not been there before. There were 5 more, in fact, putting him at a grand total of 14 soulmarks.

He was considered a Well-Loved now. He was an Unloved yesterday and a Well-Loved today. It was wonderful, but also strange and a bit terrifying. How was he supposed to explain this all to Remy, the one soulmate he’d always had, without even being able to mention the two new ones he’d found by name?

He still had not found an answer to that question even as he opened his front door.

“Sup babe,” Remy greeted immediately. “I brought coffee, but I already drank mine, so I’m going to go invade your kitchen. Kk? Here’s yours.” Patton took the coffee cup automatically as it was thrust at him. Remy then went to push past Patton into his house, but Patton quickly stepped in his way. Remy’s nose scrunched up in confusion.

“I’m actually busy today,” Patton lied. “I forgot. I have plans. Could we reschedule?”

“Busy?” Remy asked. His voice was skeptical. Patton wasn’t a good liar in general, let alone to the man who had known him since elementary school. “Busy with what?”

“Uh, just… stuff.”

Remy studied him for a long moment, his gaze somehow sharp even though Patton could not see his eyes. “What’s that on your neck?” he asked. “‘Cause it looks like some sort of weird ass hickey, but you’re ace as hell.”

Patton quickly slapped a hand over the soulmark there. “It’s uh, nothing,” Patton said.

“…What’s on your hand?”

Remy reached for Patton, but Patton jerked away, tilting his head to hide the soulmark on his neck and hiding both hands behind his back, almost spilling coffee on himself in his haste. “It’s nothing. Sorry, I can’t spend the day with you today. Can you leave?”

Patton saw Remy’s eyebrows pop up over his sunglasses. “Gurl what is wrong?”

“Everything’s fine,” Patton promised, “but I need you to leave. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Uh huh…” Remy did not seem convinced. In fact, despite his standard cool demeanor, he looked rather alarmed.

“Oh god,” Evan groaned from behind Patton, “just let him in.”

Patton turned back to look at him. “But…”

“You’re a shit liar, and he’s going to call the cops on us if you don’t,” Evan said. Patton really wanted to correct the swearing but held his tongue. “Just… let him in.”

Patton turned to look at Remy who was giving him that slightly to the left head tilt that meant ‘I’m squinting at you in confusion.’

“Why don’t you come in?” Patton said. He stepped out of the way to let Remy walk into the house and closed the door behind him. They all awkwardly stared at each other for a long moment. “Let’s…” Patton finally said. “Living room. If that’s okay with everyone?”

Evan didn’t respond but stalked back towards the kitchen. Patton assumed he was getting Jimmy. That or bolting.

“What the hell, Pat?” Remy asked, voice low.

“They’re my soulmates, apparently,” Patton said. He waved the hand with Evan’s soulmark at him.

“You’re what?” Remy asked, then, “… ‘They’?”

Patton reached over to grab his hand, giving it a little squeeze, more for his benefit than for Remy’s. “I’m just as confused by it as you,” he said. “I got new soulmarks yesterday and two of them are already filled in.” He pulled him towards the living room. “It’s not just those two either. There’s… there’s a lot Rem.”

Remy took the coffee out of Patton’s hand and set it and his own empty cup on the coffee table so he could study both of Patton’s hands. One of his thumbs rubbed gently over one of the marks on the side of his hand. Had he done the math too? Patton had to wonder. Had he wondered why Patton did not at least have soulmarks for Remy’s children? Patton had never dared to bring it up, but Remy wasn’t stupid. Did he see the same thing in those two soulmarks as Patton?

“And some on my back too,” Patton told him.

“Not to mention…” Remy gestured at his neck. Patton put his hand over the mark, blushing a bit.

“Yeah…”

Just then, Evan and Jimmy entered from the kitchen. Jimmy looked at Remy and instantly opened his mouth. “Oh! I know you.”

Patton glanced over at Remy, but he seemed just as confused as Patton, so he turned back to the kids. Evan had gone tense all of a sudden as though readying to run. His hand dug into Jimmy’s shoulder and Jimmy’s head jerked to him. “No, something happened to him. He didn’t do something.” That confounding statement made Evan slowly relax, but he still looked over at Remy and Patton leerily. Jimmy did not seem to have the same hesitancy as Evan. He shook off the grip on his shoulder and waved. “Hi! You’re a doctor!”

Remy opened his mouth slightly. “…Well,” he said slowly. “I’m currently in medical school.

“…That’s what I meant.”

Patton watched curiously as Evan’s eyes slipped closed in frustration. Something was… off with Jimmy. Patton could not quite figure out what it was yet, but clearly something about him was being hidden, and Evan knew what it was. Patton had some suspicions, but like his knowledge that Evan was shapeshifter, he kept them to himself.

“Uh huh,” Remy replied.

“Why don’t we all take a seat?” Patton suggested. Remy looked over at him and then sat on one of the armchairs next to the couch. Patton sat on the couch next to him a moment later. Jimmy bounced over to the couch too and with no hesitation, he climbed into Patton’s lap. Patton put a hand on the boy’s head, heart in his throat. He did not dare to hug him though, as Evan was already shifting nervously without Patton effectively trapping Jimmy. Evan was left the only one standing, and he did not seem inclined to rectify this. Patton did not comment.

“So, you three got new soulmarks yesterday?” Remy asked.

“Uh huh,” Jimmy answered for them all. He curled one of his fists into Patton’s sweater seemingly not even aware of what he was doing.

“I’m not quite sure how,” Patton said. “I didn’t even know that could happen.”

“Usually it can’t,” Remy replied. “There are only two documented cases in the last century. We learned about them a few weeks ago. One was a polio patient for his doctor in the 1950s, and the other was only a year ago in New York, I think. Someone born with no soulmarks gained one randomly. In both cases, they only gained one. I haven’t even heard of any instances where multiple were gained and why it happened is greatly debated, but there aren’t enough cases to prove any sort of pattern.” Remy looked at him curiously. “Was there anything that happened to you that may have caused it?”

Patton hesitated. There was a clear answer to that question, but it wasn’t exactly easy to tell your best friend that you’d almost di-”

“He almost got smushed by a car!” Jimmy informed him. “Evan ran across the street and shoved him out of the way, but he was going to bleed out in the street and die.”

Patton winced as Remy looked at him, expression unreadable. “You were going to die?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Patton replied softly.

He could tell that the thought badly hurt Remy, but he seemed to shove the pain down. “And being saved caused the new soulmarks?” he asked.

“They were there by the time we hit the ground,” Patton confirmed.

“I guess that makes sense,” Remy said after a moment of thought.

“It does?” Patton asked.

“If you suddenly weren’t going to die when you were before, it makes sense you’d gain soulmarks.”

There was silence as the room absorbed that.

“What’s your name?” Jimmy asked suddenly, voice lighter than it probably should have been considering the previous topic. “Why are you a doctor? Why are you wearing sunglasses inside? Why are you carrying around an empty coffee cup? Are you going to refill it or just throw it away? Did you know that 16,009,402,282 disposable coffee cups were thrown away last year? Wha-”

“Whoa, whoa, one at a time kid,” Remy said, his mouth edging up into a smile. “My old brain can only process so much at once. My name is Remy.”

Jimmy frowned. “Not being able to remember many things is probably bad if you’re going to be a doctor,” he said.

Patton couldn’t help but laugh and pat his head.

“I guess you’re right,” Remy agreed. “I’ll have to work on that. What’s your name?”

“I’m, uh, Jimmy,” he said. “Like I said, that’s Evan. He’s not going to introduce himself because he’s crabby.”

“I see,” Remy replied, lips twitching. “That’s okay. He can be crabby if he wants to be. I’m sure he’s a little stressed out about everything.”

“He’s stressed out about a lot of things all the time,” Jimmy confirmed. Patton glanced up at Evan to see he was very displeased with this statement, but he kept his mouth sealed shut. “Oh!" Jimmy said, bounding a couple of times in Patton’s lap. “You should do a doctor thing to Evan!”

“Jimmy,” Evan hissed.

Jimmy didn’t even blink at the vehemence of Evan’s tone. “His bones are growing in wrong,” he declared, matter-of-factly, “and he’s bad at being warm enough. Like a snake!” Patton internally winced. He wasn’t an expert, but that sounded like it was probably the result of shapeshifting too much and for too long. “Plus, he has bad burns on his back that are healed but still hurt him.”

“Traitor,” Evan accused hotly. He looked like he wanted to escape the room, but he obviously wouldn’t leave without Jimmy, and Jimmy was in Patton’s lap. Patton wondered if that was on purpose.

Jimmy frowned at him. “You need to see a doctor,” he insisted. “You almost pass out every day!”

“No.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other for a few long moments.

“I’m not going to make anyone accept medical care they don’t want,” Remy said evenly. Evan looked at him. He was pretty twitchy and looked like a trapped animal. “If you want me to look at you, I will, but I won’t make you even if you are sick, and you can stop me at any time.”

“Really?” Evan asked suspiciously.

“Really,” Remy confirmed. “It’s an open offer, but we can stop talking about it if that would make you more comfortable.”

Jimmy was frowning at Evan, but Evan just glared back. The younger boy seemed to shrug it off after a moment. He tilted his head back to look at Patton. “Can we make the cookies now?” he asked.

Patton laughed. “Sure,” he agreed. “We can make the cookies.”

Evan slowly seemed to relax just a bit as the day went by. As promised, Patton made double chocolate chip cookies with the help… well ‘help’ of both Jimmy and Remy. Jimmy was a bit too enthusiastic and often almost knocked things over. He also had… interesting ideas for additions to the batter that he did not always remember to ask for permission for before putting them in the bowl. Remy, on the other hand knew exactly what he was doing when he tried poring coffee into the batter, and Patton was very unhappy with the fact that he was trying to caffeinate Jimmy of all people. Evan ended up being the most help despite insisting on just observing. He warned Patton about almost all of the potential disasters before they were put into the batter.

After the cookies were put in the oven, they went with Remy and Patton’s original plan of watching movies, though they chose more age appropriate ones than the planned romantic comedies. If Patton was being honest, he actually preferred the Disney movies over whatever Remy would have inevitably chosen.

Despite there not being any caffeine in the cookies they ate, Jimmy insisted upon bouncing between sitting on the couch with Patton and in the recliner with Evan every 30 minutes or so. This had been going on for 2¼ movies and didn’t show signs of stopping. He’d just jumped onto Patton without warning, causing Patton to jerk and accidently knock over a bowl of popcorn into Remy’s lap. Remy just laughed, looking over at Jimmy with a smile and that’s when Evan broke.

“What would you do?” he asked.

Remy blinked over at him, one hand still distractedly brushing popcorn off of his front.

“In the doctor thing or whatever,” Evan clarified.

Remy didn’t move from his seat in the armchair next to the couch, instead just folding his hands together over the popcorn in his lap. He calmly explained from across the living room with Lady and the Tramp running in the background every part of a normal doctor’s check-up. Then he explained about wanting to take a look at his burn scars as well as do a couple of X-rays.

“How would you do the X-rays?” he asked suspiciously.

Remy smiled slightly and tapped the edges of his sunglasses. “There’s a reason I wear sunglasses inside,” he said.

“You have a superpower,” Evan said, something odd in his tone.

“X-ray vision. Believe it or not, that’s not why I’m becoming a doctor.”

Evan bit his lip. “You can… do the first few things. We’ll see about the rest.”

“Alright kid,” Remy agreed easily. “Pat, you have a thermometer and blood pressure cuff, yeah? Can you get those for me?”

“Sure,” Patton said, gently pushing Jimmy off of his lap and walking to the main bathroom to grab what Remy had requested. When he returned, Remy had stood and crossed to kneel next to Evan’s chair and Jimmy had abandoned the couch to sit on his armrest.

“There was also a stethoscope,” Patton said. He set the instruments on the side table and then quickly backed off to give Evan some space and sat on the couch again.

“Thanks Pat,” Remy said without looking at him. He was careful not to crowd Evan, giving him the thermometer to take his temperature himself and asking him to tilt his head so he could flash a penlight in his ear instead of guiding it to the side himself like doctors usually did when Patton got checkups. Evan even allowed him to put the stethoscope under his shirt to listen to his breathing.

“Okay,” Remy said once he was done with that. “We’re done with that part. Up to you if you want me to do the rest.”

Evan hesitated. He glanced over at Jimmy. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “You can look at the burns.

“You’ll have to take your shirt off,” Remy said.

“Right.”

“Would you like a blanket to cover up the rest of you?” Patton offered.

Evan glanced at him. “I… Yes, I would.”

Patton nodded and grabbed one of the blankets on the back of the couch. He walked it over to him and handed it over. He took it and wrapped it around himself before starting to squirm out of his shirt from underneath it.

“Okay,” he said after he was finished. Patton could see the stress at his vulnerability growing in his eyes.

“It’s on your back, right?” Remy asked, his voice gentle.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Alright. I’m going to touch your shoulder,” Remy soothed. When Evan nodded, he reached out and slowly pulled the blanket away from his back. The acid burn scar there was much worse than the one on his face, deeper and more widespread. It made Patton’s chest ache to think about the pain that injury had caused when it had happened, especially if it was bad enough that it still hurt him now. “Okay?” Remy made sure.

“Yeah,” Evan answered.

Remy nodded and leaned forward, his fingertips just brushing the skin on the child’s back. The second their skin touched, they both jumped. “Interesting,” Remy said, surprised.

Patton’s eyes were glued on what had startled them both. A soulmark had filled in on Evan’s back right in the middle of the deepest part of the burn. It looked like nothing Patton had ever seen before. Before he and Remy had touched, Patton hadn’t been able to see that there had ever been a soulmark there. Whatever had been used across his shoulders had seemingly completely erased it, but now there was an emerald blot of color, twisted and distorted by the burn, but still definitely there. Whatever shape it was meant to be before was indiscernible, but the way the color subtlety popped out against his dark skin was still incredibly beautiful.

“I…” Evan twisted around to try to look at the soulmark in confusion, “didn’t know you could get a soulmark that was burnt off.”

“You can’t,” Remy said. He squinted at Evan and then at Patton, “but I guess you’re weird kid.”

Evan’s eyes flickered up to him. “You’re the other half of this equation,” he pointed out, “so what does that make you?”

“Eh,” Remy replied with a smile. “I already knew I was weird.”

Evan smiled tentatively back. He seemed to be calmed by the fact that Remy was his soulmate, contrary to how he’d felt when he’d learned Patton was his soulmate. Patton was a bit surprised, but he guessed it made sense considering a friendship soulmark didn’t give Remy any legal rights to him unlike a parental one. His fear was about control, Patton had surmised by the way he’d acted and the things he’d said, about autonomy. He felt Patton was a threat to that, but Remy was not one.

“I’m going to continue looking, okay?” Remy said, laying a hand on his shoulder again. Evan allowed it and Remy kept looking at the burns through his glasses still. He asked questions about how much and when they hurt, and then sat back after a few minutes. “How about the X-rays.”

Evan took a breath. “Yeah, why not?”

Remy nodded and took off his sunglasses. He spent a few minutes looking at Evan, asking him to move into certain positions every so often. Eventually he put the sunglasses back on and sat back.

“I’m going to be straight with you kid,” Remy finally said. “Are you a shapeshifter?” The tension that had left him after learning Remy was his soulmate returned full force. “It’s alright if you are,” Remy placated. “I won’t do anything or tell anyone outside of this room, but I haven’t heard much about impaired thermoregulation in anyone without a brain or spine injury unless they were shapeshifters. That combined with your bone growth irregularity imply you’ve been using shape-shifting too much.”

Evan did not seem inclined to answer, his eyes on his knees. Jimmy did not have the same reluctance. “Yes, he is,” Jimmy said.

“You’re a dick, Jimmy,” Evan grumbled.

“You probably shouldn’t teach him that,” Patton tried.

“He taught me most of it,” Evan replied with an eyeroll.

“I know all of the bad words!” Jimmy declared, cheerfully. He held up a finger as though starting to count. “Cu-”

“No, no,” Patton quickly cut him off. “I believe you.”

Evan seemed amused at least, his mind evidently taken off his powers for the moment.

Remy snorted a bit himself. “You are a character, aren’t you?” he asked.

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Evan said.

Remy reached out to pat Jimmy on the head, and really Patton shouldn’t have been surprised when they both jolted a bit.

“Cool!” Jimmy enthused. “I have a doctor soulmate. Can you X-ray me, like with a real X-ray machine not with your weird eyes? I want to see my insides! Then can you label all of my bones for me?!”

Remy snorted. “I reiterate: a character.”

“I don’t know what ‘reiterate’ means!” Jimmy declared proudly.

“Say something again,” Remy informed him. He glanced down at his arm. “Huh,” he said. “That one wasn’t there yesterday,” he said. There was one on the back of his hand almost at his wrist, meaning it was somewhere between an older brother and an uncle relationship. Jimmy likely had one higher on his arm.

“You didn’t notice?” Patton asked.

“Bitch please,” Remy waved him off. “I woke up 5 minutes before I had to leave for my exam and came right here.”

“Remy, can you please not…”

“He almost said the ‘c’ word Patty. I think they’re a lost cause.”

Patton frowned, unhappily, but decided to let it slide for now.

Remy turned back to Evan, still smiling softly. “So,” he said. “I’m guessing you’ve been using your shapeshifting a lot.”

Evan nodded.

“Well, doctors typically recommend that people don’t shapeshift much until their around 14,” Remy informed him. “Mostly because overextending it can cause some problems. How old are you?”

“Twelve,” Evan answered after a beat of hesitation.

“Alright,” Remy said. “That’s a little bit young… and I can tell you’ve been doing it for a while. You’ve honestly messed up a bit of your growth process.”

Evan looked at his lap, not saying anything.

“I don’t blame you,” Remy said. “I don’t think you probably wanted to do all of that, which means you probably had to. You’re obviously a survivor, but it does pose some issues moving forward.”

“So, should he try to stop shapeshifting?” Patton asked.

“It would actually be worse if he doesn’t use it at all at this point,” Remy replied. He turned to Evan who was still not looking at him. “There are exercises I can give you. For now, you should only do those twice a day and no other shapeshifting. After a couple of weeks, you can start using it a bit outside of that, but no full shifts and not for more than a few minutes at a time. That should get your body heat to regulate more normally.”

Evan did not look happy with this prospect. “I’ll try,” he said dubiously.

“I guess that’s all I can really ask,” Remy said with a sigh. “The bone growth would take more to fix. More physical therapy with your shape shifting as well as without. Some of it’s probably permanent damage.”

Evan shrugged. “I’d figured,” he said a bit bitterly.

“It will be alright though,” Remy assured, putting his hand on Evan’s knee.

Evan looked up at him and Patton could see exactly what he was thinking. The being able to not shapeshift at all for two weeks. The extended physical therapy necessary to even start to fix the bone growth irregularities. Those things depended on having somewhere safe to do so. It depended on staying with Patton, and Evan still wasn’t sold on that.

“Of course,” Evan said, and Patton could tell he was lying.

Patton would need to do his best to convince him to stay. A lot more was on the line than he’d thought.

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 7

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cherrywoes · 3 years ago

Text

ichi. (acanthus.)

SAKURA GENTLY RAN HER fingers across the soft, barely there pinpricks of hair at the back of her head. The knots had been too large to untangle without time and copious amounts of conditioner, and while she lamented the loss of growth, she found she quite liked the style. There was enough hair left on the top of her head that it could easily cover the uneven lengths of hair clinging to the bottom half of her scalp. She peered at herself through a small hand mirror Tsunade had provided her and didn’t like what she found. She looked too pale, malnourished, and the once healthy glow she had when she was free had vanished. She looked every bit the prisoner they had made her to be.

Any hope she had previously shriveled up and died when she looked at the crimson mark upon her forehead. When she touched it experimentally, it zinged! into the back of her brain where she felt strange bolts of electricity bounce back and forth within and route back to the mark. It was a very harsh reminder that she was no longer Sakura Haruno—she was someone else, someone who killed her teammates because her pride wouldn’t let her admit to her own weakness.

She gave Tsunade the mirror and pointedly ignored the curious look the Hokage sent her out of the corner of her eye.

“Your trial will be as straightforward as it can be, given the circumstances.” Tsunade tucked the mirror into her pocket with a sigh. She looked tired, as well, as she always did since she had become Hokage. Using sake as her coping mechanism didn’t do her any good, either, despite her younger appearance; Sakura could see it weighing on her, the drag of age and idleness. “I don’t think there’s much you can do in your own defense except to be honest; if you’re lucky, the elders might put you in for an extended prison stay—or they could also execute you outright.”

“Isn’t that what everyone wants though?” Sakura pulled her knees to her chest and squeezed them in an attempt to comfort herself. She didn’t have Naruto to reassure her that everything was okay; he was outside of the village, tracking down an errant Sasuke—his life had boiled down into an endless chase of their former teammate. It was all he could think about the last time she had seen him, his mind focused on dragging him back to Konoha even if it was the last thing the Uchiha wanted for himself. He would hate her, too, for this. “For me to be executed?”

Tsunade frowned. “They want answers, Sakura. The families of the men and women you killed, the wives and husbands and sons and daughters—they all want to know why you did it.”

She closed her eyes, faces flashing through her mind in a quick succession. Yamanaka eyes; Hyuuga eyes; the large frame of an Akamichi, smiling, offering her slices of fruit. “I guess they’ll be disappointed when they learn it was because I lost my abilities and killed them instead because of my own stupidity.”

“You underestimate them, Sakura.” The blonde woman shook her head slowly and gathered up the worn and dirty clothes she had left hanging on the side of the basin. “They’re going to hate you for it. It’s your decision whether or not you give them further reason to hate you even more, or prove them wrong and make up for your mistakes.”

Sakura opened her eyes and stared obstinately at the wall, listening to the words unsaid: if they even accept your apology to begin with.

She didn’t expect acceptance at all.

When Sakura took her first step outside in months, the sun made her eyes water uncontrollably. It was no longer winter within Konoha—not that she had ever favored it to begin with—but autumn, the trees turning from green to a myriad of shades between orange, red, and yellow hues. The grass beneath her shoes was crisp, on the verge of decaying and preparing for the next winter, and filled the air with a familiar scent she hadn’t been sure she would ever experience ever again. The sun was comforting and warm as it surrounded her in a suffocating embrace, her skin already starting to turn rusty red with a sunburn. She didn’t mind it, though—it was almost a reminder of the life she had lied to keep and lost.

“Sakura.” Kakashi stood, waiting for her outside the doors of the prison complex. He was early and nearly on time, Icha Icha Paradise’s sienna cover just barely visible from behind his back, tucked away into his pocket. He looked as tired as Sakura felt, dark eye bags highly visible against his skin, so much so that it looked as if he had earned two right hooks to both eyes. “Are you ready? Or do you want to bask in the sun some more?”

Once, she might have thought he was teasing. But the look in his eye, the tone of his voice, all denoted that he was serious, that he would risk being late if she wanted to sit in the sun and burn just a little bit longer, to feel the freedom that had been taken from her by her own actions. She considered it, momentarily, looking to the sky. The light burned her eyes and a single teardrop fell from her right eye and slid down her cheek. “No.”

“Alright then.” He looked unsure, then, eyeing the ANBU guards that stood behind her in their respective Raccoon and Panda masks. She had never seen them before until now, but she knew that Kakashi didn’t recognize them, either, and it was most likely a deliberate move on the council’s part. “Let’s go then.”

The walk to the Hokage tower and, consequently, the council chambers where her trial would be held, was not a peaceful procession. People, ninja and civilians alike—faces she didn’t recognize, she thought with some relief, even though guilt gnawed at her heart—screamed at her, got so close that spittle flew in her face when they yelled obscenities at her. When words failed, they began throwing rotten fruit, vegetables, and even pots of molding and old food. Several slices of sour cantaloupe slid down her cheek, juices clinging to her skin, gnats flocking to the scent. Her ANBU did nothing to prevent them from chucking a pot of scalding chicken broth on her, either. They were for the public’s safety, not hers; and even so, they wouldn’t have stopped them even if they had been ordered to, she figured.

When it touched her skin, burned like acid and lit her body on fire, she didn’t scream. Burnt, acrid flesh was not a pleasant odor, and combined with the chicken broth, it sent several civilians away with nausea. She could hear them exclaiming over the stench with their faces pulled into looks of disgust, both at the people who had thrown it (fondly, because it was ‘justified’, however bad it smelled) and at Sakura as she trudged by, her skin livid red and breaking into fever. The flesh of her arm, some of her neck, and flecks on her cheek would scar, if the agonizing pain sending her brain into a white fog was any indication.

Kakashi, walking ahead of her at a leisurely pace, was forced to remain impartial. She could understand him, of course, in that aspect. The village would turn on him, too, and then he would truly have nothing left. His team was disbanded, Naruto had devolved into a man on an impossible mission and false hopes, Sasuke had left the village and become Orochimaru’s apprentice and, afterwards, his killer, and Sakura, his final remaining student, had become his protege, his perfect copy—a friend killer, a ninja killer, just as he was.

Perhaps, Sakura thought as she fixed her gaze on Kakashi’s shoes, fate worked in very obvious, very deliberate ways, and was not as mysterious as anyone ever said it was.

Sakura arrived at the Hokage tower dripping with steaming chicken broth, mold clinging to her clothes from various entrees of old food, and reeking of weeks old tea that was just on the verge of becoming kombucha. Shizune waited for them, her face harsh and pale and completely emotionless. If she had any opinion on her former friend’s crimes, she gave no indication of it, her mouth pulled into a straight, thin line, her lips as white as her face.

“They have already convened and arrived at a verdict.” Shizune’s dark eyes darted to Sakura momentarily, the pain there deep and unfathomable, and then back to Kakashi, flicking over the ANBU guards and the growing crowd rioting around the entrance of the building. “Her presence wasn’t necessary.”

Her. As if she was a thing to be spoken of, an object. Once that might have angered Sakura, might have forced her into an enraged spiel, but the only emotion she could muster up at the derogatory tone was faint irritation that was suffused by the harsh throb of the burns on her arm.

“Tsunade’s orders.” Kakashi shrugged. He glanced back at her, then at her burns, and sighed. “At least heal her. Those burns could get infected—”

“I am under order not to provide care to Sakura Haruno under any circumstances.” Shizune shifted uncomfortably at that. “As is the rest of the village. Basic necessities, and nothing more.”

Her former sensei said nothing else and Sakura refused to open her mouth and beg Shizune of all people to heal her. She should have been able to heal herself, yet she had not even a scrap of medical chakra to speak of and risked cutting off her own arm in the process. It would probably be preferable to the festering, infected blisters she would gain in the coming days—if she was even alive to experience it.

She suffered in her own silence, closing her eyes against the pinpricks of hot white light that threatened to send her into unconsciousness. It was easy to block out the pain when she was stuck in her head; her pain tolerance was high, but without the help of her seal, of Tsunade’s healing advice and her medical chakra, she was reduced to biting her lips to stop herself from squalling and collapsing onto the wooden floor beneath her feet. Blood flowed into her mouth, metallic and bitter, like the blood that flowed from her teammates’ veins.

Sakura didn’t know how long she stood there in a half daze, flanked by her ANBU and Shizune and Kakashi talking quietly in front of her in short, stilted sentences. Their opposing affections for her prevented them from talking casually; Kakashi’s guilt prevented him from hating her and Shizune’s righteous sense of justice prevented her from offering her even a shred of pity. They spoke in whispers, so she could barely make out what they were saying, but she could read lips as well as any ninja; mentions of war, famine, disease—which made no sense to her, for what could have happened in the span of five months?

“Shizune. Kakashi.” Tsunade’s descent down the staircase, assisted by the wooden handrail, was slow and awkward. She was a little too hunched over, favoring her right hip and leaning heavily on the wall to support herself. Her gaze darted to Sakura. “Sakura. You came here for nothing. The decision has been made. I’m sorry.”

Kakashi stilled to the point that she wondered if he was even breathing. “They’re going to execute her?”

“Execution… would be a mercy at this point.” Tsunade produced a scroll from her pocket. Shizune’s strangled gasp was loud enough that it caught the attention of the ANBU. It was a thin scroll, no bigger than an index finger, and lined with gold and red trim. Sakura had never seen such a scroll in all her life, but with the way Kakashi went pale and Tsunade looked so defeated, she had to wonder what fate could be so awful, so terrible that even her nonchalant, uncaring teacher would appear to be frightened and disgusted. “The orders are clear and the vote was unanimous. Sakura Haruno will be given to ANBU, given a rank within the War Operations party, and shipped to the frontlines by dawn tomorrow.”

Shizune inhaled sharply. “It’s a death sentence in its own right.”

“Sakura isn’t suited for war,” Kakashi advised, voice breaking slightly. “They couldn’t agree on anything else? Not even execution?”

Tsunade shook her head slowly, guiltily. “Execution was too clean for them. A prison sentence was a slap on the wrist. The people wanted blood—so they gave it to them. Let her spill it for the name of the village, for the people they lost, they said.”

“And what if she survives?” Sakura couldn’t ignore the thread of concern that wove through Shizune’s question. “What about after the war?”

Tsunade looked at Sakura, then, her mouth turned downwards into a deep frown. “Then she may be free; but she can never return to Konoha.”

Nothing else needed to be said. Tsunade passed the scroll to Kakashi and vanished back up the stairs to her office, Shizune following without a glance back. The ANBU removed the chakra cuffs on her wrists, and while it might have felt like a cooling sensation when it returned to her system, all she felt was pins and needles, her nodes brimming to life with malicious energy. She rubbed her wrists tenderly, avoiding the burns as much as she could, and felt Kakashi’s hand land on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Come on.” He veered her towards the back exit, where the crowd wouldn’t be able to see her. “We’ll go to my apartment, fix you up, and grab some supplies. Then… Then we wait.”

Wait for her inevitable departure and then, most likely, her death, of which Kakashi would probably never hear about.

“Kakashi-sensei?” She croaked. She could feel tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, burning her lash line and a knot forming in her throat. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

He paused, hand reaching for the knob of the exit. “Of course, Sakura.”

“Take care of my parents for me, please.” Sakura blinked rapidly to clear the tears from her eyes, the pain in her arm dulled to a numb sensation. If she hadn’t lost all of the nerves in it, she would count it as a blessing, even if she deserved it. “Without me, I don’t think they…”

“Don’t worry.” Kakashi ruffled her hair with a playful hand. It wasn’t quite as effective as it had been when it was shorter, but she could feel the affection within it besides. “I’ll watch over them, Sakura, I promise you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he pushed open the door, sunlight spearing through the crack and enveloping her in its oppressive warmth once more.

That night, if Kakashi had any complaints about Sakura sneaking into his room and hugging him tightly, sobs wracking her lithe frame for the first time in months, he didn’t say anything. If she noticed him hug her back, tears running delicate rivers down the striped pillowcase he laid his head on, she gave no indication, pouring her soul out for possibly the last time in the safety of the arms of someone she loved.

Dawn broke, and with it, so did the remnants of Kakashi’s heart.

prologue | masterlist | 二 (ni)

#naruto #naruto shippuden #sakura haruno #kakashi hatake #sakura haruno x kakashi hatake #kakasaku #kimisaku #sakura haruno x kimimaro kaguya #sakura x kimimaro

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lunarreaper-ut · 3 years ago

Text

Also not undertale related

A continuation of my last post! This is probably the most interesting bits! Again, I’ll put it under the cut for those not interested. Still kinda long, so be warned! (Also if you don’t know about the game, some of these things might get a bit confusing/weird >w<)

NOTE: All SC uniforms require specialized masks, gloves, and are fully sealed if capable. We’ll start from the most common SCs to the least common!

Common Carrier

Common Carriers would be enlisted purely in the event of handling an outbreak. They would be put in the frontline since they are “immune” to the Green Flu. Essentially, they’re expendables that are only used during outbreaks.

Hunter Carrier

Hunter SCs have minor visible physical mutations, making them the most normal looking of the SCs. Their uniforms are designed to allow more physical mobility, and they wear a red band to signify their SC type.

Increased lower body strength

This SC is similar to their infected counterpart in jumping ability, however they can only jump a little over half the distance, and require frequent breaks to continue traveling in such a way.

While still capable to scale buildings, it is done with much more difficulty and requires extensive training to master.

Poor Eyesight

When infected, these SCs begin to lose part of their vision, becoming partially/fully blind.

This, however, improves all other senses. They can hear a pin drop on a carpeted floor from over 100 feet away.

They can smell the difference between a non-infected and an infected person

Claws

While the physical mutations are limited, these SCs’ hands grow thick, sharpened claws capable of rending flesh from bone.

The nails on their feet may also grow similarly, but not in every instance.

Pain Tolerance

Due to the strain put on these SCs’ muscles, their bodies have mutated to be resistant to pain. This doesn’t mean they don’t feel it though.

Smoker Carrier

While this SC’s mutations are more extensive, they aren’t nearly as severe as their infected counterparts. This SC will mutate growths, primarily around the face, neck and chest, (As seen in game), which appear as more of a highly irritated rash or small boils. Their uniforms are more plain, with a yellow band to signify their type.

Thickened Skin

Unlike their infected counterparts, these SCs develop a hardened skin that is resistant to blades and claws. This is believed to be an altered mutation to the severe growths and boils that appear on a smoker.

Smoke

This SC is capable of blowing a large amount of thick smoke over an area, creating a smoke screen. Similar to their infected counterparts, the smoke is harmless, but has a putrid stench.

Tongue

Their tongue mutation is nowhere near that of the infected, but it does seem to have more variety in SCs, ranging from no mutation in the tongue, to being long enough that it no longer fits in their mouth.

Some variants are able to shoot out their tongue much like the infected, however this would only be useful in short distances, and it wouldn’t be nearly as strong.

If their tongue is cut off, however, it is capable of growing back, though the SC would be in extreme pain.

Physical strength

While not the strongest SC, they are still physically stronger than the average soldier, both in and out of combat.

Boomer Carrier

These SCs appear to be bloated, though less so than their infected counterparts, and in some cases will grow boil-like growths. Though they have a build-up of bile like the infected, it is nowhere near as severe. Simply shooting this SC, while it will hurt them as it would any human, won’t cause them to explode. Their uniforms tend to be oversized in the event of increased or decreased bloating, and they wear a green band to signify their type.

Bile

The increased build-up of bile is able to be thrown up like a regular boomer, but in controlled amounts. This has helped the military in mass producing bile bombs if needed.

This SCs’ stomach acid is far more acidic than normal, and rather than just attracting infected, it also can cause burns.

Due to the frequent production of bile, this SC requires a steady amount of food in order to keep their energy up as their body continuously produces bile.

This also means they need to frequently expunge bile from their system, as to prevent further bloating.

Charger Carrier

These SCs are the most similar to their infected counterparts mutation wise. This SC mutates increased muscle mass in one arm, most often their dominant arm. In most cases, the mutations don’t go as far as to hinder that arm’s usage, but it remains very obvious. These SCs’ uniforms have a sleeve removed for their large arm, and a brown band to signify their type. These SCs are also rarely allowed to walk freely amongst uninfected soldiers, due to risk of infection through physical contact.

Arm

The mutated arm will often be stronger than the other, the SC able to lift a fully grown person with said arm.

Despite the increased strength, this SC will have a lot of adjusting to do due to the mutation. They will have a difficult time learning how to work around the arm, and use it properly. Many SCs of this type report balance issues within the first month of mutation.

Increased Body Mass

While this SC’s growth primarily lies in their arm mass, this SC will also grow in height and weight in order to support the larger arm.

The bone structure of this SC will become thicker and many SC of this type will deal with severe growing pains as they mutate. These growing pains may persist after mutation, but will lessen greatly.

The legs will also become strong enough to run despite the off-balance weight of the arm.

Jockey Carrier

These SC come from the disabled population of Carriers, those who were bound to wheelchairs. They appear to be hunchbacked due to increased muscle growth in the upper back and neck, causing them to be top heavy. Most of these SCs use a cane in daily life to walk around properly. These SCs’ uniforms are fairly plain, fitted to their abnormal figure, and they wear an orange band to signify their type.

Jump

Similar jumping capability of the Hunter SC, but not nearly as good, and they aren’t as physically capable either.

These SCs are primarily used for scouting rather than combat.

Spitter Carrier

These SCs are similar to the Boomer SCs, however they produce acid rather than bile. This causes them a lot of discomfort and they have specific diets to adhere to in order to prevent inflammatory disease and relieve digestive pain. Their uniforms are fairly plain, with a bright green band to signify their type.

Acid

These SC are incapable of spitting their acid as a projectile, but they produce a lot of it like the Boomer SC, and thus the military has developed a special container for their acid. They use these as grenades.

This acid is corrosive to herself, however, and she produces it at a frequent rate. The Military has developed some medication in order to reduce the amount of acid she produces.

Tank Carrier

These SCs are rare. They mutate an advanced form of Gigantism, becoming increasingly tall and strong. Their uniforms are designed large enough to fit their form, and have a grey band to identify their type, not that it’s really needed. These SCs are also susceptible to anger issues, and will often need to be kept tabs on and provided proper mental treatment.

Increased Strength

While incapable of pulling a chunk of asphalt out of the road, these SCs are capable of crushing a human skull with one fist

This increased strength requires a lot of energy, and thus they require a large diet. The military, if this SC is within their ranks, ensures their diet is taken care of due to their usefulness. These SCs are also highly monitored.

Endurance

These SC are capable of fighting seemingly endlessly.

The more they fight, however, the longer they need to recover their stamina. (Typically by eating)

Pain Tolerance

These SC are capable of taking multiple bullet wounds before starting to feel weak.

They are also highly tolerant of pain, feeling at most a bad sting when shot.

Witch Carrier

These SCs are even rarer than the Tank SC, and also unstable. They appear as a human woman, but with a pale complexion and with white hair. Their eyes can be either a deep red or an almost luminous yellow. They appear to be very thin. These SCs can be very dangerous if angered, and are capable of temporarily losing control of themselves and becoming much more like their infected counterparts. They require a large amount of food, due to a high metabolism. They prefer sugary foods most, and get irritable when hungry. These SCs also have what seems to be a constant fever, making them sensitive to heat. Their Uniforms, despite this, provide full coverage, but are made of a thin, strong, breathable material to help alleviate this. They wear a white band to mark their type.

Increased Strength

These SCs are strong enough to throw a human a fair distance, or keep them pinned down long enough for them to slit their throat.

Claws

While their infected counterparts have long fingers which end in claws, these SCs have retractable claws.

If these SCs don’t have a proper diet, however, their claws will be weaker, susceptible to breaking or even being incapable of using them.

Their claws could easily slice through metal, and unlike their wilder counterparts, these SCs don’t behave animalistically when using them.

Pain Tolerance

Despite their small form, these SCs are similar to Tank SCs, able to take several bullet wounds before becoming weak, however they are not nearly as strong and can take damage much easier than the Tank SCs

Their hands no longer feel pain, due to their ability to grow and retract their claws. This does, however, mean they also have limited feeling in their hands as well.

Speed

These SCs are by far the fastest, capable of running down even the Hunter SCs within seconds flat

Eyes

These SC have incredible eyesight, capable of seeing in almost near darkness

They are also incredibly perceptive, with heightened hearing and smell

This does, however, make them sensitive to harsh light and loud sounds. If these SCs do not have good emotional discipline, they may become much more like their infected counterparts, flying into a rage to destroy what has disturbed them.

And that’s everything! Thanks so much for taking the time to read this! I thought it was interesting enough to share, and I put a lot of work into it back when I created it... last year I think? I hope you enjoyed!

#Luna's rambles #Luna's writing #l4d #Left 4 Dead #Not undertale #Whew #that's a lot of info #Project Carrier

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