#// past. || ( not every open wound is simply healed by time ; but revenge is always sweet and chaos is the prize. )
Text
In Every Universe, Forever and Always
Summary: You and Hinata have a very long history together. Across worlds, universes, and timelines, love always finds a way.
Or: A reincarnation/ soulmate AU with Hinata Shouyo and different times you have met and fallen in love.
A/N: I have no idea where the idea for this came from, but I'm now down to only five drafts and WIP, so stay tuned my lovelies!
TW: Murder, blood, bullying, fighting, violence, one (1) implied question about rape (none occurs), swearing, and no proofreading. If I missed anything, let me know!
The first time you had met Hinata Shouyo, neither of you had had names. You had been drifting presences, with no corporeal forms. It was hard to explain how it felt, what it was like. It was being everywhere, but belonging nowhere. It was being able to sense everything, but not touch it. Like someone breathing down the back of your neck but no one standing behind you.
He was a bright light, something that forced away the darkness. He had drifted from galaxy to galaxy, from blank space to blank space, spreading his light, even if some lasted longer than others.
Later, he told you that he wasn't sure what he was searching for, or if he had been searching for anything, but he had secretly hoped that he was searching for you.
He had been alone for his entire existence, but as he drifted, he found you.
You were a softer light than his, not as bright, and not nearly as warm, but you were there, and after such a long time of being alone, it was a great relief to know that he wasn't alone anymore.
He had slowly fallen in love with you, even if there hadn't been a term for it at the time, and you had fallen for him too.
But all too suddenly, there was another being, but it was something much darker than you and Hinata, it swallowed light and destroyed warmth. It was malevolent brutality compared to the kind gentleness that you and Hinata radiated.
You and Hinata had fled from the new being, trying to rekindle the lights that the being had extinguished, but it was no use.
Eventually, it caught up with you.
Instead of surrendering peacefully, you and Hinata fought together, trying to keep it at bay, but your light wasn't as strong as Hinata's, and you fell to the being before Hinata could reach you.
Overcome by grief at your loss, Hinata used everything he had in him to destroy the being, casting his light as far in every direction as possible, using every emotion in his arsenal.
Neither of you remembered whether you had defeated the being or not.
The next time you both remember having met, you were gods.
Hinata was once again a bright light, the humans worshipped him as the sun god, and he was indeed worthy of the title.
You, on the other hand, were the goddess of violent deaths. Humans feared your wrath, and the other gods isolated you because of the humans fear. You were the patron goddess of assassins, murderers, thieves, and sometimes considered the goddess of revenge as well.
Feared in the human realms and despised among the other heavenly beings, you fled into the sky.
You saw the galaxies the humans were ignorant to, you turned away from the worlds with intelligent life for fear of being called upon, and you slowly realized that you could create, as well as destroy.
Every time you accidentally ended the life of a star, you created something else. Sometimes it was a hole that sucked in everything, and even you had no idea where it ended, but sometimes other worlds were born, other galaxies were made.
Hinata, sick and tired of the other heavenly beings that flocked to him, ran from the heavenly realms, stumbling upon you.
You had tried to flee from him, worried how he would react to you, but instead he asked you to stay.
"But why?" you had asked, tucking yourself away behind a small star, ready to flee if he attempted to harm you.
"I remember you," he had said, ignoring your question. "The pretty little goddess that so many feared."
You winced at the reminder of your past, moving to hurry away, but Hinata had simply wrapped a hand around your wrist.
"Please stay," he begged.
"But . . . I might hurt you," you had whimpered.
"Nonsense," Hinata had said, so confidently that you had almost believed him. "Those aren't your abilities."
You had been so confused that you had stayed while Hinata explained that you weren't the one that caused the deaths, you were the one that went to the deathbed of the victim to ease them into death.
Hinata was the first person to see you as the one that ended the suffering, not the one that caused it.
Hinata had stayed with you for millennia, earning your trust, and falling for you yet again.
Somehow, along the way, you had fallen in love with him too.
"Come back with me," he begged, arms around your waist as you both laid among the stars.
"I can't," you told him. "I'm not welcome there. I'm feared by the humans, and the others are disgusted by what I am."
"You're beautiful, and you relieve the pain of those that are suffering. Why would they be disgusted by you?"
"Because no one else sees me the way you do, my love," you had said, stroking his face lightly. "They see me as some repulsive, but necessary, nuisance. They keep me around because someone needs to do the job, but they don't want to be the ones to do it."
"Come back with me so we can prove them wrong," Hinata pleaded. "I'm the king of the heavens, I can make you my queen! Then they would have to respect you!"
"I envy your faith in them, my king," you murmured, giving him a small smile. "But sometimes I think you are blind to the darkness in people."
"And you cannot seem to see the light in others," Hinata had countered.
In the end, you had returned to the heavenly realms with him, only to be met with the scorn and repulsion that you had been expecting.
Some accused you of manipulating him, others said that Hinata stayed with you because he was scared of you, of what you might do.
After only a year, you couldn't take it anymore.
You slipped away from the bed you and Hinata had been sharing.
You had drawn the words 'Forever and always' on his chest, right above his heart, kissing it, before you fled.
You would remember later that the other gods had been plotting against you since your return.
One lower level D-list goddess had gone around slaughtering your fellow heavenly beings, planting evidence that you had done it.
A guard had 'caught you fleeing the scene in guilt', and forced you to your knees in front of the mastermind behind it all.
You and Hinata had, over the years you had spent together, remembered your previous life, and had reminisced over it in your time among the stars.
No one had anticipated Hinata fighting so hard for you.
He raged against his former bootlickers, defending you against everything.
One of the war gods became irritated with his staunch protection of you.
In an attempt to end it, the god had attempted to kill you with a throwing knife.
Hinata had other plans, and had jumped in front of the blade, which sank into his chest, right where you had traced the words earlier before you had attempted to flee to your former sanctuary.
Your screams had echoed through the gold and marble hallways of the heavenly realms as Hinata hit the floor in a spray of blood.
Everyone else was so in shock that you had been able to wrench free of the guards and get to him.
"Hina, my love, stay with me," you had pleaded, cradling Hinata's body against your own. "Please, stay with me. I love you, please."
"Forever and always," Hinata had gasped, touching his wound softly. "Promise me."
"I promise," you had murmured, smoothing his hair away from his face.
In the background, the other gods were fighting amongst themselves, arguing over who had started it, whether it was justified, and it felt as though you and Hinata were in your own little bubble.
"We'll meet again," Hinata had promised, wincing in pain.
Healing wasn't your specialty, you had never had anyone to teach you, and you hated yourself now more than ever as Hinata bled out in your arms.
"I know we will," you replied, kissing his forehead. "Nothing will keep me away."
"I'm glad you're here," he murmured, touching your cheek lightly, softly, despite the blood on his fingers. "I told you, you relieve the pain, you don't cause it."
"Hina, Hina, stay with me, please, you can't leave me here," you pleaded. "Hina!"
Tears streamed down your face as Hinata faded into a soft, warm, golden light that settled over you for a moment before disappearing.
You heard something inside your chest crack, and you were pretty sure, later, that it was the sound of your heart breaking open and bleeding that echoed in your ears.
Your screaming drew the attention of the other gods, and soon they had turned on you, despite the obviously genuine grief you were experiencing.
Someone reached out to touch you, but they stopped when the palace around them shuttered, granite and marble cracked, and something deep underneath them groaned like a beast roaring.
Fear settled over the group of heavenly beings like a dark cloud.
Tears streamed down your face as the last of Hinata's warmth faded.
Darkness leaked from you and something in you snapped.
These beings deserved no mercy from you. Not after what they had done, not after what they had caused.
Most gods experimented with their powers as they grew older, but you had never done that. You had tried to rein them all in, and only ever used them when they were close to destroying you.
With Hinata gone, there was nothing left in this world for you.
You erupted.
Every repressed cursed, every welled up power, forced out with the fury of an immortal being.
Screams rang throughout the heavens as you fractured the seams of the world, extinguished the humans below and detonated stars that you had loved so dearly before Hinata had appeared.
Of all the screams that were resonating about, yours was the loudest.
The sorrow, the anguish, the anger and disappointment, the love, the indifference all mixed together in a cacophony of rage and loss.
In this world, it really did end in screams.
The next time you and Hinata crossed paths, you were known as the Queen of the underworld.
Hinata was the Captain of the Royal Guard, and he had been tasked with tracking you down and putting a stop to you.
He had found you at a masquerade, dressed in scarlet, a burnt gold mask hiding the top half of your face.
Posing as a contact, you danced with him, until he finally figured out who you were.
"My orders are to take you back to the castle," Hinata had said. "There are people within the walls that seem to think you are one of the purest evils on these streets."
"You think differently?" you had asked.
"I've noticed that of all of your victims, none of them were ever children or mothers."
"So?"
"I don't think that you're evil, I think there's more to you than you or anyone else thinks."
"Is that so?"
Hinata had nodded, keeping an arm firmly around your waist, hand in yours.
"Come to the palace with me, help me, and I can help you," Hinata had said.
"Let me leave this party and I'll be able to help you from my own home," you had bargained.
"Meet me one a week at a neutral location," Hinata had argued.
"Deal," you had said, "but no other guards, no weapons, just two people."
"Just two people," he had agreed.
You may have been the Queen of the underworld, but you were a woman of your word.
You and Hinata met once a week for two years before you decided to go with him to the castle.
"Hinata, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Would you like to meet my son?"
That had stopped Hinata dead in his tracks.
At first, you were worried that he was going to be angry, but instead he seemed concerned for your safety.
"How old is he?" Hinata asked.
"Two years old," you admitted. "I had just had him when we first met."
"Was . . . did you . . . ."
Hinata, unable to ask the real question, seemed to be praying you understood.
"I thought his father loved me," you murmured, laying a hand on your stomach absently. "I was seventeen when we met. He was only three years older than me, and he had connections that I could use to my advantage. He didn't know who -or what I suppose- I was. When I found out I was pregnant, I thought he would be happy, I thought we would get married.
"Instead, when I told him, he beat me so badly I almost miscarried, and left me for dead in the streets. My loyal men found me, made sure I was cared for, and killed the father. I promised myself that I would never let another man in like that. And then I met you. You, despite your position, didn't want anything other than information from me. You wanted to help the people on the streets and put a stop to the corruption."
You glanced at Hinata, at those warm brown eyes.
Memories flashed behind your eyes, and you gave him a small smile.
"Have you started to remember yet?" you asked him quietly.
In the last three lifetimes, his eyes were always the same color. His hair and face shape were different, as were his height, and sometimes his personality, just like you, but his eyes were the same warm shade of brown.
"I wasn't sure whether you remembered or not," he murmured, nodding.
"I remember everything."
"It's nice to meet you again, (Y/N)."
"Hello to you too Hinata Shouyo."
You, your son, and Hinata were all assassinated in your bed during your first night at the castle.
The last words you said to each other were 'Forever and always'.
More lifetimes passed, more meetings, more deaths, more children, until this lifetime.
You were the manager for Seijoh, and -ironically enough- Kageyama's twin sister, despite looking almost nothing like him.
"Hey, Hinata Boke! Why are you drooling over my sister like that?" the setter snapped, drawing Hinata, and you, out of your memories.
"Ease up Tobio," you had chided, hitting your brother's shoulder lightly before holding your hand out to Shouyo.
"(Y/N), nice to meet you Hinata."
Hinata could read the unspoken 'again' in your eyes.
"You too, (Y/L/N)," he said, not bothering to hide the smile that was spreading across his face.
Every lifetime, every universe, you were destined to fall in love with Hinata Shouyo.
Sometimes you were enemies, sometimes you were friends, sometimes you were strangers, but in the end, you were his, just like he was yours.
Forever and always.
#hinata x reader#shouyou x reader#shoyo x reader#shouyo x reader#shoyou x reader#shouyou hinata x reader#hinata shouyo x reader#hinata shouyou x reader#hinata shoyo x reader#shoyo hinata x reader#soulmate au#haikyuu x reader#reincarnation au#x reader#i have no clue where this came from
72 notes
·
View notes
Text
Commission for @GlitterBomba!
Part 2 of this!! I don't feel it's as angsty as it should be, but for some reason, my creativity wanted it that way? It's been a long time since I've last written, and this was definitely a challenge... First part was produced way too long ago, so it was also challenging to connect with what I felt when I wrote it! But here it is, and I hope you like it, GlitterBomba. Thanks for trusting me!
My Ko-fi page~ Buy me a coffee if anyone wants part 3 ❤（っ＾▿＾）
It took you days to awaken from your deep sleep, days which became weeks, and weeks transformed into months. There was no hope for your life among the healers, but the tenacity and insistence of those elders who saved you forced them to continue providing methods and energy, herbs, talismans to keep you breathing.
Impossible to explain how that mortal blow did not steal your last breath, not when the perpetrator was the greatest tyrant in the current world, the monster everyone learned to fear and flee from. In the small place where you are kept hidden, rumor has it the treacherous one repented as soon as his hand affected your body, causing you not to succumb immediately.
It wasn’t until after he vanished, shrouded in lightning and hatred, when one of Ashura’s subordinates came upon the scene of your sad fate. A pool of blood acting as a bed over a pale body, devoid of any warmth and life. Everyone was quick to write you off for dead after such an event, and only when one of the village elders took your pulse did he find your incredible attempt to resist despite all odds.
Keeping you along with the new leader and his people would not be a good idea. Not when you barely escaped with your life from the beast. In case he came back and besieged his younger brother, it would be better if he didn’t find you there. That man proved to have an unquenchable thirst for revenge.
Tempting fate once is more than enough.
That led a group of elderly men, those who defended your slight pulse when everyone thought you were dead, to ask Ashura’s permission before disappearing and taking you to a safe place, making use of some of the village healers to ensure your health. 8 men of different ages vanish with you, swearing on their lives to do everything possible for you to open your eyes again.
Winters turned into warm seasons, and autumn leaves were waning. Two whole years quickly go by before your consciousness returns. The world is different. You understand through your guardians that life passed with you as a ghostly presence, a bedridden legend they fought all this time to preserve.
No one mentions what happened to you, though. No one names him.
To everyone’s surprise, you don’t really ask about the village; you don’t ask about your birthplace and your home. You don’t ask... about him.
Your healers discover you memory was damaged after exhaustive examinations beyond your comprehension. Theories why this happened are various in your little home; some argue the loss of blood hurt your brain, others believe the trauma of that betrayal forced you to block it all out, and there are those who think maybe you ignored the past on purpose.
Still, there is an unspoken rule forbidding the mention of what happened, of the village, of those two brothers. After experiencing hell, what would be the benefit of forcibly bringing you back to that horrible past? In this remote place, you have the chance to start from scratch, and your rescuers believe it is the least you deserve.
Little by little, you gradually learn everything all over again. Your own name, your age, information about those around you. You ask with animosity about everything you don’t understand, and the only thing there is reluctance to answer is when you want to know about who you were before... this.
Healers get the problem off their shoulders, rushing you to ask such questions to the older people. They shoo you out of their humble hut with nervousness and red faces, panic in their eyes.
Seniors sigh as they stare into nothingness, sadness and nostalgia, painting their countenances with something you cannot grasp. Some even drop a couple of tears to the rhythm of a depressing whisper, “oh poor child...”
The scene makes you feel so guilty you end up consoling them, assuring it’ s not a big deal and you don’t need to be told. That your life in this small place with them is all you need to be happy, past or no past.
Regardless, it is the scar monstrously painting your stomach which makes you uneasy. While tracing the edges of that sensitive skin with your fingertips, you feel its reason for existence is on the tip of your tongue. As if reminders of what happened to you are lingering there, buried in your head, but creeping closer to your memory every time you look at your navel.
What happened? What terrible thing could have left such an enormous mark on your skin, but not in your head?
It’s frustrating.
Eventually, curiosity to explore beyond your own narrow world peaks. It’s quite natural, considering four older men and four medicine buffs rarely make for an interesting group of company. Older men drink tea most of the day, when they’re not napping in the sun, of course. The rest read rigorously and debate among themselves about their newly gained knowledge.
Getting permission is a complicated task. They are terribly afraid of your departure, scared of your fate, frightened of what dangers you might encounter.
But how to keep you there forever, when you have seen the vivid movement the closest town has?
Perhaps it was your rescuers’ mistake for allowing you to go exploring within the boundaries they considered safe, yet you inevitably discovered such a place, so close and yet so far away, so full of people and... life. Persons of all ages walking from one side to the other, food you never saw before displayed in various stalls, children playing with each other, unaware of the surrounding universe. Everything looks completely natural, as if folks are used to this kind of lifestyle since long ago, and you wonder if you ever lived in a similar environment.
Just what hides in your past?
After insistence and great pleas against the overprotection imparted on you, they understand it is simply hopeless to make you give up your idea unless they expose all those shocking events, unless they explain from what kind of danger it is necessary for you to hide, from whom it is imperative you escape.
No one knew anymore about that demon after his disappearance the same day, and it is uncertain where he is. Whether he is hiding or far from your current home, it is unknown to anyone, and it would invoke bad luck if your guardians expected you to meet him face to face once you get away from them.
Preparation of weeks and many directions, you finally depart from your unnoticed hideout in the world, leaving behind anxious seniors and worried healers.
It was agreed you could explore for a couple of months, but your eventual return is a binding closure on the deal you reluctantly struck. Each new destination brings with it new discoveries, tastes, experiences. You always find charitable souls willing to help when you are short of food, water or shelter, people who offer to give directions when you get disoriented, people who share stories with you on lonely, nostalgic nights.
With each step you take in the outside world, less you understand what your guardians are afraid of. Everyone is well meaning, and no one seeks to take advantage of your innocence. It is incomprehensible why this was denied to you for so long, and every time you think of your precious little home, an emptiness grows in your heart.
Weeks slowly pass, and having experienced so much in such a short time, you find the need to recount it to those you consider your family. As initially agreed, it may be time to return, to prove the world is not as terrible as they feared.
A few miles from homeland, just as you feel you are walking the grounds of your family again, you stop at a stream to get a drink of water, determined not to slow down until you reach your destination. It is too much of a thrill to witness those 8 insane people bickering and arguing. You absentmindedly smile as you rinse your face.
In your distraction, you cannot hear footsteps approaching at your back. It’s not like you would have detected them if you were paying attention either, for the person stalking you is deliberately careful, calculating.
Turning, your face affects directly into a solid mass of muscle, sending you tumbling down the riverbank again. Any woman would have assumed the worst when connecting glances with a man who invades her personal space unannounced, but from your mouth comes a concerned “Are you okay?”
The man, who is watching you as if a ghost were sitting next to you in the water and you were unaware of it, bleeds. Profusely, indeed. Both of his hands are deeply cut, distinct wounds on his palms dripping thickly to the ground.
There is no answer to your question, and the man’s countenance is difficult to decipher. His eyes glow a red which fades too quickly to analyze, his complexion is completely pale and unhealthy, his hair points in all directions, forming a long brown tangle which you deduce has not been combed for some time. For moments, it is as if there are words trying to pierce his lips, but the stupor of the individual continues.
“Your hands... we really should take care of them, shouldn’t we? Aiya, let this humble one help you heal.”
There is no reaction as you stand up and take him by the arm, guiding him to a large rock away from the water and helping him to sit up. His gaze is still completely fixed on your face, searching for something you’ re oblivious to. His mouth opens and closes rapidly, agitated breaths accompanied by sounds resembling syllables.
“Look at this mess alone... sir, you should be cautious walking along the bed of these waters. They are treacherous, hm?”
Ripping off one of your sleeves, previously dampened when you fell into the water, you use the cloth to clean his wounds. There’s not much you can do here, out in the open and in these conditions, but judging by the man’s appearance, he was probably recently attacked. When you mention your little home a few miles away, the man doesn’t refuse or accept.
Still, when you head back to the road, you find the fellow following you from behind, head down and staring at the ground. In his hands he tightly clenches the cloth of your sleeve, and blood stains the fabric completely at this point. You talk about the healers in your place, and how they can help him get better, but no matter how much you try, the man never responds. You ponder whether, perhaps, the situation he experienced before he ran into you may have been intense, and you attribute his perturbation to that.
After walking without pause all afternoon, your silent companion always keeping your own pace, your destination appears in front of you. From afar, you can see the elders sitting on the engawa of their cottage, sharing tea and quietly waiting for dusk. All is silent, and your announcement of arrival is the only thing disturbing the atmosphere.
Your arms wave vigorously to catch the attention of those you regard as family, a splendorous smile planted on your face, walking at an increased speed to catch up with them. An extended curtsey bow is given before them, and only after raising your head you dare to give them all a group hug, false formality forgotten as much as your guest.
The man slowly approaches this scene and analyzes the faces of those present as the embrace takes place. Had you not been turning your back on him, you may have noticed the change in his countenance, coldness creeping over his features from one moment to the next. None of the elders noticed his noiseless presence, not even having sensed it to begin with, and it is not until one of them finishes smiling and opens his eyes to come face to face with their worst fear.
Suddenly the hug is interrupted when this old man lets out a shriek, trying to back away and losing his balance. You follow his line of sight while turning, and find that innocent-looking stranger again, disoriented. There are screams all around you. Seniors are horrified and collapse on the floor next to each other, completely surrendered to the gaze of the demon fixed on them.
“Don’t behave like that! It would appear it wasn’t you guys who taught me manners... I’m so sorry, sir, they’re not used to dealing with travelers, let alone wounded ones... if you’d be so kind as to follow me?”
Throwing a withering glance at the group of elders, you direct your guest to the house the healers occupy. True, your little family is not used to encountering men in the state this very one is in, but you never expected such an exaggeration. A bit of unkempt hair and blood, pale skin, and they’re all screaming on the floor?
The reaction of the healers is not much different, and after reprimanding them for behaving so shamefully, you get them to treat the man’s hands. Leaving them alone so as not to disturb the setting, you make your way to the third and final cottage, your own. Since the other houses occupy four people each, it would be problematic to ask them to accommodate your own guest, and you take your time assembling an extra bed, improvising with blankets.
Nighttime is delightfully quiet, and as the door opens without warning, you greet the individual with a smile. Elders have taken the trouble to bring food for both you and him, announcing neither they nor the healers were in the mood to share dinner together.
The man’s hands are bandaged, his palms completely covered, and his thumbs trapped in the wrappings. He looks uncomfortable, and it shows in his inability to do anything on his own. His chopsticks are impossible to hold as he kneels on the floor and tries to eat, and after many urgings from you, he nods silently and almost imperceptibly, allowing you to help him.
“You see... you’re here, eating my food, under my roof, safe and comfortable... and I still don’t know your name...”
Teasing is imminent in your voice, hoping to relax him, if only a little. As he takes another bite and chews, his eyes are fixed on the table, like trying to hide from your presence.
After analyzing the end of your day alongside this presence, you assessed this man must be terribly shy, perhaps someone properly introverted. Still, observing his features, you get a strange familiarity, a feeling making you let your guard down and relax in front of him. A secret knocking at the door of your mind, demanding to burst in front of you but being invisible at the same time.
“... Uchiha...”
Without expecting an answer anymore, after several minutes, his voice surprises you. It sounds like that of someone who rarely uses it, raspy and rusty, as if it had been forgotten long ago, and not even the man himself remembers its ringing.
“Um?”
“Lord Uchiha...”
His name, you realize. Formal, a title.
Lord Uchiha continues in the same position, just like his words had been an illusion. It is impossible to keep giving him food, his attitude surly and refusing, and you wonder if he plans to spend the entire night in the same position if you allow him to.
Demandingly, you get him up and offer him your bed for the night.
He tries to take the spot you set up on the floor, and displays physical strength far beyond what you thought he had. There are firm muscles hiding under his stained white tunic, and they flex slightly every time he tries to change the course you both walk. He is probably holding back, you realize, for the way his forearm tenses. The stubbornness of this individual… as if he were someone unaccustomed to taking orders, leading rather than listening. Either way, he ends up tucked inside your room, buried under sheets and quilts so he doesn’t get cold.
You find your own resting place after closing the door and leaving your guest. There is not much room inside your small home, and yet, the greatest comforts are offered to those who really need them.
That night, a fearsome nightmare assaults your dreams. A pitch-black claw pierces your stomach from both sides, long nails tearing through skin and tissue like cloth. Blood pools at your feet, solidifying and making escape impossible. You feel your lips move in a choked scream, and a single word escapes your throat along with another red waterfall.
“... Indra...”
#Indra#otsutsuki indra#indra otsutsuki#otsutsuki clan#naruto#Naruto Shippuden#indra x reader#indra otsutsuki x reader
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq
previously on...
Chapter 3 is finally here. Sorcerers need their shopping done, too. Beyonce/Wong platonic ship (joking)! And finally some action, more witchy stuff. Bucky whump because I have a saviour complex. Stucky cuteness moment. Some blood/gore in this chapter.
My insides clenched, seeing the yellow and blue notice taped to my door - the building manager rarely left notes, so whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. I had managed to wind myself up into an anxious frenzy by the time I had gone inside and locked my door behind me, immediately thinking I would have to exhaust myself by turning to magic to keep a roof over my head.
For once, the news turned out to be positive: a neighbor was being evicted and turned in to the police for stealing packages. The building manager urged the tenants to report any missing items and apply for a refund when possible, apologizing for the inconvenience. I wondered what prompted this, basically unheard of in NYC, act of kindness as my altar stared at me with mocking amusement, pointing out the obvious by its mere presence.
Grinning to myself, I texted Odette - predictably, she was happy for me, happy that my protection spell had turned out strong and steady, and added a few tips of her own for my spell to stay that way. It felt like I'd grown invisible wings, those days, with all the possibilities open - and never once did I let myself entertain a thought of getting back at an enemy of the past for longer than five seconds.
Sure, it was perfectly human to consider making the cheating ex go bankrupt or make sure the college professor, that failed a couple of students each semester as a 'reality check', trips and face-plants at least once a day... I mean, who wouldn't experience a malicious sort of joy from petty revenge?
But I found my powers were best applied with a positive result in mind. My friend's cat was the first test rat- I mean, living creature I had practiced my healing spells on. The eleven year old kitty was struggling and both me and my friend loved the critter dearly - so the short, but tiring spell I performed yielded exactly the results I was expecting. Odette said something about genuine love backing up the magic, and- well, Dumbledore much?
On humans, it turned out, it wasn't nearly as simple. I didn't know what I had expected would happen after performing nothing short of a whole improv-performace type of ritual right in front of my very puzzled but hopeful friend with chronic asthma, but it wasn't the sheer exhaustion that ran bone-deep and left me bedridden for a whole day.
Odette visited my dingy apartment with her signature enormous purse full of vials she spoon-fed me and trinkets she strategically placed in and around my immediate sleeping area. "There, there," the woman patted my head as I pitifully moaned at the ear-splitting headache. "The first one is always the most challenging. After all, if it would be easy, everyone would do it."
I understood that. But at the same time, it felt unfair that no good deed went unpunished. I told Odette so, raising my voice to the best of my ability as she rummaged around my kitchen.
"Nothing in this world comes out of thin air, whatever you decide to give has to be taken from somewhere," she explained patiently. "People like us are considered hedge witches. We do solitary work and draw most of our energy from the Earth, from mother Nature. We cannot perform miracles, however, the cost of our spells are very low," I felt an immediate peak of interest at the simple yet effective explaination she gave me. "We remain mostly human. Gaia* is kind and generous to the ones who pay respect," Odette continued over the clatter of pans and pots. "There are other kinds of witches - who take from other people, who take from the dead. But taking something by force always leaves scars and taking something from the dead means bringing a piece of them back to places it should not be."
I pondered the words as Odette brought the kettle to a boil, the whistling shriek piercing through my skull like a sharp projectile. "What about Voodoo practitioners?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity.
Odette cleared her throat. "What is left of them is mostly not human. Their gifts are great but the costs are greater. They can live far, far longer than the average witch but their souls will know no peace, just like the souls of the dead they anchor to themselves over time," Odette entered the room with a bowl of tangy, creamy liquid that smelled like pumpkin soup. "We do not bestow any judgement upon our brothers and sisters but it is our duty to inform the young." She cast a pointed glance towards me, passing me the soup and a wooden spoon I didn't know I had. "This should help you recover. Take tomorrow off if needs be."
She left shortly afterwards and I hadn't much strength than to use the bathroom, wash the rune-engraved spoon and curl up in my bed, only waking up when the meager light shone over my face from the window. Sleepy and fog-tinted, the early morning NYC was damp and windy as I stuck my head out of the window to soak my sleep-heated head in the cool air.
As uneventful as the day at the café was, I still wasn't up to 100% energy-wise, but the long walk from Jeremy's to Odette's was pleasantly invigorating. I didn't find the cold autumn moisture displeasing; the small raindrops kept me awake and alert. Odette nodded in muted pleasure as I clocked in and returned the special spoon back to her. The runes on it were interesting; I had taken a picture of them for research purposes, fully intending to craft myself something similar.
"Odette has taken on an apprentice," Wong's voice had me take in several deep breaths in preparation for the inevitable fuck-fest on my patience. "She has been avoiding me. And the girl is painfully slow."
I didn't hear the answer of Wong's companion over the rustling of the boxes I was hastily shoving in their places before the Asian man's temper grew foul. More foul. Ugh. The sharp ding of the bell had me yelling a, "Just a second please, I'll be right with you," while trying to keep my tone polite.
Wong's sour face and a list of items required greeted me as I flew out of the backrooms, noticing the locked doors of Odette's office on my way out. Wong's companion stood at the far end of the store - his robes quite different from the ones I'd seen people of their kind wear, his lithe, tall figure seeming strangely familiar. I squinted my eyes at his back. "Is this all you need?" I waved the list around, increasing the volume of my voice.
The tall man turned around and I could only gape. He, in turn, also froze, the stern, unfriendly expression losing heat and giving way to perplexed wonder. "I had placed an order, for sorcerer Strange," Tony's boyfriend eyed me somewhat sheepishly under Wong's concerned gaze.
I nodded, eyeing Wong in turn, letting satisfaction nestle a warm ball in my chest. Stephen's look of displeasure had turned onto his... Colleague. By the time I finished retrieving Strange's order and packing up the items on Wong's list, the Asian man had left, leaving Stephen to sheepishly pretend to examine the books on the furthest shelf. I waved the paper bags as he took long strides towards me, his fancy, large necklace glimmering under the lights.
"So, how long have you been working here?" Sorcerer Strange asked after I told him the total.
The cash register beeped loudly, coins clattering on the desk as I counted out his change. "Some time now," I shrugged noncommittally. I felt his magnetic eyes gloss over my adornments, the star necklace, the various rings; I could practically feel him coming to his own conclusions. "Long enough for your colleague to get an attitude with me," I had to make sure he knew I would be taking no bullshit from him - or anyone else, for that matter. Odette's opinion on his kind was firm and I was heavily inclined to agree.
"Hmm, I see," Strange was equally as keen on hiding his curiosity. It was a funny thing, really, that we, being adults that we were, treated this encounter like some sort of a dirty secret. "Don't take it personally. Wong is like that with everyone," The man briefly scratched his beard with a gloved hand before pocketing his change and picking up the bags. "Except Beyoncè, maybe," the wink he threw me was positively mischievous as it caught me off-guard, giving him a fox-like appearance.
I sighed as the door shut behind him. Pretty white boys - the ultimate human disasters.
I had no time to dwell on them, however, as something - or someone, hit downtown with all the malicious intentions to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians calmly going about their day. Mutants and people who knew Odette came in hordes, scrapes and bruises and strange wounds that required imminent healing.
My boss was no rookie, she dutifully accepted each and every single soul, looking worse for wear with each minute. Not being able to withstand seeing her drain herself, I simply took over the simplest tasks - and she said nothing, just gave me a nod, instructed to use whatever I needed and write it down somewhere along with the name of the person who required the healing.
As the battle raged, the crowds thinned but the ones who managed to come to Odette's spouted more serious wounds, obviously a result of them fighting back. Mutants covered head to toe with coats and hats and robes, for me to swallow my shock when they undressed - horns, tails and weird skin textures were on the far end of the normal. I dutifully extracted small pieces of information from each and every person I treated.
Yes, the Avengers were winning. No, there aren't many people hurt, most of the damage is cosmetic. Yes, the villain of the week is as stupid as usual. It was like a mantra. Odette poked her head into the spare room every now and then, her eagle eyes briefly scanning over me to make sure I wasn't exterting myself.
As I applied the healing salve to a tiny, pink-skinned woman, bandaging up her hands, my boss entered and closed the door behind her, setting down on the creaky chair with a loud thud. "Just got the news, the Avengers apprehended the terrorist," she sighed long and slow. "We've done all we could, the next few days I'll be handling house calls so you'll be here on your own. I'll probably see you in a few days, don't hesitate to give me a call if something comes up," Odette seemed to be barely standing up, yet when she tore off a few pieces of her jewelry and chucked them into a big tin can under the sink, the glossy sheen in her eyes melted away.
"Okay," I mumbled under the watchful eyes of the mutant woman. "Will there be more people coming in today?"
"No," the woman in front of me snorted. "SHIELD is prowling the streets. They are not fond of us, they always say we intervene unnecessarily even though we willingly do their dirty work so our children could be safe," the bitter, harsh tone took me off-guard.
I had to admit, there was reason behind her words. "Will you be able to get home safely? I have a puffy coat and a hat you can borrow." Figuring an expensive taxi ride would be a better alternative to something terrible happening to the woman, I offered her my winter clothes.
She smiled at me, razor blade teeth and large, red eyes the kindest I'd ever seen on a person. In the end, she took the clothes, promising to bring them back in a few days and Odette gave me a parka that was too small for her frame - despite it smelling like someone's grandma's attic, I found it to be quite lovely vintage. The puffy knitted scarf she added felt like warmth and safety - she had to have knitted it herself, for I knew, handmade items carried a significant amount of energy in them.
The shop was eerily quiet as I cleaned and scrubbed the stained, dirty floors and disposed of the bloody clothes and bandages in the tiny, odd fireplace in Odette's office - that was a thing most peculiar, it burned everything I put in it, but had no chimney, no place for the smoke to exit. Magic.
Something banged loudly against the entrance door. I let out a startled shriek, broomstick falling out of my hand and adding to the sudden cacophony of noise as the figure behind the stained glass slowly slid down the door, a deep, male voice groaning something incomprehensible loud enough for me to hear.
Grabbing a large serrated knife we used for mincing the bones of small animals, I made quiet steps towards the door, seeing a large, obviously humanoid figure helplessly lean on the door. The man's arm glinted chrome black and gunmetal grey in the low light. "Sargent Barnes? Bucky?" I whisper-shouted, carefully plying open the door.
He lifted his head, blood dripping down from it, his face looked like someone went to town on it with a meat mullet, his eyes were unfocused and couldn't keep a straight line. His flesh arm leaned heavily on the door frame, the prosthetic hanging limply, dragging his whole body to its side. It must've weigh a ton.
"Я должен найти капитана Роджерса," he whispered.
I didn't understand Russian at all but I could make out the name of his boyfriend. Which made sense. Bucky looked severely concussed - I idly wondered what exactly they had been fighting, what could have given a freaking super-soldier such a brain-leaking injury. "Sargent Barnes, follow me," I put on my big girl shoes and used my momma bear voice, towing the man behind me.
He, too, weighed a ton, as I stumbled, helping him into the chair in the spare room that became my healing station for today. The longer I looked at Bucky, the less lucid he grew, eyes falling shut as he murmured something in jagged Russian, slurring his words.
There was no time to think about the consequences of exposure of my witchcraft; mortar and pestle, herbs and salves flying everywhere, I assembled a healing spell and memorized the according ritual in what felt like record time. He was bleeding all over the chair, fresh crimson blood pouring out of his nose and mouth and it was all I could see.
I hadn't known true terror until the blood that poured out turned black. Whatever it was in him, it was poisonous - my protection charms grew hot, scalding as they left marks on my skin; powering through the pain and unable to turn my eyes off the convulsing Barnes, I finished the chant just as the flow of vile, tar-like liquid suddenly ceased. It pooled around his feet, dripped down the armrests and matted his long hair. It reeked, too, of copper and putrid meat.
Bucky had passed out somewhere mid-spell, the slow, steady breathing bringing me my own sense of calm. To say that I was drained would be an understatement - my vision swam and my world spun on it's axis as I unlocked Odette's office to messily rummage through a cabinet for the emergency tonic I knew she kept there. I chugged the vial, an avalanche of almost anxious, jittery energy hit me like a freight train - exactly what I needed.
I bought myself a couple hours of time. Cleaning up the sludge around Bucky's feet and removing the outer parts of his gear was easy as he remained as relaxed as a cooked spaghetti noodle. The amount of weapons he had on him was impressive, but those weren't what I was looking for - his phone. It was dead, so I plugged it in, waiting for the 5% to show and bringing it to his fingertips, hoping he used the print recognition instead of the password option... And I lucked out.
"Hello, this is Star, I found a Bucky. Tell Dr. Strange to come get him, he knows where I am." I texted the "Stevie ❤️" contact, my inner fangirl self squealing at the dorky name of his boyfriend's contact in Bucky's phone. Shortly afterwards, I went ahead and snapped a picture of myself next to sleeping Bucky, figuring out some actual proof wouldn't do any harm in this bizarre situation.
The answer didn't let me wait long. "10 minutes" came the first text, and shortly afterwards - "Is Bucky okay??????". I had to snort at the amount of question marks before honestly replying "He will be ☺️" and putting the phone back in Bucky's pocket. I cleaned up and attempted to lift Bucky up, succeeding in waking him up into a half-lucid state, probably courtesy of decades of training and whatnot, to at least drag him to the front of the store. I wasn't particularly comfortable with strangers seeing the backrooms.
Bucky leaned with his back against the counter, ass flat on the floor and a towel with a cold compress pressed to his head when the doors all but flew open, revealing Captain Rogers, still in uniform and Stephen Strange, arguing with his boyfriend, both still suited up and bloody and grimy.
"Uhh," I blinked owlishly, causing the men to stop bickering and stare first at me, then at Bucky. "I think he hit his head," I offered weakly, backing up slightly at the amount of burning eyes staring at me.
"Shortcake, that you?" Tony's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the bodega, the items on the shelves, the black and red blood stains on my previously pristine, yellow shirt.
"Now is not the time, Tony. Go with Rogers, make sure the medical is prepared for Barnes and disable his arm," Strange barked out authoritatively, shooting me a puzzled but compassionate look. "The portal is open. I'll talk to Star, find out what happened." He advanced towards me as Captain picked up Bucky bridal-style as tenderly as he could while making sure the compress stayed on.
"Keep that tone fo the bedroom," Tony's voice was more than displeased as he shot me and Strange a hurt look, but followed Steve into the golden circle right outside the door before it sparked shut.
"Now, now, what happened here?" The sorcerer's voice lowered into a soothing drawl as I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. My shoulders sagged, fingers twitching with anxious energy. The man extended a gloved hand, briefly squeezing my shoulder. "It's alright, take your time."
Damn, did I look that bad?
Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites
#bun writes#practical alchemy#tony stark x reader x stephen strange#tony stark x reader#Stephen Strange x reader
51 notes
·
View notes
Note
YOO BROTHERS ANON BACK FROM THE DEAD? My phone started to fucking die half way (like extreme lag, keyboard stopped working at times, sudden shut offs, etc) and I was too scared to work on this in fear it'd get deleted. But im fucking back and have a new phone so I was able to finally finish. Plus after I finished the Brothers AU stuff I decided I hated Tip of The Iceburg AU lore and wanted to redo it so held off til I got that mostly done. I'm also trying to redo From Future to Past a lil bit but thats going slowly and decided I already waited way to long. Some other stuff happened as well like falling out of the fandom (Breath of The Wild and Linked Universe I got into and am actually still kinda in) then getting tossed back in but, anyway there's some smaller details I left out of Rans time living in the wild but everything here is the big stuff.
Keep in mind most of this happens when he's just 13. And he never acknowledges or treats his trauma, leaving it to build and affect him more and more over time.
When Ran first steps out of Mizu and into the world, he has nothing but a sword at his back and a book with little information on how to survive at his hip. The book really only provides him how to make certain things (like tools) and some basic information (Spiders are passive in daytime, how to farm, and basic information about each nether biome). The book acts more like a brief overview of the overworld and little information on how to survive than an actual survival book. Because of this the book is basically useless, Ran eventually uses it as a way of marking down notes and ripping out papers to cover wounds and tie things. He quickly learns that sleeping in high places (like a tree or a hole in a mountain) is the safest possible place to sleep, as no mobs or people can get him. Though due to the nights of constant screaming from mobs, his own internal fighting, and eventual hunting, he develops insomnia and paranoia. Leaving him unable to close his eyes in fear of being ambushed, believing himself to be forever unsafe and in danger. When he does manage to sleep he keeps his weapons nearby (like in his hand or under his pillow) and jumps awake at the slightest sound.
He moves around constantly, never staying in one place for more than 2 weeks. He eventually finds a snow biome and after seeing the little amount of mobs and knowing the snow is to deep for any sane human to try to travel through, he decides to stay there for a entire year and a half before moving again. During this time he grows both physically and mentally. He goes from being a small, lithe 5'5 13 year old to being a strong 6'7 15 year old. He also uses this time to come to terms with what happened and swear revenge against Ranbob for everything he's been through and everyone who's died. Even when Ran came to terms with what his brother did, the promise "Ill never abandon you." Continues to ring in his head, which does nothing but fuel his hatred, believing his brother has been lying to him ever since he was a child. While also growing his knowledge on the world and his survival knowledge, becoming an almost perfect survivalist.
When he was first alone and dealing with all the emotions brought upon him, he finds out he's hunted very suddenly. He first approached Raq (who he didn't know at the time) when he was desperate and fresh out of Mizu, asking him if there's any nearby town or city or really anything. Raq pretends to want to help Ran and let's him stay at his camp, giving him food and a warm place to sleep. But its 2 full days later, deep in the night when Raq finally trys to attack him, aiming to incapacitate him. But Ran is able to escape him and run away but not without a injury.
During the fight Raq manages to hit him, specifically on his left ear. He manages to cut deep, but not deep enough, leaving the top of his ear just barely hanging on. Ran runs away and actually has a bit of a head start due to him tripping Raq. But Raq manages to follow/track him, due to the blood flowing out of Rans ear. Ran eventually realizes Raq is tracking him by the blood trail he's leaving, so he stops, steals himself, and rips off the remaining part of his ear, barely holding back a yell, then Ran pushes his hand down on the wound and continues to run. Raq finds the ear and simply hums, intrigued by the lengths Ran will go to escape, before turning around, deciding to let Ran escape this time, because he knows he'll see him again. Ran continues to run, terrified and borderline crying due to the fear and pain. For the next 3 days he believes he is still being followed by Raq so he continues to run, never resting until he eventually collapses from exhaustion. His ear eventually heals over but never grows back, it becomes a reminder of the fact he is being constantly hunted by people and will never escape them.
Ran encounters Raq a total of 32 times during his time living out in the wild. And every time Ran manages to get away, though sometimes more injured than others. Eventually it gets to the point Raq greets Ran like a old friend. After their 3rd encounter Raq starts to bring others with him, eventually he has 5 others helping him hunt Ran. Though Ran grows and is able to either outwit them by using traps or is just simply able to avoid them most of the time. Though he still gets hit at times, once he made a mistake and a trap failed, leading to him getting stabbed and passing out cause blood loss.
The Nether is less than kind to Ran but kinder than the overworld. He gets shot a lot from both ghasts and skeletons. And almost falls into lava multiple times. He gets stabbed and trips more times than he can count. But he actually manages to make acquaintance with the Piglins he meets due to him being polite to them and giving them gold for nothing in return. He actually is close enough to them to get directions for free and is even given resistance potions when Ran states he is leaving and not coming back as a farewell and stay safe gift. He ends up staying in the Nether for much longer than a normal person would and becomes adapt at traversing and surviving in it. It almost becomes his safe spot because the hunters have never followed him into the Nether. He would've lived there if he could, but due to the heat he isn't used too and the fact he just despised Ghasts more than the hunters, and they were everywhere in there, he didn't stay. But would often vist. Eventually he found netherite which he quickly covered his first and only diamond sword with. His sword also had the enchantments, sharpness 2, unbreaking 3, and sweaping edge. Over time and use the enchantments dimmed, only faintly remaining. At this point Ran had to flee his snow biome house due to a sudden attack, leaving behind the materials he needed to fix the enchantments and his sword. So he abandoned using it, but kept it cause it helped him through years of fighting, he can't exactly drop and leave it.
Extra stuff I couldn't find a way to fit in:
-Ran manages to find a village but actually gets kicked out cause he punches the blacksmith for upping the price of an iron sword.
-Ran slowly grows more cold, uncaring, rude, and harsh over time due to trauma. He doesn't realize he became this way due to untreated trauma until he arrives to The Pit where Watson is able to help him start to slowly heal. Which is why he becomes more open and joking in The Pit because he feels safe and loved.
-When the group leaves The Pit he becomes cold and hard again due to habit. Its his way of subconsciously defending himself.
-His body is covered in scars due to the hunters and his brushes with mobs.
-Ran knows how to tailor his own clothes and has made many different kinds of clothes, all designed for certain biomes.
-Ran never farmed, he always hunted.
-Ran never really built anything, instead he preferred to dig into the side of a mountain or make shelter in a cave. Its only in the snow biome did he actually build a house. And even then it was very clearly meant to be a temporary house. Though he did end up living there longer than he intended.
-He was at first extremely reluctant to kill, but was forced to kill hunters and animals multiple times. To the point he became almost numb to it and wouldn't hesitate to kill if he was threatened.
-He would sometimes dream about his family only for it to end with them being slaughtered, which really messed him up and he would just lay in bed mindlessly every time it happened. These dreams still happen.
Also a edit to when the brothers met in the Pit, Ran actually gets his hands on a broken trident accidentally left in the arena (its the front end only, and the middle spike is shorter than the rest due to a error when being made) and ends up tripping Ranbob then stabbing the trident into the ground over him (if that makes sense?), actually trapping Ranbob, with the middle spike just above his throat, leaving him unable to move unless he wants to cut his neck and trapped on the ground.
Tip of The Iceburg:
So Karl's watch is still damaged. And Isaac is still the one to convince him to seek help from the others. But midway through the meeting Phil speaks up, mentioning how he found a book in a ruined village that had a replica of Karl's Watch etched into the cover, but is in a language he's never seen. After passing it around the table no one recognizes it. Everyone's discouraged until Foolish suggests they look for the other Travelers (what ima call the Tales people) and maybe one of them will know. Eventually, with picture pinning of supposedly who could be in their world, they all split off into groups to look. Ran is still the first found, but when he's shown the book he actually confirms a part of it is in a old enderman language that fell off long ago, he's able to translate half of that section but says that Ranbob, who studied old languages much more thoroughly than Ran can do the rest (cause here their still brothers but nothing in Brothers AU happened). Giving everyone hope. Eventually Ranbob gets found and translates the rest, but a great amount is still untranslated, which is a problem. So now its a journey of finding more people and mixing languages to find out the rest.
A sudden twist to the story happens when Billiam joins, and due to his experience with the egg is actually able to translate a random page in the back of the book (the egg made its own language to prevent its plans being discovered). Where they find out the egg is what broke Karls watch, because to it humans are nothing but entertainment, and it gets joy seeing them suffer and wants to mess with their lives. When it gets revealed to the rest of the SMP what the page says, everyone gets pissed. And even when its found how to get the Travelers home they refuse to leave until the egg is destroyed, a few are mad at it and want revenge, others are scared and want to try to prevent it from coming into their time. Karl eventually relents and lets them join in making a plan to take down the egg.
Also have some fluff scenarios with the brothers since its been a while:
-There's two types of resistance potions in their world, fire resistance and water resistance. The latter of which the brothers have memorized how to make. Their friends do not know water resistance exists. Which leads to the brothers pranking their friends by drinking some then jumping into a lake. Giving Watson a heartattack and making Isaac sob. The two quickly reemerge seeing their reactions and calm them and reassure them. After the explanation you can bet they got a talking too and where grounded.
-Ran teaches Ranbob to fight!
-Ranbob teaches Ran to fish, Ran complains the entire time.
-Ranbob responds by threatening to teach Ran how to farm. Ran stops complaining after that….mostly
-Everyone has found the brothers either asleep against each other or one asleep on the other at least twice.
-*insert Arthur get out of the tank meme but instead it's Ranbob trying to get Ran out of a tree so he can greet people.*
-Ran has his first night in years without a nightmare!
Now something else I'm planning to work on soon: What happened to Ranbob after Ran left Mizu?
I hope me sending stuff is still ok after so long of sending nothing.
Good to have you back, Brothers Anon! And sorry to hear about your phone, that sounds like it must've a day.
--------
Brothers AU:
I see we're back to Traumatize The Brothers Time, fantastic.
The fact that Ran has these items on him is interesting. Did he just have them with him when he was fleeing? Did he have the time to grab them? Was he preparing ahead? What led to him having these useful tools on hand when he was forced to flee?
How does he fare with mobs, being a mob hybrid himself? I think it's somewhat been implied that he's good with Endermen, but what about others?
How do the gladiator gang go about helping with his insomnia and paranoia, if they are aware of it?
What's it like for him during his time in the snow-biome, since he's there for awhile? Does he make a more-permanent camp/shelter? Do anything particularly interesting?
Poor Ran! That must've been quite the shock for him, and I imagine it didn't help his trust issues.
How does he get to the Nether? Does he have a base there? What do the piglins think of him, and vice versa? How does the Nether life effect him overall?
What happened to those materials left behind? Where they discovered? Does he manage to go back and get them on the roadtrip? Do they visit his homes on the trip?
How does the group react to his sudden change when they're leaving? What kind of clothes does he make? Does he ever make some for the others? Does he enjoy it, or is it just because it's necessary?
How do the fishermen feel about the close call with the trident, and what happens to the weapon?
------------
Tip Of the Iceberg:
I don't remember if this was mentioned before, but was it Karl's watch that caused the issue then? Who wrote the book? Does the egg have a connection with them?
How do they fare with their plans to take down the Egg(and potentially the Eggpire, if that's a thing here)? How do those with previous experience with Egg feel about this, and what part do they play?
--------
Fluff! At long last!
I love how their thought process went to that. 'We can make water resistance potions, lets jump in a lake in front of our friends'.
That sounds like it should be entertaining.
Ranbob knows how to farm?
That's such a funny mental image. 'Ran, get out of the tree, you have to socialize'. 'Hissing'.
Yay, good for him!
Ooo, what?
Always.
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rage- Geralt Request
AN// Here’s part 2! I hope you like it! You have some spicy ideas, and I love them.
@theichabbieclub
Request: Reader is super angry and about to do something they will regret. Geralt pretty much has to sit on them/pin them down until they’re calm
“It’s not okay, Geralt- Y/n!” Jaskier’s tone had been commanding until he noticed their companion, where his voice ran through octaves. His back had pushed the door to their room open, and the bard’s eyes dashed between the witcher that still stood past the threshold, and the woman working through their supply inventory on the floor. His hesitation and loss for words had worried her immediately, pushing her from the floor.
“What’s not okay?” Her voice had always thrown the men into wonderment, the two never fully understanding how it could be so gentle yet demanding. The brunette’s eyes flew once more to his pal before stepping all the way through the door. His hand flew to adjust his lute strap, watching as the witcher lumbered through the door. His cornflower eyes stayed planted on Y/n’s face, watching it morph from worried confusion to hurt and anger. It was how he knew she loved Geralt. While Jaskier was sympathetic to how their friend was treated, Y/n took every look, name and assault to heart. Geralt’s pain became hers, and when she saw his pale visage, the bard knew the cut became hers as well.
The witcher moved past her and their packs to the other side of the room, flopping down and sitting on their bed. Y/n quickly and languidly flew to him, hands gently cupping his cheeks, inspecting what happened. Blood had poured from his nose as well as swell and there was a clear cut on his upper lip. When she moved back to their packs to grab a rag and a water skin, there was no longer fluidity to her movements. Jaskier felt the electricity of her anger in the air, and he felt lucky to still be near the door. Her eyes peered into Geralt’s amber ones, rage bursting in them.
“What happened?” The bard couldn’t place her tone, it seemingly encompassing a handful of emotions at once. Anger had taken most of it, but it was soft, as if she was trying to sooth him as one would a wounded animal. The witcher had been sitting there as he usually would, almost as if he didn’t even register the injuries.
“Nothing,” he graveled out. It seemed that he too felt the new, odd, electricity that radiated from her. Y/n was a selfless caregiver, with more love than even Jaskier had to spare, but she was a warrior at heart. Despite Geralt keeping her close and safe under his wing, the witcher was happy to fight along side her. The two easily left their trios face and reputation to the bard, and Y/n never really handled the outcome of these situations. The two men were right to be worried when after Jaskier had announced he was going to resolve this, Y/n had demanded that she went along after getting the story of what happened from the bard. Her sharpened eyes threw daggers to the bard by the door.
“You just told me that someone threw a large enough rock at Geralt to do this, and you’re saying ‘no’?” Jaskier already had a foot out the door, eyes looking to Geralt. He had spoken before on the witcher finally sorting their relationship out, but it had yet to happen. However, the wolf had finally taken control, nodding to him as his arms wrapped around her waist, Y/n’s gaze flying to him. She heard the door close, and she tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “Geralt, let me go.”
“What are you going to do if I agree?”
“I’m going to make this right!”
“You’re not one for revenge.”
“No, I’m one for retribution. Geralt, look at you.” The more he watched her eyes flow over his nose and lips that had now been cleaned, the more he felt her shake. Geralt worried, thinking she would let tears lose, but he was wrong. Her brows furrowed, but her eyes were still wide, pupils tight. Never had he seen an edge to her eyes, but he could see how a glare cut through them, spreading to the rest of her face. The hand not holding his jaw had started to grip the rag tight enough for him to hear dripping from the cloth. Blood dripped from the squeezed cloth as it was forced from her fist. She shook with every heavy exhale, and it shot something through him. The nonchalant neutrality throughout her face that didn’t reach her eyes, which dripped unbound rage, rattled him to the core. His tone softened as a hand moved up to grip her arm.
“Y/n.” There was so much unsaid in his loaded coo. He watched as she exhaled, eyes slipping closed. It seemed to him that she understood not to do anything rash. When she pulled away, he let her. He watched as she kneeled by the packs, but knew his mistake the moment she pried her fingers from the rag. Her hand flew out to her sword and lunged towards the door. She would have made it if it weren’t for Geralt already noticing her once again edged body.
His arms wrapped around hers, but her legs kicked out, trying to unbalance him. One arm wrapped around her legs as he bent over her, and brought them to him. It would look cute, like a wife being carried by a new husband if it wasn’t for the iron grasp and locked, all encompassing arms. Geralt brought them back to the bed, sitting down. He released her legs to rewrap his other arm around her, bringing her in for a hug. He still felt her body shake, and the bitter smell that wafted as he buried his nose in her neck. It had already healed in the time their skirmish took place, and his lip barely felt anything as it pressed to her skin.
“It’s okay, Y/n.” The witcher had always appreciated how she dropped volumes whenever near him, and was surprised she could still do it engulfed in rage. Her mouth was next to his ear, and he shivered at the force of breath brushing over it.
“It’s not okay. You don’t deserve that. What have you done? We came here, saved their kids from the Whight, and stayed to the shadows after overhearing a kid become nervous. Nervous. I wouldn’t have asked you to do that even if they fainted. A damn rock, and you deserve it? How dare you say that about yourself.” His heart started to beat faster as her anger was pointed towards him in the end. They had many conversations about his self-image, and he started to believe her words after a while He tries, for Y/n’s sake, but he didn’t know what to do to calm her down.
“People saw in the square, and the Alderman likes us. Jaskier already has things settled by now. There’s no need for-.” Her harsh scoff cut him off.
“With violence? Really? I wasn’t going to be violent.”
“You grabbed your sword.”
“You two keep saying that I don’t have an intimidating appearance. I mean, there’s a reason why Jaskier calls me the ‘wildcard’ in his ballads. People underestimate. But I can’t use that in this situation. I was going to march to his hut and demand a harsher sentence.” Her tone seemed to fizzle out somewhat through her declaration as his thumb started to rub on her back.
“There might be justice to begin with, and that’s good enough.” Y/n stopped shaking by then, and her limbs no longer held tension. Her lips fell to his shoulder, and she defeatedly let out a soft,
“You deserve better than ‘good enough’.” The witcher’s brow pulled before deciding to simply let go.
“You have given me more than even the world. You’ve done enough for me.” Her head lifted from his shoulder, and he pulled his nose from her neck. Anger still lingered, but he looked closer, and realized passion was what continued to keep her eyes wide and bright throughout the whole ordeal.
“And I will continue, and give you the stars.”
178 notes
·
View notes
Text
PART 24 {Did I scare you from the previous part? 😌 sorry~🙈 It won’t be the ending though until you’ll see the word Fin. So yeah😉}
“Hide.”
“Hide, princess. Hide.”
“But appa----“
“Just run away now, Sung Eunyoung. Hide!”
A dawning nights of thunderous rains clattering through every roofs of homes, deafening silent dreams of solemnness. But not for the Sung Mansion. A panicking patriarch silently waking up a clueless young daughter who is just peacefully sleeping. Rubbing an eye from its sleepy mien.
“Appa?”
Her soft voice which only responded by a hush. Confused, yet just enough to get terrified after hearing the sturdy banging behind her bedroom door. Sleepiness instantly vanished. “W-what’s happening, appa?”
Fear came upon the young self. For there she is, being obliged to go down a secret basement of the bedroom her architect father built just for her. A secret passage through their gates exit. Then again she pushed to peek and witness everything and she did for there it is, men in black surrounding his blooded father and the merciless leader she can never forget.
~
“Hide.”
“Hide, Jang Taeyoung!!”
But it was him. It was his name she keeps on uttering now. She on the dirt of soil and scratches, pouring tears of fear. It became a routine of her consciousness. The day she witnessed her father’s death and how it changed into seeing Jang Taeyoung’s blooded one. 3 years. Three years had passed but she can still remember it clearly. Dreams that was once occupied by her father is with his added. The once revenge she aimed is her today’s anguished.
Afraid that someone might see her with a shattering state, she quickly went inside the bathroom and approach the nearest sink. Washing out the remarks of her endless tears. She dreamt of him again. It was a nap but it always feels like forever.
She cannot forget how she left him even after being saved. Neither did she ask about him ever if he could have been alive or not? She wouldn’t know for she felt guilty all of a sudden that leaving is the only thing she can think of to repent her faults.
She blamed herself and she is still now. Her name was on run back then anyway so fleeing is the most sensible reason to escape. She shamelessly saved her own in the end. A total bitch she agrees.
“There you ar----“
“Hey!”
She was startled. A person who has no decency for privacy opens the door. “Do you really can’t control that attitude of yours? Dios mío.” She hated it. She hated when even just a small gesture from others, she can remember him. Massaging her temple, she asked. “What is this time?”
“My bad, amiga but I haven’t seen you around your desk. So I suppose you’re here, I can’t never be wrong indeed. You cried again? Jeez. What’s really in that nightmares of yours that it keeps haunting you. Are you a runaway bride or something?”
And yes, they’re talking in Spanish. The nosy questions coming from the nosy mouth of the other that she needed to butt in, facing the latter with irritation. A hand resting on the sink while the free one on the waist. “Judy, if you’re running out of stories to tell, will you please exclude my private ones and shut up? Cut the chase por favor.”
Judy who’s racing her arms to surrender, defended herself. “Okay, okay. Relax, will you? As I was saying, I came to your desk to put the files you requested about the incoming book fair this week.”
Instantly, her mood brightens up as she had been reminded about the program which proceeds will be a much help for the orphanage they are rendering. Checking each files with anticipation. “You like that?”
“Very.”
She’s all smiles from ear to ear that Judy can’t help but wonder. “Know what? If you really love kids, then make your own. I feel pity for your genes. Heck, if only I’ve been blessed with that kind of face I think I’m already sleeping with tons of Michael Angelo now.”
Rolling her eyes, she countered. “You, and your mouth, Judy. Did I ever say, I won’t? Spare me, please!”
“Oh yeah? Like how you intentionally dump all your admirers? What a great excuse from you, amiga.”
“Shut up, will you? Tss.”
“Whatever. Anyway, speaking of. The kids just arrive, waiting for your presence already.”
Judy reminds as it was also enough for her to be left on her own as Sung Eunyoung hurriedly went out without further ado. Sighing for being betrayed, she followed instead.
“Profesora!!”
The harmonic chimes of the children as they surrounded her with hugs and kisses as she bent over them. Stroking their hair with tender greetings. “How are you, mi estudiantes?”
“Great! Very great! Yes, we are. We miss you.”
For she has been bombarded with various answers she cannot dare to ignore.
Gone the business venturer her as she is only an ordinary lecturer now. Simply sitting by a tree as she tells tales to what she considered her children. Filling the empty space in her. “Hey, have you heard?”
Judy bringing back its nosiness once again right after she ask her students for a drawing class. Frowning, she faced her co-worker. “Again, Judy? Can you at least zip that blabber mouth of yours just for a day?”
“Hey! That’s too harsh of you.”
“Why? Isn’t it true?”
“Jeez. Your frankness in its finest. Well, let me tell you amiga. It’s a fact this time. Try me.”
She can only shake her head as the former continues her gathered information anyway. Little she knew a piece of it will rise a hidden hopefulness in her. “Russian.”
“I heard a Russian clan takes a big part of sponsoring our book fair. The Oblonsky even donated a number for the orphanage. Books, shelter, name it all. It was said that a Korean man will actually turn as their representative. A Russian elite entrusting an Asian man? How peculiar, right?”
She can only respond a stutter. “W-who’s clan did you say it is?”
“The Oblonsky. And you know what’s more enthralling?” She stilled. As she turned to her unbothered companion who’s still delighted by its own story. Right then, Judy leans for a whisper as if afraid to share it to anyone but her. “A dear acquaintance of mine said this damn representative has a figure of a perfect hottie, amiga. Oh my, how I can picture and meet this mysterious man of my dreams.”
The robust daydreaming of it which just left unheard on her for the only thought running through her mind was the information bestowed upon that she needed to leave the off-guard Judy who’s continuously calling her name from afar. She has to confirm it and if meeting him is the only answer, then be it. Pulling out her phone before stepping in her car, she decided.
“Where are you?”
~
Fidgeting her nails for waiting, she can’t attain anymore. The Russian Oblonsky clan or better well said the elite mafia gang who saved her foster parents from being hostage back then. The one she just knew he sought for help. Plus, that Korean man. “Dammit.”
She can only curse as everything just gets worse for her to absorb. Brushing her face as she didn’t notice the arrival of the person she contacted who’s now sitting across her. “What’s with that low face that makes you grumpy s---“
“Tell me what happened to him.”
Left confused, the person answers her anyway. “What? Who are you talking about?”
“The f*cking info you knew about him. Tell me all, now!”
Finally interpreted what she meant. He can only bulge his eyes from crunching. “Are you talking about brother? Finally, sis?”
She can only be silent for admitting. “J-just… just give it to me, Zilo.”
Zilo. Yes, she’s indeed meeting the Zilo Alcaziar who killed his own father. The unexpected savior they didn’t saw coming. Thus the seriousness between them came as the introduction of their subject reopened. “Will you believe me if I say he’s dead?”
A sting inside her broke as her skin shivered with disbelief.
“D-don’t… Don’t play with me, Zilo…”
But Zilo just led his head to look down. “Right... How can you trust a person who once harmed you?” He really means it, she can tell. “He vanished.”
“W-what?”
“That’s what I assumed at first when I went back to the scene as the authorities keeps searching for his body. I thought some of his men may have manage to escape their boss. To be honest, I do not actually know the real thing happened to brother but seeing how they found evidences of his death, I can’t help but realize the possibility sis. Believe me, I trie---“
“Stop.”
She needed to stop him before her heart will explode from hurting further. She had foreseen it, she just tried to ignore that it’s not. Hearing it makes her regret asking even as the sorrowful face of Zilo takes in. “I’m sorry…”
Seeing his downgrade stance, she can only sigh from its remorse. She can’t deny, she felt sorry for him as well. “As much as I thank you, I still hate you though.”
“I know. If only I reach in time, I could have save you both sis. Fath—could haven’t got the chance to slip and pull the trigger. I’m really sorry, I really do.” It was as if an unspoken secret from a box revealed its bits for the last time as his whispering apologies continues. Suppressing a drop of tear on her eye, she chooses to glance the shore by the window glass beside them.
“Forget it. It’s all in the past anyway. It’s not like we can bring back the time and change it.”
She thought three years could have been enough to heal her wounded soul but just a simple brought out, the facades breaking so easily. Silence visited once again. “You know what, Zil?” before she initiated to break it, turning to face him who’s as well looking by the shore like she does. “Hm?”
“I still wonder why you shot your own father. I do learn that you’re somehow fighting against him, but to save us? I can’t seem to search for a reason.”
His eyes never left the shore as he speaks. “It’s because it reminded me of how he killed my own mother.”
All she could do then, is listen. “I almost forgot about it, you know. The warmth. The warmth he stole from me when I was a kid. And brother… A younger brother he never had. Just like that, a mere phrase he simply pulled back for me. I thank him for that, and for the nth time, I’m really sorry. For everything. For you. For being a dimwit, for being too late. I really am, sis.”
Sincerity. For the first time she felt it from him. She may have not known what happened between him and Jang Taeyoung before the incident. Yet one thing’s for sure. Her loco, did a good job. “And I have forgiven you for that. Remember it now, Zilo.”
Giving him a small smile, she intended to light their atmosphere and she did as she was reciprocated by its own smile when finally turning to her. “Alright! So much for the drama. Shall we just order our food now?”
~
Clatters from the utensils can only be heard as they chew their own food when Zilo happens to thought of something. “Sis?”
“Yes?”
“I know this is too much for me to ask, but have you…uhm--- nah, it’s nothing.”
Sensing his hesitation, she obliged him. “Just say it, Zilo.”
Clearing a throat, he had no choice but to push. “Well, w-what I mean was that… perhaps, are you waiting for him? Brother?”
She was halt from her actions then as she was staring to her food, keeping to tap the spoon’s tip on her plate. “What makes you think I am?”
“Because I do think you are. You have been a transparent lioness easy to read ever since you lost him, sis that before you knew your once intricacy became your vulnerability. That what you are today. You just failed to notice it.”
She can never be as silent as she is right now indeed.
Leaning by the backrest of his seat, Zilo can see right through her. “So you’re really waiting for him, huh?”
‘Am I?’
She thought for herself.
#kim soo hyun#kimsoohyun#seo ye ji#seo yea ji#seoyeaji#seoyeji#psycho but it's okay#it's okay not to be okay#psycho but its okay#itsokaynottobeokay#its okay not to be okay#ko mun yeong#realkoreanmovie#korean actor#korean actress#moon gang tae#jang tae young#jangtaeyeong#sung eun young#sungeunyoung#by quantum physics#nightlife ventures#quantum physics#slow burn#au#alternate universe#real
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
the stars were made for falling | Poe Dameron x Reader | Part Fourteen
A/N: I hope this clears any confusion from the last chapter and also wanted to mention that Reader’s confrontation with Poe in THIS chapter (there will probably be another one later) is not too intense as she’s in a lot of pain and lost a lot of blood! This is a little bit short simply bc I wanted these interactions to be their own chapter and didn’t want Reader suddenly healed with a time skip in this.
Rating: M
Warning: Blood. Naughty words. Mentions of sex. Mentions of an injury.
Word count: 1,965, apparenly!!
Summary: Leia talks to Poe and he comes to you looking for forgiveness that doesn’t exist.
Masterlist
GIF credit: I have no idea, but it’s not mine.
Tags: @marvelous-revengers @the-lady-of-stars @jxhn-mxrphy @ella-solei @chloe-skywalker @itsamedeemoney @shakespeareanwannabe @mxrvel-fxnxtic @peachdameron @ladyflyer20
------------------------------
Poe was in the same position every time Leia passed back and forth down the corridor outside the basic medbay to check on your status; seated on a battered, secondhand bench with his head in his hands.
When a med droid reported to her that your wound was closed and you were stable, she had water and a cloth the next time she went into the hallway.
She didn’t continue to walk past Poe, though, and sat on the bench next to him. “Look at me.”
He lowered his hands, but didn’t look up, and Leia put her fingers under his chin to lift his head to her.
The blood on his face from where his head had been resting in his hands was dry now, and she had to scrub a little harshly to take it off his skin.
All he did was stare emptily, compliant as she soaked the cloth and moved onto his hands.
“She’s fine, but I need you to tell me what happened.” She knew Poe was perfectly capable of cleaning this off himself, but this was a way of offering comfort to a man who pretended he didn’t need any.
“Hux set everything up to bring us there...and he stabbed her.” He had always been a terrible liar and he wasn’t necessarily telling a lie as much as leaving out necessary details.
“Poe. The stab wound was about a millimeter away from killing her instantly, but that’s not what concerns me. What worries me is that if you brought her in a minute later, she would have lost too much blood to be saved. I need you to tell me everything.” The answer could have been simple; Hux stalled them from leaving right away or maybe the mission was farther away than she thought it was, but she could sense Poe hiding something.
“You wanna know everything?” Bitterness entered his voice.
Leia set aside the cloth to listen to what he was going to tell her.
“We were arguing...and she said she wished Hux had killed her because that was my fault, you know, when they first brought her in they were giving me a choice between letting her die or letting her be tortured. I told them not to kill her and it’s all my fault she was tortured. She walked away right into Hux and he was going to slit her throat unless I put down my blaster and promise we wouldn’t plot against the First Order. I thought he let her go like that.
“But then she fell and I...stared. I stared at her bleeding there on the ground like an idiot then when I finally jumped into my training, it was only because I was looking at a colleague dying because I’ve been trying to push her away so much that I didn’t even acknowledge it was her there. When I finally did, I still didn’t do a damn thing. I managed to stop being a dick long enough to get her back here.”
“Have you expressed to her that you feel guilty or have you only been arguing with her?”
He looked away.
“Y/N was crying to me about how you weren’t yourself and you wouldn’t talk to her about what happened, you know. You’re all she cared about in this.”
“She doesn’t care now. She hates me now.”
“I believe you mentioned something about trying to push her away?”
“I didn’t want to hurt her more than I already have with...me.”
She gripped onto his chin gently like the time you had cried to her, though her touch did not match her next words, “Grow up and pull your head out of your ass, Dameron. No one here is going to judge you for whatever’s been hurting you since you escaped, especially Y/N who’s been hurting for herself and for you. Pushing her away isn’t going to solve anything. Look what it nearly did to her. Set your stubbornness and pride aside and tell her. I’m sure she doesn’t hate you, but I can guarantee she’s hurt by you. Did you really think pushing her away would hurt her less than being with her?”
He watched her pick up the dish of pink water as she stood.
“You’re a good man, Poe, but you can be a stupid one, too. Talk to her when she wakes. And change your shirt.”
Leia left and Poe looked down at his blood-stained shirt having not realized how terrifying he looked at the moment.
His general was right, as always.
Though there was one thing she had gotten wrong despite what many people — and you, once — believed.
He was not a good man.
----------------------------
There was only the briefest second when you woke up that you couldn’t remember what happened or where you were now.
Then you quickly became aware of the dull sting in the middle of your back and you remembered Hux, the dagger sliding into your flesh, grabbing onto Poe in your confused desperation, and then…
You must have passed out then.
Your lips twitched into a small smile as you remembered the beautiful dream you had of Poe; no matter how much you tried not to care about him, it was nice to see emotion in his features even in a dream.
It was the new Poe you didn’t want anything to do with.
You were perfectly capable of separating the two and still missing the old Poe you knew.
Turning your head slightly, you saw Leia sitting at your bedside with a relieved smile on her face to match your dreamy one.
“It’s good to see you awake, Y/N.”
“I had this...really wonderful dream…”
Your smile dropped when Poe walked into the room with his head held low in a shirt not covered in blood. When his solemn eyes met yours, you knew it hadn’t been a dream.
Seeing the Poe you knew had made you happy and now...now...shouldn’t you be happy?
Poe was here with you again and you should’ve been thrilled, but instead you found yourself angry.
Dreams were different.
He’d never hurt you in your dreams and thinking you had seen him again instead of your usual nightmares had been blissful.
But in reality? When you had begged and pleaded, when you had sobbed in his lap and he used that opportunity to have sex that meant nothing to him?
You didn’t want his sad eyes or his pitying gaze as you laid there.
Leia noticed your cold stare over her shoulder and glanced back, standing when she saw Poe to give the two of you privacy. She patted him on the hand as she walked by him. Part of you was angry she was on his side, but you didn’t think she knew what had transpired between the two of you.
“Y/N—”
“Go away.”
“Please, baby, listen—”
“Baby? You have no right to refer to me with any sort of pet name. I’m not yours. You made sure of that when you acted like I was nothing more than good sex.”
Tears were swimming in Poe’s eyes as his own foolishness was presented to him, raking a hand through his hair. “I know that. I know. I was trying to push you away because I was scared of opening up...of hurting you more than I already have...and then I saw you and there was all this blood and I—I realized—”
You cut him off with a bitter laugh that might have been a bit tearful. “I am so glad I had to almost die for you to realize you give a shit about me.”
Words said that harshly made your muscles move in ways they shouldn’t have and you flinched and whimpered softly at the twinge in your back; the pain meds were probably wearing off.
Poe moved to the bed in an instant, reaching out to try laying you down then deciding against it, his hands falling to his sides.
“Try not to move too much, okay?”
You stayed quiet, tears falling from your eyes at both the physical and emotional pain.
“Look, look...Y/N…” He took a chance and grabbed onto your hand tightly, falling to his knees by the side of the bed.
“Poe.” You turned your head to stare at him.
“I didn’t mean what I said. Not about us and never about you. I need you to forgive me. I hate myself for what I did.”
“I don’t have to forgive you just because you feel bad.”
Poe paused, his expression turning resigned. “I know.”
You pulled your hand out of his and watched him awkwardly stand.
“What did you think was going to happen here? That you could waltz in here and tell me you didn’t mean anything and it would make all the pain you put me through go away? I gave everything to you and you acted like I wasn’t good for anything more than fucking because you were afraid. That doesn’t stop hurting with a few tears from you.”
“I’m sorry. Can’t you tell me how to fix it?”
“Go back in time and don’t break my heart like you did.”
Poe looked at you, then away, nodding slightly. You were in obvious pain from the argument and he might not have been able to go back in time to fix what he’d done, but he could do his best not to hurt you now.
Even if that meant leaving you alone for right now, giving you space to heal from your wound and his false cruelty.
He berated himself for ever being stupid enough to think hurting you was helping anything, but he wasn’t owed your forgiveness simply because he was angry at himself.
Your forgiveness was something he was going to have to earn and he knew that even with his fucked up brain as it was.
“I’m gonna tell one of the med droids that you need more medication, okay?” You didn’t respond to his gentle words and he opened his mouth to apologize again, but his words were empty to you.
Words didn’t mean a damn thing after the way he treated you.
He looked at you, then told one of the droids about your needs as promised on his way to the hallway.
BB-8 rolled straight into his feet presumably to visit you and quickly started to roll away when he saw it was Poe standing there.
He didn’t even look back when Poe called out to him, beeping things about mean and angry.
You weren’t the only one he’d hurt in his attempts to push everyone away to keep them from seeing how broken he was, from hurting them with his pain and his selfishness.
But with Beebs there were certain things he could do to be forgiven when he made him angry.
Part of him didn’t think you’d ever forgive him for what he did.
Part of him didn’t blame you.
He was going to try his damnedest to make it up to you.
He owed it to you to try even if his efforts were never enough to heal what he’d done.
First he’d sentenced you to months of torture at the hands of the First Order then when you were finally free and full of hope, he’d dashed it with his idiotic coldness.
Could someone make up for hurting another person that much?
He didn’t know. He didn’t know a lot of things, but he was going to try fixing this if it meant going to the ends of the galaxy for you.
And though he knew you would probably never forgive him, he hoped that by some miracle you would at least consider it.
283 notes
·
View notes
Text
Young Scorpius discovers muggle plasters and insists on using them every time he gets a minor injury. Bruised his arm? A plaster. A paper cut from his new book? A plaster. Opened the snack cupboard right into his forehead? A plaster. Oh, and a telling off from mum...
It’s a badly scraped knee this time so understandably his parents want to use magic to heal it. But despite the blood collecting on his kneecap, Scorpius is still being frustratingly stubborn about it. They are eventually able to come to a compromise though. He allows them to use magic to clean the wound, and only clean it, if he then gets his plaster.
“People used to fear me. Now I can’t win an argument with a four year old.”
“That’s because you can’t say no to said four year old. You’re a big softie, Draco. Accept it.”
He’ll accept it alright, but in his own way. He waits until Scorpius is napping before quietly healing the skin underneath the plaster. He smiles to himself as he walks back into the other room, kissing Astoria on the cheek as he passes her. She looks up from her book and smiles back. She doesn’t know what’s got him so happy but she’s glad of it.
The peace the next morning is shattered by a loud squeal and the thundering of hurried footsteps. That’s all the warning they get (and need) before their bedroom door is flung open and their son is falling backward onto their bed. He’s wiggled himself between them with his bare, perfectly healed leg proudly up in the air for all to see. He’s rambling on about how good the plaster did and how his knee is already better. He’s so happy. Too happy for 7 o’clock in the morning. Astoria touches his knee and marvels at it. She wonders if it’s accidental magic. It was only a graze but it couldn’t have possibly healed that quick naturally. That’s when she realises how suspiciously quiet her husband is being. There’s no way he’s sleeping through this. She peers over Scorpius’s head and tries to catch Draco’s eye. That’s all it takes for her to figure it out. Her boys are as bad as each other.
“That’s great, sweetheart! I’ll make sure daddy buys some more today.”
That gets his attention. He looks up and gets hit by his son’s beaming smile and Astoria’s all-knowing one. He manages to quieten Scorpius’s continuous chorus of thank yous with a kiss dropped in his wild bed hair, but he knows Astoria won’t be as easily satisfied. He still tries though. He gives her his best smile, but she’s had years of sweet Scorpius doing the exact same thing. It’s a lost cause and Draco knows it. There’s just no comparison, not even with his own bed hair.
So that’s how Draco finds himself in a muggle shop that sounds like it should sell footwear but here amongst the endless aisles of bottles and tubs, it’s clear it sells everything but. He finally finds the aisle he needs and pulls out the shopping list Scorpius had spent the entire morning writing for him. Well, I say writing but it’s mostly drawings of brightly coloured plasters with only ’I love my DAD’ and ‘Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy’ proudly written on the parchment. He looks up from the drawings and easily spots the shelf he needs. It’s an explosion of colour and cartoons that reminds him of the gallery wall in Scorpius’s art room. He tries to match his son’s requests to the boxes in front of him and he’s surprised at how well it’s going. He can feel himself smiling with pride at his son’s creative brilliance. He’s got three boxes in his basket when he remembers the conversation with his wife earlier.
“A scraped knee isn’t going to scar him, Draco.”
“It might! It could also get infected and that is dangerous. You know I will always support his wishes but I cannot risk his health.”
“You… are ridiculous and I love you. Do what you must but you’re going to be the one who explains to him when he’s older what you’ve been doing.”
“…I’ll wait until after he’s graduated medical school.”
“Good idea.”
Draco hesitates for only a second before picking up two boxes of every design available. The lady at the counter eyes his black clothing after seeing his basket of pure colour but she decides not to say anything. Draco thought that was a shame, he was ready to show off his shopping list.
Scorpius goes through the plasters at an alarming rate but thankfully not because he’s a complete disaster. Some go on his toys, some on whatever unfortunate creature he stumbles upon in the garden, and the rest go on his mum and dad. That’s how the game begins. Whenever they injury themselves now they have to quickly heal themselves, silently and sneakily, otherwise the other will see and delightfully shout out for their son’s assistance. It’s important for you to know it’s not because they’re mocking their little healer in training. No, this is simply about the joy they get from watching the other having to deal with their new shadow for the next 24 hours because Scorpius is relentless with his care. It starts with the fact he’ll drop everything to immediately run to them with his little bag of supplies. Then there’s the plasters themselves. Now technically, all the plasters do the same thing but to Scorpius, the red ones are for cuts, blue for burns, and purple for bruises. The ones with animals on are extra special. (He tried to explain his rather complex animal system to them once but ten minutes later, with no end to his speech in sight, they told him as long as he knows what he’s doing then they trust him.) After that, it’s the constant check-ups and if he finds that you’ve taken the plaster off before he’s said you could? There will be hell to pay. So they secretly play this game that allows them to be ruthlessly competitive in their teasing of each other while still encouraging their son to be his best. It’s a win-win! Not that Draco thinks that while he’s sat there giving Astoria, who’s barely holding her laughter in, a look of utter betrayal and a silent promise of revenge as she follows Scorpius’s instructions to magically clean the skin so he can put the bright purple plaster on his dad’s forehead.
But Scorpius’s passion for healing only continues so Draco and Astoria put aside their competition (which means Astoria won) and have accepted that muggle first aid is simply going to be part of their lives. So Draco doesn’t think about the red plaster on the top of his hand when he walks into the ministry. The article that runs in The Daily Prophet the next day reminds him though. Astoria cuts it out and frames the photo for Scorpius who is bursting with pride. His mum didn’t let him read the article but he doesn’t care about the words. This picture means now everyone can see that he’s only four and he’s already healing his dad! Draco, who’s sulking in the doorway, silently wishes he could tell him he’s been healing him for a lot longer than these past few months. But instead he walks into the room and places a kiss on the top of his son’s head as thanks. Scorpius doesn’t look up from the frame he’s still holding but the hand that’s gently rubbing his back tells him Astoria understood. The wizarding world can mock him all they like. It’s worth it all for these two.
(Inspired by this art by @yendts)
#because scorpius's career path into healing doesn't have to come from his mother's illness - not when you could have all this fluff instead!#scorpius malfoy#drastoria#draco malfoy#astoria greengrass#malfoy family#kids#mypost#text post#long post
176 notes
·
View notes
Text
Maybe I Like it, Too
Hey hey, this is a sequel to my fic You Like It, go read that first! I am out here feeding the lee!Geralt needs, lol, I have 2 more Witcher fics already done that are BOTH lee!Geralt, lol. Also, my lee!Geralt will be inconsistent between fics rn because I still haven’t decided what I want to do with him yet lol
Fandom: The Witcher
Ship(s): Could be gen or romo Geraskier your pick
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Geralt, Ler!Jaskier
Word Count: 3239 words
Summary: Jaskier knew that everyone had to be at least a little ticklish somewhere, and he wasn't going to give up until he had Geralt laughing underneath him.
[ao3 link]
------------------------------
Geralt had had quite the unfair advantage since he’d found out that Jaskier was ticklish. Quite the embarrassing advantage as well, considering he liked to remind Jaskier how much he knew Jaskier loved it. Jaskier wasn’t even sure if the man was trying to tease (or if he even knew how, the stubborn devil), or if he was just being unfairly smug because mentioning it actually got Jaskier to shut up due to embarrassment.
But Jaskier knew that everyone had to be ticklish, even if it was just in one place. He refused to believe that the witcher mutagens coursing through Geralt’s veins robbed him of that, too.
If only Jaskier knew where to start, though. Knew where to look, knew where to poke or prod for a reaction. He couldn’t be obvious, then Geralt would just wreck him again (not that he was complaining), and Jaskier would get nowhere.
So Jaskier put the sneaky skills he rarely used to work and simply observed. Frankly, most of his discoveries were on accident, in moments he hadn’t even tried to be stealthy and coerce a laugh out of the man.
Like when Jaskier was going through his usual routine of giving Geralt a bath after a particularly disgusting hunt. He had washed the man’s hair for him and was combing through it with his fingers, when one finger accidentally brushed up against Geralt’s neck. Geralt jumped, the bathwater almost sloshing out of the tub, and Jaskier himself almost jumping back at the sudden move, wondering if Geralt had sensed something dangerous.
“... You okay?” He asked.
He only got a low, “Hm.” in return, but Jaskier was well-versed enough in Geralt to decipher it as meaning, “Yes.”
It didn’t click until after the bath what had happened. Geralt’s neck was ticklish, to that light little touch. Jaskier knew he had been right! Geralt probably didn’t even know what that was.
But he needed more research before he could lunge.
The next time was also accidental.
Geralt had gotten a gash on the back of his leg while on yet another hunt. Jaskier swore that when he came back to camp, limping and dripping blood, he almost lost it. The stupid witcher really needed to learn to be more careful. The gash wasn’t bad enough to need stitches to heal, but it was quite a near thing.
Instead, Jaskier had him lay down on his stomach and “try to relax, you big oaf,” while he cleaned the wound and rubbed some healing salve on it before wrapping it. While wrapping it, Jaskier accidentally brushed up against the, for once bare, skin of the back of Geralt’s knee a few times. Every time, Geralt would flinch slightly or tense his leg up at the odd feeling.
Despite it being an accident, Jaskier realized what was going on faster, that time. He swallowed any teasing remarks and managed to get out an apologetic-sounding, “Sorry, I know it’s all tender back here from the wound.”
Once again, all Jaskier got back was a, “Hm.” that meant, “Yes,” but this time there was a somewhat confused tinge to it.
Jaskier ignored it, but he knew that Geralt knew it wasn’t from the wound. He would find out soon enough.
Once more, Jaskier found something out accidentally before he decided to strike.
It was a such a stupid, mundane moment. Jaskier tripped, rather gracelessly, as well, and flailed as he went down. Trying to avoid scraping his lovely face against the road, he grabbed for Geralt blindly, managing to slow his descent with a tight grab at his side that unfortunately slipped away and still led to him falling face-first into the dirt.
Well, almost. Geralt managed to grab the back of his doublet and yank him back up, but that was almost just as bad! Jaskier paid a lot of money for clothes that looked as nice as his, and Geralt could’ve stretched or ripped the fabric!
But, at the grab, Geralt reacted much differently than that day Jaskier simply wiggled his fingers against the spot. His body twitched, an aborted flinch or jump, and he inhaled sharply through his nose.
So, Jaskier thought, it takes a rougher touch to get under his dear witcher’s hard shell. At least, in certain specific places. He could work with that.
Jaskier had enough sense and kindness to wait until they were camping between towns, as opposed to attempting to wreck him in an inn. For one, it would totally ruin his big scary charade, which Jaskier completely saw through, but he knew Geralt was protective over who got to see him be all soft and secretly sweet. For another, if the whole thing went south and Geralt turned the tables and completely destroyed him, he didn’t want to keep up the entire town with his shrieking laughter.
Jaskier started it under the guise of brushing Geralt’s hair for him, citing that it was “important to do so if you don’t want it to get all matted. Do you want me to have to cut off that luxurious mane?” Jaskier knew Geralt would say yes once he had an excuse to, and Jaskier had provided the perfect excuse for him.
So he brushed Geralt’s hair, long after the tangles had been tugged out. He watched Geralt’s body language carefully and closely: watched his shoulders untense, watched his eyes flutter shut, watched his fists unclench. The more relaxed Geralt was, the better the chance Jaskier had of getting away with it.
When Geralt looked totally blissed out, Jaskier made his move. He quickly slid his fingers onto Geralt’s neck, ready to wiggle and tickle, and threw his body weight onto the man to hopefully throw him off-guard and off-balance enough for Jaskier to get the upper hand just as long as he needed.
But really, Jaskier should’ve known better than to underestimate witcher senses and witcher reflexes.
Geralt’s eyes snapped open, almost as if he’d been expecting something, and flipped Jaskier onto his shoulder and onto the forest floor. Geralt quickly held him down with a firm hand against his chest, putting enough pressure that Jaskier couldn’t squirm out from under it, but not so much that it hurt.
Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “I knew you were plotting something. If you wanted to laugh, you could have just asked.”
Geralt started lowering his hand towards Jaskier’s stomach, fingers forming that horribly ticklish claw that Geralt had learned to do to make him near-scream no matter where it was placed. Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he started struggling even more, which only seemed to amuse Geralt further.
“Wait!” Jaskier cried. “Wait!”
Geralt immediately stopped, knowing that (for once) he meant it, there must’ve been something in Jaskier’s voice. His hand immediately left Jaskier’s chest and he sat back, giving Jaskier space.
“As fun as that always is,” Jaskier said as he sat up, ignoring the blush he could feel warming his cheeks as he finally admitted that, “I had something else in mind.”
Geralt raised his eyebrow again. “Hm?”
“I was going to try to tickle you.”
Geralt huffed, looking away off into the forest. “You tried, remember?”
“Ah,” Jaskier said, moving into Geralt’s space again and holding up a finger, pointing it at Geralt with his next words, “I tried one spot, with a method that necessarily doesn’t work for everyone!” Jaskier rose up to his knees and put his hands on his hips. “There is plenty to experiment with, and I may or may not have accidentally made some interesting discoveries the past few weeks!”
Geralt scowled in that way that Jaskier knew meant he was just thinking rather than him actually being angry. “Like what?”
“Do I have your permission to tickle you?”
“Jaskier--”
“Hear me out! You can tell me to stop whenever you want, okay?” Jaskier held up his hands in a placating motion to show he meant no harm. “Whenever you’d like. But you missed out on this huge part of childhood! It’s a bonding experience, Geralt, it’s fun! But if you don’t like it, we’ll stop right away.”
Geralt stared at him for a few moments. “You just want revenge for how much I’ve been tickling you.”
Jaskier grinned and shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Maybe.”
Geralt stared at him awhile longer. “I’m probably not ticklish. I’m a witcher.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes, putting his hold head into the motion. “Why don’t we prove that, one way or the other, hm?”
Geralt finally gave in, acting annoyed about it the whole time as he scooted over to the bedrolls that Jaskier had set up to lay down. Jaskier grinned, bright and toothy and followed him over, plopping over his hips to straddle him.
Geralt raised both eyebrows at him, that time, but he didn’t say anything about it. “What do you claim to have discovered?” He asked.
Jaskier’s smile turned into a playful smirk as he crackled his knuckles and wiggled his fingers as a “stretch.” “Well, dear witcher, I thought you would never ask! I say we start from the top, wouldn’t you agree?”
Geralt just rolled his eyes at Jaskier’s theatrics, probably a subtle hint to get on with it, but Jaskier was going to take his sweet time with this. Where was the fun in it, otherwise?
“This is also coincidentally the first one I noticed, wouldn’t you know. I was quite overjoyed when I realized what that cute little jump meant, you could’ve flooded the whole inn with your bathwater had you jumped any higher!”
“Jaskier.”
Jaskier laughed lightly. “Oh, alright.” He started reaching down to brush his fingers across Geralt’s neck before he pulled them back with a gasp. “Oh wait, I have the best idea!”
He ignored the strange look Geralt gave him as he leapt off his torso and raced over to his own pack. He dug through it for a few moments before sitting up with a triumphant, “aha!”
Geralt sat up as Jaskier approached, feather quill in hand. “You are not drawing on me,” he said gruffly.
Jaskier scoffed, pushing Geralt back into a sitting position (or, more accurately, Geralt let himself be pushed back into a sitting position) and sat on top of him again. “Not the ink part, the feather part.”
“Feathers tickle?”
Jaskier wiggled the tip of the feather over Geralt’s nose with a grin. “Terribly so.”
Geralt smirked up at him. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Jaskier sputtered for a moment before scowling, cheeks once again red, and gently “slapping” Geralt on his shoulder (it was really more like a tap than anything). “Hey, quit teasing! I’m supposed to be the one tickling!”
“Who’s teasing?” Geralt said with a smug smile, clearly teasing.
Jaskier pointed the feather threateningly into his face. “You be quiet.”
Jaskier felt something that he was certain was a muffled chuckle rumble through Geralt’s chest and he smiled again, remembering what he was there to do.
“Well, then, Geralt. Ready to laugh?”
Geralt readjusted his position on the bedroll to be more comfortable and looked up at Jaskier warily. Jaskier gave him his most disarming smile and Geralt relaxed minutely. And then Jaskier gently touched the feather down to Geralt’s neck and brushed it back and forth.
Geralt made an absolutely absurd face and jerked his neck as far away as he possibly could. Jaskier couldn’t help but burst into laughter himself, laughing so hard that he had to lean over and rest his head against Geralt’s sternum as he calmed down.
“I thought this was supposed to be about making me laugh,” Geralt said, though there was still an undercurrent of bewilderment in his voice.
“It is,” Jaskier wheezed. “It is, it’s just-- your face, Geralt! It was too good!”
“Hm.”
Jaskier knew that “hm.” It was the “stop poking fun at me and make a point” hm. So Jaskier quickly composed himself and sat back up, still grinning madly.
“It felt weird, though, right?”
Geralt rolled his shoulders as best as he could lying down. “I guess. I didn’t laugh.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes fondly. “I only did it for barely a second. Don’t worry, we’re starting for real this time.”
Jaskier touched the feather down to Geralt’s neck once more and followed him this time when he jerked away. Geralt went through an interesting face journey as he squirmed lightly under Jaskier. Geralt pursed his lips and, while Jaskier thought he had heard something about witchers being unable to blush due to their mutations, he definitely looked like he’d be blushing if he could.
“That’s weird,” Geralt said, voice coming out slightly more high pitched than usual.
“Oh yeah?” Jaskier said teasingly. “Is that so?”
“Don’t use that voice,” Geralt practically growled.
“Why not? Does it make the weird feeling worse?”
Geralt grunted as he continued to struggle underneath Jaskier, but Jaskier knew it was all a front. Geralt could throw him clear across the clearing into a tree, if he wanted, and not even break a sweat, and yet he let Jaskier sit on his hips and continue to tickle him with the feather.
But Jaskier wanted more than just funny faces and squirming. He wanted Geralt to let go and laugh. And he seemed to be getting closer, based on the shaking of his shoulders and chest, but he was still holding back.
Jaskier simply smirked. He knew how to crack a tough nut (or, at least, he hoped).
Jaskier leaned down to whisper in Geralt’s ear with as teasing and smug a voice he could muster, making sure his lips brushed against the shell of Geralt’s ear and his breath was as ticklish as possible. “Come on, just laugh! I know you want to, just let go. You’ll have so much more fun if you just smile for me.” Jaskier fluttered the feather around Geralt’s other ear before twirling it inside, at which Geralt actually made a quiet yelp. “Drop the big bad witcher act for one night, just for me. I want to hear that deep rumbly laugh that I know is hiding in there somewhere.”
Geralt started letting out little huffs. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides with the self-control it was clearly taking to not reach up and pull Jaskier away to stop the maddening sensations. Jaskier grinned at the effect he was having.
Time to secretly put another thing he found out to use. While Geralt was focused on Jaskier’s playful torment around his ears and neck, Jaskier other hand sneaked up to rest unobtrusively against his side. When he thought it had been long enough for Geralt to dismiss it, he dug in.
Geralt’s eyes opened wide with a startled laugh as Jaskier’s fingers skillfully dug into the sensitive spot. He shot into a sitting position, meaning Jaskier also shot up into a sitting position, and squirmed back and forth, suddenly struggling all the more to keep his hands to himself.
“Jas-Jaskier!” Geralt laughed out.
“Yes, my dear witcher?” Jaskier asked smugly, pulling his face back and dropping his feather quill to be picked up later. “What is it?”
Geralt opened his mouth to answer, but Jaskier chose that moment to dig into Geralt’s other side as well, and Geralt simply tumbled into more laughter. His hands finally gave in and grabbed his wrists, but after a moment of holding tightly, his fingers loosened their grip so his hands just followed wherever Jaskier’s went.
“It feels weird!” Geralt cried out.
“I told you!” Jaskier chuckled.
Jaskier untucked and pulled up Geralt’s shirt to slip his hands inside. They kneaded and squeezed and vibrated into his stomach and sides, and Jaskier even took an extra moment to make sure he twisted a finger into Geralt’s bellybutton for good measure, which made Geralt’s laughter go somewhat breathy in the cutest way.
Jaskier then carefully began moving up Geralt’s ribs, lightening his touch slightly so as to not hurt him. But Jaskier then quickly discovered that Geralt’s ribs was another spot where the lighter he went, the more ticklish it felt, unlike his sides and stomach.
Even as his body curled inward instinctively to protect itself, Geralt’s head was thrown back as he laughed. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, crinkling at the corners, and he had the biggest smile Jaskier had ever seen on a person, especially on him.
Geralt’s arms were tucked up too tightly against his body for Jaskier to sneak up into his armpits, so he tickled back down Geralt’s sides and ribs to target his stomach again, keeping Geralt in stitches. He leaned forward and blew a couple small raspberries on Geralt’s exposed neck while squeezing at his hips and Geralt let out a high-pitched (for him, at least, with that gravelly voice) yelp as he fell back to the bedroll, once again taking Jaskier with him.
Seeing as he was unused to tickling, Jaskier decided to have mercy on Geralt a little earlier than he would for someone else. He slowed down the tickling until it was just him placing ticklish little kisses and nibbles along the column of Geralt’s neck, even as he turtled up to try and protect himself, and eventually brought those to a stop as well. He rolled off Geralt and layed on the bedroll next to him that he had spread out for himself.
“Well?” He asked after a few moments of Geralt catching his breath, grinning up at the trees above them.
“Well what?” Geralt asked, looking toward him.
“Well, what did you think?”
“It was… interesting. What was that thing you did with your mouth?”
Jaskier looked at him. “What, the raspberry?”
Geralt furrowed his brow. “It is named after a fruit?”
Jaskier laughed. “Indeed it is, and it is perfect for places like necks and sides and stomachs.”
Geralt hummed and smirked. Jaskier squawked as he realized the information he’d just freely given out, likely going to lead to his own destruction later. After a few minutes of silence, Jaskier letting Geralt recover and think about the concept of tickling, he turned to Geralt with a grin once more.
“You liked it,” he sang smugly.
Geralt scoffed. “And what makes you think that?”
Jaskier chuckled and rolled over so he was draped over Geralt’s chest, propping his head up on his hand (and hoping his elbow wasn’t digging into Geralt’s sternum in the process). “Well, you never asked me to stop. And I certainly made it known that you could.”
Geralt scoffed. “I just wanted you to have fun. You won’t get the opportunity again.”
Jaskier snorted. “As if. I know you had fun, that smile of yours still hasn’t faded all the way away! Plus, there’s still so many other spots to test and methods to try, I know you’re far too curious to not have a repeat performance.”
“Hm.”
Jaskier grinned. That “hm” meant “you’re right but I’m embarrassed about it so I’m not going to directly answer so you think you’re wrong.”
“Sure,” Jaskier said, a teasing lilt to his voice.
It wasn’t until much later that night, when they were curled up next to each other on their bedrolls, warmed by the fire and each other’s bodies, that Jaskier finally got his answer, barely absorbed by his half-asleep mind.
“Maybe I like it, too,” Geralt murmured in his ear.
Jaskier smiled as he drifted off.
#tickle fic#My writing#the witcher tickling#lee!geralt#ler!jaskier#ticklish!geralt#tickle tools#tickle tool: feathers#the witcher#jaskier | dandelion#geralt of rivia
147 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Union of the Companions Chapter One
Part one of my Dungeons and dragons style four fandom crossover.
Summary: The land of Faerun is just one of Chuck’s many realities, as is Middle Earth, and Kenshin’s Meiji era Japan. He’s been toying with Kenshin, Drizzt, and Fili, and Kili just like he toys with the Winchesters. Now, as the Winchesters rebel against him, he’s decided to bring them all together for one final showdown.
This is a dungeons and dragons style story of eight companions traveling Faerun, looking for a way home and encountering many villains.
Pairing: Castiel/Hannah. This will be the only romantic pairing as this fic will focus primarily on platonic love and brotherly love. The characters will be Drizzt Do’Urden, Kenshin Himura, Sam, and Dean Winchester, Castiel, Hannah, and Fili and Kili.
Fandoms: Rurouni Kenshin, Supernatural, The Hobbit movie verse, The Legend of Drizzt Dark Elf Trilogy by R. A Salvatore
Warnings and tags: fandom typical violence, massacres, blood, and gore. Tags may change as the story progresses as I haven’t planned details for that far ahead. Note that this story does fall within a canon timeline, it is AU. For Supernatural, it takes place shortly after the events of s15 e03 “The Rupture.” For the Hobbit, it takes place after the battle of the five armies except for an alternate ending in which Fili and Kili survive. For Drizzt, it takes place during the early events of the book “Sojourn,” and for Kenshin, it takes place after his fight with Shishio in season two of the anime. Although for Kenshin, this will be a blend of the anime and the live-action movie trilogy.
AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948202/chapters/73718643
FFN Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13837115/1/The-Union-of-the-Companions-The-Eight-Companions-of-Faerun
Chapter One
“How long will they pursue me, Guenhwyvar?” Drizzt lamented as he peered down into the ravine to see the small band of adventurers who had been on his trail for days. No matter how he tried to evade them, they pursued him, spurred on mostly by a large burly human and his dog.
That human wanted revenge on Drizzt for their encounter which had ended the life of one of the man’s dogs, and had left him without an ear. Drizzt hadn’t wanted to hurt him, and it pained him to have to kill such a loyal companion. After all, where would he be without Guenhwyvar? His faithful black panther had stayed at his side and accepted him where no other had.
But the human had left him with no choice. He’d been cornered, and forced to defend himself. His need for acceptance and his distaste for violence hadn’t yet extended to the idea that he should sacrifice himself to such principals.
After all, he’d avenged the bloody murder of the farming family, a murder scene that he still couldn’t get out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the terrible slaughter, the children dead in their beds.
As Drizzt stood on the lip of the ravine, peering down at the humans, shrouded from their view by a copse of trees, he imagined himself being accepted by them. If only they could see past his drow heritage. Belwar the gnome could attest to that. Of course, it would help if Drizzt could speak their language.
The sun was beginning to set and Drizzt was getting tired. He was still wounded from the barghests. His chest ached, although the bite of pain was less than it had been before. He was healing, but he continued to walk with a limp.
“Let’s find a secure place for the night,” Drizzt said to his panther companion as he struggled towards the mountains, searching for a cave. When he rounded the sheer cliff and came upon a thick growth of trees, he saw a twinkle down by the trees. Kneeling, he picked up a thick blade laying in the grass. It was broken in two, but the hilt bore a strange insignia, and the design was reminiscent of a goblin.
Looking further, Drizzt saw what seemed to be blood smeared in the grass. With a frown, he exchanged a glance with Guenhwyvar before getting to his feet and putting a hand on the hilt of his one remaining scimitar, moving slowly into the forested grove, cautious and alert.
He ventured further into the forest, the trees dimming the light above. He walked a few feet until he came to a small clearing, and there, he discovered a travesty. Bodies were scattered everywhere, spears impaling some corpses, and others were hacked to bits. Drizzt counted about six prone bodies.
Upon closer inspection, Drizzt discovered that they were elves. Four females and two males. The image brought up haunting memories. The last time he had witnessed such a sight was after his own kind had murdered and massacred an entire village of surface elves. Drizzt squeezed his eyes closed, silently praying to any gods or goddesses who were just, that this was not the work of his kin.
He opened his eyes, steeling himself, and examined the torn bodies, looking for the telltale sign of drow weapons. There would be the slashing wounds caused by swords of the Underdark, and crossbow bolts. There certainly would have been a priestess in the party, so Drizzt looked for signs of enchantments.
He let out a sigh of relief upon finding no signs of such weapons. The bodies were surrounding the remains of a campfire. A few feet away lay an overturned cart and two dead horses.
“Traders, perhaps,” Drizzt murmured to himself. He wasn’t sure what kind of creatures could have caused this atrocity. He was unfamiliar with the creatures of the surface world. He thought perhaps they could be gnolls or goblins, as he recognized the spears. But he couldn’t be sure. One thing he did know is that he would have to remain in the region for longer than he had hoped if he was going to ensure that nothing threatened this village.
The villagers may hate him and they may blame him for their recent calamities, but Drizzt bore them no ill will, and he was determined that before he could leave the region and search for a new home and possible acceptance, he would have to find the killers of these magnificent elves, his cousins.
Drizzt had hoped that he would meet elves upon coming to the surface. He’d been curious about them ever since the massacre more than ten years ago now. They were slender, agile, light on their feet, with ears shaped like his. The only thing that differed was Drizzt’s dark skin and white flowing hair.
And indeed, one of the members of the party currently chasing him was an elf. Drizzt longed to make contact with him, talk to him. But he did not dare get close. He knew his pursuers were likely after his life, spurred on by hate and a need for revenge over the massacre they assumed he had caused.
But here, strewn across the forest floor, were more of his elven kin. Silenced forever by some unseen foe. Drizzt promised to himself that he would avenge them. One way or another. Silently, he slipped away and further into the forest, searching for tracks that could lead him to his new enemies.
**
Chuck watched as Drizzt set about burying the bodies of the slain elves and then limped off in search of shelter. The smug deity smirked. There were only a few of his worlds left. He thought he should be upset at all his failed projects, but this was all the Winchesters’ fault, after all.
He’d saved the last couple of worlds because they were his favorites. The drow elf experiencing the surface world for the first time, the samurai who vowed never to kill again, the dwarf brothers who followed their uncle into battle and saw more than they were prepared to, and of course, those pesky Winchesters. They’d always been his favorites.
But lately, his favorite creations were causing him far too much grief. He was the writer after all, and they were only his creations. How dare they try to control themselves? He had ultimate control.
As he wandered through the woods, he wondered where the story should take him next. Juggling this many projects at once was challenging, even for a god. He had been indifferent to all the others, but these last few were the most challenging, with characters as willful as these. Writing was hard after all. And Amara was being a total bitch to him. Well, he hadn’t bothered to tell her of these other projects that he’d kept. He fully planned to get around to destroying even these last few worlds, but he wanted them all to go out with a bang.
Then, just as it always had, inspiration struck. He grinned as the idea came to him. Maybe instead of juggling these projects separately, he’d put them all together! But that would take some major planning. There would need to be a plot, a setting, and of course, plenty of conflicts. But it could work. When he glanced around at this world, he couldn’t think of a better setting for his master plot. The world of Faerun was certainly one of his masterpieces. He’d created the entire reality just so he could watch his favorite pet in this particular reality- Drizzt. Unlike Sam and Dean, who were a constant thorn in his side, Drizzt wasn’t even aware of his existence. Sure he knew of all the other gods and goddesses who had stepped in to help him with this place, but he didn’t know that he was simply a playing piece on Chuck’s massive chessboard. And he certainly didn’t know how many chess boards Chuck had.
Well, maybe now was a perfect chance for his favorites to meet each other. Chuck rubbed his hands together as he set about putting everything together Prepping this world for the others would be quick work for a god, but it still took perfect planning.
#fan art#Drizzt Do'Urden#Union of the companions#Chapter One#Supernatural#Castiel/Hannah#Rurouni Kenshin#the hobbit#fili and kili#sam and dean
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Eitr | Chapter 1
Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.
Point of view: third-person
Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC
This story is also on AO3 | Next chapter
SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND
DAWN
...The Allfather.
Sigurd could see him.
As he floated lifelessly in the water and traveled with the river’s current, he spotted the one-eyed god beckoning him from a distance, calling to him like a light piercing through the shadows.
The sounds of the Valkyries’ wings could be heard beating from within the fog, and in the darkness that shrouded the edges of his vision, Sigurd could’ve sworn he saw the faces of Odin’s einherjar, coming to greet him.
...Was he dead? Sigurd wondered. Had his newfound wounds already claimed him? Was this the River Gjöll that he now traversed?
The viking couldn’t recall much, but the last thing he remembered was a sea of fire, engulfing everything in its path. Flames had consumed the entirety of his home, and even after the chaos subsided, the overlapping screams of his fellow clan members still echoed in his head like the distant toll of a bell.
He remembered Eivor’s voice calling out to him. The man had been searching for him in the battlefield ever since the ambush launched, but as fate would decree, they never had the chance to reunite.
A lone arrow had planted itself into Sigurd’s upper chest before they could regroup. And almost immediately after the first arrow was let loose, a second one promptly followed its path, impaling the fallen drengr in the waist.
The impact sent Sigurd toppling into the river. He never got the opportunity to see if Eivor survived the ordeal, and now, hours later, he found himself being carried away into one of the many foreign shires of England, ready to meet his end.
Contrary to what the viking expected though, the Nornir had other plans for him. They knew Sigurd to be a warrior at heart, and they knew it burned with a newfound passion for revenge.
And so, with a tug of the thread, the Nornir adjusted Sigurd’s course and sent him floating onto the shores of a Saxon settlement, releasing him from death’s embrace.
The viking may have interpreted the action as a punishment, seeing as how he was now on hostile land... but the gods had given it to him as a blessing.
He now had a chance to rest. A chance to heal. To fight back.
The Saxons would soon know his wrath, and they would know what it meant to attack the Raven Clan.
But first, Sigurd had to regain his strength. He had to recover from his wounds, and wait for the right moment to strike.
Revenge was always a winding path, after all -- full of twists and turns -- and it would start right here in Wedenscire.
In the very home of the ealdorman who wished his clan dead.
Feeling a sudden burst of energy spark inside him, Sigurd’s eyes snapped open as he finally returned to consciousness and washed up onto the shore, lying motionlessly under a shower of rain.
His body burned with the sting of a hundred cuts, and as the arrows’ tips dug deeper into his flesh, he felt a rough wheeze escape from his battered lungs, causing a cloud of mist to rise from his dried lips.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t shout. He could hardly even breathe.
But with the shrill whispers of the half-rotten goddess slithering in his ear, and the eyes of Nidhogg gazing down upon him, Sigurd knew he couldn’t allow himself to give up.
Letting out a pained groan, Sigurd steadily turned onto his side before reaching a hand out and digging his fingers into the dirt below, attempting to rise to his feet.
He didn’t know where he was, or how far the river had taken him, but based on the unfamiliar architecture that occupied this town, Sigurd assumed he had landed in Saxon territory.
Oddly enough though, no one was around.
The settlement seemed deserted at the moment. Not a single soul occupied the barren streets underneath the fading moonlight, and with the walking corpse that now crawled its way out of their river, Sigurd could’ve only imagined how he must’ve looked to the locals.
He had no idea how hospitable they would be to a Norse stranger washing up on their shores, but for the sake of making it through the night, Sigurd prayed they would display their Christ’s compassion that he had heard so much about.
It was the only hope he had at this point. With no other people around to save him, and his life in the hands of the gods, Sigurd really had no one else to rely on except for those he would’ve called enemy.
It was an ordeal laden with irony, Sigurd thought, to be at the mercy of those he wronged in the past. But considering how the gods had been kind enough to guide him along the river and deliver him to civilization, the warrior hoped that, perhaps, they didn’t plan on letting him die just yet.
Finally reaching his breaking point, Sigurd collapsed to his knees when a surge of pain pulsed throughout his body, sending him crashing to the ground.
His breath was even more jagged than before, and with wet mud now seeping into his fresh wounds, Sigurd felt as if his skin was on fire.
Thankfully though, in the golden beams of the rising sun, he could’ve sworn he saw the silhouette of a man walking up to him. He didn’t appear to be any sort of guardsman or soldier, and judging by the lack of a weapon in his possession, Sigurd assumed that he was merely a civilian.
The Norse warrior reached out to the man, wheezing out a series of incoherent words.
“...Y-You there. Help me... please...”
The man hurriedly kneeled down beside him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Lord above,” he whispered in shock, observing Sigurd’s wounds. “What on earth happened to you? Who are you? Where did you come from? Can you hear me? Hello?”
Before Sigurd could utter a response, he felt his mind slipping away into the darkness once again, leaving the other man to his own thoughts. He could feel the sensation of being picked up and moved around, but due to the blurriness that now clouded his vision, he had no idea if the man actually intended to help him.
Regardless of what was happening though, part of Sigurd suspected that this wasn’t the end just yet. Something about the pain that burned inside him ignited a unique sense of strength that he had never experienced before -- and from the deepest depths of the agony that coursed through his veins, Sigurd summoned an undying determination to survive.
He had to live, for Eivor’s sake. He refused to believe that the man had been killed during the attack, and he had every intention of finding him once he regained his strength.
If his brother turned out to be dead, though... then Sigurd vowed that he would spend the rest of his days hunting down those responsible. He would rain the very fires of Muspelheim itself upon them, and ensure that even in death, they would never know peace.
But for the time being, he simply left his future in the hands of the Nornir. He knew not what they had planned for him in this small Saxon town, but if it meant taking the first step in his journey to recovery, then he was willing to do whatever the gods demanded of him.
Valhalla was a gift only warriors received, after all, and if he was truly fated to die in these unknown lands, Sigurd intended to go out fighting.
Just as Odin would’ve wanted.
#assassin's creed valhalla#ac valhalla#sigurd styrbjornson#ac valhalla fanfic#male eivor#eivor wolfkissed#eivor wolfsmal#eitr
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Atlas (8)
Summary: After years of being imprisoned on the Raft, Tony negotiates freedom for his sister Tessa. When she’s free- so is her past, and it will never stop hunting her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC(Stark)
Chapter Word count: 1810
Warnings: PTSD (subtle ish), trauma, torture (in later parts), suicidal behaviors and thoughts, mentions of death, character death, injury, violence, angst, and a lil bit of fluff in there
Disclaimer: Atlas is my own, original work with characters belonging to Marvel (except Tessa and Dr. Clifton). Plagiarism is not cool kids.
A/N: this is my first work I'm posting to this platform and I’m really excited and nervous about it. Hope you enjoy- constructive criticism is always helpful as well!!
She couldn’t breathe. There was a pressure building on her left side, an itch she couldn’t scratch. Her eyes were dry, like her mouth. Tessa peeled her eyelids open, having been cemented shut, it took tremendous effort- effort she barely possessed. She couldn’t hear straight, it sounded like she was underwater. A muted beep from a monitor. Rain pelting the windows of the white washed clinical room. Something tickling her forearm. She looked down. Tony.
He was grasping her hand, resting his head beside them, hair tickling her skin. She then moved her eyes to her side where a tube was running from a patch of white bandages. Along her right arm, bandages were wrapped around raw flesh. She could still see the burn marks on her wrists. In her left arm, an IV filtered blood and fluids into her system, repairing what had been damaged. She groaned as she rested her head on the pillow.
She wasn’t supposed to make it out of there. None of this had gone according to her plan. Tessa wasn’t stupid. She knew Clifton would be on her as soon as she stepped foot out of her cage on the Raft. She knew she would have to make a choice, a choice of repentance. So, when she noticed the trap he’d set for them, she couldn’t help but take the bait. Part of her wanted to flip the script and take revenge on him. But then... then Bucky happened. He’d been so kind to her- accepting her. She felt that she owed him a truth- even if it was in the form of a dead man’s ramblings. And so she did just that- confided in him, knowing that one way or another, she was never going to come back. He wasn’t supposed to be collateral damage.
Tony shifted, his head turning further away from her. She bit her lip, sinking down deeper into the sheets.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Y’know, if you cooperated with the professionals, things would go a lot smoother.” Tony snipped at her. Tessa scowled deeper, turning her head to the side. It had been a week since the mission, since everything about Tessa had been made public amongst the team. Since Tony had released the files to the whole team, Tessa had been ignoring him every time he visited her. She was angry- the emotion palpable in the air. She had even begun to be irritable with the nurses and her doctor. Of course, they associated it with her being on bed rest for a week- knowing it would get worse because she was meant to stay there for a whole month.
She refused to allow any of the team members entrance to her room- even Bucky. Tony was only allowed in because he told Friday to over ride her command. News of her slow response to treatment had to come from the nurses or the small bits that Tony would share- which was always begrudgingly. Her therapist and parole officer were also allowed in for their visits. There had been talk of moving her back to the Raft, but Tony had shot it down, explaining in colorful detail how she hadn’t done anything wrong. Ever.
But Tessa was becoming restless. She could no longer stand the sight of the hospital room. When she was trapped within the four walls, she could only think about the botched missions and what Clifton said. She was trapped. So, she decided to take things into her own hands. Painstakingly slow, she got up from her bed, a tube no longer in her lung but it was still stitched up and painful. Most of her wounds were well on their way to healing but her mind was still fragile.
Tessa had been immediately changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt as soon as she regained consciousness. So she simply unhooked her heart monitor, taking her IV of fluids with her to the door.
She hadn’t realized Bucky had done nothing but sit outside her medical room for the past week, waiting to be able to slip into the room to talk to her. Tony had been guarding her, keeping him away. Unlike his sister, Tony held a grudge. So when Tessa’s door opened and she stepped out, he was surprised. She looked like she hadn’t slept since she came back- undoubtedly plagued by nightmares. Her skin was pale, under eyes dark. When her eyes landed on his, she stiffened, her whole body freezing. They stared for a long moment, neither of them giving in.
“If you’re breaking out of your room, you’ll need to move a little faster.” Bucky quipped, a teasing tone overtaking the concern. Tessa started to take off, her gait a small, shuffle toward the elevator. Bucky stood up, stretching his arms out before sidling up beside her.
“What do you want?” She muttered, slightly annoyed and embarrassed by his presence. She almost stumbled, her left foot catching on her right. She cursed lowly, while Bucky simply hooked an arm around her waist, steadying her. She tried to push away but Bucky had an iron grip, keeping her where he wanted. He was done waiting around. He was going to talk to her whether she wanted to or not. She was going to listen to what he had to say.
“Well if you’re going for a little sight seeing- might I suggest the floor ninety? It’s got a lovely view and- bonus: less of an elevator ride.” Bucky steered her into the elevator and locked her down, his hand drawing smooth circles on her hip.
“Isn’t that your floor?” She grumbled, leaning against him to relieve some of the weight on her feet. He hummed in response and looked down at her. She was scowling, eyes glued to the floor.
“See, I’ve been waiting outside that room for a week now. I’ve had time to think about everything that was said while we were in captivity. Don’t think I’m an idiot, by the way.” Bucky watched her begin to shut down at the mentions of the cell. The mentions of her admitted transgressions. “I’ve been where you are, where you’ve been.” Tessa scoffed as the elevator dinged open.
“You don’t know me.” She bit back, eager to be out of his hold, out of his sight. She couldn’t hold herself together around him anymore. Telling him everything- trusting him with that information... she didn’t want to see him now, not when he could judge her for it. Because all she wanted from him was to be accepted. Not pitied, not scorned, not disgusted. Loved. She didn’t know what the two kisses were on that battlefield, she didn’t know what any of it meant.
“Don’t I?” He asked, opening the apartment door. The pair quickly pushed through the living room, bypassing Steve who was sat on the couch, watching the news. He had heard the door open, figuring it was Bucky so he didn’t turn. Until he heard the roll of wheels.
“Is that Tessa?” He called, watching the receding backs of the two. His brows furrowed as Bucky’s bedroom door slammed shut, cutting the pair off from the rest of the world.
“Oh, well please, enlighten me on how you know every thought I’ve ever had.” Tessa sat down on his bed, the white cotton sheets felt much better than the stiff medbay fabrics she had been confined to.
“Alright, fine,” Bucky began shuffling around his room, seemingly in search of something. “You shut yourself off from everyone, you think it keeps us safe but really, it’s just a way of excusing your pity party and prolonging suffering you feel you deserve. You keep everything to yourself, no matter how much it pains you to do that. You don’t sleep well, nightmares keeping you up. You don’t eat much- if you do it’s at random times at night, where you don’t have to interact with us. You let one person in and immediately shut them out because you felt that you could hurt them before even giving it a chance.” Bucky stopped his search, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “Am I par for the course?”
“Shut the hell up.” She growled, gently laying back on his neatly made bed. “So what if i don’t want to hurt you- why is that a bad thing? I want to keep you all safe. What’s the harm in that- what the fuck are you looking for?”
“Got it...” Bucky stood straight again before walking to her. He knelt down on the bed beside her. “It isn’t a bad thing- it’s just that you’re going about it in a destructive way. You can keep us safe and live too. The way you’re going now, that’s not living. You’re just floating from day to day. Here. They found 'em last week and sent them to me. I’ve been waiting to give them to you.” He held a hand out, intending to drop the object into her palm. Tessa sighed and held it out flat. A cool metal grazed her palm and she broke her gaze off from his to look at it. Dog tags. She held them in front of her face to read them more clearly. They were slightly rusted, but the name was still clear: James Buchanan Barnes. “I’m not judging you for a mistake made six years ago. A mistake that was made with the best intentions in mind. With the best resources you had at the time. The Tessa I want to know is still in there- I’ve seen her during those late night talks in the light of the fridge. I’ve heard her when you talked about growing up with Tony or your early days in the military. And I’m gonna do everything I can to make her happy, because she’s gone through enough.”
Tessa swallowed, feeling the beginning of tears pricking at her eyes. She was speechless- her own mind waging war on itself.
“You know just what to say to make a girl blush, huh?” She sniffled, trying to laugh through it. Bucky grinned and took the tags, slipping them over her head, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Stay here for the night, please? I know that you shouldn’t really be out of the med bay yet but... I want to talk to you- I want to be around you. Please?” Bucky asked, his bottom lip pouting slightly and his blue eyes shining with hope. Tessa pretended to think it over, pressing her hand to the dog tags that occupied her chest.
“Okay. I’ll stay here. Only for tonight- and no funny business, Barnes.” She winced, sitting up. Bucky was quick to press a hand to her back, helping her sit. He gave a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat bashful.
“No promises, sweetheart.”
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Things My Heart Used To Know
Author: locke-writes
Title: Things My Heart Used To Know
Prompt: Once Upon a December - Anastasia, Frank Castle For: @commander-writergirl ‘s 800 Follower Writing Challenge
Rating: T
Word Count: 2,962
Frank woke up at four in the morning. He never needed an alarm anymore and found that even though he'd been done with the military life for quite some time, he still couldn't shake the routine. Carefully he slipped from bed hoping that he wouldn't wake you, you'd been out all night with Matt and needed to rest otherwise he wasn't sure how long it'd take for your wounds to heal. Watching he noted that you were still sound asleep as he walked through the apartment into the kitchen. Quickly he added some food into the dog bowl and refilled the water before he opened the fridge to count the number of ice packs. You were low so he scribbled a note in case you woke up and he walked down to the corner bodega to pick up some more.
He always had the same excuse for the cashiers, they'd become used to him coming in for the same things by now — bandages, ice packs, pain relievers. Boxing wasn't too far off from the truth, he did spar now and again with Matt and had been to the gym more frequently but he figured no one in the bodega bought the excuses. He just hoped that they hadn't figured out the truth.
Two months ago Frank had decided to stop being the Punisher. It just seemed as though it were the right time, he felt that maybe he wasn't needed any longer. Matt had a handle on Hell's Kitchen long before Frank started popping in and Matt could go back to being the sole vigilante if he wished. Well, not the sole vigilante but the vigilante that was talked about the most. Frank hadn't asked you if you would give up your nightly crime fighting jaunts, he couldn't ask, yet he hoped it was something you would stop on your own.
The Punisher was born out of a need for revenge, he had existed out of a need for revenge for a few years. And then slowly that need for revenge was dwindling, then slowly recovery was taking over. Frank was learning to live with his grief, to accept it, to embrace it, and then to let it go. The Punisher ceased existing really when the revenge rampage ended, Frank simply had begun to use the identity as some sort of safety blanket which wasn't practical, he could let this go, he could just be Frank Castle again. And so he did, and so it was.
But you were not a vigilante because of revenge, you weren't even a vigilante because you felt that you needed to get a hold on the crime in the city yourself. You'd become a vigilante for the simplest of reasons, Matt Murdock came barging into your bedroom one night asking if you had a first aid kit. You ended up bandaging him and talking about what it was he was doing. After some hesitance and refusal to train you, Matt gave in and after a few months you began to patrol with him.
What had started out as two roommates who fought crime at night turned into Matt being one of the most recognizable crime fighters and then you, the one that people never spoke of because they were warned against it. Matt fought crime out of a sense of justice, the more people who talked about Daredevil, the more fear it brought into the hearts of any criminal. You did it for stress relief and because yes, the city did need to be put under control a bit, however if anyone spoke of someone working side by side with Daredevil then the surprise of your being their was slowly diminished.
It went this way until Frank showed up.
Work, normal work, had come first which meant Matt's meeting with Frank was missed. You'd heard of The Punisher, not by name but by actions and you had warned Matt that he might end up running across the mysterious man one night. Matt brushed you off as overly concerned but when you heard from him the day after his run in with Frank, Matt confessed that he had wished he had actually listened.
Frank Castle was not a man who frequently came up in conversation after that. Matt had become his lawyer, had dealt with the fact that he had escaped from prison and had since moved on. You were, you supposed like most, intrigued by the man although you would never ask Matt to introduce you. It never occurred to you that you might actually be introduced to the man. Well, introduce wasn't exactly the truth, more like instructed to meet Frank at a diner in the city.
That was how it all began.
You weren't given any further instruction other than to meet Frank that day. Whatever Matt had in mind was left to you and Frank to figure out. There wasn't anything you could do to help him other than to point him to a few good pet stores where he could buy dog food at a reasonable price. When you questioned Matt later about that first meeting he refused to admit anything about trying to set you and Frank up. He simply assumed that your nightly activities would come up in conversation, or so he told you.
For Frank he wanted to keep any and all emotions in check. For you, a relationship was out of the question. As a lawyer you were often busy juggling multiple cases at once, this had always been the excuse as to why you weren't dating. Frank just wanted to fully process and grieve the loss of his family before becoming involved with anyone any time soon. From that first meeting at the diner the only thing that was struck up was some sort of friendship, one where the most frequent visitation was the occasional lunch if either could make it.
Soon enough Frank figured out who you really were. It wasn't hard, there were only so many excuses you could make for bruises before Frank put it together. There was no denial from you, there couldn't be, Frank was a vigilante as were you — a small club but one filled with some sort of loyalty. He wouldn't tell who you were and you wouldn't let on who he was to the few amount of people who might be unaware. It was the unspoken vigilante code.
And so it was.
He knew you, you knew him. Occasionally you patrolled together but Frank liked to work alone, he knew his ‘methods’ as you called them, were much different than yours or Matt’s. Frank feared that if you saw him as The Punisher, saw him in his full wrath that everything you’d built would come crashing down. If there was even a look of disappointment on your face Frank couldn’t bare it. Couldn’t bare it because of the plain fact that he was in love with you.
Frank wasn’t sure how it happened just that one day when you walked into the diner and smiled at the fact that he’d already ordered your favorite, he felt this rush of bliss flow through him, a rush that Frank took to mean that he was in love. That same day Frank looked into therapy. If he was in love with you then he needed to work through his past, needed to grasp what he had done and how to properly acknowledge, accept, and move past the death of his family.
It took time, months upon months of work with his therapist and some group therapy sessions that although he was reluctant to attend he found immensely helpful, but slowly Frank found himself healing. Slowly Frank Castle felt like he had before everything came crashing down around him. He’d talked about you in therapy, how you made him feel and after some time he even broached the subject of dating. After what he’d been through, his therapist advised him to take it slow but felt that as long as Frank believed he was ready then there was nothing stopping him but his own self.
There was never a plan. Frank hadn’t really thought further past the concept of him being in love with you. After that there wasn’t much else for him to think about, at least that’s what he kept telling himself each and every time he came close to confessing. He thought it would happen rather in a way that seemed comfortable, familiar, rather he couldn’t seem to get the words out when you went to your weekly lunches together. Instead when he did confess it was in a fit of anger, not directed at you specifically but more directed at the actions which had nearly killed you, nearly left him alone in the world again.
On nights where you were on your own you left a bag on your apartment rooftop with a burner phone to contact Matt or Frank. You’d called Frank, asking him to meet you on the roof, you were injured, enough so that you knew you needed medical attention and help downstairs. He was on the rooftop in thirty minutes and as he saw you sitting there with a hand on your leg to keep pressure on the wound he found the anger boiling over. The tension was palpable yet you refused to acknowledge it until he was helping you stand.
“Care to tell me what’s gotten you so upset?”
Frank grimaced, “Nothing”
“Would you like to tell that to the steam coming out of your ears or should I” you teased in an attempt to diffuse the situation.
“You should be more careful. You might end up dead”
“I should say the same to you Frank. I went out alone tonight, I came back injured. It’s nothing you haven’t done yourself”
He finished wrapping your wounds, “That’s different.”
Leaning on him you went to stand, “I don’t think it is all that different”
“It is different! It’s very different! You think anyone would care that I died, you think anyone would feel anything for me! But you, you think I could live if I lost another person I loved! I don’t know how Matt would handle it, or Foggy or Karen or anyone. Hurt fine, a bruise and some blood, fine but god what do you think would happen if…”
Frank was nearly finished with his statement when suddenly you were kissing him. At first his mind was racing, then he realized what he had said and kissed you back. Pulling away you rested your forehead against his.
“I’m sorry, I…I didn’t know, I never thought.”
“I wanted to say something, wasn’t sure if you’d feel the same way”
You nodded, "I'll be more careful Frank, I promise"
That was the first night Frank spent at your apartment, he never slept just held you in his arms as you drifted off. All of it seemed like some dream to him at that moment, if he fell asleep he might actually be waking up and you wouldn't actually be there, maybe you never really existed. But morning came and you were still there beside him convincing him that this was real that when he held you it wasn't a ghost, not some memory of someone he'd lost again, this was you, this was really you.
After that Frank became more open and honest with you, not that he hadn't before but he know told you things he thought he'd never tell anyone. The relief was that you weren't afraid of what had happened and what he had done, you didn't try and rationalize it or forgiven it but you let it be and you understood what had occurred. You also didn't judge him for going to therapy, something he greatly feared. There was never judgement, there was only ever understanding and with Frank that meant more than you would ever know.
There were no secrets between you and Frank from that point onward. Nothing could be kept from one another, after all what was the point in keeping small secrets when he already knew what your vigilante identity was which was the most important secret he could possibly keep. With everything, honesty was key.
As time went on your relationship only strengthened. At first you hid it from Matt, wanting the peace of a new relationship without Matt being the over protective friend you knew he could become. But when he was made aware that you and Frank were together he was supportive, somewhat surprisingly so. The only downside was that now he was always after you on patrols, trying to keep you from getting into to much harm as he knew Frank worried about you.
Frank began living with you. You began meeting some of the friends he'd made in group therapy. Frank found a steady job working at an animal shelter where you ended up adopting two pitbulls. Life moved on, time went on, the rooftop confession seemed like so long ago. Eventually Frank decided to let go of The Punisher, it was a conversation that he'd been wanting to have with you for some time, afraid of what you might say or think.
At first it was hard to wrap your head around it. The Punisher was who you had met, perhaps now it seemed like a separate entity, a separate being but at the start Frank Castle and The Punisher were one. He confessed that he felt as though he was no longer needed as a vigilante, that his way of fighting crime was now just endless destruction something that caused more chaos than it stopped. He confessed that he feared one night you'd get a call saying that he was dead, that everything you and he worked to build would come crashing down because of one simple mistake.
Frank was happy, the anger that had created The Punisher, the need for revenge, was no more. As such, The Punisher should be no more.
After the talk, after Frank releasing the part of himself that still held on to The Punisher, you began to think. What Frank had said made sense. Hell's Kitchen wasn't crime free and it probably never would be but slowly the need for vigilantes would cease. Matt had taken care of the dark underbelly of the city all by himself before you joined, it wouldn't be difficult for him to do it all over again. Maybe it was your turn to let go and return to a normal life.
It was the only secret you kept from Frank in the year and a half that you had been together. The only secret you would probably ever keep from him in fact. The nights when you were out on patrol you came home, stayed on the roof and contemplated leaving it all behind. Months had passed since Frank had left being a vigilante behind and you hadn't stopped thinking about potentially stopping your crime fighting ways, each night you looked at your injuries and wondered what it would be like to walk without pain, to not have in ache in your side when you breathed.
And then it happened. You had to call Frank up to the roof, your ankle was swollen but you knew it was a sprain and not a break, no the break was in your arm and your ribs. The ER that he'd taken you to didn't question it when you said you'd been mugged, an easy excuse to come up with. They didn't question the extent of the injuries or how you knew what they were before you'd even been X-rayed. You just sat in the waiting room until they could bring someone around with a sling.
That night Frank was worried again, worried you could have died and unlike the night when he confessed he was in love with you, you were worried about the same thing. That night you made your decision and thought of your future.
You worked out the details with Frank first. A fresh start, away from it all, away from his past and towards some future that the two of you would build together. Frank wanted to be near a beach, he wanted sun, you couldn’t be without a city nearby. California seemed like the perfect fit, after searching for a few months you both ended up with jobs that were willing to wait for you. Frank would be helping run a series of pitbull rescues while you’d landed an executive position at a marketing firm both within the same city. Then came a house with a backyard for the dogs and soon enough you found yourself telling all the friends you had made in New York. It was hard to let everything go but you promised visits and you promised phone calls and you knew that they’d still be a part of your lives even if you weren’t physically there.
And then it was time. The end of an era as Matt joked.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the truck that was filled with everything you were taking to your new home you didn’t feel an ounce of regret. What you felt was hope. You were leaving an old life to start something new and with Frank. All you had was hope in what was to come and love for the person who was next to you.
All Frank had was a new outlook on life. He’d had strength, ongoing recovery, love, and an engagement ring he was holding on to with a plan to propose as soon as you were all moved in.
He’d led a life of pain and grief, he was glad now to lead one of love and joy.
#800celebrationchallenge#locke writes#daredevil#frank castle#daredevil imagine#frank castle imagine#daredevil fic#frank castle fic#daredevil oneshot#frank castle oneshot#daredevil fanfic#frank castle fanfic
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sanctuary -Chapter 60
Warnings: none
Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thunderintheshadows, @valkyrie-of-the-light
It's the first time in five and a half years that she's actually picked him at the airport; normally, Nik was in charge of any and all elements of a job, including the transportation to and from home. It doesn't seem like much; being able to do something simple. But it's a sign that their new life has already begun. That all ties to their former existence are being cut; one at a time, a slow withdrawal from the things that had taken up so much time and energy and caused so many issues and grief. And it will a slow process; the out with the old, in with the new. As will the path to healing; long and arduous, filled with a lot of guilt, anger, and tears. But he needs to go through it. They both do.
He stands out amongst the crowd; mostly businessmen in crisp linen suits and expensive silk ties, a stark contrast to his weathered and worn jeans, simple t-shirt, and scuffed and stained combat boots. Easily several inches taller than most. All long legs and torso; broad chest and strong, muscular arms, a backpack slung over wide, sculpted shoulders. There’s a scowl on his face as he weaves through the sea of people. He’s anxious; she can tell by the tension in his body, how dark his eyes are as he surveys the crowd, looking for her. Maybe there’s a worry there too. This was an entirely new situation to them, and while he was letting go off his old life, it would be difficult to let go of all his old habits. If even he could. Perhaps he’d always wonder if there was potential for hidden threats; someone who’d felt he’d wrong them looking for revenge. And maybe that overprotectiveness would never be corrected; perhaps it was just something that years on the job had engrained into him and she’d just have to learn to live with.
There were worst things in the world to deal with, she supposed; she could be stuck with someone that give a shit whether she was coming or going, alive or dead. This way she’d always feel important to someone. Worthy of them. And she’d always feel safe. She would never have to worry about anything happening to her or the kids; confident in Tyler’s ability to handle any situation. The boy may leave the job, but part of the job will always remain in the boy. It was ludicrous to think otherwise. Those skills were engrained in him now; years of having to use his hands and weapons to save not only others, but himself.
The scowl is replaced by a smile when he sees her making her way towards him. A genuine smile: full of relief and content, immediately bringing that sparkle back to his eyes and diminishing the creases in his brow. He looks tired, but he’s happy. As if the just merely seeing her there managed to lift a considerable weight off of his shoulders.
“Hey,” he greets simply, and she gives her own smile and ‘hey’ in return before he’s gathering her in those strong, powerful arms, one across her back, the other under ass. Pulling her up onto her tip toes and tightly into him.
She curls her arms around his neck and presses her body against his. Closing her eyes as she revels in the feel of him, all solid muscle and warmth. His scent familiar yet still in intoxicating. And she moves one of her hands from his neck to the back of his head, where his hair is clipped right to the scalp.
“I’m just glad you’re here,” she breathes, as she fights back the emotion that threatens to consume her.
The relief is overwhelming; knowing that she doesn’t have to do this anymore. The last time she’ll ever have to welcome him back home after putting his life on the line for other people. No more hard goodbyes in the driveway, or late-night phone chats, or worrying if she’s ever going to see him again. Removing an arm from behind her back, he pushes his fingers through her hair and cups the back of her head in his palm as he kisses her. Long and soft. And she can’t remember a time in the last five and a half years that both his kiss and his touch have been that gentle. There’s an always an edge to Tyler; a hardness and aggression that he just can’t shake. Even when they make love. But she feels it now; in the way that his mouth moves against hers and his fingers softly knead at the back of her head. And it’s enough to both take her breath away and bring tears to her eyes.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” she pulls back to look at him, fingertips gently exploring all the old scars and the wounds from the altercation at McMann’s house that are in their final stages of healing. There are no new injuries; a first in the years they’ve spent together. No return home is every complete without at least a few stitches, a split lip or black eye (or two) or even broken bones. Usually ribs. But there’s been a busted forearm, wrist, and ankle thrown in for good measure.
“So am I,” Tyler says, and presses her lips to her forehead, allowing them to linger there before pulling away, chuckling when he notices all the curious eyes and smile surrounding them.
All strangers see is a couple being reunited. They don’t know everything they’ve been through though, or just how close it had come to this moment never taking place at all. But he does. The cards had all been stacked against him, right from day one. The second McMann had failed to kill him in Guatemala and had shown up in Colorado. It had all begun to unravel from there, the intricate and deliberate mind games being what brought him down in the end. Not a bullet.
“You look tired,” she observes, as she brushes his hair out of his eyes and then lays a hand on his cheek, repeatedly brushing her thumb against his beard. “Did you sleep at all?”
“I managed a couple hours on the plane. Shoulder and knee both started acting up though, so…”
“In a couple days you can call the doctor and see if you can get them look at,” she gently suggests. She doesn’t want to come across as overbearing or controlling. But she knows just how stubborn he can and how he’ll just let something go for months…even years…and the damage ending up being far worse than it ever needed to be. “Better to do it now than wait until we move, don’t you think?”
“You’re the boss now, baby. Whatever you want.”
“Wait a second,” she grins. “I never agreed to being in charge of everything.”
“I’m retired now. All I have to look forward to is getting fat and lazy.”
“Right!” she laughs, and instead of his arm underneath his ass, his palm briefly travels over it and then settles on the small of her back. “You? Fat and Lazy? We both know that’s never going to happen. You’re going to end up in the gym even more now because you’ll need a way to get out all the pent-up aggression and energy.”
“Yeah?” he looks down at her with that crooked grin; the one that had captured her heart all those years ago and still made her weak in the knees. And his splays his hand on the small of her back, so those longer fingers come in contact with her ass as he pulls her even tighter against him. “I can think of other ways to get all that out.”
“I can’t believe you’re even in the mood for that.”
“I’m always in the mood for that.” What better way is there to get everything out of your system? Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Even grief. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but at least it temporarily made you feel better.
“Well, soon I’m going be fat and gross and we wouldn’t be able to do things like that,” she reminds him. “So you’re either going to be working out a lot or you’re going to studying alone a lot. There’s no third option, so finding some hot blond to occupy your time is not in the cards, I’m sorry.”
“Not even a brunette or a red head?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t share. You know that. So when I’m fat and gross, you’re going to have to come up with something to get your energy out.”
“For the record, you’re not going to get fat and gross. You could never be fat and gross. Not in a million years. You’re pregnant. There’s a difference.”
“I keep forgetting you’re one of those weirdos who find their wives beautiful and sexy when they’re knocked up.”
“If that makes me weird…” he shrugs.
“Well that’s not all that makes you weird. I actually have a list at home if you want to see it.”
He grins, then kisses her once more. Shorter this time. But a little more aggressive.
She rests her chin against his chest, smiling up at him. “You’re okay?”
“No.” he admits. “But I will be.”
****
He cries after they make love. A release of so many emotions that have been threatening to swallow him whole. Enormous amounts of frustration, anger, and hints of sadness and desperation. Relief as well; that the most dire and dangerous years of his are not behind him and he can concentrate on having a normal life. Or his version of it, at least. He was ashamed afterwards; embarrassed that he’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him, that he’d lost control and let himself be so vulnerable. And she’d held him as he clung to her, stroking his hair and his back, ensuring him that of all the people in the world that he could be that way with, it was her. There was no reason for shame. Or embarrassment. Not with her. Never with her.
They know all of each other’s deepest and darkest secrets; things they’ve never told another other living soul. He was the first -and still the only- person she ever told about everything Mark had done: the mental abuse along with sexual. And she was one of the few people that he’d ever opened up to about not only the death of his son, but the tremendous guilt he’d been living with over abandoning his own flesh and blood. Keeping secrets were not something they did; no matter how painful and devastating they could be.
The emotional meltdown, mixed in with jet lag, had worn him out and he’d fallen asleep; on his side with the comforter pulled up past his chin. Exhausted both mentally and physically, his features soft and not bearing any sign of pain of discomfort. The most peaceful and content that she’d seen him -while at rest- in years. She took it as a good sign. That although the road was going to long and bumpy, he was ready and willing to work on putting the past behind him. On finally putting all those monsters and demons to rest. And finally forgiving himself for the choices he’d made and the things that he’d done.
She’d settled in beside him; tucking her back into his front, loving the instinctive way his arm reached out to wrap around her, hand resting on her stomach, and his leg came to rest over top of hers. The same way he’d been falling asleep for the past the five and a half years. Eventually he’d move; either woken up by pain or because she’d tell him to roll over and leave her alone because he was either too hot and too heavy, or snoring way too damn much.
The sun is beginning to set when she wakens; finding that heavy arm and leg still draped over her and his forehead resting against the back of her head. She’s hungry and needs to pee, but he’s a light sleeper and getting away from him when he’s in that close of contact is nothing short of a feat worthy of Mission: Impossible. Even the smallest of movements and sounds able to wake him in an instant, the hyper-vigilance extremely strong. And she feels him begin to stir when she moves slips out from underneath the weight of his two limbs.
“What’s wrong?” Tyler mumbles, eyes still closed.
“Nothing’s wrong. Go back to sleep.”
“What time is it?”
“What does it matter? Got a hot date or something?”
“Maybe I do,” he responds, and then reaches out to curl an arm around her waist and pull her back towards him. Once again placing his hand on her stomach and burying his face in the back of her neck. And the feel of him…that solid body, the warmth that he gives off, the tickle of his breath again her skin…makes her temporarily forget all about her own discomfort. “What time is it?” he asks again.
“Almost quarter after nine.”
“At night?”
She nods.
“Where’s the kids?”
“They’re with Kyle and Nik. Remember? I told you this yesterday. That Kyle would take him them so we could be alone for two or three days. So it would nice and quiet and you could just have time to relax and start working shit out.”
“Oh…yeah…okay…” he nuzzles the tip of her nose against the nape of her neck, then presses a kiss to it.
“You remember that, right?” She can’t help but feel slightly concerned. Had his memory issues really gotten that bad?”
“Yeah. I just…I don’t know…half asleep I guess.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
He nods. “It’s Thursday.”
“Month?”
He yawns. “July.”
“Year?”
“I know what day, month and year it is,” he grumbles. “And I remember about the kids. I was just…I don’t know…out of it for a second. I’m not brain dead.”
“I didn’t say you were. It just kind of freaked me out for a second.”
“Well stop…” he implores and kisses the back of her head. “…stop freaking out, stop stressing, stop being irrational. Everything’s fine. I’m home now. That’s all that matters, yeah?”
She nods in agreement, and lays her hand over top of his, lacing their fingers together. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Things. All the things. Why you wanted to come home?”
“I didn’t want to come home. I mean, I did. I needed to come home.”
“Do you want to talk about that? Why you needed to come home?”
“Not right now.”
“But you will? Right? Talk about it?”
Tyler nods.
She rolls over onto her side, facing him, and presses a kiss to his forehead. And he gives a small smile and places his hand on the small of her back, pulling her body flesh against his. His head dropping to her shoulder as her fingers slowly comb through his hair, letting those longer strands slide between her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his breath warm and soothing against her skin.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“Everything is a lot of things. Do you want to give me something specific or…”?
“Everything,” he stresses, as he lifts his head to look at her. “Everything shitty fucking thing I’ve done in the past five and a half years.”
“Tyler, I don’t know how many shitty fucking things you think you’ve done, but…”
“I never should have gotten back into it. The job. After we helped Ovi out the second time in Dhaka, that should have been it. I should have just walked away then. I should have just told Nik to fuck off when she called offering me work. But we had Millie and Ovi and you were having the twins and I was worried about keeping a roof over your heads and food on the table and…”
“We talked about this. It was four years ago. You did what you thought was the best for us. It wasn’t an easy time and you had lot of valid worries and concerns. Do I wish you’d handled things differently? Like talking to me about it before you just went and did it? That would have been great. But it’s over and done with and you can’t go back and change it. You need to let things like that go. Stop holding onto them and blaming yourself and hating yourself. I don’t blame you and I don’t hate you. And you shouldn’t either.”
“I couldn’t stop. Wanting to do it. The job. I kept telling myself that I would. Every time I came home, I’d tell myself that I wouldn’t answer the phone the next time Nik called. Or I’d just say no to whatever she offered me. But I never could. It was an obsession. I couldn’t let go if it no matter how hard I tried. I’ve been away from you and the kids more than I’ve been with you.”
She gives a nod in confirmation.
“And I fucking hate that. That I let I let it get that bad. That I myself get that bad. And I’m sorry. For all the times I just left you and the kids. For missing birthdays and anniversaries and all of that. For just being a shitty goddamn husband. For abandoning you when you needed me. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know you didn’t,” she assures him. “I know.”
“I just took of advantage of it. You. I just knew you’d be here when I got back, and I thought you always would be no matter how many times I left. I thought you’d always be here no matter and then one you almost weren’t.”
“McMann’s house?”
He nods, the tears threatening once again. “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”
“Tyler…it’s okay…” she takes his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his brow. “…you need to let this all go.”
“It’s not okay. It’s never going to be okay. How can you forgive me when I can’t even forgive myself?”
“Because I love you,” she reasons. “Can’t that be a good enough reason?”
He nods, sniffling noisily as he wraps both arms around her, hands clasped together at the small of her back.
Pushing her hand into his hair, she grips it tightly and draws his face down to her shoulder once more. It’s nowhere near as powerful as the breakdown he’d had before; no sound escaping his body, no trembling against her. Just the feel of his tears against her skin. Holding him there until he eventually pulls away, rolling over onto his back and using his forearm to clear any remaining droplets from his face.
She reaches out and rubs his stomach. “You hungry?”
“Yeah, I could eat.”
“Good. Because I’m starving. I haven’t been able to stop eating since the doctor put me on those meds. I swear to God, if I’m actually eating for three instead of two, I will chop your balls off. One set of twins is enough.”
“Maybe it’s triplets.”
Frowning, she grabs her pillow from behind her and smacks him in the face with. “You bite your goddamn tongue! You were the one that made the twin comment four years ago and look what happened. It came true. So if at the next ultrasound, they find three…”
“I will let you chop my balls off,” he promises her.
“Or, you could go and the snip like you promised you would after Declan. It would be a lot less painful than chopping them off. Just saying.”
“Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Make the call. Set it up. Get her done.”
“You can consider that an early birthday present to me,” she chides, and then leans over to kiss him. “I am going to make dinner and you are going to shower and then come and eat with me. Deal?”
He nods. “Deal.”
****
“I want you do something for me,” he says a half an hour later, as he joins her in the kitchen.
“Blow jobs come after dinner,” she says from where she stands at the stove, stirring a pot of pasta sauce. “Those are considered dessert.”
“As tempting as that sounds,” he lays a hand on her hip and presses a kiss to the side of her head. “That’s not what I was talking about. Although, I might take you up on it.”
“Might?” she grins, as he leans back against the counter by the stove. “You know you will. There is no might. What do want me to do?”
He holds up the hair clippers that he’d brought down from the bathroom.
“We talked about this. You get your rid of your beard, we’re getting a divorce. This is not up for debate.”
“If we get divorced, do I have to pay alimony and child support?”
She frowns.
“I’m not getting rid of my beard. That’s not what I want you to do. I want you to shave my head.”
“Okay…” she wipes her hands off on the thighs of her leggings. “…why?”
“Why’d you want to dye your back to its normal color?”
“Because the red represented a really fucked up time that I didn’t particularly want to relive every day.”
He holds the clippers out to her once again. “Shave my head.”
“That’s a little…extreme…don’t you think?”
“It’s hair. It’ll grow back. You wanted your hair back to normal to forget about something bad, well I want it mine gone so I can forget about things. We want to move on, right? We want to put all of this behind us? This life? This job? Everything fucked up that’s happened in the last five and a half years? That’s what we’re trying to do, yeah?”
“Yeah, but your hair? Why…?”
“Just do it. I dyed your hair when I didn’t want to.”
“You weren’t attached to my red hair in the weird and creepy way I’m attached to your hair.”
“Please?” he offers the item in his hand once more. “I need to do this. I need to let it go. I need to let him go. And I want you to help me do it.”
She sighs, and then takes the clippers from him. “Why do you have to break my heart like this? Your hair? I’d almost rather the beard.”
“Okay. Then it’s one or the other. Beard or hair. You can’t keep both.”
She looks down at the object in her hand, then back at him. “I’m really going to miss your hair.”
****
They have dinner first; sitting out on the back deck with nothing more than a handful of candles and the solar lights attached to the top railing. It’s been a long time since either of them has felt this relaxed; soothed by the comforts of home and familiar surroundings. Being able to indulge in conversation that didn’t revolve the job anyone even remotely attached to it. Teasing on another in the good natured and loving way they’d developed years ago, laughing easily as they reminisced about the past four years in their home, speaking wistfully of all the things that awaited them in Australia. They’d picked a home the day before; a four bedroom bungalow on fifteen acres in Cookstown, the northern most habitable point on the Gold Coast in Queensland. It backed out onto the ocean and came with its own private beach; a fair size that would give them the privacy and security they craved when it came to their children. The money had already been transferred. In full. And they took possession in a little more than a month and a half. It didn’t leave a lot of time; to pack up their life here and leave behind what they didn’t want weighing them down.
Kyle would move into their current house. Taking on the chickens and the goats. Ovi…and Chloe…would be moving with them. The house in Cookstown having a one bedroom granny flat a hundred yards from the pool that would make a great place for a young couple just starting out.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Esme says an hour after dinner, the clippers in her hand as Tyler sits in a chair in the middle of the kitchen. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. What if I screw it up?”
“What’s there to screw up? You’re shaving it all off.”
“But it’s just so nice…” she pouts as she runs her fingers through the longer strands. “…I’ve only been in love with this hair cut for five and a half years.”
“Did you fall in love with my hair or me?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
He glares at her.
“You of course! But this is how you had your hair when I met you and that’s how I know you.”
“I grew my hair out after you had Declan,” he points out.
“And I made you get it cut back to this. This is all I’ve known. This haircut. And I’m a little attached to it.”
“You think?”
“You were mad when I cut my hair,” she reminds him.
“I wasn’t mad. I was disappointed. I liked it long.”
“And I like yours like this.”
“Because you can pull it. That’s the only reason. You like to pull it and I let you do it.”
“Exactly. Won’t you miss that? Me pulling here when we’re doing…adult things?”
“I’ll learn to deal. Are you crying to cry over this?” he grins. “You look like you’re going to cry about this.”
“I might,” she admits, and he can’t help but laugh. “It’s only because I’m hormonal. I’m not that attached to your hair. I can’t believe you’re laughing at me. You’re the reason I’m hormonal in the first place! If you didn’t sleep in grade nine health class, you would have known the pullout method doesn’t work and I wouldn’t be insanely hormonal right now.”
“I’m sorry. I’m…” he bites down on his bottom lip to stifle his laughter. “…I’m laughing with you, not at you.”
“Bullshit you are.”
“It’s just hair, Esme. It’ll grow back. But I really need you to do this. If we’re putting it all behind us, then this is part of it. If we want to let go of everything from the past, we have to let go of him to. Please…” he lays his hands on her hips. “…do this for me.”
“Okay…” she sighs, and leans in to kiss him. “…but if I mess this up…”
“What is there to mess up? You’re taking it all off. You’ll be alright, baby. You can do this. I have faith in you.”
“Don’t be a smart ass or I’ll shave one of your eyebrows off,” she threatens, and turns the clippers on.
It takes all of five minutes; the guard set on the lowest setting before taking the hair right down to the skin. He hasn’t worn it that short since his military days, when he’d been much younger and short hair had been mandatory. And which each strand that falls, so does some of the weight from the past. The memories of the things he’d had to do in the name of survival; the people he’d killed, the ways he’d had to resort to, the money he’d taken. It didn’t matter how many he saved. The lives he’d taken will always overshadow them.
Killing had never been for fun. He’d never gotten a rush or a joy out of it like so many other mercenaries did. It was simply a means to an end; something he had to do in order to either save someone or himself. There would always be regrets. Over having to do the things he’d done. For making the tough decisions that he wouldn’t wish on even his worst enemy. For trusting the wrong people and not trusting the right ones. There were so many things he’d done wrong over the span of the last five and a half years. And all he could do was try and not make the same mistakes twice.
“Anyone else you’d shave their hair and they’d be hideous,” Esme says as she unplugs the clippers. “Not you. You just stay hot. Regardless. What a burden to have to live with. I don’t know how carry such a heavy weight being so attractive while the rest of us are destined to be ugly forever.”
“You can see the scars now,” he tucks his chin into his chest, fingers moving over his scalp. “How bad are they are?”
She stands behind his thighs and holds his hand in her hands. “If I connect the dots, I can make a perfect outline of New York State.”
He frowns.
“There’s barely anything there. And who cares? You have lots of scars other places. They don’t bother me. They’re sexy. They give you character.”
“You’re weird.”
“Maybe,” she shrugs. “But you’re still the most beautiful man in the world to me.”
“Normally I hate the B word, but I’ll give it to you.”
“Good. Because it’s true,” she kisses him softly. “Whether you like that word or not. And I have to say…” she runs her palms over his head. “…it’s pretty sexy. You pull it off. It’s just…I don’t know…” she chews on her bottom lip, tears welling in her eyes.
“Baby…seriously…” his hands find her hips. “…over hair?”
“It’s not about the hair. It’s what getting rid of it means. It’s like an ending. Like we’re saying goodbye to the last five and a half years…”
“Just the bad stuff. Not the good stuff. Just the job and everything connected to it. It had to go. He had to go. And you know he did.”
She nods. “It’s just all getting to be so final now. You coming home for good, getting rid of everything that came with the job, now the hair. It’s just seems more real. And in a month and a bit, none of this will exist either. We’re just going to walk away and leave it all behind.”
“We don’t have to. We can get the money back and stay here. If that’s what you want.”
“That’s not what I want. I want to go back to Australia. I need to go back. We need to go back. It’s just sad, you know. There’s a lot of good memories here too. I mean Declan was born here. In this house. All because he couldn’t wait long enough to get to the hospital. I bet you thought you’d never add ‘delivered a baby’ to your resume.”
“Nope. And I don’t want to ever do it again. So this…” he lays a hand on her stomach. “…stays where she’s supposed to until she’s supposed to.”
“We still don’t know for sure if it’s a boy or a girl, so…”
“It’s a girl. Trust me. It is.”
“Wanna make a bet? Just a friendly wager?”
“Depends. What’s it entail?”
“If you lose and it’s a boy, you have to clean all the dirty diapers from the time he comes home until he’s two months old. And your track record for making boys is three out of four, so…”
“And if I win?”
“If it’s a girl…and that’s a big if because you’ve had one girl and made three boys afterwards…you get to decorate the nursery any way you want.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Any way?”
“Any way you want. And I won’t complain about it once. I promise. Just no clowns because Junior is scared shitless of them and unless you want him sleeping in our bed until he’s eighteen…”
“Junior?” Tyler laughs. “That’s what we’re calling him now?”
“You call Declan ‘the Ginger’,” she points out.
“We are going to give our kids complexes. If we haven’t already. They’re going to need therapy. Lots of it.”
“Is it a bet? Are you in?”
“I’m in. And I’m already going to apologize for what I’m going to do with that nursery.”
“You’re so cocky,” she laughs. “There’s no proof than some dream you had that it’s a girl.”
“And you have no proof that it’s a boy. So…”
“History, my friend. Specifically, your sperms history. History is not on your side.”
“I’m due for a win. It’s a girl.”
“We’ll see. We’ll find out for sure in four weeks. Which means we actually need to find a doctor in Australia before we get there. And you said you’d handle all the Australia stuff. It’ll keep you busy and out of your head. Which…by the way…” she rubs her hands against the stubble. “…is a very sexy head.”
“Thank you. For doing that for me. I know it broke your heart.”
“A little part of me died inside,” she teases. “I’ll never be the same. But…” she holds his face in her hands and kisses him. “…you’re lucky you’re hot no matter what you do with your hair. And thank you. For trusting me with that. I know why you had to do it. And you trusted me with it.”
“There’s nothing I don’t trust you with. My kids’ lives. Mine.”
“Don’t get all sappy with me. My hormones cannot take it. You know it makes me weak. When you get like that. I swear you use it to your advantage. You know it makes me weak enough to give you whatever you want.”
“You know what I really want right now? Dessert.”
She smirks. “Are you talking code language for blow jobs or are we talking actual food to eat?”
He grins and kisses her. “I’ll let you figure it out.”
#tyler rake#tyler rake fan fic#tyler rake fan fiction#sanctuary#extraction#chris hemsworth character
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Kalopsia Project [Bakugo Katsuki x Reader – Tokyo Ghoul AU]
Summary:
New chapter every Wednesday!
When a not-so-perfect date almost costs you your life, you’re unexpectedly rescued by a certain ash blond ghoul, and thrown into a new life at a small cafe by the name of Yuuei, where you’re surrounded by those you’ve always thought to be your enemies. As you find out ghouls aren’t quite what they’re made out to be though, your life is further thrown into chaos by a mysterious project nobody seems to understand, yet has unwillingly been dragged into.
Never in your life would you have thought the person you would come to find most comfort in, would be the kind that hunted humans. Yet you’ve learned to love the irony of it all…
***
You don’t need any prior knowledge of Tokyo Ghoul to understand this story!
The cover art is made by me!
Enjoy!
Kalopsia Project Masterpost
***
Glossary:
Ghouls – a humanoid species only able to feed on the flesh of humans and other ghouls. If ghouls attempt to eat normal food, they will be struck by a powerful urge to vomit. They are, however, able to drink coffee, as well as regular drinking water.
CCG – Commission of Counter Ghoul, usually abbreviated as CCG, serves as a criminal investigative body in cases connected to ghouls. The ghouls commonly call the ghoul investigators Doves. Ghoul investigators carry out the actual investigations and capture suspects. They are often assigned to carry out investigations in one of Tokyo's wards.
Kagune – a ghoul's predatory organ, functioning as their weapon and claws. When released, a ghoul's physique is strengthened, they are more resilient, and their mobility heightens. Although a ghoul's healing ability is high, the healing of wounds tends to be delayed if the wounds are inflicted by a kagune.
(excerpts taken from the Tokyo Ghoul Wiki)
***
Chapter 1 – Best Date Ever
Just another faceless person among the crowd of hundreds upon thousands of others. That’s all she was. And all I ever thought she would be.
I first noticed her existence in our last year of high-school. We were set to graduate in just about a month. Oh, how ready I was to get out of this miserable place already.
Up until then, it had been a normal day like any other. Boring, dull. It was all getting repetitive and blurring together.
Then, a teacher called her over. It must have been something important. She ran to him and listened. I watched as her face paled, then her eyes widened. She looked terrified. Soon after, she was gone.
She didn’t appear on the next day. Or the day after. A week, and then a month had gone by – she was nowhere to be found. Even as the school year came to an end, there was no trace of her.
Not that I cared.
But they talked. Every break, for a few days after. You couldn’t not hear it, even if you wanted to.
“Hey, she still hasn’t come back yet...”
“Yeah, but can you blame her? Such a tragedy. No one deserves that.”
“Huh? You know what happened?”
“Don’t you? It’s been all over the news, not to mention all the rumors going around at school. Both her parents were ghoul investigators. That night, they were attacked and brutally murdered. They say their corpses were barely recognizable...”
“Huh? I thought ghouls ate people?”
“Usually they do. But they speculate they must have been attacked as revenge.”
“Gosh, this is horrible… Poor soul...”
Well, duh. I wouldn’t want to eat someone who hunts my own kind either. Those ghoul investigators were always a pain in the ass. Good riddance, if you were to ask me.
I myself didn’t usually go hunting people for fun. It was already hard enough just finding some to feed on. But I would be lying if I said I was against killing those goddamn doves.
Come graduation, and everything was swiftly forgotten. That girl finally faded from my mind. She shouldn’t have ever been there in the first place, but at least things were finally as they always should have been.
A few uneventful months later, it was time to go back to school. All those humans going about their merry way and buzzing around were damn annoying. But anything was better than being suspicious for not going to school at all.
Though university wasn’t exactly complete freedom, I liked to believe it would be better than high-school. The bar was set pretty low, after all.
And then, on the first day, I was surprised.
Not because I didn’t expect it. In fact, I couldn’t have ever expected it after I had, as I already mentioned, wiped any traces of her existence from my memory.
But even so, here she was.
Different place, different time, different people. And yet she had finally appeared, for the first time in months.
And what’s more – she was smiling. It wasn’t the kind of carefree smile she always wore from what I vaguely managed to recall of her. It was a heavy smile. It hid a lot. But did I care enough to find out what? Not really.
She seemed to fit in at once. All the other girls swarmed her, and thus began the usual scene of eager introductions, annoying giggles, stupid small talk. So mundane.
“Hey, hey – what do you all think about ghouls?”
Ah, how I loved that question. In fact, I loved it so much that if I were a binge-eater or even just some boring serial killer, those who asked it, would be first on my hit-list. Good thing I wasn’t one. Yet. I couldn’t help but wonder how those girls would react if they ever found out just how many ghouls hid right beneath their noses.
Usually I would try to tune those conversations out. And usually, I would fail miserably, listening in anyway.
One girl laughed and said she didn’t believe in them, claiming they were just some urban legends. Well, she’ll probably get eaten one day, though I didn’t have it in me to pity her. Just about everybody else said ghouls were some mindless murderers and monsters to be feared. And this right here was why I hated whiny teenage girls.
There was however, one reply that stood out.
“Hmm, I don’t know about that. Perhaps not all of them are that bad? Say for example, if you were to pick one person to represent all of humanity, you probably wouldn’t pick a serial killer now, would you? So what if it’s the same with ghouls? Those binge-eater ghouls we always hear about – what if they’re just the minority that makes themselves known? Perhaps there are many more that live quietly with us, in peace.”
And then they all laughed at her. I, on the other hand, was a little too fixated on the brief moment I could swear her eyes darted toward me. I must have been imagining it though. I was probably getting paranoid – this was the daughter of two ghoul investigators, you know? Of course I would be worried she would catch onto me sooner or later.
I still didn’t really care much about her. But I had to admit – my respect for her grew, if only barely. Few were anywhere near as open-minded as she was. Then again, that also made her a naive dumbass – too hopeful and trusting for her own good.
Shortly after, she kind of faded into the background once again. Sure, she wasn’t faceless to me anymore. But that was it.
It has been a few months since then. Yet again, those couple of months were as uneventful as they came. Nonetheless, she is still here. I am still here. And so is everybody else.
What a funny pair we were. A ghoul and the daughter of a pair of ghoul investigators, brutally murdered a year ago.
Now that I think about it, I don’t recall us having ever actually spoken. Nothing past a quick ‘Hey, you got a spare pencil?’ or ‘Did you catch what the teacher said just now?’ at least.
That’s why it was funny. How our fates were meant to intertwine.
It was, to put it simply, quite ironic.
But it’s an irony I’ve learned to love.
***
You couldn’t help but stare. You knew it was rude, you didn’t need anyone telling you so. But there was this feeling that, try as you might, you just couldn’t shake off.
After all, who the hell transferred universities like that!? What was this guy even thinking?
As the teacher blabbered on about yet another topic you’d have to prepare for all by yourself at home anyway, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to the blond who had taken a seat nearby.
His hair was soft, parted down the side and not too long – all in all, it was a hairstyle sported by quite the number of guys you knew. So perhaps it was its more uncommon color that threw you off – the blonds weren’t all that many around here, after all. You briefly thought about Bakugo, glancing to the side to find him mindlessly playing with a pencil, twirling it between his fingers. He was so focused too. You snickered to yourself.
Thoughts going back to the transfer student though, you also noted his light blue eyes, deep yet lost and distraught. Almost like he was there but simultaneously wasn’t. His face was soft and his mouth hadn’t formed anything less than a smile ever since he had first walked in. Though it seemed to be a smile that didn’t quite reach those distant eyes of his.
But you had to admit – he was very attractive.
Naturally, you weren’t the only one to make that observation. Once the class had ended, he was immediately surrounded by a handful of curious boys and a whole legion of desperate girls. Even still, he had been all too kind to them, never turning down a question and fitting in like he had been there from the start.
You listened in and got all the answers you were looking for.
“Why? Well, you see, it was my parents’ choice. We happen to live quite close to those recent ghoul attacks in the Second Ward. In fact, they happened right around the corner of the university I go to. When the old man learned of this, he demanded that I change schools.”
Ghouls.
Legend has it, if a conversation continued long enough, the topic was bound to come up eventually. You knew all too well.
Binge-eaters had always been the scariest to you. After all, if a ghoul could survive for an entire month by feeding on a single human, then why were there those who murdered just for fun?
You didn’t need such dark thoughts now though. So you shook your head and continued on with your day instead.
Soon enough that day had turned into two, then three, until finally an entire week had gone by. And with the passing of time, the shock that had accompanied the new student who had briefly shaken up your mundane existence faded too. To you, he was now just another classmate.
That’s why, when he approached you one day, you were left speechless.
“A… a date!?” you exclaimed, face flushing a dark red.
“Yes! You’re so kind and beautiful, [L/N]-san – I’d love to get a chance to go out with you!” he smiled, complimenting you like few had before.
“Ah, I’m so sorry, this is just a little sudden, haha...” His expression fell, a look of sudden guilt replacing his cheerful grin.
“Oh no, did I put you on the spot just now? God, I am so sorry, please forgive me. Don’t worry – I wouldn’t mind if you reject. It’s just a simple proposal!” Monoma reassured. But you thought. And thought. Never before had you been asked out on a date by someone as nice and attractive. Surely, it couldn’t hurt. If anything, you needed something so spice up your days.
“Oh, actually – it’s… it’s okay, Monoma-kun! I accept! Or, um, what I mean is, I wouldn’t mind going out on a date with you!” You smiled back, though your cheeks were growing warmer by the minute. Monoma all but jumped in excitement, grin returning.
“This is amazing! Thank you so much, [L/N]-san! Oh, oh – can I call you [L/N]-chan instead?”
“S-sure!” you managed to squeak out.
“Hmm, is today after classes okay? About 7PM? I know it gets dark early but I’ll be waiting for you at the station in the Second Ward and can even take you home if you need me to? So no reason to worry, yeah?”
“Yes, that sounds great!”
And that’s the story of how you somehow scored yourself a date with one of the most charismatic and well-liked people you had ever met. You would have been lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to it. Perhaps this was going to be your faithful encounter, the one to finally turn the gears of your life.
If only you knew what it was that awaited you that night.
The pair of crimson eyes trained on your unsuspecting frame certainly did.
***
After yet another quick glance at your watch, you moved to fix up your knee-length skirt one last time, as the oncoming train stopped before you. At exactly 18.32 you climbed onto it, your heartbeat easily going through the roof at just the thought of those next few hours. Though you weren’t sure what to expect yet, you couldn’t wait to meet up with Monoma.
Upon noticing how packed the train looked, you exhaled in relief that you had opted for a pair of flats instead of those new heels you’d been eyeing up. You weren’t sure if you would even find a place to sit, after all.
Your eyes scanned around, and to your surprise you noticed a single empty seat, the one beside it occupied by someone clad in mostly black, a hint of red peeking out from beneath his dark hoodie. It was his hair that stood out to you, however. After all, the spiky blond locks you had happened upon were quite familiar to you.
“Hey, Bakugo-kun. Fancy running into you here!” you smiled as you approached him, motioning to the empty seat beside him. He shuffled closer to the window to give you some more space. With a gracious nod, you sat down beside him, and proceeded to pull out your phone and give Bakugo his peace – he never looked to be in a talkative mood. You wondered if it was his naturally hostile expression that made others weary of taking the seat.
Yet your mind kept wandering in circles, all of which lead back to him.
“So… Where are you heading to…?” you asked, only now realizing this might have been the first time you had ever had a proper conversation with him, despite having known him for years. He glanced at you, then turned to look out the window once again.
“Second ward. Got some family shit to attend.” Your eyes widened, lips curling up into a smile.
“Ah, what a coincidence! That’s where I’m going too! Surely you wouldn’t mind the company until then?”
“Yeah, whatever. Though I have to wonder what a girl like you’s doing, going to a dangerous ward like that anyway,” he muttered, unbeknownst to you already knowing the answer. You pouted.
“Hey now, I’m not a child, you know? My parents taught me a thing or two about taking care of myself. Plus, I won’t be alone!” You could have very well imagined it, but you could swear his gaze, still aimed at the passing scenery in the window, had hardened into a glare.
“Yeah...”
***
That half an hour had flown by like barely half a minute, as you found yourself enjoying Bakugo’s company, despite having to lead the conversation yourself most of the time. He didn’t seem to mind too much though.
When your stop came around, you both made haste to the exit, quickly stepping aside to let the remaining passengers get off as well. Watching the train depart once more, you turned to Bakugo, hands intertwined behind your back, as you smiled at him.
“Thank you for letting me chat with you like this! I had a blast! See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Now go,” he grumbled, eyes focused somewhere behind you, lingering there even after you turned around to find your date waving to you from afar. You said one last goodbye to Bakugo and ran over to the other boy.
“Sorry for being late, Monoma-kun. Hope you didn’t have to wait long!” you greeted as you waved the blond hello. He laughed.
“Are you kidding me? It’s only been a minute or two, [L/N]-chan, no need to apologize.” You nervously laughed with him. “May I add, it was definitely worth it – you look even more gorgeous than usual, there was no need to outdo yourself like that!” You blushed. Ah, how you wished it was socially acceptable to just hide your face behind your hands right there and then.
“Aw, thank you! But you look great as well – I had to match!” You weren’t very good at this whole dating thing. Nor the conversation thing for that matter. But you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try.
“You’re flattering me. Shall we go, my lady?” And suddenly, the heat had risen to your cheeks.
“Only if you drop the ‘my lady’ part...” you muttered, mentally smacking yourself when your voice quivered.
“If you insist. But that’s no fun...” Monoma faked a pout, but smiled again and set off. You let him walk a little ways ahead of you, choosing to take in the unfamiliar area instead. You had the whole evening ahead of you to spend time together, after all.
“Oh, that reminds me – what was that guy doing here with you?” Monoma suddenly stopped, turning towards you with eyes that, at a first glance, appeared to be full of curiosity. Though the longer you looked at them, the more this sinking feeling in your stomach grew. The kind of feeling that was desperately trying to scream at you that there was something else they hid a little further past the curiosity.
“You mean Bakugo-kun? We just happened to run into each other on the train. He said he had some family business in the area or something,” you mumbled, noticing Monoma had slowed his pace down and was now walking beside you again. “Ah, I completely forgot!”
You jumped, scrambling to find your phone. Monoma watched you in bewilderment as you dug through the tissues, keys, even a few random pens you carried for reasons you may never know, hand finally reaching for the smartphone buried at the bottom of your small purse. With a satisfied smile, you quickly typed up a short message to Bakugo.
‘Forgot to wish you a good time with your family!^^’
And – send. There we go! Can’t believe it slipped my mind…
“...ding ground, that bastard,” was the first thing you heard from Monoma once you finally put your phone away. You cocked your head in confusion.
“What was that again?” you asked, a little blush spreading to your cheeks when you realized you hadn’t been paying attention to the boy who’d been so kind as to propose a date to you. Then again, the way he had spoken as if to himself, perhaps you weren’t meant to hear it.
“Huh? Ah – hanging around! You know, would you mind hanging around a little before we go somewhere for dinner?” he asked, that sweet smile of his you were quickly getting used to returning to his face. The change was perhaps a bit too sudden but you chose to brush it off.
“Sounds good to me. I’m not that hungry yet anyway.”
“Oh, good for you. I’m kinda starving though,” Monoma muttered. His words however, left you with an odd sense of dread. You didn’t quite know why. Perhaps you were just too paranoid for your own good. After all, a dark street late at night was sure to give a young girl some strange thoughts, no?
You chose to instead put your trust in Monoma. Everyone had their quirks. He had done nothing to make you suspicious of him, after all. You were just imagining things that weren’t there.
…
God, how you hoped you were just imagining them.
As the two of you shared a quiet and peaceful walk (as peaceful as your raging thoughts would let it to be anyway), you took to looking at the streets around you. Anything was better than contemplating whether the silence you were engulfed in was a comfortable one or not.
It was getting late and the second ward was, admittedly, a dangerous one. Not only was it overflowing with ghouls and investigators left and right, it was also home to the frequent attacks of a binge-eater in the recent weeks.
Which is why there was no way you were going there alone. Fortunately for you, all the victims seemed to have been by themselves when they had been attacked, not to mention the lack of witnesses. Whoever this ghoul was, they were into the easy targets. But with a partner beside you and a slew of people walking nearby, you felt at ease.
…
Huh? You could swear there really were people walking all around you just a few minutes ago… This was the main street – it should have been busy, even late at night.
It… it was the main street, right? Had you taken an odd turn without realizing it? Monoma seemed pretty confident as he lead the way though.
Something seemed odd.
You were on the verge of freaking out. One look around you only made things worse. This street, these buildings – why did they look so familiar?
But you had never been to the second ward before. Where had you seen them? In person? Unlikely. Perhaps on the TV then? Or online?
Could it have been the news?
You let out a quiet gasp.
…
‘Hanging around’
‘...ding ground, that bastard.’
…
‘...ding ground.’
…
Following the gasp, an icy shiver ran down your spine, as your heartbeat faltered for a second, only to then come back faster than ever. The sound echoed loudly in your ears.
Hanging around? No – that was most certainly not what he had said.
Feeding ground.
“Feeding ground...” you breathed out. Your walking came to a sharp halt, the realization seeming to root you in place.
And despite your voice hovering barely above a whisper, your words were heard. Loud and clear. Because Monoma stopped too, though he didn’t turn to face you quite yet.
“The streets are empty… It’s so quiet… Because this- because this is your feeding ground...” Every new word you let slip was just another mistake to push you to your early grave. Then again, if your assumption was correct, your ‘date’ had long dug that grave and was about to bury you in it himself.
Only then did Monoma turn to face you. You couldn’t see his eyes, which remained covered by his hair, but his shoulders clearly shook a few times. And then he laughed.
And laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
It was the kind of laugh you’d hear in a cheesy horror movie or a cheaply made scary game.
Never in your life had you imagined it could be for real.
“Ahahaha, I got myself a smart girl, didn’t I!?” he exclaimed, finally straightening up to face you. And this time, you could clearly make out his eyes, even in the darkening streets.
Tonight, they were nothing like the calm blue hues you had admired a mere week ago. They were now black, a pair of small red irises staring back at you. You were terrified.
A reddish blur whizzed past you, making you snap back to reality.
Figuring out his intentions had been the easy part. Now was the real beginning of a night you likely wouldn’t even survive.
So, you ran.
Putting one leg in front of the other, pushing your body ever forward – that was all that occupied your mind. You didn’t look back, in fear of what awaited you. Though you knew what it was very well – a ghoul’s kagune. Protruding from their back and acting like their strongest weapon against humans, the kagune was used to hunt their prey, murder it mercilessly, and tear it to pieces.
Now you most certainly didn’t want to look back.
If only things ever went your way.
A sharp pain stabbed right through your shoulder. So sharp in fact, you couldn’t hold the scream that tore its way out of your throat, echoing across the nearby dark alleyways, in sync with the sound of numerous droplets of blood splattering onto the ground.
It hurt.
Goddammit, it hurt so, so badly.
You wanted to cry, shout, scream more, yet your voice seemed to be lost already.
You were too afraid to look, but you were certain that it was his kagune that had pierced through your body like it was just some measly piece of paper. And suddenly that kagune yanked you backwards, as your back was roughly slammed against a wall and you slumped to the ground, quietly sobbing from the ever-increasing pain.
Your vision was becoming blurrier by the minute, yet you could still make out the person- no, the creature leisurely approaching you. His face was just a moving blob of color, until he crouched before you, eyeing you with a twisted smile. You could finally place why that same smile had previously seemed so odd to you, though you were too late. Beside his foot you noticed the purse you had been carrying, now discarded on the ground, all your belongings scattered about in an ugly mess.
Monoma had just opened his mouth to speak, but his attempt went ignored, as you reached for the small blue ballpoint pen just beside your outstretched hand, the clear barrel blurring in and out of sight.
He stood and watched you with a simple curiosity. The kind of curiosity a child felt as it laughed at the small insect it was holding captive, knowing it wouldn’t find an escape, but meet a painful end instead. Your futile attempts must have been so humorous to him, he felt the need to mock them out loud too.
“What do you think you’re doing, doll? You think a pen’s gonna help ya? Unless you want to stab yourself with it?” He let out a dark chuckle. “Sorry, but I don’t intend to give you the satisfaction.”
He made no attempt to stop you though. Had he not just put you on the verge of death, you might have even thanked him for his carelessness. Pen grasped in your trembling hand, your eyes, though with much difficulty, shifted to the kagune beside you. Only now did you notice how his seemed to look like two long tentacles, colored a dark shade of blood red.
“Oh? You plan to stab my kagune?” he laughed. “Go ahead, try it.”
But you knew better. Dead or not, your parents were ghoul investigators. And they had taught you well.
Kagune couldn’t be pierced just like that. Not with a knife, not even with a bullet, let alone a pen.
Stabbing it was out of the question.
Instead, you positioned the pen sideways, thrusting it as hard as your weakening body would allow. Monoma realized his mistake a second too late.
After all, even a ghoul was weak against a surface wound.
As the pain connected and lodged itself into the kagune at an unnatural and unpleasant angle, Monoma cried out in a mix of pain and fury. The part of it that had been holding you captive also disappeared, leaving a bunch of fresh blood to pour from the now widely-open wound on your shoulder.
Your sense were weakening and fast. But in this moment, all you had to do was survive.
You took to running yet again.
He did not chase after you this time, at least not at first.
You knew he was playing some kind of twisted game. He could easily catch you the moment he so wished. Instead, he wanted to give you a glimpse of hope, a taste of salvation, only to drag you back down and crush all of it to pieces with you.
Now the question was – who was to become the winner of this little game?
***
“I saw how you looked at her just now and I’m warning you – you had your chance, and you wasted it. She’s my prey now so you better stay out of the way, you got that?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you plan to do with her. At least I’m not that stupid – she’s the child of two CCG investigators. Ain’t exactly the best ‘prey’ you could wish for.”
“What are you talking about – she’s perfect. Aren’t I doing all my fellow ghouls a favor? She’d just become another dove the moment she steps foot into the real world anyway. I’ll just make sure to get rid of her before it comes to that.”
“Tch. I told you – I don’t care. You can do whatever the hell you want...”
***
Bakugo thought back to the exchange he’d had with the girl’s ‘date’ (though he knew better) just earlier that day, shortly after he’d invited her to go out with him.
He’d known the new guy was a ghoul the moment he’d walked in – that bastard had reeked of death and corpses, at least to his keen senses. He despised how he had clicked in with everybody else right off the bat too.
Frankly, he had no family business in the second ward. Or any business here for that matter. He’d been going to the fourth ward, where his home and a certain cafe he was stuck working at were.
Yet when [F/N] had sat next to him and cheerfully initiated a small conversation, as unexpected as it may have been, he’d suddenly blurted out the place which he had heard to be her meet-up spot with that wretched ghoul.
He had zero intention of stopping whatever was about to go down.
So then… why was he hesitating to leave!?
He had asked himself that many times already, but his eyes had remained glued to the single text message he had received.
‘Forgot to wish you a good time with your family!^^’
Not long after, the first scream had sounded. He had grit his teeth through it, finally finding the resolve to walk away. Far, far away.
Because a ghoul was not supposed to have compassion for some human, dammit.
Following the momentary sound of ragged breathing and a pair of frantic and uneven footsteps, a body collided with his back from just around the corner, sending him stumbling a few steps forward.
Though he easily kept his balance, something fell to the ground behind him. He turned to see the bleeding girl at his feet, only to stare at her collapsed frame in shock.
While he was at a loss for what to do, [F/N] let out a few painful coughs, clutching at the wound on her shoulder, and continuing to crawl ahead instead. It was a pitiful sight.
Just when he’d begun to wonder if she’d even noticed him at all, she raised her head and as her eyes that were overflowing with tears streaming down her scuffed cheeks met his, her face suddenly flooded with relief.
But that relief was then immediately washed away, replaced with a look of pure horror.
Huh? Why was she scared of him now?
Wait, scratch that. Why was she even still alive!?
“You...” her voice trembled. “I-I know...” She made a move to lift herself up, yet fell back to the ground, her ragged breaths more frequent now. Not knowing where to go, she slowly crawled back, as far away from him as she could, before she leaned her back against the wall, leaving a red stain right behind her shoulder. Her watery eyes looked wide from fear at the sight of the blond towering above her.
“You’re a ghoul too!! I know, I’ve known for- for a long time!” For someone losing blood as quickly as she was, she was shouting and crying out at him like it was no big deal. “How you always seem to drink coffee, how you never eat during the breaks, how you twitch whenever someone mentions ghouls – all of it!!” Her voice cracked. Then she went quiet and looked down, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“I thought… I thought you were good…! You- you’re part of his plan too, aren’t you!?” Her crying seemed to choke her words. She then remained silent again, curling onto herself.
Had she… given up already? Had she realized she stood no chance with two monsters on her trail?
Bakugo grit his teeth. She was right in front of him. She knew what he was.
And she was helpless, blaming him. So why not kill her right here and just put an end to all this – to both of their misery…?
Would that annoying voice at the back of his head finally shut up for good then!?
…
Before he could come to a conclusion (or rather, talk himself out of the conclusion he had already reached a while ago but sternly refused to accept), a new pair of footsteps, this time accompanied by infuriating laughter, approached. Soon, a fellow ghoul came into view, and his eyes, while scanning around for the girl he was pursuing, locked onto Bakugo instead.
Oh, how he hated this.
He hated himself for ever considering it.
And he hated himself for actually doing it.
Bakugo growled.
“Be fucking grateful, [F/N]. You’ll get to live another day.”
***
Your world was still a blurry mess, though it was much worse than it had been earlier. Your eyes refused to adjust to the black spots clouding your vision.
By this point, you were more than ready to meet your end. You just wanted the pain gone.
Was it going to be Monoma? Or perhaps Bakugo?
Whoever it was, you regretted to be done in by one of those monsters. You didn’t want to give them that pleasure.
Then again, you only had yourself to blame. The signs had been there all along. Even knowing what Bakugo was, you still let yourself believe he might be different. And even not knowing what Monoma was, you were too blind and trusting to foresee what was to come.
A pair of feet moved in front of you, blocking your view of Monoma. Or the blurry shape you assumed was him anyway. You noticed a kagune you hadn’t seen before, most likely Bakugo’s. In that moment, you closed your eyes.
Muffled words were exchanged, whether spoken to you or between the two, you didn’t know. In that moment, you were only praying your end would be swift.
…
And yet, the pain… it never came.
You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you were still very much alive. At this rate, the blood loss might end up being the thing that does you in.
Despite not knowing what was happening, the sounds of clashing, fighting, movement were coming from seemingly every direction. Or were your senses too distracted to pinpoint them?
You shut your eyes tight. Perhaps it was better this way. You wouldn’t mind drifting off to sleep in peace.
But that peace was interrupted when a hand touched your uninjured shoulder. Though the touch was warm and light, you flinched.
“Hey, pipe down. You’re safe.” The low voice brought you so much comfort. But wasn’t this the same voice that had sent you in another wave of panic earlier? The rest of the noises had stopped, leaving only the unpleasant ringing in your ear. You decided to be hopeful and slowly forced one of your eyes open. Upon finding a pair of tired red eyes and a head of spiky ash blond hair hunched over you, your mind flooded with questions.
Why were you still alive? Why hadn’t he killed you? What was he doing?
Was he… helping you…?
You tried to speak, but your voice was nowhere to be found.
Bakugo sighed and grabbed the arm on your uninjured side, gently pulling you up, as your quivering body was left to lean against his sturdy frame. Only then did you notice the blood splatters and twitching chunks of what appeared to be Monoma’s kagune scattered about everywhere. Your attacker himself however, was nowhere in sight.
“He… ran away…?” you somehow croaked out, much to Bakugo’s surprise, though he quickly composed himself and nodded.
“Yeah. Bastard was quick. Couldn’t catch him,” he said, as he slipped off the sweater he’d been wearing on top of his black t-shirt, and tied it carefully around your wounded shoulder, earning a couple of groans from your barely conscious self. “Though I doubt he’d ever have the guts to come near you again. Or return here at all, for that matter.” You relaxed against him. Not that you really had much of a choice in that regard, as your body was quickly shutting off its functions one by one.
“I’m… such an idiot...”
“You may be an idiot. But you’re alive now, which is all that really matters.”
“Mhm. Thank you, Bakugo-kun...”
The words caught in his throat and he paused. You were light-headed and the pain must have been getting to you. No way you were going to say something as ridiculous otherwise.
“Hey, I’m gonna bring you somewhere where they’ll fix you up in no time,” he muttered, noticing your drooping eyelids.
“Hospital…?” He shook his head. Then again, you probably didn’t see that.
“Not quite. It’s a nice lil’ cafe called Yuuei. You might’ve heard of it.”
“Is that so...” Your words were dragged out and slurred together. The shock, the pain, the blood loss – it all was taking its effect at once.
“Right. So I’ll see you again when you wake up,” he said, lifting you up on his back.
“Alright...” You managed a weak smile. “That sounds good...”
Those were your last words before your eyes shut tight again, breath slowing down.
Right now, Bakugo only hoped he could get to Yuuei before your time was up. He wasn’t planning on letting you slip away this easily. Not yet.
It was kind of ironic. A ghoul and a human. The hunted and the daughter of the hunters.
The monster and the prey.
But it was an irony he didn’t yet know he would grow to love.
For your journey had only just begun.
***
[CLASSIFIED INFORMATION]
Protocol K78152112
Subject #6
Real Name: Hikiishi Kenji
Background: Family slaughtered by ghouls
Results: Body mutations; loss of cognitive functions; undeveloped k*****.
Subject did not react well to procedure; cause undetermined.
(scribbled in pen) Well maybe don’t mess up the doses next time, you good-for-nothing assistants!!
***
Author’s Note: I am incredibly excited to finally share this with y’all! To those of you who’ve been here since “Explosive Touch” - hi, and welcome back! And to those who are just joining me – I hope you’ll enjoy this story!! This all started off as a little scenario I daydreamed about a year ago, and lo and behold – it’s now a full-fledged multi-chapter story!
If you’ve read “Irony” already (the oneshot which was essentially my prototype for this first chapter), I’ve got you covered – Chapter 2 is already up so please check that out if you’re looking for some new content! I’ll try not to get too wordy this early on, but I’ve put a lot of thought and care into this story so I hope you’ll love it as much as I do!!
And psst, a quick heads-up – if anything seems either oddly specific or a bit too random, it might just be important to the plot in some way? Feel free to speculate – I’d love to see what you make of my little hints and foreshadowing! Onto the next chapter~
(Thank you for your patience and interest @chims-kookies @creativedogs - here it finally is!!)
#bakugou x reader#bnha x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#bnha tokyo ghoul au
68 notes
·
View notes
Text
Whumptober 2020 Day 6 - Please... + Stop, please
Fandom: Samurai Jack
Characters: Nago (OC), Demongo
Content Warnings: Ambushed, shot with arrows, blood (both human and nonhuman so some of it’s blue lol), field medicine, hunted, hiding, begging, screaming, loss of consciousness
Word Count: 2,402
Nago And The Demon summary: Seeking revenge for the destruction of her village and murder of her people 15 years ago, a mysterious masked warrior known only as Nago revives a powerful demon who once served under the vile Aku. But to her surprise, she finds that the demon is almost completely powerless! Now in order to carry out her plan, Nago must travel the Earth with this demon, searching for a way to restore him to his former fearsome glory...
The quiet stillness of night was all around them. The sound of the tent’s fabric rustling gently in the breeze, the occasional snorts of Uma the horse, and of course, the crackling of the fire. Well, “fires”. Plural.
It had occurred to Nago in the past that perhaps they didn’t need a campfire, seeing as her demonic companion conveniently always had one of his own. Though, he hadn’t been very willing in the past to sit still and let her warm herself or cook her food over his head. Honestly, a part of her worried that food cooked over demonic flame might...have some unintended side effects if consumed.
Yet as her eyes wandered from orange flame to blue, a thought occurred to Nago. Something she might not have been willing to say some days ago.
“You know, you...actually weren’t so terrible back there.”
The demon straightened up, and a sort of surprised and somewhat confused expression came over him. “...Was that...a compliment?”
Nago shrugged. “You may take it as one.” She tried in vain to hide the slight smirk that was working its way onto her face. “But really, I think you do have potential. By yourself, that is. And you’re starting to regain the few powers you had to start with.”
The demon’s eyes narrowed to electric blue slits. “What are you getting at, Mortal?” He hissed.
“I’m offering to help you, so don’t get cross with me.” Nago retorted, mirroring his glare. “What I’m getting at is training you to use those powers. So that you won’t need to reclaim the thousands of souls that were liberated from you. It would certainly save us time, and eliminate quite a bit of risk.”
The demon grimaced, clearly more than displeased with her offer. “And why should I rely on myself?”
Nago scoffed. “Why should you rely on yourself?! Because if you don’t, you have to rely on others! And you know just as well as I do that not everyone is reliable. If this alliance is going to work, you need to pull your own weight in battle.” She let out a heavy, exasperated sigh. “I was willing to forgive you for your uselessness when I first revived you. You had spent quite a long time dead, and your body had been reduced to literally nothing else but powder, congealed blood, and a severed hand. That took nearly all of the strength my ritual was able to give you just to piece back together. I didn’t blame you then for being weak, it was to be expected. But now that you’ve had enough time to rest, your powers are beginning to return, and you no longer have that excuse. You don’t have to be content to be powerless without your precious essence.”
Demongo scoffed in return, and turned his head to dismiss her. He stood up and walked away from the fire, his slender shadowy form soon becoming lost in the darkness of the night. Well, save for the bright blue flame atop his head. That was quite easy to follow with one’s eye.
Nago shook her head, content to let him wander for a bit while stewing in his anger. She knew from experience that he never actually went far, and he’d always returned by at most the following morning. He knew he wouldn’t get far without her, and she knew it, too. She smiled to herself as she began to stand up, thinking she might test her stealth by following him. If she were to jump out suddenly and startle him, well, he certainly deserved at least that.
But something distracted her. Above the sounds of the crackling fire, she’d heard the subtle rustling of grass just above her. She froze up on instinct, and slowly glanced towards the cliffs above the camp. Shadow blanketed the rocks, but glistening in the moonlight, Nago could see the pointed tip of an arrow.
Her eyes grew wide. At once, she leapt from her place in the light of the fire and sought shelter in the shadows. An arrow whizzed by her and landed unsettlingly close to her head. She saw her own face reflected in the sharpened arrowhead. She looked just as frightened as she felt. Silently cursing her demonic companion’s decision to wander away from camp, and then praising his convenient light, she spotted him quickly and ran towards him on all fours, keeping low to the ground in the hopes of not being spotted. A few more arrows whizzed past her, embedding themselves in the ground mere inches from where she had been. Hiding was no good. Whatever was hunting them, it had either impressive night vision, or impeccable hearing. Perhaps both.
As Nago cleared the distance between her and Demongo, realization struck her, and she began to curse the convenient light of his that she had only seconds ago praised. He was the most obvious target on the plains now. She was prepared to tackle him to the ground and extinguish his flame if need be.
As she drew closer, he seemed to pick up on the rustling of grass, and turned around to face her. And it was then that an arrow struck him in the center of his chest. He seemed to fall as if in slow motion, his fanged mouth agape in a soundless cry of alarm. However, he didn’t quite fall immediately, instead merely stumbling backward, his hands moving to the arrow as he simply stared at it in utter shock.
“Get down!” Nago cried. Alas, her warning had come too late. Just as the words left her lips, another arrow struck the demon’s abdomen. He stumbled again, and this time turned to look at her. In the next instant, a third arrow struck his side, followed by another, and another...each striking in close proximity to the one before. At last, he fell. With one clawed hand outstretched towards her, he fell onto his chest.
Nago grimaced, knowing that such a fall would only push the arrows deeper into his flesh. With another panicked glance at the cliffs above, Nago leapt onto the demon’s body and frantically began to drag him away towards the opening of a cave at the base of the cliffs beside them. She made haste, but before she could reach the comparative safety of the cave, an arrow embedded itself firmly in her right forearm. She let out a pained cry of alarm, and released the limp body of her demon to clutch at the wound. A second arrow whizzed past and merely grazed her leg due to a quick reaction to pull it towards her. With adrenaline fueling her, she resumed dragging her companion along, and darted into the cave. She didn’t stop moving once inside, and only came to rest after fleeing to a small crevice in the rock wall. She and the demon she was nearly certain must now be dead sought refuge in a small secluded chamber hidden behind the crevice.
Panting heavily, Nago cringed at the sight of an arrow protruding from her arm. She didn’t quite feel it now, thanks to the adrenaline racing through her system, but she was still lucid enough to know she needed to do something about it. She could remember being taught that embedded objects should not be removed in the field, as doing so was likely to cause further blood loss, but she also knew that the wound would not heal if the arrow remained. Gritting her teeth, she took hold of the arrow with her free hand, and tugged firmly. It came out with some committed effort, and she at once cast it aside and got to work on tearing her clothes to create makeshift bandages. Tying the cloth around her wound as tightly as she could manage without completely cutting off circulation, Nago at last leaned back against the wall and took a moment to catch her breath. The graze on her leg was much less severe. She could afford to leave it be for a moment.
It was only as the adrenaline began to wear off that she noticed a dim blue light within the chamber. Thinking at first that it was some manner of luminescent rock or fungus, as her narrowed vision cleared, she saw that the source of the light was the demon she had begun to think must have perished from his wounds. But that wouldn’t be lit if he were dead or unconscious...then that must mean...
Demongo groaned, and wearily opened his eyes to meet her bewildered gaze.
“...How...” Nago trailed off, for a moment too shocked to complete her response. “...How in the hell are you still alive?”
“...Does it matter?” He replied, his voice strained.
Nago had to concede that at the moment, it didn’t. Instead, she rose to her feet and approached him, examining the wounds he’d sustained. She could hardly believe what she saw. “...Every single one of these should have been a kill shot...” She muttered in awe.
“Nnngh...pocket...dimension...” The demon whined.
Nago thought this at first to be delirium. She braced him against the wall, and turning around, retrieved her arrow from the floor. She pried the weakened demon’s mouth open, and placed the arrow’s wooden body inside. “I need to remove these. Bite down when you feel the need to scream.”
The demon’s eyes widened in fear...but he nodded slowly. Nago firmly gripped the body of the arrow--or what little of it still remained outside of his body--and pulled. At once she was met with the demon’s muffled screams, which only grew higher in pitch until the arrow finally left his body. Nago immediately clamped her hand over the wound, expecting a sudden arterial spray...but paused when she realized that the blue blood leaving the wound merely oozed rather than spurted. Now she was completely baffled. Assuming his internal anatomy was anything like that of a human’s, the arrow should have struck some manner of vital organ...yet it seemed to have only pierced skin and muscle.
“...There’s something very wrong about this.” Nago muttered as she began wrapping cloth around the wound. “What are you made of?”
He spat the arrow out. The wood now bore deep grooves from his fangs. “I...told you...” He wheezed, one slender finger pointing to his chest. “Pocket... dimension...”
“...Is...that were you once kept your captive warriors?” Nago at last began to realize.
The demon nodded.
“And this dimension in your torso, I assume, also shields your fragile innards from damage?”
He nodded again.
“Well...were we not hiding for our lives from what’s probably a very skilled bounty hunter, that would be absolutely fascinating.” She retrieved the arrow she’d extracted from his chest and placed it into his mouth. “But now...it’s just lucky. Brace yourself.” She gave this last bit of warning just before she tugged a second arrow from his flesh. The muffled screams came louder this time, and he thrashed somewhat, nearly causing her to lose her grip. Still, she managed to free the arrow from his flesh. She quickly got to work on bandaging the wound, and then moved to the third arrow. Before she could grab it, however, the dim light began to fade. Panicked, she saw that her ally was beginning to lose consciousness.
Nago slapped the side of his face a few times. “Stay awake, damn you!” She hissed at him. “I can’t see what I’m doing without that flame of yours.”
He grimaced and whined, but at last opened his eyes, and the flame atop his head grew brighter, though Nago noted that it was still a bit dimmer than usual. But it would have to do.
“Good. Thank you. Now, brace.” She gave the third arrow a firm yank, wrenching it free of its target. In the same instant, she heard the snapping of wood and a short, high-pitched cry.
She frantically placed her hand over his mouth, and listened intently for footsteps upon the rock outside. Thankfully, there was nothing. She gave a quiet sigh of relief. Not wasting any time, she patched the wound and attempted to place the third arrow into his mouth. However, he turned his head away from her, his mouth held shut. She sighed again. “There’s only two left. If I don’t remove them, you won’t heal properly.”
When she reached for the fourth arrow, the demon suddenly began to beg. “No, please...stop...Nago, please don’t--!”
She seized this opportunity to wrench the fourth arrow free, and immediately clamped her hand back over his mouth to muffle his cries.
“Stop it...stop...” He wheezed as she finished bandaging the lastest wound. “Nago...please...”
“Look.” She gestured to her bandaged arm, the cloth tied around it already stained with red. “If I can work on you with a wound like this in my dominant arm, you can stay awake for one more of these.” She took his face in her hand, forcing him to look her in the eye. “After that, you can pass out for as long as you want. Deal?”
He nodded weakly, and reluctantly allowed her to place another arrow into his mouth. “Brace.” His eyes shut tightly as soon as she said it. With one final act of strength, she removed the final arrow. The demon gasped sharply when she’d finished, and slumped forward over her shoulder. Reluctant, yet moved to pity by his reactions, Nago gingerly placed a hand on his back. It wasn’t long before he fell completely limp, and the light from his flame went out as it became mere smoke. At once, it was terribly dark within the chamber.
Nago leaned him back against the wall, and moved to the space next to him...so she could better watch the crevice that lead into their chamber, is what she told herself. But she didn’t watch for long. Her arm ached and burned terribly, and the exhaustion of her mad dash into the cave had begun to catch up with her. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. They would find a way out in the morning...if there was one.
Perhaps she had made a grave mistake in reviving this demon. For ever since, the price on her head had been increasing at an alarming rate. She wondered as she drifted off, how many more times they would be attacked by bounty hunters looking to make a quick buck.
#whumptober2020#no.6#please...#samurai jack#nago (oc)#demongo#ambushed#shot with arrows#blood#field medicine trope#hunted#hiding#begging#screaming#loss of consciousness
3 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
theforgottenmuse-blog1
~ A sheep has left the fold ~
implicatings
inspo
radian06
Bez tytułu
zealouswerewolfcollector
I don't know what I'm doing here
oigres3x
Untitled