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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

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All For Us Chapter 5

Hey y’all, hope you enjoy the chapter a day early! Check out my masterlist to catch up on this story or read my other ones. And, as always, reblogs and comments are more than welcome 🥰

Word Count: 5,471

CW: Mention of self-harm

Erik fidgeted in his chair as he waited for his family to walk through the door. He had seen each of them individually at least once, Shuri being the only one who never came back, but something about seeing them all together had him on edge. His right leg couldn’t stop bouncing, and he tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair impatiently.

“Don’t worry, the Udakus are never on time,” Naomi reassured him as he looked to the clock for the second time in the last minute. Their appointment started five minutes ago.

“They run on CP time, huh?” he joked, trying to distract himself from his nerves.

“CP time?”

“Colored people time...the name’s dated as hell, but basically Black people ain’t ever on time.”

“That is true of Wakanda as well,” she laughed. “Time is more of a suggestion here.”

“I can fuck with it,” he chuckled but was cut short by the thumping in his chest as the door opened, and T’Challa walked in, holding the door for the rest of the family.

“Your highnesses,” Naomi saluted them. “Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

Naomi had arranged the chairs in her office so that the six of them sat in a circle. Mira sat between Erik and Ramonda, and Shuri chose the seat closest to Naomi. T’Challa sat between his mother and sister and threw a smile Erik’s way.

“Thank you all for coming here today. It is imperative that Erik has a healthy support system when he leaves here, and I just wanted to make sure we are all on the same page. I know you have each met with him individually, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get it all out there and move forward as a unit. Now, I know we all want what’s best for Erik-”

Shuri scoffed, and Naomi turned to her.

“Princess, I heard you still have some reservations about him. Why?”

“He killed my brother,” she seethed.

“Shuri, I am right here,” T’Challa said, exasperated at her unwillingness to see past her anger.

“By the grace of Bast!”

“Shuri,” Ramonda chided.

“Queen Mother, if you don’t mind, I think this is a conversation that needs to happen between these two.”

Ramonda nodded and gestured for Shuri to continue.

“You’re only here because Nakia snatched a heart-shaped herb before he burnt the rest of them to the ground. It’s taken this long for them to even start growing again. All he does is destroy, and I don’t want him here. It’s bad enough you made me heal him, but now I have to look at him every day and pretend to like him, too?”

“You don’t have to like him, Shuri, but he is family-”

“That didn’t mean anything when he threw you over the falls or when he almost killed me, so why should it matter now?”

“Because I’m not that same person anymore,” Erik jumped in.

“Oh, sure. You’re just magically better all of a sudden,” she rolled her eyes and turned back to her brother. “How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing he’s in the palace?”

“Princess Shuri, Erik has been working very hard to overcome his anger and his past traumas. So much so that I see no need to extend his stay past what we originally agreed on.”

“Wait, really?” Erik’s face brightened, and he turned in his seat to look at Naomi.

“Yes. You have shown remarkable improvement, Erik.”

“You mean he can come home soon?” Queen Mother asked, prompting Erik and Shuri to feel very different ways about her use of the word “home.” Erik missed having one, and Shuri hated having him in hers.

“Yes, ma’am, he’ll be out of here in two weeks.”

Mira couldn’t contain her smile as she reached for his hand. They locked eyes, and yet again, the look in his eyes needed no words. They were glassy as they swelled with tears, and a couple fell while Naomi handed him the tissue box.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Ramonda asked.

“My bad,” he sniffled as he dried his tears. “I just really want to see Cupcake.”

“She wants to see you, too. I told her you were sick and had to get better before she could, but she’s been asking me about you damn near every second.”

“And me, as well. She is excited to meet you, cousin,” T’Challa chimed in. “‘Do you think daddy will like this?’, ‘When is he coming home?’, ‘Is daddy still sick?’, ‘Can you tell daddy I love him?’”

“Or my personal favorite, ‘Can we bring some to daddy?’ after dinner last night,” Ramonda added.

“She’s still a daddy’s girl, through and through,” Mira said with a sarcastic eye-roll, making Naomi chuckle.

“Yes, mine is the same way. It is quite frustrating,” she joked. “Now, I think it would be beneficial for us to go around the room and get it all out on the table. Princess Shuri already went, unless you have more to say…”

“No.”

“Ok, then King T’Challa, how about you go next?”

He nodded and looked to his cousin.

“I do not think I have said this to you yet, but I am genuinely sorry, Erik-”

“Stop, you didn’t do anything.”

“I know, but I needed to say it. I am also sorry I disobeyed your wishes; that was something I should not have done.”

“I’ll say,” Shuri mumbled under her breath.

“But I am glad that I did. Otherwise, we would not get to see this other side of you.”

“Thanks, man. I was in a bad place, obviously, and, uh...I don’t know, I just felt like a failure...I felt like I had nothing to live for anymore...my pride was hurt.”

Mira slowly pulled her hand back and placed it in her lap, and Erik could feel the tension brewing beneath the surface.

“Anything else, my king?”

“Just that I hope we can move past all of this and build a relationship. You are my cousin, and I am determined to love you whether you want me to or not.”

Erik and Mira both smirked at the king. They were thankful for the kindhearted man and his insistence on cleaning up the bad blood in his family.

“Queen Mother, do you have anything you would like to share?”

“Yes, actually,” she reached into her bag and pulled out something that had been gift-wrapped. She handed it to Erik, and he looked at her in confusion. “Go ahead, open it.”

Everyone looked on with intrigue as he ripped at the paper, revealing a gold picture frame. Erik flipped the frame over and a lump formed in his throat.

“This is from a gala for the Pan African Council in 1991. It was one of the two times I met him.”

Drops of water splashed on the picture of N’Jobu, and Erik looked up for a leak in the ceiling before he realized the tears were flowing from his eyes. He grabbed another tissue and passed the box around when he realized the others were getting misty-eyed as well. Even Shuri.

“I, uh...I don’t know what to say...thank you, Auntie,” he croaked as he got up and pulled her into a hug. Mira took the opportunity to take a look at the picture. They had the same look in their eyes, but feature-wise, Erik had to have taken after his mother. There was no doubt about it though, those deep brown puppy dog Udaku eyes were front and center.

Erik sat down, and she handed the photo back to him.

“May I see?” T’Challa asked, and Erik passed it to him, watching as Shuri took a look over his shoulder to see it too. Her face softened a little more, and Erik could swear she saw a hint of sadness there. He passed it back, and Erik simply stared at the photo, fingers lightly caressing the fame.

“Alright, lastly, we have Mira. Anything to add?”

“Not really,” she shook her head.

“Well, then may I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Earlier, you seemed upset when Erik mentioned not having anything to live for. Care to expand on that?”

“Not really.”

“Mira...you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it, Erik? You said you have nothing to live for, yet your daughter and I were sitting at home waiting for you.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind, Mira. All that mattered was the mission. I lost myself to it. Actually, I lost myself a long time ago, but at the time, nothing could’ve pulled me back...not even you or Imani.”

“What if it happens again. Not for this, but for something else? What if you start working again and go back to your old ways? What then?”

“I won’t.”

“How am I supposed to trust that, Erik?”

“Mira, I’d like to jump in if you don’t mind.”

Mira shook her head and gestured for Naomi to continue.

“I understand your hesitance, but I assure you, I have the utmost faith that Erik has changed. His behaviors were tied to his trauma, and we have been able to work through his feelings of grief, anger, guilt, and self-loathing.”

“Self-loathing?” Queen Mother asked.

“Erik, would you care to…”

“Yeah, sure,” he cleared his throat. “I, uh, sort of hated myself for a long time. Everybody I loved died, and I had some sort of...what did you call it?”

“Survivor’s remorse.”

“Yeah, survivor’s remorse. I felt guilty for not dying.”

Mira looked up at him and her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to keep the tears at bay.

“Then I felt guilty for all the shit I did to survive, and how violent I became...then the self-hate kicked in when I realized how good I was at it.” His fingers ran over the scars on his forearm, and he took a deep breath. “These aren’t trophies. They’re my sins.”

The room fell silent.

“How many?” Shuri asked tentatively.

“You don’t wanna know.”

“I do,” Mira chimed in. “I’ve tried counting them, but you’re such a light sleeper it’s impossible. I can guess though...I got to five hundred once before you woke up one morning.”

“I don’t want you to look at me differently-”

“Erik, you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, but nobody here will look at you any differently if you do. Right?”

Everyone agreed, even Shuri.

Erik took a deep breath and hung his head before speaking, “Three thousand and nine scars...three thousand and nine people are dead because of me.”

“You’re not that person anymore, Erik,” Naomi reminded him.

“Yeah, but what if I am?”

“You’re not,” Mira reached for his hand again.

“How do you know?”

“Cousin, I can guarantee you that even in the short time we have known each other, you have changed.”

“Erik, you should trust yourself more. You’ve been given the tools you need; you just have to use them.”

He nodded slowly, taking in Naomi’s wise words.

“It also helps if you’re surrounded by people who love and support you.” She turned to Shuri, “Princess, let us work through your feelings.”

“I already said what I needed to say. I don’t trust him...but I’m not saying it’ll be like that forever. Just for now, I still don’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Have you ever had someone try to kill you?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“You never forget the look in their eyes.”

“I understand you, sister. It is not an easy thing to get past...however, it is possible. Look at him now. Do you see those same eyes?”

Erik looked at Shuri, and her stone face softened a little but still stayed pretty wooden.

“No.”

“Look, I get it...I’m your T’Chaka, but I don’t wanna be that person anymore. Not to Mira, not to Imani, not to y’all-”

“Don’t forget yourself. You’re doing this for you, too,” Mira chimed in, and Erik nodded.

“We are still working on self-love, but I feel that the next two weeks will be fruitful,” Naomi said, closing her notebook. “Is there anything else you all need to get off your chests?”

“I have one more thing,” Mira said as she sat up in her chair and turned her body to face Erik.

“I never told you what happened after you left,” she said, trying to keep it together. “I, um...I got depressed again, like when Imani was born. It wasn’t pretty, but I made sure she was good. I couldn’t eat. All I wanted to do was sleep. It got so bad I had to quit my job and go live with Stefan and Havana. I know that’s what you suggested in the first place, but I thought I could handle it on my own. I’m basically a stay-at-home mom now; I take care of the kids while Stef and Ana are at work...cooking and cleaning, and all that jazz. I never thought I would like that life, but it’s nice, and it’s a good way to repay them for letting us stay there. You wouldn’t believe how big SJ is now, and they have a new baby Daveed...things are different now, but it’s nice.”

“Have you...are you seeing anybody?”

“No, but I tried dating...didn’t work out.”

Erik tried and failed to hide the smirk on his face.

“I can’t say I’m sorry about that, but I am sorry about what I put you through, Mira. I shouldn’t have left you two.”

“I know you know that now; I just wish you knew it then.”

He pulled her hand to his lips for a kiss, and she let him.

“Are we still separated?”

Both Ramonda and T’Challa’s eyebrows raised. Neither of them was aware that the two had been having marital problems. T’Challa never even thought to ask.

“Erik, I need to tell you something…”

His breath hitched in his throat.

“I’m not saying it’s what I want now...but I was going to serve you with divorce papers. I had them drawn up and everything. They just needed your signature, but I couldn’t bring myself to give them to you. I was going to give them to you when you came back...if you came back.”

“And now?”

“Now...I don’t know, Erik. I think I have to get to know this new you to decide.”

“That’s fair.” He said to the ground before lifting his head and looking Mira in her eyes. “I’m gonna make you want to marry me all over again, though. Watch.”

--------

“If you don’t sit still, you’re going just like this,” Mira fussed as she tried to braid Imani’s hair.

“No, I’ll stop!” Imani tried her best not to move, but the pillow she was sitting on was starting to get uncomfortable, and she was getting antsy. Every second that passed brought her one step closer to meeting her daddy, and she couldn’t wait. All she had to do was get through the school day.

Mira smirked and tilted Imani’s head to the side to start on the last braid right as Shuri walked into the living room and plopped in the chair across from them.

“Rough night?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Over the past two weeks, Shuri had been slowly opening up to the idea of Erik living in the palace, but when she closed her eyes at night, she just kept seeing him lurking over her bed, ready to strike.

“Something on your mind?” Mira asked through gritted teeth that held a tiny black rubber band.

“No, just...apprehensive.”

“About Erik?” Mira mouthed to her so Imani couldn’t hear. Shuri nodded and sunk deeper into the chair with a sigh. Mira finished up Imani’s last braid and put a couple of beads on the end before kissing the top of her head. “Ok, you’re done. Can you go get dressed?”

“Ok, mommy!” Imani took off, but before Mira could tell her to slow down, T’Challa came around the corner and scooped her up, planting a kiss on her cheek. Imani’s giggles erupted throughout the expansive living area and forced Shuri to crack a smile.

“Why are you running in my palace?” he playfully chastised her.

“I’m happy I get to meet my daddy. If I put my school clothes on fast, it’ll happen faster!”

“Well, let’s make it even faster then!” T’Challa took off with her down the hall, leaving Shuri and Mira in the living room laughing at his shenanigans.

“When is he gonna have one of his own?”

Shuri’s eyes rolled all the way to the back of her head. “As soon as he stops chasing after a woman who wants to live on the other side of the planet.”

“Nakia still giving him the runaround?”

“Girl, you don’t know the half of it,” Shuri complained. “Maybe you or Erik can talk some sense into him.”

“Maybe...you seem to be warming up to the idea of him lately. How are you feeling?”

Shuri sighed and sat forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her thighs. “I won’t lie and say I’m thrilled, but I understand him better now, and I trust my brother’s judgment. And mama’s. And yours...I want him to be in Imani’s life, but it is just hard to forget his face in that moment, you know?”

Mira nodded, “I don’t, but I do.”

“Maybe seeing him in a new light with you and Imani will help,” Shuri shrugged.

“I hope so.”

“Me, too.”

Just then, T’Challa re-entered the room, “The princess is having trouble deciding which outfit to wear.”

“That’s my queue,” Mira got up from the couch and washed off her greasy hands before strolling down the hallway to help out her little fashionista. She and T’Challa had already laid out three outfit choices, so it just came down to which one she thought her daddy would like best.

“I want to look nice to meet him, but I don’t know which one looks better.”

“Can I give a suggestion?”

“Mhm,” Imani nodded with her brows creased as she thought really hard over which outfit to pick.

“How about the gold sandals from Lala with this two-piece? Yellow looks good on you, and the sandals match your backpack. You’ll look like a little ray of sunshine.”

“Hmmm...Ok!”

“Glad I could help,” Mira chuckled.

“I’ll wear my yellow outfit if you wear your blue one just like it.”

“It’s a deal,” Mira threw over her shoulder as she left the room to go change. When she entered the living room, her cousins and Auntie all smiled at the two of them. Imani’s yellow Ankara print tube top and harem pants matched perfectly with Mira’s blue ones. The only difference was Mira had on some crisp white sneakers and big gold Fulani earrings.

Mira walked Imani to school the same way she did every day, but this time her head was in the clouds. Even Imani was quiet on the way, the butterflies in both of their stomachs working overtime. When they reached the classroom, Imani turned to her mom, looking at her face that surprised Mira.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She crouched down to her level.

“What if daddy doesn’t like me?” she poked her lip out, and Mira knew she had to act fast before it started quivering, and the tears started falling.

“Like you? He loves you more than anything in this world!” she said excitedly while tickling Imani’s ribs and making her laugh. “He loves you just as much as I do, baby girl.”

“He does?”

“Of course, you’re his Cupcake.”

“Cupcake?”

“Mhm, that’s what he used to call you because you’re so sweet.” Mira pretended to gobble up Imani’s fingers, making her giggles chase away any doubts she had about her father. “Now, you ready for school?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said excitedly.

“Alright, I’ll see you at 2. Be good.” Mira kissed Imani’s cheek and stood back up to her full height.

“I will, mommy. Sala kakuhle!” she waved goodbye and ran to go play with her friends while Mira sent the teacher a smile before heading back to the palace.

When Mira was nervous, she liked to busy her hands with something, so she took some time to anxiously clean and organize her already clean quarters. She would have to sit in on another council meeting shortly, and although she wasn’t looking forward to having all that attention on her again, she was determined to go in there with her head held high.

Just as she started scrubbing the sink, her alarm went off telling her it was time for the meeting. She washed her hands and squeezed lemon juice on them to get rid of the bleach smell before leaving her quarters and traveling to the business side of the palace. When Mira entered the throne room, she slid into the empty seat between Ramonda and Shuri just as T’Challa started speaking.

“As you all know, Erik will be discharged from Ithemba Center today at noon, and we have the press conference scheduled at five. He has already been briefed on it, and while he is still apprehensive about addressing the nation, I have worked with him over the last week and it seems as though he will be fine. Any questions regarding the press conference?” The council members shook their heads and T’Challa continued, “Now, I have spoken to each of you about his community service, and have finally decided on the order. I would like him to start with the Jabari as a member of their fire and rescue team, then transfer to mining vibranium before moving to border patrols. Then he will work at the River tribe’s animal sanctuary, and he’ll end his service by working as janitorial staff in the market. The order is subject to change if necessary.”

“My king, are we sure we can trust him in the Mining and Border provinces?” Tendayi, the River tribe elder spoke out, making Dama and W’Dani nod along.

“Yes, I have faith in him. Any other questions?”

Mira tentatively raised her hand, not sure if she was allowed to talk or not. T’Challa nodded her way, and she cleared her throat before speaking, “I was wondering if we could move with him? He’s been away from Imani so long and once he comes back, I don’t want to disrupt her life any more than it’s already been disrupted.”

“That is understandable. Housing for the three of you will be provided in each province.”

“Thank you,” she turned to the elders, “and I don’t want to be a freeloader, so if there’s anywhere I can help out just let me know.”

“Mira, of course you and Imani are welcome to stay with us, but if you really want something to do we can find a job for you, too.” Ife stated as the other council members nodded along in agreement.

“I’d like that. I need something to do,” she chuckled. “Thank you.”

“We will work something out,” Dama winked her way.

“We will miss the two of you around the palace, but I think that is a great idea. You will be provided with transportation to get Imani to school.”

“Thank you,” Mira smiled.

“You are welcome. Now, is there anything else?” T’Challa was met with silence as he checked the time on his beads and looked back at Mira. “Good, it is about time we go bring him home.”

Mira’s heart thumped in her chest as she nodded.

“Meeting adjourned.”

The council members filed out of the room, sending well-wishes to Mira as they went.

--------

Erik happily signed his discharge paperwork, but his internal celebration was cut short by a knock at his door. He half expected it to be Mira, but he looked up and saw Naomi in his doorway.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Excited and nervous.”

“I bet,” she chuckled. “Remember what we talked about, and you will be fine.”

Erik nodded and took a deep breath.

“Ready to go? I will walk you out.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Erik took a deep breath and they walked through the facility in silence before they reached the lobby. There stood T’Challa and Mira with huge smiles on their faces that infected Erik as soon as he saw them. Mira pulled him into a hug and held him tight as she rocked him from side to side.

“I’m so proud of you, Erik.”

“As am I, cousin.”

Mira let Erik go and he dapped T’Challa up, pulling him into a hug next.

“Thanks. Both of you...I couldn’t have done all this without you.”

Mira wiped a stray tear from her eye and looped her arm around his. “Let’s go home.”

“Home, huh? I like the sound of that,” he mused.

The three of them made their way back to the palace where they were greeted by a tearful Ramonda and a still apprehensive Shuri. She sent him a small smile, though, and that was enough for him. The family sat around the kitchen table talking and laughing as if it had always been that way, and Erik found their familiarity to be a comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. Ramonda constantly pushed food in Erik’s direction, and even though he had a late breakfast he just couldn’t say no. He stuffed his face full of eggah and freshly squeezed mango juice until he had his fill and sat back in his chair with his hands resting on his full stomach.

“I’m ready for a nap. Where am I staying?”

“This week you will be in the palace, as well as during your time working for the Merchant tribe-”

“You’re gonna hate it…” Mira sang under her breath with a wry laugh, making T’Challa smirk.

“But, other than that, you will be staying with the various tribes during your volunteer time.”

“What exactly am I supposed to be doing?” he sent a suspicious look Mira’s way.

“We can discuss that later. For now, let us get you settled in.”

Erik nodded and followed behind Mira and T’Challa as they walked through the winding palace hallways. They took him to his living quarters, and he was pleasantly surprised to see that he would still be living with Mira and Imani.

“I didn’t know if you’d want me with you or not.”

“Oh, you’re sleeping in the guest room...but I wanted you close for Imani.”

“Fair enough,” Erik nodded and walked around the space, checking it out.

“I will leave you two alone to get settled in,” T’Challa turned and left the space.

Mira looked at her beads. “You might want to go ahead and get ready, we’ll be leaving in thirty minutes.

“Leaving?”

“Mhm, we have to pick up Imani from school.”

“W-we do?”

“Yeah...are you ok?”

“Nah. What if she doesn’t like me?”

Mira bursted out laughing and caught him off-guard. “She asked me the same thing this morning.”

Erik just smiled and shook his head. He had nothing to worry about.

“Just like her daddy, huh?”

“Just like him,” she smiled back.

“I guess I should get ready, then. I want to make a good first impression.”

“Erik, you’ll be fine…I promise. She already loves you.”

He stood and kissed her forehead before turning and walking towards the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head. Mira tried to avert her eyes, but his rippling back muscles called to her. Her face felt hot, and she bolted out of the room, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered he made her.

He did.

A little while later, Erik emerged from the bathroom very well moisturized and followed by a cloud of steam. He stood there for a few minutes in his towel, staring at the clothes in his huge closet, not knowing what to put on his body.

“Mira!” he called to her in the other room. She playfully rolled her eyes and headed his way, already knowing what he wanted. Like father, like daughter.

“You rang?” she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, trying like hell to keep her eyes above his collarbone.

“I don’t know what to wear.”

“Wakandan or American?”

“Uh, American, I guess.”

“Do you want to match Imani?”

His face lit up, and she took it for a yes, pulling out a pastel yellow t-shirt and a pair of jeans with matching sneakers.

“This outfit with gold accessories.”

“Thanks,” he grinned at her, and Mira tried not to get lost in his dimples. She was failing miserably, so she left him to his own devices. She missed the satisfied smirk on his face.

--------

Erik could feel the eyes on him as he walked through the city with Mira and T’Challa. Some were cold, but most were simply confused by his presence.

“Ignore them,” Mira whispered up to him, and he nodded, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t going to let anything ruin this moment.

They arrived at the elementary school and Mira went in to get Imani while the two men waited outside. As soon as Imani saw her mother, she jumped down and ran over to her.

“Hey baby girl, how was your day?”

“Good! I made a new friend,” she said proudly.

“You did? I’ll have to meet them sometime soon. Right now we have to go see daddy,” Mira’s eyes flashed with mischief and Imani’s joy radiated throughout the room. “Ready?”

Imani was so happy she could barely speak, so she just nodded her head. Mira waved goodbye to the teacher, and the two of them traveled back down the hallway hand in hand.

Erik’s fingers tapped his thigh in rapid succession and he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I can hear you overthinking, cousin.”

Erik started pacing back and forth and was about to open his mouth to say something when the doors to the school swished open. T’Challa held his hand up and started recording with his beads.

“Daddy!” Imani saw Erik and dropped her backpack as she ran to him. For a moment, he was frozen in time, but as she got closer he snapped out of it and crouched down for her to run into his arms.

“Hey, Cupcake,” his voice cracked as he held her tight. Her little arms wrapped around his neck like she never wanted to let him go, and he couldn’t help the tears that streamed from his eyes. Mira and T’Challa tried their best to hold it together, but neither could blink the tears away.

“What’s wrong?” Imani heard him sniffle and pulled back to look at his face.

“Nothing, baby, I’m just happy to see you.” He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to Bast to thank her for letting him live another day to see his daughter once more.

The four of them walked back to the palace with Imani talking Erik’s ear off the whole way as he carried her on his hip. The first thing she did when they got there was to show him her dolls, all of which were fully decked out in the most beautiful doll-sized finery T’Challa could get his hands on. Erik took in the sparkly purple walls and the finger paints by an easel in the corner of the room. Her canopy bed was the main attraction, though, and made her feel the princess she was.

“Damn, T did all this?” Erik asked as Mira entered the room behind him.

“Yep,” she laughed. “He’d do anything for that little girl.”

“Remind me to thank him later…” he trailed off as his eyes caught sight of an enormous, stuffed jaguar by the window seat. A goofy smile took over his face, and Mira couldn’t help but swoon. Over the past few weeks of her getting to see Erik at Ithemba, she could tell his spirit was lighter. However, it wasn’t until the three of them were sitting in Imani’s room playing with her dolls that she thought Erik actually looked happy. And not just happy, but happier than she had ever seen him. His smiles actually reached his eyes for the first time since before he left for Wakanda, and she loved to watch the two of them interact with each other. Erik was a gentle giant when it came to his baby girl, and all his fierceness flew out the window when Imani started popping butterfly clips in his locs.

Erik noticed Mira was lost in her thoughts, so he reached over and grabbed her hand. He squeezed it and looked into her eyes, once again conveying his soul with a single look.

He was home for good this time. Next Chapter

Taglist: @ladymac82, @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy, @raysunshine78, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fanfiction #erik killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger x oc #black!oc #all for us

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years

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Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 5

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Chapter 5

CW: blood

This chapter has 2 versions: a T-rated one here on Tumblr and an E-rated one on Ao3. The plot is the same, but there’s smut on the Ao3 version.

1999 (Two years later)

The second inhuman creature Liam met was named Bennett, and Liam liked him about as much as he liked sand in his socks. Bennett was tall and thin, with a pretty face and a predatory look in his eyes that completely spoiled it.

Liam was walking across campus on an unseasonably cold night (for Florida) and now that he’d come upon a vampire, he was glad for the light scarf he’d wound around his neck. Bennett fell into step with Liam as if they were old friends. “Looking for Kurt,” he said. “Heard around town that you know him.”

“Sorry, I can’t help you.”

Bennett peered at him more intensely, and when Liam recoiled a little, Bennett grinned. “Guess you’ve spent enough time with him to know what I am. So, uh— how good of friends are you? Cause I should tell you I really picked you out by the fact that I can smell him on you.”

Liam decided he was not going to think too hard about that one. “Was there something you needed?”

“Just want to catch up with him. Been a while.”

“Well, I’m sure he knows you’re here.”

Bennett looked confused. “How would he know that?”

“I have no idea how he does it. In any case, if he wants to see you—”

Kurt’s voice cut in, startling Bennett. “I don’t, particularly. But neither do I wish Liam to have to deal with this.”

Kurt was ahead of them on the sidewalk, a shadowed shape sitting on a half-wall by the library. Liam recognized him easily by the fact that it was difficult to decide exactly how large of a person was sitting there in the dark, as the outline of him seemed to shift restlessly. Kurt’s voice fell low, and almost seemed to ripple the air around them. “Get away from him.”

Bennett took several steps back, and Liam wasn’t sure whether Kurt had used his mental powers to compel him into moving, or if he’d just scared the man badly enough. Kurt stood up off of the wall and stepped in between Liam and Bennett. “What do you want?” he asked.

Bennett was cringing. “Look, man— if you can just give me a drop. I’m in trouble, pissed off some guys. I’ll pay you. Anything. I can get you whatever you—” Bennett’s voice trailed off and his eyes grew wide, terror growing on his face. Abruptly he turned and ran, disappearing into the dark.

When Kurt turned back to Liam, he looked completely normal. For Kurt, anyway. So only a tiny bit terrifying, if you looked closely enough around the eyes.

“A drop of what?” Liam asked. He started heading for home again, and Kurt joined him, watching Liam intently, assessing him. Liam didn’t comment on it. He’d learned that protests of his well-being were useless when Kurt was worried about him, that Kurt would perform his own examination and be satisfied only with that.

“My blood,” Kurt said finally, when his analysis had apparently ended. “A drop of it can heal humans’ wounds, and although I’ve never tried it on a vampire, I imagine it would make them stronger. They sometimes come asking for it. I’ve just never found one who wanted it for a good reason.”

Liam was not in the habit of asking Kurt a lot of questions, largely because it was more comfortable sometimes not to know an answer, and Kurt seemed to make a practice of telling Liam the truth. Liam decided to ask anyway. “So, how did you know I’d met your, ah, friend there?”

“I know what happens to you,” Kurt said.

Liam watched him for a second, doing his own assessment. “You know I’m going to accuse you of mind reading.”

Kurt turned and met his eyes, an odd expression on his face that looked a little like bewilderment and a little like a reluctant confession. “I don’t need to. I just know. Listen, Liam, are you busy tonight?”

“You don’t have plans with Jonah?”

“No, he’s out with friends.”

“Ah. Did you get a chance to—”

“I’ll eat when he gets home, if he’s up for it.” Kurt was looking at him curiously, probably because Liam didn’t usually call attention to the fact that Kurt’s lovers provided him with blood. “Do you want to head to Tollense?” Kurt asked. “It’s midnight in Germany. Site should be deserted.”

“Are you remembering something about your origins?” Liam asked.

“I’m not sure.”

Liam nodded and Kurt slipped a hand under his elbow. Their next step brought them down into a darkened river valley. The grass would be green in the sunlight, but under the stars it ran gray and then faded to black in the distance. The Tollense River was more of a sound than a sight right now, the pleasant noises of gently moving water emerging from a dark void.

It was actually warmer in Germany that night than Florida, and Liam unwound his scarf. He sat on the grass and looked up at the clear night sky.

“I think there was a bridge,” Kurt said.

“Makes sense,” Liam told him. “A bridge is a natural place for a battle. People would want to be in control of movement through a strategic point.” Liam tried to imagine the valley as it had looked three thousand years earlier, during a large-scale Bronze Age battle that historians had once thought impossible in this sparsely populated area. Kurt had been here then, young and vulnerable and a great many other things that he would never again be.

“I’m pretty sure I was on a boat under the bridge,” Kurt said. “I remember people falling, and some of them landed in it.” Kurt dropped onto the grass beside Liam. “And I was still looking for that same person that I can’t remember.”

“That’s not bad for three thousand years ago,” Liam said.

“I don’t remember dying,” Kurt said. “You’d think that would be a memorable event.”

“Are you sure you did?” Liam asked.

Kurt looked pensive, and Liam wanted to tell him that he could let go of all of it, the human mask that he tried so hard to keep on, that it wouldn’t frighten Liam to see him as he really was. But Liam wasn’t entirely sure that was true, and he was certain that it would break Kurt’s heart to think Liam was afraid of him.

“You still think I’m not a vampire,” Kurt said.

“Maybe. I mean, yes, you drink blood, but your powers are different, your blood is different, and if you never died—”

“I have the scars from the arrows in my chest. At some point, I must have been vulnerable to weapons.”

“Well, you were human. And now you’ve— changed.”

“There’s something else,” Kurt said. “It’s happened on our last three trips here.” He pointed, and Liam looked, but all he could see was the occasional glint of starlight reflected in the river. “There’s a dog,” Kurt said.

That was not what Liam had been expecting. “A dog.”

“Yeah. A large white dog. I thought he was real until I realized you don’t see him. And also, he’s got six eyes. I couldn’t see him well enough at first to notice that, but he comes closer now.”

Liam fought a little shiver. Surely with Kurt by his side he was in no danger from a spectral dog. And anyway, if Kurt thought there was danger, he’d have Liam nowhere near it.

“Six eyes,” Liam mused. “You know, in Proto-Indo-European mythology, there was sometimes said to be a three-headed dog guarding the underworld.”

“He’s just got the one head.”

“Yes, but he’s got enough eyes for three.”

“I suppose so.” Kurt sounded amused. “But why would a dog from the Underworld be appearing to me?”

“I’ll do some research.” Liam lay back on the grass, alone in a field at night with the first inhuman creature he’d met, and this one was not pathetic and frightened but incredibly dangerous and also quite sweet. Liam decided he’d like to ask another question. “Does it hurt? When you drink blood from someone?”

“No. Well, yes, but I convince them it doesn’t.” Kurt lay down too, but on his side, looking at Liam. “Actually— I usually make it feel nice.”

“Nice.”

“Very nice.”

Liam turned to look at him. Kurt’s eyes were glowing faintly in the dark. “Oh. You mean— nice.”

“Listen, Liam— you and I—” Kurt frowned, almost seeming nervous, which was not a common look for him. “When I drink blood from someone, we form a connection. Something that ties them to me, lets me know if they’re all right or in trouble. I’ve wanted that with you, for a long time. Because we’re— we’re close. But the thing is, it’s been happening anyway.”

Kurt was losing his human disguise a bit. His shape in the darkness was shifting about again. “I know where you are, and what’s happening to you. I know if you’re sick, if you’re hungry. I know when you get those damned threatening letters because they scare you.”

“Why?” Liam whispered.

“I don’t know.” Kurt looked honestly confused. “But you and I already share a greater intimacy than I’ve shared with anyone in a very long time. If I drank from you— we’d be even closer. Is that something that you would want?”

“Yes.”

Kurt was assessing him again. “You’re scared.”

“Not of you.”

“If we do this— whatever you’re scared of might not remain your secret.”

Liam felt a little wetness in his eyes. “I don’t think it’s a secret now.”

Kurt lay there looking at him for another moment, and then he sat up. Liam started to sit up as well, but Kurt put a gentle hand on his shoulder and Liam lay back down. Kurt’s hand trailed down his arm to grasp his wrist, holding him loosely, as if Kurt wanted him to have a last chance to pull away.

Liam did not pull away, and Kurt raised Liam’s wrist to his mouth. The bite was painless. To Liam it felt like a kiss, the soft, warm press of Kurt’s lips against his skin, and there was only a sort of odd lightheadedness that made him realize he was losing blood.

After a moment, Kurt raised his head, and there was a touch of color to his lips, a sort of stain in the darkness. “Do you want the full show?” he asked.

“Seems a shame to miss out,” Liam answered.

*********

Read the E-rated ending on Ao3 or continue for the T-rated ending. The plot is the same, but there’s smut on the Ao3 version.

**********

Kurt lowered his head again, but this time instead of biting, he licked at what blood had welled up on Liam’s wrist. Liam found himself floating in a daze, where every movement of Kurt’s lips or tongue brought him further into bliss. He felt the bite this time, and it was the perfect sting of pain to make the pleasure seem even sweeter. Liam moaned, and he heard Kurt make some sort of light growling noise in return.

The night and the stars seemed to fade away and there was only Kurt. Liam felt dizzy and entranced, his body and mind not his own, as Kurt drank his blood and gave him this pleasure as reward.

While Kurt sat unaffected above him.

It ended before Liam could really understand what a bleak thought that was, that he was alone in this ecstasy, not wrapped in his lover’s arms. He felt Kurt’s mouth move away from his wrist. The bliss gently ebbed away, letting Liam settle back into himself as he lay there on the grass. And yet Kurt was not gone. Liam could feel him inside, close and warm. Not in a sexual way, not anymore. But there was the realization that Kurt had felt Liam’s moment of reluctance and responded to it, maybe not understanding why it was there, but accepting it nonetheless.

Kurt lay down again, so that he could look into Liam’s eyes. He still had hold of Liam’s hand, and he’d laced their fingers together.

“Wow,” Liam said.

Kurt smiled, looking both pleased and sad. Or maybe Liam could tell that Kurt was feeling both pleased and sad. Liam, for his part, felt dizzy and a little cold, and Kurt pulled him close, resting Liam’s head against his shoulder. Liam fell asleep that way, on a battlefield three thousand years old, in the arms of a man who might have died there or perhaps could never die at all.

*******************

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

#Dannye writes #original fiction #serial fiction #tollense #vampires #romance

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rhaenyratargeryn · 3 years

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A Series of Firsts, pt. I (Crow x f!guardian)

Rating: T

Summary: First confessions, first drink, first kiss. All in one.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment her perspective shifted. It was one thing to say, when you awake as a guardian, whomever you were in your past life is gone, and another to put it into practice.

Especially when you knew the person that guardian had been in the very recent past.

Especially when you were the reason that person had died.

Of all the things Crow had learned (mostly against his will) about who he was before he awoke to the Light, that was one thing she was glad he had not discovered.

Which was a whole other mess for her mind and her heart to work out. It was hard enough at the start seeing the face of the man who she had hunted, had chased over the stars with hatred in her heart and revenge in her hands. Hands that had fired the Ace of Spades into Uldren Sov until he breathed no more.

Uldren had been proud. Haughty. A prince in his status and his manner.

And now this man who wore his face was hissing at having scorched his fingertips on the crackling campfire after adding a log. He sheepishly blew on them as Glint shook his small chassis with a chiding air.

“I told you to use a smaller log.”

“By all means, show me how it is done, Sparky.”

Glint couldn’t scowl, but the way his edges tightened and he groaned said well enough that he hated the endearment.

“That’s what I thought.” Crow said with a grin, catching her eye as she watched him. The expression softened, his voice lowering, “How’s it coming?”

Right. She was supposed to be mixing up the stew. Pulled from her thoughts, she returned to stirring, mixing packets of dried vegetable and meat rations into the stock that was, in truth, mostly water. It was a typical meal for guardians on the ground. And… well, despite Zavala having learned of Crow’s real identity, it was too risky still to have him walking around the tower.

He’d needed to “get out and stretch his wings” as he called it, and so here she was. Camped out in the EDZ with the Lightbringer formerly known as Uldren Sov. The man she had killed. And now the man she was stupidly, and irreversibly already half in love with.

There had been moments. Lots of moments. Too many moments.

First she’d thought the affection stemmed from the fact he looked up to her. Just another new Lightbearer with an awed respect for the Young Wolf, Hero of the Red War, the “Chosen One”… it wasn’t like she had set out to be any of those things. She had just done what needed to be done. She recalled she told him that once and he had chuckled with such… fondness. His voice pitching low then as it did now or whenever they were alone.

Like their conversations were a secret. His words for her ears alone.

She set the pot over the flame on it’s hanger, noting that despite Glint’s criticisms, the flame was high enough and hot enough to use.

“You seem distracted tonight.” Crow said, letting his hood fall back. Even in the dark his eyes glowed faintly, the color of a sunrise.

She told herself the shiver that ran up and down her arms was from the chill in the air.

“I’ve never been a talker.” She said and settled back down next to him. It was near enough that one of them only had to reach out to touch the other. It would be too obvious to move now, she thought with a silent curse, frowning to herself.

“Is that so?” Crow said, his voice so earnest that for a moment she didn’t realize he was teasing her until she looked up and saw the faint smile on his lips.

Her traitorous heart skipped. Where was her Ghost? For that matter, where was Glint? They had both been here a moment ago.

“I thought… well… I thought maybe you were regretting bringing me along. I can’t say that last shot at the Fallen was my best moment.”

She had nearly forgotten. It was a small skirmish, something she could have easily taken solo. A Captain had swiped in close, nearly taking her arm off with his sword. Crow’s shot had missed, but it had forced the Captain back, giving her enough time to dispatch the Fallen herself. She had been surprised, but hadn’t given it more thought than that.

But now, in the dim light, she could see the same expression on Crow’s face he had worn when he came down from his perch and helped her bandage the shallow wound. It hadn’t been embarrassment, or even quite disappointment… but something else. Something deeper.

“It still saved me a very uncomfortable rez.” She said and the Crow just nodded, his brow pinched slightly as he cast his eyes aside. She turned, tilting her head to try to get back into his line of sight.

“Hey, I mean it. I would have regretted not bringing you along. This is so much better than being off on my own.”

Surprise flashed over his features, a deeper shade of indigo spreading across his cheeks. She suddenly found herself wishing a Taken portal would open up and swallow her whole. She turned away before he could see the same flush spread over her own face.

“… I agree.” Crow said and she risked another look over at him. He was smiling.

“One nice thing about being out of Spider’s lair— well, one of the nice things— I get to see you more often.”

She didn’t know what to say. The silence between them was only broken by the faint chirping of insects, the crackle of the fire and the faint bubbling sound of their dinner. Crow was looking at his hands, fidgeting with his gloves and picking at the fabric.

“Anyway. I appreciate that you humor a kinderguardian like me.” Crow began, his voice tinged with forced humor to hide the deprecation, “Letting me tag along—“

“I like it too.” She said, the words coming out so fast it came out more as “liketoo” than a comprehensive sentence.

The Crow had stopped fidgeting. The insects and the fire were overloading her senses again.

“… I really respect you. As a guardian, as a comrade. And… And I like to think of you as a friend.” Crow continued, “…and I like to think of you.”

He stopped.

“You like to think of me as—?” She prompted, breath held in her lungs.

He smiled, “That’s all. I like to think of you.”

Oh.

Crow’s confession had brought a permanent heat to his cheeks, his expression softening as if he were marveling that he managed to even get the words out. She was marveling them too. Or more like, feeling her thoughts collapse inward on themselves like a black hole.

“What... um. What does that mean?” She said, feeling dumb and fumbling and definitely not like someone with the title of “Godslayer”.

“I… “ he began, but whatever it was that had slipped forward was beginning to retreat once more, “…well, I… it’s… just a sentiment I suppose.”

It was now or never.

“I think about you too. Often. A lot. I think about you a lot. And… I know I’m this ‘role model’ and thought of as this untouchable big damn hero and everyone— no. Look. The point is, me too.”

To his credit, the Crow listened to her outburst with quiet attentiveness, even nodding once or twice in understanding.

“It just seems impossible.” He said at last, shrugging slightly, “I can’t imagine why someone like you—”

“Don’t look at the pedestal.” She said, her voice firm, “Just look at me. C’mon, you’ve seen how I eat. I talk in my sleep too, I know I do. I never clean my guns right and I’ve had half a dozen sparrow related rezes because I’m a shitty driver.”

That last one got a laugh.

“So let’s just focus on the win here, yeah? You like me.” She waited until the Crow picked up on the prompt and he nodded, confirming it, “And I like you. Now it’s out there.”

Crow let out a breath that turned into a nervous laugh, “It’s definitely out there.”

When it became apparent neither one of them knew how to go on, there was a soft sigh from somewhere nearby. Glint and her own Ghost glided out from the trees, coming to perch near their guardians.

“And what were you two doing?” Crow said, clearly relieved for a subject change.

“Oh, just— just patrolling.” Glint said hurriedly, earning what could be imagined was a wry look from her own Ghost. He turned that look on her then as if he were exasperated with her for something.

She had a funny feeling why the pair had left them alone.

—-

A day had become a week and then a week had easily fallen into the next. Devrim had even radioed in at one point to tell them to “leave some for the rest of us” after the fourth Fallen patrol they had decimated.

They worked well together, the awkwardness of the night before fading into routine. It surprised her how natural such a foreign concept like touch was to them. A bump on the shoulder with a closed fist, a silent congratulations for a good shot. The brush of their hands when they passed ammo or a water canteen. The touch of his arm, brushing against her own perhaps every thirteenth of a second when they walked too close together.

Even at the campfire they slowly had begun to draw nearer and nearer, their orbit closing in on the other. His, with an innocent like curiosity. Her own interest decidedly less innocent, but also still— cautious. She felt the pull of his light, new and bright. Her own had not shimmered so in a long time… he was naive, young and rash. He needed looking after, not another responsibility. The point driven even further home now by the way he teetered unsteadily even sitting.

Devrim had sent a patrol over to meet them with fresh supplies. One of them being a bottle of something he called “Gulchshine” which, judging by the smell, was maybe only one molecule away from pure ethanol. Crow hadn’t drank since he was revived. Which was the same as saying he’d never drank before at all.

“This is disgusting. I can’t stop drinking it.” Crow said, his voice not so much slurred as it was relaxed. Open and unguarded.

“What is that? Is that lemon? Or is it just my taste buds dying?”

“It… definitely seems like lemon.” She said, giving a tiny sip to the cup in her own hand. There was a citrus like bite beneath the taste of rubbing alcohol, but it was not near sweet or sour enough to mask the bitterness of the clear liquid.

“Like someone whispering the word ‘lemon’ from another room.” Crow murmured and took another sip, a shudder going over him as he swallowed. He brought the bottle to his lips again and with a chuckle, she leaned nearer and said in a soft voice,

“Lemon."

Crow nearly choked on his laugh. It was a nice sound, one she didn’t hear often enough from him.

“That exactly.” He said after he’d caught his breath, turning towards her with a grin. The smile faded at the realization of how close they were. His eyes half-closed and dreamy in their regard as he lifted a hand up to brush back a strand of hair from her face.

She could smell the alcohol on his warm breath, the moss of the greenery around them, the fresh air… could feel the warmth from the Earth beneath them and from his hand on her cheek. She reached out, holding him by the chin to keep him in place as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss, as faint as the sweet taste of citrus, on his lips.

She had not expected to do that. She equally did not expect him to curl his hand behind her head and pull her in, his mouth already open for another kiss which she happily provided. Crow groaned, an involuntary and needful sound.

Desperation. She could taste it in his kiss, in the way he tentatively returned the soft touch of her tongue, inexperienced but so eager to learn. To feel. He craved it in every gasp, every pull of his fingers through her hair. He wanted to be touched— with tenderness, with kindness. His body lit with it, his breathing fast and quick and his touch edging towards rough in its eagerness. Like he couldn’t get close enough. A wanting so strong and so foreign and yet familiar. She felt him struggle with it— with his body knowing vaguely what it wanted but his mind struggling to keep up.

So she guided him. Over and over. Kissing not just his lips but the highpoint of his cheek and the juncture where his jaw met his neck. She let her teeth rasp over his pulse, thready and rapid at his throat and relished in the way he shivered. She wasn’t sure when she had been settled into his lap, only that she enjoyed the way it made her just a fraction taller.

They were wearing too many clothes. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over every expanse of his skin until he remembered her touch more than he remembered any bullet or beam or weapon that had ever struck him. The sudden movement of her hands to the hem of his shirt had an immediate sobering effect, his body going rigid beneath her.

“… too fast.” She said, nodding half at her self. She let her hands slide back up, resting her arms around his shoulders. Crow swallowed thickly and she repressed the urge to kiss his neck all over again.

“I’ve never— I mean, not that I remember…”

It made perfect sense. His uncertainty mixed with certainty. Moments of lucidness where he no doubt remembered past lovers, past kisses, and then for them to fade like starlight from his grasp. Despite the confession, the Crow didn’t look daunted, his hands still clutching to her waist.

“Do you want to stop?” She asked, shifting her weight back.

“I…“ Crow paused, his pupils blown wide, an eclipse on a sunset sky, “… I just want to touch you. Is… is that okay?”

“That’s okay.” She said, pressing a kiss to his jaw and relishing in the way he relaxed beneath her hands. His arms held her so tightly, their ribs pressed together hard enough for there to be a faint spark of pain. She didn’t care.

His fingers had found a spot beneath her collar, seeking out the soft skin at the nape of her neck. She turned her cheek against his, pressing and rubbing her lips against him more than actually kissing. Crow seemed dazed, a soft hum coming from his throat as she felt his eyelashes brush against her skin, his eyes closing.

“Is everyone this warm?” He asked, unthinking, “Sorry— weird question.”

“Probably has something to do with the Gulchshine.”

She pulled back, placing her hands on either side of his face and noting the warmth radiating from his skin.

“You’re flushed down your neck.” She said, observing the darker blue color that bloomed out over his skin.

“I’m not that drunk.”

She rose an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t drunk, just not that drunk.”

“So is this for me then?”

He didn’t answer, a sputter dying in his throat as he shook his head.

“I lied. I’m drunk.”

She laughed and kissed him again, just to be sure and he breathed into it like she was the very air he needed. An arm around her waist, his hand tangled in her hair, he followed her kiss by kiss, learning his own rhythm and occasionally trying something new. Discovering how he liked to kiss her. How he liked to be kissed back. It felt important. It felt special. These things only heightening the very intimacy of the act.

She’d never felt this way just from kissing someone before. Something she imagined they had in common.

“... if I knew it felt this good, I would have done it a long time ago.”

“You really are drunk.”

He made a questioning noise, his mouth too busy testing out the way she has kissed his neck on her own. He licked a long line up to her jaw. She had definitely not shown him that.

“People are more honest when they are drunk.” She clarified, her words veering towards breathless

“Glitch might have mentioned it.”

At the mention of the ghosts, both guardians froze, eyes drifting to where the two lights were perched, watchful but silent nearby.

They had forgotten they were there.

Oh god they had forgotten they were there.

“Don’t mind us.” Her own Ghost said, voice filled with dry amusement.

#destiny #destiny 2 #crow x guardian #crow x young wolf #the crow destiny #crow x f!guardian #fanfic #fanfiction #part two will be SPICY #hence why it will be moved to part two #so people can enjoy without spice

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khloros · 2 years

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“Ugh please tell me there’s more to life than working/dealing with people/trying to get by/etc.” Absolutely. There’s also fish with pretty scales (I like the yellow ones). And sunrises. And don’t forget about sunsets! Or the way that the light hits trees at noon during spring so you can see their branches’ shadows sprawling across their trunks. And leaves that change color in the fall (chlorophyll is neat, I recommend checking out that process) and end up looking like individual works of art all strung across a tree! There’s squirrels that throw acorns at your head so you can have a laugh, too. And birds that poop on your head, which is actually a sign of good luck! Ladybugs are good luck too, and they have a lot of beautiful lookalikes which you should look into. I wonder when humanity began wishing on stars—they do seem so magical, don’t they? You know, when cicadas come around every summer, their songs fills the air and they actually have different sounds for different meanings. And in the winter, if you live in a place cold enough, glitter falls from the sky! How cool is that?? You can play in it too—have you seen those old videos of people having a snowball fight? People will always find a way to express joy. You should bring cookies over to your neighbor, they’ll appreciate the gesture no matter what. People are writing good books every day, be sure to keep a to-read list if that’s your thing! Did you know that some flowers, such as hydrangeas, change color based on the pH of the soil they’re in? I think it’s so cool that soil and soul are spelled almost the same. And how to spell means to create through language, and a spell is magic created through language. Going to museums and antique stores and art galleries is such a nice way to see how other people love. When the wind blows through long grass, it looks almost like the ocean. Maybe it’d be nice to go scuba diving someday, or maybe it’d be better to pick wildflowers instead. Maybe you could do both, if you like both activities. Or neither, because there’s always something else you could do. The world is built to live in, that’s why life exists. It can be hard, near-impossible, and pretty damn terrifying, but it will be okay. There are small beauties everywhere and every single person is searching for them, searching for a way to make more of this small life, and I think that all of us doing that is actually a big thing—bigger than the earth that holds us

#a really long and sleepy ramble but basically this is what I’ve been telling myself and maybe someone else should hear it too :)#ok to reblog if you want #it’s nice to have it written down to look back at at least. hope there’s no typos. very tired #<3 thanks and goodnight ✨#my post

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cassiecasyl · 3 years

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stay (said the ghost to the living)

I missed writing irondad.

prompts: @whumpay2021 day 1: “I thought you were dead” + day 28: chains relationship: Peter Parker & Tony Stark summary: There’s chains holding him to life, saying it’s not his time yet.

read on ao3!

~~~

There had been a scream, Peter remembered as much. The concrete had been hard under his body as pain faded. A few tears had still burned in his eyes. The cold had come from the chain wrapped around his right ankle, the one he was now holding in his hands, and had spread over his whole body. There had been a scream so loud it rattled through his bones, so loud it could’ve woken the dead.

Now, he was walking in a dream. Colors and shapes blurred together even though there was no wetness on his cheeks. His eyes just wouldn’t focus. Distorted sounds sometimes made it through, but never a word. He was alone.

It must’ve been a while since it happened, whatever it was, because their surroundings had changed from dark and muddy grey to bright and sterile white. There was the light that always blinded Peter when he was in medbay— wait. Medbay. Someone was hurt. Please, no, don’t let it be— He sucked in a breath that wizzed right through his body as he turned around, the chain in his hands rattling anxiously while he looked around.

Peter stood next to a bed, the room abandoned except for two — no, three, there was somebody in the bed, he couldn’t see, can’t see, can’t see, who is it? — figures. Somebody was watching him. They stood close to the door, as if they weren’t sure whether they were intruding. But also, where they could overlook the whole room. Peter narrowed his eyes, focusing on them. A blob of red, a frown framing sharp, scary and knowing eyes. Nat. Peter almost wanted to smile at her, to celebrate his vision finally focusing and because she would know what happened, but then he noticed the tear tracks on her usually stoic face. No. The teenager’s eyes widened in fear.

He took a step back and raised his arms in an attempt to get away from under her scrutinizing gaze. Clattering noise shook his body— he had forgotten the chain in his hands. Nat’s eyes narrowed further. “Mrs Romanoff?” Peter whispered, but no air passed his lips. What had he done? Then, her eyes left him to search the room and Peter could feel himself fading.

The only thing keeping him anchored to reality it seemed was the cold iron touching his fingers, grounding him, linking him to the very ground he was standing on, or maybe to hell. Peter didn’t know. They shuddered with him, shattering against its parts, one by one. This time, the hunched over figure by the bed looked up.

Peter was found in those brown eyes, the very same color as his, just a tad darker, but something was wrong. His face was fallen, devastated, looking out with utter hopelessness and barely contained anger — the bad taste grief left. “Mr. Stark?” he asked, but was drowned out by the man’s breaking voice.

“Stop it, Nat.”

“I’m not doing anything,” the spy answered.

“I don’t care,” Tony mumbled, returning his gaze to the body lying on the bed. Peter ventured closer, chains clanking and fingers itching to give his mentor comfort. “What’s that noise then?” Tony barked, not bothering to hide his frustration.

Peter stopped short as he noticed who was lying there. It wasn’t possible.

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

They were mourning him. But— he was here, alive, wasn’t he? He looked down his body, but his vision was blurring again. Alive. His bones were freezing, bidding him a good night. Alive. Peter reached out to Tony, fingers leaving his burial iron in favor of the Iron Man. How could they not? Instead of stopping at the man’s shoulder though, they continued, invincibly, through his skin and flesh. In horror, he retreated his hand, mustering it under the unforgiving light of the medbay. He looked up at Tony. His mentor never even noticed.

Dead. He was dead. How? The more he tried, the less came up. Where once was a beat, now silence reigned. Peter cried out devoid of tears. Where once was air, now was a void, and Peter knew he’d collapse into it, into himself. Why couldn’t he breathe? There was a black hole in his middle, and the more he struggled, the more it took, but he couldn’t stop. He shuddered and with him that damn, chattering chain.

“What the hell?” Tony asked, more awake now, staring straight through him. His eyes could’ve been lasers, as much as it hurt.

Chattering? Hold on—

Natasha moved through the room, approaching and then walking away again, almost touching as she walked by. Peter already yearned for human touch. He was suffocating in space’s vacuum. Warm comfort was right next to him, yet he could never reach it. He was Tantalus in his pool deep down in Tartarus, never quite reaching the delicious fruit hanging above his head. He was so cold.

They returned, stopping right in his center, somehow avoiding the black hole. It was impossible. He was burning up, his ice fighting the sudden human heat. Who was she? Peter blinked. He was swaying in and out of reality. Mom? No, why would he see his mom, she died when he was four, plane crash, remember? The reason why he never really trusted planes anymore. That, and Coney Island. Yes, he remembered. He was here. No reason his mom would be here, unless he was— oh. He was dead.

“It’s definitely coming from here,” Natasha determined, and Peter grasped her identity. Nat. Mrs. Romanoff. Black Widow. Spider-Mama, as Clint had one time called her, imitating a Russian accent. After the glare Nat had sent him, no one dared to repeat the words. Later, she had teased Clint on his hilariously bad accent work.

She was still standing inside him, and Peter could hardly imagine a more uncomfortable feeling. The shiver working through his body translated into hers and she stepped away, rubbing her arms. Peter breathed in relief only to once again realize that air was indifferent to him. Afterlife sucked, he decided.

“Since when are there cold spots in the compound?” she asked. Mr. Stark frowned.

Chattering, Peter thought again. Chattering. There was something— right, morse code! He almost hit himself on the head because damn his slow undead brain — was it undead? He’d established that he was dead, but how could he be standing here if he was braindead? Why was he still lying in a hospital bed instead of the morgue? Had Mr. Stark not given him up yet? FRIDAY would surely pick up his brain waves. There was nothing science could really tell Peter about this. It would be exciting if it wasn’t so frightening and lonely. Noisy rattling interrupted his thinking.

He moved his chains around until he could clank two of its parts together rather than the whole thing sounding. It should work that way. Peter waited a calming moment before he began to bring them together with a dinging noise. Two short — I. Two long — M. Pause. Four short — H. One short — E. Short, long, short — R. One short again — E. Pause, and repeat. Two short — I. Two long — M. Pause. Four short — H. One short — E…

“That’s morse code,” Nat said suddenly, bringing Peter back from the trance the dinging had brought him in. “‘I’m here.’ It says, ‘I’m here.’”

“‘I’m here’?” Tony repeated. “Who’s ‘I’? Is this some kind of sick joke?” There was fear in his eyes now, masked with anger. Peter almost jumped. He stopped.

“No, Mr. Stark!” he said in desperation, “It’s me! It’s Peter!” Then, remembering his voice, he morsed. Long, short; three long — NO.

“No? What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony stood up now, towering over him in anger, and Peter stumbled back. He remembered a scream rattling his bones in a way his chains could never achieve. He remembered the cold entering his body and nothing stopping it. He remembered how his vision became spotty before the black color filled it all. He remembered waking up. I’m here.

“I’m sorry,” Peter mumbled, closing his eyes and letting a tear fall. It burned his icy skin as it ran down his cheek and along his skin in search of a good jumping point. Finally, it left him. Wait— he’d felt it. He was crying. There was water in his eyes. He blinked them open only to find the two adults in the room staring at him.

Awkwardly, he waved his hand, and the chain rattled along. Tony blinked. “This isn’t real,” he said, falling back into his chair next to Peter’s bed, never leaving the ghost of his kid out of sight. They could see him. Peter grinned. They could see him.

“Oh, you’re a Shaniac. Good to know if this ever happens again,” Peter joked into the tense room. Nat let out a near-manic chuckle, and Tony only stared. Fear had turned to amazement and hope and a tear left his left eye.

It was Peter’s turn to blink at his mentor. “You can hear me?” he asked, uncertainty lacing his tongue. A smile grew on Tony’s face and Peter couldn’t help but grin back.

“Whatever a Shaniac is, it’s good to hear your voice, kid.” He stood up again and opened his arms in invitation. However much Peter would’ve loved to jump right into the hug, he couldn’t. He held him back with his hand, lightly touching Tony’s hand to show him. His illusioned hand went right through Mr. Stark’s solid body, just as expected.

“No touch. Sorry.” As he looked back up at Mr. Stark, there were tears in his eyes. It was like watching his heart break all over again, and Peter choked on air that still refused to enter his lungs — it was as afraid as he was of the void there.

Tony stepped back and Peter looked to the ground. “FRI, Give me footage of this room. Now!” Peter flinched a little at the harshness in Mr. Stark’s voice, but eventually came closer to spy on the footage too. FRIDAY had immediately designed Mr. Stark a holoscreen, only giving a quick verbal confirmation — “Right away, Boss.”

They watched themselves sitting and standing there. It was almost dull and pointless, except for knowing where the cameras were. Instead of Peter, a glowing bulb hung in the air. The boy moved a little, watching how the ball followed his movements. “Cool,” he whispered.

Tony glanced up at him. If he was surprised by Peter’s sudden proximity, he didn’t show it. “Ghost?” he asked.

“Ghost,” Peter confirmed with a nod. It was the only possible explanation.

Tony sighed. “Oh, for fu— goodness’ sakes, why must it be you to prove me wrong here?” he lamented and Peter chuckled.

“Told you you’re a Shaniac.”

“I still don’t know what that means,” the genius admitted, and Peter shared a quick, knowing look with Nat. “Now get the hell over here and back into your body!”

“Tony,” Mrs. Romanoff said while Peter obliged, “are you sure this is gonna work?” Her voice was gentle yet stern, as if trying to soften a blow or stop someone from doing something stupid. It was hard to tell which one.

“It’s worth a try,” Tony replied.

Peter lay down into his body, but there was nothing. He could’ve just as well laid down on the ground. There was no uncomfortable feeling like with Nat, now heat spread from a living body. Nothing. He tried to connect, but there was nothing to connect to, all the links were dead. 404, not found. He could cry.

He sat up again, leaving his body on the sheets, much to everyone’s disappointment. “Do you think you could try again?” Tony asked, the hope in his voice almost unbearable. He was set on this, and there was nothing that could make him veer from this path.

“No,” Peter sighed, “I’m sorry. There’s just… nothing,” he explained.

“I’m going to contact Doctor Strange,” Natasha announced with a new-found determination. She briefly squeezed Mr. Stark’s shoulder before leaving.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said again, only to be intervened by Mr. Stark.

“No. No, kid. It’s okay. We’re gonna find something that works. And if not… Well, then, at least you're still here in this form.” Peter nodded, looking up at the tired and red eyes of his mentor. “And no ‘if this ever happens again.’ Because if this ever happens again, I’m gonna kill you myself. Or worse, I’m gonna call your aunt.”

Peter blinked. “You haven’t called May?”

Tony’s eyes found the side of the bed. “No,” he sighed heavily, “I wanted her to find out from me, but I— I just couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.” Peter could hear the tears in his breaths.

“How long?” he asked.

“A few— a few hours.”

Peter nodded. Then, he drew Mr. Stark’s attention by waving his hand where he stared at. “Well, good news is, you’ve still got me around to annoy you.”

Tony let out a broken laugh, but there was love in it. “God, kid, one day you’re gonna be the death of me.” It was a rupture in the small comfort they’d found. Tony on the ground, bleeding out, his helpless hands stupidly shaking as they tried to stop the flow. It was too late though. The light had already left his eyes. There was no going back. The teen tensed, staring up with big, unseeing, startled eyes; almost dead, or just hanging barely onto life. No. His father, Richard; Ben; not Tony, too. He knew it was meant as a joke, but the image wouldn’t leave his mind. He knew how close death was, how it hit when you least expected it. Hell, he was dead, right at this very moment.

Tony seemed to sense his kid’s distress because he began apologizing. “No, kid, I’m sorry. God, this was stupid, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t meant it, Peter—”

It was a drowning noise in his ears. No, no, no. He had just become real again, he didn’t want to go back to the dream, to the fading realm where he was all alone. Where Tony mourned him. Where he couldn’t protect him, only watch without understanding. “Don’t die, please?” his voice was suddenly that of a scared kid — high-pitched and teary. He swallowed a sob. “Promise me?”

“Well, everybody’s gotta die at some point, nothing’s immortal—,” Tony started with a sigh, but at the sight of his kid’s big, pleading puppy eyes, he stopped. “I promise,” he assured him. Anything for this kid.

tag list: (let me know if you wanna be added/removed!) @starrynightdeancas @spookyscarykittycat @sherlockwhomentalist @lost-lunar-wolf @aixabi @peter-is-a-bean

#irondad #Whumpay2021 #ghost peter parker #tony stark #spidermom #natasha romanoff

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just-a-creep-babe · 3 years

Text

Hoodie Yandere Alphabet ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Commissioned by anonymous, thank you so much! 💗💝💗

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Despite everything, ya boi isn’t really that affectionate. He doesn’t like being vulnerable cause he doesn’t wanna risk the control he has, so any affection usually comes in the form of sickly sweet teasing & mocking. Like he’ll drag a knife/gun up & down their body while cooing about how pretty they look when they’re all scared & helpless beneath him, and that’s about as affectionate as he gets

But he is, admittedly, a huge softie in the mornings when he’s half-asleep & also when he’s a little woozy from blood loss. In that case, he won’t be so afraid to smother his darling in plenty of kissies & cuddles :3 And once he’s got a grip on them, it’s damn near impossible to escape; boy’s got some thicc 👏ass 👏muscles 👏 just perfect for trapping his squirming darling against his broad chest, even when he is just waking up or injured 👀

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Mmh he won’t actively make an effort to cover them in blood or anything, but he does appreciate how those streaks of scarlet look on their skin. He sometimes likes cutting them when they’ve misbehaved, and he especially loves whipping them until the blood starts beading up, but other than that, he’s prolly more of a fan of bruising. Too much blood can make too much of a mess, which just isn’t worth the effort in his opinion. He’s a clean boi uwu

Still, despite that, he’s not afraid of getting his hands real dirty every now & then when the occasion calls for it ;)

And on the other hand, if he gets injured while he’s out, he‘ll picking at his wounds & stitches until blood gushes out just to smear it on his darling. It brings out this kinda possessive side of him when they’re covered in his blood—his mark. He also enjoys how kinda fucked up it is—and bonus points if it freaks his darling out too :)))

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He’s pretty damn cruel tbh. He enjoys hurting them physically, but he also absolutely adores messing with their head. He’ll act sweet & caring one second, then flip the switch & start mocking them for thinking he might actually be a good person. He likes being unpredictable with his cruelty too—it keeps them on edge. If they expect him to ridicule them, he won’t, and if they let their guard down & start believing he might genuinely care this time, he’ll be extra cruel~

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Oh, he definitely would. He’s smart enough to realize that what he’s done isn’t right, and he‘s probably beyond redemption at this point, so why not? Homeboy knows he’s going to hell anyways, he might as well enjoy the ride & do what he pleases ;p

He does many-a things against their will, and like I mentioned, he loves mind games & generally messing with their head, to the point of possibly breaking them. He’s also certainly not against dishing out punishments too. Whether or not they deserve it is sometimes questionable, but he’ll find a way to gaslight them into thinking it’s prolly their fault regardless ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He doesn’t like being vulnerable with someone he knows won’t reciprocate said vulnerability. Boy’s just not about taking those unnecessary risks. So he doesn’t really let himself show any kind of emotions towards them. And this mans is fucking excellent at hiding what he’s feeling, and tbh, as a yandere, it just makes him all the more downright terrifying

The only time he might start opening up is when, again, he’s tired/injured & his defences are down, or he thinks his darling might be falling for him & their relationship is getting,, kinda more serious/genuine. Even then, it’s a slow process, cause opening up to someone isn’t exactly a familiar concept to him

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Oh, he loves it when they fight back. They can’t make things too easy for him now, can they?~ He likes when they aren’t afraid to show a bit of spunk; it only makes things all the more entertaining~

And besides, he knows that when it boils down to it, they can’t overpower him, so it’s not like he’s got anything to be afraid of anyways. They just end up looking super cute all flustered & upset trying to fight him off—all bark & no bite~

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

The whole thing is definitely a game. He wants to see if they can outsmart him—it gives him a huge rush & brings out this competitive side of him. He knows he’ll win in the end, ofc, but still, boy loves his little fucked up tricks & mind games, especially when his victim’s as cute & precious as his little darling~

When it comes to escaping, he’ll even go as far as to purposely letting them leave, just so he can leave traps around the forest & see if they can make it home—or if they end up crawling back to him. Make no mistake however; if they somehow, against all odds, manage to escape, he’s not gonna let that be the end of it. In fact, he’ll probably grow even more obsessed with them because they actually outsmarted him. The game would only really begin at that point 😈💀

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

I don’t think there’d be one specific event that’d be the worst experience. If anything, the constant manipulation & gaslighting would wear them down over time and really fuck ‘em up in the long run. Just the whole experience of being his captive would leave some lasting trust issues, to say at the very least

But yeah, he isn’t one to get too physically violent unless it’s they’ve really misbehaved so they aren’t likely to experience any emotional outbursts/near-death experiences. He plays the long con & would rather fuck up their life by twisting & warping their perspective so bad no one could undo it. Not that they have much of a chance at returning to the real world w/o him, anyways. Cause, like I said, even if they escape, he’ll likely keep watching them from the shadows before reclaiming or killing them. They’re either stuck with him, traumatized for life among the normal population, or they’re dead, plain & simple

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Well, he’s got about a thousand back-up plans if they ever manage to escape that’ll lead them right back to his arms, but other than that, he doesn’t really,,,, know or care about the distant future?

Part of him realizes he might not always have his darling, while the other part of him’s convinced nothing could possibly tear them away from him. He’s kinda just betting they’ll eventually cave in, accept their fate & admit they love him back. At the same time though, he doesn’t want his little game to end, and he doesn’t want them to become complacent, so to speak. Despite all his careful planing ahead, he’s not really sure what he wants in the long run :/

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly), he’s not one much for jealousy. In fact, he’d definitely let Masky, at the very least, play around with his darling because ya boy knows sharing is caring 😏😉

Yet despite his easy-going nature, there are time when even he, himself, isn’t immune to those sharp pangs of jealousy & possessiveness. It’s more of a mental thing than a physical one, though. Like he’s fine with letting his darling be around others, as long as everyone knows they ultimately belong to him, but if he catches hint that his darling’s thinking about someone else, then he‘ll be none too pleased.

He wants their thoughts to always be about him; and whether in a positive light or a negative one, he doesn’t care which. So he’d find some way to punish them or gaslight them until they can’t think of anyone else anymore. They should know they’re all his, no excuses

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Hm, Hoodie’s generally a reserved person, and that doesn’t change much around them tbh. He won’t be as quiet as he is around the other creeps, but he’s def not the type of yandere to gush about how much he loves his darling & how much they mean to him & stuff

Sometimes, he can even be,, kinda cold & stoic. He enjoys confusing them, so he might act like he doesn’t care about them & their presence is a burden—like he didn’t actively choose to kidnap them. He might range from acting like a cuddly murderous teddy bear to a detached blank slate of a person. Typically, when he puts some distance between him & his darling, it’s cause he wants them to fill the gap. He wants to see how far he’s twisted their mind to have them crave his acceptance, despite all the terrible things he’s done to them. So not only is he mentally unpredictable, but he’s also physically unpredictable too

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He probably just,,,,, wouldn’t go through any courting. He knows that if he wanted, he could easily slip his way into their life like everything’s normal, since he does look like a regular dude, but that’s not really what he’s about

If anything, he’s more the type to stalk them for a few weeks, even months, slowly making his presence more & more known until they know something funky’s going on. At that point, either they’ll snap & hunt him down, or he’ll just break in & take them. Either way, he’ll wanna have his fun even before kidnapping them—none of that trying to impress them bs

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Yeah, they are, but mostly cause he’s just so quiet & reserved that people don’t expect him to be so sadistic behind closed doors. Anyone that doesn’t know him well prolly thinks he’s a big ol’ softie, which he can be when he wants to, but they severely underestimate him. The creeps that know him a little better have an inkling of an idea as to what his true colours are, but he’s just so damn mysterious & elusive that it’s hard to get a good grasp on what he’s truly like. Only Masky and maybe EJ know what he’s really all about 👀😳

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Ooh, he’s got a whole arsenal of punishments. There’s the regular physical ones like tying them up & sorta just,,, leaving them there for a while, there’s spanking, whipping, cutting—y’know, the typical punishments you might expect. He might also starve them or deny them warmth & human contact until they’re begging for his attention. He’ll also emotionally manipulate them & gaslight them until they feel super bad for doing whatever they did. Boy just likes playing a whole lotta mind games w his darling, what can I say? 🙃

Tbh, he can get pretty creative with his punishments if he’s in a sadistic mood. And he likes to keep his darling on their toes, so there’s no knowing what he might do to them. Sometimes the anticipation of the punishment is worse than the punishment itself :”)

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Hmm... it depends how bratty they’d get. If his darling is the type to fight back a lot, he’ll take away most of their rights. No outside time, no getting untied, limited bathroom breaks, the whole shebang. But if they’re a bit more on the docile side, he’ll actually be pretty lenient. Like he’ll even leave the doors unlocked & let them go out whenever they please, so long as they come back before their curfew. The more obedient they are, the more rights they’ll have, so a lot of it depends on them tbh

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Hoodie’s a pretty patient dude by default. And for his darling of whom which he adores so dearly? Oh yeah, he’s got plenty of patience. That doesn’t mean he’ll let them get away with misbehaving tho; it just means he won’t get upset when/if they do misbehave. He’ll never snap or yell at them or anything. This boy’s got a wild sense of control so, despite everything else, at least his darling doesn’t have to be afraid of him getting mad & going manic 👉👈

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If ever his darling manages to leave or successfully escape, it’s cause he let them. Either he lost interest or he wanted them to return to their lives while he watches from the shadows. If he decides to keep them alive even after releasing them, he’ll still keep tabs on them, maybe popping in every now & then to remind them that their time spent with him wasn’t just a horrifying dream

If they die, however, and it wasn’t on purpose, he’ll be pretty upset. It’ll maybe be the only time he’ll have an outburst—when no one’s around to see it, ofc. But boy will just explode in a fit of rage & regret. He’ll completely wreck the room, taking out all of his aggression on the things around him—and boy won’t hold anything back. He might even inadvertently end up self-harming in the process too :”c

He’s not usually one to feel guilt, but he’d definitely blame himself for their death. He’d try to focus on his work to distract himself, to the point where he’d almost become a shell of a person. It’d take a good few months/years before he’d get over it. But I mean, he has killed some of his pretty close friends before, so he’ll prolly recover just fine. What’s one more body of his loved one to add to the count? :)

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Nah, not really. Aside from blaming himself if they accidentally die, like I mentioned, nothing really makes that mans feel guilty. He knows what he did is wrong, he just,, doesn’t care lmfao 😅

And he probably wouldn’t let them go, either, unless he gets bored of them. But even then, the chances of letting them go instead of killing them are about 50/50; boy really just Does Not Give A Shit™️

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Homeboy used to be a super sweet dude that wouldn’t hurt a fly, but Slender’s influence kinda brought out this twisted, fucked up amoral side of him. He already stalks & kills people for a living, so what’s the harm in bringing his work home sometimes, ya know?

He just wants to watch a cutie squirm in his possession—it makes him feel alive. Not to mention, those cat-and-mouse games go a long way in providing stress-relief from work. He just wants some good ol’ fashion fun & entertainment, can you really blame him? ;)

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Honestly, he,,,, he kinda likes it 😳😳 Lowkey gets off to seeing them cry ngl, it just gives him this fucked up kinda rush. If he sees them curled up and crying, he might go up to them & caress their face, cooing his usual deceit, or he’ll grip their cheeks & lick the tears off as a way of mocking them

He might cuddle or comfort them if he’s feeling particularly sweet. If they’ve been bad, however, he’s more likely to leave them crying in the corner w/o paying much mind to them. Screaming’s a similar case, too, except he might gag them & let them scream until their throat’s raw. Only if they’ve been good will he give them some positive attention uwu

How he reacts to them isolating themselves depends. If they’ve been good, he’ll find a way to coax them to stop, usually via some kind of manipulation, and if they’ve been bad, he’ll just,,, let them do as please. If they keep isolating, only then will he start losing patience. He’ll find some way to force them out of it. This includes, again, manipulation of all sorts, withholding food & warmth from them, all that “fun” kinda punishment stuff. But he won’t apologize. At that point, it almost becomes a game to see who caves in first, and homeboy will not lose

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

While he does love his darling, they tend to be more of a plaything to him. And he might not stick to just one singular darling over the course of his life. He might let some go, or he might get bored & kill some others; it all depends on their chemistry. He gets obsessed with all of them, ofc, but he might legitimately care more deeply about some than others. In fact, the ones he really cares about, he‘ll even let himself be more vulnerable towards. But if he’s vulnerable w someone & eventually grows bored of them, he’ll kill them w/o releasing them, cause he doesn’t want anyone knowing his secrets. It can be difficult to do if he still loves them, but he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do

The whole thing’s really all just a game. It’s only if/when he manages to find the perfect victim that he’ll keep them forever. Someone who’s not too docile but who also isn’t afraid to fight back. They’ve gotta be pretty smart, resourceful & entertaining, too. He wants them to end up falling in love with him, but he also doesn’t want them to stop fighting him. It’s only once he finds the truly utmost perfect darling that he’ll keep them all to himself forever and ever~

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Oh god, he honestly,, doesn’t really have any weaknesses. If his darling wants to escape, they just gotta hope he’ll let them go. Either that, or they gotta find some way out of his twisted game. Even if they manage to escape, he’ll keep tabs on them, so they’ll never truly be free. Once he’s got his sights on someone, the only escape is death tbh :/

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Oh yeah, for sure lol

He’s a pretty damn sadistic boi uwu. He’d hurt them physically and emotionally; boy just doesn’t care. How much & how often he hurts them all depends on how well behaved they are 🥴

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Hm he’s not quite the type to worship his darling. He adores them & thinks they’re damn precious, but he likely won’t put them on a pedestal or anything. The only chance he’d grow to revere them is if they outsmart him & prove themselves time & time again in his little games

He also doesn’t really care what his darling thinks of him. He knows he’s a bad person & probably doesn’t deserve their love. He’s accepted it, really. But it won’t stop him from gaslighting & manipulating them until they possibly fall for him. Love just becomes part of the game at that point ¯\_(ヅ)_/¯

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He likes to thoroughly think things through before making any decisions, so he’s likely to wait a good few weeks/months before making up his mind. He just wants to be certain before putting too much effort into things, ya know?

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yeh, he probably would. If they can’t handle his mind games, they’ll break one way or another. But honestly, how cruel he is depends a lot on his darling. If they‘re nice & obedient, he’ll be sweet and rewarding as long as they don’t bore him too much, so breaking isn’t likely at that point. But if they’re super defiant, he’ll be much harsher, and if they keep ignoring his warnings, things will keep escalating until they break or he just kills them skdjkdls. He wouldnt want his perfect darling to break though, cause that’s just no fun. Boy realizes a lot of them are likely to break because he’s not exactly,,, the kindest of yanderes ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ)

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets #hoodie #hoodie x reader #yandere #yandere alphabet #marble hornets hoodie #mh hoodie

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lunarliza · 4 years

Text

Fake Boyfriend | Chapter 4: Kook Conventions

JJ x Kook!reader

series masterlist | prev. chapter| chapter one

my masterlist

You’re a Kook Princess who has everything you ever wanted... until your handsome Kook Prince dumps you for a hot new fling. To save your reputation, you bribe the one person he hates the most, JJ Maybank, to pretend to be your boyfriend for the summer. All’s fair in love and war. But where do you draw that line when you’re suddenly wishing your fake boyfriend is your real one?

note: slight mention of panic attack

If there was anything you learned about JJ that Friday, it was that he was the absolute worse at sticking to the plan.

For one, he spent so much time looking for the tennis courts, instead of following your clearly written out instructions, that he ended up being late altogether to pick you up. What was supposed to be a grand gesture turned into you sitting on the front steps, while the sun was near done setting, waiting for stupid JJ while everyone else had already left.

“What the hell took you so long?!” you scolded, slamming the truck door shut in annoyance once he finally showed up.

“This place is confusing as hell! I kept having to make loops. It is called Figure Eight for a reason,” he tried to justify, pulling out of the lot.

“JJ I texted you specific instructions on how to get here!” you groused, rubbing your temple, “Anyways, it’s fine, whatever. Let’s just hurry home so I can get ready. My house is just a little bit up that way.”

“Yeah, uh, about that,” JJ mentioned sheepishly, keeping his eyes on the road, “I kinda have to help Pope and Poppa Heyward with something right now. It will only take an hour tops! I’ll just meet you at the party after I’m done.”

You groaned loudly, face-palming yourself. “JJ what the hell! I told you specifically to cancel your plans tonight. It was supposed to be our debut!”

“I did! I just,” he scratched the back of his neck, “kinda broke one of their carts this afternoon, so I have to help them fix it for tomorrow. I think they’re catering your little brunch thingy.”

“How did you even break the cart to begin with?!”

He hid his face from your dagger-eyes and admitted in a low voice, “I, uh, tried to surf on it down a hill when they weren’t looking.”

You had to fight the urge to smack him upside the head, but you didn’t want to risk him veering off the road. Lucky bastard.

“Fine,” you grumbled, “Just make sure you’re on time to the party.” You then eyed his outfit up and down. Even in the little sunlight that emitted from outside, you could tell it was all dirty from his day activities. “And please change into something a little nicer,” you added, “These Kooks would run you to the ground with that on.”

JJ dropped you off at your house and sped away as you unlocked the door into a near empty house. Looks like it would just be you and Alfred for dinner.

Your parents were headed off to the mainland for some business convention. Thankfully, your presence was not needed which saved you an entire day of pretending to be a perfect obedient daughter. It was an exhausting act.

Most teens your age would kill for a night alone, but after countless nights sleeping isolated in a big empty house, it got old and depressing. Most of the time, you’d sleep over at Sarah’s for some kind of company. You were always welcomed at the Camerons’.

Greeting Alfred your usual hello at the foyer, you darted upstairs to wash off and get ready with the little time you had left. The aroma of filet mignon and freshly seasoned veggies filled the house air.

“Oh and Alfred,” you called out over the intricate metal banister, “It’ll just be me eating tonight, so just set the table for one please.”

“Miss Y/n, your friend is not coming?” he asked with hints of concern. You just shook your head with a sad smile. “No, he had to run last minute.”

Alfred gave you a curt nod, making way back into the kitchen while you dashed into the bathroom.

—————————————————

Instead of throwing JJ straight into the shark’s tank (even though, given his already poor track record, you strongly contemplated throwing him to literal sharks), you decided it was best to ease him into the whole boyfriend role.

You figured he’d be more in touch with his aura if you invited him to a Kook party first— which was exactly where you were, furiously texting him where on earth he was.

It was already ten o’clock. The party started hours ago, and he was nowhere to be found. An hour with Pope your ass!

Flopping onto the giant living room couch in Billy Irvine’s mansion, you frowned amongst the throng of drunk privileged kids. Around you, the Glossy Posse was gossiping with other Kooks about some of the summer newcomers while sleazy guys from out of town tried to grab their attention. It never worked.

“So y/n,” Chloe asked next to you on the couch, “I have some great news! It’s no secret that you need a date to the all the fundraiser events, and I might just have one for you! My cousin, Gerald, is coming into town next week, so I can totally set you guys up!”

She proceeded to show you pictures on her phone of a lanky tall guy with discolored hair and a creepy smile. You resorted to taking a gulp of your drink to hide your horrified expression. “Thanks, but, uh, no thanks. I actually have a date already,” you informed, typing away heatedly at your phone for JJ to arrive that instant or so help you.

“Ooh, who is it?” Ivy nosily chimed in at the mention of you finally having a date. From the couch over, you also saw Anne-Marie and Warren lean their heads closer to get the scoop.

Jeez, were people really that interested in your love life?

“It’s-”

Before you could reveal the name, a loud ‘ding’ went off from your phone followed by a text from JJ to alert you that he was out front. “Oh! He’s actually here right now,” you announced, hopping up from your seat to collect your very problematic date.

“You’re late, again!” you scolded to the blond standing all gloomy at the front of the stone curved driveway. He changed into a nicer grey long-sleeve with khaki shorts and his signature red snapback, much to your relief. It didn’t quite match with your intricate white romper, but it would do for the time being.

“The guard wouldn’t let me in the gate! I ended up having to sneak through one of the fences,” JJ explained. You rolled your eyes at his ridiculous excuse. “Then why didn’t you just call me to let you in?” you pointed out.

“It was more fun this way,” he peskily grinned, earning himself a smack on the arm. The guy was impossible. “Ow!” he whined, rubbing the spot. Ignoring his complaints, you seized his hand and led him inside. It was about time!

The foyer flashed with various-colored LED lights while thundering rap music echoed from basically every corner of the house. All around, eyes gawked at you stepping through the Victorian-style entryway with a Pogue of all people. It was like walking into a cave of bats.

“Anyways,” you began, disregarding all the probing eyes, “This is Billy Irvine’s place. It’s the nicest house on the Eight. His parents are out of town right now, so we’re celebrating the Glossy Posse’s birthdays.”

It alway was a coincidence to you how all three of them had birthdays on back-to-back days. Witchcraft, honestly.

“Those bitches?” JJ grimaced at the mention of his sworn female enemies, “Ew why? They hate the Pogues.”

“Just shut up and suck it up. Here,” you grabbed a glass from the champagne tower in the middle of the spacious room, “Have a drink to get your mind off it.”

“Champagne? What the hell is this, England?” he yelped, taking a swig. Rolling your eyes, you hoped the alcohol would alleviate his irritability for the night. Fortunately, the blaring music was enough to drown out his constant bickering.

“Now put your arm around me! It’s time to make our rounds,” you demanded. He obliged and you turned on your best lovestruck game-face, giving him the grand tour of the mansion.

Billy’s mom was also one of the important people of the Island Club, so you had been going over there ever since you were nine being that your moms were friends. Still, you were always amazed by the extravagance of their house. You could tell JJ was also in shock of it all too.

It looked like a castle with two grand marble staircases circling the front with a tall vintage Tiffany chandelier hanging over everything. The floors were the shiniest white marble even with hundreds of teenagers recklessly dancing and slipping all over it.

“Damn, so this is how the other side lives,” JJ commented, marveling at how the LED lights reflected off the diamonds on the chandelier.

He slid his hand down to your waist as you stood closer to his side, taking a whiff of his teakwood cologne. Deep down, it was nice to have someone to attend parties with you, even if it was fake and with JJ.

You took him up the right staircase where plastered kids— some you recognized from school, some just in town for the summer— stumbled up and down the stairs or sloppily made out while pinned to the side walls. Realistically, it didn’t seem that off-brand to JJ’s party scene.

“We’re only staying an hour right?” JJ reminded in your ear as you approached the open bar upstairs. Yes, the Irvine’s had a literal bar in their second level.

“Yes, grumpy!”

“Do you know if Sarah and John B are coming?” JJ continued to question. You settled on top of a retro bar stool as he leaned against the Irvine’s prized rustic bar.

“No,” you answered, “Sarah doesn’t come to these because Topper’s here. And she hates Kooks.”

“She’s the smarter one of you two!” JJ shouted among the loud music. You shook your head and whacked him again, but lightly this time. Seemed that would be you guy’s thing— hitting.

Even in their inebriated states, Kooks were still staring at you like you had grown a third arm. Which, honestly, was what being with JJ felt like half the time. From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the Glossy Posse and Warren making their way to you with either wide or curious eyes.

Oh boy.

“Y/n!” they exclaimed, shoving through the crowd. You matched their seemingly gleeful expressions, though you knew deep down they were judging you hard.

“You must be y/n’s date,” Ivy stated without much of a formal introduction.

“Aren’t you that Pogue from the Boneyard that always tries to hit on us?” Chloe brought up once she got a better look at JJ’s face. You snorted, but no one heard you.

You were slightly worried JJ would take their snarky comments the wrong way and lash back, but his cocky grin still laid proudly on his face as he held his hand out to your girl friends. “Name’s JJ. And yeah, I’m y/n’s new man.”

New man. Well, that was certainly a title. All of the Glossy Posse’s threaded eyebrows shot up at the word.

“Y/n,” Anne-Marie said in amazement, “You didn’t tell us you were dating again.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to keep it kinda lowkey,” you lied, signaling JJ to put his arm around you again.

Expecting your friends to stick up their nose at him or give you guys condemnatory looks, you were surprised to find they were more stunned than snobby. Intrigued, you caught them eyeing JJ up and down as if he possessed some kind of magical charm.

From behind the group, you saw Warren trying to stick his hand out at JJ to introduce himself as the girls did kinda take center stage earlier, shielding him out. “Don’t believe we’ve met yet. I’m Warren, Warren Van Doren.”

JJ had to hold back a laugh at the sound of his rhyming name. So immature.

“Hey man, I’m JJ. Nice to meet you,” he greeted, shaking his hand, “Wait a sec, aren’t you that quarterback that got in that fight at regionals last year?”

Warren smiled sheepishly and looked away. “Yeah, that was me.”

You remembered that fight. The video of it actually went viral for like a week. Warren was a very nice guy, but pissed of, he was an animal. He pummeled the shit out of some of other players during that game. The topic of fighting seemed to bond the two boys as they unknowingly drifted away in their own conversation. Thank God, you were glad that at least one of the boys there would be friendly towards JJ.

“Wow, look what the cat dragged in,” Chloe announced, gesturing towards the stairway. All four of your heads turned to see Max and Anya parade up to the top step linked to one another.

That was the cue.

Furtively, you nudged at JJ’s side, interrupting his football conversation. You gave him an alerting look that said ‘look like you’re in love with me ASAP’ and he quickly enveloped his arm around you to pull you close.

Given the fact that you and JJ hardly knew each other, much less touched, it was a very ungraceful and awkward gesture. Even Warren shot you both a weird look. Either way, you figured it would be perfected after going at it a few times.

Just as the Hollywood couple sauntered in to the packed bar area, JJ dipped his face closer to yours. It was a nice touch to the act. He started whispering some stupid joke in your ear that you could hardly make out among the music and chatter, but you went along with it anyway, playfully slapping at his chest. He even placed his snapback on your head backwards. You almost yelled at him for ruining your hair, but for the sake of the show you were putting on, you pretended it was the cutest thing.

You tried not to look at Max as he passed, as you didn’t want to make things so obvious. But in the split second you did glance his way, his mouth flew agape. In that moment, you knew you had him right in the palm of your hand from twenty feet away. The evil laugh cackled inside your head while you raked your hands through JJ’s hair. It was surprisingly soft.

For the next few minutes, you could feel Max’s stare bore into you back as you leaned closer to JJ, kissing up his jawline and cheek.

“Damn, y/n, didn’t know you felt like this about me,” JJ teased.

“Shut up. I’m giving them a show,” you hissed with an infatuated smile to mask your threats.

“They’re gone now,” JJ noted lowly in your ear. You both detached like repelling magnets.

Fortunately, the posse and Warren dispersed among the crowd while you and JJ acted out your little PDA scene— it was probably from discomfort, if you were being honest. You did make sure not to hold anything back while you were draped all over JJ.

“Is that it?” JJ droned, back to his normal whiny self, “Am I done? Can we leave?”

Clicking your tongue, you shook your head, but with a grin this time. “Yes, you idiot, we can leave now.”

“Finally!”

JJ’s hand crept to your lower back as you both weaved through the mass of people to the exit. Before you could make it halfway down the staircase, however, you heard a rumbling behind you that stopped both your tracks. Warren’s six-four gigantic self was rummaging down the stairs, leaving booms in his wake.

“JJ! JJ!” he called out, grabbing hold of your fake boyfriend’s arm, “JJ dude, you gotta check out this new game system Billy has upstairs in the game room. You can play live Madden!”

“What?!” JJ’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas as Warren tugged you both back up the stairs with his giant football-player muscles.

“Dude it’s fucking sick! You gotta try it out,” Warren kept insisting. You knew JJ wouldn’t be able to resist. His eyes were practically glowing with excitement when he turned back to you as if to ask for some kind of approval.

“Okay, I’m just going to stay for one game,” he swore but you were a hundred-and-ten percent sure he’d be hooked and you could stay for much longer.

“Knock yourself out, Maybank,” you responded with a knowing smile, shooing him off to some depth of the Irvine’s enormous home. When he disappeared, you took the liberty to go search for your friends and finally enjoy the party for yourself.

As you predicted, one game turned into thirty real quick. It was well past midnight and JJ was still buried away somewhere doing who knows what. You didn’t mind. Warren was very responsible and you trusted him to take care of your date.

Plus, it gave you enough time to take rounds of various colored jello shots with Billy, dance on Mrs. Irvine’s countertops with the birthday girls, and devour the four-tiered tiramisu cake with fake-puking Barbie doll toppers that you helped pick out at the bakery.

When it got around one thirty, you grew a little concerned about JJ’s whereabouts so you sent him a quick text just to make sure he was okay and not shoving his head down a toilet. Your phone chimed back instantly—

Im jus fine y/n!!! One mor game! I almos beat War Ins Ass! Fuckin kwarter back!

Oh yeah, he was definitely gone. You texted your family’s driver to come by in about thirty minutes to make sure he’d get home safely. Then, you proceeded to dig in to your third slice of cake. Unlike the rest of your friends, you embraced the joy that was carbs— especially when you were drunk and there was chocolate involved.

JJ came downstairs a few minutes later and found where you were sitting on the couch surrounded by your circle of friends. Even amid the dark yet colorful beaming lights, his hair was still its usual sweaty mess with eyes a tad droopy, indicating just how drunk he was.

“Y/n! There’s my baby!”

He walked up and collapsed right onto your lap, tossing a dangly arm around you. You kept his snapback on for the entire night, assuming your hair was probably a bird’s nest underneath it. Everyone around seemed amused at the sight, and a few girls from school even began asking how you two started dating.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Well, that was until your thigh circulation began ceasing due to JJ’s bony ass on it. You immediately demanded that you switch places with him, and he sloppily obliged. The throng around you giggled, intrigued by the new lovey-dovey couple. Secretly, you ate up the attention and knew JJ did too.

He was in the middle of telling everyone a dumb Boneyard party story when Max and Anya entered the living room premises. They looked like they were fixing to leave. Your date felt you tense a little in his lap and caught on to your sudden judder.

Boldly, JJ made direct eye contact with Max and threw him one of those ‘what’s up’ nods. Then, out of nowhere, in his completely trashed state, JJ cupped both of your cheeks and planted a very brazen kiss on your lips for everyone to see. Shutting your eyes, you heard a few whistles from the crowd around you, especially when he, very obviously, added his tongue to the mix.

JJ was a good kisser, you had to admit. It quite literally, took your breath away when he pulled back. Biting your lip, you mimicked his shit-eating grin while he pressed his perspiration-filled forehead on yours. It was a huge acne-hazard just waiting to happen. But, like the snapback, you didn’t care. It was the most thrilling thing you had done in months.

“Don’t look now, but Vega and his girl have their jaws dropped to the floor behind you,” he muttered in your ear. You giggled and held onto him closer, leaning your head on his chest.

It was probably be best fifteen hundred bucks you had ever spent.

—————————————————

The next morning was your mom’s weekly Saturday brunch. By default, you showed up an hour early to help greet the guests, frequently checking your watch and phone to see when JJ would arrive.

You had a tennis tournament earlier that morning, however, you didn’t even bother making your fake boyfriend go. After the events of last night, you knew he’d be too hungover in the morning and wouldn’t wake up in time for it. He was getting to be very predictable.

At t-minus five minutes until the brunch started, everyone had already made their way into the ballroom. That left just you waiting in the lobby area for your date. The look on your face was just about ready to kill JJ whenever he walked through the door. You also didn’t see Sarah and John B arrive either, so you assumed they would be a no-show yet again.

About a minute past noon, the blond sauntered past the doors wearing a black suit that looked two sizes to big for him with hideous shoulder pads. You presumed it was his dad’s old one. He also had on jet black sunglasses to mask the grogginess from the party, but it was pretty evident he looked and felt like shit.

“You’re late again!” you hissed through gritted teeth, snatching his hand like he was an uncontrollable child. Maybe you should invest in a leash and collar for him since he could never get his attendance right.

“What do you mean? You said noon,” he yawned, unfazed at your irritation.

“The brunch starts at noon!” you jeered, “That means you have to show up early!”

“Well you failed to mention those rules,” he tried to bicker back, but you flashed him one of your bitch-looks before he could go any further. That had him shriveling at the sight.

“Whatever, just hurry up and let’s get seated,” you ordered, leading him through the majestic looking double doors, “And take off those sunglasses!”

Much to your dismay, the doors made a very loud creaking noise when they opened. Just about everyone did a double-take to see you arrive late and with a woozy-looking boy shoving sunglasses in his suit pocket.

Eyes were glued on you while judgmental whispers filled the already tense air. There was a small churn in your stomach as you weaved through the round tables. Something was also gnawing at your brain, telling you that it was a terrible, terrible idea. You attempted to brush it aside, though, as you and JJ took your seats.

For some odd reason, the Glossy Posse didn’t show the same enthusiasm towards JJ like the did at the party. They were back to their pretentious ways— you figured it was probably just their hangover attitude.

On the other hand, Warren happily greeted JJ when he sat down, exchanging one of those typical ‘bro’ handshakes. They started chatting on about the previous night while you tried to make small talk with the girls. Unfortunately, they were still being short with you and were, very obviously, throwing looks at JJ, along with their dates.

Glancing to your parents’ table, they didn’t look like they cared too much about your situation, having just flown in from their trip. They were too engrossed in entertaining their friends to really pay you any mind. Sometimes you were grateful that they were oblivious to some things. When you look over at the Vegas, however, Mr. and Mrs. Vega both sent you a disapproving look. The other families followed.

You couldn’t help but feel like you were in over your head at that point. Was it a mistake bringing JJ to this event?

The servers came out and made their rounds at the tables, setting bowls of water in front of everyone.

“Thank God, I’m starving,” JJ piped, taking his dessert spoon to sip water from the finger bowl.

“JJ,” you yelled-whispered as guests continued to stare.

“What?” he chided back with an attitude, completely unaware of his surroundings.

“The water is for your fingers.”

His face shot up from the bowl and scanned the room at people dipping their fingers into their respective bowls. “Oh shit,” he sputtered as your entire table tried to hide their snorts.

When the food finally came out, it didn’t really get any better. Baked chicken was on the menu and, well, JJ was the only one in the room who didn’t use a fork and knife. Everyone stared at him incredulously as he used his hands to gobble up his plate. Though, the boy didn’t seem to notice any of the baffled eyes.

Attempting to shield your red face, you continued to take tiny bites from your food, hoping the next hour would go by fast.

You hoped too soon.

As soon as JJ was done eating, he let out a loud belt to where the tables around you could hear. Warren high-fived him. At least someone got a kick out of it. You, along with the rest of the guests, had nothing but revolt on your faces.

Once the plates were cleared, the servers brought out creme brûlée for dessert. You were grateful it was something semi-clean to eat. JJ seemed to get a knack out of all the food. He even leaned over to you with his mouth full and muttered, “This food is fantastic! My compliments to the chef.”

You half-smiled back in embarrassment and took a spoon-full of your dessert. Thankfully, your mom waltzed over when you were half-way through to ask for your help carrying in the posters and stands from the lobby that displayed all the charity and donation information.

Immediately, you rose and scattered out, away from all the the dense room.

At the front, you began picking up the easel stands to bring inside until you spotted the jet-black locks of the last person you wanted to run into that afternoon. You almost dropped the large items in your hands when he came up to you.

“So, I see you brought Maybank here. Looks like he’s really enjoying himself in there,” Max commented dryly beside you. Mrs. Vega must have asked him for a hand as well.

You winced at the oozing criticism in his voice. It was the first time you had spoken to him one-on-one since the breakup.

”Yeah, we’re, uh, kind of together now,” you mentioned, lugging a display. He grabbed the two remaining and rushed to keep up with you, following you back in.

Out of nowhere, he let out disbelieving laugh, “You can’t be serious, y/n, you and Maybank?”

Taken aback by his brashness, you stopped right before the ballroom doors, frowning. “Yeah,” you shot back sternly, “Why not? I get along with him fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it to me. The guy’s a total tool. I’ve told you that from the beginning. Trust me, I know.”

“Know what? What’s good for me?” you pressed, growing more and more exasperated at the sound of his deep and raspy voice.

It was sexy, no doubt, but just the things that were coming out of his mouth made you want to slap him silly. How dare he prance up to you in his gorgeous light blue Armani suit and tell you what’s good for you!

“I just know who you are, y/n,” he went on calmly, with not an ounce of anger present in his tone, “And JJ’s just not a good guy for you.”

You were seeping with outrage at that point. Hiking in a breath, you spoke with the speckles of tranquility you had left in you. “Well I appreciate your concern, though I hardly understand why you have any for me. But we broke up, Max. You completely lost the right to tell me any of that.”

With that, you furiously stomped into the brunch and set the displays at the front for your mom. Max looked dumbstruck as he trailed behind. But you didn’t care.

“Everything okay? Did something happen with Vega?” JJ asked when you got back to your seat. You remained silent. It was the only way to keep yourself from screaming.

It was all too much— the piercing stares, the messy eating, Max.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you informed to JJ as he listened to another one of Warren’s football stories, “And then we’re leaving.”

Before he could respond, you were already racing to the bathroom as fast as your Jimmy Choo wedges could take you.

You needed air. And fast.

Bursting through the bathroom door, you heaved yourself into the biggest stall and flopped down on the toilet seat, taking in deep breaths to calm yourself. It didn’t help much. The room was still twirling like you were on the Graviton at a carnival. Too nauseous from it all, you didn’t even care that you were ruining your new white Valentino dress.

You just wanted to hurl inside the antique-decorated bathroom but couldn’t. It was miserable. But at least the bathroom was empty.

All the seeming success of last night crumbled away with every disapproving look or whisper of the guests. And then Max— that fucking asshole. Your head was thumping endlessly as you felt the stress knots crawl up your spine.

What were you thinking? Maybe you were in over your head. No one was believing it. Not for a second.

Even JJ was terrible at playing along. You should’ve known it was just wishful thinking. You knew you had to throw in the towel and told yourself you would call it off once you found some way to stop the hot tears that were streaming down your made-up cheeks.

As you felt your breathing start to normalize, you slowly lifted from the toilet seat and smoothened out your dress. When the bathroom door slammed open against the wall, you immediately fell back down, wanting to avoid any form of human interaction for the rest of your life.

Titters and snickers echoed the air as two girls stumbled in, mid-conversation. They didn’t seem to notice you in the stall at all. Thank God.

“Would you believe y/n? Bringing that dirty Pogue here? She’s gone insane!” A nasally voice spoke by the sinks.

You scrunched your nose, trying to catch a glimpse of their shoes from the opening underneath the stall. You nearly puked. Nameless brand heels? Unacceptable.

“I know! He’s so disgusting and that suit is just repulsive! Does she not have an ounce of embarrassment?” the other one added.

You didn’t recognize their voices, but assumed they probably went to your school by the way they knew you and JJ. A part of you wanted to charge out of the stall and drag their pitiful selves to the ground. But seeing as you were just recovering from a near panic attack, you didn’t have the energy. And they didn’t deserve your breath.

Nevertheless, they still went on.

“Ever since Vega dumped her for California girl, she’s completely gone off the rails. First the hair change and now she’s dating a Pogue like Sarah Cameron is. It’s so pathetic!”

“Seriously, train wreck of the year if you ask me.”

Train wreck? Pathetic? You’ll show them what pathetic is! Especially with those god-awful shoes. Do they have an ounce of embarrassment showing up here with that kind of atrocity?

You were seconds away from emerging from your ashes to put them in their place. But, lucky for them, they escaped before you could come out of confinement.

Huffing, you stormed out of the stall and towards the mirrors to fix yourself. God forbid you’d ever let anyone see you with smeared mascara!

Dabbing a wet cloth on your cheeks to soothe out the redness, you heard the creak of the door opening behind you and immediately tossed it into a bin. You pretended to fix your hair. Fortunately, the redness faded to a soft pink to look like blush.

Anya strolled in the bathroom behind you. Ugh, the cherry on top of the cake.

You faked a tight smile at her. She threw a cheery one at you, walking up the sink next to yours to toss up her bouncy, voluminous hair. “So, I thought you said that guy out there wasn’t you boyfriend,” she pointed out, not taking her eyes off her own reflection.

“Oh, psh, well you know,” you sputtered, not expecting the sudden inquisition, “One thing led to another that night at the Boneyard and it just kinda… happened.”

It was the first real conversation you had with her, and you wanted to hold your breath at the awkwardness. Anya nodded at your answer, puckering her lips slyly. “I just think it’s cute that you’re trying to make Max jealous.”

You almost did a double take. It was so subtle and smooth, her comment almost flew right over your head. “Excuse me?” you shot back, turning to the blonde-haired home-wrecker.

She didn’t even flinch a muscle at your snub expression, just continued to ogle at herself. It was menacing. Evil really did take form in Anya Carmichael.

“Oh, did I need to spell it out for you?” she blinked, “Y/n, you’ve been out of the picture. If you think showing up with that god-awful guy in his dad’s raggedy suit is gonna change Max’s mind about you, I assure you it won’t work.”

She crinkled her eyes in a hateful smile.

What was with people and their audacity that afternoon? Whatever was in their water, you were not about to have any of it. No one spoke to you like that.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said blandly, wanting to get under her skin.

“Yes you do,” she snarled back, placing both hands on the sink in a threatening manner, “Look. Max and I are together now. You need to get that in your tiny pea-brain head. Do not play dumb with me. I see you looking over at him every five minutes. Get. Over. It.”

“Like I said,” you responded back in a fake-innocent tone just to push her buttons some more, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Anya. I think all the hairspray is really getting to your head.”

Two can play that game.

She narrowed her almond eyes at you and straightened up proudly. Even though she was way taller than you in her six-inch heels, you still stood your ground, blinking up at her tauntingly. At least your swanky parents taught you that much.

She scoffed. “Give it up, seriously. Using that guy to try to get back at your ex is just pathetic. Max was right about you. You’re just a shallow virgin with a handbag.”

With that, she tossed her hair behind her shoulder and strutted out the door. Your blood was boiling, having half a mind to go out there and rip the bottled-blonde right off her head. You should’ve known it was all an act!

Fuming, you treaded back to the brunch table, your face doing a complete one-eighty once you stepped through the doors. A lady never showed her seething anger underneath.

JJ spotted you and promptly stood up, snatching your purse, and getting ready to leave.

“Sit,” you demanded, pushing him down by the shoulder so his ass plopped back firmly on the chair. The look of utter shock flashed on his face, but he just took it.

“I’m feeling better now. We’re staying,” you informed as if you were a commander at war. You glanced over at the Vegas’ table where Anya hung her arm proudly on Max’s bicep as he made some joke to his table. She threw over a glare at you. No one but you noticed.

You draped an arm on one of JJ’s ridiculously large shoulder pads, nuzzling your nose to his neck. He was still as confused as ever though, but still went along with it, digging his fork into your half-eaten dessert which he later finished.

If Anya wanted a war, you’ll give her one. May the best bitch win.

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note: YES SHE WENT THERE! you kno i had to stir in anya- y/n drama!!!

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heyiwrotesomethings · 4 years

Text

Lepidopterophobia

Shinobu Kochou x Fem Reader

A/N: Heyyyyy its been awhile! As far as warnings go, there will be some swearing and butterflies and that’s it as far as I can tell. Bye!

The Butterfly Estate. A beautiful place of refuge for injured demon slayers to rest in the care of the gentle and skilled Hashira Shinobu Kochou, and her attendants. Or as (Y/n) liked to call it, the house of nightmares. (Y/n) feared butterflies immensely. It was something that she would never openly admit. After all, who slays demons with no problem but screams and jumps away from the fluttering of fragile wings? She got enough teasing during her childhood, thank you very much. So, she never told anyone and that would have been fine, it’s not like the information would ever have an opportunity to be brought into conversation. Well, unless you forgot about the large estate that literally had the word “butterfly” in its name that was supposed to be a safe haven for demon slayers like her. (Y/n) was very careful. The last thing she wanted was to be injured and sent off to the Butterfly Estate to heal. She was lucky enough to find plenty of wisteria houses in the event that rest and healing were needed. At least, she was lucky until tonight.

“Aughhh, damn it!” (Y/n) cursed, sucking a sharp breath through her clenched teeth. She glared at the demon as its body crumbled away and she leaned her own battered body on the trunk of a tree. Her hand shook as she pulled it off of her side, gazing at the blood that painted her palm. (Y/n) had managed to behead the demon, but not before it shot off an attack of its own. (Y/n) craned her head up to the sky and saw her raven circling above, cawing loudly and clearly distressed. “Mochi!” (Y/n) hissed, not nearly loud enough for the bird to hear from that height, “Mochi, I’ll be fine! We just need to find a wisteria house...” (Y/n) grunted as she pushed off of the tree trunk she was resting on and staggered forward. She took off her haori and tied it tightly over her waist to slow the bleeding. “Help! Help!” Mochi cried, the bird was too panicked and high up to be reasoned with, but as the raven continued to circle (Y/n) felt a sense of dread pool in her stomach. Her raven was definitely calling for any Kakushi in the surrounding area to come to her aid. (Y/n) quickly jerked her head toward the sound of approaching footfalls and clumsily attempted to hide herself from view. “There she is!” “Hey, don’t worry we’re here to help!” “Shit,” (Y/n) muttered under her breath, leaning back against another tree and turning to face the two Kakushi that were approaching her. She forced a smile, “Oh, hey, thanks for coming, but I’m fine, really. My raven tends to blow things out of proportion, it’s really not that bad an injury.” “Doesn’t look like that to me,” One of the Kakushi answered gruffly. “Ow!” The other one elbowed him in the ribs and approached (Y/n) with concerned eyes peeking through their uniform. “Even so, we are more than happy to guide you to safety. The night is still young, more demons could come.” “That’s fair,” (Y/n) huffed once it was clear they were not going to leave. “I could use help getting to the nearest wisteria house.” “A wisteria house? There isn’t one for many kilometers,” the more gentle of the Kakushi informed. “Damn, where can we go then?” “Don’t you know where you are?” The Kakushi asked, eyes twinkling. “You don’t even realize how fortunate you are my friend! We’re not too far from the Butterfly Estate, much better than any old wisteria house in my humble opinion.” A cloud of darkness swirled over (Y/n)’s face. One would presume from blood loss, but being privy to (Y/n)’s fear, one would quickly know that blood loss wasn’t the cause. “Come on, lean on us, we’ll get you there in no time,” the other Kakushi spoke, closing in. “No, no, no, that won’t be necessary,” (Y/n) weakly waved her hands. “I’m, uh, I really rather go to a wisteria house.” “What? Don��t be ridiculous, you’d never make it in this state. You’re wasting time,” The more grumpy Kakushi said, grabbing her forearm. “Be gentle!” The other Kakushi chided, grabbing (Y/n)’s other arm and swinging it over their neck. (Y/n) began to panic in earnest now, dropping her previous act to struggle against the two Kakushi at her sides. “No! Please, don’t take me there! Anywhere but there!” “What the hell, lady!?” The grumpy Kakushi yelled as (Y/n) elbowed him in the gut. “Please stop struggling, we’re here to help you!” The other added, tightening their grip. “Help! Help!” Mochi yelled, dive-bombing their heads. It was all just absolute chaos. “Enough already!” Grumpy Kakushi swiftly chopped at the back of (Y/n)’s neck, causing the girl to fall unconscious and slump forward. “Oh my gods, why did you do that?” Gentle Kakushi scolded, adjusting their hold on (Y/n) so she wouldn’t slip to the forest floor. “She was being difficult and she’s lost a lot of blood. We need to get her to Kochou-sama quickly,” Grumpy Kakushi huffed, heaving (Y/n)’s other arm over his shoulder. They sprinted through the woods with practiced ease, eventually approaching the wisteria grove that guarded the estate like a natural barrier. They brushed passed the beautiful blooms and rushed to the infirmary. “New case!” The gentle Kakushi called as they burst into the infirmary. “Place her in that cot and I’ll asses the damage,” Shinobu called from the opposite side of the room as she finished changing the bandages of another patient. The two Kakushi heaved the unconscious girl onto the cot and Shinobu came over and observed the girl with a trained eye. “Unresponsive, this must be serious,” Shinobu frowned. “Well, you can thank him for that,” the gentle Kakushi poked. “He knocked her out!” “She didn’t give me much of a choice! She was adamant that we not bring her here. She was making it impossible,” Grumpy Kakushi explained. “Really? How peculiar,” Shinobu hummed. “I wonder why she would be so averse to coming here...” Shinobu would be lying if she said she wasn’t just a tad offended by this information. Nevertheless she thanked the Kakushi and dismissed them from the premises. She removed the blood soaked haori and the upper half of (Y/n)’s uniform the properly observe the wound. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the gash was rather nasty. Shinobu dabbed over the wound with antiseptic and washed away the blood with water. She then stitched up the wound with practiced ease and covered the area with gauze to protect it. Once that was done, Shinobu raised a thin sheet over (Y/n)’s body to cover her bare torso. With one last check of the girl’s vitals, she left her side and continued her rounds. *** (Y/n) groaned as she awoke the next morning. She rubbed her eyes and tried to sit up, only to fall back against the cot and gingerly grip her sore side and stomach. She took a moment to assess the damage and cringed at the old gauze rolled over her wound. Then she realized she was shirtless and pulled the thin sheet tightly over herself as she tentatively looked about the room. She was in an infirmary, that much she could tell. There were only two other patients in the room and both appeared to be in worse shape than herself if the missing limbs, thick bandages, casts and IVs meant anything. “Oh good, you’re awake. I was just coming to change your gauze.” (Y/n) startled slightly and turned to put a face to the soft voice that was addressing her. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes roamed over the face of the woman beside her. Gods, she was beautiful. (Y/n)’s eyes caught the purple tint of the woman’s hair and followed the pleasant color upward and took in a sharp breath through her nose and shuffled away before she realized that what was pinning the woman’s hair back was an accessory, and not an actual giant butterfly. Still the damage was done, and the woman gave her a puzzled look. (Y/n) assumed that, along with the audible in take of air and the sad distancing attempt, she had also had a stupidly fearful or shocked look on her face. “No need to be frightened, you’re safe here. I would never dream of hurting you in any way,” the woman spoke gently as she approached the side of (Y/n)’s cot, misreading (Y/n)’s momentary fear of her hair pin as fear directed at her. “I’m Shinobu Kochou, the Insect Pillar. You are in my home, the Butterfly Estate, recovering from a mission.” Fuuuuuuuuuck (Y/n) looked around the room nervously. So those Kakushi had managed to drag her to the Butterfly Estate and it wasn’t all just a bad dream. That would explain the hair pin. Not only that, but she was in the presence of the Insect Hashira herself and- oh, a Hashira! “It’s an honor to meet you Kochou-sama!” (Y/n) spluttered out, bowing her head as best she could lying down as a sign of respect. Shinobu laughed and the sound hit (Y/n)’s ears pleasantly and she shivered as an unexpected heat rose to her neck and cheeks. “It’s alright, no need to be so formal. You are here to recover after all,” Shinobu smiled. “Speaking of which, would you mind letting me check your wound?” “Oh, um, sure,” (Y/n) awkwardly shifted the sheet to cover her chest and left side, causing Shinobu’s smile to look a bit more sympathetic. “Sorry, can you drop the sheet, please? The shadows it’s casting is making it hard to see what I’m doing,” her smile quirked up a bit on one side. “I promise to be nothing but respectful and professional.” (Y/n) felt her cheeks begin to sting as they were positively on fire. She averted her eyes and dropped the sheet, allowing Shinobu to remove the dressing and check the sore skin tissue that started a bit above her navel and curved upward near her bottommost rib. “So, what’s your name?” (Y/n) almost forgot to answer, she was too busy focusing on the feather light fingers as they applied some kind of salve to her wound. “I’m (Y/n).” “Well, it’s nice to meet you, (Y/n). Have you been a slayer long? How are you adjusting?” Shinobu asked, closing the jar of salve and reached for the gauze. “I’d say I’m doing pretty well, I’ve been at it for almost four years now. I just reached Kinoto rank two weeks ago. So minus that last fight, yeah, I think I’m doing okay,” (Y/n) answered, a small yet proud smile formed over her lips. “You’ve been in the corps for almost four years and I’ve never had you as a patient?” Shinobu’s brows knit together as if she was contemplating something or she just got a new piece to fit in a puzzle that she did not like. “I dare say it’s not because you’ve never been hurt before, there are a few other scars that I can see here,” Shinobu leaned in and scanned over (Y/n)’s face, checking for any micro expressions as she spoke. “Now that I think about it, one of the Kakushi that brought you in claimed that you fought against their help and refused to come here. Have you been purposefully avoiding this place?” Me? (Y/n) found herself unable to look away from Shinobu’s eyes. They were like an amethyst abyss and (Y/n) felt like it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she could sink into them and float around aimlessly forever. She cleared her throat, “No! Not at all, I just- most of my missions are farther away from here actually. It’s just more convenient to stop at wisteria houses. This time, it just so happened that here was closer!” (Y/n) let out a breath of air that was supposed to be a laugh as the Hashira’s eyes bore into her own. Shinobu stared a moment or two longer before closing her eyes and straightened herself so her back held better posture. “I see, well, allow me to formally welcome you,” Shinobu smiled. “Who knows, perhaps in two weeks I’ll be begging you to leave,” Shinobu teased, her eyes gleaming. (Y/n) barely managed to stop herself from having her eyes pop out of her head. “Two weeks?” She squeaked out, cursing the way the words left her mouth. “Yes,” Shinobu tilted her head suspiciously. “I really don’t want to discharge you before you’ve healed properly. Is there a reason you seem to be in such a hurry to leave?” “What? No... who is hurrying? I’m in no hurry, I’m cool as a cucumber.” (Y/n) wanted to slap herself. “Okay, cool cucumber...” Shinobu said each syllable with such excruciating slowness, (Y/n) thought she might as well have flossed a piece of sandpaper between her ears. “Mind putting this on? Then we’re going to move you to another room that’s a little less... depressing,” Shinobu frowned as she looked over at the two other demon slayers who were still dead asleep. “Sure,” (Y/n) took the clothing from Shinobu and pulled the top over her head and carefully switched her pants without straining her injury too much. Shinobu smiled and offered (Y/n) her arm for support as she shakily rise to her feet. Then the pair slowly made their way out of the infirmary and down the hall. “Here we are,” Shinobu slid open the door to reveal a small, but homey room. “I bet you must be tired from the walk over here so I’ll leave you to rest in just a moment. One of my attendants, Aoi, will be helping you with day to day things like recovery training and meals. Of course I’ll be checking on your progress from time to time as well. Aoi will drop by in an hour or so with food so in the meantime if you can’t sleep, there are books on the shelf and there is also a lovely view of the garden from the window if your interested,” Shinobu smiled sweetly. “Thank you,” (Y/n) returned the smile and sighed once Shinobu left the room and the door closed behind her. (Y/n) took in her room and nodded appraisingly. It was really nice, nicer than any wisteria home she had visited before, and besides Shinobu’s hair accessory and her surname, (Y/n) had yet to see an actual butterfly in the whole place. She felt a little foolish. She had expected the estate to be a giant insectarium where all the butterflies would roam free without restriction. If this was all she had to deal with, she would have come here sooner. (Y/n) walked over to the window to check out the view, pulling back the curtains she froze for a moment before jerking the curtains back in place and jumping back several steps. “Shitfuckcunt!” (Y/n) clasped her hands over her rapidly beating chest and stared back at the window with fearful eyes and slightly erratic breathing. There must have been at least seven butterflies of various sizes resting on the mesh of the window. (Y/n) cursed some more as she tried to calm her heart and felt the throbbing of her wound. Alright, so may haps she spoke to soon. Apparently there was some truth to the horrible scenarios her brain came up with. Luckily, the threat laid outside, she should be safe in here, right? Please? There was a curt knock on the door and (Y/n) turned to see it open to reveal a stern faced girl with piercing blue eyes. “I heard yelling, what’s wrong?” She asked, approaching (Y/n). “Oh, I’m fine I just... stubbed my toe on the bookshelf,” (Y/n) laughed, nervously. “You shouldn’t be wandering around, if you want to heal you should be resting in bed,” Aoi said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re right, sorry. I’ll do that now.” “Right,” Aoi sighed, watching (Y/n) shuffle over to the bed and sit on it. “I’m Aoi, I’ll be helping you recover over the next few weeks. If you need anything let me know, I’ll be back in about forty-five with lunch, then we’ll do some light stretching.” “Alright, sounds good. Thank you, Aoi-san,” (Y/n) said, wincing as she laid against the mattress. Aoi nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. Then she walked down the hall to where Shinobu was waiting for her. “Were you able to find out what that outburst was about?” “She claims she stubbed her toe on the bookshelf, but I can’t say I believe it. Her feet looked fine, she wasn’t even near the bookshelf when I came in,” Aoi informed. “I wonder what is going on with that girl,” Shinobu pondered. “Keep a close eye on her, please. Let me know if you find out anything about her odd behavior.” “Of course, Shinobu-sama.”

*** Just one more night, one more night and (Y/n) would be home free and no one had yet found out about her fear. There had been some close calls, one of the more notable being when Kanao came back from a mission with a butterfly clinging to her uniform and then it decided to flutter around the hall. (Y/n) yelled and tried to disguise the sound as a sneeze and then excused herself, claiming she forgot to feed Mochi before bolting off back to her room. She was sure no one actually bought that excuse, but she didn’t really care since no one questioned her about it. Shinobu however, seemed to grow ever more suspicious of her manic behavior so (Y/n) always had to stay on her toes around the Hashira as she would ask seemingly innocent questions, but her eyes were sharp and calculating like she was waiting for some kind of slip up. Needless to say, (Y/n) tried to keep her interactions with Shinobu to a minimum, no matter how attractive she found the Insect Pillar to be. (Y/n) was brought out of her thoughts as another wave of pain washed over her body. She grit her teeth together as Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho painfully stretched her body and Aoi prepared her antibiotic for the day. “Are you sure you don’t want to continue recovery training outside? It’s a beautiful day and you could use some fresh air,” Aoi advised. “Um, nope, I’m good.” (Y/n) squeaked, her arm popped as Naho tugged it back with all her might. “It’s pretty hot, I don’t do well in the heat,” she added, looking into Aoi’s skeptical eyes. “If you insist,” Aoi sighed. “Shinobu-sama will be coming to check you over tomorrow morning before you can leave. She wanted to know when she should stop by your room,” Aoi said, giving (Y/n) the medicine as the younger girls finished assaulting her muscles. “I’m fine with whenever,” (Y/n) shrugged, taking the medicine. She was just so ready to get out of this place. She was tired of flinching every time she saw a butterfly hair clip in the corner of her eye or worrying about the occasional open window or door. She was ready to go back on duty and put this whole thing behind her. All the girls were sweet, and she was happy to have met them, but being constantly on edge was tiring. “Am I good to turn in for the night?” (Y/n) yawned. “(Y/n)-san, it’s noon. We haven’t even had lunch yet,” Aoi said, crossing her arms. “Haha, you’re right, how silly of me,” (Y/n) cringed internally. Well, she had to try. She just felt safer in her room where she had more control over her environment. “Come on (Y/n)-san, let’s eat!” Sumi excitedly called. “We prepared lunch before we started stretching, it’ll be so good!” Kiyo smiled. “Okay, I’m coming,” (Y/n) smiled weakly as the younger girls pulled her in the direction of the kitchen. “She seems excited to be leaving, don’t you think?” Shinobu smiled sadly, startling Aoi with her sudden presence. “I wouldn’t say excited, she seems to be... relieved?” Aoi answered. “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Shinobu sighed, “We haven’t done anything to her, why does she hate it here so much?” “I don’t understand her at all, Shinobu-sama. It’s probably best to just leave her be and send her on her way. Tomorrow we can all go back to normal,” Aoi said. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Shinobu frowned. “Well, I’m going back to the infirmary. Inosuke is raising hell again.” “Good luck with that.” “Thank you, something tells me I’ll need it,” and with that, Shinobu disappeared from the room.

*** (Y/n) released a relieved breath as her back hit her now closed bedroom door. She had gone to the infirmary to get her stitches removed and was bombarded by a crazed teen in a boar mask that kept demanding a fight. He chased her throughout the estate until (Y/n) finally managed to lose him and circled back to her room. She stood with her back pressed against the door a moment longer with her eyes shut, but they snapped right back open as a voice addressed her from the other side of the room. “(Y/n)-san, good evening. What a surprise. Do you need anything?” (Y/n)’s head jerked up to see Shinobu standing in a thin, shimmery yukata. Her hand poised over a fish tank as goldfish swarmed after the bits of fish food that slipped through her fingers. “Kochou-sama! Sorry, um- I must have gotten turned around. I could have sworn this was my room,” (Y/n) turned and fumbled with the door to try to make a quick escape, but Shinobu was faster and placed a delicate hand over the door, keeping it firmly in place. “No need to rush off, why not stay awhile? I have tea,” Shinobu singsonged. “I don’t want to bother you, it’s getting late. I’ve got that physical exam tomorrow and you probably have important things you need to do-“ “I’m not busy, it’s just a cup of tea, nothing too strainful for someone who has nearly recovered such as yourself,” Shinobu said, guiding (Y/n) to a little table and motioning her to take a seat on the matted floor while she glides to the other side of the table and poured tea into the two conveniently placed tea cups. “Thanks,” (Y/n) mumbled into the cup Shinobu had given her. “You’re very welcome,” Shinobu said, breathing in the aroma of her own cup. “Hospitality is an important value of the Butterfly Estate after all. I hope we made you feel comfortable and welcome here during your stay.” “Oh yes, I think you are all wonderful people. You all take your jobs seriously. I think I feel better now than before I was injured,” (Y/n) answered. “I’m glad to hear that,” Shinobu took a sip from her cup. “I just wish I understood then, why you seem to think you just can’t get away from us fast enough.” “Oh no!” (Y/n) gasped, nearly spilling her tea. “It’s not like that at all, I swear! I’m just- I’m a busy body. I just can’t sit still. I’m just excited to get back on duty,” (Y/n) explained. She was being truthful for the most part, but (Y/n) was also dancing around the major issue that probably brought about this conversation in the first place and it seemed like Shinobu knew it. “Busy body? I never would have guessed what with all the time you spend in your room. I believe Aoi told me you never once accepted her offers to go outside either. Why might that be?” Shinobu asked. “It’s summer, it’s hot! I hate how it’s so hot!” (Y/n) yelled defensively, feeling her back bump against a metaphorical wall with every word Shinobu spoke. “Why are you so interested in what I choose to do with my free time? I’m sure you have plenty of other patients to concern yourself with.” “I’m concerned about you in particular,” Shinobu stated simply. “You don’t need to be. You’ve done nothing wrong, no one has, I’m just ready to go.” “(Y/n)-san?” “Yes?” “I don’t believe you.” (Y/n) scoffed in disbelief, looking at the smiling woman before her. “Well, I don’t know how I could possibly change your perception,” she said, crossing her arms. “You could start by telling me why you are so uncomfortable here,” Shinobu prodded. “Just drop it, please.” (Y/n) sighed wearily. “I obviously don’t want to talk about it. I’ll be leaving tomorrow so there is no point in discussing it.” “So there is something.” Shinobu frowned. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, there’s nothing you can do about it,” (Y/n) assured, placing a hand over Shinobu’s without even thinking about it, then awkwardly she tried to withdraw it. Shinobu caught her hand though, keeping it clasped in hers. “We won’t know for sure what I can do for you unless you tell me. I want to help you, (Y/n)-san.” Why did this have to be so difficult? If only Shinobu knew how ridiculous this whole thing was, but (Y/n)’s pride was too great and she wasn’t going to suddenly drop the truth on Shinobu after all of that so she just shook her head and slid her hand out of Shinobu’s. “I really need to go to sleep, Kochou-sama. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for my exam. Thanks for the tea,” (Y/n) mumbled. Shinobu tried to get her to stay, but (Y/n) left before she could even finish her sentence. The Hashira, frowned and looked at her hand. It still tingled with the feeling of (Y/n)’s calloused fingers against her own. She gripped her fingers tightly to form a fist, a determined fire blooming in her eyes made it clear that this was far from over. “Shinobu!” Inosuke called as he kicked open her door. “I got the girl here just as you asked! I’m getting tempura tomorrow, right?!” “Yes,” Shinobu sighed. “But you better fix my door first.”

*** When Shinobu entered (Y/n)’s room the next morning, she was pleasantly surprised to find the girl was still sleeping. She decided to grab a book and wait for (Y/n) to awaken, but not before opening the window, as it was rather stuffy in the room. As the pleasant breeze wafted into the room, Shinobu moved the desk chair next to (Y/n)’s bed and began to read. Occasionally she would glance up and observe (Y/n)’s peaceful expression as she slept, making Shinobu’s heart flutter unexpectedly but it was not an unwelcome feeling. Shinobu observed a few stray butterflies from the garden flutter aimlessly through the window and grinned as one took roost in (Y/n)’s hair. Her book forgotten, she watched the insect slowly fan it’s wings as another came to rest on the nape of (Y/n)’s neck. The tickling feeling on (Y/n)’s bare neck caused her to stir in her sleep her hand made a move to scratch her neck and luckily the butterfly had the sense to fly off before the hand made contact. However it’s next perch was perhaps worse than the first. (Y/n) exhaled sharply through her nose as an unexpected light, fluttering weight rested just under her nose and on her upper lip. She immediately bolted upright and rubbed at her lip, looking sleepy and befuddled as the butterfly floated just out of her line of vision. “Good morning, (Y/n)-san. Did you enjoy your wake up kiss?” Shinobu chuckled “My what?” (Y/n) blushed, her sleep addled brain quickly becoming more alert. “I must say, you’d do very well here, the butterflies seem to compliment your beauty wonderfully,” Shinobu complimented. “Huh?” (Y/n) squinted her eyes and tensed her body. “...What are you talking about?” (Y/n) asked, as if she was afraid to know the answer. “The butterflies, they float around you-“ Shinobu stopped speaking abruptly as (Y/n) screamed and tore her covers off of her body and jumped out of her bed. Shinobu watched with shocked eyes and her mouth slightly agape as (Y/n) shook and curled defensively into herself as she darted into a bare corner of the room. (Y/n)’s eyes scanned the room and her breathing became more labored as she noticed a large butterfly blocking the door and three sitting on the window sill. There was one on the bed and one fluttering near the bookshelf. “(Y/n), look at me, what’s wrong?” Shinobu asked, trying to make eye contact. (Y/n)’s eyes finally focused on Shinobu and she looked as if she had forgotten she was in the room. “Kochou-san, help me! I- Get me out, get me out!” (Y/n) spoke rapidly, clinging to the Pillar as a butterfly flew in too close for comfort. “Okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Shinobu pulled the girl into her side and ushered her to the door. She met some resistance as they neared the giant butterfly, but Shinobu shooed it away and it sluggishly flew over to the desk. Shinobu opened the door and (Y/n) bolted out and ran down the hall. The Insect Pillar cursed under her breath and ran after the clearly frightened girl. “(Y/n)-san, you’re safe now,” Shinobu called gently as (Y/n) reached a dead end. The girl turned and Shinobu’s heart ached when she saw the fearful expression upon her face. She walked up to (Y/n) and gently grasped her clammy and trembling hands in her own, squeezing them gently. “I um, I think I understand why you wanted to leave so badly now,” she smiled emphatically. “Yeah,” (Y/n) croaked. “No coming back from that. Just, please don’t make fun of me. I know how ridiculous my fear is, but it doesn’t make it any less frightening for me,” (y/n) mumbled. “I’m not going to make fun of you,” Shinobu said seriously. “I mean, it’s going to be very hard not to tease you about it, but I’d never do it maliciously,” she added. “Are you... going to tell everyone?” “I think we can keep this just between us,” Shinobu smiled. “Now, I’d like you to close your eyes for a moment.” “Why?” “A calming exercise. You look like you could use one.” “Okay,” (Y/n) closed her eyes and Shinobu released her hands and instructed her to breath in deeply through her nose for three counts and exhale through her mouth for another three counts and asked her to repeat the exercise ten times. As (Y/n) breathed, Shinobu carefully reached for the butterfly in (Y/n)’s hair and the calm insect crawled onto her finger with no problem. Then Shinobu carefully opened the conveniently placed window and released the butterfly back outside and quickly closed the window and returned in front of (Y/n) with two cycles left to spare. “Can I open my eyes now?” “Mmm, one more thing,” Shinobu simpered. She leaned forward and lightly kissed the tip of (Y/n)’s nose. “There, now you can open them.” “Okay,” (Y/n) squeaked.

*** After Shinobu cleared (Y/n) for returning to duty, (Y/n) changed into her uniform and prepared herself to go back on the road. She thanked Aoi and the others for their help and was about to make her way out of the mansion when Shinobu caught her at the doorway. “How do you plan to leave the estate with those winged beasts guarding the grounds?” She asked, sweetly. “I was just gonna run like hell,” (Y/n) admitted. “I... I suppose I won’t be seeing you again,” Shinobu said. Her words sounding more like a statement than a question. “Probably not,” (Y/n) sighed. “Nothing against you of course. You’re awesome. It’s just, there’s a lot going on here.” “I’m awesome, hmm? Well, you’re not too bad yourself,” Shinobu hummed. “Gee, thanks,” (Y/n) laughed. “I think I might actually miss you. In fact, just meeting you almost makes being dragged here against my will worth it.” “Was that supposed to be a compliment? If so, you aren’t really good at it,” Shinobu chuckled before speaking again. “You know, this doesn’t have to be goodbye. I wouldn’t mind seeing your raven coming around if you ever wanted to send me a letter. I’d return the favor with my own crow of course. “I’d like that,” (Y/n) smiled. “Perhaps we can make plans to meet again on a more even playing field. Maybe then I can see what you look like when you aren’t stiff as a board!” (Y/n) stuck out her tongue and landed a surprise attack on Shinobu’s nose, causing the Hashira to gasp at the Kinoto’s audacity. Then (Y/n)’s lips set into a small smirk. “I’ll be sure to write! Bye, Kochou-sama!” (Y/n) darted out of the door and Shinobu watched as the girl booked it across the lawn and laughed as she nearly tripped before jumping over the fence and out of sight. Shinobu stood there a moment longer as she swiped her sleeve over her damp nose, her eyes trained on the spot where (Y/n) disappeared over the fence. After her nose was wiped dry, she walked to her office to start drafting the first of many letters.

#kny oneshots #shinobu kocho #shinobu x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #demon slayer oneshots

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ombreblossom · 3 years

Text

speaking words unspoken

This is my gift for @bluejayblueskies for the 2021 @tma-valentines-exchange! I hope you like it!

AO3 link is located in the source :)

Summary: They're a week and some change into their stay at Daisy's safe house, and Martin is still having some trouble with the Lonely. Jon picks up on this and tries to make things better. And he does! In his way, but not before some miscommunication and exhaustion waylay his efforts (about 6.5K words)

The grocery store is awfully busy for a small town nestled in the heart of the Scottish Highlands. Residents of the village wander among a haphazard collection of shelves ranging from middling height to impossibly tall. There seems to be little rhyme or reason for where items are placed from aisle to aisle, forcing Martin to have to search around in order to find anything, increasing the number of people he inadvertently bumps into.

If Martin gave it any more than a cursory thought, he'd come to the conclusion that it's not entirely unexpected, the nearest Tesco many tens of kilometers away and only a smattering of towns in between.

Martin isn’t really in a position to have that cursory thought, though, as freshly escaped from the Lonely as he was. Nervous energy thrums along his skin, speeding his movements and making him quick to avert his eyes in the infrequent event someone meets them. Most people still easily pass their gaze over him, as if he were merely a wisp of tepid air lazily making its way across the store room—a left-over effect of his association with the One Alone. Martin doesn't mind so much the lack of attention paid to him, but he can't help but feel an uncomfortable pressure against his skin when other people are near.

He can't even be near Jon sometimes, not without the pressure overwhelming him, and doesn’t that just smart.

Martin resolved to brave the thick, after-work crowd for this, though, “this” being gathering the supplies needed for a relaxing night in Daisy’s safehouse following a rushed and terrified flight from London and everything that had happened with Peter and Eli-Jonah, Not!Sasha, and the hunters. They weren’t on holiday, Martin had to keep reminding himself. They weren’t on holiday, but he was probably the happiest he’s been in years, and he wants to celebrate that. With Jon.

With Jon. What a concept. He was elsewhere in the store, continuing an extended effort of picking up things they'd conceivably need for the long term. Just in case. Martin’s trying to not examine his shaky optimism too closely, but he is in love, and it's impossible to not consider his current position beside Jon as anything but a miracle.

Ah, there’s finally some room in the sweets aisle. Flanked on either side by various baking paraphernalia, Martin enters the aisle and heads straight for a small section of colorfully-wrapped bar chocolate. Not that Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London likes sweet chocolate—goodness, no. Or sweets at all for that matter. At least not things he classified as “obnoxiously sweet,” an ambiguous term if Martin had ever heard one. Over time, Martin has come to understand it to mean barely sweet, like an echo of sweetness that had once been present and is no longer. He's never said as much, but Jon likes his sweets like he likes his tea: oversteeped to the point of bitterness with the barest hint of sugar and the slightest bit of added color from milk.

And Jon does this unbearably adorable thing where he breaks the bar up into smaller pieces, not even according to the pre-set perforations, mind you, and nibbles on the thing for hours at a time, either to savor the flavor (which Martin cannot possibly fathom) or because Jon is a lying liar who lies about liking bitterness to that degree, and this is the one thing he has managed to successfully lie to anybody about.

It’s probably the former, but Martin would be delighted to find out it’s the latter.

So, he gladly picks up a couple of ninety-percent dark chocolate bars for Jon and turns them over in his hand, feeling the rough texture of the plain, if colorful, wrapping paper surrounding them. Martin does his best to dodge around other shoppers who've entered the aisle, picking up some granulated sugar, flour, baking soda and powder, and cinnamon for banana bread (his personal favorite). It stirs feelings in his chest that Jon had bought bananas several days ago with the (if not explicit, then quite obvious in hindsight) intent to let them over-ripen. Martin starts to head toward the cashier with the rest of his items when he feels a cool hand slip into his, interlacing their fingers together.

“Hey,” Jon begins, a soft warmth in his voice, “Did you get everything we needed?” Jon rubs his thumb in light, rhythmic circles onto his own, and it takes everything Martin has in him to not instinctively pull his hand out of Jon’s gentle hold. It feels nice—Jon feels nice—but it's very nearly too much right now. He hates this, hates constantly putting Jon in a position where he has to somehow intuit Martin’s feelings because not even Martin himself quite understands what exactly sets off the chain reaction of fear and pressure and too many people and the roaring—

There’s suddenly nothing but air around his hand, and Martin misses Jon’s solid presence acutely as much as he found it altogether too much. He doesn’t want to look over at Jon to see his placating smile, the one Martin imagined Jon wore as he all but dragged the both of them through King’s Cross station to barely make it on time for the soonest train to Inverness. That same smile that Martin watched Jon affect as he took on the bulk of the dusting and washing that needed to be done upon arrival at Daisy’s safe house. The same smile that Martin woke up to every morning, knowing that Jon had very likely spent several hours just sitting in their bed waiting for Martin to wake up to make sure he didn’t do so alone.

Martin looks anyway and isn’t surprised to see the smile in question.

If Martin had to describe it, he’d say it conveyed a sense of loss, of mourning, of wanting to protect what remained of a previous whole. It’s an implicit acknowledgement of the pieces of Martin that have been irreparably warped by the Lonely and an acknowledgement that Martin had already lost much to mundane loneliness long before Peter took advantage of his grief and recruited him in waylaying the Extinction.

He never wants to see that smile again, and so he looks away.

“Is there anything else we still need to get, Martin?” Jon rephrases and, after a long beat, continues, “Why don’t I finish up here and we can meet up in a few moments at the bookshop?” The bookshop that Martin knows that Jon knows is likely deserted at this time in the late afternoon, not too long before the elderly shopkeep, Fiona, closes her doors in anticipation of beginning her own nightly rituals. “I’m almost finished with the books we brought from London, and last time we were there—”

“Jon—” Martin sighs while Jon continues.

“—you mentioned Discworld, and it occurred to me that I have somehow managed to avoid reading any Pratchett, despite reading what I can only imagine was nearly every book left at all the second-hand bookshops in and around Bournemouth. Did you know—”

Jon keeps going with tidbits of what he knows of Terry Pratchett, which is an awful lot considering he just admitted to having not read anything by the man. Martin missed this, listening to Jon talk about anything and everything. He dare not interrupt him, even with everyone walking around them. He also refuses to throw Jon’s gift of distraction back at his face.

Color rises in Jon’s cheeks and his brows furrow when he presumably realizes he’s been talking for a while. “My point is I don’t mind finishing up here. Really, I don’t.” Jon’s trying to help. He’s trying to help, damn it, he repeats to himself. Lord knows that all Jon has ever done is try to help, in his way. Martin’s the one who can’t go five seconds without his fear around other people flaring out of control. Jon shouldn’t have to go it alone to preserve his comfort.

Martin takes some deep, steadying breaths. Jon waits patiently for him, his free hand fidgeting unobtrusively.

“No, I'm good," he asserts, threading his words with as much certainty he can manage, and decides then and there that it is so. "I have everything we need for dinner tonight here and a couple extra things, too." He waggles his eyebrows a little at this. "I assume that you're over here because you've finished getting the essentials."

Every time Jon laughs is an exercise in appreciating opposing extremes. His eyes close as if he can’t bear to look at the object of his amusement any longer, and the corners of those eyes crinkle in the prettiest way, taking the breath right out of Martin’s body when it happens. And he holds his hand in front of his mouth like his laughter is something to be smothered, never to see the light of day, the reasons for which Martin can't be certain, but he suspects he wouldn't like them. "Indeed. And a few extra indulgences," Jon teases, winking. Winking! Does Jon wink? Clearly he does, but this is new information, a treasure trove hidden among stormy seas. “I picked up some sausage; sausage always adds an extra depth of flavor to this sort of thing.”

Laughing lightly, Martin says, "Let's get going, then. We have an extremely full evening of relaxation ahead of us."

"Since when do you find cooking relaxing, Mr. Microwave Meals?"

"Since it's a safe activity that we can do together now that we're away from the Institute of Terror, Mr. Will Subsist on Granola Bars and Spite For Days at a Time If Left to His Own Devices."

Jon looks thoughtful suddenly. "Safe. Now there’s a concept," Jon says with no small amount of incredulity.

Martin pauses. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Jon?” Martin goes cold at the thought that Jon might have seen something and not told him.

“What? Oh, no. It’s just…” He trails off, his gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling. “This, being here—with you—is probably the safest I’ve felt in a long time. It-it almost doesn’t feel real. Like any little thing I do or neglect to do could potentially burst this bubble of happiness I’ve all of the sudden found myself in.”

It’s moments like these that Martin might actually be willing to believe that Jon is in his early 40s, the age he’d be now if the ridiculous lie he told about his age when they all started in the archives had been true. The pressing weights of repeated trauma, responsibility, and regret age his features considerably, and it hurts to look at. Martin wants so badly to smooth away the lines that seem to have taken up permanent residence between Jon’s brows however he can.

Martin ventures that he’s calm enough now to at least comfort Jon, if not enough to accept any for himself. He grabs the same hand that grasped his own minutes before and just. Holds it. Jon goes taught, like a newly-strung bow, words of reassurance waiting on Jon’s lips, that no, it’s okay, Martin, you don’t have to do this.

Well, too bad. Martin wants to do this, the Lonely’s lingering influence on him be damned. Martin draws Jon’s hand up to his lips and presses a kiss onto his knuckles. Jon gasps quietly, eyes wide. His grey-streaked dark hair is slipping out of its loose braid, whether from Jon playing with it in idle moments or from the wind that is altogether too often present in the Highlands, Martin couldn’t say, but the image endears him to Martin all the same.

“Well, take it from someone who’s spent a lot of the last year feeling not-quite-real: this is real, Jon. We’re here and safe, at least for now,” Martin assures him, grinning. “Let’s go pay for this stuff, yeah? And let’s go home.” Jon, momentarily speechless, simply nods his assent.

They’re able to leave the store with their purchases eventually and decide to make their way to Fiona’s bookshop anyway, picking up a few volumes while they’re there: a collection of Robin Robertson’s poetry for Martin and a geographical history of the Scottish Highlands and Terry Pratchett’s Guards, Guards for Jon to chew through. And neither of them would dare leave without giving Maggie, the resident feline guardian, some well-earned scritches. “It takes an awful lot of energy to mind an entire bookshop, after all,” Jon says every time they visit, all the while accumulating what could only amount to an unhealthy amount of cat hair—so much so that Martin’s started to find it laying about in the safe house. Jon doesn’t seem to mind it and says it reminds him of living with The Admiral.

It’s a decent walk back to the safe house. They started late enough in the day that the sun is already beginning to sink below the horizon, so they end up leaving after giving Maggie far fewer scritches than any of them would have preferred. Jon rebuffs Martin’s offer to carry all of their purchases, stubbornly hanging onto their books and his share of the groceries. This is becoming a familiar game to them, one that tends to escalate to silly, frantic grabbing for the others’ bags and eventually devolves into giggles and light shoulder bumping. Today, Martin manages to relieve Jon of his groceries, opening up one of Jon’s hands for holding, which Martin promptly attempts to take.

Jon turns his head to him and gives him a look that practically asks in his stead, “Are you sure this is okay?” The likewise unsaid “I don’t want to hurt you” bounces back and forth between them, and Martin answers by interlacing their hands and giving Jon’s a squeeze in hopes that it will quell the worry that’s carved into the lines of Jon’s face.

It does, and the contented sigh Jon makes is one of the loveliest sounds he’s heard. They continue their trek home, the route long and winding.

Not too much later, though, Martin notices something...off about Jon. He notices in increments almost minute winces when Jon steps on the leg Prentiss' worms ravaged, more frequent bumps into him that had nothing to do with showing affection but allowing Martin to take some of his weight for a moment, and some far-away looks.

Martin doesn’t quite have the shape of it until they’re talking about something or other, something simple, easy, meaningless in the grand, cosmic scheme of things, and Jon stumbles. He tries to laugh it off, but there's something not quite right about Jon's laughter this time. The way he bounces his shoulders in suppressed mirth is subdued—sluggish, even. An increasingly concerning picture paints itself in Martin’s mind.

A long, hard look at Jon forces him to confront the deep, dark circles under his eyes set against skin uncomfortably grey, nearly all traces of flush gone from his face, a stark contrast to earlier in the day.

How had he missed this? Maybe he’s been more absent than he thought. He’ll have to keep a close eye on Jon throughout the evening, maybe shepard him to bed if he seems to get any worse.

Only a sliver of the sun remains visible above the horizon when they arrive at the safe house, casting a soft orange glow over the vast grassy spread of the Highlands. Martin pays the sight little mind, though, all of his focus intent on the man in front of him currently unlocking their front door, and he can’t not notice how long it takes for Jon to insert the key into the locking mechanism.

As they’re putting away their groceries, visions of Jon doing the very same thing by himself play in his mind’s eye. He’s only able to summon disconnected images of the first several days of their....could he call it an elopement? Their not-so-great escape from the Archives? He recalls Jon preparing meals for them, bundling up to leave the safe house for groceries, washing their clothes in a small, foot-powered washing machine and later hanging them up on a clothesline outside to dry. Martin also recalls Jon bringing him overly-steeped tea and an old crocheted blanket when all he could do was sit on Daisy’s ancient green corduroy sofa and stare into the void in front of him, the sounds of lapping waves Coming ever closer.

All the while wearing that damnable smile. Shame pools within Martin, shame that Jon had had to take up so much responsibility recently and that Martin can’t say how well Jon’s been sleeping or taking care of his own needs in the meantime. If today is anything to go on, Martin supposes the answer to both of those questions is likely “no.”

“Martin, could you turn on the lights? We’re losing daylight fast.” Jon has a balancing hand on the countertop and is putting their dry and canned food items. Martin does as he’s asked, bathing the entire kitchen and living area in warm light. Martin walks back toward the kitchen area and is greeted with a “thank you” and a kiss. He could get used to this, used to feeling loved and appreciated.

“Is something bothering you, Martin?”

He looks at Jon, concern writ large on his still ashen face and eyes boring into him. Concern has no place being there right now. If anyone has any right to be concerned at the moment, it’s Martin.

“What? No. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve just been awfully quiet since we got home, and after what happened at the store, it’s not surprising that you might still be feeling...off.”

Projection, much? Martin wants to say but has the wherewithal to hold it back. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. Jon. I’m all right.”

Jon eyes him up and down, and after seemingly not finding what he’s looking for, nods once and smiles (again with the smile...) once more. “All right. You’ll tell me if something’s bothering you, though, won’t you?”

“Yeah, Jon, of course I will.” And he intends to mean it.

“Good,” Jon says and walks over to where Daisy keeps her cooking vessels, grabs her Dutch oven, and places it on the stovetop.

“Why don’t I be your line chef today, Jon, and you work the stovetop? You’re much better at the actual cooking part than I am.”

“Mmm. There’s a lot of prep work that goes into this and not a whole lot of actual cooking, so let me help you,” he says, shakily opening a couple drawers in search of a suitable chef’s knife.

“You sure? You’re looking a little peaky over there,” he replies without meaning to and curses his loose tongue.

Jon pauses midway through grabbing one of Daisy’s old wooden cutting boards and blinks slowly. “Oh…. Yes, I’m sure. What do you mean, looking ‘peaky’?”

“It’s just,” Martin starts, collecting the fennel seed, basil, rosemary, and the rest of the spices they needed for their meat sauce and a bowl to mix them in. Too late to not approach the subject now. “You’re exhausted, Jon. You spent most of our walk home either tripping over air or leaning on me for support.” He had wanted to be subtle, but subtlety is no longer on the cards.

Considering this for a moment, Jon’s eyebrows scrunch up in a way that Martin finds so endearing and opens a nearby cupboard to take out a couple onions and a bulb of garlic. “Sure, I’m a little tired,” he concedes, “but we have all evening to relax. I’d like nothing more than to cook with you, Martin.”

He should’ve known Jon was a sap. The signs were all there. “Well, how could I say ‘no’ to that?” He says and means it, though worry continues to percolate in the back of his mind.

“You can’t, and you know it.” Jon teases.

They go about preparing their meat sauce, Martin double- and triple-checking each measurement before pouring the appropriate amount of each spice into the mixing bowl and Jon dicing onions.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Chop onions without tearing up and cursing your hubris that ‘this time will be different’?”

Chuckling softly, Jon apparently thinks better of sliding his hand down his face before answering, pivoting to the most level deadpan Martin thinks he’s ever heard from him, “It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that I spent years perfecting my abilities. Training with the best of the best to strengthen my tears ducts to such a degree that they are, quite literally, incapable of passing tears from my lacrimal glands to my eyes.”

Martin raises a dark eyebrow, amusement in his voice as he replies, “You should probably see a doctor about that, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he draws out. “The real answer, of course, is my grandmother devoted a lot of her time to making sure I could at least cook according to a recipe along with providing some general rules of thumb. I chopped many an onion in search of culinary adequacy. Never progressed much past following recipes, though. Ask me to create something from scratch, and you’ll witness a horror the likes of which has never been seen before.”

“Just out of curiosity, which fear do you think takes credit for culinary disasters?”

“Probably depends on the nature of the disaster, honestly, but…. Hmm. Maybe Corruption? Or Flesh, maybe? Either way, it doesn’t bear thinking about, especially not while we’re preparing to eat ourselves.”

While Martin is rummaging through the fridge in search of where Jon put the ground beef and sausage, he hears a hiss coming from Jon's direction.

Martin whips his head over to where Jon's been dicing onions and his heart clenches at the sight of deep red blossoming over the wooden cutting board.

"Jon! What happened? You're bleeding," He says, stating the obvious, feeling like his throat is closing up behind his words. "Where are you bleeding from?" Martin crosses the room in record time, places a hand in Jon's shoulder and surveys the area in front of him.

Blood leaks sluggishly from a cut on Jon's middle finger. A splatter of crimson on the knife Jon has been using clues Martin in to what happened. "Jon, just stay right there, okay? I'll go grab the first-aid kit. I’m sure there’s some kind of antiseptic or disinfectant in there. I’ll be right back!”

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but Martin’s already gone, heading for the cabinet under the bathroom sink, head abuzz with worry and heart hammering in his chest.

When Martin returns, Jon’s running his hand beneath the running tap and blood trails down into the sink in pink rivulets. Jon glances at him, the same exhaustion that stared back at him when Jon and the rest left for Great Yarmouth on his face, a combination of physical exhaustion and the culmination of several months of emotional upheaval, of bitterly contemplating his own humanity and his role in Elias’ inscrutable plans.

“There’s no need to worry about the first-aid kit, Martin. Didn’t you hear? I heal, ah, preternaturally fast these days. See?” Jon holds up his hand to Martin, and, much to Martin’s surprise, the seeping cut on Jon’s finger is completely gone, no trace even of a faint scar.

“I...I didn’t know, Jon,” he almost whispers. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since I—since I woke up. From the coma.”

Martin mouths an “oh” and considers what this means in the context of what knows about Jon’s actions while he’d been working for Peter. It’s almost sadder that Jon ventured into Ny Alesund knowing that he couldn’t be permanently harmed—or into the coffin, for that matter. Walking into extreme danger knowing that he’d likely bring pain on himself but he’d almost certainly live despite it—”self-destructive” was even more accurate than Martin had imagined at the time Daisy said it.

Martin heaves a tension-relieving breath and hopes it doesn’t sound like a sigh. Making Jon feel guilty about something he can’t exactly help isn’t something he wants to do tonight. Or ever. “Why don’t I go put this back, then, and let’s pick up where we left off. I’ll take over the solemn duty of chopping onions if you start preparing the beef and sausage.”

“Yeah, that might be for the best,” Jon concedes too easily.

The room is quiet after that. Not much sound ever permeates the safe house’s walls, trees and hills absorbing much of the ambient noises of the surrounding area before they even get to their cottage. And they’ve both gone silent, the only sounds filling the room the sharp thuds of a knife hitting wood and the squelching of ground meat.

By time Martin’s done dicing one onion to replace the one Jon bled on and an extra onion that the recipe didn’t call for because “onions are flavor vehicles, Martin,” or so Jon claims, Jon’s still mixing the beef and sausage together.

“H-hey, Jon, I think you’ve mixed those pretty thoroughly, don’t you?”

“Mmm.” He stills, hands still submerged in the mixture.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks slowly, head and gaze drawing downward, like he no longer has the will or strength to work against gravity.

Martin reaches out a hand to shake him out of his stupor but thinks better of it. Has he somehow lost more color in his cheeks? “Jon, I think you should maybe go lay down or at least sit down.” Nothing. “I’d love to hear you talk about Discworld if you’re not ready to lay down yet.”

This seems to break him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. “Oh. Ah, yes. Right. I understand. I’ll, um, just go.”

What is there to understand, Martin wonders as Jon turns back to the sink and runs water and soap along his hands, movements almost comically slow if not for how worrying they are and the frenetic energy that usually accompanies Jon completely missing.

Martin reaches out a supporting hand, intending to grasp Jon’s upper arm. “The bedroom’s awfully far away; let’s get you to the sofa, and I’ll bring over some tea and blankets, yeah?”

With energy summoned from the aether, Jon leaps out of the way of his hand, throwing himself boldly against the lip of the countertop with a cry. “No. No. That’s all-that’s all right. I can get there by myself,” he says, chest heaving and the trembling Martin noticed more pronounced than even a moment ago.

“Jon, love, you’re not in any condition to be doing anything by yourself. In the most affectionate way possible, you look like you feel awful right now. Please let me help.” Martin’s unable to keep the pleading out of his voice.

Jon looks—Looks?—looks at him, eyes wide, almost bulging, fear and a host of other emotions dancing wildly in them. “No, n-no. You don’t have to…. Please, don’t. I didn’t want this.”

“Don’t what, Jon? What didn’t you want?”

“This. I didn’t want this.”

“Um. I don’t really understand, Jon, but let’s talk about it over on the sofa. We’ll be more comfortable there.” Martin takes a small step forward, palms of his hands facing forward in a gesture of openness and safety. This time when Jon leaps backward, he slips. Martin’s not close enough to grab onto him, and a split second later, the deafening crack of Jon’s head hitting the wood floor fills the room and clamps a vice around Martin’s heart.

Too shaken to yell his name, he bounds over to where Jon lies still and slides into a sitting position beside him. All Martin can see for a terrifying, desolate moment is Jon in that familiar adjustable hospital bed, crisp, undisturbed white sheets carefully arranged over top of him, attached to various monitors that have been silenced to not alert staff of his absent heartbeat and non-existent oxygenation levels.

“Jon. Jon. Come on. Don’t do this to me. Jon, do something—say something if you can. Please, don’t….” Should he move Jon at this point? Martin remembers from a rudimentary first-aid class he took when his mother’s worsening condition started to accelerate that you shouldn’t move people with suspected head or neck injuries without first stabilizing them, but they had nothing like that here. And there was still some question as to how far his healing ability really extended.

He has to be okay. Without giving the action any thought, Martin gently places a hand atop Jon’s chest to check for breathing. They’re shallow breaths, but his chest does rise and sink in a slow rhythm, and Martin lets out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding.

“Love?” He near whispers, as if Jon were merely asleep. “Come back to me.” He brushes away some of the fly-away hairs that have fallen onto his face. That is when Jon begins to stir.

“Jon? Jon!” Martin exclaims. For whatever mysterious reason, Jon is trying to wriggle away from him. “Don’t try to move yet. You hit your head pretty hard, and your healing isn’t immediate, Jon. Just stay put!” Jon wasn’t listening to him, still scrambling to move out of Martin’s reach.

That’s enough of that. Martin lays himself over Jon’s chest and holds him while he waits for him to calm down.

It takes some seconds, maybe a minute or two, but Jon does calm down eventually, becoming boneless in Martin’s arms.

“Hey,” Martin starts, “you with me, Jon?”

Jon lifts a hand slowly, making a so-so gesture.

“Okay. How’s your head?”

He winces. “Hurts.”

Martin hmms. “Do you feel dizzy?”

Jon gives a minute shake of his head.

“Okay. I’m moving us to the sofa, then. And don’t try to protest,” Martin warns.

Martin gets half-way to his feet, slips his arms until Jon’s legs and back, and proceeds to pick them both up off the floor. In the short time it takes to cross the room, Jon nuzzles his head into Martin’s chest. The frustration and concern and worry Martin’s feeling subsides somewhat in the face of overwhelming affection for this man, and he hugs him just a little bit closer.

“Stay here; I’ll be right back,” Martin says as he lays Jon down gingerly onto the sofa. He puts their dinner ingredients back into the fridge for the time being and puts some water on for chamomile tea. His thoughts drift as he waits for the water to come to a boil and some more as he waits for the tea to steep. He glances at Jon every so often, who has rolled over onto his side while Martin’s been gone.

“Hey, you,” Martin says as he sits in front of Jon at the edge of the sofa, the mug of chamomile making a soft thunk on the table.

“Why are you doing all this, Martin?” Jon murmurs into the worn fabric underneath him, and Martin can’t tell if he was supposed to hear it or not.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Jon.”

“Why are you staying so close to me, touching me? Taking care of me?”

“I would have thought the answers to those questions were pretty obvious,” Martin says mildly, carding his fingers through Jon’s hair.

Jon’s silence says everything.

Martin exhales and then steels himself for a delicate conversation. “I love you, Jon. Have done for quite a while now. If there’s anything I can do to lessen your pain and discomfort, I want to do it.”

Jon clenches a fist and refuses to look at him. “I know that, Martin, in every way possible. But...” he stops, apparently to think. He sounds wrecked. Tabling this conversation for when Jon is feeling better might be a better idea, but it’s rare that Jon gets the gumption to speak openly about the things really bothering him, so Martin’s remains quiet. “Things haven’t been easy for you since…. Christ, for a long time, I think. Since Prentiss, at least. But since leaving the Lonely, you’ve been…. You go away for long periods of time, and it seems like you can’t handle people being around you, too.”

It occurs to Martin that they’ve never actually addressed any of this together, not their individual traumas, not their shared traumas, not this thing, these feelings, between them. They’ve been testing the waters, so to speak, bit by bit. Touches and soft barbs and sweet words pass between them unacknowledged but nevertheless heartfelt. But so much else has also remained unsaid in the interim, he now realizes.

“And I get it. No one escapes one of the fears without being marked, and you’ve been marked thoroughly by the Lonely, Martin. It’s...it makes perfect sense that these things are happening, that you feel overwhelmed when people are near.”

He stops again, and Martin gives him ample time to gather his thoughts. Martin is still running his hand through silky salt and pepper strands when Jon lifts his head and looks up at him. His complexion still carries that worrying gray tint and his eyes are and cheeks shine with moisture.

It’s the darker green spot on the sofa where Jon had had his face pressed that really does Martin in, that causes him to throw caution to the wind

“Move back a little, Jon. Just a little, okay?” He says, low and soft. Jon mutters a “yeah” and does as he’s told. “Thanks, love. Now, hold still.”

Daisy’s sofa is by no means a large sofa, and Martin is by no means a small man, but he’ll make this work. He lays himself down beside Jon and works his arms around him, tucking himself into any space he can against him, the lines of their bodies almost completely flush with one another. His back is close enough to the edge that Martin constantly feels like he’s about to fall, but it’s worth it to have Jon in his arms like this. “I’m listening, whenever you’re ready to continue.”

Jon buries himself in Martin’s chest before picking up where he left off, prompting Martin to cup the back of his head and pull him in closer.

“You’ve borne the brunt of maintaining our relationship for so long, Martin, and now it’s my turn. I can take care of you when you’re far away, when you can’t be around people. I can do the shopping, I can cook. I can do all these things.

“And I can stay away when it’s too much for you to be around me.” He clenches the fist caught between them even harder. “I don’t want to be the cause of your pain, Martin. That’s the last thing I want.”

Martin considers all this for...several moments, really, and comes to an ugly conclusion.

“Jon...is this why you didn’t let me touch you earlier?”

A muffled “yes” reaches Martin’s ears, and his heart just breaks.

“We really should have a long conversation about this in the near future—preferably when you’re feeling better—but I want to say a couple things right now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course, Martin. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

Martin gives a little squeeze of gratitude and then continues, “For one, you’re right. There’s leftover stuff from the Lonely I’m dealing with right now, and sometimes it’s hard to be around anyone. And I hate it so much that ‘anyone’ sometimes includes you. From here on out, I’m going to try to tell you when I’m feeling this way, so you don’t have to try to guess. And if I’m reaching out to you, please trust me that I’m okay in that moment.”

“I do trust you, Martin. I trusted you to handle Peter. I trusted you to handle the Extinction. I’ll...do my best to trust you in this, too. I...I’m just deeply afraid of ruining this, ruining us.”

“Thank you. And I understand. I worry about that, too, but please also trust me when I say there’s not much that you could do that would ruin this.”

Nodding into Martin’s chest, Jon whispers, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. And second, I want you to know that, as far as I’m concerned, you don’t need to feel like you need to make up for anything.” Jon is tensing up, preparing to protest—he can feel it. “No, I mean it. Our relationship isn’t transactional. You don’t have to meet every comfort I offer you with one of your own just for the sake of reciprocation. That’s not how it works. You’ve done so much for me Jon, just by being you. That’s not even including the Lonely and everything that’s happened after, though I’m grateful for all that, too. You’re already here for me in every way that matters. You don’t need to do anything more.”

Martin places a kiss on the crown of Jon’s head, and they just lie there, soaking in each other’s presence, previous evening plans all but forgotten. Martin thinks Jon dozes a little bit, the stress of the evening finally taking consciousness away from him, but he’s proven wrong when Jon speaks up once more, muffled slightly by Martin’s jumper.

“For the record, I love you, too. In case that needed to be said.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘need,’ necessarily, but I won’t lie and say I don’t like hearing it!”

“I see,” Jon croaks. The man needs to rest. “Well, I guess if you don’t need it, then I won’t bother saying it.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” He laughs and feels the smile on his face widen.

“I have an idea, yes.”

“Good. Now, drink your tea.”

Martin pushes himself away from Jon to give him some room to sit up and to get a good look at this face. His face isn’t covered in tears anymore (now probably absorbed by the fibers in his knitted jumper), but he looks positively exhausted, eyes lidded and face otherwise lax in an easy smile, not at all like the one he wears with the intent to soothe. Martin places the still warm cup of chamomile in Jon’s hand.

“Still feeling up for a little dinner?” He asks.

Jon hmms and replies, “Yeah, I could eat a little. Just give me a few minutes to—”

“Absolutely not, Jon. I’m going to make dinner while you take a nap here. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. A nap sounds wonderful.”

“Good. I’ll wake you up when everything’s finished.”

Martin starts to dislodge himself from Jon when Jon reaches up to kiss his cheek.

“Love you. And good luck.” Jon gives him possibly the most self-satisfied wink he’s seen before taking a sip of his tea.

It’s not terribly cold in the safe house with a fire going, but Martin lays Daisy’s crocheted blanket over Jon anyway, and starts taking everything back out for dinner.

It’s meat sauce—how hard could it be?

#tma valentines exchange #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #tma #scottish honeymoon #set between mag 159 and mag 160 #idk if there's a unifying scottish honeymoon tag on here #miscommunication #panic #hurt/comfort #sickfic (arguably)#ombre writes #ombre writes fic

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spammingitsobadly · 3 years

Text

Not a requested story or anything, but I’m not doing too hot and wanted to write about my biggest comfort characters since I’ve read every fic this site has to offer, hah. Also I finally found out how to make an under the cut thing on posts so now my fics don’t have to automatically take up all of the screen :-]

“Long Day” Pairing: Wu Chang x Hunter!Reader Category: Comfort

Warnings: None I think? Fan does start to get a little.. kissy.. but it lasts like one line and doesn’t go further than that. All still SFW.

Reader Pronouns: They/Them

It was quiet. Xie Bian sat comfortably upon a chair in the livingroom of the manor as a fire crackled and licked at the brick interior of the fireplace. He’d been enjoying a novel for most of the day as neither him nor Fan Wujiu had been called out for a match. Xie flipped through the pages of the novel as Fan lay bored on the couch, fiddling with his bell.

Fan placed the bell upon the wooden flooring with a soft ring and sat up with a huff and a sigh. He looked through the frosty windows and noticed how dark it was outside. The sun had rested below the skyline long ago and the stars twinkled and stared down upon him. Snowflakes floated down gently from the skies onto the slumbering flowers and gardens, marking the first signs of the upcoming winter. Fan rolled his eyes at the sight.

He hated this time of year. It was far too cold to do anything and it was such a pain traveling through the thick white snow. Teleportation was almost a necessity to get to one survivor to the other as chasing them was near impossible at this rate. Fan sighed once more and flopped back down onto the couch. Then he remembered you. You’d been called out a great deal today, chasing and fighting in the freezing fall air. You must be miserable, he’d thought to himself.

As Xie flipped through another page of his book, he glanced over at the manor doors as laughter echoed from outside. Fan glanced over as well, trying to take a gander at what the commotion was. A group of survivors pushed through the heavy doors, laughing like there was no tomorrow. Fan sneered at them. What happened?

“I still can’t believe how well done that counter attack was, Norton!” A figure cloaked in green chuckled, patting the prospector on the back. A smug smile was spread across Norton’s face as he chortled and wiped the light snow off of his shirt. Rolling his eyes, Xie continued reading his novel but Fan squinted, annoyed at the group.

“I didn’t even plan it. We were just in the right place at the right time, I suppose,” Norton replied gleefully. Following angrily behind the group of cheerful survivors was the hunter of the final match that day. You.

You were soaked from head to toe and shivering immensely. Your usual smile was nowhere to be seen as you glared bitterly at the giggling bunch, growing more and more irritable by the second. You threw your weapon down at the ground in a fit of rage with a loud clang, startling Xie who jumped in his seat. Without hesitation, he sprung up from his chair, tossed his book upon it, and hurried towards your shivering figure.

“Oh, my dear, what did those hooligans do to you?” Xie asked worriedly, ushering you towards a spot in front of the fireplace. Fan rose from the couch and walked towards you and Xie. He didn’t show much emotion on the outside but inside he was fuming. What did those fuckers do to his love? Kneeling down, Xie sat you down at the fireplace and began wiping the snow from your hair and clothing before you swatted your hand at him in annoyance.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” you snapped, crossing your arms with a huff. Xie looked down upon you, his fuchsia pink eyes filled with nothing but worry. He began to wipe the snow off of your form once more, though this time you didn’t stop him. You just stared quietly into the fire as it ate at the wood in the center. The room was silent besides the distant laughter of the survivors echoing against the manor walls. It remained such for a few moments before you calmed and gathered your thoughts.

“The prospector attached one of his magnets onto me while I chased him,” you began. Xie and Fan looked down at you as you spoke.

“The lawyer was typing in the code for the exit gate. I would’ve gotten them if it weren’t for those damn magnets.” Xie tilted his head at you, he’d grasped your hands and held them tightly in his as your shivering began to calm. You didn’t make eye contact with him. Your eyes were fixated on the blaze in front of you as Fan stared down at you, arms crossed.

“I got too close to the other magnet and it shot me backwards. I couldn’t regain my balance and slipped into a puddle. It was a rather nasty fall. And it was the last straw for me. Those fuckers had been teasing me all day and I just had it. I gave up. I let them escape. I was too cold to do anything at that point.” You let out a soft sigh as Xie rested a hand upon your ice cold cheek. You turned your head towards him, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.

Fan huffed angrily. Oh, they were going to have the beating of their life next time they were paired with him. In fact, why wait? Rage induced thoughts echoed in his head like a static as he stomped towards the chair Xie had been sitting at previously. He grabbed the black umbrella left aside the chair and gripped the handle tightly, planning his revenge before Xie stopped him.

“Leave them be. It’s all part of the game,” Xie reminded the black guard, his tone soft yet strict. Fan stumbled his words, unable to come up with a proper counter argument as his head was only filled with the ungodly punishment he was about to lash out at every survivor that sat calmly at the dinner table. Xie turned towards his fuming black and white haired lover, a light glare in his eyes to show that he wasn’t going to repeat himself. Fan pouted and crossed his arms, umbrella still in hand, complying with the white guard’s wishes.

“I’m sorry your day went this way, my love,” Xie whispered, turning back to look at your saddened face. You finally looked up at him and gazed into his rose colored eyes. He smiled softly. God, you were just so beautiful to him. Even when soaked, tired, and unkempt, you were still so marvelous to him. He rested his hands back onto yours.

“Come along now. Let's get you changed,” Xie said, pulling you up from the floor. He guided you to your room, a hand on your side. Fan followed swiftly behind, shooting a final sneer at the survivors as he walked by. Fan walked aside you and Xie, rubbing your sore back reassuringly. The floorboards creaked gently as the three of you traversed through the corridors to your living quarters. Your shivering had died down as your two beloved partners comforted you.

Fan opened the door to your room. The door creaked on its hinges as a cold breeze sent shivers down his spine. You and Xie took a step back as Fan peered in the room. The white curtains that covered your window waved gently as the crisp fall air trickled into your room.

“Stupid, what did I tell you about leaving your window open this time of year?” Fan asked rhetorically, walking inside and shutting the window. You rolled your eyes. The black guard rested the umbrella against the wall as Xie escorted you inside, shut the door, and sat you upon your bed. He fumbled around the room for a way to light the area as Fan looked around for dry clothing.

“Aha,” Xie whispered to himself, finding a small box of matches. Striking the tip of the match against the edge of the box, he set it alight. He lit the few candles that were placed accordingly around your room before extinguishing the flame from the match. Fan found a large shirt folded neatly in your dresser drawer. He recognized it. You stole this from him, didn’t you? Ah, it didn’t matter. He also grabbed a pair of pants from the dresser, walked towards you, and placed the dry clothing upon the bedsheets.

“May I?” Xie offered to help clean you up. You nodded your head, not saying a word. You were too exhausted and sore to do anything yourself at this point so you gladly accepted their help. You had known them long enough to be comfortable with them seeing you in a state of undress.

Xie began unbuttoning and untying your wet and unkempt clothing, averting his eyes respectfully. Fan snuck a peak as Xie helped dress you, but the white guard knew Fan’s little antics.

“Wujiu,” he teased in a sing-song voice. Fan turned his head away, sat down upon a chair that sat beside the window and glanced away with a sigh. Xie placed the wet clothing onto the floor and pulled the large shirt over your head. You pulled your arms through the sleeves and pulled the pants over your legs before making yourself comfortable.

Fan looked over to see that you were done getting dressed and stood up to reach for the hair brush that lay upon your nightstand. He removed his shoes so as to not muddy up your sheets and climbed onto the bed with you, brush in hand. He began combing through your hair which had gotten a bit messy due to the winds that came in like waves during the matches that day. Unlike his attitude, Fan was very gentle when he cared for you. He wants to make sure that his partner is calm and happy and if that means swallowing his pride or calming his nerves for you then so be it. He ran his fingers through your hair as he brushed it, admiring how gorgeous you looked with your hair all down and neat.

Xie sat upon the edge of the bed next to you without much to do, but he was fine with that as he got to see your beautiful face as his loving partner combed through your hair. He admired all of your features as you sat there. Your sparkling eyes, your soft skin, your form, all of it.

“How were your days?” You spoke, breaking the silence.

“Boring,” Fan answered, still brushing your hair.

“It was nothing eventful. However, I did catch up on my reading,” Xie replied, before remembering he had left his novel back in the living room. Ah, no worries. He could get it later. Fan finished up brushing the last section of your hair and placed the brush back down onto the night stand. You were suddenly jerked backwards and pulled up onto the black guard’s lap as he began to massage your shoulders. He noticed there had been slight bruising and a few scratches upon your skin from the palettes the survivors slammed into you. He ran his fingers over them delicately as his anger came flooding back to him.

“I’ll make those boneheads pay. Just you wait,” Fan muttered, leaning down a bit to plant a soft kiss upon each bruise and cut. You chuckled to yourself as his nose tickled at your skin. He rubbed his hands against your arms as he kissed at your shoulders and back. He’d begun kissing and nipping at your neck playfully, but you kindly asked him to stop before it escalated further. Not tonight. Respecting your wishes and boundaries, he stopped and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into an embrace from the back. He rested his head upon yours.

“Don’t hog them all for yourself now,” Xie joked, crawling up towards the two of you on the bed and laying down at your side, resting his head on a soft white pillow. Fan chuckled and shifted his position, still holding you close with an arm. He laid down on his side and pulled Xie closer to the two of you, planting a kiss upon his forehead with a soft smile. Xie smiled back in return and wrapped his arms around both you and Fan.

There you lay, sandwiched tightly, yet comfortably in between the two guards. In between your two lovers. In between the two men who would do absolutely anything for you if it meant it would bring a smile to your face. Oh, how they loved you dearly. Xie ran his gentle fingers through your hair as he gazed into your kind eyes lovingly. He traced your facial features with his fingertips over and over, admiring your charm. Fan grumbled, hungry for affection. The white guard snickered softly and ran a finger over his nose before resting his palm against his cheek, rubbing his thumb over it affectionately. Fan leaned into his touch, shutting his eyes, and letting out a calm sigh.

As all three of you hunters began to grow tired, Xie pulled the blanket over your bodies and you snuggled into each other like a batch of kittens. The white guard placed a chaste kiss upon your lips and ran his fingers through your hair a final time.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, a smile on his face.

“I love you too. I love you both so dearly,” you whispered in reply, resting a hand on Xie’s side. Fan hummed in response, too tired to speak. You drifted off into a quiet slumber as your lovers followed soon behind.

#idv #identityv #idvxreader #idv imagines #wu chang #xie bian #fan wujiu #polyamarous

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ren-c-leyn · 3 years

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FNF Story: Betrayer

Another tale for @promptsforthestrugglingauthor‘s Friday Night Fights event. This week’s prompt is here, additionally, I used these 1,2,3 other prompts from their collection, this prompt by @thependragonwritersguild, this prompt by @clean-prompts, and this prompt by @corvidprompts.

Warnings: This piece is a heavy angst piece that mentions death in passing, some alcohol use, a curse, fighting, some blood, but nothing graphic or in any particularly descriptive detail.

“I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it!” I stumbled forward, the world wobbling around me. My companion lay on the ground, breathing in shaking, labored heaves and surrounded by so, so much red. “You have to be fine, you have to!”

But he wasn’t fine. the crimson pool grew and grew as the breathing slowed. No matter how much pressure I put on the wound, it wouldn’t stop bleeding. All the while, I heard a chorus of whispers surrounding us.

‘Why?’

‘Why did you betray us?’

‘What have you done?’

‘Why did you do it, why?!’

‘We thought you were our friend.’

I blinked back tears, trying not to listen, trying to stop myself from shaking as I focused on him, focused on trying to save him. Both those pale green eyes were going glassy.

“Please don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t!” I begged, but they closed anyways.

The whispers burst into hideous laughter and then it all went dark.

I jerked out of bed, drenched in enough sweat that I may as well have just been caught in the rain. I clutched my own arms, breath ragged, trying to expel what I’d just seen. His hands fell on my shoulders, touch gentle and light, reminding me I was not alone.

“You’re gonna be okay. It was just a dream. I’m here,” he said.

And I froze. My mind reeled, trying to figure out exactly when this... this creature got in here. It was hard to think with the pounding headache and blurry tears, so I just shoved him away and stumbled out of bed and downstairs.

Bits of memory faded in and out as I wobbled closer and closer to the bottom of the staircase. Right. I was drunk. He helped me home. I was sobbing, something about the curse.... The curse.

I stopped on the last stair before sinking down onto it. There was the obnoxious pounding of footsteps as he came down after me. He sighed.

“You’re not ready to be up, yet,” he said gently before carefully grabbing my arm.

“Get your hands off me!”

“You’re sick, I’m not gonna just leave–”

“I would sooner crawl back up these stairs on my hands and knees than lower my pride enough to ask you for help–so, again–hands. Off.”

He let go and held his hands up.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just let me help this once.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Good. I don’t trust me, either.”

I groaned at the sarcasm.

“Infuriating as ever.”

“Guilty as charged.”

A tense silence passed between us as he stepped passed me and sat down on the rug in front of the stairs.

“It’s only going to get worse,” he ventured after a few minutes went by. “And alcohol isn’t going to help.”

“Don’t lecture me, I know. And...” flashes of the dream danced through my head, “I know what I need to do to fix it.”

“Do you?” he asked.

“To undo what has been done, I have to undo my betrayal. And I don’t need you getting in my way.”

His expression soured.

“Your death won’t undo it if that’s your plan.”

“I’m not planning my own death.”

He sat there blanked faced as I stood and slipped around him, heading to the kitchen. It must have clicked somewhere between my first glass of water and the second because I heard him screech in a way only he could.

“You can’t do this!”

“You can’t stop me.”

“It’s stupid! You’ll die before you kill him! And another one will just take his place, that’s how power vacuums work!”

I listened to him rant and rave for a few moments. Ironic that the traitor who helped the Empire take over was being advised by a traitor to said Empire now. We were always enemies, always on opposite sides, no matter who we decided to serve we were always against one another. Even now, even after he decided to pity me, we were still on the opposite side.

Around the third glass of water, I felt alive enough to pass by him again to collect my weapons and armor. He grabbed my wrist and I ripped my arm away.

“Touch me again and see what happens,” I growled.

He threw his clawed hands up in the air.

“Fine. But please take a moment to stop and think about this, think about it seriously. He’s guarded, he’s living in what is essentially a fortress, there’s magic on his side, and he’s only half mortal. Half mortal. Killing him is damn near impossible for warriors who have kept up their training and aren’t being slowly consumed by a curse.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve been using my downtime to think of smarter solutions than a duel, then, huh?”

He shook his head, white hair fluttering about.

“You’ve always been impossible.”

“As have you, my old enemy,” I mumbled as I resumed walking to my little armory. ‘As have you.”

He stopped protesting after that, just sat sulking on the bottom step of the staircase. Instead, he merely watched through silted eyes and a stony mask. Gargoyles, didn’t they have anything better to do than sit and judge?

It took me the better part of the day to finish preparations, but I had ample time before the main event. I paused by the stairs, meeting his solemn gaze.

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“You rarely do. Act impulsively, yes, but change your mind after deciding to do something?” he snorted before his shoulders sagged. ‘I wished you would, though. There might still be other ways. Ways that you might, I don’t know, survive?”

I shook my head.

“Tried already. No. They won’t forgive me, not while my betrayal still stands.”

“And so you rush to your death. Go then, my old enemy. I will bury you when it is over.”

I couldn’t find any words. Not a snarky reply or even a simple thank you. Instead, I gave him a nod and started walking to the door.

It was my last chance to make things right, my last chance to be honest. Better late than never, I supposed, but given how slow traffic was, it was looking like it might be never. I had hopped onto the farmer’s cart, thinking it’d be a faster trip. Turns out, it wasn’t. Horses and wagons filled the road to the city gates for as far as the eye could see and showed no signs of moving forward.

A sigh escaped me as I felt another throb in my bones, another pulse of a headache. I know, Renard, give me a little more time. I’ll avenge you. What I helped them do to you. It didn’t change anything, but I felt better for the thought.

Slowly, I forced myself out of the back of the wagon and began making my way forward, cutting passed farmers and merchants and travelers of all kinds until I was up at the front. Looked like the guards and some foreign nobles we arguing. I didn’t have time for it. Any of it.

So, with a light push, I started a distraction. A brawl between the noble’s guards and the city guards would get ugly, no doubt, but who would notice me slipping by? No one. That’s who noticed me slipping by.

The palace, or perhaps fortress was a better description of it, was also fairly simple. I just stood slightly behind and to the side of the first official looking person heading inside, and pretended to be their guard as we walked in together. Then, I promptly slipped away from him before he could notice we were being followed.

The palace was at half staff, thanks to battles up north, so now was the best time to catch him. Risky and probably going to get me killed, yes, but the best time all the same.

Finding the evil son of a lake serpent that killed Renard, that caused me to be cursed, proved to be the actual challenge. I listened around the servants, eavesdropped on the throne room, and just wandered around, searching for him. Eventually, I came across the war room and heard the unmistakable, booming voice of the Emperor. Wonderful.

Terrible, I corrected myself as I realized that this was where most of the palace guard had been hiding. And they had spotted me.

“Who goes there?” the woman demanded, scowling at me from beneath her spiraling horns.

I blurted out my name. My full name. And she stood there, staring blankly at me. I smiled.

“I come bearing critical information.”

She opened her mouth, but the booming voice echoed out of the war room.

“Let the spy in.”

She looked back at the door and then back at me before making a sweeping gesture towards it. Not questioning my good fortune, I made my way inside.

He stood tall, a hulking figure over the rest of the forms in the room. All were armed, but all made a conscious effort to keep their hands above the table. It would be a bad idea to get into a fight here, I assumed.

How unfortunate.

I placed myself right at his side, craning my neck upwards to look at him. He was as captivating as he had been back then. Quietly fierce and striking. His armor shined in the light of the crystals above his head, and his green eyes glowed ominously as he stared down at me.

“It has been a long time.”

“Indeed. Seven years to be exact.’

“They have not done you well,” he noted.

“But they have served me well,” I replied with a dip of my head, “and you as well.’

“The information?”

I grinned with a nod.

“Yes, allow me to get the point, then. You’re true enemy is not in the north.”

There was a collective of whispers and snorts from around the table, but I kept my eyes on him.

“Interesting accusations. Show me your proof.”

I gestured to the table and watched him lean over it again.

“Look at the table, My Emperor, and see for yourself. Notice something odd about the attack patterns? How they all seem to conveniently benefit one person?”

I didn’t know what the sea I was talking about, but it certainly seemed to get his attention as he leaned further down, inspected the placements of their colored flags with more scrutiny. I could almost reach it, now, that fabled soft spot.

I slid a little closer to his side, making a show of gesturing to the flags.

“If you look at where the boards of these territories, and the placement of the blockades, you’ll see that it seems to greatly benefit you’re general over there, as anyone moving through his land has to pay the fee....”

“How dare...”

“Silence.’

The general shrunk down as the Emperor leaned a little closer to my direction, paying closer attention to the general’s boarders. Slowly, I raised myself onto my toes and reached for the dagger in my sleeve. He turned his head to look to me, to ask a question, and that’s when I struck.

My dagger found that soft spot, but his hand also found my arm. I had just barely, barely broken the skin. I shook. So close. I had been so damn close....

There was silence in the room. A thick, suffocating one as all stared at me in shock. As I stood in front of him, barely able to conceal the tremble of my legs, I wondered what made me think I was strong enough to challenge him in the first place. I guess the gargoyle had been right. I had sentenced myself to death, not freedom.

His eyes burrowed into me, staring with that same intense glow and power that had convinced me to switch to his cause to begin with.

“I always wondered when you’d do it,” the emperor said at last. “I always wondered when you’d turn on me, betrayer.” He twisted the dagger out of my hand and it clattered lifelessly to the floor. “It’s all you are in the end, all you’ll ever be, a betrayer. No loyalties, not even to yourself. The first opportunity to drive the knife in, you’ll probably take it.”

“I should have taken yours sooner,” I tried to snarl, but it just sounded hollow.

“So you could avoid your curse?” He clicked his tongue. “Wouldn’t have worked. It wasn’t Renard who cursed you. Wasn’t any of your old allies. No. You are you’re own curse. You always have been, always will be. No one hurts you more than yourself, but you only care now because there’s a physical manifestation of your corruption inconveniencing you.”

“Killing me,” I corrected.

“Betrayer, you’ve sentenced yourself to death, not the curse.” He swung me around by my wrist, handing me over to the guards. “Take the betrayer to the dungeons.”

I didn’t fight them, didn’t have the strength too. And as the iron door swung closed, the words echoed around the inside of my skull.

It’s all you are in the end, all you’ll ever be, betrayer.

Story taglist (ask to be added or removed.):

@nemowritesstuff , @likelyfantasywriterspsychic, @hannahs-creations, @writer-candy, @kaylewiswrites, @tenacious-scripturient, @ofinkblotsandscript, @mischiefiswritten, @kespada, @silvertalonwriteblr, @inspiring-prompts, @greenwood-writes, @elkatheinkstained, @n1ghtcrwler, @writingiswilde, @say-no-to-negativity, @wordshavings

#friday night fights #short story #fiction #fantasy #original story #my writing #a story by ren #angst

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inkweaver22-blr · 3 years

Text

HOLY. MOLY.

This has to be the Lóng-est chapter I’ve written so far! It took me almost two whole days to complete!

Please enjoy the fruits of my labor as we all see what Tang gets up to next!

AO3 Link

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Seven: Scaled Siblings

Tang wakes up in Mei's mansion.

----------

Tang woke from the usual dream signaling the start of a new cycle when his alarm went off. With a sigh he sat up and reflexively clapped his hands. He blinked a bit in surprise when the lights turned on in response. He quickly put on his glasses and looked around.

The room he was in was not one he recognized. It was much larger than he was accustomed too, being the same size as either of the apartments he usually lived in. The opulent decorations also screamed wealth and old money to Tang, something he certainly never had.

As he climbed out of the king sized bed, Tang began to suspect where he was. The amount of green accents and jade adornments everywhere made it fairly obvious.

He was in the Lóng family’s mansion.

Shivering a bit as he rubbed his bare arms, (apparently this version of himself slept shirtless), he quickly made his way over the huge mirror that was standing upright in between a fancy dresser and antique armoire. He needed to know what was going on.

Tang’s mouth hung open when he saw his reflection.

He was young.

He was buff.

Tang gaped at his own body for a few moments. Sure, the scholar had never technically been out of shape in most timelines, but dang he had never been this fit before either.

Blushing in embarrassment once he realized he had just been staring at himself for over a minute, Tang did his best to refocus.

(But damn did he look good.)

He was much younger than usual as well. If the scholar had to guess, he’d say he was only a few years older than MK and Mei now.

He really needed to find out what was happening.

Tang took a breath and began his remembering ritual.

“I am Lóng Tang. I am the current heir to the branch of the Lóng family descended from Huánglóng, the Yellow Dragon.”

What the hell?!

Tang rubbed his temples as he felt a headache coming on. He thought being Tripitaka had been confusing enough, but this was on an entirely different level of unexpected. He needed to keep going or he’d get stuck on this single fact for much too long.

“Every family descended from a dragon traditionally takes on the name Lóng. Even though we aren’t tied by blood, all the Lóng branches consider each other family and treat each other as distant relatives.”

Fascinating, but that didn’t really help ease his confusion much. Next detail.

“I’ve been living with my aunt, uncle, and cousin, who are descended from Ao Run, the Dragon King of the West Sea, for the last four years.”

Well that explained why he was in Mei’s mansion.

“I’ve done so at the request of my aunt and uncle, who are hoping that by setting a good example, Mei will learn from me, grow out of her childish pursuits, and become a proper heir.”

What. The. Hell.

Tang searched his memories thoroughly. There was no way Mei’s parents would have said such a horrible thing to him directly.

He came up with no concrete evidence of his aunt and uncle having ever implied that they found Mei lacking in any way. It seemed this version of himself had simply made that assumption himself.

Tang rolled his eyes. He certainly knew how dangerous making assumptions could be. He needed more information to get a better conclusion.

“Luckily for Mei, I find her to be fun and do my best to act as a buffer between her and her parents. She introduced me to her friend MK back in my first year living here, and he quickly befriended me once I began sharing stories about the Monkey King with him. We all like to hang out at MK’s adoptive father’s noodle shop whenever we all have some free time.”

Tang smiled in relief. At least some things never changed.

“Right now, I should be making my way to the mansion’s training room for my daily workout before heading to my job at the city library.”

Tang blinked as he finally checked the time. 5:17 AM. Eurgh. He should not be feeling this energetic this early.

With a resigned sigh, Tang pulled out a set of exercise clothes from the ridiculously nice dresser and got dressed.

He had always heard exercising was a good way to help clear your head when you had a lot to think about. At least, that’s what a lot of martial arts fiction implied. He hoped that it worked the same in practice.

----------

Tang had never felt so in control of his own body before. The way it seemed to flow from one movement to the next as he began some warm up sets was extremely satisfying.

Just as satisfying was the fact that he was trained in martial arts in this timeline. He never had a real desire to fight, but just knowing how to defend himself was a bit reassuring with what he knew would be coming in the future.

He let his mind wander a bit as he let his muscle memory lead him through his pre-workout routine.

This cycle had broken Tang’s previously held conventions on what he had come to expect within these timelines. He had originally categorized them into five types.

The ones where there were no changes to the original timeline.

The ones where there were only small, relatively insignificant changes.

The ones where new events outside of the ones in the original timeline occurred.

The ones where he was the immortal Tripitaka instead of just his reincarnation.

Finally, there were the ones that combined any number of changes from the previous three types.

Tang moved on to a second, more difficult set as he pondered on this shift in perspective. It was obvious this was a new, sixth type of cycle he simply hadn’t encountered before. This one had completely rewritten his and Mei’s background, making huge alterations to their past that would surely affect the coming future events.

Tang felt a shiver of fear creep down his spine but kept his form steady.

Now that his personal history was almost completely unrecognizable, what did that mean for the “No Interference” rule? It didn’t seem to apply whenever Tang himself didn’t know what the outcome of events could be. So with him having an altered life, did that mean the outcomes of the events he knew of would have been altered as well? Could he get more involved than before now as he never knew what those outcomes would have been? Perhaps he couldn’t directly affect the outcomes, but surely he wouldn’t be punished for offering a bit of backup and support now that he could provide it.

Right?

He smoothly moved onto his final warm up set as another complication occurred to him.

This wouldn’t be the only cycle that would drastically change his and his family’s past. Like the other variants, now that he had experienced one, more would begin to show up with increasing frequency as time went on.

What worried Tang was that they would also share the unpredictability of the others. The vast amount of probable changes were too numerous to even begin guessing what might happen until a cycle began and he could remind himself of his history within it.

He supposed that there was nothing he could do about that until those cycles actually happened, so there was no real point in fretting over it now. He let his worries go as he finished his warm up and took a deep breath.

Tang felt good.

Better than good, actually, he felt energized. Charged up, so to speak. It was exhilarating.

With a grin, Tang focused on the part of himself that was dragon in origin. The energy that swirled within him was powerful; a strange mix of wild strength and immovable sturdiness.

He let warm power fill him as he held out his hand. In a flash of golden-yellow light, the young scholar summoned his family’s own sacred weapon to him. Tang examined it in awe.

Dàdì Zhī Yá.

Fang of the Earth.

It was a masterful work of art.

The magical guandao had been a gift to his ancestors from Huánglóng himself and, just like Mei’s Dragon Blade, seemed to be made entirely out of jade.

It wasn’t the same green jade however. It was made up of three other types of the precious mineral.

The intricately designed blade was a bright yellow jade, matching the color of the scales of its creator. The shaft of the weapon was a rich brown jade, symbolizing the element of Earth Huánglóng was associated with. Finally, the connector for the shaft and blade and the counter-weighted capstone at the butt of the shaft were a deep black jade. It was said to represent the color of ink as Huánglóng had supposedly gifted the knowledge of writing to mankind.

The only part of the weapon that wasn’t made of jade was the royal purple silk tassel that hung from the connecting piece near the blade. It complimented the earthy colors of the rest of the guandao rather nicely.

Tang took the weapon in both hands and got into the proper stance to begin his drills.

He had earned the right to wield the Fang of the Earth roughly six years ago according to his memories and had practiced diligently with it ever since.

Being chosen to be worthy of possessing it had forged a sort of connection between him and the guandao. Normally, the weight alone should have made it impossible for him to lift it, but the connection allowed him to hold it with little difficulty. He had still struggled a bit with how heavy it was despite that, but the years of training had helped him gain the strength and muscle to wield it with incredible precision and control.

Simply being able to pick it up wasn’t the only benefit to being connected to his family’s sacred weapon. It seemed to bond with the dragon energy within him, allowing the scholar to summon it to his side at will. The only drawback was that his hands had to be completely free to do so.

He wondered if the Dragon Blade worked similarly for Mei back in his original timeline.

Tang swung the guandao around skillfully, thinking about his cousin in this cycle.

Lóng Xiǎojiāo. Mei.

The young woman was an endless fountain of optimism and positivity. She had a passion for life and its experiences. Riding her motorcycle was just one of the ways she connected to her innermost self and channeled her enthusiasm for existence.

She was fiercely loyal to her friends and family. She may not be formally trained in a fighting style, but if you hurt her precious people you’d face her wrath.

Mei was generally cheerful and outgoing in most aspects of her life. The single exception had been her relation with her family and their legacy.

Tang frowned as he continued his drills.

In the original timeline, Mei had constantly been under the pressure to behave properly. At least she had until the Dragon Blade had been stolen and she unlocked its power. By embracing being a part of her family despite their differences and by being herself, she had become a worthy successor to her clan’s lineage.

But that was still four months away according to the current date. This was certainly the earliest he’d even woken up before the original events.

His presence here wasn’t helping matters. While he and Mei had become good friends, he couldn’t help but feel that she thought she was constantly being compared to him by her parents.

Again, he had no strong proof about whether that was the case in this cycle. It was just a suspicion he had.

Tang hummed to himself, trying to think of some way to fix this problem while slashing downwards with the Fang of the Earth.

He couldn’t do anything overt that could change things so that she accepted her place in her family too early. He was sure that violated the “No Interference” rule despite the changed history.

Perhaps he could try subtly raising Mei’s self confidence? But how could he go about doing that?

Tang twirled the guandao around him before ending his first set.

As he looked down at his own family’s legacy and heritage, he couldn’t help but think that learning to use the weapon had made him more sure of himself over the years.

Tang blinked.

Huh.

Perhaps he could use that.

He started into his next set of drills, already brainstorming about what he would need to make his plan work.

----------

Tang was certain his earlier suspicions about Mei’s parents were, thankfully, completely wrong. The dinners they shared as a family proved to him that they loved their daughter completely. They just didn’t see eye-to-eye on some things.

He was also able to get their permission and help with the idea he had. That showed how much they actually cared considering the things he had asked for weren’t something people only obsessed with their image and wealth would agree to.

It took nearly three weeks to prepare but he was finally ready.

“Uncle, do you remember that issue we discussed a few weeks ago,” he asked at dinner that evening.

“Oh, is it ready?”

“Yes Uncle.”

“Wonderful! Mei darling,” his uncle addressed the young woman, who eyed him warily.

“Yeah dad?”

“Tang here has come up with a bit of a surprise for you. Would you be willing to join him in the training room after dinner so that he may share it with you?”

“Uhh… I guess so,” Mei agreed hesitantly, glancing over at her older cousin.

“Don’t worry. It’s a good surprise,” Tang reassured.

“It’s also one we support and gave our full permission for,” Mei’s mother added. “Listen to what your cousin has to say and try not to dismiss it right away, dear.”

Tang winced a little as Mei glared down at her plate.

He clamped down at the growl that wanted to roll from his throat at the slightly tactless comment. Dragon instincts had been interesting to deal with these past few weeks. Especially the protective ones.

Dinner finished soon after and Tang led Mei to the training room.

“So what’s this big surprise you’ve got for me,” Mei asked, slouching as she looked around the room.

“Don’t sound too excited now,” Tang drawled as he pulled out a wrapped package.

“I don’t know. Something that has my parents' full support sounds soooo cool,” Mei snarked, earning a snort from the scholar.

“Trust me on this. You’ll like it,” Tang said, slowly unwrapping the item. “How would you like to learn how to wield a sword?”

“Wait, what?” Mei straightened her posture in surprise. She gasped when Tang finally unveiled what he was holding.

A replica of the Dragon Blade.

“Wha- But- How?!” Mei gaped at the sword. It wasn’t an exact copy, but it had the same dimensions as the original.

“Your parents allowed me to commission a copy of the Dragon Blade so that I can begin teaching you how to use it.”

That had been a bit of a hard sell. He had to agree to only go through a smith of their choice and all schematics of the blade had to be destroyed afterwards. But they had gone through with it, at least once he explained it was for Mei’s benefit.

Mei’s expression flickered between several emotions before settling on anger.

Uh oh.

“Oh I get it! This is because I’m ‘undisciplined’ isn’t it,” she bit out, a growl rising in her voice. “I need to be reined in! Taught how to be a dignified heir to the clan like you, right?!”

“No! That’s not-” Tang took a breath. He wouldn’t get through to her if he started yelling too. “That’s not what’s going on here, Mei.”

“Oh? Well it sure looks like it is to me!”

“Will you please let me explain?”

“Ugh!” Mei threw her arms in the air before crossing them and looking away in a huff. “Fine! But once you’re done I’m out of here.”

“That’s okay. No one said you had to go through with this if you didn’t want to,” he reassured. That seemed to make some of the tension ease out of her.

“First, this was my idea, not your parents’. The only thing I needed permission from them was to make this replica.

“As for why... I just wanted to spend more time with you is all.”

“Huh?” Mei looked up at the nervous scholar. “But we hang out all the time!”

“Yes, but that’s usually with MK as well. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Tang hastily added at her sudden glare. “I love the kid, really I do!

“But we don’t really do anything that’s just for the two of us. Since I enjoy training with a weapon, I thought it could be something we could share?”

Mei had her brows furrowed in uncertainty.

“But… Why go through the trouble of making a copy of the Dragon Blade then? Couldn’t you just teach me how to wield a guandao as well? That is the weapon you actually know how to use.”

“I suppose that’s a fair point,” Tang conceded. “But what about when you claim the real Dragon Blade for yourself? Shouldn’t you know how to properly use it when that happens?”

“When I-” Mei’s breath caught. “You think I-! I’m not-! My parents would never-!”

“Mei, Mei!” Tang placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. “Take a breath. In and out.”

The young woman took a few deep breaths, calming herself. Then she stared into Tang’s eyes, looking for any deception.

“Do you really think mom and dad would ever let me use the blade?”

“I’m not sure what they might do.” That was a slight lie, but he couldn’t force her into a realization about her family too early. He was pushing it as it was just by telling her he thought she’d get the blade.

“But I do know you. You’re optimistic. You’re funny. You’re loyal. You’re incredibly brave. I’m sure that just by being yourself everything will turn out.” That was not a lie. His cousin was all those things and he admired her for it.

Mei, who had tears in her eyes, launched herself at him and pulled him into a hug. Her grip was powered by her dragon strength, but luckily for Tang this time, he had his own so he wasn’t crushed in the embrace.

“Thank you Tang.”

“No problem, Mei.” He held her for a moment before pulling away and asked, “So does this mean you want to learn swordplay?”

“Heck yeah it does!” Mei pumped her fists into the air. “This is going to be awesome!”

“Good.” Tang gave a mischievous smirk. “Then I expect you to be here bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Mei froze in her celebrations.

“Uh… How early, exactly” she asked nervously.

Tang’s grin was filled with too many fangs as his eyes sparkled with humor.

“5:30 sharp.”

“NOOOOOOOO!” Mei’s dramatic cry of horror and slump to the floor made Tang burst out in laughter.

Who knew teasing a younger relative could be so much fun?

----------

Tang grit his teeth as he slashed through another bull clone with Fang of the Earth.

It was finally the day of Demon Bull King’s invasion and the group had just returned from the volcanic ring where MK had seemed to perish. They were fighting their way through the army of bull clones in an attempt to get to the center of the city where Demon Bull King was.

What they were planning to do once they reached him, Tang still had no clue no matter how many timelines he lived through.

Tang dodged a strike from his left and countered with a quick sweep of his guandao.

There were definitely way more clones than there were originally. He supposed that this was whatever higher power that controlled the cycle's way of balancing out his ability to actually help out.

He dispatched the group of enemies surrounding him and looked around.

There was Pigsy who was beating away clones with a loose pipe. Sandy stood next to the chef, deflecting any attacks that came their way with two trash can lids. Where was-

Tang’s pulse quickened when he heard Mei scream.

He searched frantically, dodging or redirecting the strikes coming his way when-

There!

Mei was backed up against a building, surrounded by clones. She was holding a gash on her arm and the broken remains of her training sword lay at her feet.

She looked scared.

Tang could feel it as his eyes narrowed into slits and a menacing growl tore from his throat. With a roar of fury, he leapt into the air towards Mei.

He let his power loose, manifesting an avatar of his dragon form behind him as he filled the Fang of Earth with golden-yellow energy.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY SISTER!”

He landed in front of Mei and shouted in rage as he stabbed the ground with the guandao. A shock wave of power spread through the earth around them, causing it to spike up to stab any clone it passed.

The energy dissipated once all the bull clones in the area had been destroyed. Satisfied they were safe for the moment, Tang swiftly turned around and began checking over Mei.

“Are you alright Mei?! What am I saying, of course you aren't! You’re bleeding! Let me see that.” The dragon scholar fussed over the young woman, inspecting the wound before tearing off the hem of his robe to serve as a bandage.

“Did… Did you just call me your sister?” Mei’s eyes were wide as she stared at him.

Tang froze for a moment. Had he?

Oh. He supposed he had.

Well that explained where the fondness and protective feelings he had developed for her over the course of their daily training came from.

Tang finished tying off the bandage before looking at Mei.

“Is… Is that okay,” he asked nervously. “Because if you aren’t okay with it I won’t call you that again- oof!”

He was cut off by Mei launching herself at him and hugging him tightly.

“Of course it's okay you goof!” He could hear her sniffles as she fought back tears.

“Oh! Well… That’s, uh, good,” Tang relaxed into the hug as his nervousness melted away.

Mei snickered and pulled away, giving him a blinding smile.

“Come on, big bro. We’ve got a city to save!”

Tang felt his own face light up as he picked up Fang of the Earth and followed his sister to regroup with Pigsy and Sandy.

He knew they were no match for Demon Bull King and would have to wait for MK’s arrival to defeat him, but right now Tang felt like he could take on anything.

----------

Tang grew accustomed to being able to help in fights. They had all been scaled up in scope so that while his support was useful, it was never the tipping point that could change the outcome into something different.

The cycle moved on swiftly.

He celebrated with Mei and her parents when she obtained ownership of the real Dragon Blade.

He fought in their resistance when the Demon Bull King invaded a second time.

He did his best to be there for MK when the signs of his stress began to show.

All too soon, the day of training in the desert came.

Lady Bone Demon’s attack was just as brutal as ever.

However, when he and the rest of the group jumped to attack her once MK got caught, Tang instinctively dodged out of the way of her retaliation.

Before he could think of the potential consequences of attempting to change the outcome, he began to slash downwards with the Fang of the Earth.

Only to be stopped dead in the air when the Mayor grabbed the blade with no effort.

Tang felt dread crawl up his spine as the demon smiled nonchalantly at him. Flashbacks to that early cycle triggered in his mind, causing him to freeze up.

The Mayor casually ripped the guandao from Tang’s loose grasp, tossing it over his shoulder like a discarded piece of trash. Then he punched the dragon scholar with enough force to launch him back onto the ship.

Tang could only assume the events continued as normal from there.

He was too busy having a panic attack to notice.

Years of training and experience and still he was powerless against that man! He vaguely acknowledged he had started to cry at some point.

“Tang! Big brother! It’s okay. He’s gone. We got away.” Mei was holding him as he sobbed.

“M-mei?”

“I’m here, big brother. We’re safe.”

Tang began to breathe deeply in order to calm himself. He wanted to be composed when Wukong showed up with MK so as not to worry them too much.

He hugged Mei fiercely before pulling away.

“T-thanks, little sister,” he said with a shaky smile. She just smiled back and helped him to his feet.

As he leaned against the younger woman, Tang couldn’t help but feel extremely lucky to have gotten to know her like this.

She was fierce, loyal, brave, and kind.

She was the best sister someone could have ever asked for.

----------

Welcome to the Golden Dragon Tang AU!

This is my own personal creation, and most of the prominent details (minus Tang knowing the future from timeline jumping) are laid out in this chapter. If I got any of the details about the Yellow Dragon wrong I apologize! I'm not a mythology expert.

A guandao is basically the Chinese equivalent of a glaive; a short sword mounted on a 1-2 meter pole. I may get around to drawing Fang of the Earth at some point. Also please forgive me if the Chinese for the name is wrong for I am but a humble google translate user.

In case you haven’t noticed, a few of the chapters have been dedicated strictly to character studies of the other members of the Monkie Kid crew through Tang’s perspective. Mei’s just happened to occur at the same time as my really long debut of the cool AU I had made up! Also does anyone have some good fanon names for Mei’s parents? I was dying never referring to them by name.

And yes, Tang does still have some issues with the Mayor. I’m sure that won’t be too relevant in the future.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought and see you next time!

#Ink Writes #Monkie Kid #Scattered Cicadas #Golden Dragon Tang AU #Tang #Tang Monkie Kid #Mei #Lóng Xiǎojiāo #Mei's Parents #MK #Pigsy #Sandy #Demon Bull King #The Mayor #Sun Wukong

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sceptilemasterr · 3 years

Text

Defenders of the Flame (TE Rewrite) Act 3, Scene 8 - The Penderghast Amorelia Day Gala

Title: Defenders of the Flame (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Shreya x F!MC, Beckett x F!Atlas

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite (The Elementalists, Book 1)

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: Several weeks later, Fiora and her friends enjoy a night of dancing, food, and fun.

Previous Scene: Never Bet Against Fiora

Masterlist: Link

INT. RHUKA HALL - GRAND BALLROOM - NIGHT

Several weeks later, the Amorelia Day Gala has arrived. Penderghast’s Grand Ballroom, located on Rhuka Hall’s top floor, has been fully decorated for the event. The entire room is bathed in a soft blue light, changing and shifting in ways reminiscent of sunlight being filtered through water. Toward the ceiling, multicolored floating umbrellas hang suspended by some kind of Air Stoichi. Beautiful fountains erupt in impossible patterns, shaped by Water Stoichi into figures and patterns that rise and fall in time with the music. A table against the far wall hosts countless dishes of all kinds of food, complete with several multi-layered cakes at the center. A few Penderghast students, along with several professors, are already present as several more trickle in, all dressed for the occasion. Then:

FIORA: Holy... wow! This place is amazing!

SHREYA (smiling): Not half as amazing as moi. Or, for that matter, my lovely date.

Fiora blushes heavily as she and Shreya make their way into the room. Shreya wears a beautiful beige dress with matching circlet, both of which are decorated with a Light-Att technique that makes them sparkle every time she moves. Fiora’s dress, in contrast, is a muted golden color with flowing translucent sleeves. As they enter, Fiora beams at her date.

FIORA: Shreya... this is amazing! Thank you!!

SHREYA: Perhaps I ought to be thanking you for saying “yes.”

FIORA (blushes): Yeah... I’m a bit slow sometimes--

She is interrupted by Shreya pulling her into a quick kiss. They break apart quickly when Shreya spots Zeph, Griffin, and Peter approaching.

SHREYA: Oh! Hi, everyone! So glad you could make it!

ZEPH (laughing): Don’t worry about us. We’re not interrupting anything!

Shreya and Fiora blush furiously.

GRIFFIN: Glad you both could make it! Did either of you see Beckett, by the way?

ZEPH: ...Or Atlas?

Fiora shrugs.

FIORA: They might be going together. I don’t know, Atlas was kinda hesitant about--

BECKETT: Ah, there you are!

Beckett approaches the group, along with an unfamiliar, bland-looking woman they do not recognize. Beckett is dressed in a crisp suit with golden tie, his hair impeccably combed straight back. The woman beside him wears a sparkling navy-blue dress, and Fiora at first doesn’t recognize her. Then, she seems to realize something, and peers closer at Beckett’s companion.

FIORA: ...Atlas?!

ZEPH: Wait, Atlas? Where?

SHREYA: Fiora, what are you--

The woman at Beckett’s side smirks, then waves a hand in front of her face and makes a few quick gestures. The unfamiliar features fall away, replaced with Atlas’s distinctive silver hair and facial features identical to Fiora’s. Zeph lets out a soft gasp.

ATLAS: ...I assume that damn thing works, then?

BECKETT: But of course! None can recognize you now, save those you’ve granted permission to.

ATLAS: Good. ‘Cause I’m leaving this place immediately if there’s any chance of--

ZEPH (laughs): Come on, Atlas! Can’t you just enjoy yourself for five minutes? I promise, nothing crazy’s gonna attack the Gala while we’re here. Okay?

Atlas scowls. Then she relents, smiling slightly at Beckett.

ATLAS: ...Fine. Can’t hurt to be here with someone like him, after all. He’s almost as good with combat stoichi as I am!

BECKETT: I--excuse you, what do you mean, almost?!

ATLAS: Oh, please. As if you even understood half the things I’ve had to...

As Atlas and Beckett continue arguing, the others exchange a look of exasperation.

FIORA: There they go again...

PETER: Uh, Griff, what’s with the disguise? I don’t think most people wear Cloakguises to go to Penderghast dances...

FIORA (shrugs): She’s my twin sister. Long story short, she’s... not supposed to be here.

ZEPH: Also, Beckett’s had a huge crush on her since even before we knew she existed--

BECKETT: I did NOT!

PETER (laughs): Sure he didn’t. Anyway, fair enough. I ain’t about to rat her out to Goeffe if you aren’t.

He glances over at the back of the room, where Dean Goeffe stands, a severe look on her face as she engages Dr. Englund in deep conversation.

SHREYA: Well? Shall we, then?

Shreya tugs Fiora out toward the center of the room, the other Pend Pals following close behind. As they approach the dance floor, Zeph dashes ahead of the others.

ZEPH: Watch this! I’ve been waiting for weeks to show you all this move!

Zeph launches into a full body wave, complete with shoulder shimmy. The others watch, enraptured... most of them, anyway.

BECKETT (huffs): I give that a two out of ten.

ZEPH: Oh, c’mon. That’s at least a seven, isn’t it?

BECKETT: Then show me a “seven.”

Zeph pouts as Shreya pulls Fiora onto the dance floor.

SHREYA: Alright, allow moi to show you a thing or two!

Shreya launches into a complicated dance sequence, complete with handstands, cartwheels, and other flashy moves. After a moment, she grabs Fiora’s hands and draws her in to the dance.

FIORA: Shreya, I don’t--Whoa!

After a few beats of dancing, Shreya grabs Fiora’s arms, holding them outward so that her hands are facing up. Perplexed, Fiora keeps her hands there... only for Shreya to step back, then leap into her hands, using them as a foothold to backflip through the air!

ZEPH: Holy Source!

GRIFFIN: Whooooo!

PETER: Yeah!

ATLAS (shrugs): Not bad.

Shreya lands and strikes a pose beside a still-slightly-bewildered Fiora. The others all applaud.

GRIFFIN: That was amazing! Shreya, where’d you learn that?

Shreya giggles as they step off of the dance floor.

SHREYA: I learned that one at a club in Pennseil!

Everyone besides Fiora gapes at her, impressed. Fiora simply looks confused.

FIORA: Okay, is this one of those Attuned things I just don’t understand, or...?

ATLAS (whispering): Pennseil is the Attuned reflection of... “Paris,” I think it’s called.

Fiora gasps in recognition.

FIORA: Oh! Wow, Shreya, that’s super awesome!

SHREYA: ...Well, Beckett?

BECKETT: Hmph. Well, I suppose that might be worthy of a ten out of ten, if for no other reason than by comparison with the single other entry in this impromptu competition.

ZEPH: Hey!

Atlas bursts out laughing. Shreya smiles and wraps an arm around Fiora.

SHREYA: Well. As if I would ever lose such a contest with you by my side, non?

FIORA: Of course not. That was seriously amazing, Shreya.

PETER: Hang on, I think I just spotted some cake. Can’t miss out on that!

GRIFFIN: Looks delicious! Let’s go!

The two of them dash over to the dessert table, with Fiora and the others following close behind. The group eagerly approaches the huge, multi-colored cakes dominating the center of the dessert display.

FIORA: Wow. Okay, that looks amazing.

She moves forward to take a slice, but Shreya grabs her arm and pulls her back.

FIORA (frowning): Hey!

SHREYA: Don’t worry, darling, you’ll get your chance. I just want to be certain you know what you’re getting into, first.

FIORA: Why? It’s just cake-- (sighs) It’s... not just cake, is it?

SHREYA (laughs): Of course not! The esteemed Chef Liyan Fang would never make something as ordinary as a simple cake, without even a single stoicheal infusion, can you imagine?

FIORA: So this thing has some kind of... effect? If I eat it, it’ll do something?

SHREYA: Just watch.

Peter grabs a slice from the blue tier of the cake, near the center. He takes a bite.

GRIFFIN (laughs): Wait for it...

A few seconds later, Peter lets out a series of musical belches that play perfectly in tune with the music playing overhead! Fiora gasps in surprise, then giggles, as the others all laugh.

FIORA: Ooh! I wanna try!

GRIFFIN: There’s gonna be more than one effect. It all depends on which color tier you take the slice from, plus which part of the cake. Choose wisely!

FIORA: Wait, so, is there a sign or something that says which part does what?

PETER (laughs): Where’s the fun in that? You’ve gotta take a wild guess, be surprised!

FIORA (hesitantly): Oh... I don’t--

She swallows, and her expression changes as she confidently approaches the table. She nods once.

FIORA: You know what? Why not. Here I go!

She takes a slice from the corner of the cake’s yellow tier and cautiously takes a bite. The others look at her expectantly.

ATLAS: ...Well?

FIORA: I don’t feel any-- Whoa!

Fiora stumbles back in shock, and the camera shifts to her perspective. She (and the camera) look around at each of the others, and we see shining auras surrounding each of them. Shreya’s aura is a flickering reddish-orange; Griffin’s, a shifting earth tone; Beckett’s is stiff and silvery; Peter’s is wispy and fleeting; Zeph’s is bluish-green; and Atlas’s resembles Zeph’s, but much stronger, with an overlay of crackling yellow lines rushing throughout.

SHREYA: Fiora? Are you okay?

FIORA: Yeah, I... I think I’m seeing your stoichi! It’s surrounding everyone, like a glow, or...

BECKETT: Ah! Your vision must have been enhanced so as to better make out our stoicheal auras!

SHREYA: You actually can see them normally, if you try hard enough. Though here, surrounded by so many Attuned, it’s hard to notice... they’re fairly faint most of the time.

FIORA: Whoa. This is trippy. I--

Fiora’s (and the camera’s) vision pans to the left, toward Dean Goeffe and Dr. Englund... and we hear Fiora gasp. Dr. Englund’s aura is a stronger version of Griffin’s, but Dean Goeffe’s is a swirling mass of darkness, engulfing her to the point that we are barely able to see the dean herself through the thick aura.

FIORA (quietly): Dean Goeffe... her aura, it’s...

Atlas glances over at the dean. She frowns.

ATLAS (quietly): I don’t see anything. What is it?

FIORA: It’s black. And... it looks angry. It’s so thick, I can barely see her. What is that?

GRIFFIN (curiously): I don’t see anything. She looks like a normal Metal-Att to me.

FIORA: No, I--

The aura effect fades away.

FIORA: Darn. It’s gone! Hang on, give me some more of that cake!

The camera returns to a normal perspective as Fiora reaches forward, grabbing another piece of the cake. This time, she takes from the side of the yellow tier instead of the corner. After taking a big bite... She suddenly starts levitating in the air, wisps of Air Stoichi circling around her feet!

FIORA: Whoa! Okay, I did not expect that.

Everyone laughs.

SHREYA: The location of the slice matters too, remember? Wow, I absolutely must try one now.

As Shreya and the others all start taking their own slices of cake, all of whom end up with a wide variety of stoicheal effects, Fiora frowns, looking back at where the dean and Dr. Englund had been. Dr. Englund is now standing near the wall, gazing out at the crowd... and the dean is nowhere to be seen.

FIORA (to herself): That... something’s wrong...

After a brief moment, Atlas comes up to Fiora. Her hands and wrists are covered with shimmering red scales that are slowly fading away.

FIORA: What’s with the scales?

ATLAS: Damn cake.

FIORA (laughs): Should’ve known! Anyway, what’s up?

ATLAS (shrugs): Dunno. I just wanted to say... thanks. For keeping me around all that time, even though you barely knew me...

FIORA: Aw, Atlas, you don’t have to--

Atlas holds up a hand, and Fiora stops talking.

ATLAS: Seriously. You could’ve kicked me out at any time, or reported me to someone. Couldn’t blame you, with how suspicious I was being of your friends. But you put up with me. Not only that, when things were going south at the birthday party... you really stepped up. And now... well, I’m glad I’m here. With your friends.

FIORA (knowingly): By ‘friends,’ d’you mean... ‘Beckett,’ specifically?

ATLAS: Now you’re pushing it.

FIORA: Sorry.

ATLAS: But seriously. Thanks. I’m starting to see why everyone made such a big deal about this party. It’s... fun.

FIORA (smiles): If anyone deserves to have fun, it’s you, Atlas. I can’t imagine there were many parties in the Between.

ATLAS (laughs): If Raife’s evil cultists were having any parties, I sure as hell wasn’t invited. ‘Sides, at least here, I know I’ve got people to watch my back.

FIORA: Really?

ATLAS: There’s nobody I’d rather have at my side in a pinch than my sister. And... just between you and me, I don’t entirely mind that Beckett guy. He’s... competent.

FIORA (knowingly): “Competent.” Right. He’s definitely... that.

ATLAS (awkwardly): Right. Whatever, enough with all that sentimental crap. Catch you later.

Atlas disappears into the crowd. Fiora looks around, bewildered, until Shreya appears and pulls her into a twirl.

FIORA: Whoa! Hey there, Shreya.

SHREYA: Fiora! Just the good-looking and absolutely breathtaking Light-Att I wanted to see. Come dance with me!

Fiora smiles at her date.

FIORA: I thought you’d never ask! I’d love to.

Shreya leads Fiora out onto the dance floor as the music shifts to a slow waltz. They start to dance perfectly in time with one another, moving slowly around the dance floor.

SHREYA: This is lovely. Why don’t we dance together more often?

FIORA: Dunno. Guess we’ve been too busy with school... and fighting off random shadow monsters... and discovering my secret twin... y’know, usual stuff.

SHREYA (laughs): Ah, yes. Things are never dull with you around, are they? I am so glad we ended up roommates. It was clearly meant to be.

Fiora smiles warmly at Shreya.

FIORA: We were clearly meant to be, I’d say.

SHREYA: Oh, I agree. Everything is simply so... beautiful. Don’t you think?

FIORA: Yeah. Beautiful...

Fiora leans in and kisses Shreya.

SHREYA: Well! That’s certainly something the Fiora of a few months ago never would have done!

FIORA: Why, are you complaining?

SHREYA: Perish the thought!

They resume their dance as the music shifts into something more upbeat. After a few moments, Atlas and Beckett join them, followed closely by Griffin and Peter. They all dance together for a brief moment, until finally the song ends, to be replaced with another. The six of them all head toward the edge of the dance floor, where Zeph is waiting, eating from a heaping plate of some type of glowing Attuned snack.

SHREYA: This had best be important. I really was enjoying myself!

Atlas gives her a meaningful nod, then jerks her head in the direction of the ballroom’s entrance. Shreya and the others follow her gesture to see...

FIORA (astonished): Dr. Swan?!

SHREYA: She’s back? But... I don’t... that cannot--

BECKETT (frowning): Rather suspicious, isn’t it? That she should vanish for so long... only to reappear now? And without even speaking to Fiora or Shreya?

ATLAS: Took the words right out of my mouth. Something’s wrong.

FIORA: Let me talk to her. Maybe she knows something.

Fiora starts walking toward Dr. Swan, when suddenly, the booming voice of Dean Goeffe, amplified by telepathy, echoes through everyone’s minds.

DEAN GOEFFE (echoing): ATTENTION. THIS IS AN OFFICIAL PENDERGHAST ANNOUNCEMENT FROM DEAN GOEFFE. THIS CAMPUS IS CURRENTLY IN A STATE OF EMERGENCY. ALL STUDENTS ARE INSTRUCTED TO RETURN TO THEIR DORMITORIES IMMEDIATELY, AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION.

As the students around them start panicking, Fiora and her friends look around with suspicion.

ATLAS: Okay. I can’t be the only one who finds this suspicious, right?

GRIFFIN: Right. Something’s wrong...

DEAN GOEFFE (echoing): ALL PENDERGHAST PROFESSORS ARE TO REPORT TO MIRROR STORAGE AT THIS TIME. I REPEAT: THIS CAMPUS IS CURRENTLY IN A STATE OF EMERGENCY. ALL STUDENTS...

The Pend Pals watch as Dr. Swan and Dr. Englund both immediately head toward the ballroom’s entrance, disappearing through its double doors. Fiora looks around at her friends, then at Atlas.

FIORA: Something’s not right. We need to follow them.

ATLAS: Agreed.

Amidst the throng of confused and terrified students, seven students make their way toward the exit, following the professors toward the Mirror Storage room...

_______________________

Notes: And so the climax begins... let's hope our heroes are strong enough to handle whatever comes next for them!

Timeline: The Amorelia Day Gala takes place on March 17th, 2018.

_______________________

Next: Into the Between

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0 @shaylan211 @griselda1121 @acanthisorbis @marmolady @choicesbabie

DotF/Elementalists Tag List:

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fictioninmyblood · 3 years

Text

Sacred Light

A/N: I have a hopeful heart so Erik is alive and redeemed. I also didn’t proofread cause I was trying to get all the thoughts out. Hope yawl like. Sidenote: life hit me like a runaway train literally the first day of this challenge so I’m mad behind now. Sorrrrryyyyyyyyy. I will write and post when I can.

Summary: When the Jabari rejoined Wakandan society, it would seem as if Bast was intent on keeping the tribes joined. M’Baku succeeds in capturing the heart and soul of Wakanda’s most sought after hidden light. Part storm, part flower, and some kind of wild woman, Qaqamba Bejide Achebe - Ramonda’s orphaned niece who grew up alongside the Udaku’s, yet as much out of the spotlight as possible - blooms under the affections of Hanuman’s chosen chief. There is a prophecy tied to the Achebe name - their daughters are said to be blessed by every goddess with a light and love like no other, something late King T’Chaka knew to be true - a prophecy that makes them as much of a target as their light shines. And she, is the last of their line with the gift, with the brightest light since the line began. Can M’Baku protect such a sacred light?

Warning: some violence, mentions of murder/death

Translations (via google translate):

nsọ ìhè - sacred light

umanyano oloyikayo - the sacred light union

It was the night of the joining festival, to commemorate the joining of both the Jabari and the Lost Tribes back into Wakandan society. N’Jadaka was out of rehab and somewhat integrating into his new home, having been pardoned from creating a civil war due to winning the Waterfall Duel which was his birthright. He stuck close to Shuri until M’baku arrived and Shuri ditched them both. Little did those two know, they would soon be walking into an ancient battle for the right of a sacred light.

------

Earlier:

A frightening chill ran through Qaqambe as soon as Queen Mother and King T’Challa declared the beginning of the ball of nations. He was here. The man from her nightmares.

“Shuri, get aunt Ramonda quickly. They’re here,” she practically screamed into her kimoyo beads.

------

10 years ago

“Please! She’s still a child, let her grow into her own like her sister did.” Qaqambe’s mother, Sade cried.

“She bleeds, that is growth enough for me to pluck my long awaited bud.” Adrian said.

“13 is not long enough! I beg of you, let me keep her for a little while longer! She deserves to be her own woman.” Sade said.

“Need I remind you of the outcome last time your family denied me my light?” he asked.

Sade vehemently shook her head and sobbed.

Adrian crouched down and spoke into Sade’s ear and said, “I have no quarrels getting rid of you to get to her. There is no one else left to keep her from me.”

Sade raised her head to look him in the eye and yelled her declaration, “That is what you think. She’s long gone and she will find her light keeper before you ever get the chance to lay a hand on her! You just wait, they will be the most formidable warrior on this continent, unwavering in their stand to be the shield of her light.” She laughed hysterically, scared of her certain death yet finding comfort in her dream of a fulfilled daughter with her destined to be.

Adrian stood up and sighed, straightening his unwavering cuffs.

“How unfortunate, I’d hoped to keep her from being orphaned…” he shrugged, “...have it your way.”

Adrian shot Sade in the head twice.

“Now you’re dead and I have to search all of creation for her. Such a pitiful sight, you could’ve been my mother had you ignored destiny and walked into the arms of fate. Now destiny’s got you dead.”

-------

Now:

Shuri rushed into her lab to find a frazzled Qaqambe pacing a hole into her floors.

“Mother is keeping an eye out at the party, if you stop your pacing you can help us find him much faster.” Shuri said.

“Find who?” N’Jadaka asked, startling both young women into head butting each other.

Shuri said, “Ow! Why are you sneaking around, cousin? Now you’ve caused not one, but two concussions at one of the most inopportune moments!”

N’Jadaka said, “It’s you who was sneaking around lil bit, we just followed you.”

“We?” Qaqambe asked as she locked eyes with M’Bkau, tilting her head back to take in his full glory as he and N’Jadaka walked up to Shuri’s station.

Suddenly, Qaqambe was no longer worried about her impending fate, for it seemed destiny had arrived in the nick of time.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of such a rare gem,” M’Baku said as he grasped Qaqambe’s hand and kissed the back of it.

“I-” Qaqambe was out of breath and words, unable to stop her body from responding to what she could only assume was what her ma and aunt told her about power of light keepers. She felt as if an inferno was lit the moment his lips touched her hand and spread to her entire body.

“M’Baku, Qambe. Qambe, M’Baku. Introductions made. Cousin, take him back to the party, we have urgent business to discuss,” Shuri rushed out, trying to guide the boys back to oblivion and Qaqambe back to their task.

M’Baku easily escaped her hold and ended up in front of Qaqambe again. “Whatever it is that is troubling you, let me help. And don’t you dare try to lie, I can see your light dimming in the face of darkness”

Qaqambe looked to Shuri for help, but her gaze was just as quickly pulled back to M’Baku, like a magnet. “Aunt Ramonda made us promise not to tell anyone outside the Dora what’s happening.”

“It sounds like he already knows with that last declaration,” Shuri mumbled.

“Just trust that it’ll help not hurt to tell us little one,” M’Baku tried again.

“I can show you better than I can tell you and it’s getting hard to hold it all in anyway,” Qaqambe said.

“Qambe no!” Shuri yelled as Qaqambe rolled her neck, opened her arms, and let loose the reigns on her gift.

Suddenly, lights of various colors burst from her, like an aurora light show escaping from her every pore. When she looked into M’Baku’s eyes it was like a supernova was activated, Qaqambe’s light erupted in a large flash before dimming and folding back into herself.

M’Baku, in awe, whispered, “nsọ ìhè, it’s real.”

-------

Meanwhile, Adrian was 75% certain that his little light was here in Wakanda when he arrived for the festival. He had spent the last decade tracking down Sade’s twin sister, Monda, who had disappeared with her light keeper around the same time Sade did with hers. Using records from before his birth to track down that who did not wish to be found presented as damn near impossible. Damn near.

Turns out that she changed her first name and secured a different last name by marrying. Too bad she married a man who’s responsibilities would put her in the spotlight. Thanks to his father and uncle’s drawings as well as the news of a newly opened Wakanda, he found her and had all the info he needed to infiltrate the party. Qaqambe’s light show gave him the confirmation and motivation he needed.

Slipping from the party virtually unnoticed was easy enough. It was figuring out his way through these halls to find the source of that flash oc light that was going to prove difficult. There were Dora Milaje stationed at the end of every corridor.

He didn’t need to worry since being so close to snuffing out Qaqmbe’s light seemed to strengthen his opposing power of darkness. Adrian slipped past the Dora with ease, able to become one with the shadows of the halls, letting them lead him to Shuri’s lab.

-----

“Aye! Who the fuck are you and what you doing so far from the party?” N’Jadaka yelled at an instantaneously appeared Adrian. Shuri had notified Queen Ramonda and the Dora while putting on her gauntlets and then pointed them at the intruder while M’Baku gently eased Qambe behind him. N’Jadaka picked up Shuri’s nearby disc blades and took up a similar stance to Shuri.

Adrian smirked, breathing in the fear his sudden appearance created. “Ahhhhhhh, it has been a long time since I’ve smelled such purity ready to be stripped.”

M’Baku growled deep in chest, reacting instead of thinking.

“Why don’t you come on out from behind this beast? Don’t you want to get acquainted with your betrothed?” Adrian said.

“My late mother and aunt told me of the forced betrothal alliance! You have no real claim to me,” Qaqambe said with tears in her eyes and voice.

Adrian spoke an unknown language, opened his hand and clutched into a fist. Qaqambe fell to the floor holding her throat as if she was choking. He said, “you will come with me, or I will do that to those you love,” and then he released her to gasp for breath.

M’Baku dropped to his knees beside Qaqambe and held her close. “We will fight him for your freedom, do not worry about us, you won’t have to go with him. I swear by Hanuman’s name, he won’t get your light.”

N’Jadaka and Shuri took a step forward as well as the Dora Milaje that was easing up behind him, but Adrian repeated the mantra and motion. Everyone except M’Baku and Qaqambe fell to the floor gasping for air.

A flash of confusion and fear flitted across Adrian’s face, which was long enough for M’Baku to charge at him. His hold on everyone broke as soon as he made contact, tackling Adrian to the ground like linebacker was his job title. When he wrapped his arm around Adrian’s neck and held him in place by his legs, Adrian started to go limp unable to combat such pressure and force without the use of his powers.

Qaqambe couldn’t let M’Baku take on such a burden as taking a life, especially not on her behalf. “M’Baku, no! Let him live. Do not stoop to his level.”

He loosened his hold, but didn’t let go completely, knowing that someone as conniving as Adrian would take her kindness for weakness and try to use it against them.

“Well what shall we do with him then? I won’t give him another opportunity to harm you.” M’Baku said.

Queen Ramonda walked in with her guards on her tail. “We’ll take away his chances of claiming her. M’Baku?”

“Yes, Queen mother?” he responded.

“Would I be wrong to assume that you are familiar with umanyano oloyikayo?” she asked.

M’Baku said, “No you wouldn’t. And if your next question is whether or not I am willing to participate in it with your niece, the answer is that I would be honored to be her light keeper...” M’Baku locked eyes with Qambe, “...if she’ll have me?”

Ramonda looked to Qaqambe who couldn’t stop crying watching their exchange. She nodded her head vehemently.

Ramonda signaled the Dora and Ayo stepped forward to handcuff and neutralize Adrian, allowing M’Baku to release him and make his way back to Qambe. N’Jadaka and Shuri stood down when he was secure.

Ramonda said, “All you have to do is promise to be her light keeper in your heart and mind as well as out loud, like a prayer, and you seal it with a kiss to her forehead.”

Adrian struggled uselessly against his restraints and guards. “No! She’s mine!”

M’Baku barked his signature Jabari grunt, silencing the interloper. He pulled Qambe to him by her hands until they were flushed against one another. He enveloped her in his arms, resting his hands at the base of her back and rested his forehead against hers, both their eyes closing in recognition of the sanctity of their last minute coupling. Once he spoke the prayer internally and externally, he sealed the union just as Ramonda had instructed. Qaqambe’s head tilted back, letting loose a wail of beautiful pain. Her light burst from her third eye first before it poured from her mouth as well until she collapsed into M’Baku’s arms with her light dancing around her like an aura.

“What in the 5th element just happened?” N’Jadaka asked.

“Much more than you were ever supposed to see nephew,” Ramonda said as she linked her arms with Shuri and N’Jadaka.

“Is Be gonna be okay?” he asked.

Ramonda looked back to the new couple as M’Baku trailed behind the group, refusing to let his eyes leave Qambe’s face for too long.

Ramona smirked and said, “She’s going to be just fine now.”

#sacred light #m'baku x oc #m'baku x qaqambe #black panther fanfiction #tale teller's daily writing challenge #tale teller's daily writing challenge 2021

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