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andypantsx3 · 3 years

Text

statistically significant | 2 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Present day

Miruko’s agency was large, much larger than you had expected.

From the street, it had looked unobtrusive enough, a moderately-sized office building with a modern-looking glass front. You could see into a large reception area on the ground floor, and open workspaces on the next few floors, conjoined desks piled high with paperwork and slightly wilted-looking office plants. If not for Miruko’s name emblazoned over the entry in bold, metallic letters, you could have taken it for just another office building.

Once inside, however, the building became much more than that. After checking in at reception, you were led deep into the building, and gestured into an elevator that took you tens of floors down. When the doors opened, they let out into a cavernous space, stretching under what must have been the entire block. The floor was equipped with a gym, several reinforced training spaces the size of office buildings themselves, and what appeared to be a surveillance room where footage from the training spaces could be replayed.

Your mouth dropped open. Did all hero agencies hide deep underground like this? How many other underground floors were there? How big was Miruko Agency, really?

Your guide had enough tact to ignore your inelegant expression, instead leading you towards a training room. A huge, clear window tens of meters across looked into the space, but you would bet anything that it was made of some material much stronger than glass, which was especially evidenced by what you could see going on beyond the window.

Rubble littered the room, scattered in towering piles that gave the appearance of a post-doomsday cityscape. You didn’t know if the room had been set up this way, or if the rubble was the result of the battle going on within; there were two heroes that you could see darting around the space, both appearing to be causing maximum chaos.

Closest to you, a woman with wild pink curls was emitting a powerful stream of some cement-colored substance that ate away at anything it touched, causing it to smoke and hiss and crumble. She melted a huge hole in a pile of rubble, and a man with a shock of golden-yellow hair leapt away from what had probably been his hiding place, backpedaling wildly.

You perked up when you realized who they were--Ashido Mina, the number twenty-nine hero Pinky, and Kaminari Denki, the number thirty-three hero Chargebolt.

Kaminari threw out a hand, and a crackling wave of lightning struck out at Ashido. The lights flickered out briefly, and even behind the window, you could feel your hair stand on end. You blinked past the powerful flash that had temporarily blinded you, casting about for Ashido who had surely been struck down, only to choke on a laugh when you caught sight of her flashing Kaminari the middle finger, sliding away from a huge chunk of rubble she’d dislodged with her acid to use as a shield.

“They’re idiots,” a voice intoned from your side.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, turning to find Miruko herself standing next to you, powerful arms crossed over her chest. Despite her words, a little fond-looking smile flickered at the edges of her mouth.

You schooled your slack jawed expression into a smile. “I don’t know--their personalities are mostly why they’re so popular, so they must be doing something right. I did a little digging into everyone’s results before I got here, and they stood out among a lot of the rest.”

Miruko’s gaze flicked over you. She was short, maybe even shorter than you, but her keen red eyes and very lethal-looking biceps more than made up for her stature. She was intimidating in person, an air about her that told you she could snap and turn on you at any second. Despite the fact that she had asked you here herself, you felt like she might seize you and bodily throw you out of her agency.

“And that’s why they’re idiots. Their results are buoyed by their personalities,” Miruko sniffed. “They need work.”

You prickled a little, feeling like you should say something in their defense, but the truth of it was, you were here to help them work on things.

Some weeks ago, Miruko had contacted the Public Safety Hero Commission with interest in the ranking model. Your version had been in production for close to a year, and you had recently been making scholarly noises about feedback loops, asking for permission to provide pro heroes with individual results breakdowns. Miruko had caught wind of this and demanded on site assessments for her “team of frigging clowns” as she had so eloquently put it. And so you had been loaned out, with the idea of helping to direct the training for the heroes at Miruko Agency, providing them a real time comparison of their training footage to the generic hero ranking model results.

If this trial run was successful, if you could help any of the heroes measurably jump ranks, then the Commission had committed to providing individualized results for the thousands of heroes employed today. The Commission had also expressed interest in your idea of creating and packaging smaller models that took less technical skill to operate, for heroes to use to direct their own training. They had even seemed receptive to giving you a small team of research scientists and software engineers to build such a product, so you would be looking at a pretty sick promotion, not to mention.

Miruko made her way over to the surveillance room, beckoning you after her, and you watched as she leaned over a desk, pressing down a button with one gloved finger.

A crackling sound echoed overhead and her voice followed. “Alright, brats, recess is over. Anyone not heading out on patrol, meet in the surveillance room now.”

The flickering light from Kaminari’s lightning fizzled out, and the door to the training room opened not long after, Kaminari and Ashido spilling out in a chaotic whirlwind of limbs and petty squabbling. They were the first to arrive at the surveillance room, and Kaminari visibility perked up when he saw you.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself on a gasp when Ashido’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “What the fuck, Mina--! Why are your elbows so sharp? Can you just not--?” He grabbed her elbow. “Stop, look, it’s stats girl! From the Awards!”

You startled a little, shocked that he had remembered you. That had been almost a year ago, and you’d only exchanged a couple quick comments in the stairwell.

Ashido looked up from where she appeared to be attempting to crack one of his ribs, her expression shifting into something altogether too interested. You flushed when a sharp grin broke out over her pretty features.

“Oh my god, you’re stats girl? I have been waiting forever. It’s an absolute honor to meet you.” She held out a palm, waggling her rosy fingers expectantly.

A rising sense of horror grew within you. Did...did Kaminari remember you so clearly because he’d told people about the incident? What exactly had he mentioned to her? Who else had he spread the tale to?

“Um, yeah that’s me,” you managed, trying to tamp down your embarrassment.

Ashido grinned wider, leaning forward. “I was totally convinced Denki and Eijirou made you up, except that Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. You’re, like, a legend. Do you do autographs?”

You gaped at her, your mind sticking on the phrase Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. A nervous, hunted energy crept over you. Revenge...for months.

Miruko’s rabbit ears twitched and she turned to you, frowning. “I wasn’t aware you’d already met some of my circus monkeys. Is this going to be a problem?”

You dithered nervously, not actually sure if it would be. You’d known Bakugou worked at her agency, considering you had done a fair amount of pre-work collecting everyone's results. But you’d honestly put off thinking about this. Bakugou had been in quite the rage at the Hero Awards, but that had been almost a year ago. And Ashido had phrased his revenge plans in the past tense… Surely he didn’t still hold as much of a grudge now?

Miruko eyed you suspiciously for a moment, but she was distracted when the scuffle of boots indicated the approach of other heroes, and a pair of burly men with curling satyr horns rounded the corner, one of them leaning forward to speak to her. Ashido sent you a wink when Miruko turned her back, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like later.

In the next few minutes, a small group of heroes assembled, ranging from relatively well-known heroes like Ashido and Kaminari, to a couple of heroes who ranked deep in the hundreds--you only knew some of their faces because Miruko had provided you with a list of her employees for preparatory research purposes. They formed a small crescent around the surveillance area, chattering lowly to themselves and eyeing you with speculative curiosity.

To your eternal relief, her most famously explosive employee was conspicuously absent, and you felt yourself relax when it seemed like everyone had turned up who was going to.

When it seemed like the crowd size was finally large enough to please her, Miruko barked a loud “SHUT UP” at them. The din of low voices instantly died down.

“Alright brats. Over the next few months, Y/N will be working here at the agency with us. She has been invited on behalf of the commission, and will be analyzing your quirks, your methods, and your recent work,” Miruko said. “She has individualized results pulled from the current hero rankings that can inform you how to improve. I expect you to take full advantage of this opportunity.”

She gestured to you, giving you a meaningful look as if she expected you to introduce yourself. You gave a little wave, glancing at the heroes around you.

“Um, hi,” you said. “As Miruko-san said, I can give you a little advice based on your current results breakdown. I also plan to analyze video of your training in the coming weeks, and build parallel models to simulate future results given your performance. We can compare those to the current rankings for an idea of how much work you will have to put into particular skills for you to move up in the ranks.”

A small murmur went through the crowd at the prospect of moving up in the ranks. Some gazes sharpened in interest.

You continued, “This is also a good chance to work on specific growth areas -- I can train smaller models on subsets of videos so you can compare your skills more directly with each other or with other heroes from other agencies. Please let me know if there is anything special any of you would like to focus on.”

Miruko stepped back in front of you. “Y/N is going to set up in the surveillance room for the next few weeks. I’ve already established checkpoints for all of you to meet with her, but I encourage you to meet with her more often if you can.”

There were a couple of nods, and a few interested whispers from somewhere at the back of the crowd. Miruko took a breath like she was going to say more, but then--

“Hard pass,” a voice growled from your left. Your hackles instantly raised, and it took your brain a couple seconds to catch up with your instincts. You whipped around wildly when you realized you knew that voice, and you almost jumped a full foot in the air when you caught sight of those familiar blonde spikes over another hero’s shoulder.

You hadn’t noticed his approach, but Bakugou had clearly returned from a fight only minutes ago. His hair drooped a little with sweat, there was dirt streaking the points of his high cheekbones, and his costume was shredded by a thousand tiny tears, like he’d been thrown through a glass window. And...was that blood on his gauntlets? Was it his?

You were torn between immediate annoyance and something like concern at the sight of him so obviously roughed up.

“The meetings are not optional,” Miruko’s voice took on a hard edge.

“I already know what this fucking nerd has to say,” Bakugou drawled dismissively. “And I don’t give a shit. I don’t need assists if I’m the one busy saving the fucking day.”

Your mood edged cleanly into annoyance. It seemed he hadn’t changed any, then.

Miruko’s face darkened. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Bakugou bared his teeth. They gleamed almost blindingly white against the dark dirt on his face. “No.”

A wild look entered Miruko’s eye at the challenge. “Everyone is dismissed. Except Katsuki,” she uttered in a low, dangerous tone.

There was a small pause. The heroes around you looked at her askance, and her features darkened even further. “I said scram. NOW!”

The effect was immediate. It felt like no sooner had you blinked than the hall was suddenly clear. The sight of Kaminari and Ashido wheeling around the corner was all the proof you had that the team hadn’t suddenly vanished from existence.

Bakugou snorted and propped himself lazily against a column, affecting a slouch, one pale eyebrow raised over his insouciant expression. It looked almost too perfectly arrogant, and you wondered if he practiced it in the mirror sometimes.

“I said the meetings are not optional, Katsuki,” Miruko hissed, taking a step closer to him. “You can ignore her suggestions all you want, but you will attend them.”

Close as they were, you could see she was almost a full head shorter than him, but the force of her anger seemed to make her larger somehow--she wasn’t towering over him, but she was certainly terrifying. Towering under, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

Bakugou, for his part, held his ground. His mouth curled disdainfully. “What’s the fucking point? The nerd’s just gonna tell me stupid shit. And I’m not going to listen.”

Your fingers twitched in irritation. Data wasn’t stupid shit -- it was mathmatical fact, almost as divorced from human bias as it was possible to be. How was it humanly possible that he hadn’t learned anything or grown even the littlest bit? How was it possible that he was just as infuriating as he was a year ago?

But fine. He could have things his way if that’s what he wanted.

Miruko’s face twisted in a scowl, and she took a deep breath like she was ready to start yelling. But you got there first.

“He has a point,” you said, giving him a hard look over the top of Miruko’s head. “I would hate to waste my time on someone who’s been stalled in the rankings for a year now. He wouldn’t know how to implement my advice even if I were to give it.”

You paused, letting an uncharacteristic smirk curl your mouth, trying your best to channel his disdainful energy. “Isn’t that right, Number Eight?”

Bakugou’s gaze sharpened over Miruko’s silver hair, twin pinpricks of red narrowing in on you. He abandoned his slouch, his body tensing like a hound that smelled blood. “What did you just say?”

You pushed down the petty satisfaction that rose within you at his reaction. He was so fucking prideful, so easy to bait.

“Hmm, cognitive delays,” you said, pretending to tap your chin thoughtfully. “Very worrying. Further evidence he wouldn’t be able to process the information, though. No, I think it’s best if we don’t meet.”

Bakugou pushed himself off the column, edging around Miruko as his mouth drew into a snarl. You were immediately reminded of the Hero Awards, that same overwhelming prickle of power edging over you as he stalked closer, the same scent like caramel and gunpowder.

Miruko’s eyes flicked between the two of you curiously, an eyebrow raised in interest. You hoped it meant she was interested enough in your data analysis to intervene if Bakugou tried to sauté you like an onion.

“If you melt through this blazer I really will sabotage the hero rankings and dip you all the way to number five hundred,” you threatened, edging away from Bakugou as he drew closer. “And also you owe me money for that dress.”

“I’m not gonna fucking give you shit,” he announced, looming over you when he’d decided he was close enough to intimidate. He was near enough that you could feel the heat of him, but he hadn’t put his hands to you yet. It seemed Miruko was enough of a deterrent to curb his bad behavior. “And I’m not gonna meet with you.”

“Good, then we agree,” you said, tipping your head back to look him in the eye. “You’re not good enough to do better anyways.”

Bakugou growled, the phrase clearly still enough to tick him off a year later. “Fuck you, I’m the best.”

“That’s not what your ranking tells me,” you clicked your tongue, feigning disinterest. With the dirt and scratches all over him he looked wilder than ever and you would be a fool to ignore it, but Miruko’s presence made you bold. And something else, some latent streak of frustration and pettiness told you to keep going, to keep pressing the buttons that were getting this reaction from him.

“Your ranking tells me you haven’t even improved the tiniest bit in an entire year. At this rate, you’ll never even hit the top three, never mind be the best. I don’t think you could improve even if you wanted to,” you said.

Bakugou looked like he wanted nothing more than to tear your head off with his teeth. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

You opened your mouth to reply but there was a sudden motion at the edge of your vision, something pink and blurry and wild. You glanced past Bakugou’s shoulder to find Ashido leaning around the wall, waving a hand frantically and mouthing something at you. You squinted, watching her lips shape themselves carefully: make a bet.

What? Make a bet?

She wanted you to make a bet?

You looked back up at Bakugou, taking in the oppositional expression, the angry curl of his mouth, the straight slope of his nose, and those keen, blood red eyes glaring down at you. This was certainly the face of a man who wouldn’t be told what to do, who couldn’t be told what to do.

But despite your words and your inherent distaste, there was no denying he was actually your best shot, the cleanest pathway to your promotion. Bakugou was smart, driven, and absolutely lethal. If anyone could turn around a rank at top speed it was him.

But he couldn’t be made to do it. He had to want to do it.

Ashido waved in the corner of your vision again, enunciating with exaggerated facial expressions. Make a bet.

Things clicked into place.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure,” you looked away from Ashido, inspecting your nails casually, like your focus would rather be anywhere than on this conversation. “In fact, I would bet almost anything that you wouldn’t know how to implement my suggestions, even if you tried.”

Bakugou froze, red eyes passing over you curiously. For one heart stopping moment, you thought he was on to you, but he just leaned down instead, putting his face close to yours.

“I’ll fucking take that bet.”

You tried to push down your sudden swell of excitement, fighting to keep your expression neutral. You knew he wouldn’t cooperate if he thought you were happy about this.

“Fine. You have two months to jump a rank,” you said. “Or I win. And you’ll pay me what you owe me for the dress.”

Bakugou smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. This had the effect of emphasizing both the tears in his shirt and the swell of his biceps.You quickly attached your eyes firmly to his face--that was so not what you needed to be focused on right now.

“I’ll do it in one,” he said. “And then I win, you smug fucking nerd.”

You gazed at him steadily. “Agreed. Miruko’s number seven--you think you can beat your own boss with just a month of work? You’ll never.”

“You haven’t heard what I win yet,” he said.

You stared at him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “You go up in rank. That’s what you win.”

Bakugou’s handsome face shifted into an uneven smirk. “Oh no. This is twice now you’ve opened your little know-it-all mouth and acted like you know what the fuck you’re talking about. When I win, you’ll tell me I’m the best and I was right all along.”

You suppressed an eye roll. If he moved up a rank, the point would very obviously be that you were right all along. Was he really so unreasonably competitive and spiteful that he needed to be told he was right?

Then you remembered he’d quite literally dragged you into a stairwell and implied he'd fry you to a crisp when he found out he was number eight. Of course he was.

Well, a few throwaway words were worth nothing compared to the promotion you’d be getting. He could have his sense of self satisfaction when you were knee deep in software engineers and fat stacks of money.

You took a deep breath, holding out a hand. “Okay. If you win, which is a very big if, then I’ll admit it. Deal?”

Bakugou considered you for a long moment, red eyes watching you closely, before a calloused hand engulfed yours. “Deal," he growled, a crooked grin flickering at the edge of his mouth. "Get ready to eat shit, nerd.”

You suppressed another eye roll, hoping to god this was going to be worth it.

This was going to be the longest month of your life.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #tw threats #tw gendered violence

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

Text

Die for the Many

Mother and my friends adorned my hair and dress with flower wreaths. I still vividly remember the sweet scent of those desert blooms, so many of them offered up and woven together so artfully. I tried to think about anything else but could not get my mind off my fate. Mother hummed all the while.

She hummed so melodiously. So sadly.

"There is great honor in the sacrifice you are making," she said.

As if I needed to be reminded for the thousandth time. They all said the same.

The people of our village all always spoke such hollow words. You could decline when you were chosen, but nobody ever dared. I still vividly remembered the last girl who protested, the look of helpless dread on her face, fidgeting nervously.

She did not protest for long, though. Nobody even forced her, nobody said a word to change her mind—they just looked at her with all the accusations their eyes could project. And in her own gaze, I could see the fire of rebellion dying. The fear taking overhand, and the will to live flickering like a dying flame.

Everybody feared the consequences of failing this sacred duty. I am sure there were others like her, before her. Surely, there were others like me, before me, resigned but quietly unwilling.

Mother hummed, and my friends eventually joined in on it. As if this was a joyous day, an occasion worth celebrating. Fingers that grazed my skin, they felt like ghostly wisps, so very far away, yet electrifying and giving me gooseflesh.

"It is only sacrifice when you give up something meaningful to you," they chimed in.

Oh, how easy it was for them to say. To believe that their sacrifice was giving us up into the jaws of death.

They were allowed to continue living. They got to hide behind their sorrow of losing us. Of knowing no other way than surrender.

Girls like me—we were supposed to die for them.

A tearful kiss on my forehead was all she gave me, in the end. Though I could tell it was not easy for her, that all she did to add levity or beauty or honor to what my destiny foretold, it all only served to outshine the crushing weight of losing her daughter this way.

Generations after generations had lived thus. And watched their daughters die thus. I do not think that any still lived who knew a time before this cycle.

The cycle of sacrifice of the few, for the good of all, and chosen carefully by the Many.

It was the only way our village knew how to survive. In this wasteland, our walls and homes made of adobe stood proud and tall atop the only oasis wide and far. Who knew what lay beyond those windswept dunes, hidden beneath the infinite horizon? Who knew if others would ever find to us out here, or if we could venture into the unknown, and find a different form of salvation?

In the shadow of the mountain that towered above us, the Many selected those of us virgins to wander the path of the rock, to the top of those dizzying pinnacles where tall stone kissed the sky.

To see the dragon, and to offer ourselves to it. To spare our home of the dragon's wrath.

One of us perished in the dragon's maw, and the village continued to survive for five more years.

Such was our way.

Such had always been our way. Nobody dared to lie about knowing a time before it. Some elders claimed to pass on tales of the time before our arrival there, from before our ancestors crossing the blighted wastelands even. But those old fairy tales of pilgrimages and saints and self-sacrifice, they all sounded so absurd. So unreal.

Especially now.

I admit I was selfish. Until the Many had chosen me, I had repeated those same mantras, those same hollow words as all others had always done. Those empty phrases allowed me to sleep at night, to pretend that nothing was wrong. I used to sometimes awaken from my nightmares, covered in sweat, having dreamt of being chosen next. And lying to myself like the elders lied to themselves, and our people perpetuating these myths—misfortune only happened to others, right?

It was noble to give one's life for the others. To obey the law of the Many.

I grew up believing that all of this was perfectly in order.

"There is great honor in my sacrifice," I repeated to the elders as they grazed my cheeks and shoulders and arms with fleeting caresses.

There was something loving about these touches. Of course, they loved the one they gave away. Of course, they loved the one that secured their continued survival.

Never before had I felt so sick at seeing their aged, wizened, wrinkled faces. Knowing they were allowed to grow old and die in their slumber while I would be cut down in my prime.

Devoured by a monster.

I smiled, but it was as empty and soulless as our collective words. It certainly did not reach my eyes.

It never reached our eyes. I remembered another girl who had marched to her death. I had been so small at the time, yet I remembered her with such staggering clarity. I must have looked the same in this moment. A mask to match, to hide the despair; a cork to bottle up the urge to run—the instinct to flee into the wasteland and find a different fate in the sands, stung to death by scorpions and devoured by the dunes perhaps, but leaving them all to their own doom.

I refrained from acting upon my selfish instincts. We regarded such as courage, I believe, even when it stayed unspoken. But was it gutlessness, I wondered? It must have been.

In the end, if all you know are cowards, then it is easiest to fall in line and do as the others live before you. Die before you.

Easiest to uphold a legacy, rather than question it. Rather than mustering the audacity, the bravery to challenge old ways.

Still, they sang, and everybody cheered, and frolicked, and danced. Holding my hand for the rest of the way to the gates of our town, my sweetheart accompanied me. He had the gall to tell me how proud of me he was, how proud he was to have known me. His pain was genuine, but it paled in comparison to my own anguish—I knew this in my heart of hearts.

I never resented another person as much as I resented him in that moment. But it, too, was fleeting. Devoured by the dread that gripped me. The finality of it all, weighing down on me like an avalanche of crushing stone.

My friends were the first to stop following before reaching the gate. They kept shooting glances over their shoulders as the distance between us grew to lengths that could no longer be bridged.

Then my mother and my sweetheart let go of my hands, let me continue forth alone. Though true sadness rang with their goodbyes, it all felt weak. Pathetic, even.

Then the priestesses accompanied me the last steps of the forlorn way, up the dusty road, and they only turned back once the rocky crystalline crags jutted high above my narrow path.

My lonesome path.

And from our village, the Many watched. I felt cold as the Many watched me leave and disappear into the rocks. Back then, I did not understand it yet. But it makes so much sense to me now.

The Many always watched.

The singing, cheering, and weeping trailed behind me, growing fainter and fainter after I lost sight of them, and they lost sight of me. The village continued to celebrate my noble sacrifice, my great honor, but it was no longer in celebration of me. In truth, they rejoiced, their joy of life eclipsed the tragedy of my death. Whether they would admit it or not, they celebrated five more years of prosperity. Of knowing they would brave the wasteland in their idyllic little oasis, for five more years.

As for me, I harbored no such hopes. I admit to my cowardice and fear that had taken root within me. I could not have cared any less about that damned place. Some part of me, the rage within, it hoped to know their bones would one day lay bleached beneath the merciless sun. The adobe walls could crumble and bury them for all I cared. I fantasized about their singing and cheering turning to screams of agony as I envisioned myself in fantasies, of straying from the path and leaving them to their rotten fates.

It would not make a difference to me any longer. For me, the dragon awaited.

But I stayed my course. I truly think it was fear—cowardice—that guided me.

The uneven grounds and sharp rocks bent the leather of my sandals, making the walk as unpleasant as possible. I had to continuously readjust the flower wreath as it shifted crookedly upon my crown, but after what felt like an eternity of walking, I gave up on correcting it. How little would my appearance matter? Would the dragon be picky about its prey's adornments?

The spark of defiance within me never died, even if I had resigned myself to my fate. Too fearful of the consequences of challenging what was, and always had been.

I needed to use my hands to keep going, anyway. To find balance as the dusty path gave way to jagged rocks, and grounds too difficult to leisurely stride upon anymore.

My bitterness had grown to meet my fear. Perhaps it even eclipsed it. I was prepared to get this over with. I would even taunt the dragon, if necessary, if that helped speed things up. I prayed for a swift death, not a dignified one.

Another small eternity passed, leaving the bitterness to poison the well of my mind, flying by as my thoughts circled within the darkest depths of that well, antagonizing the place I had grown up in; demonizing the home I had thought I loved. And with that, I had chanced upon my destination. The precarious path led here, and only here. Only the damned had walked it.

A rumbling beneath the stone filled me. It shook me to the bone. Before I knew it, it felt rhythmic, like breathing. Or a colossal heartbeat.

Finally had I reached the great cave where the dragon dwelt.

A roar erupted from it, suggesting that it sensed my presence. A bright blaze illuminated the cave's bowels and made shadows dance along its rugged walls.

Growled the creature, with the volume of an earthquake and thunder conjoined, "Come to me."

I wanted to run, but I was too afraid. Not afraid of the beast chasing me or of tumbling down the rocks and breaking every bone in my body in a fall that would likely not have had the kindness to kill me instantly—but afraid of the consequences of being punished for breaking ancient law.

Sixty-four seasons young, and that was all it had taken to drill this feeble-mindedness into me.

Thus, I did as the dragon bid me to. What good was I at anything but doing as I was told?

I stepped inside the cave. I trembled all over. Though I told myself I had resigned my entire being to my death, I feared it more than anything now. My mind painted horrid pictures of many ways I could die—of ways I would die. Fire engulfing me and knowing the sensation of being burnt alive, with the skin blistering and sloughing off the bone. Of gigantic teeth that snapped my body like twigs.

Another growl heralded a small flame, lighting the path to my grim destiny.

The dragon awaited me at the end of the tunnel, where its scorched and scarred walls adjoined with a huge, cavernous hall. The rock had molten in its center, a perpetual fire within the stone that cast an eerie red glow, and perched upon a ledge, majestic in its magnificent size, there the beast sat, enthroned above the little creature I was in comparison to its awesome size.

But the dragon was not alone. The gloomy crimson shine revealed to me other people dwelling in this cavern. They surrounded me.

Women stood guard, all clad in armor and carrying spears of fearsome make. Star-metal gleamed in the glow, shaped to perfection upon mysterious forges. Many of the women looked older, grown adult, more beautiful than the day they had departed from the village. I recognized some of their faces. Many others looked strange and unknown, yet familiar somehow. My seniors, some elderly, all people I had expected to be long dead.

Yet here they stood. Alive, and fierce in appearance. Huntresses. Warriors.

Asked the dragon, "Did you choose to come here and end your life of your own volition?"

Imperiously it spoke, with the flames licking from its nostrils, and eyes glowing as red as the molten rock, a wisdom of eons pooling behind its glare.

It answered for me, for I had lost my speech, trading it for bewilderment over this strange sight, when it said, "Or was it the Many who chose for you to die hither on this day?"

A question that was no question. We all knew the answer.

I could not contain myself; curiosity had seized my senses, my gaze wandering across all these women gathered here, and then coming to rest upon the giant scaled beast, covered in horns and wings unfurling.

"Am I not to die here?" I asked, knowing the answer.

More growls erupted from the beast and tremors shook the earth. Murmurs traveled through the Ladies of the Spears.

"Do you know what the Many is?" asked the dragon instead of meeting my question.

With all due diligence and all the reverence I had been brought up to harbor, I replied, "The eldest say the Many is the manifestation of the spirits of our ancestors."

Words that came from a place of constant drill and blind repetition.

Of constant indoctrination.

"The Many is a dark spirit," growled the dragon.

Only now did I realize that the creature had been calm all this time—calm until now, that is. Until now, when fury welled in its air, and fires of rage erupted from its maw without harming anybody present but casting a bright light within the cave.

Said one of the women, every syllable resonating with crystal-clear resolve, "It feeds on the darkness of our people. Every act of cowardice bolsters its body. Every ounce of greed and envy is what feeds its blackened essence."

The strike of her spear against the stone echoed through the cave and punctuated her speech with a fury of her own.

Spake another, with a voice that trembled with anger, "It keeps our people weak. Pliable. It drinks the ghosts of those who breathe their last breath of old age, bitter and yellow-bellied, and it grows fatter with each selfish surrendering of us girls."

The dragon finished their angry remarks, "Whether they truly perish or not matters little to the Many. It knows not that it and I are ancient enemies, and that I would spare every one of your kind to end its existence. Come to me, child. Arm yourself, and we begin your lessons. Soon, the time will come that we march upon your home and face the Many in bloody battle. Only together do we stand any chance against such a demon."

And know you, who listens to me now, of that lost village. Of Umbra.

The day I came of age, my calloused hands could wield the spear better than I could ever wield the sewing needle or the pot. On that fateful day, the demon lost in our battle. And Umbra crumbled in its wake, a desolate ruin stranded in the wastes.

The dragon perished, as did many of my Sisters of the Spear who left their lives on the battlefield. And the Many, a giant hungry shadow it had become in my absence, it took our people with it. When our people screamed in fear upon seeing the dragon, the Many sapped them of their very life force and used it to grow to terrifying proportions. It used them as its shield, used their fear as its axe. Matched our resolve and slew so many before we could even hope to best it.

But as with all evil, now I know, it can never be eradicated. As long as man lives, darkness dwells in man's heart.

You seek the oasis? You seek the treasures you think we left behind in Umbra? You are a fool.

Do not go there. You will find only misery, and perhaps you will birth the Many again. For we could not destroy it. A dragon and all of us warriors, and we could not destroy it. We could only bury it beneath the bones of our ancestors and the crumbling adobe walls of our fallen village.

You cannot destroy it, either.

No man can.

As long as weakness lingers in the heart of man, the Many can feed upon it, and will always return.

Turn back now, traveler. I beseech you. There is nothing beyond this wasteland but death and gloom. Do not tempt fate, do not make our battle something that was fought in vain. For as long as Umbra stays buried and forgotten, so does the Many.

I care not for your story. Your excuses are feeble. Your supposed motives do not impress upon me.

Your greatest honor would be to now heed my words—to sacrifice your quest and abandon your folly—and turn back. Turn back now—or I shall do us the favor of striking you down before your greed can feed the Many again.

What shall it be?

—Submitted by Wratts

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how-masterful · 4 years

Text

Diamond In The Rough

Dhawan!master x reader

Summary: There's a reason you've been so drawn to the stars. There's a reason the Master took such interest in you. There's also a reason he brought you here on this specific planet, in this specific spot, on this specific night: Only he won't tell you just yet. Because that would spoil the surprise.

Notes: a VERY happy birthday to the one and only @plethora-of-imagines! My partner in crime, consultant in all things masterful, kneecap thief and reason I started this whole page! Have a fabulous birthday queen- this one is most definitely dedicated to you. I hope it lives up to the hype! ❤👑🥳

The universe was a very, very big place. This was a fact that you didn't need to travel with a time travelling alien to realize was undoubtedly true.

Learning about the universe on earth was... Limited. To say the least. Life beyond the stars was locked in the box of hypothetical conversation, pressed between the pages of countless philosophy and astrology books and stuffed into the midnight musings of "is there really life out there in the universe?"

For years that question plagued you, hung in your mind like a veil over the fading black spots of your draining day to day. Others would blame their extra terrestrial musings on too many drug trips in the 60's or college, some on late night conspiracy youtube binges. But you blamed yours on simple curiosity- 'if there truly was life out there, why haven't we met it yet?'

But as you grew older, that youthful wonder and curiosity in the universe became something of a fascination. You checked your horoscope every morning, held countless books on the subject- you’d even acquired an old telescope from a family friend. The lady you’d acquired it from said her father loved staring up at the stars every night, made it a part of his routine .You never understood why she looked so sad when she said it, but you soon came to understand the connection people had with the stars.

Or, better yet, the people who travelled among them.

People like the man who currently held your hand in his own.

"No way!"

"Yes way!"

"Master, you are NOT responsible for Roswell!"

"Really? Who are you going to believe, darling? Your 1000 year old alien husband, or a middle aged redneck blogger?"

You let out a small snorting laugh, the man beside you smiling fondly as you sighed and shook your head. You squoze your conjoined hands, allowing your head to rest back on the purple tartan blanket with a dreamy sigh.

The pair of you were on a hill, a large open plane of thick grass, lay on a blanket beneath an ocean of swirling stars. The TARDIS sat parked in the distance, the familiar shack you called home glowing with the fairy lights you'd insisted on hanging around the roof of the veranda. You'd both abandoned your shoes and socks, a picnic basket and empty plates sat to the side, a half empty bottle of wine and two glasses still standing. Your lipstick still freshly sat along the brim.

The Master had prepared the feast for you both, the basket full of fruits and delicacies from planets far and wide. You couldn't help but moan at the tastes and aromas that encapsulated your senses, the flavors causing beautiful chaos upon your tongue. You supposed beautiful chaos was the Masters speciality. You'd sat in his lap and opened wide as you allowed yourself to be pliantly fed, the guttural groan that escaped the masters lips as you licked the crumbs from his fingertips causing your whole body to tremble with delight. But now the pair of you lay side by side, the Masters coat abandoned and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as you both gazed up at the dazzling dark sky.

"I'm telling you doll, never dare a drunk alien prankster- They'll neck down a bottle and start a whole subgenre of conspiracy theories in a single afternoon."

The Master took a strawberry from the hole at his side, taking a bite and discarding the top as you continued to shake your head. He let out a disappointed sigh- but there was no bite behind the gesture.

"Don't tell me you believe the redneck."

You shrugged innocently, biting your bottom lip to hold back your smirk.

"I must admit I'm more inclined to, Master. That tinfoil hat makes them hard to resist."

The time lord let out a proud laugh, eyes scrunching shut as you allowed your attention to stray from the sky. You admired the playful scrunch of his nose, the small lines that formed besides his eyes and in the curve of his cheeks when he smiled. His lips would always part, exposing his teeth. You supposed his usual laugh acted as a snarl, a threatening gesture to all opposition that he took joy in causing such pain. But here, under the starlight, there was no malice behind his grin. This was simple, unstoppable happiness that held an innocence that was rare to the Master. Or at least, rare to the universe. It was a sight you knew happily too well.

"You still haven't explained, Master." You finally spoke, eyes soft as the timelord's head turned in your direction.

"It's simple, pet. There's this race from quadrant nine, all of them three feet tall and neon green-"

You lightly rolled your eyes and smiled.

"I don't mean Roswell, I mean tonight. But expect many more questions about that to follow."

The Master smirked teasingly, hair lightly falling just beside his eye.

"Noted- I'll be sure to dig out the photo album."

"Why here?"

The Masters smirk morphed into a light dusting of confusion. A scrunched brow, one eye slightly more squinted than the other.

"What do you mean, love?"

"I mean, why tonight? You said we had to be on this planet, on this exact night, this exact year."

Realisation soon spread across his face. He nodded lightly, lips pursed as he looked up in thought.

“What are you planning in that mischievous head of yours?”

The Master smiled, allowing himself to lay flat on his back once more. He pulled his hand from your own, allowing you to nestle into his side as he took hold of your other hand. Your rings clashed together with a gentle click of metal, the diamond shining bright in the white glow of the moon. You smiled, head softly resting upon the timelord's chest as his other hand rested upon his stomach, his hearts rhythmically thumping under your temple like thunder. He tilted his head to look down at you, brushing a stray hair from your face.

"The universe is... complicated, love. It's like, its like that book you were reading a couple days ago. God, what was the name? It began with an A-"

"Alice's adventures in wonderland?"

The time lord nodded, booping the end of your nose tenderly with his finger.

"That's the one. It's like Wonderland. And the time vortex is the rabbit hole. It's so easy to get lost, to fall deep within its walls and find yourself confused and discombobulated on the other end.”

You couldn't hold back your smirking laughter. The Master rolled his eyes, pretending not to notice your childish reaction to his choice of words.

“But when you do find your way it's… strange. Unusual. Every planet and constellation and dynasty a new nook and cranny for you to explore. Wolds upon worlds of crooked doorways and spiral tunnels and rooms full of doors that lead you right back to where you started.”

You hummed in thought. You supposed the universe was like Wonderland, in a sense- your life turning upside down the moment you followed the Time Lord into his TARDIS and down the rabbit hole. You snorted internally at the thought of the Master being somewhat of a white rabbit. He already had the pension for time down pat, and arguably his beard and messy hair acted somewhat as a fur coat. You wouldn't dare say it to his face, but judging by his unimpressed expression he’d already heard you.

“But then, once you’ve already reached the precipice of curiosity, you meet the people around you. Whole races and subspecies of people that exist in the same space and time and universe as you but are all so, so different. Some of them are bloody boring, like the Shushans. What's so impressive about having your mouth on the bottom of your foot? And don’t even get me started on the Yomno, i mean- how can your whole race tell the future from spitting on a grain of rice yet all be so god damn dull-”

“Master, you’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Getting annoyed at other races for being your version of boring.”

The timelord sighed, causing you to giggle. You gently nestled closer to his side, the Masters other hand reaching up to tenderly cup your jaw.

“But then, once in a lifetime, you find something truly unexplored. Like a disappearing cat, or a dodo that died long ago but refused to acknowledge its own extinction, or a girl that fell down the rabbit hole and into the hands of a certainly very mad man. A rarity among the rubble of the basic and mundane. I believe you humans refer to it as a diamond in the rough. The time lords were once like that.”

You let your gaze meet his, confusion dancing across your face.

“Diamonds in the rough?”

“No, they were the rough. I was the diamond.”

“Master!”

You playfully smacked him across the chest, causing him to chuckle deviously.

“As I was saying, before I was so lovingly interrupted, sometimes you find something beautiful. But also curious, a mystery that even the most uninterested man would be desperate to pry their nails into and figure out how they worked. What made them tick. What made them happy. What made them desperate..."

The Master's thumb trailed over your bottom lip, his own lips parted as you let out a trembling breath. His lips curved into a soft smile, watching you lightly squirm under his touch. He pulled his face in closer.

"Humans are simultaneously the shining diamonds and the disgusting scum of the universe. Civilisations have grown in their honour and crumbled at their hands but none of them, not one single human, ever have or ever will compare to you. You're the breathing equivalent of lightning in a bottle, a single drop of rain upon a field desperate for salvation from a drought. A blessing. A gift. My diamond in the rough of a universe that does not deserve a single part of her. I don't deserve you. But here you are.``

His thumb gently caught the tear that threatened to fall down your cheek. You reached up to cup his cheek, the timelord nestling into the palm of your hand. Your noses bumped together at the sudden proximity, and you could feel your heart racing like a steam train in your chest.

"But here I am." You smiled through your tears, a choked laugh emerging from your throat, your thumb softly caressing the apple of his cheek. You could feel his hot breath against your own, his eyes heavy with lust and adoration.

"With the man whom I love more than anything else in the universe, who's shown me things I could never have imagined and treated me like a goddess when compared to him? I'm positively minuscule."

The Master let out a huff, his breath caught in the back of his throat as your lips ghosted over his own.

"Don't you dare think you're anything less than the universe" He whispered, gaze fixated on your lips as your foreheads softly touched.

"Oh yeah? And what if I do?" You returned, your bottom lip brushing against the Master's own, tongue teasing at the time lord's top lip as he growled lowly, voice rough and restrained.

"i'll rearrange the stars themselves piece by piece until you understand just how pathetic it is in comparison."

The distance between your lips was essentially non existent.

"Prove it, Master. Please."

And prove it he did.

The Masters lips attacked your own with a desperate hunger, your eyes fluttering shut as the force sent you rocking backwards. You kept a tight grip on his face, keeping yourself steady as you pushed your lips back against his own. you'd be damned if the kiss were one sided.

His tongue slid in with ease, the hot taste of his tongue causing you to moan desperately against his mouth. The moan was reciprocated in earnest by the Master, his thumb gently pulling on your chin to allow his mouth further access to your own. You parted further, desperate to please, the sweet taste of your lips sending the time lord deeper into a spiral of lust.

You never knew how much you treasured the taste of his lips until the threat of their absence drew near, your own tongue forcing your way into his mouth like an anchor of perseverance. You took hold of both sides of his face, foreheads together as you hummed against his lips, causing him to crumble under your fingers with a chesty growl of dominance. He was hot fire, a delicious flame of lust licking and burning the inside of your mouth, and eventually the need for air forced your mouths apart.

The pair of you panted, breath escaping both parties as his arms wound tight around your shoulders, pulling you close. You gathered your breath as you nuzzled closer to the Masters side, lips red and glossy as you let your forehead rest upon his temple.

"That… Wow. I think you proved it."

"Did you ever doubt I would?"

You could hear the smirk in his tone, your eyes still fluttered shut as you came down from the high. You could still taste his mouth, the ghost of the strawberries still lingering on his tongue.

"I dunno Master… Still not seeing a tinfoil hat."

The eye roll was practically audible. The gasp certainly was.

"It's time, quick love, look."

You allowed your eyes to open, your gaze fixating on the stars above as they swirled in circular formation. Your mouth gaped open in shock as the pair of you sat up and looked to the sky.

"What are they doing?" You asked in wonderment, the Masters grip on you tightening.

"The whole reason we came here tonight. The once in a lifetime moment. Those drawings of the stars, the shapes they make. This is where they come from."

It was practically magic. Any other person would say it was witchcraft.

"Diamonds in the rough" you whispered, and the Master nodded triumphantly.

The stars swirled in ribbons of white, the dark black of the sky melting around them as the pin pricks in the black began to pulsate and grow with rapid speed. The stars began to link, intricate lines seared into the fabric of the sky like thread as the tiny stars began to merge and form into outlines of figures and shapes. A bear, a woman holding a sword, a pegasus with wings. Vast shapes of all sizes began to move and shift and form. Your eyes sparkled with wonder as the stars shone like diamonds.

It was too much to believe. Until they started to move.

Suddenly, the pegasus bucked up it's hind legs and began galloping across the sky. The woman drew her sword and charged, the scorpion's tale whipping in challenge. The bear plodded across the inky black, back pressed against the rams horns as it scratched itself as if upon a tree. All around you, hundreds of thousands of creatures moved and ran and flew across the darkness, the distant echoes of their commotion floating through the atmosphere.

A pair of lips softly pressed against your temple, trailing a line of kisses down until they ghosted over the shell of your ear.

"What do you think, darling?"

The Master whispered, breath hot on your ear and making you shiver.

"Its… Master its… Thank you. Thank you so much."

The tears from before had returned as the dazzling stars reflected in the sheen of your eyes, as the time lord beside you hummed in appreciation.

"Happy birthday, Y/N." The Master softly whispered, a tender kiss pressed to your cheek.

In an instant you return to facing him, your lips pressed together once more, stars a distant priority beyond the pull of your husband's lips.

The constellations above returned to their original position, the pulsating giants of the sky suddenly bursting like fireworks in the night. The stardust began to fall atop your heads like something out of a fairy tale, like raining pixie dust as the stars returned to their pin prick size, now shimmering like the lights around the TARDIS veranda.

But the pair of you were too busy for pixie dust. You didn't need the universe, or the stars, or magic at all.

You were already, well and truly, living happily ever after.

#sacha dhawan #the master #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master / reader #Sacha!Master #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #the master x you #the master x reader #master x reader #master x you #self insert #doctor who #bbc #BBC Doctor Who

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buckys-other-punk · 4 years

Text

Don’t You Dare Say Goodbye

Summary: Being together for what feels like a lifetime, comes crumbling down on you and Bucky.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (i mean look at the title), bleeding, cussing, death, fight scene and Endgame spoilers? (i feel like we’ve all seen it by now)

Word Count: 1K (a lil short but woo sadness!)

Prompt: “I will protect you with my life.”

A/N: This is the first Endgame fic I wrote because I pretend like it didn’t happen. I feel like this was a bit cliche (but fuck it). Thank you @stuckonjbbarnes for letting me join your Angst vs Fluff writing challenge. Also small thanks to my babes @thorfanficwriter and @lostinthoughtsandfeelings for helping me decide how to attack people with angst lol. Lemme know what y’all think of this (feedback is very much appreciated). If you wanna be tagged in my future works shot me a message and I’ll happily add you! Please ignore the minor mistakes in this lol.

Fighting in a battlefield with aliens didn’t seem like the craziest thing when you first joined the avengers. You fought aliens before and even robots for god's sake, but this time seemed different. Everything had changed after Thanos’ snap five years ago. Everyone was trying to find their way back to ‘normalcy’ but you couldn’t bring yourself to what was done. Your best friend sacrificed herself to help your team make everything right. She wanted you to be happy again. She hated seeing you not act like your normal self. Natasha knew that you needed to be with the one you loved the most.

Bucky.

Prior to the snap you fought alongside Steve in Berlin, when he and Tony had their little argument. Though when you had to fight against your best friend, with the help of Clint, both of you were trying to go a bit easy for one another. You and Nat were practically sisters when you first joined the team, the two of you glued to the hip. Each of you knew the consequences when you had to choose sides, but it didn’t matter because the two of you knew that in the end you both would still be best friends.

When you sided with team Cap you grew close with Bucky. He told you some stories about when he and Steve were younger. It was nice to hear about how they defended each other back in the day and how their friendship reminded you of yours and Nat’s. Slowly the two of you began to have feelings for one another and if Nat was with you she would have teased you hard, but Clint was there to do the job. You and Bucky shared more and more things about your past, interests, dislikes and etc.

Sam was the first to actually do something because he was so annoyed with the two of you constantly flirting with one another. He actually went out of his way to make dinner reservations for the two of you. While Bucky was peeved about what Sam did, he was very grateful. For what felt like ages in that fancy restaurant you and Bucky felt complete. You both felt like you were the only people in the world. No universe. You couldn’t even describe how you both were feeling at that exact moment, but you knew that you both were meant for each other.

Now here you were killing aliens left and right with your trusty dual ended glaive, which could be taken apart and turned into two combat blades. You were getting tired of fighting these stupid things. When you felt like you had lost hope and that Thanos had won again, you heard Steve yell something behind you. Pulling out of your blades from the dead alien you turned around. You saw all these portals and many people come out of them charging towards the aliens you were fighting. You first saw Sam fly right out passing Steve and you from above. Your heart was racing, your friends were back. That must mean.

Bucky.

You ran past people fighting off Thanos’ crew. You needed to find him. You held both your blades conjoining them back to your glaive. you fought past aliens and rushed over trying to find him. You pass Wakandan soldiers and those who practiced the magic or the mystic arts like that man Tony talked about when he went to Titan to fight Thanos. So many things were happening around you and you honestly didn’t know when or if you’ll find him. Then that’s when you looked eyes with the man you have been looking for. The man you wished wasn’t dusted by the mad titan. The man you knew you were gonna marry if things didn’t go to shit.

“Bucky” you gasped, staring at him with tears in your eyes. It was like your prayers had been answered. You both ran towards each other like something out of a romantic movie scene. Both of you rushing over to finally be together after being apart for what felt like eternity. The two of you weaved around the people who were fighting trying to get closer and closer. Just when you both were a few feet apart you felt like you were getting slower and Bucky seemed like he was still far from you.

You began to feel lightheaded and you knew for sure you were slowing down. Looking down, as you could feel your combat suit getting wet. Bringing your hand to the spot and lifting it up to examine it you saw crimson liquid. You looked back up to where Bucky was then you fell to the ground.

“Y/N!” he yelled, running as fast as he could to get to you dodging everything and everyone. Right when he got to you he fell to his knees pulling you onto his lap.

“Hey doll, you’re gonna be just fine.” he smiled at you as he brushed the stray hairs out of your face looking down at your wound. You smiled at him with tears in your eyes knowing that his comment wasn’t true. You knew that whatever wounded you had no way of recovery.

“I missed you so much Bucky.” you said with tears now falling. You raised your hand to caress his cheek wiping away the tears that escaped his eyes.

“I missed you too, but you’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna get you out of here and get you back in shape ok.” he cried looking into your eyes.

“Baby, I don’t think I’ll make it.” you whispered as he held you closer.

“No, you will.” he exclaimed. “Remember I promised I would take you to Coney Island where we would ride all the rides and have different types of fair foods.” he smiled recalling the thought. You nodded yes in response. “We were supposed to go on the ferris wheel and that’s where I would propose to you.” he sobbed reaching in his pocket and pulling out a ring. You were crying at the thought. “And your response would be you teasing me about how cheesy a proposal on a ferris wheel is.” he chuckled.

“You know me so well Bucky.” you sniffled and you brought your hand up to the ring. He slid it down your finger and held your hand. Looking back up to your face he saw you were growing paler and paler by the minute. He didn’t care about the entire fight scene that was happening before the two of you. All he cared about was you. He finally got back. He can finally hold you in his arms again, but this isn’t how he wanted it to be.

“Doll, stay with me. Don’t close those beautiful eyes.” he cried. You were slowly blinking and tried your best to stay conscious for what little time you had left. You needed to be there for one last time with Bucky.

“Bucky, you need to promise me that you help Steve and the others fight Thanos. You need to promise me that you will help everyone.” you began crying.

“Doll.” Bucky said, trying hush you.

“No, Bucky. Promise me that nobody dies when I go because I can’t part with the idea of another member of my team dying.” you sobbed staring at his blue eyes.

Shaking his head he said, “If you die now, then I die too. I will kill myself to stay with you.” Placing his hand on your cheek wiping your tears away. You shook your head as you weakly leaned into his touch.

“Bucky, stop.” you said as your voice began to shake. Your eyes watering as you squeezed his hand.

“I will protect you with my life.” Bucky whispered as he placed his forehead on yours closing his eyes.

“No, baby. I need you to keep everyone safe, please. Do this for me. I don’t know how long I have left, but I know that everything will be fine. I’ll be ok because Nat is waiting for me. She’ll be looking after me until we meet again.” you whispered as you could feel all your energy and pain slip away.

Bucky leaned back to stare at you. “No doll, don’t you dare say goodbye. Y/N! I LOVE YOU PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” he sobbed as he watched you getting physically weaker.

“I love you, Bucky.” you shed a tear as you said your final breath. Bucky stared down at your lifeless body, held you closer and tighter as he cried harder.

A/N: Sad right? Did I make you cry? because I did when I wrote this. Man I love writing angst it brings me joy...god it sounds like i have no heart. Anyways please lemme know what you think of this sadness!

Crackhead Tags: @kitkatd7 @mr-skyline-r34 @chaoticpete @cheeky-foxx @msgreenverse @babygurlbarnes @hermionesalvatore84

Forever Tags: @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @aquabrie @amour-quinn @who-the-hell-is-sebastianstan @princess76179 @anbrax5553 @sebtheromanianprince @hailmary-yramliah @miraclesoflove @caplanbuckybarnes @saiyanprincessswanie @fandomsandxfiles

^lemme know if you wanna be added (or removed) to my tags^

#angstvsfluff #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky angst #reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #reader x bucky #reader x bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel angst

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dwaynepride · 4 years

Text

blood red tulips

summary: hanahaki disease - an illness born of unrequited love, where the victim’s lungs are filled with flower petals until they die.

Could you maybe do something about Ducky confessing to reader that he loves them? Nothing dirty just straight up fluff please

words: 1,389

warnings: none

tags: @pageofultron @stanathanxoox @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty

Of all the crime scenes that Ducky has ever worked, at least he could say that this one was the most aesthetically pleasing.

Apart from the unfortunate reason for their being here, Ducky would have greatly enjoyed taking a stroll through these woods with you on a normal day. The sun filtered in through the treetops, dappling the greenery and making everything warm and bright. The air smelled of oak tree and Spanish moss, and it helped him breathe a little easier.

Ducky could almost pretend that this was a romantic stroll, but as always, something must ruin the fantasy for him. Namely, the evidence bags you were carrying.

Not preferable, but Ducky’s not so picky to sour this precious alone time. It’s been sorely lacking lately - though, he reckons he’s to blame for that.

He takes in a deep breath to admire that oaky scent again, but this time, it comes along with a tickle in his lungs. Ducky can’t help but cough - easily hidden. You don’t even notice, or deem it bad enough to speak up about.

His lucky eventually runs thin. The coughs progressively get worse, and eventually, you look over to him. A worried look on your face, and no doubt about to ask if he’s alright. Ducky doesn’t give you the chance; the shakes of his body has him doubled over, coughing violently into his hand.

His chest rattles painfully. Throat aches. Through it all, he feels your hand on his shoulder, and your voice say his name. “Are you alright?” You ask him lightly.

Immediately, Ducky nods his head without even looking up. “I’m only getting over a nasty cold,” he replies in a hoarse voice. It’s hard to speak when there’s something in the back of his throat. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch my breath.”

“Are you sure?” You sound reluctant.

It makes Ducky feel bad, but he nods again. “Positive, my dear. Fresh air will do me some good.” The coughs starts back up, and the hand over his mouth does little to stifle it.

He senses your hesitance, but thankfully, you carry on down the trail without him. Ducky’s eyes flicker up, assuring you’re no longer in sight before he finally straightens. He’s wheezing. His chest feels raw, but the bout of coughs seems to have passed.

His eyes flicker back down to his hand. As he opens it, the familiar red petals bundle up in his hand. If there’s blood mixed in with them, Ducky can’t notice. Though, he wouldn’t be surprised.

It’s not a comforting thought. For a moment, Ducky wonders what Jethro would do if he found out about this. Would likely stick his nose into his personal business, mask his actions by telling him ‘it’s for your own good.’ As is his old friend is any authority on doing what’s best for oneself.

Ducky shakes his head, and stuffs the tulip petals deep into his pocket with the others.

“My preliminary findings were correct: cause of death was a single blow to the back of the victim’s head. It killed him instantly.”

“Alright. Thank you, Ducky,” McGee says quickly. He turns away from the coroner, making towards the autopsy doors and leaving you behind to study the scans he took. “I need to help Abby with something. I’ll be up there if you need me!”

It’s quiet after the doors slide shut. Ducky’s eyes move over to you, still standing by the slides and examining the damage done to the victim. And for the first time, he finds himself at a loss for words. Unable to speak about anything, because he’s afraid that speaking would lead to more coughing. The fit he had in the forest was too close for comfort.

Though it goes against his wishes, Ducky needs to keep some distance. Just until he decides what he outta do. “Will Jethro be looking for you?” He pipes up.

You throw him a glance over your shoulder, still obviously focused on the films. He wishes he had your focus, right now. “No, he and Tony went to speak with the victim’s family,” you respond. “They won’t be back until-”

You’re cut off with a single harsh, chest-rattling cough. It instantly doubles you over, and the more you try to breath in, the worse the coughs get. They sound ugly - nearly a death rattle, and Ducky knows too well how those sound.

He’s shocked, for a brief moment. You seemed so healthy? Perhaps Ducky’s imaginary cold had jumped over to you.

The confusion is pushed away the next second, and Ducky is rushing over. He puts a hand on your back, and doesn’t like how much it shakes with each cough. “Follow me, my dear. Come sit down. I’ll make you some tea; it’ll help soothe that cough of yours,” Ducky says lightly.

You find it difficult to walk. Too caught up in the wracks of coughing. And Ducky didn’t need another fit of his own for it to make his chest ache.

He leads you over to his desk chair, pulls it out, and sits you down on it. And immediately, you bend over. Elbows on your knees, hands on your chest, as if willing the coughs away. Ducky tries soothing you by running his hand up and down your back.

But among the pure white of autopsy, it’s not difficult to seek out a bright crimson clump of tulip petals on the floor.

The sight of it makes him go cold, and immediately, Ducky’s other hand wonders down to his pocket. Shoves it inside to find that, yes, his stash of crushed petals are still there. And besides, the tulip petals on the ground look new. Pristine. Unbothered by pocket lint.

His gaze eventually wonders to you, bent over in the chair. And slowly, Ducky kneels down onto one knee. Leans over to catch your eyes, and he attempts to take a breath before speaking up. “Are you coughing up those petals?” He asks, motioning to the clump on the floor.

Your eyes avert from his, as if ashamed. But you nod.

“For how long?”

“A month,” you reply, voice rough and almost sad. “It won’t stop, and I don’t know why.”

Ducky’s quiet for a few long seconds. Keeps blinking, almost suspecting that he’s dreaming, but the constant rattle in his chest breaks the illusion. His hands tremble slightly as he pushes his hand back into his pocket. And delicately, he takes out several of the crumbled up tulip petals.

They feel heavier now, somehow. Ducky almost backs away, but his arm sticks out, and his hand opens to reveal the red remains of this morning’s coughing fit in the forest. He watches your eyes grow wide; of shock or recognition, he isn’t sure. “That’s about as long as I’ve been sick,” Ducky says carefully. “It’s a disease, my dear. One of unrequited love.”

In that instant, your eyes flash up to his.

Unrequited love - it’s a feeling you’re familiar with. “You’re in love with someone?”

“I am,” he answers easily. “Very much so.”

“Who?”

Ducky is well aware of the conclusion to this disease. He know what happens if he ignores it or refuses the surgery or if you don’t love him, in return. These damned tulip petals will keep filling his lungs and the coughs will become gasps and there’s little he can do about it.

He figures he’s got very little left to lose.

“You, my dear. You bloomed these flowers into my lungs. And they are beautiful, but I’m afraid they will kill me. As will you.” Ducky ends with a cough, and he can feel another petal in the back of his throat. Threatening to choke him, if your gaze doesn’t do so, already.

When you gasp, it’s stunted by the petals in your own lungs. And Ducky braces himself for a sorry rejection. Telling him that there’s nothing you can do, and he will accept that.

Instead, your hand comes out. Covers his, and the tulip petals rest between the palms of your conjoined hands. “Ducky, I think you might be the reason why I’m sick, too,” you say softly.

Just like that, Ducky’s able to take a full breath of air. And it feels like he’s breathing for the first time.

#ncis imagine #ncis reader insert #donald mallard x reader #ducky imagine #donald mallard imagine

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ohvalleyofplentyyy · 4 years

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Merlin’s Blood

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Chapter 1: A Moment in Mirthe

The bar was alive with laughter and warmth. Kids ran amok, going under tables and winding between stools trying to catch their friends.

A group of townsmen sat at one of the large wooden tables in the corner of the pub. Farmers, Butchers, and the town’s Blacksmith sat around chuckling and drinking the night away; their weekly get-together to chat about how the crops have been growing or the new town gossip their wives whisper to them at dinner.

“Your highness, I’m so dreadfully sorry you must listen to this commotion.”

You sighed. Your personal guard, while undercover, still found a way to make you feel, well, very fragile. Even though you were on the run, Branson still kept you up on a royal pedestal.

You leaned over to him and from under your cloak hood, you whispered, “Branson, please, you needn’t be so… on guard. We need to blend in remember? You look like you’re being forced to still on a pitchfork and sing for the crowd.”

“Yes your highness, of course.” You swat him on the shoulder when he started to bow, “Quit with that! Call me Y/N from now on if you have to address me at all, you’re going to give us away.”

I can’t believe this man was ranked the best for going undercover for Father.

Oh Papa… I hope he’s alright…

You looked down into your lap and pulled the cloak over your skirt.

It had been a quick escape, you were up in your bedroom when the shooting started. It was the edge of the evening, the sun had been casting a lovely glow over the horizon when you noticed tiny dots moving over the hills towards the castle. Like ants moving across a picnic table to sneak a bread crumb that was leftover.

But then, fire started to light the sky like a meteor shower raining down on the kingdom. “We are under attack! We are under attack!” Shouts started coming from every inch of the kingdom.

You moved from the window, heart pounding in your chest.

Your maid came rushing in, the blood drained from her face. “We must get you ready to leave, immediately.” She rushed over to you and started to untie the over-skirt of your dinner dress and the jeweled bodice that went with it. A couple younger maids rushed in as Rhea, your head maid, nearing broke open your winter travel closet.

She shouted orders to them, “Mia, change her shoes, riding boots; The ones with the good strong leather. Elle, Grab her winter cloak, the one with the arm cutouts and the heavy hood.”

As the younger maids scrambled to do her orders, she came over with your dark turquoise riding outfit. It was a wool long sleeve bodice that came up to the middle of your neck.

The front of the bodice had a cut out at showed the cream undershirt you had been wearing before. The skirt was the same material but a bit lighter in weight so it was movable, (with pockets!), flowers and jewels were embroidered to the hem of the skirt and around the pockets.

While the girls change your boots and buttoned your cloak, your mother came in with Branson and a few other guards flanked them.

“Mama, what’s going on? Why are they attacking so soon, I thought this war was starting in a month, not now.” You quickly asked. She came over and stroked your cheek, “I know my darling, it’s alright. It will be, now you’re going to leave with Branson.”

“But Mother—“ “No no, we don’t have time for this, you must go and quickly now. Your father and I will try to follow later but for now, you are to leave at once.” She gave you a hug— one filled with more dread than warmth but you hugged her back anyway. Who knows when you would see her again. It could be months, even a year.

Maybe never again.

With that thought, you hugged even tighter.

Your mother bid you a farewell and sent you with Branson, you were able to get out of the castle rather hurriedly through a back moat on a small boat. There were stable boys on the other side that had two horses ready to go satchels packed and all.

You guessed that this plan had been passed down through generations in case of an emergency.

After settling on the horse you turned back to see the kingdom for one last look,

And that’s when the fire started.

It burned so horribly, but the screams were the worst part, you could feel the warmth of the embers that fell down from the tower that was lit up like a candle in the dark.

“Your highness, we must go!” Branson yelled as he grabbed the last bag from the stable boy. Tears burned in your eyes as you watched your home crumble.

You clicked the horse and went off in a gallop away from the kingdom, with Branson at your side.

My home, it’s gone.

A beer glass clashed down and pulled you from your thoughts, laughter filled your ears again and you came back to the present moment. Branson wasn’t next to you anymore, he must have gone to get some supper from the bar for you and him.

“I just don’t understand why we need to stop here Geralt, Mirthe is so boring and I know some cute ladies that probably miss me so terribly in Anchor.”

A lively man dressed in vibrant blues and a lute strapped over his back, most likely a musician, whined as he entered with a rather gigantic man covered with a cloak. The man only grunted at his companion as he scanned the room, when he made eye contact with you a shiver went down your spine and you felt your hands and feet turn cold.

You looked away quickly and the man, the bard called Geralt, sat down at a table close to you in the room. His friend quickly realized his woes weren’t being answered and after dropping his lute off went off to get a drink.

“Here you are your highne— I mean, Y/N.” Your guard put a plate of food in front of you and a cup of water. You were famished so you dug in immediately, and you swore there may have been a chuckle from a certain man.

I wonder if I can lower my cloak hood, it’s very hard to eat with it.

After the fifth time it covered your eyes as you tried to bring the fork to your mouth, you huffed and threw it back. Branson’s eyes got wide, “What are you doing?!” He hissed, “you could be noticed!”

You pursed your lips,“I’ve been rarely seen outside the palace walls and I never got my portrait painted so I hardly doubt people are going to notice a young woman who’s covered in soot eating her food in a pub.”

He huffed but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. Thankfully, the bard came back and gave something for you to watch. He gallantly set down two pints of ale and started on about one of the girls at the bar he’s sure was catching his eye.

“I mean it Geralt, I think she’s the one! Yes, I’ve said that before but she’s so beautiful and—“ “Full figured?” Geralt finally spoke. You couldn’t help but giggle.

Two sets of eyes moved over to you at the noise and you looked down, still smiling. Branson, oblivious to the moment, got up to get some more ale. The bard seemed to be intrigued by you and decided once your guard had left he could fill in.

He slipped into the seat next to you “Why hello there, the name’s Jaskier, might I have the pleasure of knowing yours?”

His friend rolled his eyes and you smiled, “ It’s uh- Cora.”

Jaskier smiled and took your hand, kissing the top of it. “Enchanted Ms. Cora.” “Oh Jaskier leave her alone, she’s not interested in a musician.” You raised an eyebrow at him, “And who says that? Is there someone else I should be intrigued by, a strong arm perhaps?”

Jaskier seemed to glow at your comment and grinned. “Oh goodness Mr. Geralt of Rivia, it seems you’ve met your match!”

The bard turned back to you, “Where are you traveling to? If it’s the same place as us, we could accompany you.”

Geralt mumbled under his breath, “You know I’ve got a job to do Jask—“ but he was cut off by shouts at the bar. The farmers and others at the large table stood up at the commotion. When you turned your head the first thing you saw was a group of men with pitchforks, axes and torches bursting through the door.

Then Branson with an arrow through his eye socket.

Fuck.

They’ve found me.

Geralt was already out of his seat with his sword in his hand. “I’ve got to go.” You said in a hurry, grabbing the satchel Branson had taken off and put it over your head. The bard shook his head, “We need to hide! Not run away!” He said frantically.

You grabbed Jaskier’s hand and pulled your hood up. “Jaskier can I trust you with my entire life at this moment?”

The bard, very worried, nodded. “I believe these men are after me, do you know if there’s another way out of this pub?”

“Yes, yes follow me.” Grabbing his lute from the table, hand in hand you went into the conjoined room away from the fight. In the corner of the new room, Jaskier put you behind some barrels of ale that had been stacked. “I’m going to tell Geralt we’re leaving, stay here.”

Is he serious?!

Jaskier weaved his way through the fighting, avoiding a few arrows that shot through the tavern by the grace of the gods. “Geralt! Geralt! I’m taking Roach and will be where we talked about earlier!” He called out. The fighter turned with a confused look, “You’re doing what?! Roach?!” But Jaskier was already retreating to the other room as the group of farmers decided to join the fight with their empty ale glasses.

“Alright, let's go!”You got up out of your hiding space, right as one of the men came in with a crossbow. In a flash, you pulled out a dagger that was strapped to your waist and threw it straight into his neck.

The man dropped instantly and Jaskier couldn’t process the event that just happened.

“How did you, where did you learn—“ You ran over and grabbed the dagger, wiping the blood off on him and snatching the crossbow. “Can’t explain right now,” you shoved the bow into his hands, “This is a pretty simple weapon, point and shoot basically. Here are the extra arrows. Now let’s go!!”

You both exited the back entrance and outside was a nightmare, there were knights dressed in black slaughtering every innocent soul that they came in contact with. Jaskier pulled you around the corner to a horse that was tied to a post.

“Hiya Roach, this is Cora. We’ve got to go.” The musician helped you up into the saddlel and then climbed on behind you. He grabbed the reins, “Oh wow, I’ve never actually—whoa!!” You had taken them from him and set off away from the chaos, Jaskier clinging to you for dear life.

“Where am I going Jaskier?” You asked as you rode across a bridge into the woods.

“There’s a cave closer to the mountainside to the west. Geralt and I are supposed to kill— oh uh, see something there.”

Did he just say kill?

“Oh… alright.” It was about half an hour until you stopped a cave entrance. You got off at a stream close by and let the horse have a drink and rest. The bard spoke after taking a slip for himself from the stream. “Can I ask you why you’ve decided to bestow your, and I quote ‘entire life’ in me?”

You sat down on a soft patch of grass, “I guess I need to tell you the real story now since you did help me out of harm's way.”

You swallowed, “You know about the attack on Tretogor? That happened a fortnight ago?”

“Yes, Geralt and I heard of them on our way here in La Valette. The stories were horrible, I’m sorry to say.”

You nodded and swallowed, “Yeah, very terrible. Well, I am Prin—“

“Princess Y/N Echantcia of Tretogor I presume.”

Geralt emerged from the bush as he made the statement. Jaskier stood at the news, “Is it true?” He asked. You stood as well and curtsied at them both.

“It’s true. I’m a runaway princess,” you sighed, “what do you think of that.”

The white-haired man exhaled, “well that’s a relief, I’m the Witcher sent to find you.”

Oh fuck.

You backed away immediately, “You’re here to kill me aren’t you?”

Jaskier started to freak out, “No no no! Of course not why—“ But you weren’t listening, you were to busy staring into the amber eyes of the man that made no notion you were wrong.

“Geralt this is ridiculous, you need to tell her we mean no harm.” He was now standing next to Geralt gesturing to you and then back, waving his arms about.

“Jaskier, I cannot say that, because I have indeed been instructed to take out the last of the bloodline of Merlin. They are the only ones that could cause the world as we know it to collapse at a moment’s notice. They are one of the biggest threats to humanity.”

The bard grabbed the back of his head and gestured with the other hand to you,

“You can’t mean to tell me that this young woman possesses natural powers unlike the Brotherhood of Sorcerers who use plain magic. That’s just a fable told to young kids!”

“No Jaskier, it’s not.”

Geralt took a step towards you, and you let out a shaky breath. You smiled at the bard, “Goodbye Jaskier.”

Like a flash of lightning, you vanished.

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midnightelite · 4 years

Text

A Witch’s Guide to Pillow Forts: The Barrette Method

Me and @solstilla co-wrote a cute little one-shot for you guys!

He can battle Slytherins, he can face Death Eaters, he can even look Voldemort in the eye and defy him. But he can not stand thunderstorms. Fluff fic!

You can read it on AO3 or FFN

The rain was pounding on the roof of James and Lily’s brand new apartment-their first apartment they’d ever owned together. Hopefully, it would be one of many. Lily lay surrounded by cool air and the smell of James and Sirius’s apartment as it still lingered on the furniture. It was familiar and comforting; the perfect combination filled her heart with the feeling of home, slowly lulling her to the brink of sleep. Between moving out of her parents’ home, helping Sirius and James pack up their old apartment, and unloading boxes from the rental van her father had gotten her, Lily was absolutely knackered.

She vaguely heard the front door open and close, and the sound pulled her back to reality. James had just returned from Sirius’s new flat! Her face lit up as James entered the room, scrambling up from her spot on the sofa and bounding into his arms. Lily smiled up into his eyes, going on her toes to press her lips to his. James ducked before their lips met, a small smirk gracing his features before he pulled her into a tight hug.

“You were gone entirely too long. I missed you,” she whispered, burying her face into his shoulder. “You owe me James time tonight. Do you hear me?“ Lily tilted her head back to look up at him, her nose bumping his with how close they were.

“Oh isn’t someone getting overly attached now that we live together? If you’re lucky, you’ll get some James time.” He pressed a kiss to her nose and pulled back, starting to walk away.

“James!” she squealed, taking hold of his hand so he wouldn’t go too far. “You missed!” Lily tugged him closer with their conjoined hands, batting her lashes up at the dark-haired boy.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I hit my mark.” He winked before turning and leaving the room.

She watched him leave, her lips parting in surprise. What was he up to? James had never rejected a kiss from her, and while she could tell he wasn’t upset, Lily knew he was up to something. She heard the shower in their downstairs bathroom turn on and huffed before sitting back on the sofa. Fine. Two could play at that game.

As the minutes ticked on, Lily got lost in the sound of the rain hitting the window pane. It reminded her of how much Petunia and her enjoyed rainy days when they were younger. Memories came flooding back, memories of laughter and togetherness, and simpler times.

Petunia raced in, holding a pile of blankets in her hands. “Lily! Come help me hang these!” Lily looked up from where she sat. She stood up to grab a blanket from Petunia and once she started building, she copied Tuney’s precise work. The two worked tirelessly to perfect their own little blanket castle. Bed sheets flung over the armchairs and clipped onto each other with Lily’s barrettes. The barrettes were the most important part. Not only did using the many different color barrettes the girls had introduce decoration to their design, it was crucial to the structural integrity. With the barrettes in place, their castle was looking good. After the two sisters made sufficient progress on the walls of the structure, they switched to the interior, laying down every pillow and cushion they could find along the floor in front of the sofa. Quilts and fuzzy blankets draped over the tops of the cushions so the cracks in between the pillows wouldn’t be as noticeable, but they were lacking the right amount to fully snuggle underneath. Their mother must have heard them complaining, for moments later she would usually stroll in carrying a heap of fuzzy blankets.

When their masterpiece was finally finished, Petunia would crawl inside carrying a torch with her. Lily, on the other hand, found it much more important to bring their favorite fairy tales with them. Although it sometimes took some begging, Tuney would read those treasured stories of fairies, unicorns, and even wizards! Weaving entire worlds around battles and romance with the thunder crashing down around them. A little later on their parents would usually join them, taking over the storytelling so that both girls could snuggle close together. With the fireplace lit just outside their own little fortress, their imaginations filled with wonders beyond belief, and their parents by their sides, little Lily had never been more at peace.

The rain was picking up outside, but Lily didn’t notice the sound until the boom of thunder forced her back to the present.

Thump.

Well that wasn’t thunder. The sound seemed to originate from the bathroom, so she stood to investigate when James came barreling into their living room donning nothing but a towel hastily tied around his hips. Lily’s eyes scanned him up and down. He hadn’t even dried off yet.

“Where’s the fire?”

“What do you mean fire? My life was at risk! Showering during a lightning storm? Do you want to be a widow?” He tried to hide the panic in his eyes, passing it off as a joke. He failed miserably, if Lily’s stifled laughter was anything to consider. At least she was kind enough to try to hide it.

“James, deer, we’re not even engaged.” Lily slipped her hand into his, squeezing gently.

“We already have three children,” James said in such a matter-of-fact voice Lily had to wrack her brain to remember when she was ever pregnant. “Considering how Sirius, Peter and Remus act, and all.” He added. That made more sense. “I feel like we are basically married at this point. Which means me dying would make you a widow.”

Lily snorted. “Right. Well the storm isn’t going to kill yo-” Another crash of thunder echoed outside, and he couldn’t help the jump his body decided was appropriate given the circumstance. And that’s when it hit her. “Oh my gosh, you’re scared.”

“Me? Scared? Absolutely not! I literally dueled Slytherin students in the corridor. I faced Death Eaters just last week! I looked Voldemort in the eye and told him no. This is just weather Lily. Please pull yourself together and stop projecting.” He hoped the tremor wasn’t evident in his voice.

Lily couldn’t help but grin, watching her boyfriend as she leaned against the back of the sofa. James was visibly trying not to squirm under her penetrative gaze. She knew this was nothing compared to his daily life, but he was still at least a little bit scared. How was it possible for one man to be so adorable?

“Hmm. Right. Okay, I’ll stop projecting,” Before Lily could continue her thought, another boom shook the house. This time even Lily had to admit she was a bit startled, but James...James was a whole other story. The color from his face drained and you could see the anxiety behind his eyes.

She shot him a knowing look, her eyes speaking for her. “Fess up, buttercup.”

“OkaywhenIlivedwithmyparentsyoucouldn’treallyhearorseeanythingfrommyroomandthenwhenImovedinwithSiriushealwaysdistractedmebylettingloosemysnitchormakingmeplaywizard’schessuntilIdidn’tnoticethestormanymore!” James mumbled incomprehensibly.

“What?” Lily shook her head. “I got like half of that. James, love, it’s me. You can tell me anything. You know that.”

James took a deep breath. “I am a bit afraid, okay? I didn't notice as a kid when I lived with my parents. The house was so big the sound never really carried in. I did notice very much when I moved in with Sirius, but he was always good at distracting me! Now…” James’s eyes fell toward the ground. He looked defeated.

“Now you need a distraction,” Lily finished, nodding her head. Everyone had their thing. Lily had spiders. James had thunderstorms. Honestly, it was a bit relieving to see someone usually so strong and fearless have simple fears like this. But she wasn’t going to let what happened earlier just slip by without a proper response.

She smirked, tilting her head to the side. Her fingers found their way into her red locks, twirling a strand playfully. “And your wife isn’t a distraction enough?” She pouted her lips, looking up at him with the biggest doe eyes James Potter had ever seen.

His eyebrows disappeared behind his damp hair. Lowering his voice, the corners of his lips quirked up. “You are more than enough a distraction” James leaned in to meet her lips.

Perfect. Right where she wanted him. She let him linger right in front of her, so close they were almost touching. Almost.

“I have a better idea,” her lips quirked up at the corners, reminiscent of the man standing in front of her. James’s eyebrows rose momentarily before he began to wiggle them. She had to suppress a laugh and waited a few seconds, letting him hang on the edge. James lingered just on the precipice of seduction before Lily changed her demeanor entirely. Just as he made a move to close off any space between them, she turned her head quickly so his advance landed on her cheek instead. He may have wanted a kiss on the lips, but he would have to, what were his words? He would have to be pretty lucky to make that mark. “James,” Lily said in a sugary sweet tone, “I was going to suggest we make a blanket and pillow fort, what kind of woman do you take me for?” She placed her hand over her heart to complete the dramatic remark.

Lily watched as about a dozen different emotions flashed across his face in only a matter of seconds before settling on something a bit more guarded. “I am so sorry if I have dishonored you. I thought I was fulfilling your wishes. I hope you do go easy on me.”

He knew just what heart strings he was tugging on, but Lily was not going to dwell on that or her plan would completely crumble. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Darcy, now go get changed. Also while you’re up there, can you look through the box in our room for extra blankets?” James flashed his signature sideways grin at her, back to his normal self.

“As you wish.” James swept into a deep bow before turning and heading up the stairs towards their bedroom.

“That’s from The Princess Bride!” Lily called after him. Though he was already in their bedroom, she still heard his laughter carry down the stairs. She smiled to herself, wondering how she ever got so lucky to have James as her boyfriend. Not that she would ever say that aloud. He doesn’t need a bigger head. While he was preoccupied, she busied herself with pulling the cushions off the couch to prepare for the inside of their fortress. Just like when she was a kid. Grabbing her wand off the coffee table beside the sofa, Lily shot a couple sparks into the fireplace: a skill she didn’t have as a kid. She tucked it into her hair for easy access, just in case she would need it inside the fort.

The thud thud thud thud of James bounding down the stairs caught her off guard. She popped her head up, squealing at the sight of him. James’s tower of blankets peaked over his head. Only his fleece pajama bottoms from Euphemia distinguished him as a human as opposed to a blanket monster.

“How many blankets does a full grown woman need?” She could hear the jest in his tone. He then unceremoniously dropped the blankets into a pile on the now cushionless sofa.

“I get cold.” Lily rubbed her hands together in excitement, overlooking their supplies.

“Yeah well, considering the circumstances I don’t think you’ll need this many blankets. I am the human equivalent of a heater.” That pulled her away from her plans for a moment, looking up at him with glee on her face.

“Maybe, if you’re lucky tonight,” she repeated the phrase from earlier, quirking one eyebrow at him.

“With the amount of blankets you have, my deer, you may need to be the lucky one. I’ll be just fine.” Lily rolled her eyes at the wink he sent her way, and took his hand so he could stand next to her and overlook their supplies together. How his arm made its way around her waist, she wasn’t quite sure. Lily gave in just a bit, leaning into his side.

After a moment of reflection, Lily set to work by draping blankets over the sofa to build the foundation of the external walls. James quickly followed suit.

“Hey, love, can you get the chairs from the dining room?” She pointed, scratching her head as she built the pillow fort in her mind. Something was missing, but she couldn’t place her finger on what exactly.

“Of course, Master Lily.” James made to bow again, so Lily threw a cushion at his head. Which he promptly caught before dropping it and leaving the room with way too much of a skip in his step. Damn those Quidditch reflexes.

James brought in the first two chairs, acting as if he was returning from some great battle with his pride in holding one on either side of him. Pretending she didn’t notice her show-off of a boyfriend, Lily kept focused on the sheets. Only when he returned and set down the last two chairs did she look up.

“What’s next, my princess?”

“It’s queen, actually.” The smile he shot her was bright enough to light up the whole planet, completely and utterly blinding. Queen. She and Petunia would pretend their pillow forts were castles. Her smile turned bittersweet, to which James scrambled to sit beside her.

Lily blinked at his gesture. Poor James was all worried over nothing. Sitting up a little straighter, Lily took his hands in her own. “James, have I ever told you about what me and Tuney would do on rainy days?” James shook his head. She took a deep breath and continued on.

“Before I knew about magic, Tuney and I were best friends. I’m pretty sure I mentioned that?” She looked at him for affirmation. He nodded his head. “When it was storming bad, I’d always get a little bit scared, but Tuney always knew that getting my hands busy would keep my mind off what was raging on outside. She would run and grab all the extra blankets and sheets from our linen closet and we would build fortressesses.

“At first, they were small, but as we grew they would take over the entire living room. We would spend most of the day constructing them.” Lily laughed, looking around their new living room. It seemed such a tall order now. “Building the walls with different sheets and blankets, padding the inside with sofa cushions and pillows. Then when we were done, we liked to pretend they were our castles and we were princesses like from the fairytales. I would always bring our favorite stories in and she would create magical worlds filled with every creature imaginable. I would completely forget about the storm raging around us. Eventually as it got later, my mum and dad joined us, and would take over the storytelling. We would end up camping out in the living room, falling asleep after cuddles and bedtime stories. Sometimes Dad would wake us up with cinnamon hot cocoa.” A quiet laugh escaped through her lips. “It’s funny, I was scared, but these are some of my fondest memories.”

Lily looked up from her lap a little misty eyed, that same bittersweet look from before gracing her features. James leaned over to kiss the one tear that slipped down her cheek away. She pulled him closer into a tight hug. Although claps of thunder sounded outside, she didn’t even feel him flinch.

As the silence settled James blurted out,“Have I ever mentioned I love you?” Lily rolled her eyes in exasperation. What a sap, right? She kissed his cheek and pulled him up from the floor.

“Hmmm….I don't recall. It doesn’t sound familiar. What was it again?” Lily’s eyes crinkled as he tackled her with a bunch of kisses all over her face.Catching herself with one hand, the other landed on his chest, and she gave him a gentle push to create more space between them, much to the disappointment of both parties, so that they could return their focus to the task at hand.

“Hey, I’d say you’re thoroughly distracted, but this fort still needs some work, so get back to it!”

James stood at attention and saluted. The two lovebirds began setting the chairs a good distance apart, smiles blossomed on their faces as they worked in comfortable silence. They graduated to padding the inside with the cushions. As they were nearing the end, the draped blankets just weren't staying in place like they should. They kept slipping down from where they hung them. It hit her like a ton of bricks: she'd forgotten the most important part!

“Hold up!” She darted towards the stairs, the biggest, goofiest grin on her face. James was left to catch the end of the blanket she’d dropped when she left. “I know just what we need to finish this off!”

Lily raced up the stairs, towards the bedroom, on a mission to acquire her secret ingredient. The mahogany nightstand’s top drawer had been claimed as their junk drawer, slowly filling up with odds and ends from both Lily and James over time. During this move, the junk seemed to accumulate much faster. She tugged open the drawer harshly, excited to get back to her project with James when she spotted it. A little blue velvet box.

Her breath hitched. What was this doing in the junk drawer? If Lily’s heart hammered any faster she was afraid it was going to explode. Now she needed the distraction. She reached a shaky hand out and grabbed the box. Why was this in the junk drawer?

This better not be what she thought it was.

Still debating if she should open it or not, she jumped at the sound of James’s voice. It was incomprehensible over the blood pumping in her ears.

“What?” She didn’t turn around, focusing on the feeling of the velvet box moving between her fingers. Why was this in the junk drawer?

“Lils? Are you okay? I thought you knew what you were grabbing, want me to come up and help you find it?”

“No!” she yelped, far too fast of a response. Far too panicked. Just as she heard James scramble up to check on her, she spotted the barrettes, snagged them before racing down to see her boyfriend before he could find her at the junk drawer.

Why would you put a ring box in the junk drawer?

“Hi,” she breathed, moving to wave her hand but realizing she was still holding the box! She smiled sheepishly, quickly hiding the box behind her back.

“Hey…” James narrowed, his eyes, leaning to the side to try and see just what Lily was holding.

“Found the barrettes,” she said, holding up her other hand. Like a magician, the idea of distraction would work.. Right? Lily laid the hand with the barrettes on his shoulder, giving him a nudge to turn around and move towards the living room again.

Another thunderclap and this time he truly has no reaction at all. Well at least she managed to keep his mind off the storm. Lily tried for a reassuring smile, giving his shoulder another nudge. He was silent, but he actually turned around and went down the stairs.

Said silence lasted a lifetime. Finally, he whipped around with a blazing look in his eyes. She was not off the hook. Perhaps if she decided to start the conversation, she could gauge his reaction.

“Funny story...So I found the strangest thing while looking for my barrettes upstairs…” Lily unfolded her hand to show him the small velvet box. “Any idea why this was in the junk drawer?”

The color drained from James’s face as he realized what she’d discovered. Lily could practically hear his internal monologue.

Okay so I have two options here: pretend I have no idea what she is talking about, or fess up. Though the former is looking more appealing at the moment because she does not seem happy. Oh god. What if she isn’t happy? What if she doesn’t want to marry me? What if-

“James, do you not plan to use this?” She decided to go easy on him seeing the doubt and fear creep into his face. He really was an open book, at least to her. The longer they were together, the more fluent in James Potter she became.

“I-uh planned to use it eventually?”

“It was in our junk drawer,” Lily deadpanned.

“I was kinda hoping it would get buried and you wouldn’t notice…” His hand flew up to his hair in an attempt to subdue the wince creeping onto his features.

“How long have you had this, James?” Instead of looking at him, she was entirely focused on the blue box. She hadn’t even opened it yet.

“Uh.. Do you want the truth? Or like an answer that will make you comfortable?” His hand still had yet to leave his locks alone.

Despite the whirlwind inside her, Lily managed to choke out a laugh, dragging his hand from his hair and into her own.

“The truth, please.”

“So you remember that time you came over and met my parents for the first time?” Lily nodded. Of course. She’d been so nervous, and Euphemia and Fleamont had treated her as if she was the daughter they’d never had. “Christmas break, seventh year?” A smile tugged at Lily’s cheeks.

“You made me cookies the muggle way and burnt them to a crisp. I remember.” James let out a little chuckle.

“Well Mum loved you, and after you left she told me, ‘You better marry that girl James,’ and gave me the ring.” He took the box from her still outstretched hand, hesitating for just a moment before kneeling in front of her. Inside the box was an ornate ring, with a gold band and emeralds instead of diamonds.

“Lily, I knew from the moment I met you that you were it for me. Although, it was nice to hear Mum felt similarly. This was my grandmum’s engagement ring; her and my grandfather were married for seventy-six years. Mum said it would bring us good luck, and really, what I was trying to get at before I got side tracked with the ring’s history is...You have bewitched me body and soul. You are the greatest adventure I’ve had thus far, and I do not wish for it to end.”

Lily dropped the barrettes she had been gripping so tightly, covering her mouth with her hand as she felt the prickle of wetness start to form in her eyes.

“I love you. I want to wake up next to you every morning and kiss you goodnight-if I’m lucky-every evening. I want this to be only the first of the many, many places we live together. I want to travel the world with you. I want to win this war with you by my side. I want to explore new places, new things with you, only with you.

I want to start a family with you. I want to grow old with you. I want to live every waking moment with you by my side. And it would be the greatest honour of my life, if you, Lily Marie Evans, would agree to be my wife. ”

Lily’s lips quivered, tears slipping down her cheeks as she looked down at him. She slipped down to his level and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, yes, a hundred million times, yes. James Potter, I want to marry you.”

James stood, his arms snaking around Lily’s waist and spinning her with him, snug against his chest. Lily squealed, hugging James tighter, as her tears turned into laughter. He spun her around and around until they both were dizzy. When he eventually placed her back on the ground, Lily refused to let go. Whether it was due to affection or the room spinning was still up in the air. All she knew was she’d never felt this way before. Never in her life had Lily experienced this much joy, this much peace. Not even those nights camping in her living room. He was her home, and she his.

James stared down at his fiancée-his fiancée!- in total adoration. His thumb rubbed along her cheek in a tender caress.

“I feel pretty lucky tonight, James.” He smirked, and pressed his lips to hers briefly. Lily met his eyes, glancing towards the ring box to which he happily slid the ring onto her finger.

“Have I ever mentioned I love you?” Lily whispered, a smile far too similar to James’s signature lopsided grin toying on her lips.

“Hmmm….I don't recall. It doesn’t sound familiar. What was it again?” Lily threw her head back in laughter, pulling him in close for a passionate kiss. Only when they both were breathless did she pull away. “Why don’t we make good use of that fort we built?”

His lips brushed against hers ever so slightly. “I suppose I do feel lucky.”

Lily and James disappeared behind the entrance to their dilapidating castle, the barrettes lay on the ground forgotten.

#Jily #Jily*#MWPP #marauders #James Potter #Lily Evans #Lily Evans Potter #jessica #melissa #writing

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dimensionwriter · 5 years

Text

Mechanical Heart

Part 2

Male Android x Female reader

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This is a lot easier to qrite for some reason. So yeah, here you go, a second part. I would link the first part, but Tumblr has been weird for a while. So just look up Mechanical Heart on my tumblr and you should find it.

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You stood outside of your and Axel's boss newly conjoined office. Your arms was holding together the ten very heavily worded contracts you had to sign and keep. You glanced at Axel to see that his screen was a dull shade if black, but you can't blame him.

"What do you mean we have to live together?" You yelled in shock almost launching yourself out of the cusion chairs. Daniel, your boss, let out a low sigh while rubbing his temple. The golden android next to him, as you were intorduced as Screw, put a hand on his shoulder and stepped forward.

"We would like to ensure the our workers get alone quicker in order to ensure quicker work efficiency. So we require that all humans and androids must live together for their first month, unless meeting one of the exceptions: Married, Dating, housing with family or roomates, or any mental reason," Screw explain in gold cursive writing on their face with a dark black background. Your eye twitched as the words scrolled down.

"That's so weird. I dont know him at all," you said jabbing a finger behind me at Axel who was standing off the side. Daniel's thick eyebrows scooped down almost covering his eyes.

"That's the reason why we are putting androids and humans together under the same roof, so they can gain experience with eachother and build trust faster," Daniel explained leaning forward on his hands crossed together. You gripped the leather chair harder within your grip.

"We didn't do this with humans. You just threw us together last mintue, so why do I gotta be shove together with this android?" you yelled angrily leaning forward and slamming your hand on the desk.

"Are you against spending time with an android?" Screw wrote in bold cursive with a shock emoticon on their face. You mouth dropped open at the accusation. You, a racisit or speciest!

You leaned back into your chair and placed your hand onto your throbbing head. "You know for a fact that is false. I could care less if he was an android or alien or even Satan himself, but I will not allow a stranger into my home where I'm the most vulnerable."

You peaked an eye open with your one eye in a harsh glare. Today was not your day, was it? You should have just stayed in bed.

"Androids are made to be program to not cause any harm to humans unless necessary," Screw said with the writing scrolling up their screen. You had to roll your eyes at that bull. Androids are more human like than robotic like, hence their ability to fit in better with humans. So if one of them wanted to hurt someone, you were sure they could.

"So, you must be rooming with Screw than?" You asked removing your hand away from your face to look at Daniel. Daniel slowly raised an eyebrow at your question. "I mean you were divorced two years ago and I haven't heard of you dating someone, so I am to assume you are going to be following this protocol too. Of course, setting the example as boss."

Screw's face went pitch white and Daniel's face went blank. Are they serious? They weren't planning on following the rule that they set in place.

"Well, we didn't deem it necessary due to us not having to work in the field," Screw said with black cursive writing in a small font that was almost impossible to read. But training as an dectective has made you more aware of things.

Like how Screw was glancing at Daniel as if to get confirmation. He didn't add a question mark to the end of that, but with his more tense body language, it was heavly implied.

"You know what. We are the boss and you shouldn't be arguing with us. You will take this contact and go through it tonight together. And if you decided not to, you may want to polish up that resume," he growled laying his huge hand flat against his desk with a glare on his face.

After three mintues of you silently strangling him in your mind, he let you leave their office with a stack of stupid paperwork.

"You okay Axel?" You asked glancing over at him. He didn't say a word the entire thing, but looking at him now. It was easy to tell that he was angry, probably more than you.

"I am made to follow orders and I will do so," he wrote in that grey times new roman, but looking close enough, the bottom of the letters had a small red gradient on it.

"Yeah, so am I, but that doesn't mean you can't be angry at it," you said looking down at the high stack of paperwork. You didn't feel like doing this, but you have to.

You felt a tap on your shoulder causing you to look up at Axel. There was words on his screen, but they disappeared. You didn't even get a chance to see what it was.

"We should go to the desk so you can put the papers down. The documents don't need to be damaged," he said in his boring font. Axel turned down the hallway and started marching. Here you go again?

Keeping up with him was a lot easier somehow. He kept at a fast pace, but not so fast that you had to run. And due to his large frame, he created a division in the crowd making it easy to walk.

He lead you to a door with the name plate Axel on it with some serial code underneath. Most newer robots don't have serial codes on them anymore, guess he must be an older model.

"So, this is your office?" You asked walking up beside him. His lifted his hand to the silver screen on the side of the door. He gently placed his hand onto of it causing a dim silver light to flood the screen.

A small gentle hissing sound caused you to look forward in time to see the door quickly slide away to reveal the inside.

The first word you could use to describe this office would be boring. It was a huge space, almost as big as your bosses' office. But the stark bare white walls made the room feel souless. It didn't help that there sat a lone desk in the middle of the room. It was a dark maroon wood desk but had the thickest layer of dusk ontop of it. When was the last time that thing has been used?

"It's our office space now." The way Axel showed the message was odd. He bent down infront of you while slowly rotating his body, so he walked backwards into the room. His screen still facing towards you.

"This room is so plain," you complain walking in. You hurried over to the desk before dropping the files onto it. A huge wave of the dust exploded into the air, instantly making it's way into your respiration system.

You bent over coughing while fanning away the unholy build up. Actually being inside the room made you realize that everything was covered in dust. And there were spider webs in all the corners. How could an android allow this to happen?

"Plain," Axel typed tilting his head. You found the movement to be kind of cute on him. It went against the whole bad boy vibes his clothes were giving off. "It has all the neccessities needed to do the job."

You looked down at the dirty and dusty desk infront of you that looked like it was about to snap under the weight of the pile of papers.

"You must truly be amazing to work with only this sad looking desk," you said putting your hand ontop of it. Only for it to creak under your weight. "This thing can barely hold anything. It looks to be made out of twigs."

He screen looked down at the desk that was now arched downward from your weight. "I do not require a desk to complete my work. I simply just store all my data within myself and send in documents by myslef."

That would make sense for an android to not need a desk or a computer. For him, this may be just simply decorations. But you're here now, so some things are gonna change.

"Axel, you said this is our office space, right?" You asked lifting your eyebrows trying to hold your grin down. Axel's screen remain black, but he nodded his head at your statement. "So, I am allowed to add things in here that would help my work."

A question mark quickly appeared on Axel's screen before disappearing. Your smile peaked through causing a small giggle to come through.

"Yes, but may I ask why?" The text came up slowly as if he was weary to ask you. You put your hand ontop of your mouth trying to stop your fit of giggle.

"I'm going to turn this into the best office known to any man or android," you declared slamming your palm on desk. A loud snap echoed through as the desk underneath you, broke and crumbled.

You expect the desk to be sturdy, so most of your weight was on the desk. You arm folded in with the desk causing you to sail forward. You glanced down to see the different wood poking out as you fell towards it.

A black matte hand gripped onto your shoulder. You let out a squeal of pain as the gripped tighten and jumped your body over the desk. He let go of you causing you to stumbled forward right into his chest.

So they decided to give an android a six pack. You wanted to wonder why, but you weren't complaining at the moment.

Part 3

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So this is the second thing I have upload today and I am proud of myself. Please comment om this about your feelings about this series. I feed off you guys comments, so please do commet on any of my writing. Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed.

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starlightments · 5 years

Text

until we get there

Sometimes his mind is cruel. He’ll wake in the dead of night, drowning in his sweat, choking on his tears. He’ll clutch at old bedsheets until his knuckles fade to white. He’ll shiver in the darkness, and the light blue marks beneath his eyes will start to burn, and his lungs will heave, aching for a breath that just isn’t there.

And sometimes Keith comes to visit.

Those are the best days, Lance thinks.

Those are the days when it’s easiest to breathe.

rating: T | klance | canon-divergent(ish) with HEAVY S8 SPOILERS!!

His days are marked by warm afternoon drizzles, the hazy glow of rose-gold sunsets, and sprawling green pastures that stretch across an endless horizon.

And it’s strange, he often thinks, how willingly he has stumbled into this way of life after everything they’ve been through. He stares up at the sky on cloudless nights, counting all the stars that he once knew so intimately. He sheds his soldier’s armor like a second skin, revealing all his fractures and scars, a frayed script of war. Days pass slowly now — the nights even slower — and time is no longer measured by the galaxy’s wicked whim.

Sometimes he spends every waking hour outside, drenched in daylight. He’ll sit in the middle of the field. He’ll welcome the tickle of soft grass blades beneath his bare feet. He’ll grow drowsy to the sound of a whispering breeze, carrying with it the sweet scent of dew, and juniberrys, and her, and he’ll say to himself: this is enough.

Sometimes he believes it.

And sometimes Keith comes to visit.

Those are the best days, Lance thinks.

Those are the days when it’s easiest to breathe.

He’ll show up to the farmhouse in between missions with that small, tired grin on his lips — the one that has Mrs. McClain dragging him into the kitchen for a proper meal. Nadia and Sylvio swarm him like tiny gnats, demanding his attention, and demanding every single detail of his latest cool alien adventure. He’ll be ushered onto a threadbare couch, in front of a crackling fireplace, and his muscles will unfurl for the first time in weeks. His heart will dance like the flames before him, and feel so full that it threatens to spill over, and Keith will say to himself: this is enough.

For right now, this is enough.

And then Lance will come in from the backyard. His hair will be untidy, and he’ll look pale — paler than Keith remembers — but his lips will spread impossibly wide, splitting his entire face in two when his gaze falls on Keith. And then he’ll bound forward, crashing into him like a tidal wave. Lance will squeeze him, and Keith will squeeze back, and he’ll notice how the crook of his neck smells like freshly cut grass, and sunshine.

“Hey, man,” Lance will whisper. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah,” Keith will say in return, fingers curling into the back of Lance’s shirt. “Me, too.”

The dinner table is always booming and boisterous. They bombard Keith with questions about the relief efforts, and he answers them all with the calm, calculated patience that, sometimes, still feels as unfamiliar in his veins as a foreign language on his tongue.

“What’s new with you, Lance?” Keith eventually gets the chance to ask.

And Lance glances up slowly from his plate of half-eaten food, offering something almost secretive in his lopsided smile as he says, “Oh, y’know. Same old, same old.”

Keith just nods.

Sometimes Lance brings him to the field, right as twilight fades to dusk. Keith with his legs stretched out in front of him, and Lance with his back pressed against Kaltenecker’s belly as she lazes beneath the setting sun. Keith loses track of how long they’ve been out here, talking circles around the very topic that still nips at Lance’s raw edges. But then the stars start to glow overhead, and the crickets start to sing in the distance, and Keith speaks so low that he can barely be heard over the melancholy chorus.

“Lance,” he says. “What are you doing?”

The absent-minded scritch-scratch of fingernails behind the cow’s ear comes to a harrowing halt.

“I’m sharing a private moment with Kaltenecker, obviously. Which you’re totally ruining, by the way,” Lance huffs in amusement, burying his face against the animal’s snout. “Isn’t that right, gorgeous? Pay no mind to our broody third-wheel —”

“Lance,” Keith says again, more solemn. “I mean… what are you doing — here?”

Lance goes rigid, his entire body bristling when the sweeping undercurrent of Keith’s words registers inside his head.

“I’m living my life, Keith,” he answers flatly.

“Are you?”

His blue gaze burns, cutting through what’s left of the dim sunlight, and Keith’s own eyes pin him there, unrelenting.

“I’m home. I’m with my family,” Lance says with bite. “What more do I need?”

Keith barely recognizes his own voice as his lips give way to a very blunt, very succinct, “Happiness.”

Lance tenses his jaw, but says nothing. Then he’s looking away, squinting into the deep-red horizon, and Keith watches as his freckles turn bronze.

“I can see it, Lance. Every time I come here it’s like… you’re a little less yourself. A little less… bright. And it —”

It kills me, it kills me, it kills me, Keith’s mind chants desperately.

“— it’s not what she would want for you,” he finishes instead. “I know it’s not.”

The grass rustles and Kaltenecker stirs as Lance shifts around, throwing his wild, red-rimmed eyes on Keith with a snap of his neck. His long lashes gleam, coated with dampness, and Keith’s hands twitch with the impulse to reach out, and wipe them dry.

“Quit acting like you know anything, Keith,” Lance snarls with a viciousness that one can only learn in the frontlines of war. “You’re not in charge anymore. You’re not in charge of Voltron, and you’re sure as hell not in charge of me.”

Keith holds his breath as Lance’s shoulders immediately collapse in on themselves. Regret? Pain? Keith used to be able to tell the difference.

“It’s — over,” Lance rasps weakly, gaze falling into his lap. Small tears dapple the worn denim of his jeans, and Keith feels that knowing simmer at the tips of his fingers. “It’s all over.”

Keith’s thoughts have drifted elsewhere by the time Lance clamps down on the tremble of his bottom lip. He thinks about all the time that has passed — far too long for any heart to bear the painful burden of loss. He thinks about all the emails that bounce between the paladins — all the unanswered ones that probably still sit in Lance’s inbox. He thinks about all the sleepless nights. All the ones that Keith has missed. All the times Lance must wake up alone and afraid, and all the times Keith should’ve been there to chase away the nightmares.

“We all miss Allura. You most of all. I get that,” he says at last.

Her name has Lance’s eyelids fluttering to a close.

“But just know that I —” Keith pauses, catching himself, and pointedly amends, “— we miss you, too.”

And, really, that’s all it takes for Lance to break, to crumble like he’s been on the brink of shattering for longer than he lets on. When his eyes creak open once again, they’re as glossy as polished moonstone, and the tears run hot and heavy over the round pinkness of his cheeks.

“I’m scared,” he admits, a shivering whimper into the quiet of nighttime. “I’m scared that one day I’m gonna wake up and… forget how it feels to love her.”

Lance gasps for air, but his lungs still feel empty.

“And I can’t —” he sobs into his wet palm. “—I can’t do that to her —”

And then it’s the urgent curl of fingers around his wrist as Keith pulls his hand away from his tear-stained face, and the frantic patter of Lance’s heartbeat as both of their palms lay flat against his broad chest, one atop the other, solid and warm.

“You won’t forget,” Keith tells him so firmly that it sounds like a promise. “It’s a part of who you are.”

Lance stares, lips parted, heart still pounding.

Keith’s gaze suddenly goes honey-like, seeping into every crevice and crack that Lance has yet to stitch up, and he adds, soft, “But it’s not all you are.”

All at once, like the sun finally sinking beneath the skyline, Lance melts into him. He lunges forward, wobbly limbs be damned, and clings so mightily that Keith almost topples onto his back. He sways, steadying their conjoined weight, and then he’s surrounding him, going lightheaded from that earthy, Lance-like scent again.

Keith holds him until he stops trembling. Until he’s certain that the stars will burn out, and the sun will start to rise anew. Until the silence rings in his ears, and he’s muttering, so low that it rumbles in his ribcage:

“Come with me.”

Lance stiffens, and pulls away from the side of Keith’s neck with a dazed, “What?”

“Come with me, Lance. With the Blades. We can always use the extra help,” says Keith.

But Lance just shakes his head, overwhelmed. “I don’t —”

“I want you with me,” and the realization of it has Lance shivering again. Keith can feel it where his arms are still wound around his waist. “You need to get back out there. You need to start flying again, Lance, you were born to fly.”

“Right,” Lance sniffs, dabbing his nose with the back of his hand. “I know it’s been a while, but don’t get it twisted, dude. You’ve always been the prodigy around here.”

As if calling out in response, a proud, animal-like roar ripples through the catacombs of Lance’s chest, distant yet bone-deep, and he heeds the cry, back straightening.

Keith smirks. “Red doesn’t seem to agree.”

“She’s here?” Lance whispers, perhaps on the verge of tears again.

“Of course. She wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to see you again,” and then, a chuckle. “You know how she gets.”

They wander across the field, back to where Keith had landed earlier. He leads Lance by the hand, fingers woven together, and neither even bothering to question it. And when Lance spots her up ahead, in all her bright, brazen glory, Keith can hear him gasp, and he can feel his grip squeeze tighter. Lance’s blood is boiling with excitement, no doubt, as he picks up the pace until he’s charging forward, past Keith, making a straight shot for Red’s giant paw.

A short, incredulous laugh bubbles up his throat, and hiccups right past his lips as he splays his palms over her smooth crimson exterior. “Hey, girl,” he greets. “Lookin’ good.”

Red lets loose a ferocious growl, eyes glowing to life like twin moons, and then she’s lowering her head, inviting him into her enormously gaping maw.

And Lance doesn’t need to be coaxed before his legs are taking off, sprinting up the ramp, and barreling into the cockpit where the color red tints everything before his eyes. She’s thrumming with life, and Lance feels it, even now, like a second pulse. Her dashboard blinks and flickers, beckons him closer.

“You should do the honors,” Keith’s voice comes up from behind, following him into the cockpit, and motioning toward the pilot’s chair.

Lance blinks, dumbfounded. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Red’s controls burn beneath Lance’s grip, strong and omnipotent, just like they used to whenever they’d chase down the stars or glide along endless streams of nebula, as if the galaxy were their own glittering playground. He pushes his hands forward, and Red gives a sudden jerk that has Lance yelping in surprise, and Keith staggering to the side.

“Shit, Lance —”

“I know, I know, sorry — just a little rusty,” he groans, and then, softer, only for Red, “Easy, girl, easy.”

Something settles, then. A soothing prickle ghosting along his surface, pebbling his skin down to his toes. Red obeys, purring quietly, and straightens to her full height.

“So,” grins Keith, kneeling beside the pilot’s chair. “Where to, sharpshooter?”

“Let’s just ride,” Lance says. “And see where she takes us.”

Adrenaline plummets into his stomach as Red shoots off the ground. Lance’s back presses into the leather upholstery of the pilot’s chair, and the world disappears below them in a shadowy blur, and Keith is here by his side, right where he belongs, right where he hopes he’ll stay, and Lance says to himself: this is enough.

And this time, with great certainty, he believes it.

#klance #klance fic #vld spoilers #vld s8 spoilers #klance fanfiction #star writes #i'm just vomiting my emotions at this point ya'll

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vessel-of-gold · 5 years

Text

Prompt #05: Reflection

He awoke from deep slumber. The air was dry in the forsaken mountain cave that he called home, and smelled of metal. The sound of glistening coins, scraping on one another, echoed a beautiful symphony with every movement of his heavy body. Many a sword and mastercraft pottery was amassed here, but nothing pleased him as much as the aurean shimmer of gold. It was his bed as much as it was his altar. He was absolutely, to the brink of his being, content.

There was no memory of a time before the cave, his vault, his fortress, but he did not care about anything that happened before. Sometimes, however, he had dreams of another life. A mortal life. In those dreams he was so frail, so powerless, that he had to seek help from another. He did not like those fabrications of his sleep, but now he was awake.

Instinctively, he dug one of his great talons into the mound of riches. There was something he was looking for, he did not know what it was, but he would remember once he found it. Gemstones and jewelry were tossed aside. None of them revealed itself to be what he sook.

Suddenly, there was a voice inside of his most sacred chamber.

“Greetings to you, Ruusa Anh.”

As quick as a spooked cat he whirled his long body around to where the voice was coming from, tail raised for a strike, his mighty body erected in a threatening pose.

There was a man in dark robes and with dark, long hair sitting at the foot of an old statue. He had pointed ears and there were symbols written on to his forehead that the dragon did not recognize. The rattling of coin must have covered his approach, there was no other way he could have evaded his attention otherwise.

“Who art thou who dares enter my vault?” he roared in return. His deep voice was full of mastery, he noted complacently, as he did not remember to ever have used it. It was echoed by the dry stone and resonated so full that the cave seemed to quake - The only object that did not shake was the intruder in front of him.

“Ilmarin is the name mortals have chosen for me. But I am no stranger to you. We have met in the tranquility of your slumber.“ If the little man was intimidated by his display, he did not show it. Even that his voice sounded puny in contrast did not seem to trouble him in the slightest. What a curious thing.

“You called for me, so I came. It is I who is here to take you with me. Look.”

From under his black gown he produced a beautiful mirror. A big crack split the reflective glass in two. The wyrm recognized it at once. And then he recognized the man, too. He had indeed seen him in his sleep. In his slumber he did befriend him, but now he was awake.

“This doth not belong in thine hands.” He growled slowly. His monstrous body leaned in, closer - until he was but a few yalms away from the black haired man, who, to his further surprise, did not flinch.

“You are right,” the intruder simply said and lifted the mirror so that it faced the wyrm who sought to assail him, “it belongs to you.These splinters of your own being shall be returned to their rightful owner. Take what is yours. I, Ilmarin, set you free from your curse.”

Ruusa Anh felt the aether woven into these words, from teeth to talon, down to his very core. Now, the syllables echoed as mightily as his own voice did just moments before. His eyes were drawn onto the broken mirror. As if it was an organic thing with a mind on it’s own, the large tear began to mend, slowly, from the bottom to the top of the precious jade frame. But what it revealed was not the mighty serpent that he was, but the face of a horned man. The man he was in his dreams.

He cried out in surprise but soon his moaning was filled with sorrow instead. Memories flooded back into his mind. Of an ancient time when he had been a revered spirit, of times of arrogance, of the curse that had imprisoned his spirit in this cave without him even noticing his own rebirth as man. Then of present times, times of comradery, of the simple joys of life, of marvel and affection for the man who still stood before him, his liberator.

Those memories were true and more real than all that he had previously accepted as his happy lot. He was bodies entwined, he was souls conjoined. He was free.

The man clad in black smiled softly, as the vault, that had been a prison in disguise, crumbled around them and turned into a silvery mist that hung amidst a space of strange nothingness.

__________

featuring @a-grave-for-moths ‘s lovely character

#FFxivWrite2019 #ffxiv #writing #Ruusa Anh #Ilmarin Viamos #...of a distant past #that's right I skipped no.4 #I might still write the occasional prompt even when the challenge is over #Will probably be cherry picking the words though

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vintagediavolo · 5 years

Text

Yours

Darkness enveloped the streets of New York City, street-lights reflecting off the windows of all of the buildings as Newt Scamander shivered to himself, hurriedly strolling along as puffs of air rose from his mouth. At MACUSA, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement found itself busied with the case of the still-missing Percival Graves; no one knew exactly how long Grindelwald had been using his body, but they couldn’t find any leads as to where the man could be. Newt was shuffling through his own notes about the case at his desk (he’d been appointed Consultant for the department by Seraphina Picquery shortly after his help uncovering Grindelwald and obliviating the No-Maj population of the city) when his eyes grew unbearably heavy and his head fell forward onto the oak desk. It wasn’t that the case was boring, but there’d been no new information to come in about it and his sleep schedule happened to be rather inconsistent, making his tiredness catch up with him against his will.

Tightening his jacket around his lean form, he wished he could just apparate to the Goldsteins’ apartment, but he worried that his noisy arrival would rouse the sisters from their sleep and he didn’t wish to be rude; he was also still tired and he didn’t want to chance splinching himself in the middle of their living room.

A few minutes into his walk from the Woolworth Building, a deep unsettling feeling overturned his stomach and the skin on the back of his neck prickled, entire body wracked with a shiver that wasn’t from the cold. Chancing a glance behind him, he found only empty sidewalk and he tried to disregard his feelings as casual anxiety from being alone in the city at night, but he quickened his stride nonetheless. Ten minutes and a few blocks later, the tense atmosphere refused to settle and Newt’s hands began to clam up within his coat pockets. Unable to bear the feeling any longer, he stopped in the middle of the pavement and spun around, but still, nothing was there. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and let out a soft chuckle at his antics, trying to calm his beating heart with a hand over his chest. Turning back around, he reopened his eyes and screamed, startling a lone pigeon picking along the sidewalk for crumbs. Right in front of him was a dark pair of eyes scouring over his form, almost hungrily, and Newt immediately stepped back from the man, who, after narrowing his eyes, he realised was… “Director Graves?”

The man made no gesture to prove he heard his name; he only pursued Newt’s retreating body with flaring nostrils and a snarling expression, eyebrows drawn and forehead wrinkled. His skin was alabaster. Newt thought perhaps it was just from not making contact with sunlight for so long--who knows where and how Grindelwald had restrained him--but the man’s lips parted and he caught sight of the two sharp canines that gleamed threateningly. “Oh…” Oh… “Are you hungry, Director?”

“You smell… so good,” Graves drawled through a growl, rendering Newt a bit nervous, but he refused to back down. Unbuttoning his overcoat, he shrugged one arm out of the sleeve and leaned his head back, exposing his neck, which Graves’ eyes immediately narrowed in on.

“Come on. You must be starving,” Newt urged, maternal, creature-caring heart kicking in. He stood, rigid, as the man advanced with no hesitation. One of Graves’ hands found his waist, curling around it and sliding to the small of his back while his other hand gripped at his shoulder, tight enough to induce a wince out of him, but he kept his face stoic and breathing steady as he felt the man’s warm breath against his neck. He didn’t know how he expected it to feel, but as soon as the man’s fangs pierced his skin, a blinding, suffocating pleasure wracked his body and he had to hold himself up against Graves, hands gripping at the Director’s shoulders so that he wouldn’t crumble to the ground. The feeding continued for a minute before Graves unlatched from him, tongue caressing the broken skin so that it healed over.

Even though it was done, Newt didn’t release his hold on the man for he felt a bit lightheaded, but Graves didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he moved so that is face was right in front of his. “You taste as good as you look,” he complimented, Newt’s face flushing pink as the man returned to his neck, beginning to lick and suck at the skin. He was thankful it was nearing three in the morning, because if this had started happening in broad daylight--it wouldn’t have; vampires don’t feed during the day, but that was beside the point--the surrounding people would’ve been in for a shock.

“Are you giving me a hickey? Stop that!” Newt ordered, regaining his thoughts and pulling Graves’ away with his hands on either side of the man’s head, which was much more of a struggle than it should have been; the Director appeared keen on finishing his job. “Stop!”

“You are mine,” Graves growled so fiercely that Newt gasped, watching as the man’s eyes darkened further. He’d briefly studied vampires twice; once in school with Professor Dumbledore and another on his own, and he knew that born vampires possessed mates, but he couldn’t recall turned vampires having them, although that seemed to be the best explanation for Graves’ intimate behaviour. Stepping out of the man’s embrace, much to his chagrin if judged by the inhuman hiss that left his mouth, he took the man’s arm with his hand while ignoring the noise.

“I’m going to apparate, Director. Unless you want to stay here in the middle of the sidewalk in thirty degree weather.” Graves nodded his head for him to continue, and so the two of them disappeared from the city street with a sharp crack, startling the same pigeon that had returned after finding a discarded bagel, flapping its wings with a piece of it grasped in its beak.

As soon as they appeared in the Goldsteins’ living room, Graves took to pressing small kisses all over Newt’s face, making the distressed magizoologist sigh halfheartedly. “Newt, where you have you been?” Tina’s voice met his ears, and he didn’t get to warn the woman who had just came in from the kitchen about Graves. “Is that…?” She started, eyes wide.

“Yes,” Newt answered, struggling to get his jacket off with the man latched onto him like a lonely sloth. “Director, can you please stop touching me for a minute? Just for a minute.” Tina gaped as her boss pushed his bottom lip out in a pout.

“A minute.”

“A minute,” Newt confirmed, and Graves begrudgingly released him. Sighing with relief, Newt shuffled away as he was finally able to get out of his coat. Tina, watching as her boss’s eyes stayed fixed on her friend, slowly walked over to where Newt was hanging his coat on the hook beside the front door.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Grindelwald got someone to turn him into a vampire.” Tina gasped at this. “I expect he wanted to starve the man but didn’t want to waste his magic on keeping him alive, so instead turned him immortal,” he explained sadly. “Vampires don’t starve in the same way humans do. Instead of dying, the pain just increases and increases until it eventually turns them mad.” At the tone in his voice, she moved her eyes to his neck, and sure enough, two puncture marks stood prevalent amongst his freckles.

“You didn’t!” She ridiculed, raising her hand to touch the marks, only to stop when a hair-raising hiss ripped from her boss’s mouth. The man zipped across the room at impressive speed and enveloped Newt with his arms. His face, directed at her from over his shoulder, was one of pure rage, eyes black and fangs elongated. It sent chills down her spine.

“Director!” Newt scorned, turning around in the man’s arms. “She’s just a friend. Making sure if I’m okay. You know her; Tina Goldstein. She was one of your Aurors.” The man narrowed his eyes at the woman, nodding slightly. He didn’t seem to care too much though, choosing to just bury himself in Newt’s neck, nuzzling his nose into his scent. Exasperated, Newt turned his head as much as he could so he could continue addressing Tina. “I did. And I think I’m his mate… or something else, I’m not sure.”

“Mmm, mate. Mine,” Graves spoke, lips brushing against his collarbone, confirming his suspicions for the both of them.

“Well, I’ll leave you to deal with that. Just know we’ll have to take him into work tomorrow,” Tina said, voice infused with a bit of amusement at the sight of flustered Newt.

“Yeah,” he responded before she left to go back to bed. Now that she was gone, he could fully focus on the man who had begun opening his shirt, exposing his chest to the warm air of the apartment. “Director, none of that,” he reprimanded lightly, nudging the man’s fumbling hands away from the buttons. The man whined like a child not getting what he wanted in a sweets shop and Newt chuckled, buttoning his shirt back up as Graves just dropped his head onto his shoulder.

“Call me Percival,” the man mumbled.

“Okay,” Newt agreed, taking one of the man’s hands in his own. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” They moved as one through the kitchen and back into the guest bedroom, where he picked his suitcase up with his free hand and positioned it on the floor, opening the clasps and flipping it open. “In we go,” he stated simply at Percival’s confused expression. In his state of befuddlement, Newt was able to tug himself from the man’s grasp so that he could easily get down the ladder. Percival joined him so fast that he didn’t get a chance to browse through his books to see if he owned any volumes about vampires. Sighing, he decided it could wait until tomorrow, when his vampire was in a more sensible state of mind. Smacking the man’s roaming hand away from his lower back, he dragged him into the conjoined bedroom behind the ladder and forced him onto his bed. “You stay right there, mister,” Newt ordered with a finger pointed at him after seeing him go to stand again.

Percival huffed, but obeyed. After knowing he wouldn’t go anywhere, Newt began to undress himself. In the back of his head, he knew this would be torture for the man on his bed, and he revelled in the control he knew he had over him. Untucking his shirt from his trousers, he unbuttoned it all the way down before sliding the fabric down and off his arms, purposefully slow in his movements. He made way with his boots, and then his pants after unbuckling the belt that kept them snug around him, and when he turned around, he bit his lip at the man’s lustful expression. “Your turn.” Sauntering over, he straddled himself over Percival’s lap and began untying his tie, much to the man’s pleasure… evident in the way he could feel it under him. “Oh… you’re so turned on by me. Do you like me sat here?” He asked teasingly, batting his eyes at him.

“It’s where you belong,” Percival answered, voice unnaturally deep. In the blink of an eye, Newt found himself lying face-up on his bed under the man, whose clothes had suddenly vanished, leaving everything in its glory. Cheeks pink, Newt admired his toned body, which would undoubtedly look healthier after getting more blood into him.

“You can have more blood if you need it,” he whispered, gazing up at the man, who easily complied. The both of them were so aroused by the end of the second feeding that they couldn’t help but give in to each other’s pleasure, Newt moaning Percival’s name as the man emptied himself within him, Newt doing so onto his chest. He came back to his senses to watch the man lick it off of him, and he fell asleep within Percival’s strong embrace after his face and neck inflamed and Percival kissed his red cheeks. “You are mine,” the man spoke before Newt drifted off, affectionately nipping at his ear.

“Yours,” he affirmed.

Love, BelovedBey

#gramander #newt scamander #newt #scamander #percival graves #percival #graves #slash #gay #fanfiction #fic #fluff #fantastic beasts and where to find them

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sweetshark · 5 years

Note

12. First kiss for you and your boy!!

12) first kiss (oh boy....)

@toomanyhusband

This was Kazuichi and Rena's third date, running smoothly. They had just finished nice and decent food at a nearby restaurant, where they were now sitting closely shoulder by shoulder on a park bench worn over the ages.

Kazuichi carried on about his interests as Rena closely listened, until a group of shiny, multi coloured and quite small birds caught her attention.

"Kazuichi," Rena tugged at his jacket, catching his attention. "Look at those adorable birds! They're so cute! They must always visit this park..."

"Yeah, they are kinda cute!" he replied back, which made Rena's eyes light up.

"Um, if it's okay, could I have any food off of you for the birds?"

"O-Oh, yeah, totally." he mumbled, rummaging in his backpack, only to pull out a clear packet of plain shortbread biscuits to give to her. "These are all I got right now, so, you can have them..."

Rena thanked him greatly, opening the packet and crumbling biscuits to throw at the ground for the birds. As the birds waddled up to her and pecked the ground, she giggled to herself. Kazuichi heard her, feeling his heart flutter; he couldn't help but gaze at her then.

What if we kissed right now, he thought. Unless... Y-Yeah! That would be creepy to just kiss someone unexpectedly!

He stared at Rena more, not knowing that his face was coming closer to her cheek. He stopped just at her face, feeling his own cheeks go rosy.

"Rena, uh..."

Rena turned to him and jolted at Kazuichi's silent movement from far away to close to her. Their eyes were now conjoined with each others, and the atmosphere was growing awkward.

"I know this is gonna sound weird but, can I kiss ya?" he questioned, his voice stammering in fear.

Rena only smiled, kissing him lightly on the lips, like a peck. Kazuichi felt like his heart was going to explode before he pecked her back on her cheek. They both looked at the birds, excited to know that they both had their first kisses with each other.

#This made me so FFFF #SOFT??? IDK #I just felt happy writing this #self ship fic #ask #oc x canon #self shipping

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sidpah · 5 years

Text

Glory!

“Royal families, listen! Destitute soldiers! Listen! Listen to me, my sisters and brothers!” Demented cries bellow from the pulpit of what’s now Greene Street. In front of a boarded up ex-liquor store I’m transfixed by the sermonizing of a one-legged African-American-Sidpahan man known only by the locals as Jerry. He’s propped on a cane of some light-hued hardwood, the handle carved into a striking asp. Preaching to a crowd with his bastardized southern American drawl, inciting praise to his powerful transplanted gods.

I pause my running from nowhere to nowhere to listen, bag once more clutched protectively to my chest. Immensely glad and entirely astounded that no one plucked it from me while I slept. There are still some good people here, surely…

“Glory! Glory! Tell the root-high children to seek their fame! Tell them to swarm the hills with golden royal violence! The journey has been sanctified! It’s far but the effort is justified! They’re lewd as the brothels of Sodom to the Antigens.” With every punctuation mark he projects a crooked finger toward a different member of the crowd, impaling them on his accusation.

“The bomb in your chest will beep incessantly – clicking – ticking – a reminder of smokestacks and time-clocks you are avenging. Dark brown broth will splash the feet of the weary. But don’t be dismayed! Don’t be dismayed… Don’t be dissuaded from the path of your glory! Glory, ah, Righteous Glory – Ah! We sing under our inked cloaks, smoking Xeroxed doctrines of perpetual change. Our lungs may blister. Our teeth may fill our throats, gums raining radiation-poisoned bone, all the while the bomb is beeping…”

Superimposed across his face I see monochromatic images of nuclear weapons tests, two-dimensional facades swept away by shadows and dust clouds. Nuclear tornadoes shredding suburbia. A few grains of blowing sand get caught in my nose –

I sneeze.

Jerry doesn’t seem to notice.

Why would he? His eyes are raging to the heavens, his free hand shuddering upward.

“Don’t be distracted by sunlight, by bikinis, by cold intoxicating drink! Seasons change, my friends. Seasons always change! And you must not be caught off guard… Summer, summer, bringing its rumors of a fruitful future – Bare loins, wet lips… One child thought something radical and was lost! Blinded, his lot was hidden beneath the craterous clay. Feel that giddiness of adolescence, but focus its fire! Even if you can’t pinpoint exactly what that adolescent fire felt like… Remember possibility, hopefulness, the feeling that your efforts are all aimed at that fruitful boundless Future that promises you the fulfillment of every desperate wet dream – seventy virgins and all the booze your ghostly liver can handle. Remain diligent and grounded, yes, for you can beware, my friends and children, be aware that without any formal ceremony, all those delusions, twenty-some years of them, will crumble the day you find, with a cold detached bluntness only this godless realm can provide, that you’re there. You’ve arrived. And that the Future proves to be nothing at all like the brochure. Someone’s transformed it into the simple drudgery of an endlessly repetitious present with no time off for good behavior and no window from which to watch the Sun plunge herself hopelessly into the ocean. And those seventy virgins have likewise been melted down and congealed into one gargantuan craggy, flabby old housefrau with runny pendulous tits and uncontrollable flatulence who lords herself over you and crushes your nuts twice as hard every time you feel so bold as to ask her for a sip of her cheap screwtop port wine… Let that image ground your feet to the earth where they can be utilized for the good of humanity while they can still leap and run!”

“Age don’t mean shit!” a young man yells at him, a red plastic cup of frothy beer in his hand. “Guerillas got guns and capitalists got money and power. All’s you got is words!”

“Never underestimate the power of words! Words are the beginning and the end. Words are sound and sound began the universe like sound’ll destroy the universe! Don’t tell me you can’t make a difference! You’re one man, you’re one woman… You’re all god! Do you see? You are all god! Only you can make a difference! Don’t be fooled. The mugshots are overflowing with young men staying cool shot by hot gunpowder flashes while the bomb ticks. Tell me, how hard is it to fool a fool? Stay still. Eeeaaase into the insurgency. Don’t smile. Suck in your gut. Sneer a little. Pooch out your lips. Sniff in those nose hairs, (sniff!) no, no, on second thought, blow them out. Tangle that mop – let’s not continue the charade that you are civil… and human. You are a wild beast god! You are a warrior god! You are a vengeful god! And you can make all the difference! Differences are just a matter of opinion… Opinions are a matter of disparate states of ignorance… You’re a god whose awareness is clothed in the trendy garments of your generation. It’s hidden beneath oversized basketball jerseys with someone else’s name on the back. It’s hidden beneath Saris and batik dresses and overalls with a confederate flag on a red trucker’s cap. It’s there underneath tunics and black berets, balaclavas and vestments with satin crosses running vertical pillars beside the grey tufts of hair in your ears. You are what you wear and whose name you rent. So rent a good one for today! Rent a good one! Chernov, Bookchin, Gibran, Chavez, Crowley, Ashoka, King, Ghandi, Gautama, whichever one resonates your bones, whichever one will move you to action! For the name will be your armor! The name will be your will! You will conjoin the name and flesh as one and reconcile collapsed dynasties of promising risk to the present stifled by this potential-refracting smog!”

I applaud with the crowd and look to the slick old Rat Pack reject next to me who seems not to hear a word Jerry’s said. He’s a tourist in the worst way…

“It costs fifty goddamn cents to tune a note up a single half step these days; you know as well as I do someone’s getting rich on the deal,” he croons to the woman next to him… He’s an old crooner from the Vitalis school… He’s just sightseeing. His paradigm’s been rusted in place for decades… He grinds out his flower cigar in the hair of a tiny Mexican boy in front of him… The boy winces but makes not a peep… He knows how to earn his pay… And the hair may grow through the scar tissue someday, he consoles himself through the pain. And if not, he already has the head of a monk, so maybe it’s a sign from the dios…

“What’re you selling?” a pretty young girl with dirty hair chides Jerry. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with your revolution.”

“You have everything to do with it. For it is your revolution. Can’t you see it? Can’t you see it?”

“See what, that you’re a raving crackpot?”

“That smog filth creeping up blue windowpanes as if its fingers were pulling its body of decay face to face with little eyes contemplating Saturdays eternal,” Jerry continues to the mostly enraptured crowd. It doesn’t matter what he says when it’s projected with such vim and tenor. “Well those eyes will be lucky to see week’s end! Those thin grey gauzy straw fingers scale the slick glass. And we’re stuck! Trapped! What can we do? Bending slick rubber spines, conforming to the bulldozer force against our bodies, we dirty things, soft things, rubbery things bend in acceptance; what else can be done if we can’t first accept? The world must first be the world it is for it is with us as we are – It is as it is it just is! We are as we are as we always were! Oppression ferments our miserable weakness into fuuuel for expansion, fuuuel from the incineration of our carcasses, trees and fauna immolated to produce scores of glowing numbers on a screen – Something sick’s crawling mold up the outside wall – Don’t nobody open that window! Don’t nobody even think of opening it up and lettin’ that mean-hearted bastard in here! What trains pass by with ignore-angst and great pillars of concrete hum into the world is the mating song of that decrepit fiend...”

I’m now not so much listening as swaying, my body scooping and rising in waves with the loops of each phrase, and I’m fighting the heavy urge to run up and grab him by the arm. I must speak to him after his sermon is finished…

“Meanwhile, right here, the Mass’s Fragile Hope makes her pillow of unsheathed straw while smokestacks burn halos of oil and lead around all the bowed heads singing her praises while pissing on her gravestone – their cronies making their fortunes by burying her dead in these distant lands – Look up! Look all around you at these iron girders miles high, each one proclaiming itself a shiny monument to frame her beauty, while their mirrored glass reflects the steady demise of a glorious culture in angry spiteful children eyes… Can’t you see why this is your revolution? All around you this quaint village’s roofs are all in cinders. Never mind the culprits and heroes bound together by fear, all running chaos as cedar smoke recedes, buckets of water splashing the cobblestones so there’s none left by the time they try to throw it on the burnt-out hulls of their homes – Guarantees mean little in a village of burning houses... On veldt and stones, a bright sun turns… She sleeps among the weeds and moss… reeds are her tangled arms – And we all eye her sweetly yearning for those things she brings us, those things we had once back when we were living in the garden, back when we were inchoate and dust and dreamskin clad…”

Sometime in the meantime, I must’ve been mesmerized by the rhetorical arrows slung by his amped-up jaw bow streaking manic implications that made everyone watching him see a second good leg supporting his torso of angry beaming bricks of light. But damned if I didn’t get struck upside the head by one of those darts missed its target and I tumbled… Or maybe I got cold-cocked by some fratboy’s beer-leaden fist. Either way, down I went, listening to his warning admonitions singing a paranoid lullaby…

Fragrant holy spirals off her eyes rain down over my glistening melt tongue… A cloud rolls her tongue making roof glisten with tiny ice eyes… Melt on fragrant crystals in tiny spirals, holy and glistening…

Sprawled across sidewalk… a gaping hole above my ear… How far I’d slid since the demiurgic healing of that strange blond delicacy in Kalday’s mud-walled hovel… I’m so far distant smelling gin or urine, smelling roasted goat limbs over flaming spit, smelling the dead leather shoes of bright fashionistas complaining about meals three weeks since digested to bored mannequins in distant cities… I’m mindful of the patterns being woven by that nightmare-spirit casting my shadow on his own behalf... And as I sidle away from this decaying body already having lost the earth, water, heat and breath, wavering through currents of black chi, I’m pulled. Left shipwrecked on bed with a diseased stranger… Calling a number I wrote on palm to breathe heavy and cum in my pants… Curled under blankets soaked with dejection. I’ve already got what I need, I mumble in my twilight sleep…

#fiction #revolution #anarchism #dreams

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lifeofresulullah · 5 years

Text

PROPHET MUHAMMAD: The Life of the Prophet Muhammad: The Assignment of the Duty of The Prophethood and First Muslims

The Prophet and the Muslims in Dar al-Arqam (Part.2)

“I have the contentment of belief in my heart!”

On another day, Ammar was crying because of the torture that he faced. When our Holy Prophet (PBUH), the Example of Compassion, saw Ammar in this state, he wiped his teardrops and said, "Did the disbelievers capture and push you into water? If they capture you again, say this-and-this to you, and then continue to torture you, say what they want you to say so you can be freed.”

This permission was given to Ammar so that he could save his life from the hands of the cruel polytheists!

Awhile after this permission was given, Ammar was again captured and continuously tormented by the polytheists. While he was being tortured, the following offer was made to him:

“We are not going to cease torturing you until you curse at Muhammad and say that worshipping Lat and Uzza is more favorable than his religion!”

Poor Ammar was desperate; thus, he uttered the polytheists’ words. The oppressors achieved their goal and released him.

Ammar went straight to our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) presence. When our Holy Prophet (PBUH) said, “It can be seen from your face that you have been freed” Ammar responded:

“By Allah, I have not been freed!”

“Why?” asked our Holy Prophet (PBUH.) Ammar answered: “I was forced to abandon you. They forced me to say that the religion of Lat and Uzza was more favorable than yours.”

Ammar was sad and confused. He was standing straight in front of our Holy Prophet (PBUH) in a state of nervousness and fear as if his entire world had come crumbling over his head. He had been saved from the torture and persecution that the polytheists subjected him to but now he had come face-to-face with another danger!

“How was your heart when you uttered the polytheists’ words?” asked our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

Ammar replied with an answer that came straight from his heart:

“I found that the comfort and contentment that is in and the loyalty that I have towards my faith is stronger than steel.”

Upon this, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) said, “There is no sin upon you, O Ammar! If they capture you again and want you to repeat this, then repeat what they say and be freed.” Ammar’s heart was overwhelmed with relief when he heard these words.

Upon this incident, Allah, the Exalted, sent down the 106th verse of Surah an-Nahl:

“Anyone who, after accepting faith in Allah, utters unbelief― except under compulsion, his heart remaining firm in Faith― but such as open their breast to unbelief― on them is Wrath from Allah, and theirs will be a dreadful Penalty.”

In that case, permission is given to a believer whose heart is determined to accept faith. When he/she comes across a situation in which his/her life or an organ of his is in danger of being eliminated by an enemy, it is permissible for him/her to utter words of unbelief with the tongue alone. However, it must be remembered that this is only permissible when the heart is filled with belief. Besides, it is best to take the chance of becoming a martyr by saying the truth and protecting the dignity/honor of Islam and not to utter a single blasphemous word, even if it is only through speech. In this matter, it is considered more virtuous to perform one’s religious duty to the fullest extent than to exercise this privilege. (6)

HAZRAT ABU BAKR SUFFERS TORTURE

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was sitting in Darul Arkam amid many of the first Muslims. With Hazrat Abu Bakr at the forefront, they were all fervently longing to explain the doctrine of Tawhid to the polytheists. They requested permission from our Holy Prophet (PBUH) to actualize their wish. However, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) did not want to relinquish his habit of precaution since such an undertaking would require the passing of some time. He said, “We are small in number, we will not be enough for this task.”

However, these new Muslims were so enthusiastic and zealous in their faith that they were unable to stay put in their place. At last, the Master of the Universe (PBUH) went with them to the Masjid al-Haram. They all sat on one side; a group of polytheists was also there.

Hazrat Abu Bakr, who burned with his love for Allah and His Messenger (PBUH) could not suppress his desire to proclaim the truths that he carried in the depths of his heart to the people; so, he turned to the polytheists and shouted about the exaltedness and holiness of having faith in Allah and about the wretchedness of idolatry.

The polytheists who were filled with enmity and hatred towards the Muslims attacked Hazrat Siddiq and injured him, leaving him with blood flowing. He was only saved when a few people from his tribe, the sons of Taim, intervened.

Hazrat Abu Bakr became unconscious after having been subjected to the pounds of the polytheists’ shoes with iron nails. They took him back home while he was in this unconscious state. He remained unconscious for an entire day and regained his consciousness during the evening.

It was as if he had not received so many beatings and that it was someone else’s eyes and face that was drenched in blood since the first words that spilled from his mouth were:

“What is Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) doing? What kind of state is he in? They had insulted him”

These words were just an example of the immense and magnificent amount of loyalty that Hazrat Abu Bakr had towards our Holy Prophet (PBUH). Without looking at the bloody state that he was in and without minding the pain of his bruises and wounds, he wanted to learn of the Master of the Universe’s (PBUH) condition. Moreover, he asked about him amid the presence of those who strongly opposed our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

They offered him food and water and said, “You were left hungry and thirsty, do you not want to eat and drink?”

Whereas he kept on asking, “What state is Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) in, what is he doing?”

His mother did not know of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) cause. At that time, she was among those who had not attested to faith. In any case, she was bound to learn about the condition of Allah’s Apostle (PBUH). Hazrat Abu Bakr said to his mother, “Go and ask Hattab’s daughter, Umm Jamil and bring news about Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) to me”.

Umm Jamil was a fortunate woman who had become a Muslim. Nonetheless, she acted with discretion and prudence due to what she had learned from our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

When Hazrat Abu Bakr’s mother said to her, “Abu Bakr asks you about the condition of Abdullah’s son, Muhammad”, Umm Jamil replied, “I do not know anything but if you like, we can both go to your son.”

Actually, Umm Jamil knew of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) condition. However, she had answered in this manner because she was taking into account that she may be in the wake of a trap.

When Umm Jamil saw that Hazrat Abu Bakr’s eyes and entire face had been severely bruised, her heart became deeply saddened and she could not contain herself from shouting, “a tribe that deems this fitting for you is undoubtedly savage and aberrant. I pray to Allah that He takes your revenge on them.”

Despite having learned from Umm Jamil that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was safe, Abu Bakr’s heart was still not at ease and so he said to his mother, “By Allah, I will not eat or drink until I see Allah’s Apostle (PBUH)!”

She had no other choice but to take him to our Holy Prophet (PBUH). However, how could he go in this condition? How could he walk to Darul Arkam?

When there were few people around, he went to our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) presence by tottering and leaning on his mother and Umm Jamil. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and Hazrat Abu Bakr embraced one another like two close friends who had not seen each other for years. After he saw our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) condition with his own eyes, he said, “May my mother and father be sacrificed for you, O Messenger of Allah! I am only saddened that that savage and aberrant man (Utba bin Rabia) dragged and rubbed my face against the ground and brought it to an unidentifiable condition; however, I am not upset about anything else.”

At that moment, Hazrat Abu Bakr’s heart was burning ablaze with his love of being in the service of Islam.

He presented his mother to our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and said, “This is my mother, Salma. I desire that you pray to Allah on her behalf and hope that Allah will save her from hellfire for your sake.”

This sincere wish conjoined with a severe prayer and right there at that moment, Lady Ummul Khayr Salma joined the ranks of the fortunate (the Muslims.)

4 notes · View notes