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stuckwith-harry · 3 years

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cried out to you alone

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

Impossible, is the only thing Harry can stand to think. That there is still sunlight in the world after everything.

Still, it pours out over the Burrow’s kitchen table in bright, luminous yellow, warming the veined wood. Harry and the Weasleys watch it creep over the tabletop, sitting elbow-to-elbow. Molly and Arthur are touching shoulders and brushing through hair as they pass around steaming mugs of tea, as they pour milk and stir in spoonfuls of sugar, the bags under their eyes swollen and purple like figs.

When Harry tries to open his mouth, to offer help, Molly quickly shakes her head at him; pleading. Like she wouldn’t know what else to do with herself.

So Harry stays, cramped between George and Ginny, and lets her place her palm on his back as she places his tea in front of him. Through the open window, a sweet-smelling breeze comes pouring in, the smell of warm soil and flowers and summer rapidly approaching, which seems impossible, too.

Tomorrow morning, they’re going to get out of bed and make breakfast. They’re going to feed the chicken in the yard, do the dishes and read the newspaper. Still, the sun is going to come up.

For a moment, he catches Ron’s gaze; Ron, whose face is oddly contorted and whose eyes are glassy and bright red. Harry can’t bear the sight of it: he stares at the old mug in his hands, examining the faded red dots, hand-painted. Anything that soothes.

Poppies, he realises. On the inside, near a chip at the rim, he can make out the small letters spelling out Ottery St. Catchpole, and below that, half-drowning in sweet tea: Flea Market, 1988.

A memory, then. One he wasn’t a part of, but one he can envision, anyway, the bright red summer day, the bustling and shuffling of the little village, the shrieking of children, strawberry ice cream rapidly melting and dripping on bare knees; a younger, happier Ron –

The scraping of a chair yanks him back, as Ginny abruptly gets to her feet and walks out without a word. No one tries to stop her, and the small, pathetic sound of her bedroom door closing from atop the stairs sounds down to them as though she slammed it.

After that, only silence. No pots stir in the kitchen sink, no footsteps thunder from several floors above, and no chatter, no yelling, no laughter holds the walls of the house together. No explosions sound from the twins’ room.

Death is an awfully quiet affair.

One by one, as the stripes on the tabletop grow long and orange, the Weasleys crawl into their hiding places. Harry knows he’s intruding, so he wanders outside, following the soft clucking of the chicken pecking away at the dirt behind their wooden fence, the only things alive and making a sound.

The solitude is a relief: he has never wished to flee the walls of the Burrow so desperately, only stayed long enough to change out of the black funeral robes and into an old Quidditch jumper. Then he pushed Ron’s bedroom door open far enough to slip out and disappear, and mercifully, Ron didn’t try to stop him, either.

The jumper is Ron’s, technically. It feels like being held, Gryffindor red and worn and entirely too large for Harry. Somehow that only makes him feel worse.

The Weasleys did not hesitate to take him home with them after the battle, because that was their way. They put up the old camp bed in Ron’s violently orange bedroom like they always had, and Ron silently handed him a pile of hand-me-downs so Harry would have something to wear other than the clothes that still reeked of the tent, of sweat and of blood.

Harry props his elbows up on the weathered fence and buries his face in the soft sleeves, breathing deeply. For a while, he simply listens as the hens, who do not know or care about anything, cluck away happily, as the urge to slip under the invisibility cloak, to disappear and never make a sound again, keeps on rushing over him.

“Hi.”

His heart jumps painfully into his throat at the quiet greeting and the sound of footsteps on dry grass that preceded it, and when he turns around to face it, he’s looking at Ginny. She’s changed out of her black dress robes, too, back into worn-out denim dungarees and a striped t-shirt. Scarlet and yellow. Her hair has come out of the braid from earlier and falls wildly to her collarbones again, no longer to her belly button, like it used to.

“I couldn’t stand the silence anymore”, she says, voice oddly throaty.

Harry wants to say, you don’t have to explain, but before he can, she pushes out: “And then I was in my room and it was just as fucking quiet, and I just – I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

She looks older, Harry thinks wildly. He hasn’t let himself look at her, not really, doesn’t even know why, just that he’s been avoiding her most of all. Ever since May 2nd, the quiet between them has stretched and stretched over miles and oceans and continents of wasteland. Harry knows it’s his fault, that he should say something, but he has no words, no words at all.

The first morning after the battle, when he came stumbling into the common room and found her there, they just held each other, and he had no words then, either. There was sunlight there, too, he remembers suddenly, poking through the shattered windows and lighting up every particle of dust floating around the empty room.

“Can we go somewhere else?”, she asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Anywhere else?”

Harry nods, mouth dry. For a moment, her eyes seem to linger on him, but then she turns away without another word, and he follows her lead without question or objection. They don’t speak again until they reach the old broomshed, and Ginny suddenly turns to look at him again, face unreadable.

“Any chance you wanna go for a fly?”

“Wh-What?”

She shrugs. “Do you?”

It’s a strange time capsule, the shed. Ginny pushes the wooden door open and sends flurries of dust into the air, catching sunlight; Harry, who is standing behind her, catches a glimpse of Arthur’s old Muggle trinkets and the old brooms lined up against the wall. Ron and Ginny’s are closest to the door; the twins’ brooms are up on a shelf opposite the square window.

For a moment, Ginny is perfectly still, and Harry knows she is looking at them, too. Then she reaches for her broom and silently pushes past him. Harry grabs Ron’s and closes the door of the shed behind him, and together they wander away from the Burrow, over the hills that surround it, where wild poppies are peeking through the unkempt grass and weeds.

Harry thinks he knows where she’s going: their makeshift Quidditch pitch hidden between gnarly old trees from summers long lost, where they used to chuck apples and tennis balls at each other, during all those afternoons spent playing Quidditch two against two.

Tall, sweet-smelling yarrow brushes along their bare shins as they walk, and pink clover, the soft heads bending back to the earth under the weight of bumblebees passing by, thick dandelion leaves spread all across the ground amidst the weeds; and everywhere poppies, peeking through the tall grass, the paper-thin petals fluttering in the breeze.

Tucked behind another hill, Harry remembers, a few minutes on foot further north, is the lake where they whiled away happier summer afternoons than this. The image comes to his mind in bright, sunny colours, Ginny’s wide, toothy grin as she sneaks up on Ron, the thundering splash and Hermione’s piercing shriek, and Ron, emerging, spluttering and yelling, his sopping hair plastered to his face.

But that was centuries ago, and their full-bellied laughter seems miles and countries away already. Here, only silence. Harry wants to ask, are you okay?, or say, it’s going to be alright, but what good would it do?

The poppies are early: they’re not supposed to bloom for another month. There’s no end to them, no matter how far they walk, a sea of red stretching out all over the soft hills. Harry can’t tear his eyes away until the first beech trees they used to climb, black pines and yews throw cool shadows over their heads.

Strange, that it looks the same. The leaves up above their heads rustle softly as they mount their brooms, and Ginny shoots into the air, a quiet cannon. For the better part of an hour, they zoom in circles through the rapidly cooling air, chucking an old Quaffle back and forth at each other. Ginny’s throws are hard and unrelenting: they’re not keeping score, but she’s playing like it’s the last game of the season, like the House Cup depends on it, so Harry lets her exhaust herself. By the time they sink back to the ground, the sky over the meadow is dotted in shades of pink and red.

Ginny hits the ground with such force her knees buckle under the impact and hit the dry grass. Harry gasps, but she is already getting up again, brushing off the dirt without comment.

They find a spot at the outer edge of the pitch and slump into the tall grass with their backs leaning against an oak tree, where they can see the sunset falling on the soft hills and the Burrow in the distance, bright red like poppies. Ginny’s hands are uselessly holding her ribs, her warm eyes staring off into nothing.

“Feel any better?”, Harry asks after a while.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She shifts next to him, tucking her scraped knees to her chest. They look like she’s spent all summer climbing trees and rolling down the grassy hills around the Burrow and crashing her broomstick into her brothers in a spectacular grab for the Quaffle.

“At least I feel a little less like I was buried with him”, she mutters.

I’m sorry, Harry wants to say, but that seems useless, too.

“I wanted to leave, too”, he says finally. “It was so quiet in there.”

“I hate it”, Ginny says softly. “It doesn’t feel anything like home when it’s like this.”

“I’m sorry”, he says despite himself, for what feels like the thousandth time since everything. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Ginny's brows furrow slightly, as if to say, yes, you should. “If you weren’t, I’d still be shut up in my room right now. Going mad, probably.”

After a short pause, she adds: “I wouldn’t know who to talk to.”

It strikes Harry like lightning: she was looking for him.

She looks over at him as though searching for something. Her brown eyes glow golden in the warm light, like honey, her whole face painted in reds and oranges and pinks.

“How do you do it?”, she asks finally, voice quiet, but steady, as the soft breeze continues to rush through the trees. “How do you lose everyone you’ve lost – and go on living? How do you live with the dead?”

Harry looks at her, the way she sits cross-legged and hunched over in the grass next to him, arms hugged to herself, and it sinks in, what she’s searching for, what she’s asking of him.

“It’s not the same”, he says softly.

She scoffs quietly. “How is that not the same?”

Harry looks around their hiding place. Maybe it’s the creaking of old branches around them, almost a murmur, the smell of the trees, that brings them back: his parents in the Forbidden Forest, walking towards him, Sirius’ bright grin, Dumbledore at King’s Cross Station.

The thought of them cuts through him, every beat of his heart sharp and stinging as they remain dead and he does not.

“Your speech”, he says finally, and watches her jaw clench. “I couldn’t have said anything like that about my parents – or Sirius …”

“I can’t believe I wrote him a fucking eulogy”, Ginny mutters, staring at the weeds to her feet, the patches of moss creeping across the earth under the wild, entangled grass. “It makes it feel so fucking final.”

“You did really well”, Harry says. “It was beautiful.”

She merely shrugs, and he doesn’t blame her.

“I’m glad I got to say something, I think”, she says after another stretch of silence. “But, Merlin, he was walking and talking and making jokes just a week ago, and now he’s six feet underground and I’ve written a double-sided page on how sorely he’ll be missed.”

She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“Up until today, I really thought he might jump up and laugh it off and make fun of us for falling for it.”

You made it feel like that today, he wants to say, but doesn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Ginny.”

She read it out with a completely steady voice, both fists clutching the slip of paper in her hand. She did not bother to find a silver lining this time, or to look for meaning at all; but every word seemed to bring Fred back to life a little, even earning a few teary chuckles from the other Weasleys. Every anecdote and every prank she recounted was a testament to the fact that Fred Weasley had been alive, that he had mattered, that he had left an impact on her, on all of them.

“You know my Mum had brothers”, Ginny says suddenly, looking over at Harry’s hands. “Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”

She points, and Harry realises what she’s really looking at: Fabian Prewett’s battered old watch on his arm.

“They died in the first war. Bill, Charlie and Percy say they remember them a little, but the rest of us just grew up hearing stories.”

She picks at the shallow wound on her knee, where droplets of bright red blood have pushed to the surface through the cracks in her freckled skin. “It’s why Fred and George are named after them. A little bit, anyway – you know, Fred and George … Fabian and Gideon … Mum was pregnant when they died.”

Harry swallows. “I didn’t know.”

Ginny smiles sadly. “I liked the idea that they got to live on in the twins a little. I never thought to ask Fred and George how they felt about it, actually. I can’t imagine … how Mum feels.”

Harry watches her wrap her arms around her legs, watches the strawberry blond hairs on her shins stand on end as the air cools around them. She looks tired, but her eyes are dry.

“I never made that connection”, he says softly.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you”, she says. “It seemed important.”

Even over the rustling of the trees, the chirping and creaking all around them, he can hear her clearly, her voice steady, unwavering.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.”

She looks around at him. “Do you not miss your parents?”

“I don’t know how”, Harry mutters. “Your speech … it was full of memories.”

She doesn’t respond, understanding silently. Then: “What about Sirius?”

Harry shrugs. “He never really got to be my godfather, did he? Not the way he was supposed to, anyway … there wasn’t time. And I don’t remember when my parents were alive – I’ve never known anything else.”

He looks at her, the way she’s quietly watching. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you were hoping to hear.”

Ginny dismisses it with a half-hearted gesture, lost in thoughts somewhere else.

“Do you think grieving someone is the same thing as missing them, then?”

“No … do you?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, then shakes her head.

“I just – I just want to talk to him and tell him what’s going on, and I think about how long it’s been since I’ve talked to him and how much I wish he were here and how I’m not gonna get to talk to him –”

She pauses mid-sentence, as though looking for words, and doesn’t find any.

“And then I think about the fact that he’s dead. That his life is over. And that I helped bury him today. And they’re both – awful, but it’s different, I guess.”

Harry nods, more to himself than to Ginny this time.

“And now, I just – I need to know what to do. So it doesn’t swallow me whole.”

Harry is still watching them walk towards him before his inner eye, his parents in the Forbidden Forest, his mother’s hungry face.

“I forget, sometimes”, he says. “For a moment, I think I forget they’re gone. Or I’m – I don’t know, distracted, and I’m not thinking about it – it slips away, and then it hits me again.”

Ginny’s teeth dig into her bottom lip. “I … honestly can’t fathom it right now.”

Harry looks over at her, the way she sits next to him, curled into herself, her hands still uselessly holding her ribs. Like it is physically hurting her.

“I dunno. Maybe forgetting is the wrong word. But when it happens, it always feels like it’s happening to someone else, like I am someone else.”

Ginny watches him intently as he stumbles to the end of his sentence: it feels pathetic already, having said it out loud like that.

“Like you are who you would’ve been if they hadn’t died?”, she asks, in that quietly remarkable way of hers, where she doesn’t treat him like something delicate, but she doesn’t ask for more than he can give, either.

“Yeah, I reckon. But I don’t recognise him at all.”

Ginny hums in understanding. She leans back against the bark of the tree and pulls her knees to herself again. “You would’ve been happier, anyway.”

Harry turns away at that, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

“I know it doesn’t make sense or anything –”

“No, it does, Harry.”

“I mean, I know they couldn’t have lived. Everything would have to be different. We probably wouldn’t be here.”

Ginny sits in silence for a while.

“Do you ever wonder?”, she asks finally. “What you would’ve been like?”

“I guess … more like them. In ways I can recognise, anyway.”

He gestures helplessly at nothing, and Ginny takes that as a sign to push no further.

“I don’t recognise Ginny a week ago, either”, he hears her say, and the muffled sound of her voice tells him she’s wiping her nose on her sleeve again. “Every time something terrible happened, I guess I didn’t. It’s like remembering an old friend. One whose address you lost or something.”

“Cheery”, Ginny says in a hollow voice.

“It gets less all-consuming”, he says softly.

“Good”, she mutters. “Right now it’s pretty fucking all-consuming. It’s there when I wake up in the morning, and it’s – in my tea, and on all my clothes, and it’s in everyone I talk to and everything I say.”

Harry stares at the sky overhead, the red rapidly paling. Still, there is that whispering in the treetops, the feeling of being transported back into the Forbidden Forest. Still, his parents, reaching out for him.

“I’m sorry”, he says truthfully. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Ginny shakes her head. “It’s all I needed.”

He watches her tug at a poppy near her feet, struck by how long he’s managed to stay away from her, when her company is so comforting. The resolution comes to him all on its own, that he’s going to tell her everything. The Forbidden Forest. King’s Cross Station.

“Do you want to head back yet?”

Ginny looks at him, and she seems calmer somehow. For the first time since they got here, she doesn’t seem to be searching for anything – just looking.

“In a little while”, she says.

Harry looks back at her, really looks at her, and for a long time, neither of them speak, having arrived at some quiet understanding. Still, there’s a murmur in the trees around them, but they pay it no mind, and they don’t turn to look.

#i never posted it in obnoxious long text post form so :-)#here we are.#hinny #hp #fanfiction #cried out

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suoyou · 3 years

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[wip] 凤凰涅槃; phoenix rising

incomplete wip. 9034 words, rated t.

wangxian court intrigue + wuxia + wingfic au, in which wwx is the lost phoenix and lwj is royal scholar. this is actually a collection of scattered scenes through the first act of the fic!

dwell too long in the fire and even the phoenix will burn.

Wei Wuxian holds a rotting mango in his hand.

Pungent, slippery as an oiled wok and twice as dangerous, it’s just a few days too old for optimal flavor—but he does not plan to eat it. No, he’s going to throw it.

A well-aimed piece of fruit and the right audience and a stomach just empty enough that the metallic edge of hunger has begun to bite makes for a good show. Wei Wuxian teeters like a gargoyle on the upturn of a roof, all his weight balanced in a crouch, waiting for the fishmonger to pass by beneath him. The market teems with citizens who have come early to buy the freshest kills and produce that the morning has to offer, the smell of frying jianbing wafts in thick curls up to Wei Wuxian’s perch. His belly rumbles. His last meal had been during sunrise the day before.

“Fresh fish!” shouts the fishmonger. His mule’s head bobs dark and feisty as it tugs his cart along. Behind them, their wagon is crammed with quivering tubs full of water and writhing fish. “Fresh from the docks this morning! Fresh caught! Carp and eel and shrimp! Killed and scaled and gutted if you ask! Fresh fish!”

Wei Wuxian rocks up onto the knobs of his knees. The tiled roof digs into his skin--what are you doing here, flightless bird? His weapon of choice bleeds a thin, honeyed line of juice from his wrist to his elbow. He takes aim.

A little commotion in a crowded market goes a long way. One spooked mule, one fishmonger, and a wagon full of uncovered tubs of live catches? What could go wrong? The sun hammers on his back, asking him what he’s waiting for. The mule’s flanks are exposed around its saddle and harness. Wei Wuxian screws one eye shut and sticks the tip of his tongue between his lips as he raises his mango, and--

“I’ll bet my daughter!”

A disturbance rises above the cheerful twang of the market below. It comes from the gambler’s stall, tucked away by the liquor stand. What a smart, slimy placement.

“Is this man crazy?”

“What kind of father are you?”

“How disgusting, to gamble with your daughter’s life!”

Wei Wuxian frowns. Below him, the fishmonger passes, and the crowd molds around his wagon like ants around a snail. A pustule of a man hunches over the gambler’s stall with a girl of no more than nine or ten in his grip as he snarls in the proprietor’s face. His clothes are stained and dirty, and his eyes are yellow with jaundice. Anger flares hot as a kicked hornet’s nest in Wei Wuxian’s belly, muting the hunger, when the drunkard yanks on his daughter so hard that she trips into the table.

Without thinking, Wei Wuxian shouts, “Hey, you, ugly dog at the gambler’s table!”

Dozens of heads turn to stare.

Wei Wuxian lobs the mango with all his might.

It whistles over the street like a lumpy, bulbous pigeon, dripping as it goes. The man is too drunk, or too hungover to move out of the way--he simply watches, jaw slack, not seeming to realize that he’s in the way until it splatters him square in the face and explodes in a shower of golden muck. He howls, clawing at his skin, and in the process lets his daughter go. She falls because she’d been unbalanced, hard into the street on her elbows. Some of the mango carnage had splattered onto her. Orange-brown bits drip off her chin like fat, gummy tears.

The drunkard points a trembling, furious finger at Wei Wuxian. “You--!”

“Me? What about me? Worry about yourself first. Worry about your daughter!”

A small crowd has gathered to watch the spectacle--this man, covered in sticky mango goo and attracting flies, and this vagrant shaking with laughter on the roof. He is so close to the edge, yet balances in place without any unsteadiness, with the surety of someone who is always in high places.

“You are a coward, staying on the roof! Get down here and fight me with your fists, like a man!” shouts the drunk. His daughter tugs on his sleeve behind him as the crowd thickens.

“A-die, A-die, let’s go--”

“Let go of me, you useless girl.” He shakes her off. “Good for nothing, waste of space. Not even good enough for gambling money.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. A hushed gasp races through the bodies below as he stands and tips from his perch on the roof, tumbling once before alighting in the street. His shoes stick to the pavement from the tack of juice. The man barely makes it up to his chin, and his skin is splotchy from alcoholism; his clothes are patches which means he had family members whose kindness he did not deserve at home.

“What,” says Wei Wuxian, tucking his hands behind his back. He’s not above mango-throwing, but he’s not going to fight a man in front of his young daughter. Now that’s just bad manners. “You really want to fight me? Just take my advice, sir. Go home. Take your daughter and your money and buy some food, and go home. Don’t make me throw another mango at you. That was going to be my lunch.”

“I’m not scared of men like you. Arrogant and scornful, just looking for a fight! I ought to break your--”

Wei Wuxian intercepts the man’s fist before it can connect with his face.

He fights like a commoner would, crude and unpolished, with his thumb tucked inside his fingers. Rookie mistake. His eyes bulge like a frog stepped on as he tries to force his way through Wei Wuxian’s grip, face turning the color of puce as he fails comically. Wei Wuxian digs his nails into the back of the man’s hand, trembling with the effort of holding him in place, and then he shoves him back.

The man goes sprawling in the street, and the crowd shuffles back, as if to avoid a particularly filthy swine.

“A-die,” says his daughter, trying to help him up, but he swats at her. “A-die.”

“Go.”

Not without spitting at Wei Wuxian’s feet. He simply laughs, because it’s such a silly, juvenile thing, and then, like an infection clearing, the citizens around him scatter back into the day.

Wei Wuxian claps his hands together, then wipes his palms on the seat of his robes. “You really ought not to entertain patrons who have clearly started to lose their control,” he says to the proprietor of the gambling stall. They wipe down the edges of their table with a dusty rag where the carnage of fruit clings. “Soon he will trade his whole family away for nothing but a nugget of gold.”

The proprietor scoffs. “And who are you?”

“Someone nice enough to clean his mess up. Sorry for this, by the way,” says Wei Wuxian. He starts straightening sacks full of supplies--coin bags, a set of rings, vases clinking fluted and musical against each other. They must run a games stall elsewhere in the city; Wei Wuxian has seen these prizes before.

“Who asked you to be a vigilante, anyway.” The proprietor shakes his head. “You look for trouble, boy.”

“The only thing sweeter than trouble is justice,” says Wei Wuxian, laughing at the distaste the proprietor levels at him. He chases a few escaped scrolls that have tumbled from their sack. “Ah, don’t be like that. I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to interfere with business, okay? I just don’t like to see--”

One of the scrolls has unfurled enough for Wei Wuxian to catch a glimpse of the ink painting. Beneath the glimmer of midday sun the paper is so buttery that Wei Wuxian expects for his fingers to come away slick when he picks it up, letting the scroll’s weight pull the painting the rest of the way open.

The brushwork is unfamiliar. Mountains studded with frosted clouds, a lake, a tiny figure of a man at the silver waterline. A spray of peonies cradles the scene in its petals, done with a brush so fine that the artist could have drawn it with a single human hair. Wei Wuxian doesn’t recognize it--not the art. He hadn’t opened it for the art.

A red seal dots the corner of the painting like a button of blood. Wei Wuxian would recognize it anywhere--anyone should recognize it anywhere. Being in possession of something with a seal like this, without explanation, could earn an axe to the neck.

“Sir,” he asks, staring at the painting, “how did you come across a painting done by the imperial family?”

The proprietor’s eyes widen, and they make a wild lunge for it. Wei Wuxian is taller, though, and jerks it out of reach, rolling the scroll back up so the paper won’t tear. “Give it back!”

“Aha! What is it? Tell me. How did you come across a treasure like this?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Hmm. So if I simply walk away with it, you will also simply shrug, and let me be on my way?” Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows when the proprietor glowers. “Ah, so it mustn’t be nothing. Not with a look like that. Do tell.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Wei Wuxian chews on his lip, smiles. His stomach rumbles, already two cartwheels ahead, but he needs to slow down and think. “Can I pawn it from you?”

“I’d like to see you try, boy. Give it here!”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I would not try. I would give it back to you, if you asked nicely, but oh--oh, the danger of another person knowing that you have a painting with an imperial stamp on it, with no way to explain how. Unless you’d like to tell me. But you’ve made it clear as day that you’re not interested in letting me know, so you’ll just have to let a stranger go, knowing he carries this secret, not knowing who he is, not knowing what he’ll do.” He holds the scroll out now. “But of course, I cannot take what’s mine. Shame. Here you are.”

The proprietor had listened to him speak with a vague, mounting fear in his eyes, and when Wei Wuxian shakes the scroll at them, they shrink back as if he’s shaking a dismembered arm at them.

“What, don’t want it now? Didn’t you want me to hand it over?”

“What are you playing at,” the proprietor asks. “Are you a palace spy? What do you want?”

Laughter leaps from Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “Me, a palace spy? Oh, no, no, no. I’m afraid not. Palace spies have much more important things to do than to sniff out thieving proprietors. Tell you what. I take this off your hands and you don’t have to worry about your neck, or your family’s necks, and in return, I won’t tell them where I found it. Hm?”

“You plan to give it back to the imperial family?”

“Of course,” says Wei Wuxian. “All things return to where they belong in the end.”

So as it goes, Wei Wuxian is one mango poorer, but one imperial painting richer, and he cannot tell if he is better off for it. He tucks the scroll into his knapsack and the key that hangs around his neck back into his collars and scans the market for weak spots, opportunities to win more food than he has money for. The rotten mango had been stupid luck, and luck is a finite resource which Wei Wuxian does not have much of to begin with, so he’s going to have to work for the rest of his food today.

A surreptitious scrap of pink peeks out from behind the liquor stall and Wei Wuxian only catches a glimpse of the girl before she tucks herself behind the wooden beams again. Oh--the drunk’s daughter. She’s alone now. Irritation bubbles in the pit of Wei Wuxian’s stomach when he pictures the man shaking her off, lumbering towards another gambling stall that will entertain his time, and he has half a mind to--

“Fresh meat buns! Made this morning. Pork and chicken and mushroom!”

Wei Wuxian catches up to the bun cart, falling into step with the vendor. “Shifu, how much for one?”

“One bronze piece for three.”

“Can I get five for one bronze piece?”

“Are you deaf or just stupid? No. Get lost.”

“Please, shifu,” Wei Wuxian says, he gestures behind himself in the direction he’d seen the little girl, “my daughter, she hasn’t eaten in days, and we’re here to see the doctor and he turned her away on account of the fact that we have no money, and she’ll only get sicker if she doesn’t have any food in her system, our family is still waiting at home, please have mercy--”

“Heavens! Good heavens, fine, here! Take these misshapen ones, they’re an eyesore, anyway.”

“Thank you!” Wei Wuxian fishes the bronze piece out of his money pouch, fingertips poking through the holes in the bottom like eyes, and collects his spoils. “Thank you, Shifu!”

“Get outta my sight.”

Wei Wuxian holds his armful of buns to his chest, and their heat warms him through his clothes down to his bones. It’s a relatively cool day, even for autumn. When he turns around again, the girl scrunches herself back into the safety of the shadows, and he chuckles to himself. The liquorist eyes Wei Wuxin warily when he approaches, but he simply seats himself on the other end of the stall and opens his carrying cloth full of lopsided buns. Ugly, unwhole, but still good for hunger. Still good.

“Could I interest you in a bottle of rice wine?”

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Wei Wuxian flaps his hand. “I am not wont for liquor, but perhaps some company to share these buns with. I have far too many to finish on my own. But I don’t know who’d want these ugly buns. Certainly not you, Shifu, I’m sure?”

The girl peeks out from behind the stall, and Wei Wuxian smiles. “Want one?”

She scampers to sit down in front of him, reaching out with sooty hands for a bun at the top of the bile. The skin of it is pearly in the noon sun, giving under touch, the way only fresh steamed buns are. Then she hesitates, looking into Wei Wuxian’s face as if expecting to be struck.

“Go ahead,” he says, holds the bun out. “Eat.”

She snatches it and crams half of it into her mouth, and Wei Wuxian chuckles again. He knows hunger like this, and takes his own portion to tear into. The sweet smell of pork and mushroom and oil floats up into his eyes, and for a moment the meat sears on his tongue before it settles into a taste.

“Is it good?” he asks.

She nods.

So it’s good.

“Where have you been? Wei Wuxian, I ought to cut you off at the kneecaps! A-Jie’s been worried sick, you were supposed to be back over a shichen ago.”

“I ran into a friend, Jiang Cheng. Lighten up, will you? Here, I got buns.”

“Keep your stupid buns. Where’s the fish you were going to get?”

Wei Wuxian scratches at the back of his neck. “Ha. Well, about that.”

“Seriously? I can’t believe you. If it weren’t your birthday, I really would cut you off at the legs.”

“But it is, so instead, you need to be nice!” Wei Wuxian crows triumphantly.

Jiang Cheng sighs, a gust of hot summer wind that picks up stinging sands. A wisp of his hair flits with his breath. He’s wearing his nice clothes, no doubt because A-Jie made him, with a polished belt tucked around his waist like the coil of a sleeping snake. It’s a formality that they hardly ever bother with anymore, not in such a provincial town as this, leading a life as threadbare as theirs. The shine of the buckle comes off of him in bright flashes.

“Whatever. Come on, A-jie made noodles. Where’d you get buns?”

“Oh, so you do want one. Here, I know you like chicken.”

“Don’t tell me you managed to snatch all of these,” Jiang Cheng asks, but he takes the one Wei Wuxian offers anyway. “Who likes chicken,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“I just harnessed a talent that you have never quite mastered, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says. “Charm.”

“I ought to smack you.”

“There was a hungry kid. I didn’t want her to go hungry.”

Jiang Cheng is quiet. “We all are, why go help a stranger?”

“Wouldn’t you have wanted someone to help us back then?”

At this, a grunt. Which, coming from Jiang Cheng, is as enthusiastic a yes he’ll give, so Wei Wuxian smiles to himself and slings his sack of food over his shoulder. He’s down to two now, and he figures he’ll just give both of them to A-Jie who deserves much more than two pork buns, but it’s the best he has. One day he’ll get her expensive candied mangoes and hawthorn berries that the baker makes in the market in the next city over--the one that glitters.

“A-Cheng, A-Xian! You’re back!”

“Found him scaling the wall back into the hutong,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “Punk.”

Jiang Yanli, too, is wearing her nicest set of robes today, with a hair ornament that Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen her with since the new year. Her face clears of worry when she sees them, and she reaches up, straightens a lock of Wei Wuxian’s hair where it’s caught over his ear. “A-Xian, you’re not--you know that you shouldn’t--”

“Scale walls, climb to great heights, jump off roofs, I know, I know,” Wei Wuxian says, vividly recalling that he has done all of the above and then some today. “Sorry to make you worry, A-Jie, I’m fine! I got you buns. You can have them both.”

“But what about the fish? A-xian, we were going to make one for dinner for you.”

“Ah, fish or no fish, it’s no matter. Noodles are good enough. As long as I can live a long life, luck will always come back around.”

“What if your whole life is plagued with bad luck?” asks Jiang Cheng as they duck back into their hut of clay and brick. The curtains are open, a rare moment of Jiang Yanli letting daylight peek inside, and it lights up their matchbox home in a wash of sunset. Bowls of steaming noodles are set out on the rickety slice of table, with the biggest in front of the seat where Wei Wuxian always sits. His heart swells. He’ll be forcing mouthfuls of noodles into his siblings’ bowls when they sit down, he’s sure, but for now his heart is the pulse of afternoon sun in the window.

“Then my next life,” says Wei Wuxian. “My next one won’t be nearly as bad.”

The Lost Phoenix is lost. I think that’s the point. No one will ever find them. You will die looking for them.

Wei Wuxian is built from broken things.

He sees rubble and thinks, that is a home. He sees blood and thinks, that is a heart. He sees himself reflected in the slow meanders of swamp-green lakes lazy with dragonflies and skeeters and tries to remember, that is a human, that is a human, that is a human.

“You may not be human, but that is what makes you worth loving,” is what A-Jie says.

“You? A human? With an appetite like that? It’s like trying to feed a void with you,” is what Jiang Cheng says, which is basically the same thing.

Wei Wuxian is built from broken things, but the uglier, eyesore-pork-bun truth is that he is born from destruction. He is born from the fire of things, and the ashes of himself; his body waits for the wither.

The Lost Phoenix is dead. His ashes were scattered in mountain, sea, and sky.

The Lost Phoenix is alive! Everyone knows that leaving behind but a single ember can spark a wildfire. Fire has wings.

No human, ghost, or demon has ever seen the Lost Phoenix. If they had, wouldn’t we have heard by now? They are only a legend.

There are scars on his back to prove what he once was and never will be again, and Jiang Yanli tells him, The world was not ready for you. The world, perhaps, will not be ready for the Lost Phoenix to return for as long as we still walk upon it, A-Xian, but maybe when one day when everyone is gone, when A-Cheng and I are gone, you’ll--

He always cuts her off there. Usually he can’t see her face, because she’ll be sitting behind him and rubbing oil into the muscles that can never seem to loosen around his shoulder blades, the ones that line the edges of the scars like mottled mountain peaks. Just two of them, in straight lines as long as a hand, glaring at each other over the expanse of his back, the winding groove of his spine. Phantom pains. Human or not, the body will miss limbs when they are gone.

Tonight, Jiang Yanli does not tell him the world isn’t ready for him. It hurts to listen to her say it, because it’s not a pain that Wei Wuxian can beat away with his fists or even his words. There’s a quiet noise of the bottle being unstoppered, then the cloying scent of liniment oil wreathing around him as he sits with his back bared to her, hair swept over his shoulder.

“A-jie,” he says.

“Hmm?” Her hands are small and warm against his back, and he hisses in pain when her finger catches on a tight knot immediately. “Sorry, Xianxian.”

“It’s okay. Uhm, I have a stupid question.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. Ask.”

“Which birthday did we celebrate tonight?” he asks quietly.

The inside of their hut is a dark, uneven indigo now, the fires of the village filtering in through their window. Jiang Cheng has gone to bathe, so the only answering noise above the sound of a city settling in evening is Jiang Yanli’s soft laughter.

“Your thirty-first, A-xian.”

“How many years have passed in this life?”

Her hands disappear as she dabs more liniment oil onto her fingers. “Since your reincarnation?”

“Yeah.”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen,” Wei Wuxian repeats. “Thirteen.” He rolls it over his tongue, trying to figure out how it tastes. Bitter, a little. like medicine. Maybe it’s the liniment. Jiang Yanli runs her thumb down the edge of one of the scars, massaging out a few particularly gnarly knots there.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks.

“Not wrong, exactly.” Wei Wuxian pushes his fingers into his folded robes in his lap, pretends the fabric is sand and silt at the bottom of a lake. He almost expects handfuls of snails when he pulls them back out. “It’s just that, with every passing year, I think maybe this is it--this is the year I’ll remember. This is the year I’ll remember the things about my life before this one. Remember when I tried to teach you and Jiang Cheng how to catch fish with your hands, in the river, A-Jie? You said you could see them beneath the surface, but when you’d reach in to grab it, it was like the fish were never even there.”

“I remember,” says Jiang Yanli. She is quiet, waits for him to go on.

“Trying to recall my first life is like that. I know it happened. I can see it right there, flickering under the water, but. But each year comes and goes, and not only do I not remember anything, it feels like more and more of what I thought I could remember slips away,” says Wei Wuxian. “I was excited in the eighth year of this life. Then I was excited in the twelfth. Thirteen is no good, is it, A-Jie? I’ve run out of lucky numbers to count on.”

“Would it make you happy to remember, Xianxian?”

“I think so. When I think about it--it’s funny, you know. Maybe you know. I can’t recall memories from it, exactly, but when I think about my first life, I think I remember being happy. Like when you roll over and the sun is already up. You can feel the warmth on you even if you don’t see the light.” Then Wei Wuxian snorts. “That doesn’t make any sense. Sorry, ignore me, A-jie.”

“It makes sense. Of course it makes sense. Is that all you remember, a feeling?”

They’ve been over this before. A hazy, murky image of something from Before, dredged up from packed soil. Jiang Cheng will always say, “Who knows? Why do you think I would remember?” waspish, and Jiang Yanli would always give him a soft, “Perhaps it was, A-xian.”

“I remember,” he says, “that we were in a noble family, once.”

This is an easy one. She always says yes to this one. “We were.”

“I remember that the palace walls were lined with bronze, not gold like a lot of the common folk think.”

“Yes, they are.”

“The accident.” The one that has turned him into this.

“I wish you did not,” says Jiang Yanli.

“I don’t--not really. I just remember the pain. My body does, anyway.”

“Muscle has memory,” she says. “But because you are who you are, so does your blood and bones.”

Wei Wuxian fiddles with the gap-toothed key that swings from his neck. It thunks hollowly against his bare chest without the robes to hold it in place, and he tugs the deerskin rope that loops around his neck so that the knot tying it together comes down, down, down, through the hole in the key, up, up, back up again, a miniature comet’s orbit.

“You were a princess,” he says, quiet again.

“Princess is a strong word.”

“But you were.”

“In my own way.”

And then, the most solid memory he has—a figure in white, with hair that fell to their waist, holding a smudge of pink in their hand. Solid, but blurred, like Wei Wuxian is trying to see them through a sheeting waterfall. The lines of their body were straight and crisp, except for the pink. The pink was always soft, parting the mud of his memory.

He doesn’t mention this one, usually. Wei Wuxian holds it close to his heart where it has roots. Year after year, no matter the rains, nothing has flowered. Seasons have passed.

“A person,” Wei Wuxian murmurs.

Jiang Yanli’s hands slow. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” says Wei Wuxian. “Just a person. Their back is to me, so I can’t see their face, but it’s too blurry for me to see them, even if they’d been right in front of me. And they were just standing there--just standing. Nothing else. I don’t even really know if they’re real, but it’s the best memory I have.” He digs his nail into an indent in the key’s teeth. “Do you think they were real, A-Jie?”

“As real as the Lost Phoenix is.”

Wei Wuxian laughs weakly. “The Lost Phoenix is as good as myth.”

A myth meant to scare people.

A cautionary tale.

“The Lost Phoenix needs to stop squirming, or I will poke the sensitive parts of his scar, and I know he hates it when I do,” Jiang Yanli says.

A story about a monster.

“Maybe it’s better to forget some things, A-Jie.”

“A-Cheng and I only want you to be happy, Xianxian. Whatever that means to you. Whether that means remembering or forgetting.”

“I want to remember, because your happiness is my happiness,” Wei Wuxian insists, turning around. Jiang Yanli lifts her hand away as he rearranges his legs in a half-lotus, one foot stretched out onto the floor. “I want to remember because I know this life isn’t one you and Jiang Cheng would have chosen if you both had a choice. You can’t say I’m wrong about that. No noble family member would choose to live in a rundown hutong if they had a choice.”

“A-Xian--”

“I know you won’t tell me what happened before my reincarnation,” says Wei Wuxian. “I know you want to forget. But if anything ever happens that means we can go back to it--you have to say so, okay? You both are the only family I have left. Let me do something for the people who have somehow kept me alive for thirty-one years. I can’t remember eighteen of them. As if I started reading in the middle of the story. There are things I know without knowing how I know them.”

Whether it be a story, a tale, legend, or myth, one thing was certain: the Lost Phoenix is the last known survivor of the Phoenix Rising, once the most revered noble family of the imperial city, the warrior family that protected the throne.

Forged from the Sacred Fires of Scarlet Mountain, the Phoenix Rising once was so formidable that simply meeting one of them in their true form was a sign of luck and good fortune. They were, as their family name suggested, bewinged humans who lived and died and rose again from their own ashes. They were skilled in combat, nimble in war, with the ability of flight. They harnessed Taoist magic that was only spoken of in books.

A secular world did not have room for magic.

“Our A-xian,” says Jiang Yanli, shaking her head, “always hurts himself trying to make us happy before he remembers he has a heart, too.”

“Ah, what good is a heart if I can’t deal it out in pieces for my didi and my jie?” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s not like anyone else has any use for it.”

“That’s not true,” Jiang Yanli murmurs.

“Hm? What’s that?”

“Nothing, Xianxian.”

“You have my promise, A-Jie,” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s us three until the end. Never apart. If I can bring you and Jiang Cheng back to the glory days before this life, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

She’s quiet, then dabs a light gauze over his skin to absorb the excess liniment oil. Both of them know it won’t be possible--even if they were a lower noble family, there wasn’t a ticket back into the royal city unless you saved the emperor from death or something equally as momentous. Save the empire, or something. Wei Wuxian dreams big, but he’s realistic.

“Thank you, Xianxian,” she says, finally.

“It smells like old people in here,” Jiang Cheng announces, as absurdly loud as new year firecrackers when he comes back inside. He smells of freshwater and sand, and he tracks an inky line of water where his wet shoes stamp footprints into the floors. “I know you’re another year older now, but you’re really getting started early.”

“If I’m so old, then you better talk to me with respect, punk,” Wei Wuxian says. Jiang Cheng may be loud, may be messy, but he chases away the strange, yearning sadness that tugs like a deep saltwater current on Wei Wuxian every time his birthday comes and goes. He loves his stupid, loud brother for it. “Hey! Where’s my kowtow? Where’s my ‘ge,’ then? Where’s my ‘Wei qianbei,’ huh? I’m so old, Jiang Cheng, pay your respects!”

“Screw you, Wei Wuxian. I’d sooner call you Old Man Wei. You’d have to rip out my tongue first.”

“Okay, come here then, my hands are free.”

“Gross! What’s wrong with you?”

And so night falls on another day, another year, and Wei Wuxian feels a little empty and a lot full, like a planet is breathing inside him. Jiang Yanli tugs on Jiang Cheng’s hair, makes him sit down so she can wrestle the tangles out of his drying frizz, and Wei Wuxian holds the lantern for light.

It’s enough.

So what happened to them, the Phoenix Rising? Why have they disappeared?

Because they had power. Because they were loved, feared, and respected, all things an emperor should be.

In the beginning, it was an honor to be the emperor that controlled the Phoenix Rising, for it took an equally distinguished ruler to command such a family, and for generations, the Phoenix Rising served the throne with grace. For generations, the empire was a glowing, golden city upon which the sun glittered, and the common folk called it the City of Gods.

But at the end of a weak dynasty, the throne was seized by a bloodthirsty family that feared the Phoenix Rising and the power they held. People, monsters, kings, or gods? Did the citizens respect the throne? Or did the loyalty of their hearts lie with the strange, winged family that had for centuries been revered as the beacon of luck and fortune?

Humans fear what they do not understand. Humans seek to destroy what they fear.

And so the Phoenix Rising paid the steepest price.

“Did he mention it to you at all yesterday?”

“No! He never brought it up. That punk. I’m gonna wring his sorry little neck.”

“A-Cheng.” A rustle of wind through paper. Then, “We need to ask him where he found this. He could’ve been caught. He could’ve been killed.”

Wei Wuxian wakes to his siblings whispering. Whispers always come through dreams like shouts, and he’s having a very strange dream about walking through wire, except instead of coals at his feet, there is ash, and in the ash there are hundreds and hundreds of keys glinting red as squirting cherries. His feet are burnt and blistering, but he can’t run, can’t turn back, can only walk forward.

There are no secrets in a single-room shack. No matter how quietly Jiang Yanli whispers, Jiang Cheng speaks loud enough to wake the whole town.

“Nicked it, probably,” says Jiang Cheng now. A grudging respect colors his voice. “That’s probably why he took so long to get back yesterday.”

The bamboo sleep mat crackles beneath him as Wei Wuxian rolls over, then sits up. For a moment the world is a spinning top. Jiang Yanli turns, lowering something, and smiles when she sees him awake. Jiang Cheng, of course, is already swinging.

“You dumbass! Where did you get this? If someone comes looking for it and finds it with us, do you know how dead we are?”

Then Wei Wuxian sees it--the painting that he’d charmed out of the hands of the gambling proprietor at lunch yesterday. Jiang Yanli holds it like a broken bird in her lap, and Wei Wuxian ducks when Jiang Cheng aims another swat at him. Mostly half-hearted, but he leaps to his feet and skips out of reach.

“I was going to surprise you!” he says. “I didn’t even have a chance to tell you what I was planning. You don’t know how much money this could bring in the black market, Jiang Cheng, an imperial painting? Just think about it. I can just disguise myself, go at night--cover my face, you know--and we could stop living here. We could live in a real house, and we wouldn’t have to all share one sleeping mat.”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli gets to her feet, too. Always graceful in a stark contrast to her two brothers, the lantern from which two wild tassels would dance in the wind. She lifts the painting up high so that she can point to the red seal in the corner. “Do you recognize this?”

“The imperial seal, right? Sure. Everyone does.”

“I’m going to puke blood,” says Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Yanli ignores him. “You’re not wrong, A-Xian. But this is an imperial seal of a concubine.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Of the emperor?”

“Yes. Judging from the seal design, not just any concubine--she must be a consort, at least.” Jiang Yanli holds the paper closer to her face, trying to discern the characters. “Mo,” she mutters, unsure.

“So we could sell it for even more money,” Wei Wuxian concludes.

“No, we are not going to sell it for money,” says Jiang Cheng. His face has darkened.

“Are you crazy?” Wei Wuxian asks. “You said it yourself, if someone finds us in possession, it’ll be our heads. The faster we get rid of it, the less likely anyone is to know it ever passed through our hands at all.”

“Yeah, well, you probably should have considered that before you nicked it, genius,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “It doesn’t matter. Now that we have it, we’re going to use it.”

“Use it how, if not for money, then?” Wei Wuxian struggles to keep his voice low. Jiang Cheng is not making any gods damned sense--isn’t he the one who constantly talks about leaving this hutong under the guise of hating how cramped it is, when really, he and Wei Wuxian agree that they should move closer to the imperial city where there would be better houses and perhaps a respectable man for their sister to marry if she so wanted?

“We’re going to use this to return to the imperial city.”

A silence falls like a tree toppled in storm between them.

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli begins.

“We are?” asks Wei Wuxian. “How would that even work?”

“You’re the best at telling lies.”

“Well, yes, I’m glad you have seen the light.”

“Think about it,” says Jiang Cheng. “An emperor's consort. It means she must have been in favor with the sitting emperor, Jin Huangshang. A painting with her seal on it. How would a painting by a favored concubine of the emperor end up out here?”

“Wound up in a gambling stall, no less,” Wei Wuxian says. Now that Jiang Cheng puts it that way--it’s more than a little strange. “Fine, say that we could use it as our golden ticket back into the imperial city. We’ll be lucky if the consort is dead. She won’t be around to ask any questions if there are holes in our story. What if she’s alive? What if she’s not a consort? What if she was hated, what then?”

“A-Xian,” says Jiang Yanli, setting her hand on his shoulder, and the touch is firmer than he’s used to. “Stop. You too, A-Cheng. Returning would be dangerous for us.”

“Dangerous how?” asks Wei Wuxian. There it is--that gap of the first eighteen years of his life rearing its mangled head. Sometimes it’s like trying to read a page of text with half the words blacked out, the ones left behind still beautiful, but without meaning. “A-Jie, I thought we were…”

“We were a lower noble family then, Xianxian. But it does not mean that the court is a safe place for any of us.”

“Jie!” says Jiang Cheng.

“No, A-Cheng. We’re not going back. It’s not just for A-Xian’s safety, it’s for all of us.”

“Would we really be in that much danger?” asks Wei Wuxian. “If no one knows I’m the Lost Phoenix but the three of us, nothing would happen.”

Right?

“Jiejie,” says Jiang Cheng, his voice quieter than Wei Wuxian has ever heard it, “the Crown Prince has never married.”

Jiang Yanli’s face, for a dizzying heartbeat, is stricken. Something like pain and longing flashes through her eyes quick as the swing of an axe in cloudy morning, but then it’s gone, and she sighs.

“What does the Crown Prince have anything to do with A-Jie?” asks Wei Wuxian.

“That isn’t any of our business. Not even yours, A-Cheng,” she says. Wei Wuxian has never seen his sister like this, drawn up tall with her chin held high, and for a moment he sees the princess that she must once have been. Jiang Cheng, who is easily a head taller than her and twice as broad, crumples under the weight of her gaze. “We left because we wanted to. We’ve lived by this choice and we will continue to live by it. Now, both of you listen--A-Xian will do as he planned, sell this painting for whatever sum that traders will offer, and we won’t speak of it again. Understand?”

The tension swells like a fever between them.

Wei Wuxian should be happy that his sister is on his side for this--when is it that she ever picks sides whenever he and Jiang Cheng argue? Any other time, he’d be hooting with laughter, rubbing it in Jiang Cheng’s face, but there is a deeply strange, melancholy expression on his brother’s face that does not suit him at all.

“Fine,” says Jiang Cheng. He takes the scroll from Jiang Yanli, rolling it up with care, then shoves it into Wei Wuxian’s chest with considerably less care. “Get this shit out of my sight. I’m going out.”

Wei Wuxian watches helplessly as Jiang Cheng moves around their hut with jerky movements, jaw set with the pulse of anger. He gathers his knapsack and what meager rations of buns left over from the day before, no doubt stale and hard by now, and loops it around his shoulder.

Then he’s gone, without another word.

Wei Wuxian gnaws on the soft inside of his cheek. “A-Jie--”

“Don’t think too much about what A-Cheng said, Xianxian,” says Jiang Yanli. “He won’t show it, but he worries. You needn’t take what he said to heart.”

Jiang Yanli will say no more, no matter how hard he presses. He’ll press anyone until they give, but not her. She ducks her head when Wei Wuxian turns to her with his confused, hurt silence, as if she is waiting for his anger. He’d never be angry with her.

“I don’t understand, A-Jie.”

“A-Cheng and I simply have different ideas of what it means to keep our family safe. He thinks it means returning. I think it means to stay.”

“But why would we be in danger?” he asks. “Does this have something to do with the Crown Prince? Did he know who I was? I guess so, or else why would Jiang Cheng bring him up? Did you know him? Could he help us?”

“No, he couldn’t.”

Wei Wuxian sets his mouth in a line. “Well, I should be off too,” he says. The sun has already started to burn back the clouds; he needs to find tonight’s dinner for the three of them. Maybe he should go after Jiang Cheng, press him for more details. Their sister, despite what anyone might think, gives far less easily than either of them.

“Be careful, Xianxian,” she says. “Oh, are you taking the painting with you?”

“There’s no way I’m going to leave it here in case anyone finds it and you’re here by yourself. Worst case scenario, I throw it away, and we can pretend none of this ever happened.” He takes Jiang Yanli’s hands in his, squeezes them ruefully. “I’m sorry, A-Jie. I just thought it would help. I didn’t want you to argue with Jiang Cheng.”

“It’s okay.” She tucks his stray hairs over his ear. “Go. Come back safe, A-xian.”

He waves at her once when he steps out, and once more when he makes it to the end of the hutong and she becomes little more than a quilted patch of terrycloth in the distance, as he does every morning when he leaves. Jiang Cheng can’t have gone far in the time that he’s gone, unless he took off at a sprint, so Wei Wuxian lets the scented chill of autumn fill his lungs.

The Crown Prince. What a strange person to bring up. Wei Wuxian rifles through what he remembers hearing in taverns and pubs, filtered through the thick veil of alcohol. The Jin family sits upon the throne now, after staging a coup against the Wens and seizing power just over a decade ago. The Crown Prince would have to be a Jin prince. The Jin Emperor was said to be quite the philanderer and had more than enough sons from too many concubines to choose from. The Crown Prince must be quite a favorite, for an emperor with so many sons would not pay any mind to choosing the Empress’s sons if he so liked one from his concubine better.

And this Crown Prince, according to Jiang Cheng, has never married.

The look on Jiang Yanli’s face--frozen, bruised, a bird shot from the sky before it begins to plummet--was not one Wei Wuxian expected to see when she heard this news. If they’d known this prince, then he must have been around even before Wei Wuxian’s reincarnation. Jiang Yanli must have spoken of him.

But all his memories can offer him are vague smudges of color and a person with pink like a fire in their hands.

It’s too early for the fishmongers just yet, but the market brims with life as it always does. Wei Wuxian narrowly dodges a cart full of fresh flowers, a toothless grandfather with a bamboo hat pulling it along weakly. One of the wheels is crooked, wood squeaking against the stone pavement.

“Shifu, your wheel,” says Wei Wuxian, plucking the canteen of oil tucked low against the cart. It dribbles out in a black splash. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Thank you, young man,” says the grandfather, and Wei Wuxian waits for him to turn his back to the street before plucking a lotus from the back of his cart and tucking it into his knapsack. For A-Jie, as penance for upsetting her so early in the morning.

Jiang Cheng is not hard to find. He is poor at concealing himself, both in body and in voice, and he really is very bad at haggling. Wei Wuxian sidles up to him at a fruit stall, arguing with the vendor over a particularly ugly dragonfruit that looks more like a leathery handful of meat left too long in the sun than any respectable fruit.

“Now I think,” says Wei Wuxian, plucking it out of Jiang Cheng’s hand and ignoring his indignant scoff, “shifu, if you let this fruit sit out in your display, it would ruin the look of all the rest of your fruits. ‘Ah, look at this lovely display of dragonfruit. But what do we have here? A misfit! A miscreant! A monstrosity, really!’ And then you lose business. So really, we’re doing you a favor.”

“A favor?” says the vendor with disbelief. “What gall.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, then tosses the fruit back and forth between his hands and gives a quick jerk of his chin. “What do you say? Half off?”

“I can’t believe you weaseled him into giving it to us for less than half off,” says Jiang Cheng five minutes later. “You could talk your way out of your own--”

Wei Wuxian tosses his dragonfruit from hand to hand. “My own what?” Jiang Cheng’s knapsack hangs flat and sad against his back, crumpled like a dead leaf, so Wei Wuxian holds it open and drops the fruit inside.

“Nothing. Never mind. What are you doing out here with that--thing?”

“Do you think I was going to leave it with A-Jie? No way. Imagine if she were alone and someone found her with it.”

Jiang purses his lips, nods. He tucks his thumb into the strap of his knapsack, a deadknot slung over his shoulder. “Have you thought about any stories?”

“What stories?”

“About what we’d say, if we brought it back to the imperial city.”

Jiang Cheng resolutely does not meet Wei Wuxian’s stare.

“You want to go?”

“I just think that if we have a plan, A-Jie might be more willing to go. To be honest with you, if it were just to the two of us, it wouldn’t matter as much. We could sell the stupid painting, use the money. We could eke out an existence. It would fucking suck, but we could, and I wouldn’t feel guilty about it.”

“Ah, Jiang Cheng. You’re finally talking sense!” Wei Wuxian claps him on the back. When Jiang Cheng doesn’t shake his hand off, his smile falters. He must actually be worried. “Okay. We have to consider multiple scenarios, then, if we want this to be foolproof. We don’t want to make up a story where the concubine is alive when she’s dead. Or vice versa. So the first order of business is to figure that out.”

Jiang Cheng nods. “And what kind of favor she’s in with the emperor. The better, the easier for us.”

So, like peddlers, they spin their stories.

The night blooms blue and foggy, the moon dropping light in handfuls of glass through the forest, and Wei Wuxian straightens to see that he is not alone.

Someone else is in the mist with him. It’s thick enough that he cannot see their feet, so they could be floating. A man--just a bit taller than Wei Wuxian himself. His sword is drawn, lowered, as if he’d been pointing it before Wei Wuxian sensed him and stopped. The folded steel blade flashes.

Blood sheets heavily down Wei Wuxian’s leg where the muscle has torn around the arrowhead, and haze sloshes in his skull. His brain is an upended bowl of goldfish. He grasps for words, for his thoughts, but they slip through his fingers. The stranger stares at him a bit in shock, a bit in horror, mostly in surprise. He opens his mouth. He closes it. He is wearing so much white he could be glowing, a star abandoned by its galaxy, and Wei Wuxian is the only one to find him.

They stare at each other in the gloom.

Wei Wuxian’s scattered goldfish thoughts say, Pink.

“Are you here to kill me?” asks Wei Wuxian. His words come out slurred even to his own ears. He needs to find Jiang Cheng. They need to get back to A-Jie. He needs to get out of here.

“No.” The stranger steps towards him. “We mistook you for a prey animal. Are you badly hurt?”

“This? No, no. I’m fine. I need to go.”

“Your leg is injured.”

“It’s fine. I need to get back to--my wards,” Wei Wuxian says, catching himself before he says anything too revealing, pats himself on the back for staying in line even as his thoughts unravel. He picks his favorite story and sticks with it, hopes to any god that is listening it won’t get any of them killed. “My wards. They were with me. I was looking for Jin Bixia.”

The stranger has come so close that Wei Wuxian can make out every stitch of his robe. “What business do you have with the emperor?”

“I have a painting,” he mumbles around the haze. It’s a dark one, now. “My mother’s painting.”

Then darkness kisses his eyelids, and the night pulls him under.

The scroll unfurls with the quiet hush of paper that has gone undisturbed too long. Even mounted on fine silk, the edges of the hemp and mulberry fibers have begun to wither, time nibbling as cruel and hungry as moths. The paper stretches on forever, nearly as tall as him fully unfurled. The cherrywood stick clacks upon the floor.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth goes dry. He stares with seeing, then without comprehending, then without believing.

The ink color has faded, like the paper, with age. Once the red might have leapt off the page, the greens so bright that spring grew from the painting itself, but all of it has flattened. It’s a simple composition. Where Mo Fu Ren had let her human subject be lost among the trees and sweeping landscapes, this painting is only one person, draped in textured golds and silk brocade embroidered with dragons.

Simple, perhaps, but done by the hand of someone who held them beloved.

His fingers shake when he reaches out. They hang back, and he pulls away, afraid that touching it might make the entire painting dissolve in his hands.

Smiling serenely back at him is his own face, thirteen years younger, thirteen years less hungry—but it is him. His eyes are downcast, with a rabbit cradled in the crook of his elbow and a bird perched upon his shoulder. Without a doubt it is him. Even if he could not recognize his own face, the characters that march in little terracotta soldiers down the paper leave no room for guessing.

The black ink is fresh, as if someone has run a brush through the strokes every year so that they can never fade.

Wei Wuxian, they say.

This can’t be right. He must be misreading. He blinks hard.

His thoughts trip over each other’s ankles. They come in a clamoring flood, each wanting to be heard first, pored over first. Wei Wuxian. Had there been another before him? It is not a common name. It is not a name that would show up twice in the royal city if every noble family had the names of their descendants planned out for generations, no matter if the Phoenix Rising had been slaughtered by order of the emperor. Why is there a painting of him rolled up and locked away in the private study of Hanguang Gexia, second head of the scholar house to Emperor Jin?

Did they once know each other?

How could it be that a key that Jiang Yanli gave him would unlock this desk?

There are corpses sleeping under their feet. This earth has been burnt and salted.

An old ache starts in his spine.

We were a lower noble family then, Xianxian.

Fire without coals.

There was a person. Just a person.

Do not exhume these bodies.

We left because we wanted to.

Something terrible must have happened to him.

#fic wip #incomplete #wx

15 notes · View notes

lordoffiction · 4 years

Text

Two Souls, One Fate: chapter one.

☞: After spending two days trying to post this, here it is! Hooray!

I really hope you all enjoy this whilst I finish writing the fifth chapter for T.L, because god knows I spent too much time on this. I haven’t wrote in a few months, so please excuse any mistakes I made in this and if it’s shitty! It’ll get better, promise.

Please give me feedback and let me know if you would like to get tagged in this series!

Anyways, enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 5,069

WARNINGS: swearing, mild violence, mentions of suicide.

gif isn’t mine, all credits to the owner.

—————————

Your fingers combed through your hair, bundling it up into an untidy ponytail, pulling the long strands to make sure it was secure and tight enough. You had had long hair for around ten years, it's your pride and joy.

Growing up in an all-male family had made you that way, you grew up a tomboy with your five older brothers and always saw yourself as one of them.

But then that magical moment came when you were ripped from your carefree childhood and brutally slammed into the harsh society and expectations of women, you had begun to hate the idea of acting like a boy. People told you to act more like a “lady”. So you had put away the mud pies, the sword fights, and the wrestling. You began doing make-up, having long hair, and wearing pretty clothes.

But throughout everything, no matter what anyone said, society and snotty people couldn’t take this one thing from you.

Archery.

Your father had taught you from a young age, a sport that made you better even on your worst days. Something that not even the most powerful being in existence could take from you. The thrill of letting go of that arrow, watching it glide through the air before striking its target. It was something you would never get bored of.

You dressed in your normal sportswear, sliding on protective gloves made specially to stop your hands from getting sores as you held the arrow.

Where you lived was a small village, everybody knew everybody. News and gossip spread like wildfire here, so you only imagine that half the village had already heard about your date later tonight.

Reaching over to your bow and your arrow hanging pot, slinging it over your shoulder, you left your small apartment and headed towards the forest. You had a set up shooting range for archery at the corner of it, your dad would make targets for you and set you challenges every day when you were younger. Like swinging targets or shooting whilst you're running.

“G’ morning, dear. Going out to the woods again?”

Your eyes turned to see your elderly neighbour smiling at you, her eyes crinkled at the corners. Her walking stick barely keeping her up properly and her woven hat kept the sunlight out of her eyes.

“Mrs. Genkins,” You smiled at her small frame. Such a fragile woman. “Don’t I spend all my time in those damn woods?”

“Just you be careful, you wouldn’t want to hurt yourself before your date tonight.” Mrs. Genkins waved her walking stick at you slightly in a teasing manner, barely putting it back in time before she loses her balance.

The comment made your eyes roll internally. Of course, people already knew about your date tonight.

“I see news hasn’t lost its way around this place.” Your hand automatically reaching out to her in case she falls, which she brushed away with her wrinkled hands. Though she may be pushing ninety, she sure is one tough little lady when it comes to receiving any help.

“You know people around here, other people's lives are their entertainment. Just make sure this one can handle you, you can’t be single forever, you know?” Mrs. Genkins squinted her eyes at you teasing you from the last man you had dated that went sour once he had realized how unfeminine you are.

“Is he really worth my time is he can’t handle a tough girl like me?” You teased back, giving her a small wink as she cackled at your comment.

“Well, I better be going if I want to miss the morning rush at the morning market. You be safe, dear. And be careful.”

You nodded at her, smiling as you waved her down the road and out of sight. You let your head fall back slightly, closing your eyes with an exasperating sigh. You really need to move somewhere where there isn’t anyone you know or where no-one knows you.

You set off towards the woods, it wasn’t a far walk, only about five minutes from your apartment complex.

You dug your earphones out from your pocket, plugging them into your phone, and playing your latest playlist you had made for when you go do your archery. You began stretching your arms on the way, hooking one arm around the other, and pulling on it to receive a satisfying 'pop'.

Just as you entered the woods, you began to hear faint drumming noises. You brushed it off, perhaps it was something for the song you were listening to, though you never remembered this when you last listened to it yesterday.

Your brows knotted together in confusion as the drumming began to get louder and louder as you went deeper into the forest. The noise became so loud that you ripped your earphones out of your ears, your eyes widening. It wasn’t coming from the music.

It was coming from around you.

As soon as you realised, a small chanting sound echoed with the drumming, syncing with the beat of it.

A cult? You thought.

Your E/C hues quickly began searching around you to see who was doing it but found no one else in the woods with you.

Your fight or flight reflex suddenly kicked in, making you break out into a full-blown sprint into the woods, you tried to fumble with your bow, reaching for one of your arrows in it’s hanging pot behind your back, panting as your fingertips brushed the tip of it.

“C’mon!” You yelled at yourself in frustration.

Suddenly, you began to fall sideways, your ankle giving way beneath you in a twisted mess. The world began to spiral around you as you rolled into the ditch near the pathway you were once walking on.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You felt yourself being thrashed around for a few seconds downhill before finally landing on the flat ground again. You gasped for air, the collision causing you to land onto your back, knocking all the air out of your lungs.

You laid there for a minute, breathing in deeply. Did you really just fucking fall?

Rolling onto your side and going onto your hands and knees once you regained your breath, you looked up at the large hill you just fell from, realising the only way you can get back to the track is if you climb back up again.

“Shit.” You grumbled under your breath, using the nearest tree to pull yourself up to your feet again. Your arrows were scattered around you from the fall, leaning down to pick them up one by one and placing them back in your hanging pot.

As you reached for the last one, but your eyes were caught on a small box under the root of a large tree, surely the largest tree you had seen in these woods before and in your entire life.

It must have been thousands of years old, you could wrap yourself around it at least six or seven times.

“Oh, my...” You gawked the tree up and down, taking it all in before looking back to the box that was intertwined with its roots.

“What’s this?” You wondered aloud, going onto your knees and tracing your fingers on the corners of the box that you could touch. It was covered in dirt and moss but your curiosity ate you alive, reaching for one of your arrows, you began to jab at the root to loosen it with the end of your arrow.

After a few moments of trying, you finally loosened the root enough to yank the box out from it with a hard tug, causing you to fall backward.

You brushed it with your fingers but the dirt and grime were so thickly coated on it for god knows how long.

“Curious cat, aren’t you?” You spoke to yourself, standing up again and forgetting completely about your training. “This could be a murder weapon or something and you want to take it home with you.” You tusked, tucking the box into your hanging pot.

The journey back home was filled with many emotions, the main one being self-pity for yourself on how you fell down the hill. The second was about the drums that caused you to fall.

—————————

You ringed your hair out as you stepped out of the shower, letting it fall down your back, the water droplets dripping down your skin, and pooling around your feet.

You dried yourself off as you danced to the music playing from your speaker in your small apartment, grabbing the clothes you planned to wear to your date tonight.

What a weird day, huh. You thought back to the drumming and chanting.

You had chosen a pair of black jeans and a cute black top you had recently bought as a treat, the neckline dripping to show your cleavage. The outfit suited your figure beautifully, staring at yourself in the mirror as you tugged on your black, leather heeled Chelsea boots.

You’d only done concealer and mascara for your make-up. Nothing too fancy for a little date.

“Not bad, Y/N. Not bad at all.” You smiled at yourself. You had curled your long hair, tucking one side behind your ear.

You looked behind you, seeing the small box you discovered sitting on your kitchen counter. You glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing you still had some time to kill before your date got here.

After a few minutes of running around your apartment and gathering things like a toothbrush, washing up liquid, a small paintbrush, and paper towels; you set up your little workspace on the counter to clean the box.

You dipped the toothbrush in the soapy water, gently scrubbing the dirt from the box, using the paintbrush to brush any specks of dirt off it.

Some time had passed, and you could finally see the beauty beneath the dirt.

“What are these?” You mumbled to yourself, looking at the strange engraved marks on the box. The box looked silver, but you couldn’t be sure.

Carefully prying the box open with your fingertips, you revealed inside a stranger kind of necklace.

Your head tilted to the side and your brows furrowed together as the small spiral pendant looked almost familiar. Like you had owned one before but forgot about it. A very distant memory.

It was silver, in the shape of an upside-down hammer. The leather cord that was with it had deteriorated, falling apart as soon as you picked up the pendant.

You cleaned off the pendant in the soapy water, patting it dry with a paper towel. Quickly going back to your room and grabbing one of your necklaces, you took the chain from it. Going back to the kitchen where you carefully hooped the pendant onto the silver chain.

Should I...

You pondered for a moment, staring at the pendant in your hand. You raised the chain around your neck, clasping it together at the hooks as it hung on your chest. You stilled for a moment, almost expecting something to happen when you put it on.

“Idiot,” You laughed at yourself, going over to where a mirror was to see how it looked on. But as soon as you took a step forwards, it felt like you began falling. You could hear the chants again from the woods, the drums pounding around you, almost deafeningly loud. Your eyes widened in terror as you couldn’t move your body as you fell back, the floor of your apartment swallowing you in a rabbit hole.

Lights surrounded you in all different colors, seeing silhouettes in the corner of your eye. Were they the ones chanting?

Oh god, oh fuck, oh shit.

Your breathing became labored, struggling to get air as you tried desperately to move your limbs.

The drumming and chanting only growing louder the deeper you fell into this rabbit hole.

Silence.

Suddenly the chanting and drums stopped, looking up to see the disfigured sky. You attempted to move your limbs again, gasping when you found you could move.

You kicked your way up to the sky, gasping for air once you broke through.

The sound of lapping waves and squalling seagulls invaded your ears, a sudden chill going over your body.

You looked around you with wide eyes, astonished by your surroundings. You were in the fucking ocean.

“What the fuck?!” You shrieked out, panic set over you as you tried to stay afloat, legs kicking under the water furiously.

“You’re dreaming. You must have gotten a concussion,” you repeated to yourself. “Yeah, yeah. You’re concussed.”

“You there!”

You snapped your head to see a wooden boat sailing towards you, numerous men aboard it as they all peered down at you. One man, in particular, stood at the arch of the boat, big and with a long braided bear. He was bald, tattoos around his head in strange patterns.

“Did you get lost, woman?” He belly laughed, the other men joining in. You were too much in shock to try and even say anything back. “Frode, throw the poor woman a rope.”

One of the men, skinner than the one barking orders, threw a thick rope towards you, splashing into the water in front of you, the water spraying on your face.

You grabbed the rope, unsure whether or not being on a boat with strangers or being in the ocean alone was better. The men heaved you up to the boat, letting your body hit the deck of it like a wet fish.

You panted slightly, trying to calm your thundering heart before it jumped out your throat.

You weren’t facing the men, your eyes locked onto your hands that dug into the wooden deck, trying to desperately grasp onto some kind of reality.

“Holy fuck.” You gasped out.

“Someone get her something to cover herself with!” The bald, bearded man ordered. Someone came over and wrapped some kind of cloak on you, you quickly tied it on your neck, trying to get warm.

“What kind of clothing is she wearing?” Another man spoke.

“A whore, perhaps?” Another replied.

“Whore!?” You repeated, turning to look at the men for the first time. “Who do you think you're calling a whore?”

The expressions on the men’s faces changed as soon as you looked up at them. The sudden change in mood made you want to cower away. Are these cosplayers? Re-enactors? Why did they dress that way?

“Freyja.” The bald one spoke, barely a whisper.

“Freyja?” You repeated. Who?

You’d never heard such a name before, were they calling you that? The men exchanged a look, communicating with their eyes before turning back to you.

“What’s your name?” The bald one asks, his tone in voice changing.

“Y/N,” you reply, beginning to stand up. “Where is this? Where are we right now?”

“Kattegat.” Someone spoke, earning a quick shove by the person next to him.

Your brows frowned together. Kattegat? Maybe you should have paid more attention in geography class when you were in school.

“Tie her up. We must show the Princes, this is an imposter of Freyja.” The bald one spoke again before walking away, his face unreadable.

“Wait!” You exclaimed, looking around as the men closed in on you, starting to grab you. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

You elbowed the man who grabbed your from behind, hearing a grunt from him as he doubled over, making you flick your long hair out of your face.

“If anyone touches me, I’ll rip your fucking limbs off.” You warned, getting into a fighting stance with your balled fists in the air. You were outnumbered, by many. Before you could even say another word, one of the men quickly backhanded you across the face, knocking you down to the floor where they all cornered you.

—————————

The bald man, whose name you had learned was Magnus, threw you onto the ground with force, causing you to land on your shoulder. A groan left your lips as pain tingled down your arm.

“Don’t fucking throw me, you bald bastard!” You shouted at him, your hands restrained behind your back and your ankles tied together also, restraining you of trying to run off. Your hair had fallen across your face, limiting your view of your surroundings.

The whole hall of people turned to look at you, hearing small whispers about your clothing. The music had stopped playing and the cheers.

Who the fuck were these people?

You could barely make out four men sitting at a large table in front of you, maybe a few feet away, two with fair hair and two with dark.

“What’s the meaning of this, Magnus?” You heard one of them say, his accent making your ears perk up. “Did any of you ask for a thrall for the night?” He directed his question to the men beside him.

“My apologies, Prince Ubbe, but...” The bald man suddenly seemed nervous, unsure of what exactly to say. It made you scoff. A big guy like him was scared of these guys? “We found her in the sea--”

“Spit it out, before I rip your tongue out.” Another man at the table spoke, the threat taking you off guard. His accent was the same.

“We believe she’s an imposter and a volva.”

“An imposter and a volva?” another one of the men at the table snickered. “Sound’s interesting, Ubbe.”

“Who are you calling an imposter?” You sneered at the men. “I don’t even know you.”

“Watch your mouth, whore!” You heard, gasping as one of the men who tied you kicked you in your side.

“Enough.” You heard the first man say, hearing the chair he was sitting in move across the floor. “I asked you what the meaning of this was? You’re spoiling our celebration.”

The bald man grabbed the back of your head, gripping onto your hair as he roughly pulled you onto your knees, making you wince. Your hair moved from your face in the process and you could finally see around you. At the table sat the four men, the Princes, you had gathered.

All handsome— wait. Not the right time.

Their faces were twisted in an expression you had never seen before on someone as soon as they looked at you. The whole of the hall went deathly quiet as eyes were on you.

One of the men at the table stood up abruptly, his hands on the table. He had four twisted braids in his dark hair, his eyes a piercing blue as they stared at you. They were the bluest eyes you had ever seen.

Those eyes. You’d seen them before.

“Freyja.” He said to you. Again with the name.

Your head was tugged back, knocking you out of your trance and filling your chest with rage. Ripping your eye contact from him, you turned your attention to the man behind you.

“Get your hands off me before I break them.” You growled out.

Whispers broke out around you, you scowled at them all. What were they all wearing? Are these Vikings?

Your E/C eyes find their way to the blue ones again, he seemed to tense when you looked at him, his breath catching in his throat. It was like he was a statue.

The one with long brown hair with two braids going into one and green eyes stood up.

“Everybody leave.” Was all he said for everyone to leave the room. “You men can also leave. Get out.”

The men behind you began to leave, Magnus let your hair suddenly go from his grip, letting you land onto your face.

“Fuck.” You whimpered out, a tingling pain going up your nose. The only people left in the large hall were you and the four strange men, you strangely began to feel small.

The blonde man who was at the head of the table began to make his way towards you, his footsteps stopping once in front of you. Was this the one they called Ubbe?

“You,” He kneeled on one knee as he grabbed your jaw with his index finger and thumb. “What is your name?”

You hold your tongue, refusing to tell him. But this only made his grip on your jaw tighten.

“If you want to keep your tongue, I suggest you answer when spoken to.” He said lowly, his eyes just as blue as the man behind him. Were they brothers?

You stare into his eyes, trying to stare him down like a dog but his eyes never faltered. His stare was incredibly intimidating.

You gave an exasperating huff of breath, rolling your eyes to yourself.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

He kept staring at you, his eyes studying your face. His eyes looked sad as if pained as he looked at you. His jaw clenched and unclenched before he spoke again. “Why were you in the sea?”

“I don’t know, one moment I was in my home and the next I was in the water.” You knew this had to do with the necklace and the drumming in the woods. It all has to link up somehow. You went to reach up to grab it but remembered your hands were tied.

His eyes moved from yours as he removed his hand from your jaw, turning to the other men at the table. Your eyes followed. Both the one with blue eyes and the blonde one with fluffy hair were frozen in place still. It’s like they’ve seen a ghost.

The one kneeling in front of you raised his eyebrows at the one with the braids as if asking him what to do. He walked over to the both of you, gawking down at you with his green eyes.

“It’s as if she’d risen from the dead, but how can that be? We saw her body that day.” He said, staring down at you.

“Can someone just explain to me what’s going on?” You pipped up. A loud bang caused you to jump, looking towards the cause of the noise. The blue-eyed man had gotten up, his chair fallen behind him and his hands pressed against the surface of the table. His chest was heaving under his leather armor. His face was twisted with anger and hurt, barely looking at you as he grabbed his crutch.

“I don’t care what you do with her," he looked over to you with eyes so intense, your lips parted as your breath hitched in your throat. You felt your heart dip into your stomach.

Holy shit. Those eyes... Where have you seen them before?

"She's not Freyja." He walked out the hall and passed you, his crutch stabbing into the wood beneath him in anger, he looked as if he was almost snarling as he walked through the doors.

“Ivar--” The one with the green eyes called after him, going to walk after him but the one who was knelt suddenly stood up, holding a hand against his chest.

“Leave him, this must be a shocking sight for him. He needs time.”

“Can you untie me so I can leave?” You cut in, the rope irritating the skin off your wrists. The men ignored you, the blonde fluffy-haired one finally speaking up after this whole time.

“You can’t let her leave.”

—————————

You sat awkwardly in the chair, fiddling with your fingers on your lap as the three men stared at you. The fluffy-haired one had untied you but sat you in the chair at the large table, the green-eyed one threatening that if you tried anything then you’d regret it.

Scary.

They spoke as if you weren’t even there too.

“What kind of clothes is she wearing? She's dressed like a prostitute.” The one with the two braids spoke, cutting an apple slowly with a knife before placing it in his mouth.

Your gaze turned to him, anger rising in your chest. What was with these guys? Do they have no respect?

“Say that again,” You pointed your finger towards him. “and I’ll spoon your eyes out. How can you say anything about what I'm wearing when you’re dressed like a rodent in all those furs?”

The man stared at you for a moment before smirking. Who are you smiling at, you bastard--

“With a mouth like hers, she certainly isn’t Freyja. She wouldn’t dare speak like that.” He said. "Even if she is identical to her."

“That’s because I’m not Freyja. And you do know that this is kidnapping, right? You can get put into jail because of this.”

The brothers exchanged a look.

“And where would you find one of those?” Asked the one with the long braid, Ubbe, you remembered. “We’re the sons of Ragnar, nobody can tell us what we can or cannot do.”

Your eyebrows frowned, looking at them sideways at you felt dumbfounded.

Who is Ragnar?

“As if I know, or care, who Ragnar is. Let me go.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest. Shit, it was cold here. Even this cloak did nothing to help with your soaking clothes.

Their expressions only looked more confused, as if they were more confused than you are and couldn't understand how you didn't know who Ragnar is.

“Where are you from?” The one eating asked.

“Tell me your names and then I’ll tell you what you want to know.” You cocked an eyebrow at them. If they were stupid enough, they’d tell you so you can report them to the police once you find a way out of here.

God, the air here smells like constant shit. You want to go home already, to your scented candles to cleanse your nose of this stench.

“Curious thing, aren’t you? I’m Hvitserk,” Hvitserk pointed to the other men with the end of his knife. “these are my brothers, Ubbe and Sigurd.”

Ubbe smiled at you as Sigurd only stood still, unsure of what to say to you.

“And the blue-eyed one who walked out?” You asked.

“That was Ivar, our youngest brother.”

“What was his problem?” You quizzed again. Shut up, Y/N. This curiosity is the reason why you’re here in the first place.

Ubbe and Hvitserk looked at you before exchanging a look between them, Sigurd shifting on his feet as he cleared his throat. You noticed his jaw clench and his fists tighten at his sides.

“Well?” You repeated, waiting for an answer from one of them.

“The woman you resemble—” Ubbe began, getting cut off by a nudge from Hvitserk.

“Is it wise to tell her?” He asked his brother lowly, his green eyes looking at you.

“You do not think she deserves to know?”

“She could be deceiving us, a volva like the men said,” Hvitserk warned his brother.

You could only roll your eyes at them as you shifted in the chair, crossing your legs over.

“I don’t know what that is, but I can assure you I'm not deceiving you. I just want to know what’s going on.” You sighed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“You resemble a woman called ‘Freyja’,” Sigurd spoke suddenly, looking into the bright flame that burned in the hall. His brothers turned to look at him with you. “No, you don’t resemble her. You are her.”

“Who is Freyja?” You asked.

“She was my first love.” He turned to look at you. “And Ivar's.”

Hvitserk and Ubbe sat back in the chairs, staying deadly quiet as their brother spoke to you. Their first love?

“What happened to her?” The question made your heart sink, taking you off guard. Why do you care?

“She died protecting us all. She was the most beautiful and loved woman in Kattegat, every man wanted her hand in marriage. Including all of us,” Sigurd suggested to his brothers, making Ubbe take a sip out of his cup and Hvitserk turn his gaze.

“A king came one day, wanting to trade. But once his eyes set on Freyja, demanding to marry her or risk causing a war between us. We all agreed to go to war, prepared, made an army. She refused to cause a war over her, Freyja had always hated violence.”

Sigurd took a shaky breath, his hands trembling in the light of the fire. The sight was enough to let you know how much he was affected by this.

“She... she was in love with Ivar. The thought of either losing him in battle or by marrying herself off was too much for her to ever bare. The day of the battle, Freyja stood between armies, in the middle of the battle field,” His eyes looked at yours, something flashing over them. “She drove a sword through herself in front of everyone. She did it for her love.”

The words made your breath hitch in your throat.

She killed herself... for him?

Your eyes tore away from Sigurd’s figure, looking anywhere but at the brothers.

No wonder Ivar left, you thought. Imagine seeing the woman you loved kill herself in front of you and then seeing her alive again...

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly, staring at your lap. “But I just want to go home. I have a family there, friends. They’re probably searching for me.”

“It’s dark out now,” Ubbe spoke, clearing his throat as he stood. “You should rest here for the night and begin searching for your way back in the morning. We'll help you.”

You nodded a 'thank you', standing from your chair. Hvitserk looked at your soaking clothes, turning to Sigurd.

"Tell one of the thralls to prepare some clothes for Y/N. She can't sleep in those."

Sigurd nodded, walking down a passageway and out of sight. You could see a grateful look on his face towards his brother for getting him out the room.

"You still haven't told me where you're from." Hvitserk turned his attention to you, leaning back against the table.

"Honestly, I don't think any of you will know where I'm from. But I can tell you I'm not from here. I come from a different time." You uttered, holding the necklace under your cloak, your thumb grazing the lines in it. "Someone or something brought me here, I want to know why."

#vikings #ivar the boneless #reader #ivar x reader #sigurd lothbrok #sigurd x reader #Ubbe Lothbrok #ubbe x reader #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk x reader #ivar lothbrok #ragnarssons #hvitserk smut #ubbe smut #ivar smut #sigurd snake in the eye

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letstalkaboutshtufff · 4 years

Text

Heat Stroke Sith Obi Wan x Reader

Pairing: Sith obi wan x reader

Warnings: mild language, very mild violence, a hint of smut.

A.N. This is literal trash but wanted to post anyway😅 enjoy~

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

Oh this was hell...no actually I take that back, hell would be alot cooler than this godforsaken planet.

"Don't dawdle y/n, we have a mission to complete" your master scolded with a half glance behind him.

Sighing you looked up through hooded eyes and continued to drag you half bent body through the busy market place.

"I know master but it's sooo hot" you whined, feeling the burn of this planets 3 goddamn suns beating on your back.

"Don't be dramatic y/n" he said with a slight eye roll that you couldn't see but knew was there.

"Dramatic?!" You perked up annoyed "Master, you do remember I was born and raised on an ice planet dont you?"

"How could I not, you've only mentioned it a thousand times" he teased with a smirk.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" You quirked an irritated brow.

You watched as he smugly strode through the streets ahead of you.

"How are you not dying in those robes?" You caught up with him, sweat dripping down every inch of your body.

He shrugged, "This planet is hotter than those we've visited I admit, however it's a minor inconvenience at most. Perhaps it's because of how skilled I am with the force" he offered.

"What?! You cant regulate your body temperature through the force!"

"Wait.....can you?!?!?" You looked up at him in disbelief.

He shook his head with a laugh, "It seems we still have a long way to go with your training young one"

iT sEeMs wE sTiLl hAvE a lOnG wAy tO gO wItH yOuR tRaInIng you mocked in your mind. God how big was his ego-

"Oww" you felt a sharp slap on the back of your head through the force.

"It would also seem you need a lesson in respect" your master said sternly.

Whoops, gotta remember to keep those mind shields up..

You sheepishly apologized and decided to stay silent for awhile. Instead focusing on the many street vendors lining the streets.

After a while of walking Obi wan abruptly stopped,

"What is it?" You asked curiously standing up more alert now. You followed his line of vision and saw two men conversing quietly, one a green twilek and the other from an aquatic planet, a priorlik. Definitely not normal, priorliks avoided dessert planets like the galactic plague.

The men both stood up and you could faintly see them exchange a small parcel. They stepped away from each other leaving in opposite directions.

"I'll follow the priorlik, you go after the twilek, do not let him escape" he ordered and you quickly jumped into action.

You followed at a decent distance, not wanting to alert him until he was far enough from the main crowd. You weren't keen on causing a huge scene.

You wondered what information he had that your master was so interested in. You hoped it was worth you getting broiled like a casserole. you would literally die for a even a fleck of snow right now.

The twilek paused ahead and immediately you turned to a vendor, pretending to peruse the merchandise.

"Need any help miss?" You shook your head, "No, thank you, I think I have enough..." you paused looking down at the wares, "snakeskin underwear...." eww why would anyone ever want- Ah that's right-

You really had to work on not getting distracted.

Fuck, you couldn't see the green tails anymore. Speeding up the street you glanced down the surrounding alley ways.

Unfortunately he was facing you at the last one and took off running with a grunt.

Oh come one dont make me run, as if I wasnt hot enough already ugh...

You pushed through and began your pursuit. The criminal was quick for his size you had to admit. He seemed to know where he was going so you decided to jump onto the rooftops for a better view point.

You quickly surveyed the area and found a way to cut him off. Dashing to the side you jumped over several alleyways and gracefully flipped down onto the street in front of him.

He grinded to a halt, glaring at you, "Get out of my way"

"Hmmm I would, however I dont particularly feel like it sooo no". you unclipped the electro cuffs from your belt. "Let's do this the easy way please, I'm sick of being on this planet" you took a step closer and he withdrew two blasters from under his Cape.

Ugh fine we'll do it the hard way. With an eye roll you dodge the oncoming blasts easily.

"Come now there no need for-woah" you lost your footing for a moment barely missing a blast aimed at your head. That was weird...

Using the force you pushed the criminal back against the wall. He groaned attempting to get up but you pushed him once more. "I told you hah we could do this hah the easy hah way.." god why were you so out of breath?

Suddenly you felt incredibly lightheaded and had to press a hand against your forehead.

"Heh some sith you are, can't even handle the heat" he got to his feet picking up a discarded blaster.

Heat? Was that the reason?! Seriously?! You drew your saber, needing to end this quickly, you deflected his blasts, albeit very sloppily.

Then suddenly he pointed his weapon upwards and shot at the surrounding brick, causing a blanket of dust to envelop you. You coughed and cursed yourself for not being fast enough to evade it.

He laughed and turned around to escape.

"*Cough* oh no you don't" you weakly raised a hand and with much more concentration and focus than ever needed before, brought down a balcony on top of him. He gasped looking up but was too slow to move. You smirked at his unconcious form.

However it was quickly replaced with a frown as you felt yourself pitching to side.

Ouch

you groaned feeling the hard ground agitate your burnt skin however you were too exausted too move.

It was official, you hated this planet more than the stupid jedi.

You squinted as the bright rays beat down on your body relentlessly. If this is how I die, I'll die of embarrassment..wait no that doesn't make sense...arggh great now my brain is fried too.

Suddenly a shadow blocked your vision and you squinted trying to make out the form.

"Y/n?" Oh youd know that voice anywhere.

"Hey master..."

You heard the clanking of a trooper and an order to tie up the enemy.

Obi wan furrowed his brows confused, he could see no visible injury on your scantly clothed body.

Kneeling down he grasped your chin so you faced him, "What's wrong"?

"Mmi ot" you murmured lazily.

"Beg pardon?" He quirked a brow leaning closer.

"Hot" you managed to slip out.

He let out an scoff.

With a shake of his head he wound an arm around your back and another behind your knees scooping you up.

"You really are more trouble than your worth" he couldn't help but smirk.

"Mm" with another shake of his head he made his way back to the ship.

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

Later that evening...

"M-master please it's too c-cold" you shivered as the piece of ice continued sliding up and down your body relentlessly. Your master the culprit.

He tutted continuing his assault, "The whole mission I listened to you complain about the heat, now your complaining about the cold? I believe you need a lesson in endurance my dear..."

Ugh stupid smug bastard

"Ah ahh" you gasped as the ice cube suddenly slid impossibly close to your most sensitive area.

You looked up desperate and frustrated only to be met with Obi wans dangerously playfull gaze.

"And a lesson on keeping your mouth shut..."

Did I say that out loud?

"Not to worry though pet..." he climbed up over your shivering body leaning down beside your ear. "I have just the thing to keep that sharp tongue of yours busy" he whispered, the puff of hot air making you go dizzy.

As soon as heard the edge to his voice and saw the lustful glint in his eye, you knew you wouldn't be complaining for a long long long time..

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zeldasayer · 4 years

Text

Loving Din XII - Is There Life On Mars?

Pairing: Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: THE RETURN OF DOMESTIC DADDY DIN AND THE DREAMIEST LIFE IN THE GALAXY - You and Din fall in love all over again, even through news that is going to change your lives, again.

Warnings: Smut. Fluff. Fluffy smut. So much love. One depiction of vomiting. (Not descriptive)

Masterlist

gif by @djjarindin

Your eyes open to a cooing Baby laying on his back on Din’s chest. His favourite stuffed toy frog spinning in the air above him as his father silently reads his datapad.

You remember when you got Baby the stuffed animal last Christmas. You were back at the cottage and your boy tried to eat it.

You looked up at Din in defeat, “What did we think was going to happen?”

That seems so long ago as you lay here in your fluffy white comforter as the breeze off the ocean seeps in through the open window. You watch Din’s eyes move across the screen from behind thick black framed glasses and he looks so beautiful. Hair that has grown long, greying at the sides and curls around the neck. Skin as exquisite as ever, that you could watch it reflect the sunshine for eternity. He’s stubbly from a shave a few days ago and your heart flutters as he absentmindedly brings his hand up to scratch the top of Baby’s head while he reads. Being back together has made him more delicate than you could ever think possible, he pads around the bungalow in only dark grey linen pants that hang from his hips to combat the heat and he speaks so softly. Words of love and desire, humour and excitement. Everything’s changed again and this time, for the better. The heat is no longer suffocating but welcomed during long days at the beach. Watching Baby make little cyclones in the sand and cackling when he sees yours & Din’s jaw drop. The ocean is no longer a reminder of your immortality but where you toss Baby back and forth in the evening. Where he starts to float in mid air, much to your dismay.

“Baby!” You laugh as he floats down to you, and once in your arms you submerge yourselves in the water, “We’re not playing the same game!”

Din swims to you and wraps his arms around you both. This is how life on the island was supposed to be, and though you went through hell to get here, you’re glad you finally are.

The days are what they once were - trips to the market with Baby in the morning. Your sweet green bean on your hip as you pick out his favourite foods. Napping with him in the hammock Din made between the palm trees. Evenings walking through the sleepy beach town, Din’s hand clasped in yours and Baby up on his shoulders. Staring up at him like you’re seeing his beauty again for the very first time.

Din and you have fallen in love all over again and the love is as vast and relentless as the ocean. His patience and understanding. The smell of his skin and softness of his hair. You can’t keep your hands off of him. You crave the heat of his skin under your finger tips. The voice that groans in your ear and the way your name drips from his tongue. You wake with him early to spend the morning with him standing between your legs as you sit up on the counter, sharing a bowl of tropical fruit. Giggling by the early light of the morning, dragging your finger down the galaxy’s most incredible nose and continuing down over his lips. Along his chin and his neck, through the middle of his chest all the way down to the top of his dark linen pants.

You look up at him as you both hold your breath, listening for any sound that could be Baby already awake.

When you’re sure there’s nothing, Din’s mouth is on yours in an instant, pushing your breakfast out of the way and pressing himself flush against you. His tongue slips between your lips as you fumble with the drawstring of his pants, his mouth tastes sweet like berries, like heaven.

You break away from his mouth to kiss down his chest as you finally loosen his pants and free him from the soft confinement. You take him thick and hot and half hard in your hand as he lifts your face back up to kiss him.

He grows, as you take him in both hands, pulling away once more to wet him with your spit for a more fluid stroke and Din groans low in his throat when he pushes your T-shirt up your waist to find you wearing nothing underneath.

“Oh.” You gasp when his thumb brushes your already glistening clit.

“Are you wet for me already?” He whispers.

“Yeah...” You sigh, nodding.

“Wet enough?” He asks, sinking two fingers inside of you and your head falls back.

He pumps them slowly as you put your hands out behind you to keep yourself propped up, and Din uses his other hand to stroke himself.

“So wet. So perfect.” He mumbles.

“Din...” You whine and he knows.

“Okay, my moon.” He says, pulling you to the edge of the counter. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

You take his wonderful length from his grasp run it along your opening, ready for him.

“Perfect.” He mumbles again, his lips against your forehead. “Put it in, I want to feel you.”

You guide him inside you and with Din’s final push your moan together.

Your love pushes your shirt up to reveal your breasts, nipples budding under the cool morning air and he takes one in his mouth as he starts to thrust long and deep inside you.

“My dads will be here soon.” You yawn, rolling into Din’s side to scratch Baby’s head, too. “Maybe we can catch lobsters for dinner, Madden loves that.”

“He just watches from the beach with you!” Din laughs.

“I love watching you catch dinner.” You say, wrapping both your arms around his one.

Din puts the datapad down and removes his glasses before kissing the top of your head, “Okay, my moon. I’ll catch lobsters.”

You lift your face to grin up at him and you kiss.

Later that evening you bring a dish of asparagus sautéed in garlic and butter out to the dining table on the beach. You smile at Baby, bouncing around in your father’s lap as he reaches for Madden sitting across from him. Your father, so dashing in his black wayfarers asks him what he wants.

“He wants me, darling.” Madden chimes and your father passes Baby to his husband across the table.

The sun is setting and you all glow a beautiful gold as the crystal ocean crashes into shore and you know this is how it was always supposed to be. Indulging in delectable food after days of laying lazily in the shade under the palm trees. Watching your father and Din catch a feast and laughing at their own feeble abilities as Madden reads to Baby his trashy love novels as he pops grapes in his mouth. Baby cooing as if he understands.

Din comes up behind you with another plate of steaming red lobsters.

“Ugh, absolutely beautiful, Din!” Your father exclaims, looking hungrily as Din sets them down. You grin up at your love until the smell hits you and you suddenly feel light headed.

Odd.

You sink down into your seat next to your step father and try to force the feeling to pass as you take a few asparagus spears on a small plate for Baby.

“I’ll de-shell a claw for him.” Din nods, taking a crustacean from the small pile.

You watch Din crack into it and when the juices run from the shell, your stomach lurches. Instantly your mouth fills with saliva that tastes of pennies and your mouth starts to ache but you clench it anyway.

Din pulls the meat from the red claw and your stomach lurches again. Slapping your hand across your mouth, you can’t help but make a gagging noise in the back of your throat.

Din blinks up. “Are you alright?”

You shake your head, as your fathers look at you in concern, and Baby curiously up from below.

You gag once more and you know it’s going to happen. Rising quickly from your chair, you dash quickly across the sand, up the back porch and into the house. Through the living room, kicking sand onto the hardwood but you don’t stop running until you collapse at the toilet in the washroom, ripping the seat up and almost immediately emptying your stomach into the bowl.

When it’s over, your groan and it echoes against the porcelain. Vomiting never gets any easier. Flushing the toilet you stand to meet your haggard reflection in the mirror. Once sun-kissed and lovely now looks pale and sickly. You splash water on your face and rinse out your mouth before kneeling to find the Gravol under the sink. It hasn’t been used in years and you knock over boxes of tampons and bandaids looking for it.

Tampons.

You snap back up sitting on your knees and your heart races. You look around the bathroom but you don’t know what you’re looking for.

When was the last time you had your period?

Your breath quickens as you search your brain for anything, but you can’t remember. It’s been at least two months. You’ve gotten lost in the return of your dreamy little life you didn’t even notice.

“How did this happen?” You whisper to yourself in confusion.

“Oh, Din.” You sigh, as the breeze from the open window rustles his hair. The light of the bright moonlight is all that illuminates the room as Din holds you in his lap on his knees in the middle of the bed. He clutches you, fingers digging into your flesh as he pants into your shoulder. You run your hand up his back and into his hair as he thrusts inside of you, long and hard and slow.

With your chest pressed against his, he kisses up your neck, whispering in between, “You feel so good, my perfect girl.”

You whimper, moving your hips in synch with his thrusts as he kisses up your jaw and across your cheek to your parted lips.

His breath hitches against your mouth, “I-I’m going to cum.”

“Oh, Din. Yes, cum for me.”

“Do you want me to pull out?”

“No, my love. Please don’t.”

Din’s head falls back into your shoulder and you cradle his heavenly face, circling your hips just like he adores as his thrusts become quicker, but erratic.

His nose digs into the space where your shoulder meets your neck and you know he’s close.

“Cum inside me, my love.” You whisper, running your fingers through his flowing hair, admiring how his skin reflects the moon.

“My good girl.” He chokes as you feel him spill inside of you and you both groan in unison.

“Right.” You say out loud. Looking around the bathroom again as every other instance of telling Din not to escape from your snug depth plays over in your mind.

On the balcony in the afternoon during Baby’s nap. On the kitchen counter in the milky morning. Over the sink after lunch. On top of your lover in the sand in the evening underneath the sky so pink and orange. Sinking into his lap in exhaustion after putting Baby to sleep. Slipping into Din’s shower to surprise him. Up against the palm trees. In the Razor Crest. Every night before you went to sleep.

Okay. Okay. Getting back together proved to be even more intimate than ever before. But you never went back on birth control.

“Shit.” You whisper through your teeth, diving back under the sink for the pregnancy test you bought back when you and Din were toying with the idea of trying.

“Y/N?” Din asks softly from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”

You see the test in the very back and snatch it up before standing.

“Din, can you come in.” Your voice shakes.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, opening the door.

Your mouth twists to the side and you lift the pink box slightly.

“What?” He asks before looking down. “No.”

Din looks back up. “What? No. What?”

“I’m late.” You say. “Months late.”

Din closes the door and stumbles back but he’s trying not to grin. “I still want this. If you do.”

You raise your eyebrows, “I do.”

“Okay.” Din says quietly before clearing his throat. “Do you want me to wait outside, or-”

“No, please stay.”

“Okay.” He says quietly again.

It’s like you’re talking and moving in slow motion as Din paces back and forth. You open the box, carefully, like it will have some input on the reading and when you’ve completed it, you place it on the counter and wash your hands.

Din has slid down the door and is sitting on the floor. You join him and he takes your hand, fluttering his fingers along your palm.

“Do you remember when we met?” He asks lowly.

“Of course.” You answer as reality starts to set in and your heart races but you know, just being next to Din, that it’s going to be okay.

“When I first saw you, singing to yourself in the stream by the cottage - I knew. I thought I had gone crazy because I knew instantly I was going to love you forever, that one day we’d be sitting here like this.”

You push the hair out of the side of Din’s face as your sight goes blurry with tears and your voice is almost inaudible, “So did I.”

Your love looks down, grinning.

“Do you remember when I met Baby?” You sniff.

Din laughs, “He wouldn’t even look at you.”

“He was so shy.” You laugh, “He sat in your lap with his back to me.”

Din snorts and looks at you with glassy eyes as you both keep laughing.

“Do you remember when you moved in?”

You wipe your eyes, coughing through a laugh. “He knocked my easel over!”

“You should’ve seen him years ago, we’d be in the cockpit and he’d touch everything. I would tell him to stop and he’d look me dead in the eye and flip a switch or press a button.”

You both laugh through anxious tears as you take each other’s hand.

“And to think.” Din says, shaking his head. “We could have a little girl who’s going to do all those same little things.”

You turn your head to him slowly. “A girl?”

“Oh.” He stutters. “Yeah. I’m going to be happy no matter what. I just always imagined a girl.”

You smile. “Me too.”

Din knocks his forehead against yours lightly before kissing it and stopping for a moment to smell your hair.

“It should be time.” You whisper but neither of you move.

It feels like nothing has even mattered until now. You’ve hurt and you’ve healed but now there is only this. Another change to your future could be sitting up on the counter right now and you’re just moments away from knowing.

Everything has gone quiet and your ears search for the waves or the birds, your father’s laugh or Baby’s coo but all there is, is Din’s breathing and it is enough. It is always enough because there is no one else you would rather do this with. There is no one else who has soothed your mind like Din Djarin, who has the ability to bring you back down to the planet when you are so far up in your mind you’ve forgotten you’re alive and part of this. You remember when you first saw him, and how that stunning face stopped you in your tracks, he is just as beautiful now as he was then but now you feel like you are on the cusp of being a part of something greater. He has seen the entire galaxy but now he truly exists in it, with you and it has been the most beautiful adventure. You longed for a love like this your entire life, even once believing it was too grand, too extraordinary to exist. But here it is, sitting on the bathroom floor, clutching your hand with his entire strength. You believed Din was the most deserving of an ordinary life, to reach the end of his purpose and be held for that is all he ever wanted. You see it in how he’s raised Baby, in softness and patience. Lessons instead of punishments, learning from each other and you know it would continue to your own child.

Your heart doesn’t race anymore because you are not afraid. It was always supposed to be this way.

“Din.” You whisper.

“Yes?” He whispers back.

You turn, resting your head against the door. “I’m not even scared.”

Din shakes his head. “Me neither.”

He hooks your hair behind your ear. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” You choke out. Tears forming, but they are out of happiness.

Din helps you up and you take the test off the counter, holding it in both your hands, you turn back to him.

“I love you.” Din says.

“I love you.” You say back and you look down to read the results.

Your heart stops and you look back up in shock.

Din’s jaw is clenched and you don’t think he’s breathing, but neither are you.

You look back down just to make sure, laughing through a sob and you look up again into the beautiful dark eyes of the love of your life.

“Din, we’re having a baby.”

Tags: @otherthingsinhead @aeryntheofficial @maryan028 @readsalot73 @osric-the-l3m0n-l0v3-demon @capsironunderoos @antclottz @intense-sneezing @igotmadskills @applesislife @marrvelle-fics @killtherandomness @holyground1996 @taoiichii @kyoko-yuuki @bookwormmarvel @xplrreylo @the-resident-demon @sad-anxious-girl @jaegers-and-kaijus @drinkfantasy @forbidden-darkness @hyveee @fangirlfreakingout @petalduck @fahhhhq @thatonebishsstuff @midnightsinger @jenniferdaniels12 @hiscyarika @tryn25 @raveviolet @watsonwise @aproperthottie @lettonystarkbehappydamnit @hyunjins-wife @lilwickedred @yellowbubblewrap @kate013 @french-lace-lavender @pascalisthepunkest

Love, Zelda

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian #pedro pascal smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #baby yoda #pedro pascal fluff

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nastybuckybarnes · 4 years

Text

A Broken Fairytale - Eight

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Reader AU

Summary: Sold by your mother, you work as a servant for the King and Queen of Acadia. The Prince, much to his initial dismay, takes a liking to you. When a wicked woman intervenes, your life is nothing more than a prison sentence. With a war on the horizon and a betrothal to a missing Princess that he can’t escape, Bucky is forced to be the Prince -and King- that his father wants. A pawn in a bigger game than the two of you realize.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Violence, Injuries,

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Soooooooo have this. :)

SERIES MASTERLIST MASTERLIST

~*~

“You grow restless, Child,” Erutan says from her spot by the window. You shake your head, smiling as Seileach licks your hand, her eyes playful and happy while her tail wags.

“I simply... feel as if something is missing from my life. I know not what it is and that bothers me.” She nods, smiling at you gently. “Go to town today. Gather some herbs from the old woman’s cart in the centre of town. I’ve been wanting to rest anyway.” You smile at her offer and bow your head slightly.

“Thank you. I have never been in Corona before. I have been wanting to explore the village.” She hands you a small coin purse and a little list.

“Gather what you can find. We can always go back together at a later date. But this is your journey. You must go alone.” You can sense a deeper meaning to her words but you've learned, in the few short weeks that you’ve been with the Sorceress, not to question her.

You smooth out the apron covering the skirt of your simple russet-coloured dress. Erutan had made it for you within the first day of you being with her. Her kindness and compassion towards you seem to be endless, and you cherish every moment of it.

With your head held high, you make your way out of the woods, small wicker basket in hand as you traverse the familiar path of moss-covered trees.

Above you, dark clouds roll in, signalling yet another storm is coming. You don't let that dampen your mood, not one bit. You’ve never been to the city, and your excitement is through the roof.

When the trees thin and soft chattering can be heard, you know you’re nearly there. You follow your ears until the trees are far behind you and people surround you.

It’s not like you expected it to be, that’s for sure.

The buildings are all run down and breaking, many people are sitting on street corners in nothing but rags and torn clothing, and the market square has only a few people at each stand.

You frown as you see some children huddled up on road, sharing a tiny sliver of what looks like mouldy bread.

Heart in your throat, you hurry over to the baker’s stand and buy two loaves of bread with the few coins Erutan gave you. You know she’ll be okay with it, besides, she has plenty of plants and herbs that she could trade if push comes to shove.

You crouch down carefully by the five children, smiling softly when they scoot away from you.

“It’s okay. I mean you no harm. Here, have these.” You carefully lower your basket, your heart breaking a bit as the kids gasp.

“I know it isn’t much, but it should last for a few days,” you whisper, handing them the bread. The eldest of the five, a young girl no older than eleven, takes the bread with a confused frown.

“Why? You wasted your money... why?” You shake your head and push the loaves into her hands.

“It isn’t a waste. Not to me. There’s nothing I’d rather spend my money on than the people less fortunate than me. You needed what this money could buy far more than I need it. Please, take them.” Tears fill her eyes and she nods, whispering a soft ‘thank you’ as she rips off pieces for the rest of the kids.

You’re about to stand up when you hear the metallic clank of armour. Slowly, you rise to your feet, head down and eyes trained on your feet as you try to find a way to escape without creating a scene. You turn to the side, fear filling you as you see the signature red and white of the Acadian knights.

“Not many would give all they have and more to the less fortunate,” a familiar voice says. You snap your head up, eyes widening as you see Steve. You nearly throw yourself at him, hugging him tightly and laughing softly.

“Steve!” He chuckles, spinning you around then carefully setting you back down on your feet. “We’ve missed you, (Y/n),” he whispers, pulling back to look at you with glossy blue eyes. You smile sadly and glance downwards.

“I’ve missed you all so much. I’m so thankful for what you’ve all done for me, helping me to freedom. I... I can’t thank you enough.” He chuckles and squeezes your shoulder.

“You’re family to us, (Y/n).” Your heart fills with warmth and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“What are you doing in Corona?” You ask, changing the subject. He sighs and glances around before leaning in closer to you.

“Many reasons. I’m here with Bucky and Sam to discuss business with the King, see if there’s anything to be done to prevent a war. Rumlow said he was on official business from the King, probably looking for you, if I’m being quite honest.” You shiver and look around, trying to find the man that wants you dead.

“I should... let you go then, I suppose,” you whisper, not wanting to leave one of the only friends you’ve ever made in your life.

“He misses you, (Y/n). A lot. Not a day goes by where you aren’t in his mind. He’s different since you left.” You sniffle, desperately fighting the tears that threaten to break free.

“Stay safe, Steve. I’ll miss you.” He nods, leaning forward and kissing your forehead.

“I’ll miss you too, (Y/n). You take care of yourself. And if you ever need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to write to me. Use a different name if you must, but if you need anything, I’ll be there.” You smile, a single tear sliding down your cheek as you step around him and hurry back the way you came, emotions overwhelming you.

Steve sighs sadly, watching you rush away before turning and heading to the Palace.

He tries not to look at the people in the city, saddened by the poverty around him.

When he makes it to the Palace gates, Bucky and Sam are waiting for him, the former with a scowl on his face.

“I want to get this over with. Let’s go,” He snaps. Steve and Sam exchange glances then follow the brunet into the Palace.

Bucky heads straight to the Throne room where he knows the King is, while Sam and Steve linger behind.

“You go ahead. Make sure he doesn’t say anything he’ll regret,” Steve says, smiling as the man rushes after the young Prince.

Steve takes his time walking around the long-forgotten halls of the Corona Palace, stopping when he hears a voice singing a shockingly familiar song.

“.... where the moon is made of gold, and in the morning sun we’ll be sailing...” The Queen seems to fade out of her daze and smiles sadly at Steve.

“Hello, Steven. It has been a while.” He nods, offering her his arm, which she takes with a bow of her head. “We have a war on the horizon, don’t we?” She asks softly, a faraway look in her eyes. Steve sighs and nods, “we do, most likely.” She nods, humming to herself.

“My daughter is probably so very beautiful. You know, when she was born we had a sorceress give her a necklace. It’s enchanted with a spell and engraved. It allows only her to touch it. It burns those who try to take it. We figured it would be something good for her to have, in case she ever found herself lost. It hasn’t seemed to help, though...” She trails off and looks down the hallway while the blood drains from Steve’s face.

“Y-you say she had an enchanted necklace?” He asks weakly. The Queen only hums, pulling him further down the hallway. “The King grows weary. He knows that we cannot stop the war. We will fall, and there is nothing that can be done until my daughter is found.”

“Your Majesty!” A female voice calls. Steve glances over his shoulder, smiling sadly as Pepper rushes down the hallway.

“Come, we must bring you back to your room.” She takes the Queen’s other arm and Steve watches as the two of them walk down the hall towards a series of doors.

He turns on his heel and sprints out of the Palace, desperate to find you and bring you to the Palace where you belong.

~*~

You approach the cottage, a smile on your face as you remember Steve’s kind words.

The forest around you is eerily silent, but you pay no mind to it, simply putting it to the oncoming storm. When you reach the cottage, you know something isn’t right.

Seileach isn’t rushing out to greet you the way she normally would. You hesitantly push the door open, dropping the basket to the floor and holding your hand to your face at the scene before you.

Erutan is crumpled on the floor, blood dripping from a gash on her forehead.

“Erutan!” You cry, sliding to your knees in front of her and fluttering your hands helplessly around her head.

“Run, child. I’ll be fine. It’s you they’re after. You must leave. Head for the Palace and don’t look back. Seileach and I will be alright, don’t worry. Just run. Run and don't you dare look back.” She pushes you with a surprising amount of force and you stumble back, grabbing handfuls of your dress and turning to sprint out of the cottage.

You’re running as fast as you physically can, fear pushing you harder than you thought possible as you jump over roots and fallen logs.

“I hear something! This way!” A man’s voice shouts from behind you. You run faster, adrenaline and absolute terror filling you as you run through the familiar trees.

You can hear them gaining on you, and you can’t help but glance over your shoulder.

The Acadian colours are running after you. Men of the King, no doubt. The one’s Steve was telling you about.

Your foot catches on a fallen tree and you go spiralling to the ground, catching yourself on your palms. A sharp pain shoots from your right wrist and you wince, pushing yourself to your feet and starting to run again.

It’s no use, though. In a matter of steps, the heavy body of a man is bringing you down to the ground.

“Thought you could get away, didn’t you?” A man pants in your ear, his warm breath on your neck making you want to throw up.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He rolls you onto your back and grins a yellow smile at you. You struggle against him, thrashing in his hold as he brings his hands to your throat.

He presses hard, cutting off your airflow. You reach up and claw at his face, scratching red trails that blossom with fresh blood.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” He snarls, lifting one hand only to bring it down hard against your cheek, your fighting lessens for a moment of bright pain before resuming.

He continues pressing hard on your windpipe and your vision grows dark, your struggles gradually ceasing.

You’re about to give up and succumb to the comforting darkness when his weight is suddenly lifted from you.

You roll onto your side, panting and gasping for breath, your vision slowly returning to normal enough to see two figures quarrelling on the ground not five feet from you.

You push yourself onto your forearms and catch your breath, squinting to try and make out the two figures in front of you.

You catch a glimpse of a familiar head of blond hair and your eyes widen.

Steve.

You stand up, stumbling a few steps as your heart furiously pumps blood to your head.

You’re about to call out for Steve when you’re suddenly being grabbed from behind, hands covering your mouth.

Two more men join in on the fight and Steve’s quickly overpowered, crumbling to the ground in a heap after a particularly nasty blow to the head.

“Bring her back to the old witches cottage. I wanna take my time defiling her and I want the Prince here to watch,” the man who was strangling you says, a wicked grin on his face as he watches you struggle against the arms restraining you.

~*~

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x you #princess au #Lost Princess AU #prince bucky #princess reader #prince bucky x reader #prince!bucky x reader #prince!au #prince!bucky X princess!reader #bucky x princess!reader #bucky x reader princess au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader au

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arcanascribbles · 3 years

Text

Blood and Wine are Fine 🌹 (Lucio)

Warnings: Choking kink, Lucio being a big baby and then an asshole, demeaning kink is very much present, my blood kink is

S H O W I N G, disinfect hickeys and bites kiddos, love confessions

Requested: No

Word count: 1759

Y/N felt Lucio's metal arm snake around her waist. He hated the market place. Too many people, too many eyes on you, too many commoners. He had a white cloak on, the hood of it up, defending his face. Y/N walked up to a stand and ordered some supplies while Lucio stood at her side his face burrowed in the crook of her neck as he whispered into her ear,

"Let's get out of here dear." Y/N tsked at his impatience and turned her eyes became dark as she glared at him.

"You can leave whenever dearest, I have to finish up." She was mad at Lucio. Before they came here he said only peasants shopped at the market place. Y/N continued walking, Lucio now left at the last stand in shock. She knew he'd be mad she talked back but she wasn't in the mood to worry about it. She stopped at the last stand and bought what she needed before walking back to the palace. She got only a few feet away from the market place when a carriage rolled up and the door opened. A guard stood and spoke to her. She noticed Lucio wasn't inside and realized he had already gotten a carriage home, he really was mad. The guard continued talking but Y/N only caught the last words,

"Lucio has requested you immediately." Y/N jerked her head and slipped into the carriage. She was to be punished. All of her anger arised to arousal. She felt a heat pool between her legs and she hissed. Curse him for knowing her weakness. She laid her bag from shopping into the guards hand and spoke to him quickly,

"You may leave it in my room. Thank you so much." The guard closed the door and nodded before getting onto the front of Y/N's ride and whipping at the horse to move. Y/N sat rubbing her thighs together. She was already weak and needed friction. The carriage ride seemed unbearably long as they made there way to the castle. Y/N hissed,

"Damn you Lucio." Her teeth gritted as the friction she was creating herself wasn't enough. She wouldn't touch herself here. It felt unfair to the guard and she was trying to hold patience. She felt the rough bump in the road and gasped at the movement near her core, a low moan was let out, and if you weren't listening for it you wouldn't know it was let out. She hissed to herself and as soon as the guard opened the door she was letting out a quick thank you before running to Lucio's hall her feet quick and quiet as she stepped over Mercedes and Melchior, their ears perking up as they saw her, but they lost interest as she skidded past them. Y/N opened the door and was immediately bombarded.

"You dare speak to me in such a way!" Her neck was gripped by his metal hand as he gave it a light squeeze. Y/N hissed out at the sudden pressure. She was going to have her fun before accepting punishment. She managed a collection of words between Lucio's rough grip. "I do. It's not like you would *do* anything." Her voice light and smug. She felt his knee rise to her core and slam into it, his face twisted into a dark scowl. "I am doing something now aren't I?" Y/N let out a loud moan not even trying to hide her loud voice. No one came to Lucio's chambers anymore. Not since the maids walked in mid-way Lucio pounding Y/N ruthlessly without even stopping as he shouted for them to leave. They haven't come down here unless they were delivering something and they knew Y/N was not moaning loudly before coming in. She let her hands wander up Lucio's chest, her head thumping slightly at the blood-loss from his gauntlet around her neck. She needed him now. Punishment however, was required first. Lucio bit roughly onto her neck, drawing a thick crimson liquid as he leaned into the other side of her neck. The blood dripped from his lips as he kissed Y/N. He felt no remorse as she slightly gagged at the metallic flavor. He leaned into her ear and hissed in frustration, "On your goddamn knees, slut." Y/N felt her heat rise at the rude name. She loved it. She moved to her knees after released. She could see an obviously painful erection through Lucio's pants. She was quick to undo them as his full length spilled out. She took the base of it and pumped it a few times before leaning in and taking less than half his length. Lucio didn't think that would suffice with him. He grabbed a handful of Y/N's hair before ramming his full length into her throat. Tears streamed from her face and slid down her cheeks as she choked on the smug Count's cock. Lucio moaned and rested his arm against the wall as he tilted his head down, "Take it all bitch." Y/N bobbed short quick nods, taking quick breaths in between. She moaned around his cock and felt Lucio's back arch into her even further. Her quick time to breath became shorter as she was forced farther and farther onto the man's member. She felt his cock twitch and bobbed her head faster, her head spinning from shortness of breath. She felt Lucio tighten his grip on her hair as he rammed into her throat forcing his cum down mercilessly. Y/N pulled her head back swallowing as she caught her breath. Lucio forced her head up and applied pressure to her cheeks. Her mouth opened reluctantly and let him check that she swallowed it all. Her mouth was void of the cum and Lucio released the pressure on her cheeks. He spat to her a few words, that made Y/N weaker than she already was,

"I am not done with you. Get on the bed and bend over." Y/N got up, her legs jelly as she walked to the bed and bent over it. She felt a fear and arousal bring a wetness to her core. Lucio had poured himself a glass of red wine and licked the mark he left earlier on Y/N before downing the wine. He took his golden claw and tore her pants off of her. His hands fell to her soft ass and he leaned to her ear, "Such a shame I can't look at this beautiful skin of yours without wanting to paint it red." He growled this lowly before landing a rough smack to her ass, his metal hand imprinted on to her. He dragged his metal claws up the soft flesh, not enough to break skin but enough to cause pain. Y/N hissed and cried out in ecstasy and enjoyment as the pain added to her core's heat. Lucio hissed and slapped her again. This time he leaned in, "You are already wet aren't you?" Y/N nodded shamefully as Lucio reached down with his human hand and felt her pussy. A familiar liquid spilled into his hand and he growled. "I hope you didn't pleasure yourself in that carriage dear." Y/N shook her head no and turned to him leaning up and into the crook of his neck, "Not at all. This was all your doing." She spoke while kissing his neck neatly. She spoke again, knowing her punishment was close to being done, "My handsome man, won't you take me as your own?" She smiled slyly and bent back over, shaking her hips seductively in hopes of dragging him in. Lucio smirked and removed his shirt slowly, he demanded that Y/N turned her head around. As soon as it was turned he slammed his now erect cock into her, giving her barely a split second to adjust before thrusting into her multiple times. His golden hand wrapped around her hair and he tugged her up trying to find a way to get deeper into her core. His teeth sunk into her shoulder and the crimson liquid he thirsted for spilled into his mouth. Y/N gasped at the pain new tears springing from her eyes, a sob filled the air followed by a moan from Lucio shoving his cock further into her. He hissed at her sob and muttered out a shut up as he continued the pace and roughened it by grasping her hips and moving them himself. Y/N found herself cumming, but Lucio continued anyway, his crimson eyes watched his little masochist squirm and writhe under him. He bucked his hips further and further until he felt her tighten around him. Lucio felt the tightness and hissed as he released his load of seed into her. He was shameless as he pulled her up by the hair and kissed her passionately. He threw her onto the bed and he walked to the bathroom, his face now soft and calm. He was going to care for her afterwards obviously.

Y/N felt a warm damp rag hit her neck as Lucio wiped away the blood. He leaned down and left a soft kiss. He felt her flinch and pulled away and spoke, "Beloved?" He was scared he had caused more pain than he needed or meant to. Y/N moaned tiredly and gripped his chin, "I am okay dear. I am more than okay." She leaned up and trailed soft kissed down Lucio's bare abs. He continued cleaning her neck and moved to her ass. He wiped lightly giving it a small squeeze at the ass he rightfully owned. He smiled at her soft yelp and whispered into her ear, "I need you to lie down my love." Y/N moved back and let her head hit the soft pillow. She sighed as Lucio wiped her inner thighs and core, before taking off his under shirt and sliding it onto her, adjusting it so it went down to the middle of her thighs. He let her curl into a comfortable position before settling onto the bed next to her, his fingers trailing along her back drawing soft shapes. He leaned into her ear and whispered quietly thinking she was asleep, "I love you so much." He rested him head on her shoulder his eyes wondering not noticing the girls eyes on him, her face shocked. She spoke her voice barely a whisper, "You love me?" She saw his expression resemble shock which morphed to a loving look. He responded lightly, "More than anything love." Y/N smirked and turned her head, her eyes suddenly very heavy.

#count lucio #lucio the goat #lucio x apprentice #lucio morgasson #blood kink #monster fucker #i'm not sorry #first of many #get ready bitches

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kingdomheartsmarts · 4 years

Note

Hello, could I please request a scenario with Axel/Lea where he and fem reader are long time childhood friends, and she walks in on him masturbating and moaning her name? He quickly scrambles to try and cover himself and come up with an explanation but she decides to "help him out" (lol sorry if that's too specific)

oh my god i love this. so much.

honestly i’m trying to put a lot more work into these instead of forcing myself to pump them out and it’s helping me ease back into being able to write more again :) basically i’m trying to make them a tiny-bit longer. i hope that’s okay with you guys.

smutty under cutty.

Lea/Reader | Always There for You

Lea had always been there- being an absolute moron and a rock- for as long as you could remember; someone who was always there with a snide remark offset by a smile. It’s always been like this- following the redhead around like you were a lost puppy when you were kids before being pulled into an eventful friendship with him and Isa. Sometimes it wasn’t ideal, sometimes it was needed, sometimes it was everything that was keeping you from pulling your hair out-

But sometimes it also made you want to finally shut Lea up with your mouth against his.

Lea has always been mouthy and loud- obnoxiously himself even when you just needed a moment of peace- it’s always been like this, that’s why today was so annoying-

Coming home to your shared apartment, the cool air calming your thoughts for a split second before hearing Lea’s blaring music from his room- the noise cutting through your ears and ringing through your skull as you made your way to your bedroom, rubbing your temples.

“Lea- I’m home, can you turn that down?” You yelled, the volume staying a constant before knocking your fist against the door-

“Shit- H-Hey,” Lea greeted you from the other side, the music abruptly stopping.

“Turn it down. I have a headache, please.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” He said, the music starting back up, “Is that alright?”

“Perfect; I’m going to shower,”

“Cool,”

If you didn’t have a raging headache, you would of caught the way his voice spiked with surprise and anxiety, the way that he knocked himself around his room to get to his phone to turn down the music, and the way he seemed to of been violently pulled out of his own thoughts- his mind preoccupied with something so intimate he forgot his surroundings. That being said, it wasn’t his fault; you came home early from work with a raging headache, a mixture of the weather and stress causing a matra of internal thuds.

You just wanted a warm shower, some meds, and a nap.

Tossing down your phone and wallet, you pulled off your shirt as the door closed behind you. You could care less if Lea were to somehow see you, especially in this moment, but he seemed pretty preoccupied when you interrupted him. Kicking off your shoes and socks, you pulled off your pants and panties, chucking them into a clothes hamper before pulling off your bra; it was friday anyway, you didn’t need that bra right now.

Entering your bathroom, you swore you heard your name called, through the not-so-thick walls of the apartment; your bathroom being the in between area between Lea’s room and your own. Ignoring the convincing noises, you pulled your hair down as you let it rest over your shoulders, turning on the warm water as you finally felt yourself relax, your tense muscles relaxing under the hot stream of water- your eyes slipping shut with a soft hum.

“That’s it, babydoll,”

“The hell?” you murmured, realizing that Lea was the source of those words, your face heating up with the realization-

He’s been masturbating this whole time.

Well, that’s alright, just leave him be- he needs his alone time and if he needs it right now then that’s okay, you said to yourself, lathering up your hair as you massage your scalp.

“Fuck- You’re so good for me,”

Who was he thinking about? Was he thinking about someone you didn’t know, or someone that the two of you knew and it was his little crush? Was he even smitten with someone? Was he just letting out empty praises to get himself off on his own voice?

You snickered at the last thought, the idea of Lea only being able to get off when he was able to hear his own voice- but the idea of Lea touching himself plagued you-

Did he have toys? Was he facetiming someone or watching porn? Or was he just completely solo while thinking of someone else?

Washing out the shampoo, you bit your tongue at the last thought as your gut twisted with jealousy-

Lea thinking about someone else.

You refused to admit the very fact that you were the one smitten by him. You loved Lea with every miracle and dumbass decision he made and you couldn’t handle the idea of him getting off to someone else-

So what if he was getting off on the idea of you?

Dismissing your spiralling thoughts, you pulled yourself back to reality as you ran conditioner through your hair, letting it sit for a moment as you ran body wash over your skin.

“Shit- come on, just a little more for me,”

Your body felt hot as you turned down the hot water, trying to cool yourself off as your core ignited with the thoughts of Lea laying naked on his bed, jacking off while moaning.

“I’m gonna take care of you, that’s a good girl,”

Finally washing out the conditioner, you were finally growing uncomfortable as your skin crawled with the desire to relieve yourself.

“I’m gonna take good care of you, kitty,”

Your hand paused on the knobs of the shower as you took in what he just said-

Kitty.

Sure, you knew the whole daddy-kitten thing, but he didn’t say kitten. He said kitty. The same exact nickname he called you from the time you were teenagers. It wasn’t something he normally said to everyone- not even close, with the memory of a girl asking him if he would call her kitty before swiftly shooting her down, telling her that you were kitty.

Finally turning off the water, you quickly towelled off before drying your hair with the towel, your thoughts racing as you attempted to distract yourself from Lea’s not-so-far-away moans. Wrapping the towel around you as you snuck out of your room, staying as quiet as possible as you leaned your ear against his door-

The explicit sound of his moans and rough strokes pained your core as you relished in his pleasure for a moment, continuing to moan as you reached for the handle of his door, the towel still wrapped around you as you silently turned the handle-

Lea laying with his back to his bed, resting on some pillows as he held a picture in one hand and his dick in the other, his hand quickly stroking his length as his half lidded eyes studied the picture-

A picture you gave him of you at the beach, clad in clothes that are only called that because of a marketing meeting.

You pervert, you thought as he continued to let out babbles of moans, his words mixed and mumbled as his length leaked precum.

“That’s it, kitty, god-” Lea groaned his head falling back against the pillows as you pushed open the door a little further, relishing in his nude body as you stood in his doorway.

“Whatcha doin’, pervert?” You purred with cockiness dripping from your voice, Lea jumping out of his skin at you standing at his doorway- your hand on the door and on your towel as he attempted to cover himself.

“Uh…” Lea trailed off, cocking your brow at him as you closed the door behind you, locking the two of you in the room together. “You wouldn’t be masturbating to a picture I gave you, now would you?” You asked sweetly as you made your way over to his bed, his face starting to match his hair as he stared at you, wide-eyed.

“What’s wrong? Cat’s got your tongue?” You asked as you leaned down, running your tongue along his jaw, “Or should I ask, does Kitty got your tongue?”

“You-You’re not mad?”

“I don’t typically go into the bedrooms of men who are obviously masturbating only wearing a towel, so no i’m not mad,” you said teasingly, resting your knees on either side of his hips, sitting over him as he kept a hand on the sheet covering his length.

“Only a towel?” Lea asked after a moment, his hands finally leaving what they once clung to as he grabbed your covered hips, teasingly sticking your tongue out at him.

“Mhmm- You wanna see?” You teased as you laid him back down, your hands running down his warm skin that had a sheen of sweat.

“Who am I to deny that?” He said lowly, your hands finally pulling off your towel as he groaned softly as it fell away, your eyes focused on him. “Shit, kitty,” He growled, pulling you down on top of him, his arms wrapped around your back as he took one of your nipples into his mouth- his eyes meeting you as he let out a soft groan. Your hands found their way into his hair as you pulled him forward, his lips curling into a smirk as he released your nipple, his hand running down your back to cup your ass.

“Had to moan my name that loudly, hm?” You teased, kissing his jaw as he massaged your ass, your core burning at the close proximity to his warm hands; a soft chuckle left his mouth as you kissed your way up his chin, gently kissing around his mouth as he let out an irritated growl.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Lea snapped, crashing his warm lips into yours as you let out a soft moan- his warm lips moving against yours as his tongue ran over your bottom lip, a soft gasp escaping you as his tongue ran over yours, his fingers finally teasing your slick core.

“You want it that bad, huh?” He teased as he pulled you to lay directly on top of him, your head resting against his chest as his fingers ever so gently dipped into your core, testing the waters as you let out a content sigh.

“How about you shut- ah!” You cut off your sentence with a gasp, his fingers entering you as you arched your back, his long fingers massaging your inner walls- just for him to roughly remove them a moment later. “Were you saying something?” He smirked as he brought his lips to your neck, gently nipping and suckling on your soft skin.

“If you don’t hurry up and fuck me-”

“Lewd words coming from you,”

“I just caught you masturbating to a picture I gifted you,”

“Fair enough,” Lea smirked, flipping you over for him to loom over you, his eyes dark as they were shrouded in lust, his hands finding your hips as he pulled your thighs around his hips, his length hard and waiting.

“Do you think you need anymore prep?” He asked lowly in your ear, his teeth taking the tender lobe and rubbing it with the sharpness, your lewd whimper making his cock twitch.

“No~ Please just hurry up~” You whimpered as you pulled his hips closer to yours.

“Why’re you so horny, kitty?” Lea teased as he finally pushed into you, your gasp making him groan as he pushed into you, “Did my moans get to you that badly?”

“Shut it-” You snapped, a blush covering your face as you wrapped your arms around his back, your face buried in his neck.

“Should I stop reminding you about how I moaned about you and practiced praising you?” He smirked against your skin as he pushed all the way in, your loud groan making his cock twitch as your walls fluttered around him.

“Lea~” you whimpered, your walls deliciously stretched as your walls fluttered at the beautiful feeling, his arms wrapped securely around you as he held you close to him.

“Oh, that sounds nice,” He purred as he teasingly rolled his hips, your groan telling him everything he needed to know as he continued rolling his hips into your waiting heat.

“God- More~”

“I’m not god, I thought you had my name memorized by now-”

“Damnit Lea if you don’t fucking go harder-” You snapped, his teeth raking across the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Harder?” He tentatively asked, keeping his hips at the lazily pleasurable pace.

“Please~”

“Like this?” He snapped his hips roughly, a loud groan leaving your mouth as he smirked at your expression- your head flung back as your nails cut into his shoulders, your eyes half lidded and glazed over with pleasure, and your mouth hung open in a moan.

“Lea- Fuck-” You groaned as you brought him impossibly closer to you, your back arching as his hips continued to roughly slap against you, his balls slapping agaisnt your ass, the lewd sound making you whimper.

“What? I feel that good?” Lea teased, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as the sentence left his mouth, his groan resonating through the room as his mouth hung open in a moan, “Fuck you’re so good for me.”

“Lea, more~” You whined as your hand intertwined in his hair, pulling his head up as his lips crashed into yours- the kiss messy and imperfect as teeth clashed with a shuttering groan, Lea’s thumb teasing and abusing your clit as you groaned into his mouth.

“That’s it- hah- good Kitty,” He praised you, watching your hips twitch and shutter as you squealed, your orgasm coming too quick and not fast enough all at once.

“Fuck- Fuck- Lea~” your resonating, open-mouthed groan echoed through the room as your walls convulsed around his throbbing length, your nails cutting into his shoulders and scalp as you clung onto him with waves of your orgasm rushing through you.

“That’s it, babydoll- just a little more for me,” he panted in your ear, his breath hot as it fanned your skin, goosebumps raising as your body quivered under his unwavering assault. You whimpered under him, your hands helplessly holding onto him as his pants and moans grew in volume, the overstimulation making your body limp.

With an abrupt groan, Lea came as he held onto you, his hands warm and sweaty against your back as he shuttered, his cum painting your inner walls as the warmth filled you. His thrust finally faltered as he came down from his high, his body cradling you under his warmth, his head lifting to meet your eyes. “God, I've wanted to do that for so long,” Lea said lowly, his voice starting to rasp from everything that just happened, pulling himself out of you while he looked down at you.

“Fuck,” you cursed as your heart continued to pound in the constrains of your chest, your hands continuing to hold Lea as he smiled down on you, his lips gently pecking yours.

“That was amazing,” he smiled, nuzzling your ear as he wrapped his arms around you, flipping you over to lay on top of him.

“Do you always last that long?” You asked weakly, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Depends on how much you tease me, baby girl,” He said with a wink, playfully rolling your eyes at him.

“Good; I’ll keep that in mind, then,” You quietly said as you nuzzled your head into his chest.

“‘M always here for you,” Lea playfully said as you kissed up his neck.

“I know. You’re not gonna be having anyone else now, right?”

“Never did, not gonna start.”

“Good.”

#lea #lea x reader #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts x reader #kingdom hearts smut #kingdom hearts ii #kingdom hearts iii #kh #khii #khiii #kh ddd

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obibabykenobi · 4 years

Note

Can I have one for Anakin Skywalker? She’s one of his Padawans and she is a bit rebellious. She sneaks out while everyone was asleep and takes off with some strangers. She was offered tickets to go see her favorite band, “The Offspring” in concert. But she was on probation and was forbidden to go. So she makes up an excuse that she wanted to sleepover at her friends. But really, they sneak off to the concert. Anakin and the Jedi council found out anyway because she posted it to her story on

that is funnyyy!! i love this idea. ive never seen or read an AU like this so I’ll try to the best of my abilities! i kind of changed a few things.

✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎

————rebel

𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚔𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚙𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚗!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: reader sneaks out but gets caught

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜: profanity, characters in this oneshot are still jedi’s and stay in the temple, but it’s in modern times and instead of robes they wear modern clothing. (ex: master’s wear suits and button ups, padawans wear what looks similar to a school uniform) however Anakin is gonna keep his long hair ;)

You were out in the city, sent out by your Master to pick up groceries. You were sporting your Temple uniform, a navy blue blazer with a crest of two lightsabers in an x, one being blue and one being green. Your shorts were also navy blue with blue and green plaid decorated on it, and you always voiced your thoughts on how ugly they were whenever you had the chance. You wore a white button up underneath your blazer and had knee high navy blue socks on, your black shiny shoes were reflecting in the light. You strolled down the many aisles of the local farmers market, picking up fruits and vegetables and placing them in your basket as you went. You actually liked this task, cause you were out without your master and this was the only time you could go outside, being on “temple arrest” after your most recent shenanigan. Once you were done shopping, you paid in credits and slowly walked back to the temple, trying to make this walk leisurely and remember your moments not cooped up.

You felt multiple people near you, looking at you. You knew they wouldn’t do anything, everyone knows the uniform you’re wearing means you’re from the Jedi Temple and shouldn’t be messed with. However, these people were ballsy enough to call you over. You sighed, you usually didn’t give people the time of day in the city, but you really wanted to be in the fresh air as long as possible, so you turned around and walked to the strangers.

“What can I do for you...” you trailed off, looking the strangers up and down. They were definitely on the rough side, probably trying to pick a fight with you. “Fine people.”

They smirked and looked at each other, and oh how you loved the thought of getting in a fight with them. “Do Jedi listen to music?”

Well that shocked you. Why were they interested in that? Unless it was a new tactic to distract you. You raised a brow at the stranger and folded your arms. “Yes, we’re not closed off creatures who live under rocks.”

The one in the middle of all the strangers, you’re assuming him being the leader, reached his hand into his jacket. You thought he was about to pull out a blaster, but you were faster than them and immediately whipped out your saber, bright blue whizzing in the still air.

“Woah! Chill, doll. I was just gonna see if you wanted one.”

You watched cautiously as what seemed to be a ticket, with the words “The Offspring” printed on them, were held in between his fingers. You knew they were having a concert tonight, however your Master didn’t allow you to go and you didn’t have your own credits to pay for a ticket, you only get some from the Temple when they send you out on tasks.

“And why are you offering me a ticket? What do you want in return?”

Still having your lightsaber up, the leader raised his hands in defense at your statement. “We,” he refers to the strangers around him. “Had an extra, we couldn’t let it go to waste. We figured you looked like you listened to them. Do you not? If not, we’ll just give it-”

“No!...I’ll take it. Do you want anything in return? I-I don’t have much...but I’d really like to go.”

He took that into consideration and nodded. “Well, first, please put your saber away.” And you slowly lowered it, turning it off but still holding it tight in your hand. “Second, just come with us. You don’t gotta pay us. Meet us here at six P.M., Yea?” You nodded slowly and watched as he cautiously handed it over you to you. You snatched it out of his hand and quickly walked away. You could still feel their eyes boring into you.

——————————————

“No! No way. You are not going.” Your master told you sternly.

“And why not?” You countered back.

“You got this ticket from strangers! It could be fake for all you know. People just don’t go around handing out free tickets.”

You groaned and collapsed on the couch that was in his quarters. “I didn’t sense that they were lying, they’re legitimate!”

“You’re still a Padawan, if I’m not correct your senses aren’t as heightened as mine.”

You rolled your eyes and kicked your legs up on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Yea well my fighting skills are more heightened then theirs, so if they DID lie to me I’ll kick their ass.”

He walked over towards you and removed your legs from the coffee table. “Not everything leads into a fight, young one.”

He was wearing a white button up with his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, and his shirt was tucked into his black clean ironed slacks. You had to admit, he looked really good when he was irritated or angry. Right now, he was just a tad bit irritated. He sat down beside you and you noticed a few tiny grey hairs. You gasped playfully and he looked over at you with his eyes brows furrowed.

“Master, you’re greying! Oh my, did I do that?” You snickered while he touched his hair.

“Would you quit that?” He asked irritatingly.

As much as you irritated him, he loved having you around because you made him feel young again, and he loved getting into little fights with you.

“You’re not going to the concert, understand?”

He gave you a very stern look which created a swirl in your stomach.

“Yes, Master.” You reluctantly replied. Oh, but if only he could see the crossed fingers behind your back. You were definitely going to that concert.

——————————————

Somehow, you successfully snuck out of the temple without raising suspicion from others. It was easier than you thought. Your master was in a briefing, so you quickly changed into your civilian clothes and made a run for it. If a Jedi asked you where you were going in civilian clothes, you replied you were going to take some younglings to the park. Even if they could sense you were lying, they didn’t even bother to try to change your mind because your famous for rebelling against the rules.

So, here you are now, at the concert with the group of strangers. It was a blast, the music ringing through your ears and the bass thumping throughout your body. Your throat was scratchy and coarse from screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs. You whipped out your phone and recorded you and one of the strangers, who quickly turned into your best friend, singing to the current song playing. You uploaded it to your Snapchat story without even thinking about who could see it. All you could focus on was how happy you are.

——————————————

As soon as you got back to the temple, you could feel your masters anger seething throughout the large building. Your heart rate quickened and you stopped in your tracks. Immediately taking out your phone, you looked at the people who viewed your story and sure enough, you were in deep shit. In white lettering, you saw the name “Master Gaywalker”. The name you gave him on this app still makes you laugh.

“Come to the briefing room now.”

Anakin’s voice rippled through the force with anger dripping with it. You didn’t even try to run, not wanting to feel his wrath. You obediently walked your shaky legs to the briefing room.

——————————————

Your ass? Chewed. Chewed out by the whole council. And now Anakin was walking you back to your quarters while still chewing you out.

“I told you to not go, and what did you do? You completely disobeyed me!” You were walking farther ahead of him to try to get away from his nagging, but to no avail. You saw your quarters in view and made headway.

“Seriously, what does a Master have to do to keep his Padawan in check! Do I have to put baby monitors in your room?”

You finally reached your door and quickly stepped in. He quickly followed you inside and still wouldn’t shut his mouth.

“Okay, I get it. I’m sorry! I have no excuse, just please for the love of maker stop nagging and DON’T put baby monitors in my room.” You folded your arms and kept his stare across the room.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. You lied to me, disobeyed me and embarrassed me in front of the council-“

As he kept rambling on and on about how much he’s disappointed in you, you couldn’t help but stare at his peachy lips. He kept licking them, making you hungrier for them to be on yours. Finally, not even thinking, you walked right up to him, grabbed his face and kissed him.

You broke the kiss, and took a step back. His eyes were wide, cheeks red and he couldn’t even form a sentence now. You smirked, and took seat on your bed.

“Who knew that kissing you would make you shut up?”

#anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker #anakin ask

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

Abductions, Past and Present

AO3

...

The two days passes quickly. Remus takes to following Logan around, constantly asking questions, about everything and anything, from how to use the star maps to navigate, to the engineering of the ship itself, to anything that pops into his mind. Logan is all too willing to answer his questions, happy to lecture to someone who is excited to listen and learn, though Remus often interrupts in the middle of an explanation to ask another question, much to Logan’s annoyance. Still, he was simply happy Remus seemed to be adjusting well. He flinched less at sudden movements, occasionally initiated touch, occasionally quietly asked for some, which everyone was all too happy to give, no matter whom Remus asked. Usually, it was Janus, much to everyone’s surprise, and Patton’s slight disappointment. Though he was simply happy that Janus seemed to be reaching back, finally starting to let himself get attached and heal in a way he hadn’t seen from the naga.

Roman, when not following Remus, liked to sit in the living area, reading, endlessly reading. Patton had dug into his art supplies, and found an unused sketchbook and pack of colored pencils, Roman literally bursting into tears when he gave them to him. Roman had hugged them to his chest as if they were the most precious things in the world, letting Patton wrap him in a hug, cooing softly as the kid cried himself out. He hadn’t let the sketchbook out of his sight since, carrying it everywhere like a child with their teddy bear, an almost desperate, breaking joy in simply owning something, having something private to call his. It broke his heart a little, how something so small that he took for granted could shatter Roman’s world so entirely.

They were still skittish and quiet. They both still had moments of fear, moments of panic, they both still weren’t getting enough sleep, nightmares waking them, they both still clung to each other every moment they could, terrified to let each other out of their sights, afraid if they did, they would vanish. It was slow, and it wasn’t much, but it was progress, and it was there. They at least believed fully now in their own safety, knew that no one on board would ever hurt them, and were starting to reach out, just a bit, for help when it was all too much. It was amazing, really, how far just a little kindness went in earning trust.

…

“Are you ready?” Roman asks, softly, a bit breathless, squeezing Remus’s hand tightly, nervousness pounding in his chest, clogging his throat.

“No. Not even a little bit. Like, not at all.” He replies, trying to take a deep breath as he felt the ship shudder, touching down on land. Solid land. Actual land. Like, a planet.

“Kiddos? You ok?” Patton asks, coming into the room from the hall, a small satchel slung over his shoulders, instantly taking in the tenseness of the two boys. “Logan’ll be out any moment, then we can head out!”

“what if something goes wrong? What… what if we get separated? There’s crowds and people and-“

“And I meant it when I said I would sink my fangs into anyone who wants to try something. I’ll be your chaperone for the day, pleasure to be at your service.” Janus interrupted, giving a flourishing bow and a small smirk, not missing how Remus’s shoulders untensed.

“Indeed. Everything is locked down, and we may disembark whenever we like.” Logan states, coming down the hall from the control room, glancing over everyone once.

“ok. Ok let’s do this.” Remus breaths, pulling Roman to his feet, following the others to the airlock. Logan types something into a panel on the side of the room, and it whirs to life, bay doors opening, a ramp descending to the ground, and Remus has to shield his eyes with his hand, because it’s so bright.

He can feel Janus behind him, ready to reach out a hand to steady him, if he asks, not saying anything, patient, and he appreciates it. After a moment, his eyes adjust, and he feels the barest of breezes, and it takes everything in him not to sprint for the door and run as far and fast as he can. Instead, he slowly walks forward, down the ramp, Roman beside him, trembling, and he squeezes his brother’s hand tighter as they see the outside world.

It’s a landing strip, but a small one, their ship seems to be one of only four others docked. There’s a building behind them, some kind of communication building for incoming ships, no doubt, and beyond that are houses that look to be made of some kind of stone. They can hear the shouts and sounds of the town, of a market, of life.

But before them stretches an endless plain of knee high grass, that waves in the wind, a sweet, soft scent to it, no doubt blooming wildflowers or plants of some kind, and a sun is shining down, warm and soft and light, and Remus can’t help it as his legs give out from under him and he curls into the grass, feeling it tickle against his skin, breathing in the scent of wet earth, feeling it between his fingers, unable to stop the tremors that tear through him as a gasping sob escapes his lips.

For the first time since they were stolen, he believes in his freedom. He feels Roman beside him, and pulls him close, clinging to him just as tight as Roman is now clinging to him, because they can’t believe this, their minds can’t process this, they have lost the capacity to understand this vast open space, this soft summer wind, this swaying of prairie grasses, they can’t do anything other than try and breathe, try and take it all in, try and imprint this in their minds forever, because some part of Remus still fears this is some absurd trap, and he will be ripped out of this absolute paradise any moment. He can’t go back to it, now, he can’t go back to a cell, after this.

“You won’t. I won’t ever let that happen, I will fight anything that tries to put you in another cage.” Janus murmurs, and without hesitation, Remus reaches out, taking his hand without looking, just needing something, anything, to keep him tethered to this moment, otherwise he’ll slip back into a different one.

It feels like hours later, when they finally untangle from each other, getting to their feet, though Remus is unable to tear his eyes away from the horizon, can barely stop himself from looking straight into the sun, just to prove to himself it’s really there, closing his eyes and letting his senses be overrun by the normalcy of it all.

With his eyes closed, he could be anywhere. He could be home, chasing butterflies with Roman. They could be tussling in the field behind their house. They could be on one of their camping trips, they could be playing kickball during recess, they could be searching for fireflies and scouring the sky for shooting stars, crickets chirping softly in the distance as they made their own constellations and tales.

It’s insane. The feeling of that gentle warmth against his skin, wind in his hair, against his face, grass against his legs, it’s utterly insane, and he can’t stop the tears from dripping down his face as he takes another shuddering breath in, and opens his eyes. Janus is standing two steps away, watching them carefully, though he’s giving them space, and something a bit sad is in his eyes.

He remembers abruptly that Janus has been through this. He knows exactly what they’re going through, he must remember the day he stepped off that ship for the first time, must remember the overwhelming urge to just run as fast and far as he could, he must be lost in his own thoughts and memories.

“you ok?” He asks softly, breaking Janus out of his reverie. The naga gives him a small, exasperated smile, tilting his head.

“Last I checked, I was supposed to be asking you that question.” He narrows his eyes, about to point out that Janus had deflected instead of actually answering, but stops himself. If he doesn’t want to talk about, he won’t pry. Not about this. “We can go catch up with the others, if you like. It’s a fairly small settlement, but it is a bit of a stop over for out of the way travelers, so the market is fairly robust. I understand if that many people would be too overwhelming.”

“No. I wanna… I would like to go. Just for a bit, anyway, I want…” I want to see that this is real, that it’s not just a dream, I want to touch things and hear languages and see other beings, is what Roman was going to say, he knows. Because he’s thinking it too, he’s endlessly curious, he wants to make the most of this time off the ship, he just wants to sit in the middle of ordinary, every day, hustle and bustle.

“Alright. Stick close, and if you feel overwhelmed, tell me and I’ll find us somewhere quiet.” They both nod, following Janus past the building and into the town, into the market.

…

“Do you think they’d like this?” Patton asks, holding up a woven wall hanging, depicting a dragon sitting atop a shining castle. Logan sighs, looking at it.

“I don’t know, Patton. You should simply ask them.” He’s slightly exasperated, this is about the twentieth thing Patton has asked him about, instead of asking the people he’s actually trying to buy for. Patton frowns, his gaze flicking farther down the market, where he can just pick out Janus’s shining scales as the siblings meander at their own pace, eyes wide, Janus making sure that everyone gives them space.

“I would, Lo, but…” Patton sighs, refolding the tapestry and placing it back on the table. “But I think if I just ask them they’ll say no, because they don’t want to be a bother and spend our money. They don’t think they deserve things, Logan, and I don’t want to stress them out more by pressing them into making choices.”

“You’re probably right, Patton. But if that is the case, you should start small. Too many gifts at once will be overwhelming. And no matter how you approach it, they are going to feel the need to somehow repay you. Perhaps we’ll pick up the essential supplies now, reconvene for lunch, and ask Janus what they seemed interested in, or kept returning to. That way they would have some input on what you did end up buying for them.” Patton’s wings fluff up as he smiles, gently bumping Logan.

“You’re a genius. That may be the smartest idea I have ever heard!” He’s about to respond when he feels a draft, and suddenly Virgil materializes beside them, pulling them into an alley between two stalls.

“Virgil. Is everything ok?” Logan asks, the wraith looking towards the mouth of the alley with a frown.

“I don’t know. There’s someone following them. I haven’t been able to get a good look, they’re covered in a cloak and face mask, but whoever it is picked up on them once they entered the market.” Virgil’s form wavers, before he takes a deep breath and solidifies.

“Have they shown any signs of aggression?” Logan asks, dark eyes narrowed.

“No. Not yet, but I don’t like them, Lo, they’re not good, I can feel it.”

“Ok. We’ll-“ Patton was cut off by the sound of shouting, and with a curse, Virgil lost form, swirling shifting shadow, zooming out of the alley, Logan and Patton barely two steps behind.

…

It happened so fast.

One moment, they were lounging by the fountain, simply taking everything in, listening to the chatter of unknown languages, different species and races and cultures clashing in a symphony.

The next Remus is growling, shoving Janus backwards, pouncing atop a stranger, a syringe flying from the being’s grasp, who has the air knocked out of him for a moment, before another arm emerges from under the cloak and stabs him in the leg with something. He can feel his vision hazing, his pulse racing, but he’s a human, and this alien clearly doesn’t understand what that means, because he expects him to go down easy.

That’s a good joke.

Instead he fights back, pins him down, bares his teeth, ready to rip out his throat, but he hears a noise behind him. He leaps to his feet, lunging back, shoving Roman and Janus behind him as another attacker appears out of the now fleeing, panicked, crowd, hissing as a dart finds its mark. He charges, tripping over his feet to do so, but it seems enough to scare off the second cloaked figure, who’s eyes widen behind his face covering, fleeing. He spins and sees the one he’d tackled scrambling away, vanishing into the crowd, and he hisses, lashing out at a touch of his shoulder.

He’s in the cell.

They’ve come for Roman, for the first time in weeks, they’ve come for Roman, and that isn’t good, isn’t right, and he won’t let it happen.

He ignores the sedatives they stab into his him, ignores the stun batons spasaming his muscles, he screams and claws and punches and bites, becoming the feral beast they’ve always thought him to be, but eventually they manage to twist his arm back and pin it behind him, his legs finally going weak from the drugs, as they drag Roman away, his little brother still managing to smile at him, and he knows, knows, he is saying goodbye.

He won’t let them. He won’t let them take him.

…

“Remus.” Janus staggers back as Remus hisses, lashes out, sends him reeling backwards, cheek pounding in pain where Remus had hit him. Roman catches him, steadying him.

“Jan!” Patton is at his side suddenly, gently removing his hand from his face, inhaling sharply at the bruise no doubt swelling his face.

“I’m fine, Pat. It’ll heal.” He looks past Patton, to Remus, who’s eyes are clouded, body tensed and stiff, ready to fight, teeth bared in a feral grimace, chest rapidly rising and falling. “they were going after me. He shoved me out of the way.” Janus murmurs, trying to take a step towards Remus, but Patton stops him.

…

“Remus.” He hisses at that voice, it sounds like the scientist, it triggers his fight reflex, and he snarls, his vision flickering. One moment it’s dirt paths, blue sky, the next it’s harsh white, cold metal. It’s too much, it’s too muddled, and he can’t see, can’t think, he only knows it isn’t safe, and the world is lurching, spinning, and he won’t stop, because they will not take Roman. “Remus. Listen to me. None of us are going to hurt you. Do you recognize me?”

His vision flickers. Dark eyes, crystal skin, tall and thin, familiar. Then it’s a full body suit, a mask, empty, biting voice, and he stumbles back, tripping against something, and he sinks to the ground, unable to stay upright anymore.

He flinches back at touch, his vision coming in strobing flashes of moments. Logan, kneeling before him, saying something, eyes dilated and worried. The Scientist, grabbing his arms, pinning him down. Janus, face bruised and red, a pang of guilt because he knows he caused that, somehow. The guards, dragging him away. The campsite, a dart in his neck, crawling to Roman. That same dizzying feeling filling him now, and his panic spikes.

He cries out, unintellegable, fear stricken, as his vision goes dark, then there’s a cold hand in his, and the fear vanishes, leaving him silent and content and empty, as he passes out.

…

Virgil inhales sharply through his teeth, struggling to keep his form intact, with the strong wash of fear and pain and panic and negativity filling him, that he’d taken from Remus, who was now peaceably passed out in Logan’s arms.

Patton’s hand on his shoulder helps ground him, and with several deep breaths, he manages to push the tide back, exhale it out with every breath, until he’s solid once more.

“-probably fine. We just need to get back to the ship and see what exactly they injected him with. It most likely was simply meant to incapacitate him, and should be able to be slept off.” He catches, Roman nearly in tears himself, feeling him on the edge of a panic attack.

“Hey. He’ll be ok.” He manages, and Roman nods shakily.

“ok. I… I trust you.” Roman replies shakily, letting Patton pull him into a hug, as Janus and Virgil take lookout, escorting them back to the ship.

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tran5rightsos · 3 years

Text

My Hourglass Is In Your Hands

Summary: A day of fishing in the lagoon with Luke is cancelled when his and Ashton's skiff springs a leak. What will they do with their surprise day off?

Genre: Steampunk

Relationships: Lashton

Word count: 1881

Warnings: blood and injury

Leave Kudos?

Ashton leaned out the window to reach the small pail hanging from the awning, gritting his cigarette holder tight between his teeth to leave both hands free so that he could pour the water collected last night into his window box. The little white flowers were just opening up in the morning sunlight, like snowflakes peppering the green shrubs.

Leaning on the windowsill, he took a puff of his cigarette and gazed out at the city clinging to the cliffs around the lagoon. Generally, all was quiet since most people were still in bed, but as he listened to the approaching whir of propellers, a dinghy descended in front of him. He gave the pilot a wave, watching them sink towards the Great Eye, where other airboats buzzed to and from its surface like dragonflies. Early morning was always a busy time down there.

The timer on Ashton’s oven dinged and he put out the stub of his cigarette before heading back in. The blueberry muffins were golden on top and when he cut one open, a puff of steam rising into the cool morning air, he found that it was soft and springy inside.

The rhythmic squeak of the pulley outside the window alerted him to the bucket coming down from Luke’s house. He hurried out to grab the rope and help pull it down to his sill. The bucket felt heavier than usual and when he opened the lid he found a jar of jam with the note.

skiff sprung a leak. wont make it to the eye today, was the message Luke had sent, with a sad face and the morning weather report written out underneath. The jam had a tag labelled strawberry with a smiley face underneath tied beneath the lid.

Ashton watched another airboat rise past the window, contemplating his suddenly empty schedule. He had plenty of weed and knew a good spot for watching the clouds and losing track of time. He took down the notebook and pencil hanging next to the window.

rolling cigarettes, meet me at the market in an hour? he wrote.

He wrapped a muffin for Luke in cloth and sent it up with the note, smiling when he felt Luke start pulling the rope with him.

He went back to the stove, nibbling on his muffin as he wrapped the other two. They wouldn’t be seeing Michael and Calum today, but the snacks would be welcome after a few shared cigarettes. He made the usual sandwiches for him and Luke, then got the weed jar down and started rolling cigarettes, wondering if it would be worth restocking the jar while he was out.

Luke’s reply to his suggestion was an ok with another smiley face.

Once his lunchbox was packed, Ashton deliberated in the bathroom mirror. He’d better change into something more presentable than his fishing jumpsuit and singlet. A waistcoat and button-up, to start with. Was his nice jacket too nice for a day out in the cliffs with a friend? Even if that friend was Luke?

He settled on his trenchcoat, to play it safe. He wouldn’t mind it getting covered in ash, he reasoned, and he wouldn’t feel overdressed if they dropped into a pub at some point. It looked good with his semi-nice trousers and boots anyway.

As Ashton gave himself a final once-over, he heard a roll of thunder outside and frowned. Luke’s weather report hadn’t predicted anything but sun all day. He turned and spotted the underside of a massive airship outside the window in time to feel the room shudder so violently he had to grip a bedpost to stay standing. Outside, tiny pieces of debris rained down and his and Luke’s bucket fell past, followed by the wooden beam Luke’s end of the pulley was attached to and a huge hunk of burned metal. Ashton’s end ripped out with a splintering snap and above him someone screamed.

Ashton stared at the ceiling. Luke.

Abandoning the lunchbox, Ashton ran to the door, hands shaking as he pulled the handle and wrenched it open. A few neighbours were out in the hallway, but he ignored their questioning looks as he raced to the ladder at the end, climbing the rungs two at a time to reach Luke’s floor.

Ashton didn’t think about how he’d get in until he reached the door, feeling both relieved that it was ajar and anxious that Luke wasn’t out in the hallway. He pushed it open and froze.

The lagoon-facing wall was gone aside from what had been blown into the room, the view of the sinking airship outside and the smoking hole in its hull only slightly obscured by metal beams twisting downwards from the roof. The room itself was a wreck of plaster, shattered glass and splintered floorboards bashed in by burned metal chunks.

Shaken out of his trance by a cry, Ashton searched the room for the source to find Luke on the floor next to his radio, a warped piece of thin pipe running through his thigh and blood streaming through his hair. Ashton rushed to his side, eyes fixing first on the side of his head. The tip of his ear was hanging by a sliver of skin, a long but thankfully shallow wound marking where a piece of metal had nearly taken out his eye as well.

Ashton took out his handkerchief and pressed it to the head wound.

“Ash,” Luke gasped.

“I’m here,” Ashton assured him, glancing around the room again. Outside, a sheet of corrugated roofing fell past. “We gotta go. Hold the handkerchief there.” They weren’t in immediate danger, but he didn’t want to take risks with whatever damage the structures above them had taken.

He went to Luke’s bathroom, half of the bath itself probably at the bottom of the Eye by now and a piece of sky now visible above the airship, and searched the cupboard for medical supplies. There was gauze and a length of bandage, but nothing like the emergency kit they kept on the skiff. He grabbed the bandage and hurried back out to Luke.

“Keep holding that,” he reminded him, pressing the now soaked handkerchief back to the wound, “Can you lift your leg? I need to bandage it.”

Luke groaned, his foot shifting a little. Ashton helped him pull his knee up just enough to reach underneath. He could feel the tip of the pipe through his blood-wettened trousers, twisted and sharp.

“I gotta cut your trousers open. Knife?”

“Knife?” Luke questioned breathlessly.

“Where are your knives?”

“Oh.” Luke took a shuddering breath and pointed to his bed. “Toolbelt.”

Ashton spotted the toolbelt hanging from a bedpost and grabbed it, first finding Luke’s large fishing knife, then a multitool with a relatively sturdy pair of scissors. He picked the multitool, not wanting to risk further injury to Luke’s leg with his shaky hands. After cutting a wide hole around the end of the pipe, Ashton carefully set loops of bandage around both ends and started winding it around his leg.

“I was about to go,” Luke told him, voice straining, “I was about to turn off the radio when I heard their distress call. The window shattered.”

“They aren’t falling too fast,” Ashton noted with a glance at the top of the airship outside, “Must’ve just been a couple of cells.”

Now that Luke had drawn his attention to it, Ashton could hear the announcer on the radio requesting aid for the airship and the areas hit by debris. He tuned it out again to focus on Luke.

“Sit up for me?”

Luke clutched Ashton’s arm tightly as he helped him up, groaning.

“Can you walk?”

Breathing deeply, Luke nodded. He tensed as Ashton secured his grip on him, breaths coming out shorter and faster as if to ready himself. Ashton lifted him slowly, but Luke still cried out as his leg shifted.

“I don’t think I can move it,” he whimpered.

“That’s okay, just lean on me.” Ashton took a small step to the door, Luke lurching with him. “That’s it, come on.”

The hardest part was getting over the doorstep. Ashton went first and Luke dragged his foot over it sideways, going pale as he bit his lip hard. Luke’s neighbours seemed to have fared better, though Ashton supposed that any injured worse than Luke would likely still be trapped in their homes.

“Medic?” Ashton asked someone hurrying between the people in the hallway, a red medical kit in hand.

They looked at the pipe. “Shit. Uh… Take him to the atrium, someone’ll be there soon, I gotta...”

Ashton nodded understandingly.

Luke’s floor opened onto a balcony stretching along the cliff wall, the bottom of the atrium a couple of floors below them. The whole area was shielded from the weather by a wall with a large, domed window, now cracked by a piece of wreckage, though that didn’t stop onlookers from staring at the airship outside.

Ashton laid Luke down on a nearby bench, feet on the floor and the pipe clear of the edge to keep it from getting jostled, and went to the railing, searching for a medic in the crowd below them but finding his gaze drawn to the airship. A few tugboats had attached lines to it, slowing its descent. The airship clearly wasn’t designed for water landings and Ashton wondered how many tugboats it would take to lift it over the cliffs to safety. Maybe they’d just rescue the people aboard and let the deep blue of the Eye take it.

“Ash.”

Ashton hurried back to Luke’s side, pressing the handkerchief to his head. “What’s wrong?”

Luke gripped his hand. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

Luke nodded weakly, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “Stay.”

There probably wasn’t much point to running in circles and screaming anyway. Ashton settled on the floor next to Luke, gently rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb as he kept pressure on the head wound with his other hand.

From here, Ashton couldn’t see the Eye, but he saw a fire boat whizz past, firefighters manning the water cannons on the side.

“Are you hurt?” Luke asked weakly.

Ashton looked at him and shook his head. “My house didn’t get hit.”

At least, not while Ashton had been there. He considered the debris he’d seen falling outside Luke’s and wondered what state his own home would be in when he returned.

Ashton frowned. When would he return? Emergency services might block off the hallways to the areas that had been hit with debris while they got the situation under control, which could take all night. The areas below would probably be blocked off while debris was cleared away and that could take days. The hit buildings would have to be repaired. In Luke’s case, probably completely rebuilt. Ashton hoped they’d give him a chance to grab his personal belongings first.

“We might have to stay with Cal and Mike,” Ashton suggested to Luke.

“Sleepover,” Luke mumbled in reply.

Ashton chuckled. “Yeah. A sleepover.”

“We can all sleep in the bed together.”

“All of us?” Ashton laughed, “Might be a bit of a squeeze.”

“Cozy.”

“Cozy,” Ashton repeated, giving Luke’s hand a squeeze.

#my fic #5sos fic

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goparkseonghwa · 4 years

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A Devil’s Covenant [ Prologue ]

Genre: Angst, Romance, Horror, Smut (in future parts)

Pairing(s): Seonghwa x Reader (mostly) x Wooyoung (briefly) + ATEEZ

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Making a deal with the devil to bring back a loved one has its consequences. Are you ready to pay the price for your sins?

Warning(s): Themes of Horror, Strong Language and Violence, Character Death (these will be throughout the storyline so read with caution).

| next

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

"For the love all things holy, Seonghwa," You laugh down the line, the sleeve of your sweater covering your gaping mouth slightly, "This isn't the type of talk you should be indulging in with your best friend." You flush at the recollection of his previous statement, becoming hot and bothered easily at his low voice alone but his choice of wordage easily made you weak in the knees.

"Ah, but you love my sensual talk," He breathes down his end of the line, joking none the less, but still how he says it sends a faint tremble down your back. You secretly love it when he speaks to you in that manner, but you'd never admit that to his face - or rather to anyone in your inner circle. Hell, you could barely admit that to yourself the first time his words took a different toll on your heart. "And besides, who else would I use to practice my pickup lines on?"

Continue using me, please. You tap your finger against your lower lip as if you were in deep thought, letting a playful hum reverberate through your vocal cords in light spirit, lips turning up in the corners in the slightest motion. "Mmmmm, I know, you could use your suave moves on Yunho. He'd really have a fond appreciation for you after that." You stretch your arm behind your head, tousling your hair slightly as you run your fingers through the mess that was long overdue of a wash.

"You mean he'd probably have a fond appreciation for my chopped off penis sitting in a jar if I pulled that shit on him." He chuckles, and you can't help but gently roll your eyes at his sentence, knowing for a fact that the younger would actually find his elder's practice sessions enjoyable, being able to pick up on some tricks himself all while acquiring some form of blackmail to dangle over Hwa's head in the future.

"He loves your penis too much to ever bring any harm to it." You smile, crinkling your nose in endearment when you hear a scoff echo throughout the speaker, knowing his own cheeks were becoming flushed from embarrassment at your erotic, sinful thoughts.

"I highly doubt you on that one," He starts, voice becoming a bit muffled as the rustling of bags and other voices that echo throughout your speaker, indicating that he was at the market picking up groceries for a dinner he was hosting tonight at his and Yunho's shared apartment. Yunho had gotten in contact with Jongho, who seemed to be as much of a recluse nowadays as the spider, and convinced him to take a break from working on his novel to indulge in friendly conversation and delicious food. Seonghwa's stepbrother, Mingi, was in town for the week on business and Hwa wanted to reunite the five of you before Mingi jetted off to the next country for who knew how long, and before Jongho sealed himself off from the world again. ". . . thank you. . . alright, I think I have everything for tonight."

"Eh, you never know what could be going through Yunho's mind, so you shouldn't be too surprised if he has thought about it once or twice." Standing up from your bed, your knees slightly popping from being in the same, stiff position for so long, you maneuver your way into your bathroom to assess the damage that needed to be tended to before dinner. Cringing upon the sight of your greasy hair, and stained sweater from countless fridge raids, you turn on the sink faucet to begin your much needed 'spa treatment'. "Anyways, so what is Chef Seonghwa preparing for our taste buds this evening?" You inquire, picking up a washcloth to dampen.

"Ah, little one, it's a surprise," He playfully taunts, the tone in his voice making you huff out in annoyance. Surprises were nice and all but you would like to know what type of food you get to daydream about until it's finally sitting on a plate in front of you.

"Let me guess, you've decided to treat us to a frozen pizza?" You shift the phone from your hand so that it is now pressed between your shoulder and ear, allowing you to utilize both hands as you prepare your skin care routine.

"Damn, I can't believe you figured it out. You and the others get to indulge on a frozen entrée while I prepare myself a lovely steak dinner." He states, amusement easily interwoven within his words. His drawl that was as smooth as velvet was dangerous in itself, but when paired with any form of teasing or amusement it was a catastrophe just waiting to happen. The sultry undertone just waiting to pull anyone into a delicious, sinful paradise where temptations were acted on rather than ignored. A heaven within hell, the angel's fall from grace at the mere prospect of being entangled, consumed with another being that was corrupted beyond a point of redemption. But, those sickly sweet, lust driven whispers would be worth the fall if it meant you could spend eternity with him.

Knowing that he is merely pulling your leg, you decide to play along, "Mmmm absolutely delicious. My mouth is already watering at the mere thought of a burnt piece of bread with a pathetic excuse of toppings decorated on top." Sarcasm drips from every syllable that is enunciated with your tongue, a genuine, but snarky, way of conveying the lightness of the conversation. A smile graces your plush lips as wipe your face with the cloth, the water alone already making your skin feel better, more refreshed than it had been minutes ago.

A beautiful, deep laugh reverberates through the line and you could literally feel your heart rate slightly spike as the sound danced around within your ears. Something so pure, so sweet coming from the lips of a man whose heart was as big as the moon and whose soul was as golden as the sun made you feel as though heaven had answered your prayers, blessing you with a magnificent human who deserved nothing less than the stars. Park Seonghwa had easily found a way to leave pieces of himself within everything you did or saw, intertwining his existence with yours. A colorful pattern so bright it managed to dynamically shift your view on the world from one of black and white to one of vibrant, explosive pastels and neons. He was the artist and his words were the paintbrush as he transformed your life into a living, breathing masterpiece. He meant more to you than anyone could ever imagine, and being so fortunate to hear his laugh, to be around him when he was happy, to see him at his highest while also being there for the lowest was, and is, something you hold close to you. You would never trade anything in the world for those moments you are able to spend with him, the memories too precious to take for granted.

"But on a serious note, the meal I have planned tonight will be to your liking, so you have nothing to worry about," He reassures you which does improve your mood. Not that you weren't in a good mood prior to his statement, you were placed in a tranquil atmosphere the second you saw his name appear on your phone screen, but by him confirming that the meal tonight would be up to the high standards he always set made your spirits heighten further than the clouds.

"You better not give me food poisoning, Park," You grumble, scrubbing your face with the cleanser, "Or else you and I will be having a very strong, very colorful discussion tomorrow."

He gasps on the other end, "I'm hurt, Y/N, truly. You've punctured my heart." He feigns mock hurt, and you can only imagine the cute pout that is present on his plump lips, the crease between his sharp eyebrows and one of his hands placed on his chest, directly over the organ that you wish would belong to you.

"Let me grab my sewing kit so I can stitch that tragic wound of yours," You smile, grabbing the washcloth to dampen once more so you could remove the soap from your face and move on to the next step in your routine, "So, have you heard from Mingi? Is he in town yet?"

"Yeah, his plane landed about a half hour ago, so him and Yunho should be heading back to the apartment as we speak," He trails off, voice becoming muffled, distant from the phone as he must have gotten distracted by something or someone in the marketplace, "Hey, you like roses right–" He's cut short by the sound of a loud bang, startling you to the point of your phone nearly slipping from your shoulder.

"Holy shit! What the hell was that?" You shriek down the line just as another bang can be heard off in the distance, screams following quickly after. Worry starts to flood your veins as you drop the towel onto the counter, fingers now gripping tightly to the phone as you press it harder against your ear, "Seonghwa, what was that? Is everything okay?" There's rustling on his end, shuffling that sounds as if something has dropped or has been thrown down. When you hear short, sharp breaths through the receiver that's when your anxiety spikes dramatically. Something is wrong, something is terribly, horrifically wrong. The screaming intensifies as it draws closer to the phone, panicked voices forming incoherent sentences are jumbled together as well, frightening you even further. "Seonghwa, answer me! What happened?" A faint whimper, a grunt of pain and one final, sharp intake of breath is made before a soft, long exhale is emitted. Your heart sinks. "S-Seonghwa?"

"Someone call an ambulance!"

"Check for a pulse!"

"Oh my gosh! He's dead!"

At that, the phone drops from your now shaking hand, landing on the floor with a smack. Your mouth slackens, head becoming dizzy as your vision begins to produce black splotches in the corners of your eyes. A pounding sensation is heavily felt within your skull as the bathroom begins to spin. You lose your footing, stumbling backwards away from the vanity as your lunch from earlier begins to churn violently in your stomach. No, no, no, no, no. This isn't happening. They can't be talking about Hwa, it has to be someone else. But hearing his name faintly come through the speaker by an unknown voice confirms your worst nightmare.

You’re numb, face the palest white possible as all of the blood seems to evaporate from under your skin, from your veins, your heart stuttering in your chest. It rapidly presses against your ribcage and you feel as though it’s about to combust from the pain that is pulsing through it, searing it so deeply that being physically stabbed in the chest would be like a measly paper cut – and you’d much rather be impaled a hundred times over than feeling what you are currently feeling.

Your eyes connect with your reflection for a brief second, in the next they roll into the back of your head, your weak frame toppling over, falling right next to your phones now cracked screen.

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essays-for-breakfast · 4 years

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One False Hope

Melizabeth Week Day 5: Death/Rebirth/Meetings

Warning: This piece includes blood, violence, and character death.

The city was burning. Smoke and ash hung in the air and made it impossible to breathe, much less see in the cauldron of hellfire. Screams rung through the canyons between the high rising marble facades, screams of cornered foot soldiers, of children crying for their parents. The attackers had long overtaken the king’s residence in the city center; all that held them here was the thrill of destruction and murder.

Meliodas fought for each step forward with gritted teeth, and the feeble piece of metal in his left hand trembled along with his heartbeat. He could barely hold onto Elizbeth’s hand as he dragged her along. It had never been this bad.

A stray arrow whistled past his head, and he dove for cover in the dust of a house corner. Elizabeth stumbled and fell, but Meliodas pushed her deeper into the shadows, on the lookout for the marksmen. He spotted the masked soldier of Malachia on the top of a building not too far but paid for the information with another almost-hit. For a human, the marksmen controlled his bow with remarkable precision.

Meliodas slipped into his dead angle and studied the arrow buried to the shaft in the wall across the alleyway. The silver crane feathers of its fletching brimmed with the remains of magical energy. Thank heavens. Had the marksmen solely relied on the force of his arrows, Meliodas would have had far worse odds to struggle against.

Elizabeth quivered next to him, her eyes hazy with the images of her past lives raining down on her; she hadn’t even had the time to process the extent of her curse. A few strands had escaped her carefully woven braid, and the beige of her leather doublet had lost its pure color to the ashes of Ys. Even now she looked beautiful. Meliodas had to make sure she would make it out alive, make up for the past times he had failed her.

With the taste of acerbic smoke on his tongue, Meliodas jumped out into the open, and his shoes crashed on the paving stone loud enough to be heard above the roaring flames nearby. But the noise proved unnecessary as the enemy had only waited for his prey to rear its head in panic. In less than a heartbeat, another projectile shot through the black smoke aimed at Meliodas’ chest. Meliodas squinted against the cinders burning in his eyes and raised his sword. Even the advanced eyesight of his Demon blood couldn’t track down the arrow in the dark, but he could hear it, a high-pitched buzzing that raced closer.

Then the arrow reappeared, and Meliodas flicked his wrist at the last second. The red lines of magical energy enwrapping the projectile were flung backwards, reflected by Meliodas’ «Full Counter». On its own, the magic the marksmen had used didn’t offer enough force to kill a man, but doubled in strength, the red bolt did the trick; the marksmen tumbled from the rooftop into the obscurity of the street below.

Meliodas coughed, and blood splashed into a growing puddle at his feet. Swaying from dizziness, he looked down and broke into a humorless grin. How stupid of him to forget the arrow itself. The iron head had buried itself into his chest, and blood poured out of the wound to add to the red stains in his tunic. Another heart gone. Meliodas had stopped counting how many of them had ceased beating, but he had taken at least two fatal strokes when he had fought back the invaders threatening to burn Elizabeth’s house, and a few more might have given in under the constant flood of lethal smoke he pulled into his lungs.

“Meliodas!” Elizabeth had escaped her shell shock and rushed to his side just as the pathetic sword he had taken from a dead soldier escaped his numb fingers.

“No worries, I can still stand,” Meliodas coughed up despite the tremor in his left arm.

“Stop lying, you’re not well. This is all my fault. Ys is being destroyed because of me.” Elizabeth’s broken words of self-blame faded as she held her hands over the arrow wound, deep in concentration and desperate for a spark of Goddess magic to heal him. But there was nothing she could reach out to; her powers had yet to awaken, and her memories of when she had wielded this magic couldn’t spring the flow to life at will.

“Don’t bother, it’ll only slow us down,” Meliodas said between haggard breaths and took a shaky step. His legs could still carry him. At least that.

Hand in hand, Meliodas and Elizabeth stumbled through what had once been the great alley of the city of Ys, the golden kingdom in the far south of Britannia. Like a fever dream, the images of the street’s prosperous days hurried before Meliodas’ inner eye. Here he had laid eyes on this incarnation of Elizabeth for the first time, clad in the white attire of a priestess, a sight of shock and awe between the market stalls teeming with customers from all corners of the land. Here he had bought her the slim golden bangle she had worn ever since. And yesterday, the basket filled with apples and oranges had slipped out of Elizabeth’s hands when Meliodas had declared his love in front of the tailor shop right over there.

Yesterday, all had been well. Today, hell had come to burn Meliodas’ hopes with one swift attack.

Dazed by blood loss and only on his feet because Elizabeth’s hand kept him sane, Meliodas told himself that Ys would have fallen anyway, would have burned to the foundation stones even if he hadn’t uttered the words ‘I will love you forever’ to the woman by his side and triggered her memories. The kingdom of Malachia had long planned this strike, had long eyed the wealth of Ys with envy. He told himself Ys would have joined the ranks of fallen cities regardless of his actions. Another Belialuin.

But Elizabeth remembered now, the curse had awoken, and if Meliodas didn’t give his all, her hours would tick down with brutal certainty.

The massive archway of Ys emerged from the smoke screens in front of them, its gold ornamentations dull in the absence of sunlight. Beyond the marble structure, the plains of winter wheat awaited them where they would be safe from the massacre. Elizabeth would leave behind all the people who mattered to her in this life, but she would live. Only a handful of steps separated them from safety.

Two invaders emerged from the shadows of a doorway, loaded with silver trinkets and sacks of coins from the household they had robbed; the owners had either refused to put up a fight or had long been silenced. And by the time Meliodas became aware of the hooded figures in his periphery, they had dropped their loot, their bloodlust stronger than their greed.

“Run!” Meliodas yelled and shoved Elizabeth forward before he spun to face his adversaries. Blood dripped from the ridges of their daggers, and one of them made the mistake to go after Elizabeth instead of the bigger threat.

Even without a weapon at hand and with a hazy vision, Meliodas could rip any human apart, and one punch square to the chest sent the soldier of Malachia into the wall across the street. The other one rushed at him, but his loud feet betrayed his move, and Meliodas caught his wrist before the dagger could do more than graze him. The man screamed as Meliodas crushed his bones and dropped limp to the ground. He wouldn’t raise a weapon against anyone any time soon.

In the incarnation of stupid defiance, Elizabeth waited for him in the middle of the road with no cover in sight; she had always refused to listen when he told her to run. But she was still standing, fate hadn’t ceased the opportunity to strike her down while he had been distracted, and nothing else mattered.

He staggered towards her, and his view swayed like a ship in a raging sea intent to pull him underwater. Smoke ate its way into his lungs as he gasped for air. But Meliodas pushed forward, despite the blood running down his side. He could still breathe, he still had a heartbeat left, so he could still protect Elizabeth.

They dragged themselves into the shadows under the grand archway that had marked the borders of the city for countless generations. Today it marked to gateway to safety, to a life beyond this hell. Meliodas clung to the stone wall, barely aware of the detailed reliefs under his hand, and pushed himself forward and into the open. The wide road of well-trodden dirt stretched into the far distance, skirted by the high corn that would cover their escape. On the horizon, a thin blue line hugged the ridges of a mountain range, a sliver of sky against the black clouds of death hanging over Ys. All would be well. Meliodas would make sure Elizabeth would live.

She reached the edge of the field faster than he did, and her fingers had almost brushed the surface of the outer leaves when she turned on her heels to shoot him a concerned look. The blue ribbon with which she kept her hair in check had loosened and her silver locks waved around her slim shoulders in the breeze. For a second, the triskelion of the Goddess Clan flashed in her blue eyes as she made sure he was right behind her, as well as could be given the situation.

Then the buzz of a bowstring cut through the silence, and this time Meliodas spotted the arrow emerging from the dark and racing towards them. To Elizabeth. He had no weapon to deflect the projectile, no strength to catch it midair, all he had was his own life to give. He didn’t hesitate.

Meliodas’ gaze clouded with blackness when he stared at the hole in his chest. That was a first. For once he would leave this world before he saw her death, felt her fingers grow cold, watched the light disappear from her eyes. He gurgled when he tried to pull in a lungful of air, his throat filled with blood.

The same sound recurred behind him. Meliodas turned. Elizabeth had fallen to her knees and clutched her abdomen where the arrow Meliodas had meant to shield her from was buried in her flesh. Horror washed over him, and his muscles froze to ice.

No, no, no, not her, not again, not this time. They had been so close, the walls lay behind them, and yet Elizabeth bleed to death all the same, regardless of his efforts. He couldn’t hold himself upright and dropped to the dust beside her, his fingers stretched halfway towards her.

He could barely see the lovely features of her face as she placed a cold hand on his cheek to wipe away the tears that kept streaming. I failed you, he wanted to say but only managed a blood-filled gargle. If only he hadn’t admitted his love, if only he had taken her for a trip outside the city today, if only he had been stronger, better…

“I’ll see you in the next life… Meliodas,” Elizabeth whispered. Her hand still on his cheek, she sounded her last breath, and her soul fled her body to enter the cycle of reincarnation anew, to be reborn in some other place in this world for him to fall in love with her all over again.

The city of Ys burned down behind him.

Meliodas’ last heart sounded its final weak beats before it succumbed to the smoke poisoning his body.

When he opened his eyes, Meliodas was greeted by blinding rays of sunlight and the smell of summer grass. All he could do was stare into the endless blue of the sky as the memories dripped into his mind, memories of fire and failure. Elizabeth, love of his life, priestess of Ys, admirer of fruit buffets and harp-playing was dead.

The giggles of a child tore him from his trance, and the young girl he was faced with when he sat himself up clapped her tiny hands in excitement. “You’re awake!” she said with a grin and stroked his hair as if he were a pet her parents had presented her with for her birthday. “Happy day!”

Meliodas’ mind slowly assembled itself back together, and the more he remembered the more bitter he became. Elizabeth was dead because he had failed to protect her; not even his own life as sacrifice had broken her curse, and his own curse of Eternal Life had brought him back to the land of the living all the same. The field of wheat where he had died had become nothing but a faint dream, and wild grass and clover covered the plain in its stead. Only a few yards to the west, ruins dotted the scenery, covered in ivy and scorch marks from the fire that had eaten the city whole. Marble pillars, the remains of an archway, reached for the heavens like people in desperate prayer; the last citizens of Ys.

“Come home. Mommy makes stew,” the girl said and took Meliodas’ hands to drag him to her village across the hillside. With a heavy heart and one last look at the ruins glistering in the sun, he followed the girl barely old enough to walk.

Her eyes were blue, her short locks silver.

#melizabethweek #nnt fanfiction #nanatsu no taizai #seven deadly sins #meliodas #elizabeth #melizabeth #my writing #I had way too much fun with this #character death #I regret nothing

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