#drawing Doom with happy tears is always so freeing

[sparkleondoom]

have a very merry Rat Day

#sparklecare #fanart #nurse doom #uni cornelius #doomi #rat day #drawing Doom with happy tears is always so freeing #edit: based off the og by siri-descent figured i should mention

[ohthewh0rror]

LETS TAKE 5.

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚ prompt — Can you fix the fractures in your relationship or is it doomed to shatter?

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

You knew when agreeing to be with Tom that, in some way, you’d always come in second place. During your school years, it was to his academics. Now that the two of you have graduated, it seems he’s found a new venture to spend his time on. It didn’t bother you as much while you two were in school, but now that you’re adults, it’s becoming harder to overlook.

"What do you want? For me to throw away and forget all that I've been working towards?" Tom asked, his voice raising to almost a yell. What he said just left you even more confused. Throw away what he’s been working towards? Does he mean the pay raise at Borgin and Burkes? Because truthfully you were happy about the thought of a pay raise. The two of you weren’t exactly well off, and it was a struggle to keep up with the bills you two had, so it’d be a much welcomed raise. You sighed, exasperated, you truly couldn’t believe this had turned into an argument, “no! All I'm asking for is some of your time."

Time: something he didn’t seem to have for you lately.

You just wanted him to take a step back and spend more time with you when not working. It seems like you aren’t even second place anymore, whatever he’s researching took second place. You’ve tried asking him what he’s looking into, but he’s tight-lipped. Any question and peek over his shoulder at his writings have been brushed off. The only time he gave you some semblance of an answer was just to tell you that it’s for something he’s been working on since his years at Hogwarts.

Tom speaking jolted you from your thoughts, “and what makes you so worthy of my time?”. Your heart plummeted as you forced yourself to stay rooted in your spot, eyes locked on his. It wasn’t the worst thing he has said to you, but the sneer on his face combined with his choice words made you feel small. Insignificant. Like you were just some stranger standing before him, and not his significant other of 3 years.

Your mind raced for an answer, but you kept drawing short. The reality of meaning so little to him left you feeling numb. The only thing you wanted now was to leave and collect yourself, to try and talk yourself out of making the rash decision of ending things permanently.

"That is a new low, even for you Tom,” you took a deep breath, “but it is nice to finally know where I stand with you.” You could feel your face get hot as tears blurred your vision, threatening to spill over. “Yes, it was time you learned your place,” Tom said, his gaze cold and unrelenting. You gave a quick nod, not trusting yourself to speak anymore. Grabbing your coat and purse you decided it was time to leave, you could only hope your closest friend didn’t mind you coming over unannounced.

Tom made no move to stop you, and though you knew it wouldn’t happen, a small part of you wish Tom’s collected demeanor would crack. That he would beg you not to leave, telling you he was just upset and acting like an ass. But that wasn’t Tom, the world would crumble to ash before he acted in such a way.

Instead, he let you leave.

You had been at your friends house for a week before you heard anything from Tom. The morning you finally got an owl from him had been a beautiful morning. You could hear the chirping of morning birds as rays of sunlight filtered in through the crack of the curtains. Taking your time to get out of bed and get ready for the day as you had no plans. And, most importantly, no one to answer to. It was a foreign, but freeing feeling that you were getting more accustomed to by the day.

You had just put the final touches on your hair, getting ready to go out and do some shopping when there was a sharp tapping on the bedroom window. You peaked back into the room and saw an owl perched on the window sill, patiently waiting for the letter to be taken. Walking to the window, you opened it, gingerly taking the note and sending the owl off with a treat as payment.

Opening the note it read:

12:45 — Meet me at Honeyshine’s.

— T.R.

‘Straight to the point, I guess,’ you thought to yourself. But then again, why would you ever think otherwise. Looking at the clock you saw you had an hour until you had to meet him. At least that left you just enough time to browse the other stores in the area and maybe find something nice for yourself.

Unsurprisingly, Tom was already there, waiting for you outside the door when you walked up. Nothing about Tom ever seemed to change, and you didn’t think it ever would. Tom opened the door for you, placing a hand on the small of your back, guiding you in. Neither of you spoke a word until the both of you had been seated, tucked away in a corner away from everyone.

“How have you been?” Tom asked. The question irked you if you were being honest. The way he could act so casual, like your relationship wasn’t consumed by hairline fractures that threatened the very foundation of your bond. But, you’d play along if that’s what kept the peace, even just for a moment longer.

“I've been alright,” you said. Tom gave you a silent nod, his face giving away nothing about how he truly felt. It made you nervous, was this the day that you and Tom went your separate ways? You’d hope the day would never come, but if he wanted to leave you, you weren’t going to stop him. The relationship has begun to feel so one sided, you wondered if Tom truly wanted you around or if he just liked the idea.

The idea of someone waiting for him at the end of the day. Someone to go home to, unwind with. So it’s not just an empty apartment waiting for him, the stillness of the empty rooms reminding him that he is alone in this world. Though, perhaps you were just reading too much into Tom. He never was the sentimental type, you doubt he thought of things that way.

Reaching across the table, Tom’s hand grabbed yours, his thumb running across your fingers. He opened his mouth, before closing it again, seemingly rethinking what he was going to say. After a beat he brought your hands to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “I…apologize…for what I said to you. A part of my research led to a dead end and I was frustrated, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

So that’s what he was talking about that day. That Merlin-forsaken research; that was an argument for another day though. The fate of your relationship was teetering on the edge of ending, and you’d rather be in a stable place in your relationship before bringing it up again.

You stared at Tom for a while, letting him hold your hand from across the table. Neither of you said anything as you thought over his words.

The idea of walking away was tempting you; whispering sweet words in your ear about how free you’ve felt the past week. How you got to dress how you wanted, to lay in bed for however long you wanted, and talk to who you wanted. It almost seemed your best options was to count your losses and walk away while given the opportunity. But, something kept you from getting out of the chair and calling him out on his terrible apology.

The poisonous words of insecurity and dependency hissing in the opposite ear being the reason you were still seated. It was urging you to accept the apology. Telling you how Tom was your first everything, and you shouldn’t rush to leave him because of a silly argument. What if you never find anyone else? What if Tom is the only one willing to put up with you? Do you really want to leave him behind, especially when neither of you have anyone else?

You looked away, weighing your options, though you already knew what you were going to do. Tom’s hand that was holding yours, let your hand go as it came up to cup your cheek. Immediately your head tilted, leaning further into his touch. It almost scared you how quickly this man could have you back under his thumb with just a little bit of his attention. A small smile graced his face, as he knew you’d forgiven him, and it served to only further pull you in.

Affection was hard to come by with Tom, and he had you eating out the palm of his hand with just the simplest touch, “let’s get home, I will show you just how much I missed you this past week.”

You knew you’d always be last on his list of priorities, but if it meant getting the smallest of affection from Tom then you’d learn to live with your place in his life.

#I feel like I lost the plot halfway through #like I legit kind of hate this #tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you

[gabessquishytum]

Oh no, now you’ve made me sad :(

Hob knows that he’s a lucky bastard. He’s from the south, an industrial region, and he’s well aware that he’s gotten to where he is now because he’s blessed with a shit ton of luck rather than common sense.

He’s grown a bit cocky, sure, but he never forget that he’s not one of the posh gits that surround him nowadays.

So when Dream Endless starts coming onto him- It’s so very obvious that he’s using Hob as a fun distraction from his boring life as nearly blue blooded omega son. And that he’s chosen Hob specifically - who never made his roots into a secret - to stick it to his parents, who he’s pretty sure gritted their teeth to not show their disgust when he first met them a couple of weeks after moving into the house. He’s gum on the sole of their very expensive shoes, he’s aware of that, thank you very much, but he doesn’t mind much. He’s comfortable and happy, and in love, even if it’s a doomed love. But Dream-

Hob’s in his forties now. He can’t hide the grey at his temples anymore (and he doesn’t want to, dammit, because aging is natural!) but with Dream he feels like living through his twenties once again. He’s never been a saint or remotely celibate, but Dream is insatiable. Dream’s still begging for more even after Hob ate out his pretty cunt twice and made him cum on his cock a third time. (Hob doesn’t mind that either. He loves the feeling of Dream squirming on his knot until he comes again, sobbing from overstimulation.)

It’s just- He can’t help but want more, want everything, from Dream. He never pictured himself with a spouse and children, but now, when Dream sleeps peacefully in his arms, a happy smile on his lips and marks from their lovemaking all over his body, it’s a physical ache that brings tears to his eyes. He wants it so, so bad. But he knows he can’t have it, at least not forever. Dream is using him to have a good time and get the attention he so desperately craves, and to flip his parents off without their knowledge.

So imagine his surprise, when Dream starts being less and less careful. Hob insists on using condoms, but more and more often Dream just tries to sneak up on Hob so he will forget. He’s begging Hob to fill him up with his cum, to put pubs into his belly until it grows big and everyone can see how well taken care off he is- Hob’s trying really hard to do the right thing and not give into Dreams begging (surely this is a kink thing, right? Dream can’t possibly be serious?). He plays along while they’re in bed together, whispering in Dream’s ear how beautiful he’d look with his belly all swollen and his boobs getting bigger and bigger and how he knows he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off him then. But he’s still extremely careful. He makes sure Dream uses his heat suppressants and that he’s always using condoms…

After all, Dream’s parents finally allowed for him to go to uni and Dream’s so happy? He’s carved a workspace out for himself in one of the guest bedrooms that Hob never uses anyway and when they’re not fucking like rabbits, he’s creating: painting, sculpting, drawing, taking pictures- He even talked Hob into getting him a kiln so he can fire his attempts at pottery at home (correction: Dream mentioned once, how nice it would be to have a kiln at home and a week later Hob gifted one to him).

Anyway, the point is: Dream is so fucking happy and finally coming into his own as a person. He’s made other artsy friends, he eats more now that Hob cooks for him, he creates and studies and always has a new art history fun fact to share with Hob. He’s glowing and even Dreams frightfully negligent parents seemed to notice because Mr Endless commented on how Hob’s tutelage seemed to have managed what no governess or nanny ever did: make a proper Omega out of him.

Hob knows that Dream’s not a proper Omega, at least not how society imagines them. He’s way too wild and free-spirited and Hob want to be angry at his behalf, but he doesn’t say anything. Because now that Dream’s coming into his own and galleries are taking a huge interest in his art, it’s surely a matter of months, if not weeks, until he’s moving out of his parents’ mansion and into a place of his own to live the life of a twenty year old up and coming artist, Hob definitely excluded.

So he’s kinda speechless when Dream breaks down crying in Hob’s bed (he thinks of it as theirs, actually) after a very intense round of sex, absolutely heartbroken that he’s not good enough for Hob. He loves Hob so much and he wants to be his everything, wants to keep going with what they’ve got because for the first time in his life he feels loved and like he belongs somewhere, like he belongs to Hob. But he also wants more, he wants everyone to know how much he loves Hob and that they’re perfect for each other. He wants to be Hob’s in every way he can and have a big family full of love and laughter, where they support their children wholeheartedly- He wants the first row seat to Hob’s hair turning all the way white and his academic successes. He wants to cheer him on and prepare awful meals for him when he’s getting close to a deadline and getting way too little sleep.

Hob doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Dream’s half his age, he’s young, he’s talented, he’s beautiful. As soon as Dream steps out the door, there’s a hundred people waiting, ready to worship the ground he walks on. He doesn’t want Dream to wake up in a few years, regretting that he’s settled for Hob with all his flaws and joints that already start to ache.

So he tells him that he loves him. That he’s never loved anything as much as he loves Dream, but hat he thinks Dream should take a few days thinking about this. Because even if they amicably split down the road (Dream takes offence in this), this will shape his entire future. He can’t throw that away just because he’s in love. There’s too much at stake, you know Dream, love?

Dream reluctantly goes home, tears clinging to his impossibly long eyelashes, and he doesn’t leave his room for a week.

Hob’s worried but he really wants to give him the space he needs to figure all of this out. He’s mentally preparing himself for Dream to come to the realisation that Hob’s right, that he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life attached to him.

So when the doorbell rings, he’s already feeling sick. He imagines it’s Dream coming to break things up with him, but instead it’s Mr Endless. He’s asking Hob for a favour, he and his wife will be out of town for a week and could he maybe check in on Dream? He’s been in a mood for the past week and they don’t want him to burn the house down.

Reluctantly he agrees because he, too, is worried about Dream (he loves him. How could he not be?). But he also wants to give Dream his space.

He goes over there the next day, a casserole dish in his hands he knows Dream loves. Hob’s plan is to just check in if Dream’s alright and then leave again but when he finds Dream rolled up on the sofa looking absolutely miserable, he breaks down.

He can’t bear to see him like this.

So he takes him into his arms, tells him how sorry he is and how much he loves him. How he wants all these things Dream spoke about too. How he wants to tell everyone that the painting in the office is actually a priceless original made by his husband-

Dream looses it at ‘husband’. Hob wants to marry him? Really? Hob assures him that that’s all he really wants. That he’d happily live in a cardboard box if only Dream’s with him (although it’s much nicer if he’s got the money to spoil Dream with everything he wants). That he wants to give Dream everything, and the big family and the babies-

Dream pounces on him, there’s no other word for it. He’s determined to start on the babies “RIGHT NOW, HOB!”, right here on the living room floor of his parents’ mansion and the super expensive carpet. Hob fucks him good, a celebration of sorts (although he did use a condom because they’re doing this the right way, dammit!), which is, unfortunately, how Dream’s parents find them when they come back because Mrs Endless forgot her priceless sunglasses.

So taking their time telling Dream’s parents and slowly moving Dream into Hob’s house does not quite work out how they intended. But they’re all the more happy now because there’s a ring on Dream’s finger within a month, a baby in his belly after two more, and Dream’s turning two of the empty upstairs rooms into nurseries. Critics are raving about the love and joy Dream’s new exhibition radiates, wondering how he can do all of this while pregnant and still looking like a fucking supermodel on top, but that’s all unimportant because he’s got Hob and their first baby soon and the second one right after if he has his way (he usually does).

That his parents hate it is a nice bonus, but he finds that the cares less and less because he’s just blissfully happy being loved by Hob in every possible way.

Sorry that this is way more mushy than usual and so long. I really miss fic writing so I’m gonna shamelessly misuse my 💄 anon privileges.

Ohhh wow I'm not gonna add much to this because it's already so lovely!! I bet you're a beautiful fic writer, thank you for sharing this with us!

I'm just so obsessed with the love that radiates between these two!! Hob supporting Dream’s career as an artist while also giving him the opportunity to be a parent with as much time with his babies as he wants... meanwhile Dream makes a huge effort to support Hob’s career too, reading all his papers and articles and showing up to every conference presentation with their baby balanced against his hip... he's even happier than Hob is when he gets a senior position at the university. He just wants his husband to be recognised for all his talent and kindness.

Mr and Mrs Endless always say that Dream’s kids are spoilt and coddled and undisciplined, but really they're just loved by both their parents so so much. Hob is never going to hurt his kids, he's going to be the best dad he can possibly be. And Dream? He's determined for his children to have everything he didn't get from his parents - most of all, love.

#💄 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw mpreg #cw omegaverse

[good-beanswrites]

Hello! I really really really love your writting, I just got into Milgram and yours is my favourite in the fandom!! I love how much depth and nuance you manage to fit into short stories and your characterization is on point! (Specially for Kazui, but I might be biased since I love him so much)

I'm not sure if you're still taking requests (if you're not, feel free to ignore!), but if you are I wanted to request Tears + Kazui

(I thought about maybe the old man finally having a moment where the mask falls? When keeping up the image he's built gets tiring, how does he deal with it, and is he by himself or is there someone nearby? Then again, just an ideia, have fun and take your time!!!)

Woo welcome to the fandom! And thank you so much omg, that's so kind!! ;--; I really like that concept -- I definitely think he'd only allow himself a break from the masks when he's completely alone, and even then it'd be hard to draw out of him, so I went for an unexpected release and even more unexpected company... (Haruka :3)

Kazui woke from a dream, immediately unable to stop his eyes from brimming with tears. It hadn’t been a nightmare. It hadn’t shown him broken glass, or blood, or screaming. He hadn’t faced another night staring into Hinako’s twisted expression. No, the dream was wonderful. He was happy. He was in love. He was just… himself. As he rolled over in his sheets, he couldn’t tell if it was the longing that made him cry, or the guilt of longing so deeply for something like that.

It was easier, there in the dark. He didn’t have to keep his cheeks raised in a pleasant look. He didn’t have to hold his chin high. He could hug his arms around himself, not worry about all those eyes on him, and cry for the life he would never have.

He’d kept the thoughts at bay for so long, there was something equally painful and relieving about facing them head-on. The more his body shook with sobs, the better he felt about the weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders. The more he thought about who he was, the worse he felt about being doomed in this life. As always, he was split in two.

“K-Kazui?” 

His stomach clenched in both shock and shame. He kept his face away from the cell bars. He coughed, though it did little to hide the thickness in his voice when he spoke. “Haruka? What are you doing out there?”

“Ah, um! I’m sorry! I was just getting s-some water.”

Kazui desperately scrambled for any kind of excuse to explain the sorry state he was in. Haruka continued, though. 

“It’s- it’s okay if you’re crying.”

His throat squeezed. How pathetic he must be, for a kid like Haruka to try and comfort him.

“No, no. I’m alright.”

“I cry in my cell all the time. And Muu comes in so we can talk. I feel m-much better after that.” His feet shuffled outside. “Do you… uh… do you want to talk? I’m not as smart as Muu, b-but it might help.”

Kazui kept his pained smile hidden. It was an incredibly kind gesture, to be sure, but the boy would never understand. He could open up about everything that had happened in the past forty years, and there was no way Haruka would understand a bit of it.

It was easy to dodge the question. When under the spotlight, he’d found it was helpful to place the attention on someone else. “What do you talk to Muu about?”

“Uh! Well.” There was more shuffling, and Kazui realized he was coming to sit right next to the cell. He hadn’t meant it as an invitation to stay... 

He rolled onto his back, hoping his face was still obscured in the shadows of the panopticon.

“I usually cry because… I’m not like everyone else.” Haruka said. “I don’t-don’t know why. I don’t know why everyone else can be normal and I j-just can’t. I try so hard. I try so hard. If I could be like them, m-maybe my mom would’ve loved me. M-maybe she wouldn’t think I was broken all the time. M-maybe,” he got quiet, “no one would have died.”

Kazui stared up at the ceiling. A few more tears slipped down his face. It looked like an old man like him could still be wrong, now and then. “And… what does Muu tell you, to comfort you?”

“Oh, she tells me lots of nice things. Mostly that she loves me very much.” Kazui could hear the smile in his voice. “And she also says that… that it wasn’t my fault. That there’s nothing wrong with being me. That we can’t be anyone d-different, even if we want to more than anything in the whole wide world. She says, she says people were mean to her too, just because of who she was.”

“Yeah?” The younger prisoners had avoided someone as intimidating as him, so he never heard much about Muu’s reason for being here. 

“Mhm. She said they would say all these awful things, b-because there was this one girl in her class, and… and, well… things were…” Haruka stopped. “Ah! I didn’t mean to make you cry again! I’m s-so sorry…”

Kazui sucked in a shaking breath. “No, I’m sorry you have to hear all this from me. It’s good, though. It’s really good.” 

“O-oh…?”

“I just realized, I’m a lot like that too.” 

Kazui didn’t know what possessed him to continue. He’d been hiding things for so long, he thought he’d be better at keeping it in. It must have been something about the darkness of the hour, and Haruka’s complete innocence, and the dream that still lingered around heart. 

“When I was her age, there was someone in my class like that. He was… well, I’m sure you know. My parents also said I was in need of fixing. I’m sorry you had to go through that too.”

Haruka let out a small sound of acknowledgement.

“You should head to bed, now. It’s late.”

“R-right. Sorry, again!”

“Don’t be. I think I needed this.”

Once Haruka’s footsteps had rounded the panopticon, Kazui brought his arm up to cover his eyes. He knew he had plenty of blood on his hands for what he’d done. This was his fault. But regarding who he was…

A sound rocked through his chest, something between a sob and a laugh. It was nice to think there was nothing wrong with that, after all.

#milgram #kazui mukuhara #haruka sakurai #wahh thank you so much :D that made my day to hear!! and this request was so cool to think about #(i read the translation day one but) this motivated me to actually listen to his new vd because i we finally hear some emotion from him ;-; #it made me just as sad as i was expecting adfsdf ;---; #i kept trying to write him opening up to someone willingly but it just wouldnt work #(i mean he IS on trial for murder and begging for es to reveal the truth but he still cant say it himself) #so i think itd take someone else opening up first -- once he sees theyre genuinely putting themselves out there for him #hed be able to reciprocate and talk/show his emotions #i know muu/rei isnt canon but even a misunderstanding about it would be important to him #<- made herself sad realizing so much of the cast has been treated as broken or like their true selves werent good enough #but yeah it was really interesting seeing how much overlap kazui and haruka had! #ive got another kazui thing coming today/tomorrow -- now go vote this sad wet cat innocent he fuckin needs it👏 #drabbles

[bookishlydazed]

Book Review - Circe by Madeline Miller

[Spoiler Free]

Rating: 4.25 out of 5

Book Description:

In the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans, a daughter is born. But Circe is a strange child--neither powerful like her father nor viciously alluring like her mother. Turning to the world of mortals for companionship, she discovers that she does possess power: the power of witchcraft, which can transform rivals into monsters and menace the gods themselves.

Threatened, Zeus banishes her to a deserted island, where she hones her occult craft, tames wild beasts, and crosses paths with many of the most famous figures in all of mythology, including the Minotaur, Daedalus and his doomed son Icarus, the murderous Medea, and, of course, wily Odysseus.

But there is danger, too, for a woman who stands alone, and Circe unwittingly draws the wrath of both men and gods, ultimately finding herself pitted against one of the most terrifying and vengeful of the Olympians. To protect what she loves most, Circe must summon all her strength and choose, once and for all, whether she belongs with the gods she is born from or with the mortals she has come to love.

My Review and Thoughts:

This was such a beautiful novel. I mean what did I expect after The Song Of Achilles. Madeline Miller did such and incredible job as always. I have so many great quotes from this book as well which is always a plus. This wasn't like a sitting on the edge of your seat kinda book but it was so beautiful that you got swept up in it almost.

Going in to this book I really didn't know much about Circe. I knew she was a witch and that she met Odysseus. After reading the book I researched her "true" story. I really love how Miller took Circes story and crafted it into something else. The way she turned Circe in to an insecure person just trying to live her life from how she was originally written as vindictive and cruel. Miller put purpose behind her actions.

I did find however that there were parts of this book that were slow however that might just be a side effect of my current book slump im fighting. regardless though it was an incredible book

Quotes [SPOILERS]:

"It was my first lesson. Beneath the smooth, familiar face of things is another that waits to tear the world in two." (pg 16)

"The thought was this: that all my life had been murk and depths, but I was not a part of that dark water. I was a creature within it."(pg 24)

"Whatever you do , I wanted to say, do no the happy. It will bring down fire on your head." (pg 136)

"But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me." (pg 152)

"That old sickening feeling returned: that every moment of my life I had been a fool" (pg 177)

"Then the best part of him died, and he was even more difficult after that..."What was his best part?"..."His lover, Patroclus""(pg 211)

"I did `not have a thousand wiles, and I was no fixed star, yet for the first time I felt something in that space. A hope a living breath, that might yet grow between." (pg 226)

"It is a common saying that women are delicate creatures, flowers, eggs, anything that may be crushed in a moment's carelessness. if I had ever believed it, I no longer did." (pg 315)

#book blog #book review #circe book #circe #madeline miller #the song of achilles #book qoute

[bakugosbratx]

Hiiii! CONGRATS on your milestone! You really deserve them and many more! I saw that request were open and would like to request some noncon/yandere Bakugou where if the reader doesn't cum in said time he will let her go and if she does he claims every single hole? Feel free to sprinkle in bdsm I like it all and I'm a masochist ^^

Warning: 18+ content. Sexual intercourse, masturbation, sex toy(s), cursing, yandere tendencies, abuse, noncon, dubcon, degrading, punishment, overstimulation, breeding kink, etc.

Check out my other works here

A/N: Hello! Thank you so much. I love this idea. Yandere is one of my favorite things to write along with bdsm. I’ve actually been thinking of doing a personal one shot like this so I’m happy you requested it. Hopefully it meets what you’re looking for.

Words: 2,605

You thought you were so slick, masturbating while the pro-hero was at work. You thought you were so clever buying that vibrator online. It was hidden inside a stuffed animal so when Katsuki glanced over your purchase before hitting submit, he never noticed. He thought it was just another stupid stuffed animal you wanted for your collection.

You kept the toy hidden inside the bear, but once Katsuki left, you unzipped the back to pull out the pleasure device. The amount of orgasms and cum you produced was more than you have in months. This was going to be your little secret and Katsuki will never even think to look. Except, you seem to not have noticed Katsuki had cameras. They are hidden, of course, but they are there.

They saw everything and so did Katsuki.

You’re used to Katsuki coming home in a mood when he had a long day at work and honestly, Katsuki could expect the same out of you. So, when Katsuki arrived home with his usual attitude, you didn’t notice.

“Y/N,” he called as he closed the front door behind him. His work boots were already off and resting by the couch along with his gauntlets, mask, gloves, and any other armor. You jogged over to him, a smile on your face as you approached the man.

“Welcome home, Katsuki!” You greet with enthusiasm, wrapping your arms around his neck and a soft kiss on the cheek. This was no different than your normal act you put on. Katsuki trained you to act this way, after all.

Katsuki’s hands rested on your plump ass, his red eyes clearly not showing the same amount of enthusiasm you held. When your irises met his, your smile dropped into a concern frown.

“Been good while I was away?” He asked as usual.

You nodded, “yes, sir.”

“Is that a lie?” Katsuki interrogated, raising an eyebrow. You started to sweat and tremble within his hold. Sadly, he noticed.

“No, not at all.” You managed to utter out. A little too quick for your own good.

Katsuki chuckled scornfully. “Really? Because,” his fingers reached into the front of your pants to swipe your delicate pussy. You started to become flustered as he pulled out his slick covered fingers, clicking his tongue at his confirmed suspicion. “You’re one wet little girl.”

“I-I,” you stammered, tears welling in your scared eyes. You mentally cursed yourself for not keeping track of the time. You were enjoying time with your new toy when you heard the door unlock and Katsuki call your name. Your whole core is a slick covered mess and Katsuki knows about it.

“Bedroom,” he delivers a hard slap to your ass with one hand while pointing towards the hall with the other, “Now.”

Not pushing your luck, you did as your told. Katsuki was closely behind you, his dark crimson eyes glaring at the back of your skull. You should have known better than to think you were going to get away with this. Now, you have to suffer through whatever punishment Katsuki feelings like handing out tonight.

Walking inside the bedroom, Katsuki examined the room. The only thing out of place was the soaked gray towel laying on the wooden bed frame. You did not have time to hide it. You could lie about the towel, the vibrator? Not so much.

“I-I’m sorry, K-Katsuki.” You whined as he grabbed the towel. He shook his head.

“I’m sure you are. Strip.” He ordered. You did exactly that.

You stood still, the air hitting your soaked cunt. Goosebumps arises on your arms and you shiver slightly. Katsuki eyes your slick covered pussy and thighs.

“Bend over the bed, slut.” Katsuki demands, pointing towards the bed. Tears are streaming down your face as you do as your told. He spreads your legs apart more so your cunt can weep some more. Using the soaked towel, he cleans you up. You let out pathetic apologies and whimpers, but this did not make Katsuki any less angry.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki.” You repeat with a sniffle, hoping he will show you some mercy when he punishes you. You both know he is a merciless man, though. Your apologies are useless.

Giving your ass another hard slap like earlier, you let out a yelp. “Stand up.” Katsuki orders. As expected, you listen. Katsuki retrieves a dry towel from the bathroom and lay it down on the bed. Your heart is racing and you are clearly nervous.

“Lay down on your back.”

You lay down on your back. Katsuki grabbed your wrist and tied rope around it then proceed to attach it to the bedpost. He did the same action with each limb so you are spread eagle on the bed. So many questions raced through your mind. You didn’t dare ask what his cruel mind wanted to do to your exposed body, but his devious smirk and invading gaze did not help you draw good conclusions.

You were too busy in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Katsuki retrieving your teal vibrator. Your eyes grew wide as he shake it in front of your face. All the dots are connecting and now you understand why he is so mad.

“Look familiar?” He chuckled. “Thought you would really get away with it, didn’t you? I’ve done told you I see everything.”

“Katsuki—“

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N. I don’t want to hear your bullshit excuses and pathetic apologies for the rest of the night. You’ve done lied to me more than once. I need to teach your lying ass a lesson.” Katsuki scolds.

Turning the sex toy on the highest setting possible, he lays the vibrator on your sensitive clit. You automatically moan and sob. Katsuki snickers.

“Such a selfish whore. Always want your pussy pleased, but never want to pleasure me in return.” He growls them walks closer to you and grabs your chin so you are forced to meet his gaze. “That changes today. I’ll make you a deal. You don’t cum within,” he gazed at his Rolex then back at you,” ten minutes, I’ll let your ass go. If you cum, though, you are stuck with me for good and I’m going to stuff every hole you got. Deal?”

Not giving you much of an option, you nod. You so desperately want to escape Katsuki. You miss normalcy. You miss your friends and family. You miss the freedoms of being a normal human being. This is your ticket out, you better take it.

Gently slapping your cheek, he smirks. “I’ll come back to check on you in a bit. Have fun, cum loving slut. I’ll have fun stuffing you later.”

You watched as Katsuki left the room. Your moans filled the empty space and your pulsating cunt is already begging for dear release. You struggle against the restraints, panting and whining. You wanted out. Katsuki did not tie the rope gently at all. Even if you were strong, these restraints would be hard to escape from.

What was once enjoyable is now being used as punishment. Regrets seep in. You have already overstimulated your poor pussy today. You are exhausted and all you wanted to do is rest, but the loud vibrations are preventing you from doing so. You attempted to withhold your cum. You wanted to so badly. Not only for a chance of freedom, but you will be dammed if Katsuki fills your holes. You did not want that man’s filthy hands anywhere near you let alone his erected cock.

You did your best to wiggle the device off of your clit, but it was no use as an orgasm arise. Gasp escaped your lips as your pussy cried. Your cum covered your cunt, vibratory, and even squirted onto the bed. You began to feel flustered, but your punishment was not over with. You have several more minutes left and Katsuki does not plan on coming in a minute too early. You will be covered in your own arousal by the time he arrives.

Just like he wanted.

You reached your climax again and again, leaving the towel, sex toy, cunt, and thighs soaked. You’re sweating, panting, and out of moans to release. Another orgasm overcame you when Katsuki walked in. A smug grin was plastered on his face as he leaned against the doorframe, watching you meet your next high. This made it even worse.

“I came just in time. I get to see you be a filthy slut in person.” Katsuki teased. You wanted to glare at him, but your eyes are rolling back and any insult came out as incoherent babbles. Your pussy released more cum much to your dismay and Katsuki’s enjoyment. Embarrassment washed over you as Katsuki came over to pick on you some more.

“You done squirtin’ yet?” He snickered. “You soaked the whole damn bed.”

“Katsuki, please,” you whine and struggle against the restraints, “make it stop.”

“Aw, is someone going to cum again, isn’t she?” Katsuki coo’s, faux sympathy clear in his tone. You shake your head no, but by your lewd faces, he can tell your close again. He glances at your whimpering pussy then back at you. “Yeah, you are. Go ‘head and cum for me. I know you got plenty in there.”

You don’t even have the energy to protest anymore. Any fight you have left has vanished as you release, closing your eyes in the process. Katsuki was sure to watch every moment of it, too.

Katsuki removed the vibrator, turning it off. You let out a sigh of relief, but that relief is short lived once you remember the deal. Katsuki is not going to wait until you are ready to be quote-on-quote ‘stuffed.’ No, he is a man with needs that you agreed to meet if you failed your part. You were doomed from the start, in all honesty. There was no way you were going to succeed and you both knew that.

You were untied, sitting up on the towel. You did not enjoy sitting in your pool of cum, but as usual, you have no say in the matter. Your eyes never left Katsuki as he put back the items. Before putting the sex toy away, he looked at you with the slick covered device in his hand.

“We’re keeping this for future use.” Katsuki smirked. You sigh, regretting even buying the damn thing to begin with. It was only a matter of time until Katsuki got his greedy calloused fingers onto it.

Katsuki returned over to you, looking down at you with disgust. That almost felt worse than the punishment itself. Yes, you hated Katsuki, but somehow, you still craved his approval. You did not like making him unhappy. Your body and bones depended on you making him happy.

“Like sitting in your own filth?” He arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“No.” You answer, bowing your head down in shame.

“Why? Don’t like being reminded how much of a disgusting whore you are?” Katsuki tsk. He has always been the degrading type, but when he is angry and trying to prove a point, he is much worse.

“No.” You replied, whimpering slightly. You refused to look at him, but you know he is enjoying this. He enjoys putting you in your place. He enjoys winning.

Katsuki began taking off the rest of his work clothes. His erected cock is already throbbing from watching you bust everywhere. He may not have been in the room physically, but he sure did enjoy watching you downstairs on the flat screen. He didn’t even need to turn on the sound because your moans traveled down to the living room.

“Get in the position I like you in.” Katsuki instructed. Tears stream down your face. You didn’t want to do it. You’re tired and just the thought of Katsuki putting his length deep within you disturbed you emotionally.

“You deaf or somethin’?” Katsuki growls as he grabs you by your hair and gets close to your face. “I said get in the fuckin’ position.”

You scurry to do as your told, Katsuki letting go of your hair so you can do so. Face down, ass up is Katsuki’s favorite position to fuck you in. He loves seeing all of your exposed holes to please and toy with. Call him greedy, but he knows you secretly enjoy it too. At least, that is what he tells himself as he makes you moan out his name.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Katsuki praises as you get into position. He spreads you open more so he can get a nice view of all of you. Your cunt is damp and ready for Katsuki’s length, but he is deciding to be nice. “Which hole you want me to fuck first?”

Neither, you thought.

“Any.” You huffed out, wanting this over with already. Your annoyed tone bought you a hard slap to your ass. You wince in pain.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki.” You cry, instinctively. “My pussy, please.”

Katsuki rubs your ass cheek in approval. His hands hold onto your hips, positioning you the perfect angle to take all of his dick. The tip rest at your weeping entrance then proceeds to slide inside. You cry out in pleasure and pain. No matter how wet you are, no matter how many times Katsuki has sex with you, your cunt will never be able to handle all of his girth. Your tight walls will always hug his length to his enjoyment. Katsuki just can’t get enough.

Katsuki continued his constant rough rhythm, delivering a few slaps to your ass and thighs in the process. He loves seeing your ass bounce as he thrust deep into you. The way you sing him beautiful melodies of moans, groans, and whines just encourages his behavior.

“Katsuki—“ You cry, incoherently, as he hits your ass again.

“What’s the matter? Too much dick for ya?” Katsuki mocks. “Bet that stupid little toy of yours can’t make you feel this good. Look at you, can’t even make coherent sentences. Such a,” he grunts as his dick twitches deep inside you, “dumb fuckin’ slut.”

You grip the bedsheets as Katsuki pushes down on your tailbone to move a slightly different angle. Your breast still bounced though they were pressed against the soaked cotton beneath you. You tried to muffle your moans, but Katsuki will not allow that to happen. He wants to hear you stroke his ego. He wants to be reassured he is making you feel this amazing.

Katsuki continued pumping into your sore cunt until he met his goal. You have no choice but to milk every single drop he has to offer. Once you are nice and full of his cum, he taps your putter thigh.

“Sit up.”

As commanded, you sit up. Your back is pressed against Katsuki’s chest. His hand hugs your neck, squeezing it nicely. You cough slightly, looking up at him.

“Think I better take care of this mouth of yours next. Seems to get you in the most trouble.”

“Please no.” You whisper, more tears falling. Katsuki releases your throat, now holding your chin, and brushes them away with his thumb.

“Don’t want me to stuff your dirty little mouth, hm?”

“I’ll be good, Katsuki.” You swallow the lump that formed in your throat, doing your best to sound small. He liked when you sound weak. “I promise.”

“Y’know better than to make promises you can’t keep. You’ve broken several of them already. Be a good girl for me and get on your knees.”

“Yes, Katsuki.”

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

#bakugosbratx #yandere my hero academia #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere katsuki #yandere bakugo katsuki #bnha yandere #bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bnha bakugou #mha katsuki #katsukibakugou #bakugo x you #bakugo x female reader #bakugo smut #bakugou smut #katsuki smut #bakugou x reader

[smallblip]

Gift for @free-pancakes both because she drew me the loveliest thing for this au and also because I love her. The bed’s cold without you😔 please come back home🥺💖

A thousand burning suns III

A thousand burning suns III

Her parents named her Mikasa after the strong resolve of the Ackermans. If anything, Mikasa lives up to her namesake. After all, she’s what remains of her family. She thinks about this as her fingers skim the scorched wall of her family hall- the spot where Levi’s portrait once resided.

Her fingertips come to rest on a spot where the paint is stubborn- in it, she sees the greys of his irises.

I found your daughter. She’s grown now. She says, the last grain of anger slipping through her hands like sand. He had left her alone. Alone to bear the responsibilities of being an Ackerman. And yet, Mikasa finds herself wondering if his daughter looks anything like him. I will fulfil my promise to both of you…

—

The girl is a strange mix of of her father and her mother. Behind her smile, a resolve that can only be an Ackerman’s, and behind her calamity, a storm that can only be conjured by a Zoë. And Mikasa’s breath is caught in her chest when she realises the girl has eyes are that are grey like Levi’s.

Mikasa draws her sword before her- the girl with the fire that can change the world. And her tribe kneels behind her- with her.

I am Mikasa Ackerman. Princess of the old tribe of Hizuru. Sister of Levi Ackerman.

And I pledge my allegiance to you.

—

“You don’t look like my father…” the girl says. She has the bluntness of both her parents combined and Mikasa rolls her eyes.

“My father had two wives...”

“Politics?”

“Foolishness.” Mikasa corrects. She doesn’t yet know what to think of the girl. All she knows is that her place is beside her. She doesn’t dare second guess her own decision. To do so meant the destruction of her people. “Just like your parents…” she adds.

And the girl laughs. She understands- there’s no denying that she’s the product of said foolishness. But a foolishness so beautiful she grows up with stories that furnish her parents’ absence. The girl grows up on love that transcends the melancholic ache of loss.

And Mikasa sees this. She sees this in the way the girl speaks to her following. Gentle like her mother, with a strength only Hanji wielded. And she feels the guilt clawing angrily at her guts. She had hated Hanji. Hated her brother because of Hanji. She never understood how a princess from across the sea with wild hair and the most boisterous laugh she’s ever heard had managed to bewitch her brother. The Ackermans have always been loyal. They’ve always been. Her father- to his dying breath- had been loyal, even her mother who had charged into battle with him. But everything changed when the Princess from the port kingdom set foot on their shores.

She remembers Hanji’s smile, which she regrets not reciprocating enough. But Hanji never minded. Even when Mikasa’s scowl intensified as Levi continued to get closer to Hanji.

This woman will be your downfall. The words never quite materialised, but Levi hears it nonetheless- he sees it in the disappointment on Mikasa’s face when she catches him slipping out of the queen’s quarters in the middle of the night.

But she holds her tongue only because she’s never seen her brother quite so-

Alive.

Her brother who has only moved at the whims of the crown. Her brother who had never been selfish. Her brother who had taken the blame for all her mischief, her misdeeds since they had been children.

Mikasa holds her tongue.

—

“You are a pain… Just like your mother…”

Mikasa says to the girl one day. And the girl laughs, the same rambunctious laughter, so much so that Mikasa aches. But Mikasa maintains her frown, chides the girl when she rides off in front of her. She’ll have to learn that a leader follows their own orders.

And Mikasa can’t help but think of Hanji. Of her carelessness, her inquisitiveness, her insatiable appetite for the world. Of the bouquet of gardenias and hyacinths that Hanji had given her when they rode out to the valleys.

Mikasa learns gardenias mean you are lovely, and hyacinths mean please forgive me.

The supply routes have been compromised. The guards have overrun the underground but the girl insists on dropping supplies. “They won’t last the week,” she says, resolute, “we are doing this.” It’s a close brush but the girl makes swift work of the guard before he can swing his sword.

“Focus Mikasa…” the girl teases and Mikasa, past her own shock, shakes her head in annoyance, “you’re a pain just like your father!”

But the supply routes have been recaptured. The guards will try again, but for now the vigilante network can hold them off. The girl- her resolution- the reason people have sworn their loyalties. She demonstrates the brilliance of a thousand burning suns.

You are just like your mother… Mikasa says again later when the girl leans her head on her shoulder. Thank you…

—

Levi grew up in the underground. His father sent someone to fetch him and his mother when he realised Kuchel had borne him a son. He meets his step-sister for the first time at his parents’ wedding. Little Mikasa Ackerman, hiding behind her mother’s dress.

And Mikasa remembers looking at him- the boy from the underground- raven hair like hers, but eyes that have seen much, much more. She remembers the thirteen years between them. She remembers her hand in his when they had announced her parents’ deaths, and later, Kuchel’s death to an unknown disease. She remembers the smug lift of his lips when he had owned up to breaking one of the vases in the palace when it had been her. He was beaten. She sees the extent of the wounds this kingdom can inflict. And she knew it’s her and Levi against the world.

But he falls in love with the Queen, their Queen, of the crown her family has sworn to protect.

Hanji is expecting…

Levi says to her one day. And Mikasa waits in anxious anticipation. She doesn’t want the words to come. Because everything will change.

The child is mine…

The world stops spinning. Mikasa wants to cry. She lets a tear slip when he tells her she has to run away. When the baby is born she has to run away to her mother’s tribe. To fight their wars and serve as their Princess. And they will protect her. They will keep her safe.

But all Mikasa has ever known is her and Levi against the world. Her heart sinks.

And it aches when she finds Hanji alone one day, looking at the stars, and Mikasa can think of nothing but her own anger and Hanji’s impending doom.

But Hanji calls out to her, with a smile that has never wavered in her presence. And Mikasa goes to her, sits with her, and listens as she talks about the stars. But her eyes stray to the slight curve of Hanji’s belly.

“You want to feel her moving?” Hanji asks when she catches her looking.

She nods, and Hanji takes her hand in the warmth of her palm, placing it on the swell. There’s a smile that breaks on Mikasa’s face when she feels the baby move. This child, made with so much love that death will trail in her wake. This child can only be brilliant.

Mikasa looks at Hanji, and she realises she has never admitted how beautiful her Queen is. She understands why Levi would fall for her. There’s a certainty in her steps, comfort in her mannerisms, and a charm that comes easily to her. There’s a slight curve of her lips- this smile- just for her brother’s lover.

Hanji cradles Mikasa’s cheek in her hand and the warmth spreads and Mikasa will regret not apologising to Hanji. Not telling her she’s sorry for being so cold. For acting out. But the moment has passed and there’s jauntiness in the way Hanji smiles back at her-

“I hope you get to meet her one day…”

—

After they take the castle, people are shouting through the streets- the king is dead, the king is dead, the king is dead! And the kingdom thaws from its endless winter. The night begins with music, with a steady flow of wine, with dancing.

The three flags raised above the walls bear witness to the festivities. They represent the alliance of three kingdoms-

The flag of the Zoës, her mother’s people, who have sailed across the sea to fight her war, to fight in memory of her mother,

The flag of the Hizurus, a tribe revived and restored to its former glory by its Princess,

And the Wings of Freedom- the flag of the resistance.

The throne room needs to be cleaned out, but for now, Mikasa leads her inside, fetching her a crown from the vaults. The girl knows it was her mother’s. The crown now sits on her head.

Welcome home, Princess.

—

Your mother loved this place. She called it “Little Sea”.

Mikasa tells her when they are at the lake. The weather is mild enough to sit on the grass and they are talking about everything. When Levi and Hanji had been killed, their bodies were burnt so as to avoid attempts at martyrdom. But the servants had scattered their ashes into the lake.

I want to tell you about your parents- of Hanji Zoë and Levi Ackerman.

Mikasa says. And she does. She tells her how her father, who never had any interest in girls, fell in love with Hanji Zoë. Oh how terrible he had been at wooing her, how clumsy he had been. Oh the suffering of everyone who had to bear witness to her brother’s attempts at romance. But she fell for him regardless. And it feels nice to finally admit that it was a love that was meant to be. That had to be. It’s a good love, she thinks, and Levi deserved a love like that.

“Your mother… She made my brother very happy… I’ve never seen him so happy…”

“I heard he wore a perpetual frown…”

“The ugliest one…” Mikasa giggles, “but she made him smile…”

The girl beams, and Mikasa sees Hanji- her effortless charm and the sense of comfort that follows. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Hanji.

As the sun sets, the girl, the last of Mikasa’s family, reaches her hand out to her. Mikasa takes the girl’s hand, looking back only to set the bouquet down where the water meets the earth. For all the words left unsaid-

Camellias for admiration,

Blue salvias for I think of you, and

Hydrangeas to mean thank you for your forgiveness.

[all parts in Masterlist]

#levihan #Levi x hange #Levi x Hanji #Mikasa Ackerman #Levi Ackerman #Hange Zoë #Drabble #mine #blipcakes

[elfwoodfae]

Writing’s On the Wall Harrison Eo Wells x reader.

Chapter 2- Specter.

Author’s note: I am so happy and excited for this new series. I hope sincerely that you all like it and let me know your thoughts, this new series will touch on darker themes up ahead in the future. Also tumblr is being annoying with the paragraphs that’s why they are so far apart.

I made this moodboard. I looked up and searched the photos and edited them. I don’t mind if you use it.

Part 1 (here)

A strange calmness falls over him; he turns around, opening his eyes for the first time in hours. He feels exhausted, having spend the majority of the night observing you. He chastises himself, he shouldn’t have done that, there was no other option, he reminds himself, he is desperate and frustrated. The sudden reminder of your presence this early in the morning angers him, a growl escaping his mouth as he sits up, the white linens of the bed pooling around his hips as he rubs his face with one hand, turning his head and doing a double take at the door, making sure is locked, he knows he locked it last night but the paranoia your presence has brought him makes him second guess himself.

His feet touch the floor first, he stretches his arms over his head, moaning at the relief it offers, his white shirt riding up enough to expose a gleam of milky skin; his hair is a mess of black curls, the expression looking back at him thorough the mirror is annoyed, tired, he splashes water on his face, he needs to wake up. The shadow of a beard is starting to appear on his chin, along his jaw and cheeks, he closes his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck and sighting before gripping the sink in a moment of fury where he wishes he could rip it out of the wall and throw it, shattering it into pieces.

How hard could it be to get rid of you? It wouldn’t be hard at all, it would be done before you could even draw your next breath, it would bring him more pleasure than beating Allen, but the consequences would be devastating, his rational side reminded him, there was not possible way to free himself from the torture of your existence without dooming his. Had Joe not met you things would have been different but he could see as clear as day the picture waiting back for him at the lab. Barry most likely knows about you by now, he knows there will be questions once he gets there, they will be innocent in nature but they will only serve to cement your presence into his mind.

He looks at himself in the mirror, admiring every detail of his clothes before he turns around, spotting his chair exactly where he had left it last night; he walks to it, looking at it so intently as if his gaze alone could burn it, hating the thing he punishes himself with. It’s for a greater good, he remembers. Wheeling into the main area of the house he notices all the lights are still off, he takes solace onto the fact that you are still sleeping, freeing him from your presence even if he knows it will only be for a few hours. He decides to leave, not wanting to take the chance of you deciding to appear and tag along, he doesn’t think of himself capable enough to not pull a Brutus a gut you in the middle of the day. This are also the only quiet moments he will get to think, to work on his suit, he sighs, there is so little time for him to use even when he is always alone.

The room is unfamiliar to your eyes, the bed linens are soft, warm, they smell of fresh cotton and clean clothes, it takes a moment for your memories to return, reminding you where you are. The room is dark, the curtains successfully blocking any sunlight from peaking in, there is no telling the time as you look around trying to get at least a sense of how rested you are. The clock reads sometime after 8, Harrison has more likely left by now and a slight disappointment settles over you, you wanted to see the labs, maybe he will want to take you tomorrow. The bathroom is spacious, glass doors decorating the shower as a black marble vanity rest on the wall, its too big for one person, it feels too luxurious for a guest room. Your mind reminds you of a forgotten fact, Harrison was never a showoff kind of person, he liked his house to feel welcoming and cozy, completely opposite to this place.

Walking out of the room is impossible not to notice the eerie silence that accompanies you, all the lights are off but the sun seems to illuminate the whole place through the skylight. A feeling of anxiety settles in your stomach as your eyes scan the expanse of the room, a corridor shielding doors you haven’t explored yet calls to you, maybe it would be best to wait for him to come back and show you around. You look around once again, scanning the walls and every available surface, your brows furrowing once a detail settles into you that you hadn’t taken into account the previous day; there is not even a single photo of Tess or himself anywhere. Maybe he has them in his room, or perhaps in his office, you think, the anxiety of walking into his space long forgotten, replaced with curiosity.

With fast steps you make it to the first door, its unlocked. The wood doesn’t creak when you open it and you wish it had, any sound would be better than this silence. Peaking your head inside, rows of shelfs of books welcome you, a dark desk sits in the middle, random papers and pieces discarded around it, nothing you would be able to recognize. A leather chair sits behind it and for a moment you wonder what could he need it for? Scanning the surface for any photos, any memories of Tess you could find but is empty, not even a photo of her in any of the walls.

Moving along you walk to the last room, the one on the end of the hall; opening the door, the room is dark, no light peaking into it, the bedsheets are a dark grey, almost black, nothing is out of order, a smell that could only be described as a freshly shaved man and clean clothes hits you, its pleasant, fresh. There is once again no photos to be seen, you should turn around, walk back and continue with your day but curiosity gets the best of you; the walking closet is big, rows of clothes hanging, color coordinated and perfectly ironed. A mirror from floor to ceiling adorning the wall in front of you. Walking closer to his clothes you grab the sleeve of one of his expensive white shirts, wanting to feel the softness of it, you don’t recall ever seeing him wearing one. Out of impulse you bring it to your nose, clothing your eyes as the smell of his cologne hits you, causing a blush to rise up your cheeks; he probable sprays it on himself here, impregnating everything around him.

Abandoning his room you walk into the kitchen, there is so many things about him you wish you knew, things that have probably changed and things that you don’t remember. He seems so distant, so cold, so unavailable to you, it made you wonder why he had allowed you to stay with him, perhaps it was not you, it was your attachment, the last piece of her memory he had, you were like an heirloom, one he refused to throw away, and that realization made you sad.

He didn’t seem happy, he seemed lonely, used to being by himself, making you question if he had any friends, if there was anyone caring for him. The man you remembered was always accompanied, always surrounded by people, always kind, always loving; where had that man disappear? You wondered, remembering how he hadn’t even known who you were once he picked up the phone that night, but what could you expected? You had never reached out, staying like a ghost, gone and hidden from his life.

Sighting you shake your head, forcing these thoughts to abandon you, having had enough of their torment for a day, there are things after all to be do today. Her face attacks your memory, you remember her from the times Tess and Harrison had brought her over, Christina is her name, she was close to Harrison and she had been very close to Tess, urging the obligation of a visit in you the moment you had decided to visit Central City, certain guilt at staying so out of touch to both of them fills you.

Perhaps you should have called her office before hand, you think, she is a busy woman after all, but after a few name drops from her past her assistant informs you that she will see you shortly. The door opens to the conference room she asked you to wait at, her face haven’t changed, a few wrinkles here and there, but the same determine eyes started back at you.

“Y/n” she says your name, surprise lace in her voice, she seems excited to see you. She hugs you, before commenting how much you have changed since she last saw you approximately fifteen years ago.

“I am so glad you could see me, I’m so sorry I never reached out, is just after the death of Tess so many things changed.” You begin, feeling the sting of tears coming to her at the emotion of relieving those memories, at being so close to someone that knew her.

“I’m surprise Harrison didn’t mention that I was visiting, I assumed you both were close friends.” You say nonchalantly, catching in the way her face contract, she seems uncomfortable at the mention of his name.

“Well yes we were.” She says, taking in a breath before continuing.

“You see, after the accident Harrison and I fell out of touch.” She says, seemingly leaving it at that, but curiosity is a powerful feeling, pulling its strings inside of you, forcing you to ask.

“Oh, but don’t you both keep any contact at all?” The question seems innocent, you genuinely want to know. She understands that, concern for you raising in her as she decides to open up more to you.

“I’ll be honest with you y/n, after the accident Harrison changed so much, that loving, caring man disappeared, he became cold, calculating, manipulative. I understand how grieve can change a person, but he, is like he is not even the same person anymore.” She tells you and you get the feeling she is not speaking in a metaphorical way.

You decide to confide her in your worries of him, in your confusion when he didn’t know who you were, when he didn’t even recognize your name. You can see the concern raising in her eyes, at you being alone with a man neither of you know any longer, but you assure her is fine, you will be fine, how bad could he be? He wouldn’t hurt you, this was Harrison you both are talking about, even if neither of you believe it completely.

@twilightlover2007

@austarus

@harrisonwellsisdaddy

@wintersire

@reallystressedhoneybee

@fanfiction-and-fantasies

@saltykidcreation

@dumpeetintofyre

@yetanotherwells

#the flash imagines #eobard thawne fanfic #eowells fanfic #eowells x reader #harrison wells x y/n #harrison wells fanfic #eobard thawne x reader #harrison wells fanfiction #the flash fanfiction #harrison wells imagine #eobard thawne x reader fanfic #harribard fanfic #harribard x reader #eventual smut #angry eobard #petty eobard #reverse flash fanfic #reverse flash x reader #eowells #harrison eo wells #harrison eo wells imagine #harrison eo wells x reader fanfic #harrison eo wells x y/n #enemy to lovers

[certifiedskywalker]

Pomegranate Chapstick - Peter Parker

It’s Winter in New York City. Not that movie magic kind of Winter that reeks of mistletoe and Hallmark channel cliches. No, it’s no longer the Holiday Season and everyone is back to school after Winter Break. Peter Parker is happy to be back because being back means being able to see you again. Though, something is different about you but he just can’t place it.

“What is it?”

“Y/N…”

“Yeah?” Ned looked in the same direction as Peter, who, suddenly self conscious, turned his friend back around to face him. “What is it?”

“Don’t, don’t look! I just…” Peter found that his eyes trailed back over to where you talking with MJ. Your eyes were bright, hands gesturing about you as your friend shared you into a passion. Despite your movements, Peter found himself drawn back to your smile.

“Something’s different,” he finished, “but I don’t know what.” 

“It’s only been like two weeks. It was Christmas literally a few days ago.” Peter glanced warily at Ned before he looked back to you. You were still smiling. The sight made his chest tighten, stole his breath directly from his lungs. “Pete?”

“You remember Homecoming,” Peter pointed out as he met Ned’s eyes, “that all happened in a week and I almost died. Twice! Anything could have happened over break.”

Peter let his eyes wander back to you. Whatever MJ was discussing with you was enthralling. You were completely consumed, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Slightly hidden under all of the layers of Winter clothing you were wearing, you looked warm, aflamed and bright. Suddenly, you threw your head back, laughing at something MJ had said.

The sound sent a shiver down Peter’s spine that he tried to pass off as a response to the cold. He pulled the sleeves of his jacket over his chilled hands and adjusted the strap of his backpack that dug into his shoulder. Ned blinked at him a few times, too close of a friend to not notice Peter’s nervous ticks. 

Eventually, Ned glanced over in your direction too. “Well, Y/N seemed alright. We had Advanced Geometry together and we talked.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Really? Did anything happen?”

“From what Y/N said, your Winter break was way more eventful, Spiderman.” 

Peter knocked the back of his hand against Ned’s shoulder to hush him. Classmates continued to file out of the school, laughing and chatting about the less than glorious return to academia. Peter eyed them all as they stepped down the stairs to the streets of the city. None of his peers seemed to have picked up on Peter’s secret. Satisfied his identity was safe, Peter glanced at Ned with a warning balanced in his frown.

“Sorry,” Ned said, raising his hands. 

“Gotta be more careful.” Peter glanced around at the faces of his classmates once more. Everyone was too caught up in leaving school for the day to notice the worried look on his face. All except you when Peter accidentally met your eyes. Quickly, he tore his gaze away and stared directly, wide-eyed, at Ned.

“What?”

“Y/N.” Ned glanced over in your direction.

“Headed over with MJ. Why?”

Peter’s face warmed to the point where the scarf wrapped around his jaw was pointless. “And? Does...is...do I look okay?”

Ned squinted before his lips broke into a wide grin. A laugh rattled in his chest and Peter felt a fresh wave of panic wash over his shoulders. 

“What?! Do I look-”

“Hey losers,” MJ greeted, standing by your side. Peter glanced at the curly-haired girl before he saw you gently elbowed her shoulder. He met your eyes and felt his lips instinctively curl up in a lopsided smile.

“Hi,” Peter said softly as he tried to steady his breathing. Now, with you closer, he tried to study you, sleuth out what was different.

“Hey! Do you guys wanna do something? Hang out?” 

Your smile was still as bright as your eyes as you asked. Maybe it was the ruddiness in your cheeks, spurred on by the cold that made you seem changed? No, that was too simple. 

“Nah, I gotta work,” MJ said. 

“Wow, you got a job?” Ned asked, causing Peter to glance away from your face for a moment. When he looked back to you, Peter found that you were looking at him. Though, you quickly looked to MJ, waiting for her reply.

“Yeah, over break. At the QuikMart.”

Maybe you got a haircut or, possibly, you dyed your hair and the color was fading back to it’s natural tone. Aunt May had dyed her hair a dark red one year. Peter remembered thinking there was blood in the tub when the pigment started to wash out. Though, even with his ‘Spidey-vision’, as Ned called it, Peter couldn’t detect a color.

“Awesome. Can you get me free slushies?” 

“Bro, I don’t even get free slushies,” MJ replied, frowning at Ned. “I gotta go, can’t be late. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“See ya,” you said, waving off your friend as MJ walked along the snowy sidewalks. Peter swallowed hard when you looked back to him and Ned. “What about you two?”

“I told my mom I’d be back after school to help her with my lola, my grandma.” Peter’s brow furrowed and he turned his head to look at Ned. “Really? You need help?”

“No, she’s coming over to make some food,” Ned explained as he started down the steps of the school. “I’m mom’s moral support.”

“Oh…”

“Well, have fun with that,” you said, bringing Peter’s eyes back to focus on you. “Maybe next time then.”

Ned let out another laugh. It was eerily similar to the laugh he gave Peter when he asked if he looked okay. Something about the sound made Peter’s stomach twist. 

“You two have fun!” Ned’s shout disappeared after him, down the sidewalk and into the city. His words left you and Peter alone. You glanced back to him with a soft smile on your lips. Peter couldn’t help but smile back at you, even though he did so nervously. His eyes flickered up to yours then back to your lips.

While your smile was unchanged, still yours and beautiful, he kept coming back to your lips. It had to be your lips that were different and Peter leaned in slightly to figure out how. Your eyes widened slightly and Peter’s face burned with realization.

“Uh, sorry,” Peter shifted back and let his gaze fall. “So, what do you wanna do?”

“I-I...to be honest, I don’t know. I just missed you over Winter break. Missed, all of you, I mean. MJ and Ned, and you.” You held Peter’s eyes for a fleeting glance before you busied yourself wiping snow off the steps with your boot. 

“Yeah, I,” Peter felt his chest tightened again, “I missed you too, Y/N.”

You looked back up at him, met his brown eyes and gave him a closed-lip smile. Silence fell over the two of you but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was easy, not tension filled and heavy. Being with you was always easy for Peter but this new nervousness that bloomed over Winter break was difficult to manage. He couldn’t let his eyes linger on you too long until fear took hold.

The silence too had its limit. “We should head over to the library maybe. You have Ms. Turner for chem, right? We could study together if you want.”

Peter fought the urge to cringe as his suggestion. In his head, it sounded better, more thought through. He had missed you and wanted to spend time with you. So, naturally, he had to recommend the quiet library. Maybe he was the one that was different, more awkward.

“Sure, yeah!” You started down the steps and Peter trailed after you. “She’s new and I’m a bit nervous about how she tests.”

“I’m nervous too,” Peter agreed as he fell into step beside you. “About the test.”

Peter glanced at you from the corner of his eyes and saw that you were already looking at him. Quickly, you both looked away from the other and started to walk silently towards the library. Every so often, Peter felt your gloved hand against the skin of his bare knuckles. Each time you touched him, a new sense of curiosity struck him. This quietness was different, he wasn’t sure that he liked it, and your hidden change still gnawed at him.

Mr. Stark had given Peter many words of wisdom. Always ask questions was, seemingly, his motto when it came to his ‘internship’. Though, Peter couldn’t find the words. Everytime he did, he second guessed. 

Hey, what did you get up to over break? New style? No, no, no! It had to be your smile. He was stuck on your smile, your lips. 

Finally, with nerves and desperation bubbling up inside, Peter let the words come out without thinking. “Y/N, are you wearing like lipstick or something?”

You laughed, drawing the attention of those around you. The last crosswalk before the library was fast approaching and Peter needed to find out what had changed before you were both doomed to a respectable quiet. 

“Lipstick? No, I am wearing tinted chapstick though.”

“Oh,” Peter’s brow furrowed, “I guess maybe that’s what’s different.”

“Different?” At your amused tone, Peter looked at you, brown eyes searching your face. There was a softness in his eyes and stole your breath away. His lips turned up slightly at the corners, the gentlest smile you had ever seen.

“You just...you look-”

A car horn, loud, alarming, and terribly frightening ripped through the air. Peter reacted to the sound, lurching forwards and wrapping his arms around your waist. Even with your bag slung halfway on your back, Peter was able to catch you as you nearly fell into the street. The car horn faded into the distance but your attention shifted from death to Peter in an instant. 

“Beautiful,” he finished. 

Finally, it clicked. You hadn’t changed, but the way Peter saw you had. The way he saw your lips had shifted too. More enticing than ever before. 

“Peter, I…” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Peter said, quickly helping you back to your feet and out of the crosswalk. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you said with a swallow breath. Peter’s hands were still on you, thumbs gently rubbing your coat-covered, upper arm. Your eyes lingered on Peter, unable to tear them away.

His breath, and yours, came out in small clouds, chilled by the cold. Together, you made your own atmosphere and shared the same air. Adrenaline pumped through Peter’s veins, filled, not with curisoulity anymore, but want. He took a step closer. 

“Y/N?” 

“Yes?” You found yourself coaxed closer by his warmth. 

“Can...can I kiss you?”

You smiled again and nodded. “Yes.”

Peter leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His fingers dug into the material of your coat softly. One of your hands reached up, cupped his face and accidentally knocked his hat off of his brown curls. Neither of you cared and, instead, savored your shared late-Winter kiss. Peter’s hands trailed up your arms until they gently held your jaw, keeping your lips on his.

Peter’s eyes stayed closed and a smile plastered on his face when you pulled away. A chuckle passed over your lips when you saw how your tinted chapstick left a faint stain on Peter’s lips. Carefully, you used your thumb and wiped what residue you saw away. Peter’s eyes opened at the touch and his smile widened.

“Pomegranate?”

“You like it?”

Peter pulled you in for another kiss after saying, “I love it.”

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x reader #mcu imagine #mcu imagines #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #spider-man #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #spiderman fanfiction #spider-man imagines #spider-man imagine #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man x reader

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

What if... you are what we needed?

Corin keeps in the background when the kids are gathered, as usual, but his clever eyes are locked on Davarax and he’s hanging on his every word. Dulsissia can’t help but to smile at the sight of her son not only listening to what Davarax says, but how he says it, how he’s standing while he’s talking, his facial expressions, the gestures of his hands, everything. It’s like watching a baby bird imprinting in real time and Davarax being adorably oblivious to what is happening.

And Corin is not alone.

Din has begun to roll up the sleeves on his shirts like Davarax does, Barthor has adopted the same rest-head-in-hand-while-reading posture Davarax has, Paz suddenly decided to change his hairstyle into the very one Davarax has and Dulsissia had to send her embarrassed husband a pointed look when Raga had uttered some very salty and familiar curse words only yesterday.

But as cute and funny it is to watch Corin, it is also painful to see him desperately want Davarax’ attention but at the same time not dare to draw any attention to himself to get it. He will hover near him but with a skittish nervousness that Dulsissia knows comes from the years with Macero.

Macero had barely been present in the boy’s life, but whenever he was, Corin quickly learned that his father’s attention landing on him was rarely a good thing. Around Macero, it was best to be invisible. She’d tried to shield her son as best as she could, but it was impossible to block all of the cruel comments and mean remarks.

Today, Din, Raga and Barthor are going to head into town to pick up supplies, while she and Paz are set to do a complete check and cleaning of their weapons collection.

Corin is to accompany Davarax on some minor repairs on the Razor Crest and her soft heart aches with worry.

She’s not worried that Davarax will even think a harsh word in her son’s direction, but Dulsissia knows how anxious Corin will be with no buffer between him and Davarax. So she worries, but she also have faith in Davarax.

-

Carrying a large bag with equipment, Corin trails after Davarax, who has one in each hand and is leading the way to their ship.

Usually Din would be the first to volunteer when it is something related to the Razor Crest, but it was decided they all needed to learn about the ship and ships in general, so everyone has to take turns whenever some work needs to be done on it. Today is Corin’s turn and he’s more than a little nervous.

Corin knows he doesn’t have the knowledge that Din has about the ship and maybe Davarax thinks he does? There is no way this can end well…

When they arrive at the ship, to his utter relief, Corin is explained what they’re going to do, what the problem is and how to solve it, and in a way that actually makes sense despite him not being as smart as Din. And after getting a couple of easy tasks that he completes without any trouble, Corin starts to think it might not be such a horrible experience after all.

Especially after he’s finished switching a fuse and Davarax gives Corin’s shoulder an approving squeeze after he inspects the job.

The gesture brings a fierce burst of happiness inside his chest, it feels like he grows two inches taller, so Corin eagerly moves on to the next assignment given to him and then awaits Davarax’ verdict with a hammering heart.

Davarax reaches out, tugs gently at where Corin has attached the wire and makes a pleased sound when he finds it securely fastened. “Perfect. Good job. Keep this up and we’ll be done in no time.”

There is that fierce burst of happiness in his chest again. Corin nods.

Davarax absently twirls his welding gun when he looks at the next panel, considering what to do next, so Corin does the same thing with his wrench and feels incredibly cool.

They work together in the cargo hold for a while. Davarax opens panels, points and explains, then often steps back and lets Corin do the actual job, only offering advice or coming in to help when Corin meekly asks for it. It goes so well that Corin actually forgets to be afraid and just has fun.

“I need to head up into the cockpit and check out some data. You okay here? You got this?” Davarax asks while Corin is halfway into an open panel to try to reach some wires.

“Yup.” Corin replies, making a triumphant sound when he gets a hold of his prey. He hears the man walk away but he’s too busy focusing on doing a good job to get anxious over it. He can do this.

Turns out, he can. Corin fixes the problem with the wires, checks they are securely fastened before putting the panel up again and fastening it as well. When Davarax is not back by the time this is done, Corin simply moves on to the next panel.

Removing the bolts, he lowers the panel to the floor and Corin eyes the now revealed wires with a critical gaze. Yeah, there is rust and muck on them as well, so they definitely need changing too. He gets to it, eager to show Davarax that he can manage on his own.

He has just managed to loosen the wire at one end when Corin somehow manages to drop his wrench into the mess of wires below where he’s working. It must either tear something loose or connect something that shouldn’t be connected because only half a second after the wrench falls, there is a fierce crackling of electricity, sharp glimpses of light, and just as Corin makes a panicked grab for the wrench; flames jumps into existence and forces him to withdraw his hand with a pained cry.

Cradling his aching hand to his chest, Corin backs up to the opposite wall and stares with wide-eyed horror at what he has done.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Davarax slides down the ladder, lands on his feet with a heavy thump before trotting over to where there now is a thin line of smoke emerging from the wall. He grabs a small bottle of something that is hanging on the wall and he sprays the content on the fire that is quickly extinguished.

Tossing the bottle away, Davarax turns to look at Corin.

“I’m sorry!” Corin blurts out before Davarax can say anything. “I didn’t mean to-It was an accident and, and I’m sorry!” He heaves for air, struggling against tears. “I’m sorry!”

Davarax merely shakes his head and grabs Corin’s wrist to pull his hand out to inspect it. “Did you get burned?”

Corin yanks his hand free, cradling it protectively once more, backing away from him. He can’t even look at Davarax and has to stare at the floor. “Please, I’m sorry.” Why did Corin have to mess up everything? Davarax had been so nice to him and now Corin has angered him. He’d set fire to his ship! Davarax had to be furious. Everything is ruined because Corin can’t hold on to a kriffing wrench! Stupid, stupid, stupid! “I’m sorry!”

“Corin…” Davarax takes a step after him but stops when that makes Corin back up again.

“I’m sorry!” Corin shouts, really on the verge of crying now.

“Corin, it’s okay.” Davarax says.

Knowing how this will not only make the man angry with him, but also ruin his mother’s happiness as Davarax is bound to turns his bad mood her way as well, just like his father always did, Corin almost buckles under the weight of the guilt. “Please…” He whispers, agonized. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you didn’t mean to, Corin. I know it was an accident. Hey, come on, look at me.” Davarax’ voice is gentle. “Don’t worry. It was an accident.”

Corin dares to steal a peek up at Davarax and is surprised to see no trace of anger on his face. If anything, there is concern and… sadness? It gives Corin hope that maybe he can take the brunt of the anger and spare the others. “I’m still sorry. I’m sorry I set your ship on fire.”

Davarax nods and gestures towards one of the fold-down seats. “Could you just… take a seat? Let me look at that hand of yours? Please?”

Corin shuffles over and sits down, like a doomed man going to his execution. It’s difficult to breathe. If feels like someone is sitting on his chest.

Davarax crouches down in front of him and eases Corin’s hand into his to examine it. He hums at the sight of it. “No burns, that’s good. But you got awfully close.”

Corin stares at the floor and shrugs. Maybe if he’d been burned then that would have been punishment enough and Davarax would be pleased?

Sighing, Davarax pulls out a thin strip of a bandage from his belt and begins to wrap Corin’s hand. “Corin, listen to me. I need you to really listen to me. Okay?”

Corin glances up at him and when their eyes meet, he gives a faint nod. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to make up for what he did.

“I will never, and I do mean never, be angry with you over an accident.” Davarax fastens the bandage and gives his wrist a light pat. “You hear me? All I care about is that you’re okay.”

That… does not make sense to Corin. But he’s kind of afraid to anger Davarax further by asking what he means. So he merely nods and hopes that is good enough.

It clearly isn’t, but this time Davarax is the one to look down at the floor. “Was… Was your dad like that? Angry over things that wasn’t your fault?”

“It was my fault.” Corin whispers. It always was. Otherwise his father wouldn’t have been that angry with him, right? And his parents wouldn’t have been arguing so much if not for him.

Davarax shakes his head and sighs, still looking down. “I don’t think it was, Corin. Not then. Not now.” He pats Corin’s wrist again. “I don’t mean to speak ill of your dad, Corin, but he was a complicated man and he made mistakes too. Getting angry with you was a big mistake.” He finally looks back up to meet Corin’s eyes again. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Corin. I promise.”

Tentative hope flutters in Corin’s chest as he hears how sincere that promise is. And Davarax really isn’t angry with him. He’s not. The relief makes Corin a little dizzy as well as giddy with joy.

“And you can always talk to me, you know? Tell me things. Ask me questions.” Davarax says.

Back on Seswenna, Corin learned the hard way to never ask his father any questions, but seeing how not even setting the ship on fire had caused Davarax to become angry, Corin does not hesitate to make a grab for the wealth of knowledge Davarax is offering him. There is one thing...

“Can you show me how to shave?” Corin blurts out in an eager rush. Ever since Paz started shaving, he has ‘complained’ every morning about the hassle of it. Corin suspects Paz only has about six strands on his chin and does it to rub in the fact that none of them have reached that stage yet. But, it would be cool to know how to, for when the day comes. He’s fairly sure not even Din knows how to shave.

Davarax bursts into a brief laugh at his question, but it doesn’t hurt as there is no trace of malice or mockery in it. He reaches out to pat Corin’s shoulder. “Absolutely. First thing tomorrow.”

Fire all forgotten, Corin grins and sits up a little straighter.

“Now, do you want to wait here while I do the rest of the repairs, or do you feel like going back to work? Your choice, Corin. Either option is fine.”

“I think I would like to go back to work. If that is okay…?” Corin says. “I promise I won’t drop the wrench again.”

“You got this, no problem.” Davarax reassures him. “And if you need a little help, I’ll be right here.”

-

Dulsissia is on her way back to the room where Paz sits half-asleep over the dismantled blasters, oiling each part meticulously and bored out of his mind, when she sees Davarax and her sweet boy returning from the ship.

There is an instant stab of worry as she sees the bandage of Corin’s hand, but that is quickly drowned out by relief and raw happiness as she sees her son march next to Davarax with a confidence she’s never seen before. He’s doing something close to a swagger! And he’s chattering away like he usually only does with Din.

It’s hard to believe it is the same boy who had looked at her with anxious eyes before following Davarax to do the repairs on the ship. Her son looks proud. He looks confident and happy and shining in the spotlight of Davarax’ attention.

That man had made her baby walk tall and she had thought she couldn’t love him any fiercer?

Wiping away a tear, Dulsissia heads to the room where Paz is currently lamenting his fate and decides to make this a memorable day for everyone. She hands the puzzled teenager some credits and tells him to bring Corin along, head into town, find the others and have fun. Dulsissia even grants them permission to try out the speeder-bike grounds as long as Paz promises to make sure nobody gets hurt. He nearly hurts himself eagerly nodding his promise.

The boys are out of the door and heading towards the town before Davarax is done washing his hands.

“Dulcy?” Davarax calls out, somewhat confused by seeing the dust in the boy’s wake, walking out of the refresher room while absently drying his hands on an old towel.

She grabs a hold of him when he walks by their room and yanks him inside, causing Davarax to drop the towel with a startled sound and stumble to regain his balance. The unexpectedness of it all makes it easy for her to push him lightly against the wall and crowd up against him with a smile. “I just sent the kids to find the others in town and gave them some credits to burn. We’re all alone, for once. You want to fool around?”

It’s not like her to be this direct and his face is a mix of surprise and fascination. “Uh, yes, please?”

Dulsissia takes a hold of his shoulders and jumps up to wrap her legs around his waist, which she knows will cause him to automatically reach out and take a hold of her hips to hold her up. He does. That frees her to lift one leg, get the bottom of her foot against the wall behind him and give it a firm push. Davarax makes another surprised sound as her act makes him stumble towards the bed with her. Oh, the sweet man... He has no idea what is about to hit him...

Later, while he’s lying on his back in bed, still trying to catch his breath with a slightly shell-shocked expression on his face, his body covered with nothing but sweat and a flimsy sheet, Davarax watches her as she gets up and puts on a robe.

“You have to be hungry after fixing the ship. I’ll get you something. You stay and rest and I’ll bring it here. I think we have more of those spicy noodles you like so much.” Dulsissia adjusts the robe and tightens the belt before heading for the door.

“Dulcy, wait…” Davarax eases himself up his elbows, looking hilariously dishevelled with his dark hair poking up at every angle. “What… what did I do? What did I do to be blessed with this?”

Dulsissia glances back at him with a grin before she merely slips out the door.

“Dulcy, tell me.” Davarax whines, but when there is no answer, she hears him flop back down and start mumbling to himself; “I gotta know so I can do it again. And again. And again.”

But Dulsissia knows she doesn’t have to tell him, because he will do it again and again anyway. Being an amazing father is in his nature and he will continue to bring out the best in those children without being motivated by anything but love.

Which is why they all, her included, love him.

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #What If #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Teenage Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #Macero's A+ parenting

[infinites-chaser]

this life not yet saved | tears of themis | mo yi

.

.

.

(not yet)

title from the poem by geffrey davis

spoilers for mo yi's medieval suspense date!

warnings for uh. blood. non-linear, fragmented narratives. quotes from tenet (2020). u know the vibes.

it's like this: you see her,

the cards fall,

face up, they’re vatican lily white, all hearts, all stark blood-red,

you ask her about time, about knowing the ending before the story’s begun. if it changes anything. if it changes her.

and you think, you have spoken these words before. in a dream. in a past long gone. in a not-so-distant future.

you still don’t know her answer. you dream many things, only, not this.

because you do not want her to be everything you've ever dreamed of— 

(what's the use of a dream if it ends. if at the end, you'll always have to wake up.)

—you need her to be more.

(she is.)

she speaks. she speaks, and the world shifts around her.

the only constant in the world is change, she says. I believe we shape our own fates.

and what does it mean for your one tenet to be something uncertain, to be uncertainty itself, to have faith in the ever-changing?

all of the world’s absolutes and it’s easy to forget: it means being alive.

it means being fated to an ending, fighting it still. it means being human.

it means this: you fall.

the cards fall first, but you fall deeper.

(you always have. you always will.)

this is goodbye, she says. and though her cheeks are tearstained, she's calm in front of you.

you reach for her hand, hold it close.

no happy endings? you ask, smile rueful. she shakes her head, draws back, eyes gentle, words firm.

no happy lies.

but, first. the middle:

you steal her lips by candlelight, steal more.

come the edge of dawn, she steals a kiss in return, chaste, on the cheek. steals a lily from the vase by your bed, steals out of the room back to hers, and when she leaves, she takes your heart with her.

it beats faster these days. at the thought of her, you can't keep still.

stolen time, you think, but her head's pillowed gentle on your chest, her breaths coming and going in time with yours, she murmurs low and sweet, nudges closer, and you think no more.

what do you think is the most sensitive part of the body, she asks, her fingers stroking slow contemplative circles up and around your back,

the fingers? she asks, and hers skim along the base of your spine, you inhale sharp,

the neck? you counter, and trace your hand up to steal between her shoulder blades, tease gentle up the back of her neck to the edge of her hair, cradle close her head, coax it up towards yours,

the lips, she whispers, and let yours meet hers.

later, she says:

we're both wrong.

hm?

the most sensitive part, she says, her eyes on yours warm and endless, you could drown in their depths,

it's always been the heart.

and you do not like to admit it, you hardly admit it to yourself, but the heart of you has gone sharp with hunger, this empty that'll never be filled, not with all the knowledge of humans and the earth, not with anything of this earth, human or otherwise, you have had enough of ration and reason and logic, the thing you are starving for demands more, more than any set of rules, anything straightforward, anything solvable, you want your world to be shaken, you want logic to be wrong, gravity defied,

and so you live your life wanting,

wanting and wanting and wanting,

and you think you will die from it— wanting that something, that someone who will be enough to match you, who will be more,

you want more. you want to be more. 

you’re not sure which is which anymore.

late nights you spend studying, she reads anatomy over your shoulder, learns it with you.

you speak to her, bright-eyed, about medicine. about the power of understanding the workings of humans, what it could do for humanity, what it could do for the world.

you speak to her, and she listens. offers suggestions. thoughts. offers ideas. together, you stitch together a vision of hope. of futures to come.

you stitch your patients, she says, you and your science, stitch the world back together,

then she reaches, teasing, around your neck, tugs your scarf free before you can move.

I'll stitch this for you. stitch something true.

what's this, you ask, one night before the middle's over, peering low over her shoulder. she frowns and swats at you with her embroidery.

I told you, it's for you, she says, if you don't ruin my concentration first!

for me?

for remembrance.

but this is just our beginning, you say with a chuckle.

she smiles then, soft, somehow sad.

she leaves it atop your pillow at morning's first light: your scarf stitched carefully, covered in lilies, vatican white.

white lilies? you remember asking, once and long ago. 

they're my favorite, she'd replied.

they're for the vatican, you think. faith. purity. death.

and she's going to die tonight. one death if she's lucky. two if the duke's idea of magic works.

she's going to die. you'll stop burning. you'll never feel alive like this again.

you wear her scarf to save her. the old duke topples. you poison him. but she's crumpled on the floor, there's bruises on her wrists and her face is a pale, bloodless white, the hair of her elegant updo twisting ragged tangled—

you see red.

you stab him once, stab him again for good measure. imagine blood spreading across his waistcoat, vatican lily white turned deep and crimson,

and you'd like to think it feels like freedom, to watch his breathing slow, but she's limp in your arms, skirts dragging across the black magic sigils written hasty on the floor, and you know: this is your fate, you've been destined to this since the start, doomed to this,

doomed by her,

if that were the ending, you say, would you refuse? would you give up on the truth and embrace darkness together?

she tells you no.

and when she wakes, you already know the choice she'll make. she won't choose you.

(it's why you chose her. it's why you always will.) 

so you hold her close,

stay by her side, her hand in yours, her heart, her ideals, her justice shining bright—

'til the day she lets go.

you're at a banquet with the old duke and he's told you, boyish eager, that he's found her: the girl with the face of his lost love.

you're at a banquet, you watch as he approaches her, from afar, 

and you do not like to think you have anything in common with your foster father, but you watch and you think you understand. out of everyone at the gathering, she alone shines bright.

you want to retreat further, to observe. hypotheses tested. conclusions formed. but the old duke's beckoning you over, her eyes, sharp and curious, are too, and you follow.

my son, the old duke says, but you don't hear the rest.

it's like this: your existence in that moment is only for her,

and she smiles, laughs, glances up to meet your gaze with hers, sharp and joyful bright— and it takes you by surprise, like nothing else, like she's something unexplainable, something alchemists could spend their lives chasing after, that the vatican could worship, devote a lonely life to, something close to divinity, this feeling that makes your heartbeat near painful, makes your breathing burning, as if your veins had turned liquid gold in her light— 

and you think you will die from it— it makes you weak, it makes you that maybe there is someone who is enough, who you do not deserve but be could enough for,

(someone, 

and it's her.)

but what scares you, thrills you, intrigues you most

is that it feels familiar, somehow, the way it burns

as if all along your heart had known it was meant to burn,

meant for her,

(it was.)

.

.

.

Lady Viscount, you say, head bowed low before her, her fingers fluttering just the slightest under the brush of your lips, 

Duke, she replies, breathless, though she doesn't draw back.

may I interest you in a game, you ask. her head tilts.

what kind?

a game of stories, you say. of fate and future.

it's simple, you say. it's a leap of faith.

you fall first. I fall deeper.

she laughs.

if you win, she says, I'll owe you a dance.

and her hand's still in yours, it makes you weak, it makes you reckless, but you hold your tongue and only smile in return.

if you win, you think, my fate is yours.

neither of you let go.

#val writes #tears of themis #tears of themis mo yi #tears of themis vyn #noT me asking for prompts then writing nOne of them and coming up with this instead ahdjsjsjs #just have. many. medieval suspense feelings mixing w tenet feelings;;; where else am i supposed to put my narrative tragedy brainrot down #anyway. i blame this entirely on christopher nolan if u do not understand pls take it up w him bc i barely understood tenet either

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 11: Intruloceit (pt 2)

@tsshipmonth2020

The sequel y’all were waiting for! (@hoppe-ideas)

Day 11: ‘Choose your own adventure’ day! I chose to continue from Day 9, since I couldn’t very well leave it there.

Content warning: allusions to abuse, Remus being Remus (need I elaborate?), implied past panic attack, mention of bipolar disorder, and of course, Janus’ crippling insecurities. Angst with a happy ending. 

Word count: 4k

*READ DAY 9 FIRST*

Blue: What time are you available?

Green: What is this, a doctor’s office? I’m free after lunch 

Blue: I was merely tr

Green: I know, I know. I’m just teasing you. It’s endearing, my little mocking-nerd. Bring your textbook, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. It’s octopus learning time!

Blue: I will never understand you.

Green: Good 

He drew a crude rendering of the devil emoji, then a heart, and the conversation ended as quickly as it began.

--------------------------------------

Green: What would happen if you injected coca cola into your bloodstream

Blue: No.

Green: It’s just a question!

Blue: I’m assuming you would die.

Green: Damn. Can we try anyways?

Blue: No!

Green: C’mon, for science?

Blue: NO! Why did this question even arise?!

Janus hid a small chuckle, before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth. Even if the writing was as much on his arm as it was theirs, it still felt wrong to read it. Felt wrong to admit that he was starting to enjoy their shenanigans.

-------------------------------------

Green: Hey

Blue: Hello, my dear. What is so important that you couldn’t text me?

Green: my mom broke my phone and I’m having an attack

Janus sat straight up, his calligraphy pen clattering to the floor, effectively ruining the large swooping letters he was working on with a splattered gold streak. This was the first message the two had shared that wasn’t either Blue’s notes about homework or Green’s odd creative ideas, or cheesy conversations between the two that Janus tended not to read. It felt like intruding on someone’s life. He hadn’t learned their names yet, and while they always stuck to the same color scheme, he knew at this point he’d be able to distinguish their handwriting with no hesitation. It was his version of hearing their voices, and he’d started growing attached to them. He turned his full attention to the conversation on the back of his arm, feeling a surge of worry.

Blue: I’m on my way, be at the curb in ten minutes?

Green: thanks

Blue: Remember those breathing exercises. Try to stay calm. 

Green: please hurry

Blue: I’m driving as fast as I can, love.

The messages ended there, and Janus didn’t sleep that night.

----------------------------------------------------------

Blue: Happy birthday, Remus. I hope you have an amazing day.

Remus: Are we still good to go for tonight? 

Blue: Of course. I had Roman and Patton help plan most of the date, so I hope you enjoy it.

Remus: Logan, if it’s with you, I will~ 

Logan: You’re a sap.

Remus: And you love it

Logan: Guilty.

Never had Janus felt so alone. It was one thing to have anonymous messages scribbled on your arm, little doodles and good luck wishes, but to know their names? That brought on a whole new round of tears that he hated himself for. Remus and Logan. The names of his so-called soulmates, the labels he could finally put to the personalities. As much as he hated to admit it, waking up had become a whole lot easier since they’d started appearing on his skin. It was something little to look forward to.

It also hurt, just a little bit more. Before he was eighteen, he’d been able to imagine his situation like his parent’s, with a soulmate who would end up hating and hurting him, and it was easy to decide to never communicate when the time arrived. And even if they seemed like genuinely good people, every time he lifted a pen to respond, to announce his presence, he stopped himself, as his father’s words rang through his head.

Why would anyone want you, Janus?

You’re a mistake, and they’ll see that instantly.

Honestly, what good do you even have to offer a soulmate?

He didn’t want them to be true, but it wasn’t like anyone had ever told him differently. His mother avoided his eyes and was silent, his peers treated him like a disease, so those words were the ones he started to believe. So he capped the pen, pulled his sleeve down, and ignored the small feather light tickles as they spread across his arms. 

------------------------------------------------

Of course, it wasn’t avoidable forever. 

It was writing on skin, did he think that was something he would never do accidentally? Was he really that stupid? They were going to be so pissed when they found out how long he’d been snooping on their conversations. They’d hate him. They’d never be open to the idea that he was somehow meant to be in their lives. He was done. He was such an idiot.

These were the thoughts raging through his mind as he looked down over himself in shock, spilled amber ink shimmering on his skin. It was an accident; an opening of an ink pod combined with over enthusiastic dancing to the Chicago soundtrack, leading to a faltering concentration and skin covered in staining gold. He’d been sitting cross legged on his chair when the cartridge exploded, and he’d bounded to his bathroom to try and wash it off, but it had only been partially successful. There was no doubt in his mind that they would see it. It had covered a good majority of today’s messages on his arms, smeared across his shins from hurriedly trying to wipe it away, and speckled across his face like the world’s most unfortunate freckles. 

He dropped back into his chair, his music now turned off, and laid his head on the cool wood of his desk. The ticking on his clock was the only sound in the room and he counted each one, mentally marking the minutes as they passed by. Waiting. Five minutes of silent fear had passed before a new anxiety began to rise in him. What if they were his soulmates, but he wasn’t theirs? He’d heard of it happening, ever so rarely, that soulmarks weren’t reciprocated. If that was true for him, and he was starting to become sure it was, they wouldn’t see the ink. They never would. He would be forced to live the rest of his life on the outside, reading their life on his skin but never able to take part. Somehow that seemed a lot worse now that it wasn’t his choice.

Just as he was starting to spiral, a familiar tickle on his arm snapped him back to the present. His head jerked up, hair falling into his heterochromatic eyes as he followed the dark blue script, starting just under the largest golden spill.

Hello? 

And how should he respond to that? He couldn’t think of a fun one liner, a sassy quip, to introduce himself. For the first time in his life, lying wasn’t an option, and he hated that. He grabbed the first pen he could grab, a black ballpoint, with shaking fingers.

Hi. Well, that was lame. 

You’re our soulmate. It was less of a question, more of a statement. Janus took a deep breath, bringing the pen down again.

Yes. 

I’m sorry. What he was apologizing for, he couldn’t quite put a finger on. But it felt right. Apologizing was simply second nature to him.

Whatever for?

He didn’t know how to answer that time, so he did what he always did best, and watched. Waited again, hoping that Blue (Logan, he remembered vaguely), would just drop the subject. This was the most conversation he’d had with someone in a while. 

My name’s Remus. The other dork is Logan. 

The green ink appeared under the blue, and Janus’ heart dropped painfully in his chest. As if he didn’t already know their names. It’s not as if he could say that, though. 

You seem kinda shy. It’s cute 

Let them speak, Remus. 

Both of them went silent, offering time to allow Janus to write. But he didn’t know what to say, how to explain… 

So he didn’t. He yanked down the sleeves of his pajama top, pulling the edges over his hands to hide the now dried golden  ink, and collapsed onto his bed, dooming himself to another night of restless sleep. 

----------------------------------------

If Janus had the choice, he wouldn’t have gone to school the next day. He would have laid curled up under his blanket, struggling to tune out the sound of his parents arguing, letting the world pass him by like an old camera reel. Janus didn’t have the choice though, not when he remembered it was nearing the end of the year and exam season was drawing closer, and then the bickering downstairs became motivation. Good grades would equal an out-of-state college, which would mean getting away from thrown dishes and slamming doors. 

Even so, that didn’t mean that Janus didn’t regret the entire day of school. It seemed like a breath of fresh air when the lunch bell rang and the students shuffled out of the class in a lump, leaving just him and Mr. Sanders behind, as per usual. Just as he reached down to pull his lunch out of his bag (just a handful of cold scrambled eggs he had set aside from his already meager breakfast), the teacher spoke.

“I actually have a meeting today, Jay. You’re gonna have to find a different place to have lunch.”

“What?” Janus recoiled as he spoke, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He hadn’t meant to talk back, half expecting a lecture, and was surprised when the teacher’s expression morphed into one of sympathy.

“Sorry, bud. It’s a staff meeting, and I couldn’t find a TA to watch the room over the break. It’s only for today. Cafeteria is open though, I’m sure you can find an empty table there. Or better yet,” He smiled softly, lifting his laptop bag onto his shoulder, “Sit with someone. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

Janus picked up his bag as well, rushing from the room without a second glance. He didn’t feel like explaining that the reason he sat alone wasn’t his choice, and he couldn’t help it. He was just tired of being pushed away, so why not make the first move himself. 

The path to the cafeteria was hardly trodden by him, and he tried to take in the pictures of past grad classes on the wall for as long as possible before his time was up. The security guard marching the halls gave him a pointed look, reminding him that he couldn’t stay in the hallways during lunch, so he hunched his shoulders and walked into the lunch room. He cursed the weather under his breath for being so damn hot today; he would melt in his hoodie and gloves to cover the ink. Luckily the splatters on his face blended in enough with the skin tone to be unnoticeable. 

The first thing he noticed is that it was loud. People shouted, trays clattered, and Janus wanted nothing more than to curl up in his hoodie. Social interaction. Gross. The second was that Mr. Sanders had been right, there was a line of empty tables at the back that people seemed to avoid in favor of grouping together in the center. The third and final thing was the overwhelming sense of loneliness that flooded Janus as soon as he walked in. Sitting alone in an empty room was one thing, choosing to sit alone in a crowded room was another. 

For a split second, the teacher’s words ran through his mind, and he wondered briefly if he should join a group, only for his anxiety to immediately shut the idea down with a shriek of are you crazy?!

He chose the closest table to the door that was untouched and sat hesitantly, appetite lost. All he had to do was get through an hour of this, he thought painfully. If he paid close enough attention, he could tune into other people’s conversations, and if he closed his eyes and drifted far enough, he might actually imagine that he was a part of them. 

“Hi!”

Janus’ eyes shot open and he shrunk back as if he’d been slapped. Standing in front of him was a guy he recognized from his math class, bouncing on his heels enough to make his blonde curls fall into his eyes. He was grinning from ear to ear, gleaming teeth matching the white collar that stood out from under his blue sweater. 

“Do you want to sit with us?”

His critical glare didn’t deter the overly joyful guy as he gestured over Janus’ shoulder, encouraging him to look. He did, albeit reluctantly. Four people were sitting at the table behind him, three caught up in a spirited conversation. The last one was staring back at him owlishly through thick square glasses, and surprisingly, Janus wasn’t unsettled by the look. 

“Come sit with us!” The happy guy said again, looking like he was refraining himself from just grabbing Janus and pulling him over. His round glasses had started edging down his nose as he hopped from foot to foot.

“Are you sure?���

“Yep! Please?” He drew out the word for several seconds. Janus couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, nodding mutely and gathering his backpack. His anxiety started again, pelting him with ‘they’re going to hate you’s and ‘this changes nothing’s, but he pushed them down resolutely. It was just the one meal. Tomorrow would be back to normal, eating lunch by himself in Mr. Sanders’ room. And he really couldn’t say no to that hopeful face. 

“Yay! Okay,” He led Janus to the table, dropping into one of the two empty seats and pointing to the one next to him. He took a deep breath before gushing on, “Sit! Okay, okay, okay, so I’m Patton, purple-hair is Virgil but they hate the name so you can just call them V. We all call them V. That’s Logan, and the twins are Roman and Remus. Remus has the white streak, but it’s actually really easy to tell them apart once you get to know them.”

Janus’ blood froze in the middle of Patton’s gleeful rant. Those names… those were all the names that kept popping up over the five months of secret soulmate snooping. That wasn’t a coincidence, right? Most of those names weren’t exactly common.

His eyes shifted to the two Patton had introduced as Remus and Logan, sitting shoulder to shoulder across from him. Remus had halted whatever he was talking so animatedly about in favor of greeting the newcomer, but Janus couldn’t get himself to wave back. Instead he dropped his gaze to their loosely intertwined hands on the table, feeling somewhat lightheaded at the identical golden stains covering both of them. 

So... he ran. He wasn’t proud of it, and he was somewhat certain that he’d made a scene, but he couldn’t do it. His own self doubt was crippling, all his fears rushing him full forced and reminding him just how little he mattered, how messed up his life had made him, how he would only ruin any possible relationship. This was all too real now. They fit so well to the picture he had unintentionally made of them in his mind; navy blue button up tops and slicked back hair, green bomber jackets and mussed up shoulder length curls. Eyes that glinted with barely concealed mirth, a dimpled grin revealing almost razor sharp canines. Two polar opposites, so perfectly built for each other, soulmates. He would just come along and ruin it. 

Screw the sun, he thought, as he sat on the scalding hot bleachers by the football field. To his extreme annoyance, tears had started drifting down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away from sheer habit. His dad didn’t like tears almost as much as he didn’t like Janus. It wasn’t like they would know it was him, right? All they knew was a stranger had been invited to their table and had booked it before they even got his name. So he could stay a mystery, a fly on the wall, for the rest of his days.

The all too familiar feeling on his arm was more of a curse now than it ever had been. Resigned to his fate, he rolled the sleeve up to read whatever the two were no doubt talking about. 

Hi. 

He looked around frantically despite his better judgment, his eyes landing on a figure standing at the end of the bench, uncapped pen in one hand and one blue sleeve rolled up. Logan regarded him with a careful look, locked in a staring contest that neither wanted to look away from. The other broke first, turning his focus to his steps across the rickety surface as he approached Janus. He took a seat, mumbling something about how hot it was, before scribbling something else onto his arm and capping the pen. Janus tried to fight the urge to look down at his own still-bare arm, but he couldn’t resist a quick peak.

I found him. Bleachers in the north field.

“Why don’t you take off the gloves, at least. It’s almost ninety degrees out.”

Welp. Apparently this was happening. “How did you know?” He whispered, not touching his gloves.

“Remus and I both felt naturally drawn to you as soon as you walked into the cafeteria. We could not and still can not explain it. When Patton followed our gaze, he was more than eager to invite you over. Not that he needed the prompting, I am certain he would have invited you over regardless of Remus’ and my feelings the moment you sat alone,” Logan stopped briefly, taking note of the new green smiley face under his last message, “Your reaction to our names and hands in rapid succession was enough to solidify our previous suspicions. That-” He pointed to the shared messages on their skin, “-was the final proof I needed.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Janus at a complete loss for words, until a loud clang to their right grabbed both of their attentions. Remus was clinging to the railing like a vine, having climbed all the way from the bottom, he realized with a start. The older man crawled over the top and landed solidly, rattling the seats, before bouncing over to them.

“Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi!” He plopped onto the bench in front of Janus, sitting backwards to face them. Consequently, he was slightly lower than the other two, and could see Janus’ usually ducked face for the first time. “Oooh, I like your birthmark! Is it a birthmark? Or a burn? Either way, I don’t care. I like it.”

“Gee, thanks,” Janus snarked before he could stop himself, his self protective tendency rising to the surface. Remus only giggled in response, manspreading a tad more and leaning forward on his elbows. 

“I like him, Logan. He’s feisty.”

“I’m so glad I have your approval.” He was on guard now, he couldn’t help it.

“Remus, stop pestering him. He just met us.”

Remus grumbled under his breath but held his tongue. Logan could silence him, he’d have to remember that for the future. If they had a future. He couldn’t help the sliver of hope since they had actually come to find him… but maybe it was to let him down easy. No clue.

“When did you turn eighteen?” The question shouldn’t have shocked him the way it did; it was a valid thought.

“Five months ago.”

And he waited, expecting the worst at the sharp intakes of breath from both of them. Expected them to stand up and leave. Expected them to call him a creep. Expected them to… anything, really. 

Well, anything except take his hands. Which they both did.

It was like they could speak telepathically, the way they seemed to be so in sync. Maybe that was a soulmate thing. Remus reached forward and weaved their fingers together at the same time that Logan placed his hand over Janus’ left one, squeezing it gently. They were both calming gestures in their own ways, and admittedly the most contact Janus had felt in maybe years. If that wasn’t enough to bring back his tears, Logan’s next words certainly were. 

“Why didn’t you write right away?”

“That’s so much missed time we could have spent together,” Remus chipped in, eyes surprisingly soft. 

“I…” Oh, for fuck’s sake. Better let them see how messed up he is now so they can walk away before he gets attached. More attached. “My parents are soulmates and they ended up hating each other. He’s a jerk, he hurts her and me and I didn’t want that to happen to me and my soulmate. Soulmates, I guess. Then the first thing I saw was you guys talking, and I realized, there’s two of you,” He laughed humorlessly, shrugging nonchalantly, “You wouldn’t be missing out if I never made myself known, and what kind of asshole would I be if I intruded on your relationship anyways? It’s not like I can add anything worthwhile. I’m not… that great of a person. I never have been. I have too much baggage and I’m pretty boring and I only scare people away so if I were you I’d get out while I had the chance.” His cracking voice gave away how he actually felt, and he despised himself for it. In all honesty, there was nothing he wanted more than to be held and loved and wanted. He’d never had that before in his life, was it a crime to not want to be pushed aside forever?

To his utter confusion, neither of them pulled away. He’d just vented to two strangers, and they were still as attentive as before. 

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that,” Remus hummed in a decent impression of John Mulaney, letting his thumb glide over Janus’. 

“So if I’m correct,” Logan stated in a tone that implied he usually was correct, “You didn’t contact us because you didn’t want to burden us, or get yourself hurt.”

“I mean… yeah.”

“I’m going to kill your dad,” Remus chirped all too brightly, “For hurting you. And for ever making you think that we would hurt you.” 

“Remus!”

“It’s true!”

Logan sighed heavily, “Remus is a little extreme, sometimes, but he is harmless. Look, I can assure you that your presumptions are entirely false. We would never harm you, and anything you’ve gone through in your past, what you call baggage, is not a deterrent to us in the slightest.”

“I have bipolar disorder, and a whole wacky past that we’ll get into another time,” Remus added, waving away Logan’s ‘shut up’ face, “And in the fifteen years I’ve known this nerd, he’s always stood by me.”

Janus knew it was supposed to feel better, but learning that the two have known each other since long before they knew they were soulmates suddenly made Janus feel that much more like he was intruding. Remus must have noticed his expression, because he quickly kept going.   

“All I mean is that we have our fair share of baggage, my multicolored friend-”

“Remus!”

“Both of us do. So you won’t be hurting us in any way, shape, or form. And we won’t hurt you either.”

Janus’ own doubts were still raging inside him, but each word they said was adding splashes of water, slowly dousing the flames, much to his dismay. Even Remus’ attempts at humor were delighting him in ways he wasn’t used to. 

“For some reason, the universe wants us together somehow. We’re meant to be in each other’s lives. Aw gross, that sounds like something Roman would-”

“Trusting us will be a slow process, and we understand that,” Logan interrupted smoothly, “You don’t need to believe our words, because we’ll prove it to you. Alright?” 

It took a second until Janus nodded, but he did. He could hardly understand it himself.

“Can you start by telling us your name?”

“Janus.” It was a near whisper, a confession of the name he’d disliked since he was old enough to get bullied by his peers.

“The two faced Roman god of decisions, doorways, and new beginnings,” Logan spouted as if on instinct.

“Janus,” Remus repeated slowly, before a huge grin stretched across his face, “I love it.”

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #intruloceit #janus sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au

[seventfics]

Lionhearted

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Talking in your Sleep Relationships: Cirilla/Morvran Voorhis (+ background Emhyr/Geralt) Rating: T  Content Warnings: None Summary: Before her future reign can begin, Cirilla has to commit to the trust exercise that is an arranged marriage. If only her sleep would be peaceful.

Read on AO3

* * *

“...Cirilla?”

Ciri stirs fully awake at a gentle touch over her shoulder. It is a miracle she does not lash out instinctively and break something. Her limbs feel tight, aching by how tense they’d become in sleep. The faint shadows of a nightmare still dance behind her eyes. She hears the clopping of hooves, the horses of the Wild Hunt approaching—the cold blast of winter hits her as if naked in the snow.

Pure imagination. The bedroom is warm-lit by a hearth. It is summer, and she is safe. She is more than safe.

The touch that rose her pulls her back from the lingering vision of doom. She turns to light eyes, pinched in worry.

“Sorry..." She draws the sheets closer, her wild hair a fan over her face. The room is warm, but a chill runs under her skin all the same. "Did I disturb you?”

Morvran studies her. He sits a comfortable distance away from her. The monstrously-large bed makes that easy. “Not really.”

Slowly, her muscles unwind from their tense curl. A minute passes, and she’s tired again. “Don’t let me keep you awake,” she says rolling on her side, and then, almost a whisper, “you know, you can call me Ciri.”

* * *

The final battle is over. It has been for a peaceful few years. And yet, her mind stays restless, ready for the next enemy to come tearing through her life. So far it’s only been arrogant old men with predictable ambitions, which is pitiful compared to the ageless Aen Elle that had chased her through time and space, and the world-ending White Frost waiting at the end of it all. Really, they should step up their game if they want to make her sweat.

Her dreams made of frost and blood do most of the work for them. It's inescapable. Exhausting.

Every time she wakes from snow clogging her lungs, she sees Morvran had stirred awake in the night, and she apologizes with genuine-felt guilt.

Her husband is always polite about it, which is hard for her to accept at first. Experience tells her to expect a confrontation, or a fight about affecting him with her sleeplessness. But Morvran—she discovers quickly into their spousal arrangement—is quiet company, even if sometimes he seems a little on edge himself. A soldier's nervousness lies behind his gaze. The General without a war to fight. At least she’s not the only one struggling with peacetime.

They say that marriage forges a bond between two souls. That is what her father—of all people—tells her on one of their joint-breakfast mornings.

“There is a responsibility there," Emhyr says with enviable composure. "He is the only one’s opinion you must consult and rely on with matters of state.”

Ciri nearly scoffs. “Not even yours then?”

“Not even mine. Do you not trust him?”

She thinks long after that, a little angry with his nonchalance. Of course she doesn't. Of course it's not that easy. Ask any other lady or princess what their marriage gave them and see if any one of them bring up the word trust. Her father is biased. His own marriage had been sown by destiny's hand.

And yet, after the whispers of dark dreams rouse her at night, she does trust Morvran to be near, to remind her with his presence that she is no longer a child running from great and powerful enemies anymore. She is the daughter of the Black Sun. Nothing can touch her now.

Would be nice to sleep well again on her own soon, though.

Emhyr accepts her silence and sips his tea while it is still warm. He doesn't say anything about the dark circles under her eyes, and she doesn't talk about why they're there.

Geralt visits not a day after, the first time after her marriage, and he sure won't let it go unaddressed.

“I'm fine, Geralt. Haven’t slept well is all.”

That is all she's willing to say, not wanting to bother him too much when he'd arrived so happy to greet her. But it’s Geralt. He knows her better than anyone. Better than she knows herself.

"Haven't slept? You know what that does to your clarity of mind. And are you doing anything about it? Is it the mattress? I tell you, they make them too soft in the south. You need a little firmness to stop you when you're tossing..."

His fussing calms her heart. The opposite would be just as true. If he panics, all her own worries neutralize as she remembers how to think straight for him. They are each other's pillars.

So he frets, and she waves him off, feeling a little better by the second.

Tea together in the garden is a relaxing surprise activity with him, although now that he's brought up the topic of modern furniture and poor craftsmanship, Geralt is grouching about how uncomfortable the chairs are.

“They’re meant to keep your spine straight," she says, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, and it’s crap. Doesn’t fit all of me.”

“That’s because you’re carrying fifty pounds of armor and steel. You might not want to rest all your weight on it actually.”

Geralt purposely leans back on his chair, the wood giving an alarming creak. “Are you calling me fat?”

She laughs at him so hard the Impera keeping guard from the garden's entrance twitch their heads to them. They act like a sign of joy from her is a terrifying dragon come to burn the palace down.

“I miss that,” Geralt mutters with a fake pout.

“What? My laughter?”

“Your…ease with it. I know being empress is nothing to scoff at." At the mention of her future court, Ciri touches her imperial diadem—both a symbol of her patrimony and a wedding band. Geralt tracks the gesture. The sigh he gives is heavy and long. "I mean, shit, this whole marriage thing attached to it isn’t what either of us planned for."

The metal warms under her rubbing thumb. "None of what's happened in our journey ever has been."

A witcher's path is unpredictable. One lives by the day and learns to adapt to what comes. And she's doing that still. Adapting like a witcheress. Soon, she'll have to start thinking more like an empress.

"The General," Geralt starts, and she refocuses on him and the serious set of his brow. "He’s a good man at least. A little…eccentric I think, but he is one of the better ones in Emhyr’s court.”

Now it's her turn to grumble, “I know. It’s annoying. I wish I could have a reason to hate him but he’s so…ugh, mannerly!”

This time Geralt laughs, and for a moment, Ciri is a witcher’s child in the wilds again, punting her father’s shoulder for a dumb joke he's pulled at her expense.

She stops suddenly when a familiar figure, all shoulders and dark colors to contrast his light hair, comes through the garden gates. 'Speak of the devil' might be a rude thought to have, yet it perfectly encapsulates how luck draws its cards on her this morning.

“Geralt of Rivia!” comes Morvran’s happy voice. “I thought I heard the rumble of bickering servants on the way here. Now I understand what displeased them so.”

“I’m not wearing their black-and-white cotton traps and you can’t make me.”

Ciri blinks between them. It surprises her how well Geralt gets along with him, and how openly joyous Morvran is being about his company—and yes, she would call him joyous even as his face is subtle in expressing it. Breaking courtly address would normally upset her recently-made husband no matter the suspect. And yet Geralt, who does not mean to do it intentionally, receives no such berating speeches on etiquette and formality. Actually, Morvran shakes his hand the northern way of greeting. Maybe he's good at adapting too.

“Of course not, sir witcher," Morvran says with his other hand raised in acquiescence. "There is no dire interrogation to fulfill at this hour.”

"Don't threaten me with a free clean shave again." To her, he offers a parting, “Alright. I've taken up enough of your time, I’m gonna head out.”

Her heart sinks at the cursory goodbye. This is her father in all but blood leaving her secure little bubble once more, to be a witcher without her. She is not a child anymore—he doesn't ruffle her ashen hair, though she dearly wants him to for old time's sake. It would mess up her diadem and the intricate plaiting of the braids behind her head.

She is not a child anymore, and yet she is already melancholy at the quick turn of his back.

"See you later, Geralt." Her words are a promise. We will see each other again.

As he steps into the flower path that winds back to the guards, Morvran calls out, “His imperial majesty is currently in a meeting.”

Geralt stops. He looks, for some reason, abashed. “What? Why are you telling me that?”

“I thought you would be privy to that information." Morvran shrugs in dismissal. "Va faill."  

It's almost funny how fast Geralt stomps out of the garden. As Ciri observes the exchange, all her previous heartache is swept under the rug. There is something she's not picking up. Fortunately it's not all she has to talk about to her present, lingering company.

“It’s weird that you two actually get along.” At her words, Morvran turns to her with open surprise.

“Geralt of Rivia is a genial man," he says, his hands meeting behind his back as is Nilfgaardian custom in public. "I believe anyone would be glad to refresh their acquaintance with him.”

Ciri, who was not raised with said customs and is instead being tutored in them with little success, snorts. Loudly.

“You just like that you can rope him into joining a riding competition on a promise of free food.”

Under all his Nilfgaardian powder, Morvran blushes. She can see it in his ears.

She laughs at him too.

* * *

It’s another night of bad dreams. Her memories have toyed with her enough that now she is witness to futures she cannot control. Geralt alone on the Path, the Empire at war with itself from her negligence, all of her old friends, her family, broken apart and dying as she lives on.

She wakes slowly, not in a startle or a choked breath. Her body aches worse than if she had.

Morvran is already awake beside her, a frown set upon his lips.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Between waking and the dissipating fear of her nightmare, Ciri is caught completely off guard. “I...didn’t, no.”

He doesn't explain any more, choosing to give her space as he's done for previous interrupted nights. Part of her wants to ask more. She wants to hear what she had said—what nightmare had she been speaking into existence. Did he recognize anything? Did he want to ask, but simply refrain out of properness?

Whatever it is she uttered in fever sleep, she lets it go. Talking about it now would be worse, somehow. Like making her nightmares a real, concrete thing.

Sleep still fights her long into the night. It does not come a second time. Which is good, as she opens her eyes to a timely assassination.

The weapon under her pillow slides into her hand not a breath later. She always keeps something sharp and deadly there. Good habit, both her fathers would say, for different reasons.

Before the assassin can strike, Ciri blinks in between time. They are dead where they stand, frozen mid-step, collapsing the very next instant time moves for her.

In the commotion that follows, everyone wakes. The emperor looks as regal and rested as always and Ciri envies that as her hair resembles a rat’s nest, mussed from the fear-sweat of her haunted sleep. At least Morvran is just as unkempt as her. They make quite the competition for most messy bedhead, side by side. And though the hours stretch on, from private meetings to argued suspicions, Morvran looks in his element. Her element.

Put an enemy in front of them and they will beat it down until it’s rid of.

Her mind is driven to this new task. Securing entry points, questioning any guards that had slack. Her edges feels frayed—sticking to Morvran like a shadow as they move from room to room, servant to official, order to action, way past sunrise. Her angry expression turns any worried servant away from asking for her imperial majesty to eat.

The assassin had tried to kill him. And no one seems to be that concerned since her own head is still attached to her shoulders. Not even Morvran.

Things calm down well past noon. They both return tired and dry-eyed to their arranged room.

She touches his sleeve and holds his weary gaze. “If you die I won’t forgive you.”

Morvran nods, like she makes sense. “I would never plan on it. It would upset your father.”

For a second, Ciri doesn’t know which one he means, and that makes her smile stupidly, at its pure truth.

She wipes her grin off before Morvran has a chance to politely appreciate it.

* * *

“You’re antsy.”

Ciri hums, taking a bite of her deviled eggs. “I'm not antsy.”

“You are bending the good fork.”

She stares down at her hand and finds that Emhyr is right and the fork is just a little twisted at the neck.

"I'm sure someone's job is to fix it. Just, call them."

Nothing in her posture or her expression could possibly tell Emhyr what sits heavy in her head, short of him being a mindreader. And yet, somehow, he pieces everything together correctly to ask, “Would it be so terrible for you to like him?”

Ciri sighs, looking up at the ornate chandelier, begging it to crash down on her and get her out of this conversation. Because she already does like Morvran, quite a lot, and it is terrible. She would hate to admit to her father that he is right. He’ll never live it down.

Of course, she doesn't need to say anything at all. Her godsdamned mind-reading father already knows. When did he learn to read her so effortlessly?

...Has he been consulting Geralt?

However it may be, Emhyr clears his throat and straightens his fork on his side of the breakfast table. “Some people," he says as she sulks internally, "are fortunate and marry the one they love. Others find a way to make it work.”

At his following pause, Ciri straightens in her seat to meet his gaze. His silences are always weighty and grave.

“I hope that he is worth the work,” he ends.

Then the moment passes, and he's eating again. Leaving her to contemplate alone what it means that her father, the emperor, might actually want her to be happy with the man who would share her rule once she is officially crowned. It's...it's trusting. It's too much to think about so early in the morning.

Being who she is, however, Ciri returns to the source of her sulk and the many questions it created.

“So, have you spoken with Geralt?”

Emhyr drinks his tea very slowly. “Of course not. Had he anything important to relay to me?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “I'm sure you know he came to visit recently, but you don’t ask me what we talked about?”

“Whatever it is you two get up to does not concern me.”

She hums, sipping her own tea. “It’s funny I guess, I thought you asked of him through Morvran.”

Emhyr sets his cup down, narrowing his eyes in thought. As he studies her, she keeps on sipping her tea until it’s finished. “Just curious,” she adds before parting for the day. Give him something to puzzle over that isn't her.

* * *

'Did you know you talk in your sleep?'

Only two nights of the next seven does she stir awake. Not from bad dreams, exactly. Not from dark memories or anxious fears either. Ciri rubs her face now, frustrated, pulled from sleep again for no apparent reason.

Morvran is awake beside her, as he always is. His face is not pressed with a frown, though. She can't stop thinking on his words so casually spoken the night an assassin tried to take him from her, and settles back onto her enormous pillows.

“...What did I say this time?”

“Oh,” he blinks at her, and it’s sleepy and lazy, not at all very general-like. “Something about a swallow. That you miss it. Did you used to own a bird?”

She closes her eyes briefly, oddly at peace with her sleep talking. He had listened to her secret fears for all these nights, her haunted screams, and made them his own secrets.

If she could trust him to know that, then, it is not so difficult to trust him with the more simple things.

“No. Swallow was the name of my sword. I carried her with me everywhere.”

“Ah. Where is she now?”

“I gave her to Geralt before I came to be here. A witcher’s sword is not something I can wield from a throne.”

He touches his hand to her cheek, the first time he’s breached courtly etiquette with her. It is warm and callused.

“I am confident that sir Geralt keeps Swallow sharp and oiled so that the blade stays strong. I am...sorry,” he says with more awkwardness.

She covers his hand with her own, a little laugh escaping her when he blinks rapidly at her returned touch, like he had not expected it at all. “It's alright. I entrusted her to him.”

Marriage forges a bond between two people.

#morvran x ciri #rarepair summer bingo #tt #myfics

[mimosaeyes]

This is a dream, then. A fantasy conjured by the last firing of his synapses in the moment before death. Martin silently thanks his subconscious for it. He’s never had faith the way his mother did, but if there is a heaven for him, he’s quite sure it would have Jon in it.

Post-200. Jon and Martin wake up somewhere else. 2.2k, fix-it but not really.

In case this turns out to be the last fic I finish in this fandom, I want to especially thank my beta @emberidzae for introducing me to TMA. Or, at least, for talking about it enough in my general proximity that eventually I got curious.

Someone is cradling Martin’s head on their lap, and running their fingers through his hair. Jon, he thinks absently. He’d know him anywhere, even by such tiny details as the shape of his calluses where he grips a pen, and the texture of his burn-scarred skin.

But that can’t be right. Jon is dead. He’d killed him in the Panopticon, hands shaking until the instant before the knife had plunged in. The only way he could force himself to do it was to make it as quick and painless as possible. He couldn’t falter and draw out Jon’s suffering, not when it was already such a torment to hear him groan and scream as the building began to crumble around them. Or to see the look in his eyes, the utter trust and love warring against the Beholding’s hold on him.

This is a dream, then. A fantasy conjured by the last firing of his synapses in the moment before death. Martin silently thanks his subconscious for it. He’s never had faith the way his mother did, but if there is a heaven for him, he’s quite sure it would have Jon in it.

He breathes, even and steady like he’s trying to fall more deeply asleep. If these are his last seconds of awareness, he wants to spend them just like this.

Then he hears Jon quietly ask, “Are you awake?”

Martin opens his eyes. Jon is peering down at him, his expression tender and tentative. In the weak sunlight, he looks washed out, his features rendered nearly in greyscale. There’s no trace of the bright red from when Martin had lifted a bloody hand to cup his face. The only indication of everything that’s happened is a faint mistiness about Jon’s eyes.

Furrowing his brow, Martin reaches up and touches his cheek. It’s wet; he leaves behind a fine dusting of black sand that has stuck to his fingers. “Are you crying?” he murmurs, almost confused. Surely, if this is all in his imagination, he’d have made Jon happy.

Jon surprises him with a soft laugh. “Tears of relief, Martin. Look around.”

Reluctantly, still half-convinced none of this is really happening, Martin rolls to one side and sits up. Jon scoots over a little for him, even though there’s plenty of space. The shore is completely deserted apart from them, and silent but for the gently lapping water.

“Is this...?”

At Martin’s questioning look, a smile slowly spreads across Jon’s face. It’s a complicated one, balanced between joy and disbelief, sadness and resignation. “Somewhere else,” he affirms.

“But I—” Martin stares at Jon. There’s no blood on him, no wound; only a tell-tale rip in his shirt where the knife had gone in. “I killed you.”

“I told you to,” Jon objects. His hands come up as if to touch Martin, who rocks back on his haunches.

“I killed you,” he repeats, this time in a whisper.

Jon watches him for a moment. His shoulders lift in a helpless sort of shrug. “Or maybe,” he says, “you killed everything that wasn’t me. Everything tethering them there.”

Martin can feel tears welling up in his eyes. He’s shaking his head slowly, but he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he can deny the physical fact of Jon, here with him, miraculously unharmed and apparently, entirely human. It’s not like he wants to, either. He just hadn’t been expecting to wake up again — in a world he may have helped to doom, next to a boyfriend he was supposed to have died with.

It’s a lot to process.

A single sob escapes Martin, and at once Jon is hushing him, almost vaulting forward in his rush to pull him into a hug. They meet awkwardly halfway, in a tangle of clumsy limbs and warmth. 

With Jon’s arms around him, Martin lets himself just cry for a while.

It feels long overdue. The back of Martin’s throat has felt tight and strained since the moment he woke up to find Jon gone. He’d rushed to find Georgie, Melanie, and Basira, and then he’d rushed up the countless flights of stairs in the Panopticon, not daring to stop and catch his breath for fear he’d be too late. He was, anyway, and the moment Jon had turned around to face him, voice crackling with static and eyes illuminated as if from within, it had all come crashing over Martin: Jon had left him behind after all. He’d broken his promise, been so willing to die in some perverse kind of atonement that he hadn’t even waited to say goodbye.

Martin hardly dares to believe he’s here now, rubbing soothing circles over his back and murmuring, “It’s okay. Shh. I’ve got you.”

It takes some time, but eventually Martin subsides. The trembling stops and his breathing slows. Mildly embarrassed, he pulls back from the embrace. “Don’t ever,” he says wetly, poking Jon in the chest, “do that to me again.”

“I won’t,” Jon says softly. He waits until Martin has settled back on the sand, then takes his hand and interlaces their fingers. 

For a while, they both stare out at the water, the way the seafoam stands out against the dark beach.

“Any idea where this is?” Martin asks.

Jon shakes his head. “I think Iceland has black sand beaches, but... you know. That’s back in our reality.”

Martin lets out a long breath. “It worked, then.” His voice is muted with weariness. “We saved the world.”

“And doomed every other one.” Without letting go of Martin’s hand, Jon pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them.

“Not everything is your fault, Jon. We all agreed on the plan.” 

He waits, but Jon gives no sign of having even heard the words. He watches him for a long moment, biting his lip. Then he clambers to his feet and pulls on their linked hands. “Come on.”

Jon blinks up at him. “Where are we going?”

“On a walk,” Martin tells him.

The beach looks the same in either direction, and a steep wall of volcanic rock prevents them from going farther inland. Undaunted, Martin starts off towards the left. Jon follows, possibly from force of habit. They’d gone on many such walks together, in the halcyon days at the safehouse before the world ended. 

Normally, Martin would point things out as they passed them by — good cows being a bonus, of course — but this place seems eerily devoid of life. There aren’t even any seashells or bits of driftwood. The air is still. The fog sits in heavy reams.

He’s just wondering if he should bring it up when Jon abruptly starts talking. He’d given one last statement, he admits, up in the Panopticon before Martin arrived. Becoming the pupil of the Eye had given him answers, at long last, about how the entities came to be. 

Jon’s train of thought is uncertain, and he frowns a lot as he rambles. Sometimes he stops and gazes out across the water, the look in his eyes vacant. It’s probably just a side effect of his being ripped away from the Ceaseless Watcher, Martin tells himself. Probably.

“We created monsters,” Jon says at last, “and then I set them loose on the whole universe.” He stops walking and hunches his shoulders. “What does that make me?”

Martin closes his eyes for a moment. “Jonathan Sims, you are not a monster.”

Beside him, Jon’s breathing goes shaky. “But I told you—”

“That I wouldn’t want to see what was left of you?” Martin interrupts. He hasn’t forgotten the desperate look on Jon’s face in that moment, when he’d first refused to leave him. “I’m looking at you right now, Jon, and you know what I see?”

Illogically, he’s almost angry at him; that’s how frustrated he is that the man he loves cannot seem to stop blaming himself for everything. “I see someone who has given everything to make things right. Who chose kindness, even though he’d been marked and manipulated. Even though he kept getting kidnapped and hunted and hurt and — and used.”

Jon is staring at him now, wide-eyed. Martin thinks about the way he’d looked in what he thought were their last moments together. Beautiful and beatific. He touches two fingers to Jon’s chin, tilting it up. “It’s not monstrous to protect the people you love,” he says. “It’s human.”

With his free hand, Jon swipes at a tear that’s running down his cheek.

“Okay?” Martin presses, but gently.

Jon sniffs. “Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “that your pep talks can be rather aggressive?”

He’s deflecting, but Martin decides to let him get away with it. He’s pushed hard enough for now. In any case, he thinks his words have hit home, at least to some extent. There’s still guilt in Jon’s eyes, but although it runs deep, Martin thinks it looks a little less sharp.

Pulling back and turning to resume their walk, he says, “They have to be, to get through your thick head.”

A corner of Jon’s lips quirks up. “That sounds like something Basira would say.”

“Is she alright, do you think? And Georgie and Melanie?”

Jon waves a hand. “I’m sure they’re fine. They’re probably putting the world back together already.”

“Probably make it better,” Martin muses. He sighs. “They’ll have their work cut out for them.”

A beat. “And what about us?” Jon asks quietly. “What do we do now?”

They fall silent, each contemplating the question. 

If they’ve ended up in the same world as the entities, Martin figures, at some point they’ll probably have to start seeking out organisations like the Magnus Institute, working out who the next Archivist is. And if they somehow stop the apocalypse from happening, it’ll only be for a while. There will always be another attempt to foil. 

By some miracle, they’ve made it here. Maybe they’ll be able to build a life together, and enjoy it for a while. But mostly, the future Martin sees stretching ahead of them is just full of more danger and guilt and sacrifice. 

Jon must be thinking along the same lines, because he sighs and says, “Do you know what this reminds me of? It’s like I thought the play was over, but it turns out it’s only the intermission.”

“What did you want it to be?”

For the space of several breaths, Jon is silent. “A good epilogue,” he says at last. “I’d like to think we deserve that much.”

Martin swallows past a sudden lump in his throat. There isn’t really anything he can say to that, so instead he gives Jon a little nudge, and keeps walking.

When he next looks up, his eye snags on a shape on the shoreline ahead of them. It’s the first thing they’ve come across since they woke up here and started walking. In tacit agreement, they both wander over to get a closer look. 

It’s a small boat, complete with a set of oars. The wood has only the faintest suggestion of brown. It’s been bleached to a light grey, though how long that would have taken, Martin can’t guess. 

He clears his throat. “Is anything about all this just a little bit on the nose to you?”

“What?” Jon asks, still peering at the boat. Then: “Oh.”

This looks more like an ocean than a river, Styx or otherwise, but Martin can’t deny that there’s something ethereal about this place. Interstitial. Plus, there’s the otherwise inexplicable fact that Jon’s wound is gone. Honestly, he should have put it together sooner.

He notices Jon watching him then, his head canted and his expression fond. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Jon says. “You’re just... taking the possibility that you’re dead very well.”

“So are you,” Martin points out.

Jon shrugs. “I’ve had time to get used to the idea. Besides, you’re here.”

His smile, at that moment, is a brittle thing. Martin finds he has to look away from it.

They never seem to get enough time, do they? The cottage in Scotland. That week at Upton House. And now this. Part of Martin is tempted to try and stay here, in this final pocket of respite. He knows that’s irrational, though. 

Maybe this is just a very dramatic-looking beach, and they’ll feel very silly when they wash ashore. Or maybe they’re right. Maybe they’ll get in that boat and... pass on, head towards the light — any one of the phrases people have invented to give shape to the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns.

Either way, Martin realises, they have to find out. And at least they’ll find out together. Subconsciously, he tightens his grip on Jon’s hand.

“What are you thinking?” Jon asks softly.

Martin looks at him for a long moment. “I did want to take you rowing.” Such light words for the weight of what they imply.

“Where you go,” Jon says, “I go.”

Martin smiles. “That’s the deal.”

It takes them a while to get a rhythm going after they push off from the shore. Martin rows, and after a while, to his mild delight, Jon starts singing a sea shanty under his breath, keeping time to the beat of the oars. 

And as the shore disappears behind the fog, Martin is surprised to find that colours start to filter back into the world. Pinks and yellows, the likes of which the sky above his head hasn’t contained in so long.

He looks at Jon, who looks back at him and nods. 

They meet the sunrise. They leave the world behind.

[also available on AO3 here]

[my TMA fic on AO3]

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #mimofic

[kingreywrites]

Before Something Breaks (that cannot be fixed)

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 6843

Summary: She can't bet Eugene's survival on her hope, Rapunzel understands with a start. It's as if time resumes its course, and suddenly she realises that Eugene is still alive, still fighting and she needs to do something.

Or Eugene doesn't bleed out quite as fast as he does in the movie. Rapunzel desperatly tries to save him.

Note: HAPPY TANGLED ANNIVERSARY!! I’ll spare you my half-coherent sappy speech, just know that I love this movie and this fandom with my whole heart and that my life wouldn’t be the same without it :’) I hope you like this story, and have a great day!!

Read on ao3

Her mother's yell echoes for what feels like forever. Some part of her brain whispers that she should call her Gothel, because she was never her mother, but that only makes her eyes sting with tears of pain and fear and anger. The window she had spent her childhood looking out appears dim and frightening now, and she wonders what she would see, if she looked down this time. She wonder what mother- Gothel- she wonders if she's-

Eugene, her mind screams, shaking her from her thoughts. "Eugene," she repeats out loud, turning towards him quickly, and her blood freezes when she sees him lying prone and motionless on the ground.

She doesn't think as she hosts him up in her lap - she can't think beyond the terror gripping her. Eugene is too limp, too heavy, and her ears are buzzing too loudly for her to hear herself repeat "no" over and over again, as if she can say it enough for him to listen.

His cheek is still warm when she touches it lightly, unsure of what she can even do. When Eugene coughs, the sound feeble and pained, her relief tastes like poison. He's hurt, and she can't- she can't- His head lolls to the side again, and she feels like she can't breathe.

"Look at me," she pleads, intimately aware that she's the only thing keeping his head up, that he doesn't seem able to even open his eyes. "Look at me Eugene," she repeats, "I'm right here." She brushes his hair away with her trembling hands and trembling voice, hoping he can hear her, that she can comfort him just as much he did her before he… Before he cut her hair, and doomed himself for her.

He doesn't open his eyes. Rapunzel feels like she's dying along with him, because that's the only thing that could explain the terrible pain building up in her chest.

"Don't go, stay with me Eugene," she begs him, before begging the universe to listen to her one last time.

She takes his hand in hers, ignores how cold and unresponsive it is, brings it to her hair and sings. She sings, and hopes against hope that everything will be alright, that her gift will answer to her like it did all her life. It has never been as important as today. She's falling apart at the second line, because she knows it's not working. When she sang the incantation, the warmth always built from within her, before her hair started to glow but now... Now she's cold. Empty. She keeps going against the sobs that violently try to escape, keeps going despite her hope abandoning her - but Eugene whispers her name, and she stops for him. Of course she does.

His eyes are open now, but she can see how hard he's struggling to keep it that way. He does it for her, and she knows that. Knows that once again, he's fighting his own pain and fear to be with her, to reassure her. His hand has slipped from her hair to her face, and though she's still the only thing keeping it raised, Eugene's fingers twitch as he tries to cup her cheek. Her eyes are welling up, burning with an emotion she can't admit yet, but she blinks the tears out as best as she can to look at him.

He seems tired. He seems scared. He's obviously in pain, his face too pale when she remembers it glowing warmly under the light of the lanterns.

"You were my new dream," he breathes out, and it feels like the world is crashing down around her, because her heart bursts with love and terror and sorrow, all at the same time. She wonders if this is grief. Wonders if there's anything she can do to fix this.

"And you were mine," she whispers, because that's the only thing she can say. She hopes he understands everything she's trying to tell him here; hopes he knows that the lanterns suddenly pale in comparison to the joy and love he makes her feel, and that she's never felt as strongly about anything before. She holds his hand as tightly as she dares, deathly afraid of hurting him.

Eugene smiles. Rapunzel's heart is bleeding, even if no one can see it.

He opens his mouth, trying to say something else, but a deep, rattling cough interrupts him, and he grows even paler. She didn't think it was possible. His expression twists with the pain, and Rapunzel is hit by the weight of her own inability to help him. What is she, now that she's not useful? What does her dearly desired freedom mean, faced with the loss of the man she already loves so deeply?

Eugene's hand feels heavier than her hair ever was, when she carefully lays it next to him. His breathing is laboured, and she can hear his lungs straining against the shock settling over his body. Her hands hover above his wound, and her first thought is that she should try to finish her song, that maybe- maybe-

She can't bet Eugene's survival on her hope, she understands with a start. It's as if time resumes its course, and suddenly she realises that Eugene is still alive, still fighting and she needs to do something. She can't spend that precious time wallowing. She takes another look at his wound, trying to think about what she can do now that she doesn't have any magic left. His gasps of pain break her heart a little more, and she knows she needs to think quickly.

She remembers that, when she had been drawing in the public place, a little girl had fallen, and hurt her knee. Rapunzel had touched her hair worriedly, because she had felt guilty that she couldn't help, and Eugene, who had immediately noticed, had assured her that people healed naturally. "Sure, magic is quicker," he had added jokingly, "but doctors have learned to do without it for a while now."

Doctors. She needs to find help.

Her mind is muddled, going through every of her possibilities, though the first one she rejects outright is leaving Eugene alone and hurt while she seeks help. She might be faster by herself, but if he- if he's alone when- she refuses to leave him. There's only one thing left to do, and it's taking him with her to the Kingdom - her Kingdom. She may not know much about Corona, or royalty, but she knows being the Lost Princess will mean that they'll help her.

Most importantly, that they'll help Eugene.

Looking around, she gets up quickly to grab the closest tool she finds, brushing off the tears from her eyes. She would cry later; for now, she raises her hammer and strikes as hard as she can on the chain of the manacles. Her wrists are still burning from her time being bound; she had fought, of course she had, panic and horror in her throat because it was her mother and nothing made sense anymore, but she hadn’t managed to get free. She finds a sick comfort in striking the metal over and over again now, muscles hurting and arms trembling from the adrenaline.

The chain finally breaks. Rapunzel is shivering, but she can't stop to think about it. She pats Eugene's face as tenderly as possible, and he opens his eyes to a slit - but he doesn't seem able to meet her gaze. His skin is cold and clammy, and Rapunzel feels like crying, but she doesn't have the time for that.

"This is going to hurt," she whispers, loud in the silence of her broken childhood home. "I'm sorry."

His lips twitch, but he doesn't answer - she'll probably never know what he was trying to say. She takes one of his arms and passes it around her shoulders, this motion enough to make him whimper in pain. She repeats how sorry she is, again as she makes him sit up and he cries out, again as she gets them both standing in one swift movement, again as she sees a tear slips through his tightly closed eyes.

And again. And again. And again, because Eugene can't even hold himself up, and she feels his blood flowing under the palm of her hand, and he's hurt, terribly hurt, and it's all her fault. Now look what you've down Rapunzel, she thinks bitterly as each step of the staircase she had only discovered today feels like torture. The soft moans of pain coming from Eugene are preferable to his silence, but it's a terrible kind of preference. It means that he's alive, and that he's suffering, all because she was too gullible, too naive to see beyond her mother's lies.

She stumbles, nearly makes them fall, and the wrenched noise coming from Eugene is enough to make her dissolve in excuses and void reassurances, but it's not enough. It won't be enough until she saves him - but this thought is enough to spur her into motion again.

She's breathing heavily for the last steps, and Eugene is too, for different reasons. She doesn't feel like she'll be able to survive the abominable fear within her heart, not when she can hear how laboured and pained his breaths are. If he dies-

Maximus meets her at the base of the tower, looking scared. He startles when he sees Eugene barely hanging onto her shoulder, blood starting to stain the top of his trousers, and nothing of the confident thief he had spent these last years chasing. Rapunzel takes another step, and Maximus comes closer quickly, kneeling to make it easier for her and Eugene to climb.

She helps Eugene sit down first, before moving his right leg on the other side of the saddle. She sees as he clumsily tries to help, but he's too weak, and immediately starts to fall sideways - she keeps him sitting up as best as she can, and apologises again when a too sudden move makes him cry out softly. There's not enough apologies in the world to make this better. She sits down behind him, letting him rest against her chest, his hair tickling her neck as his head lolls on her shoulder. She holds him tightly, and tries to ignore the blood on her hands, and her dress, and Max's usually stark white coat.

She hears a squeak, and turns to see Pascal climbing next to her, looking sad and worried. Just like that, her guilt grows even bigger, because she nearly forgot her best friend in her panic; but Pascal pats her hand gently, settles on her thigh, and she knows she can't focus on that right now.

Maximus stands up again, and he takes off, going more quickly than Rapunzel ever went in her life. She has never ridden a horse before, but there's no joy to be found in the wind whipping through her hair and the scenery racing past her - she doesn't even notice these things. She's too busy listening to Eugene's raspy breathing, muttering comforting words that she's not sure he can hear, and praying, praying for everything to be alright.

She wants to believe in their happy ending. She wants to believe that unfairness has an end, that there is a kindness in the world that her mother had never seen, and that she deserves it. Rapunzel is tired of sacrifices.

She holds Eugene in her arms, and knows that she can neither wait nor give up on this new dream. She thinks about the future; thinks about it as much as she can when it feels like it's slipping through her fingers; and she knows that no matter what, she wants Eugene to be a part of it. She's certain already that the feeling blooming in her heart is love, that Eugene makes her feel seen and loved, and she doesn't want to go back to an existence without him. In three days, he gave her more than she had ever expected from life; he gave her comfort, and friendship, and trust. He gave her confidence, and pushed her to see that her life didn't have to stop at the lanterns, that she deserved more than what she had. He gave her the courage to stand up for herself, to reclaim the freedom that was taken from her so long ago.

And he gave her his life, too, or tried to, and now her only wish is to give it back. So she keeps Eugene nestled against her, and begs Maximus to go faster, knowing that he can't. Max still tries.

There's an irony in her place of birth being so close to her prison, but Rapunzel doesn't notice it, too busy panicking because she thought Eugene had stopped breathing. One hand under his neck, she seeks his heartbeat, and tries not to tremble when she finds it weak and uneven.

But Eugene is still breathing. It's an obvious struggle, but he does it. "It's gonna be okay," she whispers again, adjusting her grip on him. She can't let him fall. She won't let him die. "I'll save you. I promise."

Eugene doesn't answer. She knew he wouldn't, but it hurts nonetheless, because Eugene loves to talk, and tell dramatic stories, and laugh. She wants him to be able to do it again. She wants him to talk to her again, selfishly perhaps. She wants him to tell another stupid joke, and feel a smile so big on her face that it hurts her cheeks. She wants him to look at her again like she holds the universe in her eyes, she wants- she wants-

Maximus enters the kingdom at full speed, and she hears startled screams all around her as they rush through the streets.

"Halt!" someone yells, and Rapunzel sees the golden armours of the guards from the corner of her eyes, catching the sunlight as they run to corner them. Maximus is smarter than them, however, and manages to escape their strategy easily enough.

"It's Rider!" she hears too, the surge of protectiveness and anger within her another incentive to keep going, if she even needed one. She won't let anyone hurt Eugene more.

The horse's jumps and sharp turns save their lives, but make the travel rough, and Eugene's grunts of pain feel way louder and accusatory to Rapunzel than the chaos going on around them. Her hands are trembling. Her dress clings to her left leg because of the blood that Eugene is still losing, and the sensation is enough to make her want to cry, but she can't. Not now.

Maximus comes to a stop in front of the castle's doors, and what feels like hundreds of soldiers point arrows and spears at them. Rapunzel knows she can't be afraid.

"Rider! You!" a man shouts, and she recognises him as the one who ordered the soldiers around earlier. Their Captain? He's red with anger as he looks at them. "Both of you get down from this horse, you're under arrest!"

"I need help," Rapunzel says loudly, hating the tremors she can hear in her own voice. "He's hurt, and he needs a doctor."

The Captain pauses, his eyes not leaving Eugene, before a surprised smile appears on his face. "Well, at least he's gonna be easier to arrest that way. He's condemned to death anyway."

Eugene moans. She was holding him too tight. She breathes out an apology, and hopes he can't hear how furious she is. Still on Maximus, she towers above all these men, and feels the way her short hair moves with the wind as she raises herself up even more.

"You're going to let us through, and get us a doctor," Rapunzel orders harshly, "because I am the Lost Princess."

A heavy silence follows her declaration. For the first time, the Captain stops glaring at Eugene and looks at her, truly looks at her. She sees the mirth in his eyes slowly turns into awe, as shock, horror and a multitude of emotions play on his face. Rapunzel wonders if she looks like the mother she had seen on the mosaic, royal and graceful as she held her baby, strength shining in her delicate features; she wonders if she looks like the father at her side, eyes hard as he watched over those he loved, ready to protect them at any cost.

She knows that her eyes are as green as they were back then.

Chatters erupt among the soldiers, hiding the noise from the Captain's sword hitting the ground. His voice, however, cuts through the crowd easily.

"Lower your weapons."

"What-" "Cap!" "But-"

"I gave you an order!" Rapunzel feels like her entire body is buzzing with anxiety. The weapons are lowered. "Maximus, get them to the infirmary."

Just like that, they are moving again, the guards letting them go through the door. Rapunzel hears the Captain order someone to go find the King and Queen, but she's too focused on Eugene to care right now. She doesn't notice the beautifully decorated hallways, or the flock of guards following a horse inside the castle. She hears Eugene's raspy breathing, and feels how limp and heavy he is against her, and there's nothing else but these sensations in this moment.

They arrive in front of a door and nurses start piling out, assessing the situation in one glance and giving out instructions harshly. When guards try to help her lower Eugene, Rapunzel's first instinct is to fight them; fight to protect him while he can't, like he did for her before. Panic is choking her, but she comes to her senses, and lets them take him, as hard as it is. Quickly enough, Eugene is carried to a bed, and a woman is trying to ask her questions, but Rapunzel rushes past her mindlessly.

She's not going to leave Eugene alone. She thinks she says that out loud, because people look at her worriedly, before going back to their organised chaos. They force her to stay back a few feet from Eugene, and the distance feels like a physical strain.

There are too many people moving and talking around her, so she focuses on Eugene's face, the glimpses she gets of it, and ignores the way her stomach twists with fear. They're taking off his jacket, and the patch of bright red on his white undershirt makes her want to puke.

"-kay?"

"Huh?" Rapunzel startles, meeting a young woman's concerned face.

"Are you okay?" She points at the blood on her hands and on her dress. Rapunzel feels herself shake, and wishes the courage she had found in herself earlier hadn't faded away so easily. She feels young, and very stupid, suddenly.

"It's his," she chokes out, and that's enough to garner a look of pity and compassion - but she's already looking back at Eugene. She wants to hold his hand. Wants him to know that she's here, that she got help, that everything is going to be alright. She wants to believe that too, that soon she'll feel the steady and sure beat of his heart on his wrist, his breathing calm and peaceful.

She tries to take a step towards him, dizzy and terrified, but someone stops her. She's numb as she recognizes the Captain, his eyes disbelieving and, now, full of a certain softness as he watches her. It's a far cry from the hatred he had shown earlier.

"Rider needs space, your Highness."

"Eugene," she corrects, harsher than she intended, "his name is Eugene." And I'm Rapunzel, she doesn't add, still reeling from the title. She's convinced him fully, somehow, that she was telling the truth, but she still has trouble believing it herself.

"Eugene," the Captain repeats, but doesn't seem to care all that much - he's too focused on her this time.

"He- he saved my life. I just want him to know that… that I'm here," she stutters. It’s woefully inadequate to describe what Eugene did for her, but she’s not sure if that’s something she can truly explain. Every word feels lacking.

"Where... We searched for you," the Captain says fervently, as if he's scared she doesn't believe him. She doesn't care much about that, right now. "Everywhere, every year, we sent soldiers to find you. I swear-"

"It's okay," she mumbles, before cringing and repeating it louder. Her eyes keep straying to Eugene's prone form, hidden away by the medics around him, and the more she's away, the more terrified she feels. "I just want… I just want Eugene to be fine. Then I'll be fine."

The Captain grimaces, and she remembers dizzily that he hates Eugene. Or maybe he thinks Eugene won’t be fine? Before he can try to say anything, however, a nurse starts yelling that there are too many people here, and asks everyone who isn't necessary to leave. Rapunzel's head is swimming, her feeling both overwhelming and muted, and she's trying to come up with an argument to be allowed to stay - but, before she says anything, the Captain intervenes in her favour, and as easy as that, they move her around and sit her on a chair next to Eugene's bed. He has blood on his lips, and her eyes are glued to this speck of red against his too pale skin.

Time is moving too fast and too slowly. She blinks, and suddenly she has a blanket over her shoulders, and she feels Pascal holding her hand under it, hiding so he doesn't scare anyone. Her other hand is holding Eugene's though. It's the same hand that she healed, not even one two days ago. The same hand that cut her hair, and set her free at the same time it condemned him.

His wound is now bandaged. Her eyes go to it, and she sees that it's starting to bleed through anyway, his chest rising and falling achingly slowly.

"Miss?"

"Rapunzel," she says, noticing that there are way less people around Eugene now. There's still a guard at the door, and the same young woman from earlier is looking at her again, a kind smile on her face. “Is he… How is he?”

The woman bites her lips. That’s not a good sign. Rapunzel thinks distantly that she can still count on her fingers the number of people she talked to directly in her life, and she wonders if it’s why nothing seems to make sense. Her head hurt, like it sometimes does after a good, long cry, but she hasn’t spilled a tear since she saw Eugene abandon her - though now, she knows he didn’t want to.

Will she be able to ask him what happened? Will she be able to talk to him ever again?

The nurse is talking to her, but the buzzing in Rapunzel’s ears blocks most of it out. Her voice is nice, low and soothing, talking to her like she talked to hurt animals that sometimes ended up in her tower. The nurse’s hands are cold against hers, but she helps her wash off the blood with a wet towel, and Rapunzel is frantic to get it off, letting go of Eugene’s hand for a few minutes that feel like years. The other woman tries to get a look at the chaffing on her wrists, but Rapunzel doesn't let her, instead taking Eugene's hand again, because she wants him to know she’s here. She hopes he’s not scared. He doesn’t look conscious of much right now, but there are lines of pain around his eyes, and his mouth is twisted, and she’s… She’s worried. Terrified.  She doesn't even notice the nurse leaving her side; she isn't aware of anything but Eugene.

Rapunzel did everything she could, but it doesn't feel like enough. So she watches over him, and silently swears to protect him, to never let anything else happen to him if only he can wake up for her this one time.

“Please,” she whispers, leaning towards Eugene, blind to the odd looks she was getting from the people in the room. “Just do this last thing for me, and I’ll never ask anything again, I promise.”

It’s the kind of promises that Gothel would have liked. But Eugene, she remembers, fought for her happiness, and sacrificed- tried to sacrifice everything for her freedom. Gently, Rapunzel pushes his hair from his eyes, and tries to come up with better words, a better promise that Eugene would want to listen to. And she knows it’s not money, not an island, not her crown that Eugene wants; it’s not her hair either, not her devotion, not her obedience and loyalty. He's not Gothel. He's not Flynn Rider. He's sweet, selfless, courageous Eugene Fitzherbert, and she loves him.

“I don’t think I can be happy without you,” she admits to him, and to herself.

She was scared to even think about it, this possible “after Eugene” that she can barely conceive. She still is. There’s no after that seems worthwhile, and her own words make it all the more obvious to her. But she’s still holding his hand, and he’s still breathing, despite it all, and she’s certain that, more than anything, Eugene wants her happiness.

So she promises him that there’s nothing that could make her as happy as his survival, and hopes that it will be enough. It has to be.

------

Doctors and nurses keep coming in and out of the room. They check on Eugene, and refuse to meet her eyes as they leave again, looking more worried than before. Rapunzel tries not to care. She wants to ignore everything but Eugene; wants to forget about the guard still standing here, as if Eugene was ready to spring up and flee the crown; wants to forget about the murmurs surrounding her, and the word "princess" people keep muttering. There were more people in the city, but Rapunzel has never felt as crowded as now.

The door opens. There’s a gasp, that Rapunzel nearly misses, so focused as she is on ignoring everything but Eugene. But she still hears it, and curiosity makes her look up.

When she raises her head, she meets eyes that are as green as hers.

She sees, from the corner of her eyes, a nurse curtsying before leaving the room quickly. The guard leaves too, without anyone having to ask him to. But Rapunzel barely notices it - her eyes are glued on the people who just entered the room; on the woman taking an unsteady step forward, looking exactly like her, and on the tall man behind her, his face a mixture of awe and shock. 

The Queen and the King.

Her mom and her dad.

Something uncurls in her chest, and as she gets up slowly, still holding Eugene’s hand, she knows this… This feels right. This feels like the key to understanding a mystery she didn’t even know was there, feels like looking into a mirror and finally seeing in her appearance something that resembles home.

Rapunzel doesn't know who took the last step, but suddenly, her- her mom is holding her tightly in her arms, and she melts. Her mom is... She’s warm. She smells like flowers, somehow. And then Rapunzel’s dad is here, a steady and strong presence enveloping her, and it’s better than all the hugs Gothel ever gave her.

She doesn't know them, but she can sense how genuine their love is in the teary laughs from her father, and the contained shaking from her mom. And deep down, she wonders if she can finally fall apart here, secure in the idea that there will be someone to pick up her pieces.

Her hand still hasn't left Eugene's. They're all standing awkwardly next to his bed, and she knows she can't let herself cry now, not yet, not when he still needs her to be strong for him. Her mom’s hand trails down from her shoulder, before hovering above Rapunzel and Eugene’s linked ones, and she’s the first one to look up from the hug so she can watch Eugene. Her eyes crease with concern, and Rapunzel lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, because they don’t seem to hate Eugene. She won’t have to defend him from their words, won’t have to hear their disappointment in her choice of friends, won’t have to fight to heal h- for them to try to heal him.

“Is this…”

“Eugene,” Rapunzel interrupts softly, before biting her lips. “I- He’s the one who… saved me.”

“And we will do anything in our power to save his life, sweetheart,” her dad says, his voice low and warm. He still has tears in his eyes when he cups her cheek softly, as if he’s scared to touch her. “Is… Is your name…?”

“I’m Rapunzel,” she answers, suddenly wondering if that’s another thing Gothel took from her, another part of her identity that was lost all those years.

She’s reassured by her mom’s warm expression. “That’s the name we choose for you. After the flower that saved your life, and mine,” she smiles, brushing Rapunzel’s hair away from her eyes. “I missed you so much.”

Rapunzel isn’t sure what to say to that. She didn’t miss them, not really, because she didn’t know there was anyone she could miss - but she had been missing them, in a way. She can’t really explain. They don’t look like they expect an explanation, anyway.

They tell her their names, Frederic and Arianna. She’s not sure if they would be okay with her calling them that - Gothel absolutely hated being called anything but mother. Thankfully, she’s saved the awkward question by a little squeak from under the blanket.

Pascal pokes his head out. The queen gasps, and Rapunzel is already preparing her excuses, ready to beg mother to let her keep him because she doesn’t think she can survive without Pascal or without Eugene and she can’t-

“Aww,” her mom smiles, booping Pascal’s head. “And who’s that little guy?”

Eugene’s hand is still heavy in her own, but for an instant, Rapunzel feels lighter. She explains who Pascal is, and wishes that there was a soft and joking voice next to her arguing that he was a frog, not a chameleon.

But Eugene stays unconscious, and despite being surrounded by new people that love her, Rapunzel feels lonely.

------

The night is cold.

Rapunzel still has the blanket they gave her earlier, but she's shivering despite it. Everything is silent, except for her breathing and Eugene's, though his is so quiet she has to strain to hear it.

"This night will be tough," the doctors had said to her parents, when they thought she was too far away and distracted to listen. "There's a chance that Mr. Fitzherbert won't make it."

Her dad (the word still felt new in her mind, because she never had a dad before, and never thought she would) had asked quietly about Eugene's odds, and she didn't hear the doctors' response, but their faces were answer enough.

She hates the hopelessness that's growing within her. She hates that she can't be strong enough to ignore the crushing panic and fear that Eugene is going to die.

She doesn't want to grieve him.

When her parents told her that she had a bedroom for the night, and that she needed to get some sleep, she said that she wanted to stay here. When they assured her that Eugene wouldn't be alone, she asked if she could be the one who looked after him, if they could be left alone. Her parents couldn't refuse her anything. (Some part of her mind whispers that it's because they think Eugene will die, and don't want to keep her away. Rapunzel is too tired to fight it.)

Her chair is close enough to the bed that she can rest her head on the pillow easily, but she's too scared of falling asleep to do it. She hadn't slept the night before already, instead walking all night with her heart in her throat and her mother- Gothel at her side as they made their way back to the tower. The exhaustion is making her jittery now, but if she closes her eyes and Eugene dies, she will never forgive herself.

Eugene coughs. It sounds like he's breathing broken glass, and Rapunzel can only stroke his cheek gently, trying to bring him comfort in the middle of this pain. She's not sure it means much, but just in case it does, she'll do it.

"It's gonna be okay," she says softly. "No matter what, Eugene, you'll be fine."

She realises halfway that this sounds like a goodbye. But Eugene is hurting, face pale and pinched as sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead. Eugene is hurting, and earlier she told him that he needed to wake up so she could be happy, but if he can't- if he dies, thinking that he was disappointing her, that he was responsible for her sadness, Rapunzel would never forgive herself.

So this is a goodbye, maybe. She doesn't want it to be.

"Thank you," she breathes, bringing her face close enough that her nose nearly touches his.

The moonlight is the only thing illuminating the room, and it's oddly reminiscent of their time in the flooding cave, the darkness revealing their softness and vulnerabilities. Eugene Fitzherbert, he had told her, a shy and awkward smile on his lips - but a genuine smile, which shone brighter than her hair ever did, and gave her the faith to keep going.

"Thank you, for everything," she repeats, her heart and her voice breaking as one. Her lips tremble. Eugene's breathing sounds slower, more difficult as time goes on. "Thank you for breaking into my tower," she laughs wetly, "and for making me meet all these wonderful people. Thank you for taking me to the lanterns and- and thank you for making me see how much more life had to offer."

Thank you for saving me, she can't bring herself to say, because she has never wished for anything more than for Eugene to have been a little bit more selfish. He should have saved himself, her mind keeps screaming, with an accusatory and angry tone she barely recognises. (“You should have saved him,” it yells even louder. Rapunzel squashes the self-hatred, knowing that it will come back with a vengeance later.)

She puts her hand above his heart softly, and feels the slow and jerky inhales of his lungs, and knows that she failed. She failed, and she lied, because she didn't save him, and he's going to- he...

Eugene is going to die.

The tears she had managed to keep at bay until now flood her eyes. She sniffles quietly, and wonders if she made a difference at all, if all of this... if it helped Eugene, or only helped her. She wonders if that was her being selfish again, hurting those she loves because she wanted more of life than what it could give her.

But she can't regret fighting for Eugene. She knows he would have fought for her too, that he wouldn't be angry with her for wanting to be free, or to save his life.

"Thank you for being my new dream," she whispers, because she doesn't think she can voice the affection and hope and love he gave her in another way. Eugene had found exactly the right words, as he always seemed to do.

She might have dreamt it, but a smile seems to appear at the corner of his lips, tiny and fleeting before she can truly look at it. Eugene sighs, a little louder than before. She's close enough to see his face relaxing unnaturally. Close enough to hear that there's nothing to hear anymore. Close enough to feel when his chest doesn't rise up as it should.

Just like that, Eugene is dead.

Gently, feeling as if her hands aren't really hers, Rapunzel touches Eugene's cheeks, her thumbs tracing faint circles under his eyes. He's still warm. The night is still cold. And Rapunzel is freezing, her heart like ice into her chest, spreading numbness in her veins with every beat.

"Flower gleam and glow," she sings, without even thinking about it. Maybe she's seeking the warmth the incantation always gave her. Maybe she's not ready to give up yet. She doesn't know. She doesn't know, doesn't think, as she rests her forehead on Eugene's, her eyes blurred by tears.

(Let your power shine)

Rapunzel keeps singing. The words she knows by heart feel different on her tongue.

(Make the clock reverse)

(Bring back what once was mine)

They're bitter.

(Heal what has been hurt)

(Change the fates design)

They're desperate.

(Save what has been lost)

(Bring back what once was mine)

It's a hope she can't help but cling to, even though it's burning her. But the song doesn't answer. The warmth of the sun has disappeared, dying with Eugene, perhaps. It would make sense. He has brought light into her life, of course it would die with him.

"What once was mine," she finishes, thinking of everything they shared, everything they should still get to share together, because Eugene didn't deserve to die like this, not this young, not this painfully, not- not because of her.

Eugene deserved... They deserved a happy ever after.

She can't stop her tears any longer. There's no need to be strong anymore, so she crumbles and sobs over him quietly. The world feels small. Muted. Like it's narrowing around herself.

And then, there's a light.

She opens her eyes in time to see the remnants of a golden flower disappear from Eugene's cheek, colour coming back to his skin. Before she can process that, his wound starts glowing under the bandages, the strands of lights like warm and bright gusts of winds around her. She's breathless, eyes wide with disbelief as they switch between Eugene's face and the flower made of light erupting from his wound.

The light disappears as quickly as it came. There's a beat, a second when Rapunzel isn't quite sure what to expect, and her hands tremble as she tries and fails to push her hair out of her face.

Eugene blinks his eyes open, and whispers her name.

"Eugene?" she asks, because she's scared of believing it's over only to be hurt again, and she can't... she doesn't understand how-

"Did I ever tell you I've got a thing for brunettes?" he smiles, and that's such a Eugene thing to say that relief explodes in her chest all at once, and she scrambles on the bed to hug him, new sobs escaping her. He hugs her back tightly, his head on her shoulder, and he feels here and alive and strong - it's the best thing she has ever felt.

She can't stop holding him, even as she raises her head back up to look at him. She sees the tears in his own eyes, and the shy, happy smile on his lips, and she can't contain the love she holds anymore. She kisses him, and nearly cries when he kisses her back, both desperate and happy and an impossible mixture of other emotions too. He's warm under her. His pulse is fast, but it's because she's kissing him, and nothing else. He shuffles to sit up more correctly, and she hugs him again, whispering his name over and over, scared that it's all a dream.

But this feels real, like nothing has ever felt. The sun is rising slowly, but Rapunzel's sees its light already in the way Eugene's eyes shine when he looks at her.

"You saved me," he whispers, his nose touching hers. She thinks of all the ways she failed to do that, or at least tries to, but he's already cupping her cheek softly, as if he knew exactly where her mind would go. "I don't remember everything but... But I know you saved me. And even before that you- I... You saved me, Rapunzel. Thank you."

"Thank you," she answers with a laugh, tears tracking down her cheeks. This isn’t a goodbye anymore, and the realisation makes her hold on him even tighter, the tears falling faster. "Thank you for saving me too."

She’s not sure if she’s talking about him cutting her hair, or him coming back to her. Maybe it’s about him, making her see that she deserved to be free, that she was so much more than what Gothel wanted of her. Maybe it’s about his smile, shining brighter than the sunlight behind him, making her life brighter too, only by existing.

She hugs him again, as tight as she can, and knows that whatever it is, her statement still holds true. Eugene is her new dream, and she’s his - she may not be sure of what her future holds, but she knows she’ll have Eugene at her side for it. And there’s nothing that could make her happier.

#tangled #tangled the series #Rapunzel #Eugene Fitzherbert #Tangled 10th Anniversary

[ragingbookdragon]

Should Judgement Come To Pass

Asra x M!Apprentice

Word Count: 2.8K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: My spin on Book 20: Judgment, 1. The Red Room. Enjoy! -Thorne

           It was the oppressive emotion that kept his throat tight, heart hammering in his chest as he gazed from his plate to the other members of the Devil’s dinner party. Even if he wasn’t under the compulsion like Asra and them, his movements made him feel like he was. Too focused on trying to fit in, to keep the secret of his freedom hidden, it was eating away at his usually reserved demeanor. His eyes shifted to Asra, just a second is all it took for the other to nod and he inhaled deeply, glancing towards the Devil, an inviting smile growing underneath his mask. And the Devil smiled back, but it was anything but friendly.

           “See, (Y/N). All of this isn’t so bad.” He raised the silver goblet in his hand, and (Y/N) took a moment to glance at his own wine, imagining one of those vampire eels swimming around in it.

           “There’s food and wine, all of your favorite people in the same place. What more could you even ask for?” (Y/N) knew he had to play this by ear, and his answers had to seem like the most selfish he could possess.

           “I’d like…power.” He allowed a mock look of greed to come across him, voice dark and lusting. “If this is how it’s going to be, I want power.” The Devil burst into a roaring laughter, Valdemar and the others following.

           “Power!” The Devil repeated with a low chuckle. “Perhaps you and I are not so different after all, (Y/N).” He gave him a knowing look. “I bet you want to return to the great monster hunter you were before, hmm?”

           (Y/N) took a moment to think it over. “I can’t deny it’s crossed my mind.” His eyes flitted to Nadia and he sent a silent plea that she would play along. “When I was as powerful as I was three years ago, I had princesses tripping over themselves to make me their consorts.”

           Nadia was one smart cookie because she scoffed and spat, “You are just the same as Lucio.”

           He winked and flashed a pearly grin. “I can’t deny that power has its benefits.”

           “All mortals want power, Nadia,” the Devil tutted before turning his attention back onto (Y/N). “You desire to crush your enemies and to befuddle your betters…” his eyes darted to Asra. “To protect the ones you love dearly.”

           A bolt of white-hot anger thundered in (Y/N)’s chest, but he merely smiled through his clenched teeth. “What can I say? I’m a greedy bastard.”

           Some of the attendents laughed, and that was when (Y/N) felt the cool whisper of Asra’s magic was over him and Faust. Averting his gaze, he absentmindedly ran his pointer around the rim of his wine glass.

           “So, Devil?”

           The dark, maroon eye fell on him. “Yes, (Y/N)?”

           “Can I ask you something before the world is shot to hell?”

           The Devil snorted. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. The world isn’t going to end, it’s just going to be…altered.”

           (Y/N) met his stare head on. “Why go through all this trouble? You’re an Arcana. You have control of an entire realm, and anybody stupi—understanding enough of magic to deal with?”

           Tutting once more, the Devil sighed. “(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N). Do you have any idea what any of what you just said means?” He scoffed. “Of course you don’t, do you? You’ve never even stopped to consider it. We Arcana are masters of our own realms, but in the rest of existence, we are confined. Restricted to our unchanging roles.” The Devil offered a sympathetic look. “Surely someone as talented and smart as you can see how awfully tiresome it would become to stay unchanging all the time?”

           (Y/N) opened his mouth to respond when he heard a voice that sent his heart pounding against his chest.

           Help!

           Before he could even do a thing, Asra jolted in his seat, knee banging the underside of the table, fork clattering against the porcelain dish. The Devil was silent, but (Y/N) could tell that in the way his crimson eyes focused on Asra that he was suspicious.

           (Y/N) sucked in a breath, eyes darting wildly around to find some form of distraction, all the while Asra and Faust were conversing. It was too confusing, trying to focus on them while trying to distract the Devil. If he didn’t find something to say, something to do, they were doomed. They were—

           “…no one wants you here, Devil.”

           The voice was quiet but firm, and (Y/N) turned his attention to Muriel who gave him a small nod. It was just the distraction enough because the Devil turned on Muriel, but he met the glare with defiant green eyes.

           Across the table, Julian cleared is throat too, voice carrying over the table. “He’s right you know. I can party with just about anyone, even Lucio, but you have to be the exception.”

           Soon, everyone was following along, and Nadia was the next to get her shot in. “And I do not recall inviting you to my Masquerade. You have been such an ungracious guest.” (Y/N) fought viciously to keep the smile hidden as he looked over his frien—no, his best friends.

           The Devil paused a moment to regard them all, as if he genuinely cared what they were saying to him, though the way his clawed hands started clenching and unclenching told him otherwise.

           “Courage in the face of inevitable fate.” His voice turned downright mocking. “How…admirable.” Smiling, he added, “I hope something of you remains when the new world dawns. Perhaps I’ll have new toys to play with.”

           A flickering next to (Y/N)’s silver chalice caught his eye, something that could’ve been a trick of the light, but he knew what it really was. The red wine rippled, then stilled, and next to him, Asra slumped back in his seat, exhaustion seeping down his body. (Y/N) inconspicuously lowered his hand to Asra’s thigh, trying to pour magic into his lover. Whether it worked or not, he didn’t know, but the way Asra sighed in slight relief made his heart calm. Cool snakeskin ran behind his ankle as Faust wound her way up.

           Done…

           Even she sounded exhausted. His heart picked up again, but he was too afraid to even look in Asra’s direction for fear that a single glance would give them both away.

           The Devil raised his chalice and smiled. “To all of you. Thank you so much for playing the wonderful parts you’ve been given.”

He passed the chalice to Julian, and try as he did to resist, the compulsion was too strong, and he took the goblet. His normally pale complexion seemed to whiten even further after he swallowed the wine. The chalice made its way around the table, and one by one the dinner guests drank from it before it finally reached Asra and (Y/N).

           Raising it, Asra said, “To you, (Y/N).” he took a long sip before passing it over into (Y/N) hands.

           He took a long look at it, the dark crimson stains across the sides of the polished silver made his stomach curl. Before he lost his nerve, he grunted and knocked the remaining wine back, forcing himself to keep the sickly saccharine liquid down.

           Asra’s hand fell to his, worry in his voice. “Are you alright, my love?”

           He didn’t have a chance to respond as the Devil chuckled and shook his head, eyes falling on the two of them. “Love. Tell me Asra, what do you think your love managed to accomplish?” With a clawed hand, he vaguely gestured to the rest of the guests at the table. “Everyone is here. Everyone drank the wine. Even your darling (Y/N).”

           Grinning evilly, he finished with, “All your efforts were for naught. You and your love achieved nothing.”

        ��  And that was the bridge too far. (Y/N) could take the Devil mocking his failures, but not those of Asra’s. His lover had worked for too long, worked far too hard, and suffered enough to be subjected to such abuse.

           The screeching of his chair sounded through the room as he stood to his feet and to his full height, ripping the mask off his face so the Devil could look his straight in the eyes.

           “You’re wrong,” (Y/N) condemned with the most withering glower he could muster.

           “Oh?” the Devil merely looked amused as he steepled his fingers. “Indulge me then, (Y/N). Tell me how wrong I am about this mortal delusion you call love.”

           Everyone fell silent, and with the weight of their gazes on him, (Y/N) inhaled and exhaled before he picked up the empty goblet and turned to Asra.

           “Asra, the first thing I remember in this new existence is the feeling of your arms wrapped protectively around me, the relieved and joyous tears seeping into my shirt.” He reached out, taking his lover’s hand. “You have always and will always be the greatest part of me, the truest friend and partner. The man I love the most.”

           (Y/N) raised the chalice to Julian. “We discovered the truth and redeemed an innocent man…not that he made it easy on us.” Julian’s face flushed a light pink as he laughed and gave a dramatic bow.

           “We have traveled across the realms of magic with nothing but our wits and ability to save us. We saved your parents and unraveled numerous mysteries great and small.” Asra’s eyes shone with crystal clear tears and he squeezed (Y/N)’s hand with all he could.

           “I couldn’t’ve done this, any of this, had you not been by my side the entire time.” Flashing him a smile, “Well, I probably could’ve, but not as stylishly of course.” Asra merely giggled and nodded.

           Sighing indulgently, the Devil glanced at them. “Yes, yes, this all so very touching. Dare I ask what even your point to all this is, (Y/N)?”

           (Y/N) tossed the goblet away, not caring that it bounced along the marble floor with a clang. The Devil’s eyes briefly darted to it, then back to him, an anger drawing into them.

           “Love’s the one thing you don’t understand Devil. It will always matter, even if you can’t comprehend it.” He tugged Asra to his feet and turned his attention to the beautiful mauve eyes he as well as his own. “It’s important to me. Important to us. And that’s all I need to be happy.”

           Raising his free hand, he caressed Asra’s cheek. “I don’t need anything else as long as you’re by my side, beloved.”

           “Is that so? Love has driven many passionate mortals, the same as you, into my open and waiting arms.” He grinned deviously. “Always craving more pleasure, more novelty, more control. Your kind are never sated. You’re greedy—like me.”

           (Y/N) shook his head, but never took his eyes off Asra’s. “The feelings you’re describing aren’t love. That’s pride and arrogance. Greed and loathing.”

           Finally, he looked over at the Devil. “However, I’m not surprised that the likes of you can’t tell the difference. It’s almost pitiful. But it makes me see just how delusional you’ve become in this whirlwind of a masterplan.” Expecting a barb back at him, (Y/N) was unnerved to see how conspicuously silent the Devil became.

           Asra looked as though he was seeing the sunrise for the first time after a life in the darkness as he confessed, “(Y/N), you didn’t have to say all the on my behalf.”

           He grinned at his lover. “Probably not…but it made me feel all manly to defend your honor.” Pressing a quick kiss to his cheekbone, he murmured, “Like a knight in shining armor defending his damsel in distress.” Asra snorted, pressing his face into (Y/N)’s shoulder to muffle his laughter, and it made his heart feel bubbly and light despite the gloom and darkness around them.

           “Well, I do feel safe and defended, so thank you, (Y/N).” Peeking his head up, he gazed into (Y/N)’s eyes. “And remember, whatever comes next and becomes of us, I love you too.”

           His heart swelled in his chest and it was only then that (Y/N) realized that everyone was watching them with grand smiles on their faces. It was enough to stun him and Asra, mainly because they’d forgotten they weren’t alone—Asra more so.

The Devil on the other hand was barely containing his annoyance. “Are you quite finished filibustering, (Y/N)? I’ve an agenda to keep up with.”

           (Y/N) shrugged and deadpanned, “Technically you asked me, asshole.”

           Ignoring the insult, the Devil huffed, “A moment of idle curiosity, nothing more than so.” Not wanting to push the envelope farther, (Y/N) fell silent and let the conversation stand. “Nevertheless, now that your sickenin—heartwarming display is over…”

           With an earsplitting ring, the Devil’s hands clapped together. (Y/N)’s teeth rattled, ears ringing as every nerve ending was set aflame. By the shock on Asra and the other’s faces, they felt it too. As quick as it came over, it was gone, and Julian was the first to break the silence.

           “Uh…was something supposed to happen? Because I don’t think it’s happening.”

           “Patience,” the Devil commanded. “One can’t rush these things.” Clapping his hands again, the same outcome applied. “What…is this? It should work.”

           (Y/N) sighed wistfully, and with humor. “Ah well, performance issues are not uncommon.” Asra choked on his spit as he tried not to laugh. “Running an apothecary, I’ve seen it’s about one out of five. I could recommend—” A deafening screech echoed through the room and they all spun to see Volta screaming at the top of her lungs.

           “Oh! Oh, what is happening to Volta? Volta feels…light? Volta feels so strange!”

           They stared in shock as the other courtiers started squirming uncontrollably in their seats, even Valdemar who was the strongest of them appeared particularly rattled. Something didn’t seem right with them to (Y/N) and before he could speak his concern to Asra, his vision fell into a hazy red, nausea threatening to turn his stomach inside out. What reeled him more was the true visage of the courtiers—constructed shells, thin as frost, and barely containing their real, nightmarish forms. He drew his eyes away only to catch sight of the ghostly chains binding everyone to their chairs. The vision began to fade, and the chains started unraveling, link by link by link.

           When it all cleared, the first thing (Y/N) saw was Asra’s face. “Come on, (Y/N). Deep breaths. You’re here. You’re with me.”

           He breathed a sigh of relief. “Asra, we did it. The plan worked.”

           “What? How do you know? What did you see?” Asra’s questions were rapid-fire.

           Nadia cut off any response, rising from her seat gloriously like a phoenix from the ashes. “Whatever you hoped to accomplish has failed, Devil.” Her voice held a barely contained, seething rage. “If you are quite done with this perverse little charade, get the hell out of my Palace.”

           Everyone began to rise as though they were awakening from a long, hellish dream, standing as they were no longer bound by the ritual. Asra and (Y/N)’s smiles grew by the moment.

           Asra looped his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, hugging him tightly. “We did it! It worked!”

           (Y/N) yanked off his mask and took hold of Asra’s chin, sealing their lips in a searing kiss. As they pulled away, Aisha and Salim leapt from the chair and ran over to hug them.

           “Oh, thank the Gods you’re both alright!” Aisha exclaimed, pressing kisses to both their cheeks.

           “What of you two? Are you hurt?” Asra’s hurt was palpable. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner. We—”

           Salim rested a hand on Asra’s shoulder. “Asra, don’t be sorry. We’re alright. And you two did marvelously.”

           “And we’re so very proud of you two,” Aisha added with a smile.

           “Ahem.” The Devil exaggerated and everything fell silent once more. Asra took his place before his parents, and (Y/N) before him.

           “We drank your wine and ate your food, and nothing has happened. The ritual has failed. It’s over. Let us go.”

           All at once the shadows darkened as he rose from his seat, form distorting until he towered over the guests.

           “Over?” he laughed coldly. “Never.” He reached out a shadowy clawed hand to seize them, blackened fire erupting around the room.

           (Y/N) raised a hand, instantly cooling the fires around Asra and he. “It’s over, Devil. Fate says it is. We say it is.” His eyes narrowed with determination and he fiercely declared, “I say it is.”

           “You’re not going anywhere you foolish mortals,” the Devil countered and (Y/N) willed the magic to his fingers, an ethereal blade forming in his hand.

           He pointed at the Devil, took Asra’s hand in his free one, and dared fearlessly, “Watch us.”

#asra x reader #asra x reader imagines #asra x reader imagine #asra imagines #asra imagine #asra #asra alnazar #asra x mc #asra x apprentice #asra x apprentice imagines #asra x apprentice imagine #the arcana #the arcana imagines #the arcana imagine #arcana #arcana imagines #arcana imagine #nadia satrinava #julian devorak #salim alnazar #aisha alnazar #faust the arcana #faust