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yourlocalcorviddad · 5 months

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Saw a post about Danny calling Dani his little Comet, this one, and then I had an idea to and mix it with a favourite Hozier song, Work Song. Feel free to add or whatever if it strikes you!

"Ah, shh, shh little Comet, it's ok, I've got you."

The attempt at keeping his voice steady didn't really work, but he was sure he was keeping a good hold on his emotions at least, since Ellie was calming down in his hold. It didn't mean he wasn't panicking inside at the situation but he was managing. He only had to make it a few more weeks before the others could come, then everything would be safe.

He got her settled in his bed, sleeping and calm now. He had a crib for her, and Jordan too eventually, but he couldn't really stand the thought of them to far. So bed it was.

Both clone and future self had been deaged due to the damage taken, done at Frostbite's direction to heal and better stabilise both. Jordan's injuries had come in defence of both him and Ellie, and, like a weird mirror, Ellie's from defending him and the injured Jordan when he was to weakened from injuries to fight. Ellie had just been deaged from it Dan, who he decided was going to be called Jordan too give himself some separateness, was reverted to his core. In an effort to protect and give him time to heal, he has him inside himself, next to his own core. He'd been warned it meant that Dan would likely take on more of being like his child than his future self, but he just wanted him alive, not like he didn't have the risk of it anyway, at least this time it was under his control.

There was no hope of returning to his dimension, it had been clear at that point, but they had been trying to free all the ghosts they could and get all liminal people and their family rounded up to safety before the GIW got to them. Danny, as the heir prince-until he was of age for the throne at 100-was sent ahead to bridge trust with another dimension, this one in fact, to see it they could bring their people, his people, there.

Clockwork and the Ancients and Observants worked with his parents and the others from town, and other liminality touched people, to get everyone into the ghost zone, which he had leaned also got called the Infinite Realms, safely and cut off that dimension from it.

Apparently that's what most magical creatures had done to that one anyway, long ago. He'd even met the descendents of the witches that had been hunted by, and thus placed the curse on, his family back when Amity was a village.

They'd lifted the, severely weakened by then but still present, curse after apologies were made and explanations done. It was a relief, even though it is likely what had even held him tethered to life enough to become a halfa at all, but he felt more at ease now without it.

All in all, it led him to where he was now though. A new world, a new set of rules, similar but still so different, and two kids that were essentially his.

The sudden crash outside his window on the alley side had him rushing over, ready to defend as best he could, still healing from the injuries in the last fight with the GIW, in case it was a villain attacking.

Only to pause at the sight of the, now likely unconscious, blue and black clad vigilante in the dumpster below.

"Fuck... Well can't leave him, who knows who'd find him there."

It took a bit of work, and mild use of his weak but still present powers, but he got him up stairs and into his apartment onto the, comfortable if he said so himself, couch.

Once there, he checked him over for injuries, careful not to take the domino off and keeping him as clothed as possible, but tending to his wounds as best possible. Doing so, he realised the other was probably only about 20-21, close to his age at least. It made him wonder how long the other had been a hero, and made a thought to ask later.

For now he settled in to make some food -that hopefully wouldn't accidentally come alive again-and keep an eye on his daughter and the hero.

#dpxdc #death defying #defying gravity #can't remember which is the ship for Danny/Dick but yeah #giw fucked around to much and the entire dimension is gonna get cut off #they're moving people over in between fights and all #Danny gets to stake out the DC universe since he's to injured to fight for a while #Ellie is Dani deaged into a baby and Dan is reverted to core and basically needed to be incubated to heal #and Danny didn't want to burden anyone else and since he'd be stationary for a while he took it upon himself #trans Danny? yeah #trans Danny au cause i said so XD #now I'm just imagining the food coming back to life just as Dick wakes up and he can like #see the kitchen from the couch and all he sees is someone with glowing green lasers fighting moving food #he's gonna think Tameranian first i bet #that's all i got for now it's almost 2i should sleep

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margarethx · 4 months

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There is a strange man standing at Sam's door.

Pale, with long hair and beginnings of a thin beard; his eyes covered by a baseball cap, but glinting in the shadows in a way that suggests he's sober, or at least alert.

He stands in an ostensibly relaxed pose.

He still looks like he's one abrupt sound away from bolting.

He knocked on the door instead of ringing the bell, as if he knew Sam was home and close enough to hear the noise muffled slightly by the glove covering his hand.

There's no one around at this hour and the entrance to Sam's house is obscured from the street by a few bushes and trashcans pulled out for the garbage men to collect in the morning. If someone broke inside, no one would be able to tell if they weren't already looking directly into Sam's small garden. Which, likely, no one does.

Sam also doesn't have any friends who visit him at home and both sides of his close family live a few states away. He tries his best to keep in touch with them, but if he disappeared from the radar for a couple of days, maybe even weeks, no one would be alarmed. So... if the stranger at his door harms him, it'll take a long time for anyone to notice. Maybe a couple of people at the VA will have some questions after the weekend, but his schedule is not regular enough for anyone to think something's off when he's not there the next Monday.

With all that in mind, Sam pushes away from the peephole he's been peering through for the last minute to unlock the door.

The man outside looks a bit lost. In need of assistance. And Sam's spent way too many years risking his life to save others to back down now, just because he's what... scared? Sam's not scared. He fought with literal helicopters and won such duel multiple times. A strange man with no fashion sense visiting his home is nothing compared to that.

The guy's probably homeless, simply trying his luck in a safer neighbourhood. It's better if Sam's the one to open his door instead of some weirdo down the street, who'll chase him away with a gun.

Sam is, technically speaking, a weirdo with a gun tucked into the waistline of his sweatpants, though he's not planning on using it. And if he'll have to, he won't be excited about that. Which is a key difference in his eyes.

Sam's a couple of years removed from the initial fear and PTSD fuelled paranoia that haunted him after leaving the Air Force. He did the work. Went through therapy. Read the books. Pushed himself to go out there; to mingle with people without succumbing to the need to crawl under the nearest table at the first louder noise.

He's not removed enough, however, to answer the door completely unarmed. Which is how he ends up here. With a gun concealed on his back, opening his home for a random man, whose intentions might range from simply asking Sam for something like directions to the nearby cemetery, to making sure Sam's the one who ends up there within the next week.

The hinges screech a little as he pushes the door, which is by design. Because of the lingering paranoia of course, not because he forgot to buy a new can of WD-40 for a fifth month in a row.

The man at his porch looks up, as if alarmed by the noise. He seems surprised that Sam answered, but he smiles pleasantly right away. If Sam was listening to his aforementioned paranoia, he'd say that the smile was too quick, almost too pleasant, and too calculated to seem genuine. But he really tries to get better and not assume the worst these days.

"Hello? How can I help you?", he asks, trying to match the energy and sound just kind enough for the ghost of his mother to not appear with her disapproving face in his next dream.

The man hesitates a little, giving Sam a second to take a proper look at him.

What's most striking about him is the bulky built. Broad shoulders and strong legs, paired with a - probably - flat stomach. It's difficult to see with all the layers of clothing the guy's wearing, but overall, he seems like a naturally muscular person hidden under an ill-fitting jacket and too-baggy jeans.

There's some underlying stiffness to his pose - something that Sam's already noticed at first glance, but which is all the more evident now that he can see the full silhouette of the man

If Sam had more time to assess his guest, he's probably dwell on the fact that his face looks disturbingly familiar. Or on the fact that said face, along with the rest of the body, is very much Sam's type. But he does not have that time, so he cuts this line of thinking as quickly as it forms in his brain.

"I've...," answers the man, finally. "I know it'll sound weird, but I..." He pauses once more, looking down at his palms, as if he's a student trying to cheat by reading the answers of the inside of his hand. "A guy I met recently goes to the VA. The one you work at," the man clarifies unnecessarily. "And I've heard that you've helped a couple of his friends before, so I thought that... well."

He stops talking, losing steam by the end. Speaking seems to be taking a toll on him and he stops even looking at Sam by the end of his vague explanation.

It's enough, however, to calm Sam's nerves. He unclenches his jaw and all the other muscles his body readied for a fight that never came and the immediate relief almost startles an embarrassing moan out of him. He didn't even realize how tense he was. He hopes that the guy didn't notice too.

"It's okay, man. I get it," he replies with a smile.

And he does get it. He's been there. He knows how it feels to finally take a step in the new direction. To try staying neutral or cynical because of misplaced self-preservation instincts, but feeling the hope already filling your chest anyway.

The man lifts his head and shoots a shy smile Sam's way.

"I hoped you would," he says. "My friend said a couple of his old buddies from the army been to your groups and it helped. So I... I wanted to check for myself.

Sam's smile becomes much more genuine.

"Glad to hear that," he replies honestly. It's always good to know that his efforts actually affect the people who struggle the same way that he did. He's curious which vets his guest is referring to, but he stops himself from asking. It's not relevant right now. "And you'd like to join one of my groups too?"

The answering nod is a little unsure, but Sam can work with that.

"I'll give you some pamphlets and the schedule for my next three meetings," he offers, trying to remember where he put the pile of fliers from the VA which littered his coffee table for a few months at one point.

Before he has the time to fully move from the doorstep he's stopped by a strong and sudden grip on his wrist. Very strong. Almost crushing.

The alarm bells in his head blare, his vision narrowing, while his other hand makes a move to his back where a gun is still hidden in his sweatpants.

But then the pressure is gone from Sam's arm and the man is looking right at him, confused, then mortified. Whether he's scared of his own reaction or the gun he must sense in the vicinity, Sam cannot tell.

"I'm so, so sorry! I don't know why I did that, just... Let me..."

He stops. Sam blinks at him.

There're good ten seconds of uncomfortable silence before any of them speaks again.

"It's fine," Sam says, carefully. He wets his lips and the man's eyes track the movement. "Like I said... I get it." He tries to laugh, but it comes out a little strangled. "I don't like sudden movements too."

The guy at the door almost shrinks, his shoulders going up, as if he's trying to cover his face even more. But he seems relieved. Like it's easy to just have someone who understands, when the explanation seems too embarrassing to voice.

"Yeah..."

Sam takes a deep breath, hoping to push through the awkward moment and put the man at ease.

"Like I said, I'll go to take a pamphlet and write down my schedule for you," he says, taking a slow step inside. "I'll be back in a minute." Without waiting for a response he nods as if to silently ask the guy to stay where he is. Then looks for a pen and the fliers almost on autopilot, hoping that his porch won't be empty when he's back.

Or maybe hoping it already is.

When he steps through the door again, the man is still there. Just as shifty as before. As Sam hands him the papers, he opens his mouth, starting another apology, but Sam shushes him right away.

"It's alright. Don't worry about it." He adds a smile for reassurance. "My schedule is right here. If you can't come this month, you can always go in anyway. Ask around and find my office. We'll figure something out."

With a silent "thanks" the man starts to slowly back away from his doorstep. It seems as if he wants to stay, though. To ask for something more, but doesn't know what to say or maybe how to say it. Finally, with a small wave, he exits Sam's lawn. And then he's gone.

It takes Sam another five minutes of contemplative staring at the street to remember that his home address is not public information and neither of his former vets should know where he lives. None of them would know where to look for him outside of the VA.

Before he has the time to have a panic attack about that he finally registers the pain in his arm. He frowns and pulls up his sleeve where a set of dark, angry looking bruises form a shape of a closed palm on his skin.

He locks the door as calmly as possible, using an extra lock he hasn't taken out of the drawer since last year. He pulls the curtains over the windows, grabs his phone, and spends the rest of the day sitting on the floor with a gun between his legs, within reach.

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

Well... I don't even know what this story is xD I just sat down and wrote the first thing that came to my mind. Now I somehow ended up with a plot outline for at least 4-5 chapters. Maybe I'll even write them one day <3

Hope you enjoyed witnessing the birth of my WiP number 2309745.

[PART 2 on tumblr is here]

[Ao3 LINK is here]

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #the falcon #captain america #winter soldier #ca:tws #mcu #marvel #winterfalcon #sam x bucky #onlysambucky #samuel thomas wilson #james bucky barnes #ATWK #assassinate them with kindness

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ghouljams · 3 months

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jumping off of that other anon about love and war: discussion on pieces of art (like the Brunswicker) or poetry (Lord Byron) who combine that sense of devoted love and helplessness. love recites Byron to simon and it turns him on, not because it's Byron, but because it's her (and he loves the way her mouth moves)

I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes

Yielding my couch, and stretched me on the ground

When overworn with watching, ne'er to rise

From thence, if thou an early grave hadst found.

Ghost is absolutely entranced by every part of this woman, but her mouth? The way she smiles at him makes his heart stop. The way she talks to him is like music, he can't help but want to listen to her for hours. He's down astronomical. Love is awful for his sanity and yet he can't turn her away like he does everyone else.

It's just- She's smart. She's smart enough to know better than to like him, than to go after a guy like him, and yet here she is. She perches on his desk to read Vonnegut just so she can turn to him and point out her favorite section, or ask his thoughts on whatever philosophy the book is lecturing. Love is the sort of pretty he'd never go after at a bar, the sort that has too much life to be bogged down by the type of love he has to offer. Absolute, rabid, devotion. And yet! And yet she knocks on his door, and leaves little notes in his books, and takes an interest in him in a way that no one else has. He almost touches her on purpose once, just to check that he hasn't imagined her. He thinks better of it.

Love jokes with him, to him about him. She's so... lovely. She's a fountain of knowledge, always inviting him to drink, and where he thought once that he was drowning in a sea of people he finds himself parched. He's alone when he's not with her. He finds his eyes on the lecture hall doors, watching for her. He tracks his time for office hours closer, waiting an extra few minutes for her. That's how he finds himself in her lectures, drawn to her when he can't stand being away any longer. He hovers in the back, unsure why he's even there, though he always comes with an excuse, and wonders why he enjoys her flirting so much.

She's discussing the anthropological importance of "heroes" the way that humanity craves the safety of them. The shift in ideals, the Byronic hero. Ghost wonders if this might not serve a literature class better, he glances at a nearby student's notes and sees the class is cross listed: "Human evolution through story telling." He got his times wrong, this isn't the philosophy one.

"Speaking of heroes," Love grins, and Ghost knows that's for him, "Simon, my favorite Byronic gentleman, here to recite some poetry for us?" God the way she says his name, he might need a pace maker to keep his heart beating the way it's supposed to. He holds up a paperback, and she shakes her head. "Knew I forgot something."

Love holds her hand out, and despite his better judgement Ghost walks down the lecture hall steps to hand the book to her. She flips through the pages, and almost seems disappointed. He's reminded of the little notes she leaves him in the books she returns. That's different though, those are in scholarly texts, this is a copy of Kafka's "Metamorphosis." She already heard his thoughts on it. Maybe not all of them, she'd started leaning too far over and he'd had to kick her out before she noticed him staring down her shirt, but enough.

"Not a poetry guy," Ghost tells her, she always seems to perk up when he talks. Now is no different, the light comes back to her smile as she glances up at him.

"I can start it off." She offers. Ghost hesitates, glancing back at the silent lecture hall, and gives a short nod.

"I watched thee when the foe was at our side,/ Ready to strike at him—or thee and me,/ Were safety hopeless—rather than divide/ Aught with one loved save love and liberty." He watches that pretty mouth shape the words, his head tipping with a gentle shake. One loved, together intertwined even in hopelessness. Love and Death, it's funny... he actually knows this one.

"I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock/ Received our prow, and all was storm and fear," Ghost swallows, frowning against Love's eager stare, something woefully soft in her eyes feels as sharp as a knife when he meets them. He looks away, finds more eyes, looks back. He lowers his voice, feels the rasp of it in his throat, the sticky promises he wants to make, hidden behind a stranger's words, "And bade thee cling to me through every shock;/ This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier." She's so dangerously close to him, stupidly close with those sweet lips curved like sin into a smile. "Love dwells not in our will." Ghost breathes.

"You're skipping ahead," Love leans in to whisper. Ghost can't help the way he leans as well, the tip of his head and aborted raise of his hand. Ghost stiffens, straightens and turns to go. He can't be around this woman any more. She's going to be the death of him. "Bye Simon," She calls after him.

"Dr. Riley," He grumbles. One student sitting on the aisle notes in the group chat later that they aren't sure if he was correcting her, or extending a similar goodbye, with a teeny-weeny Freudian slip.

#x oc #simon ghost riley #cod x oc #ghost x oc #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #oc: love #professor au #professor!ghost #f!oc #simon riley x oc #simon ghost riley x oc #Love and Ghost talking about Cat's Cradle #Ghost has never been more in love with someone in his life

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trulybetty · 6 months

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dec' 03 x hot chocolate

Prompt: hot chocolate Pairing: joel miller x f!Reader Word Count: 3,196 Warnings: barely beta'd, all mistakes my own, this is au and way off the plot of anything to do with TLOU, mentions of coffee and festive fluff and introductions to our characters ☕ Summary: maplewood, a small town nestled in northern bc where people flock to see the festive decorations of main street and enjoy the festive traditions. finding yourself back home and working for the family business, you strike up a friendship with the town's local contractor. AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

The Little Coffee Shop Around the Corner - Part I

Joel Miller was the type who didn’t believe in buying coffee from a coffee shop. He had a perfectly good coffee maker at home that he’d had for a quarter century now. One that had moved countries and still worked just as well as it had done the first day he’d bought it.

Well, that was until that very morning.

With a sputter and a final wheeze, the machine gave up the ghost, leaving Joel staring in disbelief at his kitchen counter. Grudgingly accepting defeat, he grabbed his coat and ventured out to his truck on the brisk Maplewood morning.

He’d moved to the small Canadian town a handful of years ago with his daughter Sarah from Austin Texas. Many had questioned his decision to move not just to another country, but to a town that was drastically different and far removed from Austin.

He hadn’t answered with much more than a shrug.

His contracting business had been doing well enough to live an easy life, step back and enjoy someone else taking the reigns.

That was until he became a widow at the age of thirty-six and all he’d wanted to do was get out of dodge. Everywhere he turned, there were reminders of her, making it too difficult for him to stay.

Sarah's arrival came after both of his parents had passed away. His brother Tommy had already moved to Wyoming in pursuit of joining a community that he insisted wasn't a commune, and he had settled down and started a family. This left him alone with Sarah, so when they were presented with the opportunity for her to receive a scholarship from a prestigious Canadian school with full access to their renowned soccer program, they eagerly took it as a chance for a new beginning. Despite its remote location in British Columbia, they saw it as a fresh start.

The transition had been challenging, no doubt about it. Neither of them possessed any winter clothing, and they both had to adapt to a new currency (Joel still struggled with the difference between a Loonie and a Toonie) while navigating unfamiliar locations. However, the warmth of the town's reception overshadowed all of those challenges. No one prodded for information or tried to uncover gossip; instead, they were embraced with open arms and quickly became just another part of the Maplewood community.

Sarah had quickly adapted to her new school, which didn't come as a surprise. Meanwhile, Joel had discovered that the town was in desperate need of a handyman, and soon enough Miller Contracting was back in business.

Pulling into a parking space on the main street outside of the bookstore Sarah often frequented, Joel rubbed his hands together cursing leaving his gloves at home. Despite his years in Maplewood, winter still felt like a shock every time it rolled around.

After taking a moment to orient himself, he recalled that the coffee shop was located to the left around the corner. With this in mind, he began his journey to the end of the street. Luckily, his workload for the day was relatively light, so this unexpected diversion wouldn't cause too much delay

The stores had wasted no time in getting out their Christmas decorations, he looked across the street as he walked to the bakery - its window frames draped in holly and ivy, punctuated by glittering baubles were no exception. Merry Tree Trek, a Christmas tree scavenger hunt put on by the town's businesses was due to start the following day. One of the many traditions Maplewood had for the festive season.

As Joel entered 'True North Brews,' the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the gentle hum of conversation welcomed him. The shop was packed with locals, all happily chatting away as they waited for their orders to be ready. Standing in line, he scanned the menu, feeling out of his depth. This was Sarah’s territory - he usually was just there to provide payment before they headed on to whatever errand needed to be completed next.

He took in the festive decor as he waited in line. Christmas lights had been strung along the edges of the bar, while fake holly adorned every pillar in sight. Paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling and garlands of green and red festooned the fireplace. Which crackled merrily at one end of the room, and he smiled to himself as he watched an elderly couple sitting close together on one of the sofas near it - no doubt soaking up every minute of extra warmth they could get before trudging back out into the cold night air.

That’s when he noticed you behind the counter. You were relatively new, he knew your name and that you were the owner's daughter – Sarah had regaled your appearance in Maplewood several months back when you'd stopped by the bakery. Right now you were serving the town’s newest member of the tourism board, he couldn’t remember her name but knew he’d seen her with Marcus from the bakery here and there. Your eyes met briefly, and a hint of a smile danced on your lips.

Finally, it was his turn to order, “Hey Joel,” you said, recognizing him from his numerous visits with his daughter, “No Sarah today?”

He shook his head, “Just me.”

“In that case, what can I make for you?” you asked, your voice cheery in light of Joel’s look of utmost confusion.

“Just coffee, please,” he said, in a tone that suggested this was an everyday request.

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “Coffee? Coffee means a lot of different things around here. What kind of coffee would you like?”

Joel scratched his head, looking a bit lost. “Uh, just your regular coffee, you know? Nothing fancy,” he replied, his Texas drawl more pronounced.

You leaned against the counter with a friendly grin. “How about trying something a bit festive? A peppermint mocha, perhaps? It's like a holiday in a cup!”

Joel's eyebrows rose in surprise, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “That's far too fancy for my tastes.” he laughed, “Just a regular black coffee will do.”

You nodded understandingly but with a twinkle in your eye. “Tell you what, how about an Americano? It's close to black coffee but with a bit more character. It's on the house, and if you don't like it, you can come back, and I'll make you a straight-up black coffee. But, I have a hunch you might enjoy the Americano.”

Joel looked surprised but intrigued. “Well, when you put it that way... sure, I'll give it a try.”

As you began preparing his order, Joel glanced around, noticing the line behind him starting to grow. “Looks like you've got a busy day ahead,” he remarked.

You smiled, handing him the Americano. “Maplewood wakes up early during the holiday season. Enjoy your coffee, and remember, if it's not to your liking, come back up for that black coffee.”

Joel opened his mouth to respond, but the bustling line behind him urged him forward, cutting short the chance for a proper response. He settled for a quick, “Thanks,” and moved aside.

Later that day as you were wiping down the counters, your mother Jean and the current owner of the coffee shop, joined you out front. “I've been thinking,” she began, her voice laced with a blend of both excitement and seriousness.

“That’s dangerous,” you quipped, ignoring the scowl she sent you as she made her way around the counter to the front of the store.

“I was thinking,” she said ignoring you, “that now might be a good time for me to step back with you back in town.”

You paused, cloth in hand. Coming back to Maplewood hadn't been your first choice, especially after things ended with Max. Your ex-boyfriend who had suddenly gotten too tied up in climbing the corporate ladder, after a business trip across seas, to notice the relationship unravelling.

“I really don’t know how long I’m going to be here,” you replied, having already been in town a month longer than your original plan of just six weeks.

The statement was not an exaggeration; the apartment had been in Max's name, and the two of you had always planned to add your own on the deed. But procrastination got in the way. With rental prices on the rise and a sabbatical from work, coming home was your only option until you could figure out your next move.

She shrugged, “Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s long enough for me to do some travelling, get a taste of what an early retirement could look like.”

You sighed, “What’s the angle here, Mom?”

“What angle?” she responded as she fussed with the tree you’d both decorated with coffee-themed decor the night before for the Merry Tree Trek.

Your mother had a knack for mixing business with motherly concern in a way that only she could. She glanced at you over the rim of her glasses, a half-smile playing on her lips.

“No angle,” She said, adjusting a tiny coffee bean ornament. “I've been running True North Brews since before you were born, and it's been a dream. But, I'm not getting any younger, and the world's a big place. I'd like to see some of it while I still can.”

You couldn't help but smile at her adventurous spirit, something you had undoubtedly inherited. “You want to travel? Since when?”

“Since always,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye. “The shop has been in our family for two generations now. I'd hate to see it end up in different hands, or worse, closed down.”

The weight of her words hung in the air. Taking over the coffee shop wasn't something you had considered seriously. You had other dreams, didn't you? But then again, the shop was more than just a business; it was a piece of Maplewood's heart, and undeniably, a big part of your family's legacy.

Your mother continued, “I know you're figuring things out, and I'm not asking you to decide right this second. But think about it. This place could use your touch and your ideas. You've always had a knack for making people feel welcome, just like your grandmother did when she opened this place.”

You leaned against the counter, absorbing her words. The coffee shop had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember. Your earliest memories were of playing behind the counter, the smell of coffee always in the air.

Perhaps this unexpected turn of events was not just a setback but an opportunity, a chance to add your chapter to the story of Maple Brews.

“I'll think about it,” you said finally, a mix of apprehension and excitement bubbling inside you. But you still threw her a pointed look, “just thinking about it, okay?”

“That's all I'm asking,” she replied, her eyes softening. “Now, help me with this stubborn string of lights, will you? This tree needs to look perfect for when the scavenger hunt starts this afternoon.”

It was nearing closing when the ring of the bell at the front door rang signalling a customer. Looking up you saw Marcus, the owner of Maple Delights standing at the door, stamping his feet to rid his boots of the snow that had started the fall that afternoon.

“Hey Marcus,” you greeted, “can I get you anything?” you asked as you accepted a stack of pink cake boxes from him. Maple Delights had a long-standing business deal with True North Brews to sell their baked goods in their displays - one that extended beyond Marcus' tenure as owner.

He gave you a wide smile, “Actually, it’s what you can do for me?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Well, I’m intrigued.”

“So, the Jingle Bell Movie night later this month,” he said, posing the event as a question. It was an annual tradition of the town, with everyone coming together for an evening of festivities and movie-watching in the community centre. “I was thinking, what if Maple Delights and True North Brews tag-teamed the event?”

Your interest was piqued. “Go on,” you encouraged.

Marcus's eyes lit up. “I'll supply the treats—cookies, pastries, you name it—and you guys could handle the hot drinks? Hot chocolate, spiced cider, maybe some festive coffee concoctions?”

You nodded, already visualizing the bustling event. “Sounds like a perfect match to me. Maple Delights' treats and our drinks? The town will love it!”

“Hey, speaking of the bakery, question for you about the renovations you did when you bought the place. You restored it to its original façade, right?” you asked, as Marcus leant against the counter.

He smiled, a hint of pride in his voice. “Yeah, I did. Wanted to preserve a piece of Maplewood’s history. The building has such character, it felt right to bring it back to its former glory.”

“Well, it certainly is stunning. It must've been quite a project,” you remarked.

Marcus nodded. “It was a labour of love, but totally worth it in the end.”

Your mind was buzzing with ideas and your mother's earlier conversation replaying over in your head, “Who did you get in to do the work?” you asked, knowing that Maplewood wasn't exactly crawling with talented contractors and designers.

“Actually it was Joel Miller, he did the renovation.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised.

Marcus chuckled. “Joel really did some great work on the bakery. He's got a really good eye for detail. Took my vision and made it even better than I could have imagined.”

You were impressed. “Wow, well he did an amazing job. It was one of the first things I noticed when I came back. It adds so much charm to the street.”

“Thanks,” Marcus said, a warm smile on his face. “Joel's a really talented guy. He's a great addition to the community, both him and Sarah.”

“Well, if he did such a great job with the bakery, maybe he could help us with the coffee shop,” you said, half-jokingly.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “You're thinking of doing a reno?”

You hesitated, feeling a bit exposed not having intended to speak out loud your internal thoughts, “It's something my mom and I have discussed in the past, but she's the type if it ain't broke don't fix it.”

Marcus laughed, “I can testify to that, I mentioned I was looking to scale back serving coffee in the bakery, and asked if she had any interest in the espresso machine,” you rolled your eyes knowing what was coming, you'd been begging her to replace the old machine for years, “told me that this one,” he jerked his thumb in the direction of the tired looking machine, “worked just fine.”

You shook your head, “One of these days she's going to realize giving it a good thud is probably doing more damage than fixing it.”

Marcus glanced at his watch. “I should get going. Got to make sure we have enough gingerbread dough for tomorrow. Those gingerbread men won't bake themselves!”

“Thanks for stopping by. Let's touch base early next week to finalize those plans for the movie night.”

With a nod and a wave, you watched Marcus leave, but now the seed of an idea was planted in your mind. A reno could be just what True North Brews needed to give it a fresh look and make it stand out. But you weren't taking over, you reminded yourself, no -- it was just you helping out with the family business, nothing more, right?

The next morning, Joel’s kitchen still lacked a new coffee maker. The old one sat forlornly on the counter, a reminder of a morning routine disrupted. With a resigned sigh, Joel grabbed his coat and headed out to his truck. The town was slowly waking up, the street sprinkled with early risers and the promise of a busy day ahead.

As he pushed open the door of the coffee shop, the familiar jingle of the bell greeted him, along with the rich aroma of brewing coffee. You looked up from the espresso machine, a smile spreading across your face as you recognized him.

“Morning, Joel,” you greeted. “Americano?” you asked with a hopeful smile since he'd never returned for that black coffee.

Joel nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I think I actually like it a bit more than my usual.”

You laughed as you prepared his coffee. “Glad to hear that. We might make a coffee aficionado out of you yet.”

“Let's not get too ahead of ourselves.” he laughed as he watched you prepare his drink.

Handing him his coffee, you hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Actually Joel, can I ask you something about your contracting work?”

He looked surprised but nodded. “Sure, what about it?”

“I heard from Marcus that you did the renovation work on the bakery. It looks incredible. Said you kept the original design when you worked on it?”

Joel’s expression softened, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Yeah, I did. Marcus wanted to retain the historical look of the building. It was a great project to work on, restoring it to its original state while giving it all the modern requirements.”

You were genuinely interested. “That’s impressive. It’s such an integral part of the town’s charm. I’ve been thinking, True North Brews could use a bit of sprucing up. Would you perhaps be up for discussing a quote any time soon?”

Joel looked around the coffee shop, considering. “Sure, I’d be happy to. What did you have in mind?”

“I'm not too sure, mostly starting fixing what needs fixing and going from there, just keeping the cozy vibe but maybe adding a little Maplewood flair to it.”

He nodded, sipping at his coffee thoughtfully. “Sounds like a good project. Why don’t we sit down sometime next week and go over what you’re thinking? I can put together some ideas and a quote for you.”

“That would be great,” you replied, feeling a surge of excitement at the prospect of giving the coffee shop a fresh, new look.

Placing his coffee on the counter, Joel handed you his business card from his wallet, giving you a quick glimpse of a family portrait tucked inside.

“Here,” he said pocketing his wallet and handing you his business card, “why don't you give me a call and we can arrange something?”

You smiled as you traced the logo of Miller Contracting, “Sure, sounds like a plan!”

As Joel left, coffee in hand, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. Not only at the idea of possible renovations but for the growing sense of community you had quickly settled into while only being back for a short period in Maplewood. But before you could think any further about it, the bell above the door rang and a group of tourists trekked in, Merry Tree Trek maps in hand.

You gave them a wide smile as you welcomed them in, “Welcome to True North Brews, what can I get started for you?”

#december x 500 #the little coffee shop around the corner #maplewood au #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic

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starry-blue-echoes · 1 year

Text

so fresh off DMQ and my brain is already rotating with The Rot so let's talk about the Act 4 AU shall we :)

since DMQ doesn't give an exact date for when Kira starts doing his whole Ghost Hitman Thing, I'm just going to say this takes place a bit over a year after DiU and a few weeks/months before Part 5

so Kira's vibing right? Going around Morioh, doing his Hitman things, and vaguely aware of the presence of Stand Users. He knows they exist and he thinks their powers are kinda cool, but they can't see him so there's really no point in paying them much attention when he could use that time looking for a place to stay

so one day, he ends up passing by Koichi who was simply floating around by himself and at first he doesn't think much of it. He'd seen the little Stand around more than a few times, enough that he was used to his presence, but never tried approaching him because...... well, why would he? As far as he knew, "Echoes" wasn't that much different from any other Stand. Sure it was little weird he never saw the Stand's User, but eh Stands were weird in general

but then Koichi's gaze flickers to him as he hovers by and it hits Kira with all the subtly of a lightning strike that he can see him

unfortunately for Kira, Koichi also recognises him and he

flips

out

he uses every ability, every attack, every single offensive thing he'd learned how to use and does so immediately because Oh God Oh No Kira That's Kira How Is Kira Here He's Dead And Gone And I Saw It I Saw Him Die-

and he actually ends up forcing Kira to retreat. As trained as the guy is, he's used to his targets being more or less completely helpless against him. He's never had anyone fight back before, not to mention he's completely unequipped to go against a Stand. While Koichi isn't able to do anything permanent or "life treating" to him, Kira can't do anything back and could be left at the mercy of something that can kill him later on

so he runs and Koichi chases

at this point Kira's managed to put together that this "Echoes" seems to know who he is, or at the very least who he was. The fact he keeps shouting things like "I won't let you get away again!" and "you think you can run from what you've done?!?" and seems to be on the verge of an emotional breakdown really just adds more to that line of thought

unfortunately for him, Koichi knows Morioh better than he does and manages to catch up thanks to the fact he doesn't have to worry about bumping into people or going around obstacles. They fight again, and this time Kira actually gets a bit fucked up. A couple of his limbs are detached and he's barely standing, his Ghost Gun is out of bullets and he's debating the merits of using it as a bludgeoning weapon-

and suddenly Koichi just stops. Him running on this many emotions already wasn't going to be good, but because of how long it was going on for? Yeah it was completely overwhelming. Koichi's terror finally wins out over the rage and it finally hits him that Kira hasn't sustained any permanent damage. How he simply reattached all the limbs he lost, how there hasn't been so much as a single drop of blood, how Kira's pose and gaze right now is so similarly That Day

In that moment Koichi doesn't see Kira as a helpless opponent on the ropes. He sees a terrifying monster biding his next move to kill him all over again

so he runs. He flies as fast and far as he's willing to dare to get away from Kira

this ends up starting a sort of back and forth between the two for a few weeks. Koichi and Kira will spot each other in public, one will pursue the other, but just before anything gets done one of them will flee in a way the other can't follow until their next encounter. Koichi does end up telling the others, of course he does, but because of the whole Ghost thing only Koichi's able to actually see him

and as time goes by, with every fight both sides slowly put more pieces together. Koichi learns Kira is in fact dead. Kira learns Echoes's User was murdered. Koichi learns Kira doesn't remember him. Kira learns Echoes is his own User. Back and forth, fight after fight they slowly get a better look at the picture they're looking at

On Koichi's side of things it's....... it's going. Learning Kira didn't remember him pissed him off beyond belief and added more emotional conflict with the angry vs terrified thing going on in his head. Ironically though, fighting Kira so regularly ends up serving as a weird kind of Exposure Therapy. The fact he actually wins most of their fights does loads for his confidence, however it is slightly undercut by the fact Kira keeps escaping

and on Kira's side, he's Not Having The Best Time. With every piece of his past identity he slowly gleams from Echoes, the more he starts to fear who he used to be. Kira knows he's no saint, he literally kills people with little remorse as his job, but...... but he still has some morals. He kills people a monk tells him to, so my vibe about his victims was he was a killer of other killers and has some kind of ethical decency he lacked when alive. And Echoes..... based on what he's learned about the Stand from some eavesdropping on friends and some spying, the Stand seems like genuinely a good guy. During said eavesdropping he even ends up hearing his own name dropped a few times, and with the anger poison disgust hate they say his name with..... Kira gathers he must've done something awful to him

they only manage to get any proper headway when one of Koichi's friends ends up accidentally popping in during the middle of one of their fights and calls Koichi by his human name. The fight ends the same as it always does, but this time Kira actually has something to work with now. He ends up trying to learn whatever he can about any "Koichi's" of note in the last few years. And eventually, after a lot of different dead ends, he ends up investigating one Koichi Hirose who reportedly died in a gas explosion a few years back

this then leads to the pair's final fight. Kira goes to the graveyard to Koichi's tomb and finds him sitting there

the fight wasn't even that physical this time. Aside from a thrown attack or two from Koichi (which were very carefully aimed as to not hit any of the other headstones), it was mostly the pair shouting back and forth as Koichi hovered protectively in front of his tomb and Kira tried getting answers

And eventually Koichi gives him the final piece

"What, it wasn't enough to kill me?" he spits. "You have to disrespect my resting place too?!?"

and Kira stops

at this point he knew Echoes, Koichi, was young. Far younger than he was, and after learning his name and seeing the date on the tomb he realises Koichi would've been a teenager

and suddenly Koichi's loathing and terror and offence at being forgotten makes so much sense

He'd killed him. When he was alive, he'd killed a teenager, and by the looks of things, it had been an innocent one at that. Every word Koichi had spoken, every action he'd taken, how he'd been so desperate to kill Kira but so hesitant to get close suddenly made a painful amount of sense

it's at this point he finally explains he doesn't remember anything about his life. Aside from his name, every memory he has was created only after he woke up as a ghost

and this....... makes things a bit awkward. Neither know what to say or do in the face of all the new information that's suddenly been brought to the table or how to feel about it

maybe Koichi tells Kira what he'd done in life. Maybe he ends up having one of his friends do it

they don't become friends after everything is said and done. With all their history that would be impossible so soon after both their deaths. But they say hi when they pass each other in the road. Koichi shows him the Bad Alley for whenever he'd like to sleep in a house without being bothered. Kira teaches him a bunch of tricks he picked up for how to experience a world not made for people like them. They share information when Kira has a job

they stay distant, but slowly they become more comfortable with the other's presence. And who knows. Maybe a few decades in the future they could get closer

not now though. not yet

#echoes act 4 #jjba #jojo’s bizarre adventure #diamond is unbreakable #diamond is unbreakable spoilers #jjba part 4 #deadman's questions #dmq #jjba kira #kira yoshikage #jjba koichi #koichi hirose

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penny00dreadful · 11 months

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OOOOOOOOH! You did the Steddie ask game tooooo.

If you don't mind, I have a few questions for you!

2: Favorite Steddie fanart artist? (Because I want to share the love!) 6: Ghost Eddie or Vampire(Kas) Eddie? Why? 9: Do you imagine they would have been childhood friends? WHYYYYY? :)

If you've gotten any of these questions from other asks, feel free to sub in another of your choosing or just strike the question completely. :)

I did do the Steddie ask game! Please send me as many questions as you want! 🥰

2. Favourite Steddie Artist?

Oh boy okay. There's so many! I follow so many and they're all so good?? Like how do make drawings look like that??? I could never. The skill! The talent! The way they make me feel things??? I'm obsessed but I have to narrow it down so I'll give you the three I follow the closest. @fernandesart @inklessletter @resande adore them all 🖤

6. Ghost Eddie or Vampire (Kas) Eddie? Why?

So I do love Ghost Eddie, I do. But there's too much opportunity for heartbreak there so I can only do Ghost Eddie when I get a happy ending because I'm ✨ sensitive ✨ 😅

But Vampire Eddie? 😳🫡

God it can be SO good. And it can go in so many different directions! Possessive, feral, unhinged, protective (all A+(within reason)) OR he could be soft, he could want to burn the world with his love, he could be a cute little rat man (or bat man) who needs taking care of, dedicated or loving and it's all magnificent.

Probably helps I've had a healthy interest in vampire lore for a long time and I keep trying to ignore that creeping spectre of that Dracula AU because I am DETERMINED to have my other WIPs finished first!

9. Do I think they would have been childhood friends? Why?

So like listen. We all know children are not biased. Children are blank slates (complimentary) and don't have the prejudices and issues adults have so I cannot see any reason why Steve and Eddie wouldn't be childhood friends.

If it was their decision.

I think Steve's parents (at least his fanon parents who knows what his canon parents are like) would take issue with it. I know people like Steve's fanon parents in real life and rarely will they say "I don't want my kid playing with him because he's poor or whatever" they KNOW that's not a good look, they'll say "I'm not a bigot BUT" so they'll go about it in other ways.

They'll be wary around the other kid because either that kids parents didn't do things the 'right' way; had the kid out of wedlock, never married, didn't pull themselves up by their bootstraps enough (gag), don't keep up with the latest fashion trends, their home looks old fashioned. Or maybe they have a criminal/alcoholic/addicted family member (whether they do or not is often irrelevant) and they seem to think it'll rub off on their kid (???)

So I think if Steve and Eddie did play together as kids, I unfortunately don't think it would have lasted long before Steve's parents steered him more towards people 'like them'

Thank you for the ask, my love! I hope I answered your questions. 🖤

Ask me Steddie questions!

#steddie #penny ask #steddie questions #ghost eddie #vampire eddie #kas eddie #steddie childhood friends #Steddie Artist

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devilsgatewayhq · 3 months

Text

Name: Hale Kincaid Age: 39 Time living in Tonopah: Native (Recently returned after 20 years) Occupation: Artisan For Hire Gang Affiliation: Sons of Silence (Nomadic) Neighborhood: Downtown Face Claim: Joseph Morgan

Biography (TW: Death, blood, murder, drugs, minor mention of abuse):

The Ghost of Tonopah Valley. Or at least – that’s what the legend calls him. There was a time where Hale Kincaid was very much known for the trail of blood he left in the wake of a vengeful tirade. But he wasn’t always known for being a monster. He was born to one – James Decker – who’d completely dismissed his mother when she revealed her pregnancy. While they were college lovers, James had no intention of building a life with the smalltown girl who dreamed of a big family. He’d left her with enough money to keep her comfortable (or quiet) and never thought twice about the girl he’d left behind nor the child he refused to acknowledge. Hale’s entrance into the world was an arduous one. While his mother considered him a blessing, he would eventually learn to believe he was cursed. After 32 hours of strenuous labor, Hale had finally arrived kicking and screaming. All was well. Then it wasn’t.

Barely a month old and his mother left him due to birthing complications. Hard she fought to stay with the son she’d always hoped for, and quiet she went never getting the chance to raise him. Hale was alone in the world, passed around from one foster house to the next, never quite belonging anywhere or to anyone. His knack for self-preservation wasn’t one taught, but learned after years of never knowing if the hand that’d fed him would also be the one to strike him. Though a rough upbringing, it allowed him to develop the thick skin and defensive measures to endure the Sons of Silence one day.

His affiliation with the gang is one that started off as a life line. After landing in a remotely nice foster home with a foster mom who seemed to care for him, Hale landed himself somewhere else – juvie. Wrong place at the wrong time and the cops were happy to blame some inconsequential crime on a kid. If it wasn’t for his blood aunt learning of his existence – Nellie, still a kid in her own right – and showing up to plead for a lighter punishment, he feared he would’ve stayed in juvie for most of his adolescence. His two months in the detention center had him connect with a fellow loner, someone misunderstood and miserable, just like him. The boy’s name was Cole Monroe and he was the one who first introduced him to the Sons. A prospect of a life with a place to belong, it was all he ever wanted. Though he’d have to wait until he was 18 to join, the boy promised to introduce him to the MC once they got out. The chance to start over was one Hale couldn’t pass up. But the nagging reminder of his real family wasn’t one he could shake. By the time he was released, his aunt had left Tonopah, but she wasn’t the only Decker in town.

It took weeks of building up courage to ask his foster mom to initiate an introduction. While his uncle and aunt (by marriage) left a foul taste in his mouth, his cousins Shepherd and Sawyer were a different story. For the first time in his life, Hale had people to confide in. A family to connect with, and one that loved him in return. For a while, life was steady. Hale had finally found a place to just rest in a home that didn’t feel temporary.

And then his foster mother was murdered.

Deemed a random act of violence, authorities didn’t care to investigate what would prompt someone to ransack the apartment of a 60-year-old woman. But it didn’t take long for the whispers to begin. Hale had always lived on the wrong side of the tracks and interacted with those more skeevy than upstanding. Once rumors began that he was some long-lost Decker with access to old money, of course some punks tried to cash in. Someone loyal to him keyed him into who: Los Santos.

Hale was never wrathful…until this moment. Reserved, calculating, maybe a little hot-headed, but never volatile. But he found taking justice in his own hands a right of passage. His warpath was doused with blood – more blood than he’d ever seen – and he didn’t care to wash himself clean. Once again left alone in the world, once again because of his own existence. Going back to being the sad little orphan was no longer an option and leaving behind his cousins was a by-product of that. Hale told himself it was for their own good, but mostly he was terrified that they wouldn’t recognize what he’d become. An empty shell, a ghost of the boy he used to be with a rage he couldn’t seem to shake.

From that point on he stayed on his own until he turned 18, managing to stay under the radar with the help of some trusted allies. He earned his patch from the Sons (mostly because his warpath led to the elimination of Los Santos recruits therefore briefly stunting their expansion efforts) and Hale was immediately moved to a different charter. Most thought this decision was to get him out of town and out of sight due to his recent indiscretions, but it was also at his own request. Hale wanted– no, needed to move on from the legacy he didn’t mean to build for himself. After leaving an apology letter for his cousins and a contact to reach out for emergencies, the Ghost of Tonopah Valley left. And for 20 years he stayed gone.

Until Sawyer called.

It’s an emergency, was all she said and all it took to get him on a plane back to the place he’d never quite considered home. Whatever it is that made Sawyer beckon him to return, Hale knows this for a fact – he’d happily become a villain who haunts the streets of Tonopah Valley once again to keep the only family he has left safe.

Headcanons:

As a nomad he considered himself a “pharmaceutical distributor” where he sold drugs, mostly marijuana, on the side to earn income. This endeavor allowed him to save up enough to live quite comfortably and, while he doesn’t deal anymore, he does keep growing his own personal stash for his own enjoyment. Especially considering he would rather light himself on fire than give money to the town’s main supplier.

He’s an artist, as it was a simple skill he was able to develop without tons of money or resources as a kid. While his interest has grown into adulthood and he now dabbles in different mediums– acrylic paints, clay sculpting, hand-blown glass just to name a few– his precision to his craft is a trait he carries over to every aspect of his life. From his work with the Sons to his personal encounters, Hale does everything with a flare, a signature that makes him unique. And he’s very thorough, even down to the minute details.

Hale wears a pendant of St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes. It dangles beneath the collar of his shirts–always out of view but right above his heart. As one of the only items that belonged to his mother, it’s one of if not his most prized possession.

Hale suffers a lot of trauma due to his parents. From the abandonment he felt from his father, to the survivor’s guilt he felt for outliving his mother. They’re feelings he’s never divulged before and have only festered into something hateful and poisonous over the years.

Separating himself from his cousins was one of the hardest decisions Hale had to make. But he couldn’t see a world where he was worthy of their love and loyalty after the damage he’d done. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen or heard of them over the years. Through his connections with other Sons members, he made it a priority to keep tabs on them both to make sure they were alright.

#affiliation: sons of silence.#gender: man.#tv character.

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solitus17utopia · 4 months

Text

" beauty is in the eye of the beholder , so i'll admire you a little longer."

High positions raise demands for high quality work, so it'd only make sense they pinpoint their attention on much more professional and crucial matters than attempting to court a recluse citizen that fails to suspect a single thing. Not only that... it seems that everyone knows all about their profound little obsession over them! How embarrassing, but if it makes you break out into a smile, even if little or dim, it's worth it, right?

pronouns — they/them.

genre — fluff, 'best friends with secret crushes on the other' trope.

c.warning — nothing too serious, mentions of social anxiety and stress regarding it but does not go into detail.

✧ Wriothesley. — So... opposites do attract.

The Duke of Meropide is one that does flaunt his wealth or prowess, as mighty as he may be. Finding comfort in the little things in life, such as the company of his acquaintances that have grown to be pleasant friends, and the melusiene nurse that makes him feel a tad bit too old.

In the face of formal occasions, he simply declines the letter as professionally and politely he can, with something often incredulous. However, it always worked. Nonetheless, whilst he strolled around the bustling city of Fontaine, with the sound of chatter accompanying the air, he walked to his usual teahouse.

What awaited him was not what he expected, but neither was he ever surprised much of the outcomes and results in his life. But, the amused gleam in the Duke's crystal-blue eyes, surely said something for the person that suited themselves to a corner of the shop, enjoying the scenery playing out like perfect puppets of a orchestrated play. They didn't seem bored, rather, they gave off the impression that the activities of everyday people were a fascinating notion they observed.

As the owner noticed their gaze, they well-meaningly shot Wriothesley a curious look. Smiling, they subtly suggested him to strike up a conversation, which doesn't often occur out of pure curiousity. But, hey, similar interests should be enough to build a conversation! Right...? He thought. Even if they don't speak as much or aren't as he expected them to be, or just different from the type of people he usually speaks to; one thing is for sure, and that is you make a pleasant company.

The first time the Duke chattered with the stranger, it was partially because the latter was having trouble with a transaction assumingly due to the loud, conversing voices overlapping each other. And with how it was slightly cramped, it was no wonder they were seating. Wriothesley, who stood next in line for his tea, noticed this and placed his left arm lightly above the small of their back, a comforting and ghost of a touch. If they raised their head to gaze at his strikingly sharp blue eyes, they'd notice a supportive, small smile on the man's lips too. Everything worked out well for, unbeknownst to the citizen, both of them. They paid without stress breathing down their neck, and Wriothesley got to feel a ghost of their aura and definitely a featherlight of their skin.

The second, third, fourth and so on built above these fateful encounters, mere chances as if a shut-in crossing paths with the Duke of Meropide, more times than a journalist has, in broad daylight was no extraordinary dance. And to every confused furrow of the innocent's brows, Wriothesley only produced a grin in return. Not long after, they'd find themselves winding up even in the Fortress of Meropide. Conversing over a cup of tea, Wriothesley slowly and subtly helped to apply to foundation for getting rid of their social anxiety. Even if it was something they possessed from a very young age, Wriothesley would make sure that they, at the very least, had little encounters with the dread of speaking to strangers.

So, that's how he got them everything they needed. Be it stationary to groceries and clothes, he'd have it at their beck and call. Of course, a keen eye was bound to notice this, in fact, multiple curious gazes. First it was, of course, the retired Hydro archon Furina, who was just going on with her day, feeding a stray cat before noticing Wriothesley's boastfulness around the citizen. Second was Sigewinnie, followed by Neuvillette, and so so on.

It was as if Wriothesley entertained no care to the scandalous to incredulous gossips around Fontaine, underground and above. As if he wasn't in a high position that dragged hungry aristocrat's eyes to, or others docile in presence of him. But, he vows he shall make a promise, that he will keep them safe, happy and content; in his mind, of course. Confessions can wait, he won't let a fly rest on their shoulder or let others snatch them off, even if unintended. They are his, and you will be his one day officially. All he needs his patience, which is a virtue he fortunately dons, as for love... Sigewinnie has already blunted pointed it out how it's almost literally flooding his eyes at the human's presence, or in the skips in his walk, even the way he talks.

Regardless, he won't let a single negative ion touch their skin or sound their ears, and as for the people remarking about how such a Duke with an authoritative presence is crushing on a person like them, they... have not been heard badmouthing them once more. Oh well, they say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, is it not? If that is the case, he can and will admire you from distance, and hopefully, near soon.

— alex's comments on this matter : aah , finally i posted... sorry for the delays and all, mental health and life as a whole has been pretty much a lot to bear. buuut, i hope this makes up at least a bit for the missing works; i thought if i might as well post, might as well make it long and worthwhile. was going to make a tiny drabble but ran out of motivation :( it's not my best piece either, but i tried. take care !

#⧼ ✣ ⧽ TO THE MANAGEMENT DEPARTMENT #⧼ ✣ ⧽ FOREIGN AFFIRMATION RECOGNITION.#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley headcannons #wriothesley scenarios #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley #wriothesley genshin impact #furina #focalors #neuvillette #sigewinnie #hoyoverse #fontaine #mihoyo

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zackcrazyvalentine · 3 years

Note

I ONLY SENT YOU SIMPING AND BRAINROT SCENARIOS TILL NOW SO HERE I COME WITH AN ANGSTY ONE

what if ever since mc came into twisted wonderland they’ve been slowly absorbing magic ? like their body started to adapt themselves to the logic of these worlds and its just accumulate inside of them

so they’re absorbing magic but the problem is they also absorbs the blot and since they don’t have anything to clear it it just stays stagnant .

life goes on grim’s overblot is over , but then mc fainted .

well i mean who wouldn’t be tired after such battle ? multiple persons have been injured so that isn’t really that worrying right ?

well mc isn’t waking up

one day , one week , and still no sign of mc waking up .

everyone is desperate for them to wake up but nothing works . none of the potions crewel and vil worked , sam’s friends on the other side don’t have any solution , and no matter how many dark spells lilia knows it surely doesn’t help him in any ways. heck crowley even put aside his pride and asked help from rsa’s headmaster

but one day they did wake up , but something wrong . their once bright eyes were replaced by lifeless orbs , as if all the light had been sucked from them .

grim has never so guilty in his life but tried to look on the brighter side of things ! he tell them about how ace and deuce are still as stupid as ever , how riddle went off on floyd again or the way epel mocks vil behind his back when his lessons are too harsh !

but even as he looks so happy , he can’t help but feel this immense void in his heart

“hey henchmen ... when are you coming back ?”

they don’t respond when you talk to them , when you touch them , they just stare into the void .

Anon..... oh, anon..... WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO MY HEART ?!?!?! 😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

I can tolerate and soak up that good angst of the boys feeling guilty for something that happened to MC......BUT GRIM?!?!?! MY HEART, DID YOU HEAR IT SHATTER?!?!?! 😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

THIS IS ANGST SO MUCH ANGST

[Anon's explanation about MC's state]

-- -- --

MC is like doll now, only breathing and staring into the void. Sometimes, they follow a request or order given by someone.

Heartslabyul's tea parties aren't as merry as they used to be. MC just sits there, staring at their cup, occasionally taking sips when Riddle suggests them to try the warm drink. Ace and Deuce can't even crack a smile in the Prefect's presence, not when they're a hollow husk of their sassy self. Cater and Trey feel uncomfortable crossing stares with MC, they rarely look up from their cup or slice of tart. Deuce, more often than not, finds himself crying at night after the parties

Riddle is trying his best every night, searching through his mother's old books back home for a possible remedy... The pages are wrinkled from the many tears he's shed while reading, heart aching for their friend.

Ruggie feels his chores heavier than ever. It's because MC is no longer coming to lend a hand as they used to. The bags under his eyes became more prominent with how late he stays up, looking up at the ceiling as he keeps mourning for MC's lost soul.

Jack is seen more often in his wolf form, howling at the moon... Anything to shed his tears and scream his sorrow out in a less noticeable way. He often struts over to MC while they're sitting outside Ramshackle, and pushes his furry head into their lap and hands, wishing HOPING to one day feel their delicate hands pet him again.

Everyone can see how Leona secludes himself to his room, people have begun comparing him to Idia.... But, unlike what they think, he's not sleeping. On the contrary, he's staying awake, tearing through many books from his homeland about occult magic and resurrection. After all, only someone with enough money would be able to buy such forbidden knowledge.

He won't let his herbivore live on like this, not if his country knows a way to bring them back.

Azul could feel himself thread the edge of insanity. Would it kill him to go through a second overblot? ....would that be better than living on without MC's company?

He will search far and wide through all of Wonderland's oceans and lakes, lagoons and swamps, for a Unique Magic holder than can revert back the blot... or time.... He will give his everything away in a contract to have such magic as his

Jade and Floyd can see the deep cracks in Azul, he's turning into an unfit leader.... It would be best for them to take his role

But they don't want to, for their hearts are cracked like his

Floyd is easier to go on rampages, and Jade is so indifferent to the word outside of his hobbies. If it weren't for their collective love for MC, Floyd would have tried hurting them to see if that wakes MC up.

They never felt so empty and unamused

Kalim's heart physical aches whenever he sees Grim and MC. He's tried, tried all he could

Singing, dancing, playing music, throwing million parties, hugging them, whispering how much he loves them right on their ear... but nothing

He may not be the smartest, but the white haired boy is perseverant and eager to learn: he spends his days in the alchemy room along with Vil and Crewel, researching the poison that is a magician's blot

Jamil never felt so useless, mind clouded with many "if only" scenarios that make him blame himself for MC's situation

If only he hadn't overblotted, if only he hadn't sent them flying off to the ends of the earth, if only he had noticed the poison clinging to their soul sooner.... If only....

Why didn't he realize the blot developing in their body? It was only natural, after spending so much time in Twisted Wonderland without any buffer for the magical energy on this place

If only he could take their place...

Vil never left the alchemy room or Pomefiore's underground laboratory. He spent every day researching how to revert MC's ailments

He only ever left the labs to go into Ramshackle and help the Prefect prepare for the day. Whenever he got to putting on their makeup, Vil can't help but cry at how hollow and dull they look, when they used to be such a warm and radiant soul

Rook was on the same boat, taking his science club duties more serious than ever. He would search in every single ecosystem for any plant, mushroom, hunt down any animal, organ that was needed for even the slightest help for MC

And Epel.... All he could do was scream and punch his pillow, cursing fate and how sick the world is. What did an innocent, magicless person from another world do to deserve this?!

He will often go sit besides MC and carve apples for them, of their favorite flower, their zodiac sign, their favorite animal, and those carvings they loved most of his

...but the fruits will always rot, just like their once beautiful soul

Idia, who was already barely seen outside, hides deeper in his room

The internet is a place full of information, knowledge... Forbidden knowledge

The shut-in and his little brother are always monitoring EVERY SINGLE portal on the internet, be it on the surface or deep DEEP down in the depths

But what tortures him the most.... Is his very own room This is the place he mad many memories with MC in, every corner of his room echoes with their laughter and gentle voice Like a ghost haunting him from now until forever

Ortho is left to wonder how fickle a human's soul is, their body so fragile But was this really in their fate? Or was it an unexpected outcome not even destiny could foretell?

"I miss you... I want to play more. Wake up soon, [Name][Surname]-san" A strange wavering in his voice was heard, followed by a knot in his throat.

Diasomia dorm is always under a storm cloud, green lightning striking the ground surrounding it

Fae have magic beyond a simple human's comprehension, even more so dark fae There MUST be someone in Valley of Thorns that will heed the Prince's call for aid

"The story of old..." Malleus muttered one night, snapping even the sleep-prone knight into attention. "Calls... for True Love's kiss, after the princess was cursed."

Lilia can feel his heart ache for the young dragon. "These are very different situations, Malleus." Yet the bat utters no words

Sebek understands what his precious Lord is getting to. "I shall ask Grim to leave the door open tomorrow night."

Silver nodded along his fellow guard, "If there is anything we can procure, do not hesitate on asking for it, Malleus-sama"

Vanrouge sighed, "It doesn't hurt to try." "Steady heart, goal clear in mind. Do not waver in your actions, my Prince, hesitation never helps when working with curses."

The disheveled royal finally straightened up, eyes red and puffy from how long he's cried and how little he sleeps. "Sebek, go to Ramshackle. We must try it out... now"

Grim dealt with the worst blow

It unsettled him to live with such a different MC. Even the Ghosts were unsettled and hurting from what happened to their friend.

"But I will keep sleeping on your chest, ye hear?! As long as I keep hearing your heartbeat, I will guide you back with my warmth and my blue flames! Just.... just make sure to follow my path, yes?"

"[Name]... we miss you so much... don't leave yet, not yet, not like this..."

"Follow my flames, like I always followed your light... Please?"

-- -- --

My heart was shattered right as I was all happy and giggly about Disney savvy MC stuff.... B O Y, WAS I NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT

SO NOW YOU COME SUFFER WITH ME

#zask #twisted wonderland #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarabia #pomefiore #ignihyde #diasomnia #angst #sips tears

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Note

ok. karin vs anakin's genome being 50% the Force. go

Jesus fuck, okay. Uh, fair warning, I know very little about this subject, so it’s 90% bullshit. I am in no way qualified to talk about biology past the high school level.

Anakin's sixteen. He's part of a set of Jedi assigned to a weird mission regarding making contact with an isolated planet of near-humans with superpowers but no space travel. He doesn’t really have a Job here and now, he’s just there as Obi-Wan’s plus-one. There's an underlying plot about Sidious trying to acquire people from Ninja Land, but none of the Jedi are fully aware of it. Mostly they're distracted by all the ninjas and their bitching.

They call it the Shinobi Planet, because nobody can agree on a name for the planet when they ask and the last major international alliance was named after the shinobi profession, right? Good enough, you can change it later when you idiots can agree on literally anything, oh my god. The Samurai are very offended and it's a whole thing.

Anakin wanders a lot. He runs into various strange people and is mostly polite because, listen, half his friends are distinctly not human. When your immediate circle includes nautolans and besalisks and twi’leks and whatever the fuck Yoda is, you’re not gonna blink at a Hoshigaki or... uh... okay that kid just turned into a giant fox, is anybody gonna--no? That’s normal? Just him? Cool, cool, cool.

There’s a kage summit involved in the negotiations going on. IDK what’s being negotiated, probably something to get the ninjas to set up a singular spaceport so there’s somewhere to land WITHOUT ships being regularly shot down by village defense systems powered by that massive flaming purple skeleton warrior or the girl who punched down a mountain or the.. the literal desert? There’s a guy that can control the desert? Is there any way of keeping him away from Anakin?

(Gaara’s tickled pink that the reason someone wants to stay away from him has nothing to do with fear or respect for authority, and everything to do with ‘he is also from the desert and fucking hates it, so he’s staying away from the sand powers,’ because it’s very novel and kind of funny.)

ANYWAY where was I. Uh. Right, kage summit, lots of villages, they invite smaller villages to pitch in, but nobody ever ever ever wants Orochimaru anywhere near this situation, for hopefully obvious reasons, so Otogakure sends Karin.

Really, who else was it gonna be? Suigetsu? You want Suigetsu representing you on an interstellar political field? You want Juugo before he’s stabilized? You want Sasuke, master of ruining kage summits? You want these idiots representing you at the big kids’ table?

They send Karin. She’s a bitch with a temper, but at least she’s not as big of a political risk as... literally anyone else from the snakepit.

Anyway, Anakin wanders around, meeting people, trying foods, showing off when asked for demonstrations. He doesn’t have an Entire Protocol Droid, but he did cobble together a little floating helper that can do translations for him. Assume all translations are accurate and being done by the little helper bot. Bot’s name is G1-0T. Anakin calls it Glot.

He runs into Karin at one point, who’s not super into the whole situation, but at least Anakin’s interesting. She’s not interested in him, because he’s sixteen and she’s like... mid-twenties. And his hair is stupid. But! All these force-sensitive people feel weird to her, because sensor stuff, and it’s not chakra but it’s... something. Anakin is, of course, the weirdest.

(There are non-sensitives in the envoy, so she knows it’s not just a space thing.)

She strikes up a conversation about it, because hey, she hasn’t made it this far to not lean into... you know, being the kind of person who barges ahead with Weird Questions that might lead into fun science stuff.

Anakin is like. Well. This woman’s very strange, but it’s not like there’s anything against talking about midichlorians to random people. It’s easy enough to look up in the core. Not everyone knows about them, but it’s not a secret or anything.

“Wow,” Karin says, though not in so many words, “that sounds incredibly strange, and actually a lot like it functions completely differently from chakra, though maybe it intersects with nature chakra somehow. Can I take a blood sample?”

Anakin doesn’t want to give a blood sample to a stranger. Karin isn’t stupid enough to try to steal one. She’s seen what this Force Stuff can do, and this kid’s got a lot of it. She hasn’t got enough information on hand about it to know if he’d notice.

“How about I let you look at the blood of a guy that can turn into water?” Karin asks, because she’s not going to let him look at her blood. “I’ve got it with me.”

“...why?” Anakin asks, reasonably disturbed.

“He owes me,” she says, and does not elaborate.

“What, there’s nothing weird about your blood to share?” Anakin demands, like the ornery little bastard he is.

“People took my blood against my will for over a decade,” Karin says, with the kind of smile that threatens a stabbing. This is not secret information. Her healing factor is in the bingo book. Plenty of people still want her dead. “Nobody gets my blood except me.”

Anakin has no idea what to do with that answer. Most people wouldn’t know what to do with that answer. It’s not exactly a standard answer.

“So there is something weird about your--e chu ta what the fuck are those scars?”

Karin looks at her arm. She looks back at him. She raises an eyebrow.

“What do you think they are?”

He stares a little longer, and then very carefully does not say anything as she pushes her sleeve back down.

“So can I look at your blood?” she asks again.

“Uh--”

“You can look at mine under a microscope,” she wheedles. “You can’t take any, though.”

Anakin... does eventually agree. Eventually.

-----------

There is a very angry redhead yelling at a machine, and Anakin does not know what to do.

“Is something wr--”

“What the fuck is your blood?” she demands. “It’s glowing in ultraviolet. It burned the dye up. I tried to sequence your genome--”

“Woah, I did not agree to that.”

“--and look at this. Look at this!”

“I don’t know how to read your graphs. None of this is a language I know.”

“It’s garbage,” she hisses at him. Glot takes a few moments to process it. “Look at this. This is supposed to--fuck, where’s the Jiraiya file, he’s standard--this is what it’s supposed to look like for most humans with chakra. And this is a civilian, and a few bloodline users--”

“Do you just carry these around with you?”

“Shut up, you don’t exist. You have--you have more in common with summons than people. I ran a blood test on one of your human diplomats, the ones that aren’t monks--”

“When did they agree to that?”

“They didn’t, I’m just sneaky.”

“I should tell Obi-W--”

“STAY THERE, I’M NOT DONE YELLING YET. Do you see this? Do you see this shit? This is the one and only time I’ve managed to perform any kind of analysis on a bijuu. They don’t usually have blood. Shukaku is sand. Matatabi is literally just fire. This was almost impossible to make happen, but I did it because I’m a dedicated biomedical resea--”

“Because you’re unhinged.”

“--rcher, and you know what? You know what I’ve found?”

“What?”

“Your blood looks like you’re half demon,” she says, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking, a little wild-eyed and clearly pissed at him. “Half of it’s human! Half of it looks like the non-physical chakra manifestations that were torn-apart remnants of a godlike demon. The fuckers can’t die. They also can’t breed. They don’t have reproductive organs! This isn’t just demon-tainted like a jinchuuriki, I’ve got that analyzed--”

“Why?”

“Because my cousin’s a moron, don’t change the subject. You--you shouldn’t exist. Your blood is stupid. Fuck, is this what I’d find if I analyzed the Sage of the Six Paths?”

“The what?”

She ignores him, frowning at papers. “Is--I need to call Haruno, she might still have some of Kaguya’s blood dried on her old gloves from the war, I know she kept those as a souvenir from the whole ‘punched a god’ thing.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“There was a thing a few years back, godlike alien demon princess who got sealed into a moon by her sons a thousand years ago, but her immortal sentient goo child brought her back with a giant tree that consumed all the tailed beasts-the flaming fox you saw earlier is one of them--and then used a giant eyeball to reflect off the moon to put everyone in a hallucination at the same time so she could eat our life-forces,” Karin dismisses. “It’s not important.”

“There is--what?”

Jedi see many things. Many of those things are very strange.

This is a little much even for Anakin.

“It’s over, if you want the actual details, talk to my idiot cousin,” she huffs. “But now I need to run comparisons between the actual nonsense that is your entire existence and the actual nonsense that is my cousin’s existence, and maybe Sasuke’s... fuck this is going to be a mess, I’m going to have to cross-reference all the clans with bloodlines we know are derived from Kaguya, she’s the only angle we have on gods like that, unless... maybe there’s still some black Zetsu goo somewhere... Orochimaru must have kept a sample...”

“Uh, can I--can I go? I’m not comfortable here.”

“I need to find Naruto so he can call the Sage of the Six Paths out of the afterlife so I can see if I can get blood from a ghost to compare to yours.”

#Anakin Skywalker #Uzumaki Karin #Karin #Karin Uzumaki #Naruto #star wars #mini fic #Phoenix Posts #Phoenix Answers Asks #this is so stupid and I have no idea what I'm talking about #bijuu don't even have blood but Anakin's has more in common with THEM than with humans

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ibijau · 3 years

Note

27 for chengxian! (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

(Losing their memory only to have it come back after a much awaited true love’s kiss.)

Y'all really like that prompt lol I think I have at least one more ask for that one somewhere?

“And he’s been like this the whole time?” Jiang Cheng asked, repressing a shiver of disgust.

“Yes, zongzhu.”

“He didn’t even make a single inappropriate joke?”

“Not so much as a smile, zongzhu. And he said he was sorry for the inconvenience.”

Jiang Cheng gave Wei Wuxian another long look. He would have suspected a joke, but that style of humour would have more been Nie Huaisang’s thing. Wei Wuxian usually went for pranks instead of comedy. Besides, several Jiang disciples had been there when Wei Wuxian had taken in hand the cursed box, and they’d all testified to feeling a powerful discharge of Yin energy. Not only that, but the owner of the box had apparently warned them beforehand of the risk, and explained as well how to cure the curse.

True love’s kiss, of all things.

Normally, when it came to Wei Wuxian, that would have been quite an easy cure to organise. If anything, it was preventing him from indulging in those true love’s kisses that proved a challenge.

So of course this whole mess had to happen when, for once, Jiang Cheng had managed to get his shixiong to come without that damn icicle he called a husband. A favour he had only obtained because Lan Wangji was away on a Night Hunt in a place where resentment toward the feared Yiling patriarch remained too great for Wei Wuxian to go with him. It would take a few days until Lan Wangji could be warned of this incident and returned to administer his cure.

Until then, Jiang Cheng was stuck with this stranger who didn’t look like his shixiong, and didn’t even act like him either.

“At least it’s an improvement over his normal personality,” his first disciple scoffed. “Let’s all enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Am I really that bad?” Wei Wuxian asked with open concern. “If it is inconvenient for others when I am myself, perhaps I’d better stay like this.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. Lan Wangji would never have allowed that, he knew. Someone in that marriage needed to have a personality, and it wasn’t going to be the second jade of Gusu Lan. Although perhaps if they were both equally boring, then perhaps there would be a divorce, and Jiang Cheng could get his shixiong back.

A most tempting plan, except for the fact that this man before him just wasn’t Wei Wuxian, and thus wasn’t worth keeping around.

“Send for Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng reluctantly ordered. “And you, come with me,” he added toward Wei Wuxian. “I’m not letting you sleep at some inn when you’re in that state. I’ll have your room prepared, you’re staying where I can see you until you’re better.”

The man who wasn’t Wei Wuxian meekly followed him without a single objection, nor any attempt at teasing. Jiang Cheng found it almost sickening, which surprised him. He’d spent most of his life wishing Wei Wuxian would learn to act more appropriately and to show proper deference to those around him. By all accounts, this should have pleased Jiang Cheng to finally behold a version of his shixiong that knew his place.

He refused to dwell on that, mostly because it never did him good to think too long about that insufferable shixiong of his. Instead, Jiang Cheng congratulated himself on his decision to have had a room prepared for Wei Wuxian the instant he’d heard Lan Wangji wasn’t with him. If he wasn’t going to have shameless intercourse during the whole night, there was no need to banish Wei Wuxian to an inn. Of course Jiang Cheng hadn’t been sure how to offer that bedroom to the other man without being accused of being friendly, so at least one positive side to that curse had been to remove the need for an explanation.

After a few days together, Jiang Cheng had determined that being stuck with that unnatural version of Wei Wuxian was the worst torture he’d ever endured, even counting being struck by discipline whips and having his golden core torn from him.

Now that he’d had time to observe the amnesiac man during the afternoon and at dinner, Jiang Cheng had realised that contrary to his first impression, something of Wei Wuxian remained through the loss of memory. It was only small things, a manner of movement, the way he held his glass of tea, or the gesture with which he sprinkled additional spices over his dinner without even tasting it. A hundred ghosts of who Wei Wuxian was, lingering in a man who had too much politeness and not enough humour.

It was striking also to realise just how little Wei Wuxian looked like himself in his current body. Usually it wasn’t noticeable because his personality made up for the difference, but at the moment he truly looked like nothing but a complete stranger wearing a disguise.

Jiang Cheng hated it.

And Wei Wuxian, apparently, noticed it.

“If you tell me more about what I’m normally like, I can try to act more like it,” he said in a forlorn voice on the fourth afternoon, while watching Jiang Cheng take care of his correspondence.

Jiang Cheng only grunted.

“Though from what everyone says, aren’t I more pleasant to have around like this?”

Another grunt. Others were idiots for not appreciating Wei Wuxian as he naturally behaved, while Jiang Cheng was equally stupid for missing it.

“Just tell me what to do,” Wei Wuxian insisted, and Jiang Cheng hated that those were words he’d always wished to hear but now felt so wrong. “Should I smile? Should I be…” he hesitated. “Should I be obnoxious?” he asked in a trembling voice, just pathetic enough that in a roundabout way, it did sound like something Wei Wuxian might say if he were joking.

Jiang Cheng, exhausted and on edge, almost laughed.

Sadly Wei Wuxian noticed, and took it as encouragement.

“I think I can do that,” he claimed, coming to sit closer until he was nearly on Jiang Cheng’s lap.

That, too, felt a little too much like the real Wei Wuxian, though normally he kept that sort of behaviour for Lan Wangji.

Well perhaps that damn icicle liked being climbed over, but Jiang Cheng did not. Not at all, not one bit, that scenario had never once appeared in his dreams, when his mind thought it could betray his good sense. So Jiang Cheng tried to push away Wei Wuxian, who quickly threw his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck to make it harder.

“Isn’t this the sort of things I’d do?” Wei Wuxian pleaded, pressing himself harder against Jiang Cheng the more his shidi tried to get rid of him, until he was all but straddling him. “I’ve heard people say I’m flirty.”

“Yes, toward your husband!”

“Well, I don’t know him. But I know you. You’ve been kind to me those few days, even when it was obvious that you don’t like seeing me like this. You shout a lot, but I think you’re a very good person at heart.”

“I’ve tried to kill you in the past,” Jiang Cheng blurted, though he gave up on trying to push Wei Wuxian away. “More than once.”

“From what I’ve heard, you’re hardly the only one.”

Two thoughts crossed Jiang Cheng’s mind.

The first was that he might have to borrow some ideas and forbid gossip in the Lotus Pier, if Wei Wuxian had heard so much in so little time.

The second was that he probably ought to hate a little more the way Wei Wuxian was straddling him, and how close he was. Close enough that if someone were to come in, they’d get the wrong idea and think they were about to…

Jiang Cheng’s eyes flickered to Wei Wuxian’s lips. He wondered, and then mentally slapped himself for wondering.

“The cure is a true love’s kiss, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian asked in a whisper.

“Your damn true love is going to arrive tonight or tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng retorted in a voice that failed to be anything but pleading. “Wait for him instead of playing games.”

“If I wait for him, I’ll never be sure about you,” came the answer, before Wei Wuxian pressed their lips together.

Jiang Cheng, at first, merely allowed it to happen, unsure what to do with his hands, with his mouth even. Wei Wuxian appeared to understand and, without breaking the kiss, placed Jiang Cheng’s hands on his hips while also moving his lips in a gentle manner, as if trying to show him what to do.

When they parted, Wei Wuxian’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes shining with emotion. Then, slowly, his lips parted into the most obnoxious grin in the world, one that Jiang Cheng hadn’t seen once in those last few days.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian laughed, his voice just as annoying as ever. “Jiang Cheng, who knew!”

“Shut up! Get off my lap now that you’re cured!”

Wei Wuxian laughed again, sounding like a demented wolf, and Jiang Cheng hated how much he had missed that.

“Jiang Cheng, don’t pretend, I know you care, you can’t hide it anymore!”

“Who’d care for an asshole like you!” Jiang Cheng exploded, trying again to push away the other man, only for Wei Wuxian to laugh and press another quick kiss to his lips.

“Look at you, all embarrassed! Jiang Cheng, you’re an idiot, you know.”

“I’ll murder you!”

“Been there, done that,” Wei Wuxian retorted with another kiss. “Now listen. The cure was true love’s kiss, not ‘somewhat unrequited long lasting crush kiss’, alright?”

Jiang Cheng stopped fighting instantly, thus giving Wei Wuxian the chance to kiss him again, a little longer this time. Without any input from his brain, Jiang Cheng’s hands found their way to the other man’s hips, this time pulling him closer.

“What about your Hanguang-Jun then?” Jiang Cheng breathlessly asked when they parted. “Does that mean he’s…”

“I’m a very spoiled man,” Wei Wuxian said. “I can have two true loves, to make up for the fact that they’re both absolute bitches.”

The idea of sharing Wei Wuxian, now that Jiang Cheng knew he could have him, was particularly unpleasant. The only thing that would make it bearable, Jiang Cheng decided, was the certainty that Lan Wangji would be appalled that they had anything in common.

Happy with this petty thought, Jiang Cheng kissed Wei Wuxian again.

#chengxian #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #wwx is so fucking hard to write #and post canon jc is also damn hard to write #this caused me suffering but in a fun way

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thedelusionreaderbitch · 3 years

Text

Kaz Brekker/Platonic! Crows x fem! Reader - Silence

A/n: So I know I haven't been very active lately but hopefully that will change! Also I don't really love this fic it's not very good and I might rewrite it in the future but for now, you guys can enjoy this shit!!!

Warnings: Abuse, sexual abuse, rape, violence, mentions of death, technically mentions of suicide, THIS FIC IS A MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING!!!!

Summary: They used to be happy. That’s what Jesper says anyways about his sister. When he’s asked where it all went wrong it’s usually responded with an I have no idea. When Kaz comes to confront them in front of the Crows why you came back all bloodied and carrying back a body, they know this isn’t going to end well…

Death clung to you. That's what people muttered in the streets of Ketterdam, 'if the Blackbird is on a strike don't go outside for a week and remember, pray to the saint who wears the most colour.'

Great bedtime stories for children.

Your legend would never end, though it must have begun somewhere. Someone who you decided could witness one of your killings must have made up a story. Started it up and told it in fright to someone and the people not believing a word they say. Before their dead of course. And then it spreads like the plague.

The Blackbird was once a hopeful girl, full of dreams and happiness. She had beautiful feathers of all different kinds of colours, and they sang to the heavens and it was as if she was a child of the saints. Then one day - the bird that brought kindness and sunshine to everyone's lives fell into a trap.

There was a hyena that people all thought was bad news but she thought she could help him become a better person.

The little birdy was wrong.

He hurt the bird of colours so badly that one day he burned her feathers and they became pitch black. The hyena thought that he had won at last and had gotten power over the bird.

It was said that she ran and escaped the terrible beast that day. And because he had changed her to the very soul she wasn't the same anymore, no. She was only used for revenge, and it was said she turned her backs on the saints for not saving her. When the saints did decide to intervene the little bird was shattered and could no longer sing. Her voice reduced to a vengeful whip, it was no longer beautiful but fearsome.

It was said that on that night the Blackbird used her wings on Ketterdam so she could cover the sky in darkness so the stars in the sky, the only things the saints could use to watch over mankind was blindfolded in a merciless fog.

And there the Blackbird was born.

Maybe death clung to you, but not the same way that trauma and the cruelness of the world does.

And that's a fate worse than death.

You remember strike one, you and Jesper were kids - happy kids. And the neighbour's son of was considerably older than both of you offered to babysit the one time your Da, and Ma was out.

Jesper was playing in the back, perhaps practicing shooting so he could impress your Mum but you stayed inside saying something along the lines that you wanted to cook some cookies for Dad.

How you wished you hadn't.

That teenage boy had put his filthy little hands on you. He left you in the kitchen tears running down your face and bile that you had to force back down your throat.

Your mother had found you like that and she instantly knew what had happened and she made everything much more bearable. When you had nightmares you would get up and knock on her door quietly enough for her just to hear and because your Ma was a light sleeper but your Da was not, she would get up and see you alright.

The poor woman never told her husband because you had pleaded with her not to. She always did blame herself and she made sure the boy never came around again but she did thank the saints that he didn't go all the way.

She wasn't sunshine, (she always said that was you!) No, she was the faint moonlight in the distance that helped guide you on your way home.

Then she died.

Strike two, was your mother dying. You remember that day where she went to take the poison out of that child and when she did she sucked it back into herself. In your arms was the last place your Ma took her last breath.

That was the day the world had lost its guide home and it always seemed to be in peril after that.

Strike three came almost immediately after strike two. Your father wouldn't talk to you. You became a ghost in your own house, you understood your father though,

she did die in your arms.

Jesper was the only one that didn't make strike three the last strike where the rope was at its point and snapped. He was your armour against the world, with his funny quirks and quips. He was the older brother you needed in those moments.

But armour slowly breaks over time and your dear brother wasn't getting enough out of life at the farm. So when your Father sent Jesper to Ketterdam you went right with him.

You attended college for a bit but eventually, your armour had finally left you. It broke under the stress of everything in his life that he couldn't keep up with yours.

So you meant him.

He was kind but knew when the world was being too cruel. He was wealthy, but not rich. He was sweet, but not puke up rainbows kind of way. He knew you like the back of his hand and always knew how to comfort you. Jesper had actually meant him once before he got too busy with the Dregs and said maybe he knew you too well.

You yelled at him at the time and said that was absurd! He would never do anything to hurt you!

Strike four was falling under his spell.

Strike five was when he told you terrible things about yourself and you thought he was always right. He could do no wrong in your eyes.

Strike six was when he finally started beating you and you had just expected it at this point.

Strike seven was when you weren't allowed to go to school anymore.

Strike eight was when he wouldn't let you see anyone, not even your brother. But you never questioned it, he was basically a saint to you, why would you? Besides Jesper never seemed to have time for you anyways.

Strike nine was when he cheated on you and told you you had to be better.

Strike ten was when he started raping you.

Then one day he was worse than usual and you grabbed the hot poker from the fire pit, that he had used to beat you before, and you had told him to stay away.

Then you ran.

It was the straw the broke the camel's back, it was the saints giving up on him or maybe it was the saints giving up on you.

You didn't care, you were free.

You made one promise that day, that you would never love again.

You learned quickly what Ketterdam was like even before you had meant him, so perhaps that was why it was so easy to become the Blackbird. The girl who never smiled, the girl who only lived only for revenge. The monster that will wipe your existence off of the earth like it was nothing. The ghost that will haunt you when your sins line up too high.

Eventually, you joined the dregs and you connected with your brother once again and he knew something was wrong the moment he felt your presence. He didn't believe you were the Blackbird, the girl who terrorized the streets of Ketterdam.

But he learned to accept it, they all did except for that blasted Brekker boy.

With your time in the Dregs, you had slowly begun to form something with Kaz but you quickly remembered your promise to yourself and you let him go.

Although you don't like to admit it, the Crows had become your friends - family even. You would do anything to protect them even though it didn't seem like it. You were you though, and that was being afraid to even semi-connect with them. Of course, you were, because you were growing a bit too fond of Kaz Brekker and last time that lead you to a fate worse than death.

So you distanced yourself for a while to recollect your thoughts and if you really wanted to stay with them. Did they ever manipulate you? No. Then you came back and you stayed, maybe you weren't the perfect friend or a very good one at all but the Crows knew you even considering to stay was a blessing all in itself.

They were always so patient with you even Kaz, especially Kaz, and you never gave anything in return to them. Guilt would often cloud your mind when you were near them but they were always so amazing something you could never be.

But one day they came to their breaking point.

Killing people wasn't anything new for them, much less you killing people but coming back with a bloodied body and losing contact with them for weeks was probably not the same as just 'killing.'

Jesper pulls you by your bicep into Kaz's office with the other Crows following behind. You stumble in as Kaz slams the door shut being the last one in the room. They stare at you with beady eyes almost like the ones on the infamous birds around the Slat.

"What the fuck Y/n!" Jesper finally yells. Everyone around doesn't even bother to tell him to lower his voice their faces held the same anger that Jes's did.

Silence drowns you in its ocean keeping you in its waters. A chain is wrapped around your throat as you sink deeper and deeper into its depths. You try and swim away, run like you always had before, but the weight around your neck is too heavy, too dense and it slowly drowns you.

You just shrugged your shoulders. How could you explain all that you went through? Why would you want to?

"We can't just brush this off Y/n, we always do, but you crossed a line," Wylan states calmly but firmly at the same time putting a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder trying to ease the tension in the room.

You laugh, you hadn't even been walking a line at all. No, you had been jumping from rooftop to rooftop as they created a chalk line at how far you could go. Balling your hands into fits you snarl, they have been keeping you back. Maybe it's a good thing but you didn't want to admit it.

What about Kaz? A voice whispers in the back of your head.

Your eyes travel to his form in the back. He's leaning on the wall slightly but also using his cane to make himself look up-right. The darkness in the back compliments his angular features making them stand out as if saying he was above you. And to most people he probably was and he deserved that position.

But it didn't matter to you, he was just Kaz to you. Even if you saw him as someone... Important in your life, nevertheless he didn't matter. He was just another powerful man drawing a line that you couldn't cross as the line became smaller and smaller till you were trapped against a wall with nowhere to go.

When you first became the Blackbird, you climbed up that wall, you knew what was going to happen next. And you would never let anyone do that to you again.

"If you think I crossed the 'line' then your wrong." Your voice started out light-hearted (never does a fake smile crawl on your face though) but slowly became menacing and terrifying.

You spin of your heels turning to Jesper. "You've kept me in a cage giving me freedom but always locking me back up in the night."

You turn to Wylan and you mock his voice from earlier. "It was only a matter of time before I would break out." Your eyes lock onto Kaz's and your voice softens while you look at him.

"You knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later. A bird needs to stretch its wings somehow."

"That doesn't mean you get to cut off communication with us for weeks than bringing in a body all bloodied. What you said before doesn't even explain why you did that Y/n," Inej says quietly.

You growl and the people closest to you jump back a little.

"Oh, what are you going to do, kick me out? Half of your businesses wouldn't have even succeeded without me!"

Jesper balls his hands into fists. "Gee for fuck's sake Y/n would just tell us!"

"HE'S THE REASON I'M A MONSTER!"

Your shout makes everyone freeze in their place and there it is again. The overbearing silence that takes over everything with its darkness. Running threw out the room, swirling around you and making it impossible for you to even hear anything other than your own terrible thoughts of madness.

But one voice isn't in your head of that hyena howling at you no, it's real and you can hear it among the darkness. You close your eyes listening in and hearing something other than darkness.

"Y/n." Your eyes snap open and you meet Kaz's eyes and you feel something dangerously close to relief.

"Everyone else out."

The Crows file out of the room one by one following Kaz's order. Everyone leaves but Jesper hesitates at the door and you see your broken armour trying to come back to you again and although it's harsh he wasn't there when he should have been. You understood that he had other problems he needed to sort out but you were his little sister.

You were supposed to stick up for each other.

"Out." Your voice would sound cold to anyone else but to Jesper, it sounds tired and unhappy. Lonely also however it has a hit of love and revenge as well.

The taller brother just sighs though and close's the door.

Kaz's eyes meet yours and your hands start to fidget with the cuffs of your bloodied shirt.

He doesn't say anything, he just stares at you. Willing you to spill information with just a glance. Any God would fall prey to those eyes and they would disclose all their knowledge while also thanking him in the end.

Kaz Brekker had something more powerful than Godly power over you.

So you couldn't help but tell him the real more dark story behind the Blackbird, he had already told you his so maybe, just maybe you could trust him.

"Do you know the Story of the Blackbird?" Your voice rings out against the muteness of the room fighting against it for once in your miserable life.

Kaz nods his head showing you that he knew. Of course, he knew it, was Brekker he probably knows every single version by heart.

"And I assume you know it's about me?"

Rolling his eyes but nodding once again.

You hesitate, knowing that after this you couldn't go back. That these next few words could change everything and why are you even telling this to the bastard of the barrel?

Because you love him.

It's simple and you promised yourself you would never love again but possibly that promise wasn't real because perhaps you never really loved that hyena. Some form of peace has definitely come from killing him, but maybe there's more to moving on from trauma than just revenge.

So with those thoughts in mind, the words tumble out of your mouth and you wouldn't be able to stop them even if you tried.

"Around the time where Jesper was just starting in the Dregs I had gotten a boyfriend. He was... Well, he was the perfect boyfriend but looking back he was too perfect. Basically fake, he was a manipulator and he knew me like the back of his hand. He knew where to press and I was under the impression that he could do nothing wrong." You pause to take a breath but you don't look up from your spot on the floor.

"It started with the small things like little insults thrown my way, but then it grew into bigger things like calling me a slut and what not. I wasn't even surprised when he started beating me."

Your eyes slowly come off the floor and they travel up Kaz's body but never meeting his eyes. You didn't want to see the disappointment that would be held in those eyes. That was inevitable.

"Then every day it started to get worse till he-" You cut yourself off and your legs wobble underneath you and as you collapsed Kaz jetted out and caught you before you could fall.

Tears were running down your face as you gripped Kaz's shirt as he picked you up bridal style and carried you over to the bed. He place's you down and slides in beside you yet there was a good distance between the two of you. But it still gave you comfort and for the first time in a while, you didn't question why it did, you just went with it already knowing the reason why.

You loved him it was as simple as that.

"Then he-" You choked on a sob again and you bring your knees to your chest.

"You don't have to say it." He says gently nothing like what that hyena used to do to you.

"Noah used to rape me." The words come out in a blur and the tight feeling in your chest slowly falls apart and for the first time in a while, you truly feel like a Blackbird - free. Stuttering to breathe in a realization comes to your mind; Noah that monster will never hurt you ever again.

"Oh, my Saints! He's dead!" You cover your mouth with your hand and you lean back onto the headboard tears of happiness smear down your face. You don't laugh though but you feel even clearer than before. You could get used to this feeling.

Slowly you look over to Kaz and you realize the two of you were broken souls beyond repair and maybe just maybe that's what you needed. Perhaps that's what you both need, each other.

"Thank you." You whisper and the ends of Kaz's mouth curl's up a bit into what looks like is almost a smile but not quite. You would get there too one day.

===========TIME SKIP 4 Months======================

You jump from the rooftop gliding through the air and landing on the window sill of Kaz's office. You tilt your head to the side affectionately as you see The Crows getting ready for a heist only they're really just fooling around. Everyone but Kaz of course, he's in his desk chair drawing out some maps.

And they tell you you overwork! Hypocrites.

You open the window silently and you slip into the room unnoticed. You tiptoe over to Kaz's desk and you leap on top.

Kaz raises his eyebrow at you and you just shrug your shoulders, he probably had to stop anyways.

"You know there are other ways to get my attention other than acting like a child?"

"Oh, I know this is just more effective." You playfully respond.

Before Kaz could continue with the banter Jesper interject's just realizing you were here grabbing everyone's attention and placing it on you. Still not a fan of that.

"How the hell did you get from that rooftop to that window!" Jesper points outside in a slightly worried, big brother voice.

So you look him dead in the eyes and say; "I flew."

Jesper laughs along with the rest of The Crows but they stop at your deadpan look on your face.

"You didn't really?!"

"No, I didn't." You roll your eyes, "I didn't even think you knew that I did that."

Jesper comes over and wraps an arm around your shoulders and you immediately tense up.

"I do know some tricks! I am your older brother after all." His tone does get a few octaves of sombre at the end remembering the memories of how he didn't protect you before. But he's here now so you guess that's all matter's now.

You scoot off the desk out of his arm range but you do send him a sorry glance. The memories were just too much to handle sometimes. He just sends me a tiny knowing smile and nods and walk's off quietly (for the first time in his life) over to Wylan.

You watch everyone interact and it almost brings a smile to your face but something is missing and you wonder what it is.

Your question is quickly answered though as Kaz stands up beside you. His ungloved hand slowly garb's onto yours's and slowly you intertwine your fingers together.

"You really are the leader of a bunch of idiots." You say as Nina dares your brother to down a whole bucket paint.

"Yes, that's what it seems."

"But we love them." And for the first time in a while, you smile and it's not full-blown, it's tiny yet it has the whole galaxy in there.

"Yes, Yes I do." But Kaz isn't looking at The Crows he's looking at you.

Words 3517

-thedelusionreaderbitch

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 7

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 7 - This Venerable One Likes Wontons

The scorching sun was blazing.

The veranda of Life-Death Peak stretched for mile.

As a rising star among immortal cultivators, it was quite different from the other famous clans of the immortal world.

Take the most prosperous Rufeng Sect of Linyi. The main hall of the sect was called the "Six Virtues Hall", which intended to encourage disciples to be "wise, faithful, holy, righteous, benevolent, and loyal" in accordance with the six virtues. The area where the disciples live was called the "Six Behaviours Gate", which warns the disciples to practice "filial piety, friendship, harmony, marriage, responsibility, and compassion." The place where classes were taught was called "Six Arts Platform", which meant that disciples needed to be proficient in the six skills of "ritual, music, archery, riding, calligraphy, and mathematics".

All in all, its elegance was endless.

On the other hand, Life-Death Peak came from a poor background. Its names were hard to explain. "Danxin Hall" and "Platform of Righteousness and Evil" were alright. Perhaps it was because Mo Ran's father and his uncle weren't scholars and couldn't determine any better names. After a while, the names started to get more nonsensical, naming things "Xue Ya" -sounding names left and right.

Therefore, there are many plagiarised names from the underworld on Life-Death Peak. For example, the room where disciples practiced self-reflection was called Yanluo Hall.

The jade bridge connecting the resting area and the teaching area was called Naihe Bridge. The dining hall was called Mengpo Hall, the martial arts field was called Mountain of Daggers and Sea of Flames. The forbidden area of the back of the mountain is called the Ghost Room, and so on.

These weren't too bad, but there were other places simply called "This is a mountain", "This is water", "This is a pit", as well as the famous "Ahhhhh" and "Wahhhhhh" cliffs.

The elders’ dormitories naturally did not escape, and each has their own nickname.

Chu Wanning was naturally no exception. He liked peace and didn't want to live near others. His residence was built on the South Peak of Life-Death Peak, hidden in a sea of bamboo. There was a pool in front of the main hall, and the pool was red from lotus petals blocking the sunlight from reflecting off it. Because of its abundance of spiritual power, the lotus flowers were in full bloom all year round in the pool, like red clouds.

The disciples secretly called this beautiful place--

Red Lotus Hell.

When Mo Ran thought of this, he couldn't help but laugh.

Chu Wanning wore a terrifying face every single day, and the disciples who saw him thought he was the devil himself. Therefore, shouldn't the place where the devil stays be called hell?

Xue Meng interrupted his daydream: "You laugh even though you were scolded! Hurry up and eat breakfast. After eating, follow me to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil. Shizun will punish you in public today!"

Mo Ran sighed, and touched the whip mark on his face: "Hss. . . ow."

"You deserved it!"

"Hah, I wonder if Tianwen has been repaired. I hope he doesn't try it out on me again before it's fixed. Who knows what nonsense I might say."

In the face of Mo Ran's sincere concerns, Xue Meng's face flushed, and he angrily said: "If you dare to speak out indecently in public against Shizun, I'll rip your tongue out!"

Mo Ran covered his face and waved his hand faintly: "No need, no need, if Shizun ties me with willow vine again, I will end myself on the spot to prove my innocence."

When the hour came, Mo Ran was brought to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil according to customs. He looked around, and there was a deep blue sea of people below. The disciples of Life-Death Peak all wore the sect uniform; blue so dark it was almost black armour, the lion's head belt, wrist guards and the silver threads gleaming on the hems of robes.

The rising sun, below the Platform of Righteousness and Evil, the sea of armour shone.

Mo Ran kneeled on the raised platform, listening to a chief elder list off a long list of the crimes he'd committed.

"Mo Weiyu, disciple of Elder Yuheng, arrogantly disregarded teachings, disobeyed the rules of the sect, and abandoned morality. You have violated the fourth, ninth, and fifteenth mandates of this sect. As punishment, you will receive 80 strikes, copy the sect rules a hundred times and reflect in solitude for a full month. Mo Weiyu, is there anything you have to say in your defense?"

Mo Ran glanced at the white figure in the distance.

That elder was the only member of Life-Death Peak who wasn't required to wear the standard blue and silver rim robe.

Chu Wanning's robe was made of snow-white satin, an outer robe made of cloud-patterned silver silk, like he was dressed in a heavenly frost, but the person wearing it seemed far more frigid than either snow or frost. He sat quietly, far enough away that Mo Ran couldn't see the expression on his face, but he knew that this person was probably completely unphased.

Mo Ran let out a deep sigh: "I have nothing to argue."

According to customary practice, the chief elder asked the disciples below: "If anyone is dissatisfied with the verdict, or has something else to say, this is the time to make such a statement."

All the disciples began to hesitate and averted their gaze.

None of them expected that the Yuheng Elder Chu Wanning would actually send his disciple to be punished publicly on the Platform of Righteousness and Evil.

To put it nicely, this person was impartial, but to word it differently, was also called a cold-blooded demon.

The cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning faintly propped his chin and sat in the position. Suddenly someone shouted with amplifying technique: "Elder Yuheng, this disciple is willing to plead for leniency on behalf of Young Master Mo."

". . . Plead?"

This disciple obviously felt that since Mo Ran was the nephew of Life-Death Peak's lord, even if he had screwed up this time, his future prospects would still be bright, so he decided to take the opportunity to win Mo Ran's favour. He began to talk nonsense: "Although Junior Brother Mo is at fault, he loves his fellow students and helps the weak. Please treat consider being lenient for the sake of his kind nature!"

Obviously, he was not the only one hoping to please Junior Brother Mo.

Gradually, more and more people spoke up for Mo Ran. They threw out all sorts of arguments, it made even Mo Ran embarrassed to hear; when had he ever had "an innocent heart, pure and open-minded"? This was a disciplinary meeting, not a commendation meeting, right?

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me exterminate demons and killed deadly beasts. I would like to beg on Junior Brother Mo's behalf. His merits will offset his demerits, and I hope that Elder will lighten his punishment!"

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me dispel my demons when I experience qi deviation. I believe Junior Brother Mo made a mistake this time and was only momentarily confused. I also ask Elder to please be lenient on Junior Brother!"

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once gave me an elixir to save my mother. He is a benevolent person. Please, Elder, punish him lightly!"

The last person’s remarks were based on the previous disciples', and he was at a loss for words. Seeing Chu Wanning's frozen eyes sweep over, the anxious disciple didn't hesitate to say: “Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me dual cultivate--”

"Pff." Someone couldn't help laughing.

The disciple immediately blushed and retreated.

"Yuheng, calm your anger, calm your anger..." Seeing that the chief elder was not happy, he went to his side and hurriedly persuaded him.

Chu Wanning said coldly: "I have never seen such a shameless person. What is his name? Whose disciple?"

The chief elder hesitated a little, then bit the bullet and said softly, "My disciple, Yao Lian."

Chu Wanning raised his eyebrows: "Your disciple? Save face*?"

(Pronounced the same as Yao Lian's name)

The chief elder couldn't help but feel embarrassed, and his old face tried to change the subject with a red face: "He's talented at singing, and he can be useful when he receives the offerings."

Chu Wanning scoffed and turned away, not wanting to waste time talking nonsense with this shameless chief elder.

There were thousands of people on Life-Death Peak. A couple flatterers were nothing surprising.

Seeing the conviction in the faces of his sect brothers, Mo Ran himself almost trusted their words. Very impressive indeed. It turns out he wasn't the only person in this sect that knew how to concoct wild stories in broad daylight. There were many talented people here.

Chu Wanning, who had heard "Elder Yuheng, please be merciful" countless times, finally spoke to the disciples.

"Pleading for Mo Weiyu?" He paused and said, "Yes, all of you may come up."

Those people didn't know what would happen and went up tremblingly.

A golden light flashed in Chu Wanning's palm. Tianwen appeared as commanded, and wrapped around the dozens of people together with a whistle, and tied them firmly in place.

Not again!!

Mo Ran was beginning to get desperate. Just the sight of Tianwen made his legs weak. He really didn’t know where Chu Wanning got such a perverted weapon. It was a good thing he had never taken a wife in his previous life. The poor girl who would marry him, if she didn't get whipped to death, she would be questioned to death.

Chu Wanning's eyes were quite mocking. He asked one of them: "Mo Ran helped you ward off evil spirits?"

How could the disciple resist the torture of TIanwen? He immediately howled: "No! No!"

He asked another one: "Mo Ran helped you overcome your qi deviation?"

"Ah! Never! Never!"

"Mo Ran gave you an elixir?"

"Ah—! Help! No, no! I made it up! I made it up!"

Chu Wanning loosened the hold, but then raised his hand and waved the weapon fiercely, it crackling and blazing, Tianwen suddenly lashed out and hit the backs of the lying disciples.

There were screams instantly, blood splashing.

Chu Wanning's eyebrows furrowed, and he scolded: "What are you calling? Kneel down! Disciple attendant!"

"Here."

"Deliver the punishment!"

"Understood!"

As a result, instead of reaping the benefits of defending Mo Ran, each of them was beaten with ten strikes each for violating the mandate of deception, plus a bonus willow vine lash gifted by Elder Yuheng.

After nightfall, Mo Ran lay on his bed. Although he had been given medicine, his back was covered with staggered scars. He couldn't even turn himself over without almost crying from the pain. He sniffled.

He had been born, so whimpering like this made him look like a fluffy, abandoned kitten. But it was a pity that his thoughts didn't match that cute kitten image.

He gripped the bedding and bit into the sheets, imagining that this was that bastard Chu Wanning. He bit! Kicked! Stomped! Tore!

The only comfort is that Shi Mei came to visit him with a bowl of wontons. He stared at him with those gentle and pitiful eyes, and Mo Ran's tears fell even more fiercely.

He didn't care whether men were supposed to hold in their tears or not, he loved to act spoiled in front of the person he liked.

"Does it still hurt a lot? Can you sit up?" Shi Mei sat on the edge of his bed and sighed. "Shizun, he. . . he was too cruel. Look at your back. . . there are several wounds. Some are still bleeding."

Mo Ran's heart softened, a warmth gradually rose in his chest. His teary eyes lifted from the bedding and he blinked.

"Since Shi Mei cares about me so much, I, I'm not in too much pain anymore."

"Oh, how can it not hurt if you look like this? You know what Shizun's temperament is like, will you dare do something like this in the future?"

In the candlelight, Shi Mei looked at him a little helplessly and a little distressedly. The amorous eyes were gleaming, like warm spring water.

Mo Ran's heart moved slightly, and he cleverly said: "Never again. I swear.

"Does anyone believe your promises anymore?" Even though he said that, Shi Mei also smiled, "The wontons are getting cold, can you sit up? If you can't get up, just lie on your stomach and I will feed you."

Mo Ran had already climbed up halfway, but immediately collapsed back down when he heard this.

Shi Mei: ". . ."

Whether it was this life or his previous one, Mo Ran's favourite food was Shi Mei's handmade wontons. The dough was as thin as a cloud of smoke, and the filling was tender and moist, melting in his mouth after every bite.

Especially the soup, the milky consistency, sprinkled with green onions, tender yellow egg wisps, and topped with a spoonful of spicy chilli peppers fried with garlic. It made whoever ate it feel so warm that they would never be cold again.

Shi Mei carefully spoonfed him. While feeding him, he said: "I didn't put any chilli oil today. You're badly hurt. Spice isn't good for recovery. Just drink the broth instead."

Mo Ran stared at him and he couldn't look away. He smiled: "Spicy or not, as long as you made it, it's delicious."

"Smooth talker." Shi Mei also smiled, picking up a poached egg lying in the soup, "Here's your reward, I know you like them."

Mo Ran laughed, a small tuft of hair curling on his forehead, like a flower blooming: "Shi Mei."

"What's happening?"

"Nothing, I just felt like saying your name."

". . ."

The hair tuft swayed back and forth.

"Shi Mei."

Shi Mei held back a smile: "Just felt like it again?"

"Hmm, just saying your name makes me happy."

Shi Mei sat silently for a moment then gently touched his forehead: "Silly boy, do you have a fever?"

Mo Ran let out a laugh. He rolled over, looking at him sideways, his eyes bright, as if full of fine stars.

"It would be a dream if I could eat Shi Mei's wontons every day"

He truly meant it.

After Shi Mei died, Mo Ran had always wanted to try the wontons he made again, but it is what it is, and he wasn't coming back.

At that time, Chu Wanning hadn't completely broken off all relations with him. Whether it was out of guilt or something else, he didn't know, but when he saw Mo Ran knelt in front of Shi Mei's coffin in a daze, Chu Wanning went quietly to the kitchen, kneaded dough and minced the fillings, carefully folded a couple wontons. But Mo Ran saw what he was doing before he had finished. With the loss of the love of his life, Mo Ran just couldn't bear it. He felt like Chu Wanning was doing it to mock him, a botched attempt at imitating them, a deliberate insult to injury.

Shi Mei was dead. Chu Wanning could have saved him, but he refused to help. Afterwards, he wanted to replace Shi Mei and make wontons for Mo Ran instead? Did he think that this would make him happy?

He rushed into the kitchen and knocked over all the utensils. The round wontons fell out of his hands and all over the floor.

He screamed at Chu Wanning: "Who the hell do you think you are? You think you're worthy of replacing him? Of making the food he used to? Shi Mei is dead, are you satisfied? Or do you have to torture your disciples until they go mad or die before you're happy? Chu Wanning! No one in this world can make those wontons anymore. You can try but you'll never be him!"

Now he was eating this bowl with such deep joy. He slowly ate them, savouring them. Although he was still smiling, his eyes were a little moist. Fortunately, the candlelight was dim, and Shi Mei couldn't see his subtle expression clearly.

Mo Ran said: "Shi Mei."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Shi Mei froze for a moment, and then smiled gently: "Isn't it just a bowl of wontons? No need to be so formal about it. If you like them, I will always make them for you in the future."

Mo Ran wanted to say, the thanks wasn't just for the wontons.

Thank you also, whether in the last life or in this life, for being the only one to look out for me, not caring about my origins, didn't care about the fourteen years I spent scavenging around.

Thank you, because if it weren't for the sudden thought of you, after being reborn, I'm afraid I would not be able to stop myself from killing Rong Jiu. I would've made a big mistake, and walked the same path I had before.

Fortunately, in this life, I was reborn before you die. I will definitely take good care of you. If you are sick, and that cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning is unwilling to save you, I will.

But how could he have said these words aloud?

In the end, Mo Ran just drank the soup, leaving not even a single green onion behind. He licked his lips unconsciously, his dimples prominent, and he was as cute as a very fluffy little cat.

"Will there be more tomorrow?"

Shi Mei couldn't help but shake his head: "You don't want something else? Won't you get sick of them?"

"I'll never get tired of your wontons, as long as you don't get tired of making them."

Shi Mei shook his head and smiled: "I don't know if there's enough flour left. If there's not enough, I'm afraid I can't make it. If I can't, do you think the eggs in sweet soup are alright instead? They are also one of your favourites."

"Okay, okay. As long as you make it, anything is okay."

Mo Ran's heart surged. He was so happy he could roll around in the blankets.

Look at caring Shi Mei is, Chu Wanning, you go screw yourself! I get to lie in bed with a beauty taking care of me, hehe!

Thinking of Shizun, a rush of anger mixed with the tenderness he had been feeling.

Mo Ran started to dig the bottom of the headboard with resentment again. He cursed, what Yuheng of the Night Sky, what the Beidou Immortal, it's all fucking bullshit!

Chu Wanning, just wait and see!!

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

#the husky and his white cat shizun #english translation #chinese novel #chinese bl #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei #mo ran #chu wanning #2ha #2ha translation #ranwan #hyx

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thefanficmonster · 4 years

Text

Lucky Me (Sequel To Unlucky)

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You aren’t always born with luck. Sometimes, you meet people who bring it to you. In short, they are your lucky charm.

Requested: Yes, but not in a typical way. A big thank you to all the wonderful people who read, liked, reblogged and commented on part one - Unlucky.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 and many more ❤❤❤

They are the reason this story is being written. What was originally supposed to be an elaborate one-shot turned into the most liked piece I’ve ever written. I can’t thank you enough, guys. You are amazing and I hope you like this one just as much or even more than the previous. Love you ❤❤❤

Y/N’s POV

I’m grinning at my reflection in the mirror as I put on a pair of earrings. My face is already touched-up with a little make-up and my hair is looking on point. I can almost see my own reflection in the shine of excitement in my eyes. I take in my upper body via a quick once-over in the full body mirror opposite me, and I finally relax my muscles that I didn’t ever realize I was tensing.

“OK, now I’m ready.“ I say as a form of encouragement as I reach behind me for my phone that’s sitting on my bed.

You might be wondering where I’m going? Who I’m going with? What’s the occasion behind this many preparations and pampering?

The answer: Nowhere. No one. Nothing. I’m literally not even going to leave my house.

It might seem ridiculous to someone else, but to me, to my hypnotized mind, it’s perfectly reasonable to be getting so amped up over a FaceTime call. Yeah, you heard me correctly - a FaceTime call.

Well, you see, this isn’t the first time we FaceTime, but it will be the first time we’ll see each other’s faces. I wanted to level the field so I didn’t let him on to what I look like, where exactly I live, etc. Basically, he only knows my name, which I am still prepared to call unfair, considering I don’t know his real name.

A brief backstory to my first ever real interaction with Corpse: I was introduced to him by my friends. They are the ones I always turned to with all the scary shit happening in my life. Often times they didn’t know weather to comfort me or laugh at my curse. My friends suggested I start sharing it to a youtuber named Corpse Husband. You see, I love YouTube narrators and I’ve always been a fan of Mr. Nightmare and I, to be perfectly honest, always kept the idea of sending him my stories in the back of my mind. Nevertheless, I bit the bullet and checked out on of this Corpse Husband guy’s videos. And then another. And another. And before I knew it I was having a marathon after which I was too paranoid to get online, walk home alone at night, leave my curtains open etc. It wasn’t all thanks to the stories themselves. A lot of the fear factor these stories strike with should be credited to the way they are read. Let me tell you, this guy had it all figured out with the reading. Not sending him my stories would just be wrong. So I did, I sent him my first ever creepy encounter which was with a stalker from my high school and it took me only two days to forget about it. It only crossed my mind when my friends blew my phone up, demanding I watched Corpse’s new video. I kid you not, I got more scared by the story when he read it than when I lived it. That’s what settled it for me - I decided to send him each and every story.

And then one day, out of the blue, my life changed for the better in more ways than one. It got turned completely upside down, like a rollercoaster, and I just had to hold on and enjoy the ride, embrace the adrenaline rush and excitement, knowing full well that I chose to get on and there’s no way I can get off halfway through.

I’m being too metaphorical. He sent me an email. He freaking reached out to me. And I was posed with a rough choice. Took me a minute, but I chose to reply to him, I chose to trust him, and I couldn’t just leave him on read one day simply cause I chickened out. Yes, I’m unlucky and these things don’t happen to unlucky people. I mean, they do, but they are nightmares disguised as a dream come true. I’ve lived all my life cautiously: if something sounds too good to be true it’s either not as good as marketed or not true at all. If it’s dark and late and there are no people around, FaceTime someone. If your Uber driver’s sketchy, cancel the ride. I take all the precautions and I still find myself in the worst situations. Or at least...

My thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of my phone. A simple ringtone I hear every time he calls me. A simple sound that causes me butterflies when I hear it and ultimate devastation if the caller ID doesn’t read the name I want. It always gets me excited, probably more than it should. This time is different, however. It’s scary almost. I’m nervous, anxious, scared, hesitant - all things I never feel when I’m about to answer his call.

With shaky hands I pick up the call and find myself looking at the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Now I know why I would have never initiated this meeting, because I know what color my face is right now. I know my voice has let me down before I even attempt to speak. I know I look like a mess. I know my obvious crush is showing.

Corpse initiated this meeting. He said he was getting too curious and he wanted one of his best friends to see him and for him to finally see her. It’s been about seven months since we first started texting and I haven’t let out a single peep about it to a single soul. It’s just between him and I. We are each other’s safe space away from the rest of the world.

“Thought you weren’t gonna pick up for a second there.“ His voice is not as confident as other times when we’ve talked. His trying to hide his own nervousness and all I wanna do is hug him and tell him he doesn’t have to. I kept telling him over and over again that we don’t have to do this if he’s not sure that he actually wants it. I even offered to show him what I look like, not expecting to see him in return but he declined, saying it was now his turn to even the field.

“I was in another room.“ I manage to say, my voice only shaking a little.

We spend a few moments just looking at each other. Admiring one another. For someone who prefers digital interaction, I am surprised to realize I wish he was actually standing in front of. I wish I could hug him. A long hug of comfort, mutual understanding and hidden feelings.

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head which causes a few strands of hair to fall over his eyepatch, “I’m sorry...It’s just-...Fuck I’m stumbling.” He chuckles nervously, “I just...can’t believe you are real. You are a real person. And the most beautiful person I’ve seen. That’s corny, isn’t it.” He looks away from the screen, his face now a shade of red. “But I mean it. I’m embracing my corniness. You are beautiful, Y/N. Not that I’m flexing or anything, but I’m lucky to have met you.”

I laugh, feeling my eyes stinging from the tears that have suddenly formed. I don’t want to let them fall, but I don’t have much say in that. “Well, mister Corpse, I can’t begin to compare. I mean...that hair! I still cannot believe it’s you. You are not just a deep voice in my mind. You are....you are...”

“Everything you imagined and more?“ he jokes, making my whole body heat up. “I told you you could trust. I mean, if the hair doesn’t confirm I’m who I say I am, I don’t know what will.”

“Actually, I never tried to imagine what you looked like. I knew those visions...I knew they didn’t matter. Faces don’t matter to us, Corpse. I think you realize that.“

And just like that, all I’ve been keeping hidden is pouring out. I don’t try to stop it - you can’t stop a hurricane with bare hands.

“I never needed a face to imagine us. I always saw as talking on the phone, playing Among Us. Reading scary stories to each other on Discord. I never needed a face to imagine your company. To imagine what we could be...“ I trail off, letting the first tear slip down my cheek.

The most sincere look appears in his eyes, “Fuck, I wish I could hold your hand right now. Never mind, I wish I could hug you, Y/N. Hug you and not let go for a long time.”

I laugh halfheartedly, my chest burning from the intensity of this moment’s intimacy, “I can always tell you where I live.” I’m only half-joking. I really want to see him in real life, not just through a screen, but even this call is out of his comfort zone, let alone a physical meet up.

He surprises me yet again, “Saturday. I’ll bring the take out, you pick the movie.” he says with a smile that is literally saying ‘you didn’t see that coming, did you?’

“How are you sure I don’t live in a different state, or a different continent all together?“ I tease, making an attempt to put my composure back together.

He smirks, “I pay way more attention to your stories than you’d think.” I laugh, shaking my head as a pointless method of fighting the pesky tears that he has 100% noticed by this point. “By the way, just because we’re....” he thinks for a second, “in a weird zone between friendship and...something more, doesn’t mean you have to stop sending me stories. I absolutely love reading them for my audience. They love em too.”

I just realized I am yet to tell him the crazy miracle that has happened. “Well, the thing is...I don’t have any.” His eyebrows shoot up in shock which makes me laugh, “Yeah, I know, it’s crazy. Since the day we started talking I have not experienced a single scary thing. Deadass. I swear on my life.”

If I wasn’t so head over heels for this man already, the baffled expression on his face would definitely send me falling for him. He’s just that adorable. “Wow.”

“I know right.“ I nod, “Seems to me you have enough luck to share with me.“

His eyes light up at that comment, showing just how meaning full it is to him.

“You’re my lucky charm, Corpse.“

“I will never be more proud of any other title, Y/N. That I can promise you with no hesitation.“

“Deadass?“

“Deadass.“

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stillebesat · 3 years

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An Unconventional Defeat

Sanders Sides: Patton, Virgil Blurb: Patton knew that heroes started out young, far younger than villains ever did. But this young? Inspiration: From the Anon prompt: “I can take care of myself just fine.” with Virgil. Fic Type: Superhero!AU, Villain!Patton, Hero!Virgil Overall Fic Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Death Talk, Injuries, Hospitals Taglist in Reblogs:

He’s fourteen.

Patton stared down at the prone form of his nemesis, Onyx, in the darkened hospital room, mind racing.

He knew that heroes started out young, far younger than villains ever did. But this young?

Sure, that no good empathy that the heart twinged with seemed to chime all stronger for the children. For those naive fools who were still optimistic about life and wanted to believe that good would always win out in the end. That being good was the best way to live your life. That you could change the world for the better.

Patton had been a fool like that. Once.

He’d wanted to be a teacher. Once. Be an example to the rising generation. Once.

And then he’d had his eyes forcibly opened in college to just how cruel and heartless the world actually was. Goodness only got trampled. Squashed. Taken advantage of. Goodness only got used until it wasn’t useful anymore and then got dumped like so much trash. If one wanted to change the world permanently. One couldn’t do so by being good.

Kids though?

The poor fools didn’t realize that yet. That being good wasn’t well...good. For anyone. Hero work? Pointless. Especially with how active Patton was in the city.

Hero work didn’t put food on the table. Hero work didn’t pay the bills. It was a thankless never ending job.

A job that landed a fourteen year old in the hospital with head trauma, a broken leg, arm, fractured ribs, and multiple puncture wounds in the shoulders and abdomen that had only avoided killing the kid by sheer dumb luck.

A fourteen year old that Patton had been fighting for a good three years now, not that he’d known that until nine hours ago.

Onyx had always snarked at him in a deep distorted voice, had always been covered by an ever shifting melee of shadows that never showed just who was manipulating the darkness around him.

He growled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Eleven. The kid had been freaking eleven when he’d first shown up to stop Patton from razing the police department to the ground.

No wonder Onyx had been so ferocious in defending the place. He’d still been of an age to see the cops as fellow heroes. The good guys. He hadn’t yet discovered their darker side. Just how much like school ground bullies most of them could be to the weak.

Patton clenched his hands, conscious of the frost coating his fingertips, of the room getting noticeably colder. “You’re an idiot.” He told the sleeping hero in a low voice, tensing as the shadows sluggishly stirred at the sound of his voice. “Ruining everything.”

He’d been trying to take down Onyx for ages. Perfecting the best way to use his ice bolts to freeze those shadows of his once and for all. It had been the best moment of his life seeing the hulking figure finally stagger when his ice had successfully pierced through the darkness and not fly out the other end. To know that they had stuck. To see those dark wisps vanish like so much smoke as the hero plummeted from the sky. To have a crater form from the impact that left a dust cloud floating in the air with no hint whatsoever of his shadows preparing to strike back.

It had been his greatest moment of triumph. The final defeat of his main nemesis.

An icy javelin had already formed in his hands, aimed for Onyx’s heart before Patton’s feet had even hit the ground.

But instead of the square jawed overly muscled hero he’d expected to finally see underneath that murky shadow disguise...he’d found a freaking child laying there, bleeding, broken, and unconscious.

One Virgil Hawkins. Fourteen years old. Orphan. Parents dead since he was nine. Grandmother dead since he was eleven though apparently no one else had realized that little tidbit yet besides Patton because he’d actually tried to find the woman last night after he’d rushed the boy to the hospital for emergency surgery only to discover the little urn with her name on it on the mantle of the fireplace in her home.

It was one thing to kill a Hero. And Patton...well he’d done in his fair share of heroes over the last decade. But killing a child? His heart might be cold. Frozen even. But as much as he itched to end Onyx the hero permanently...ending Virgil the child was an entirely different matter.

Not that anyone would know. Not that anyone would care if Virgil vanished the same evening Onyx died. He could freeze the kid’s heart here and now and not even the staff supposedly watching the boy would think much of it, injured as he was.

Patton frowned, breath misting in front of him as he held out an ice coated hand over the child, an icicle easily forming in his fist.

It would be so easy.

Who would care about the disappearance of a single boy? One who was practically a ghost in his civilian life. Certainly not the news. Certainly not the cops the kid had risked his life to defend. A kid only surviving as it were because he’d been clever enough to keep his grandma’s social security checks coming to the house as a source of income.

No one would notice if he just...vanished. Not even the school the kid attended would. Not when they couldn’t even tell him if he’d shown up yesterday for class.

No concerned teacher. No concerned counselor. No friends to worry about him suddenly vanishing. Not even the staff here in the hospital cared enough to keep more than a cursory eye on their John Doe as the police attempted to track down the boy’s nonexistent family.

Virgil had no one.

Patton let the icicle dissolve back into his skin, his hand lightly resting on the boy’s warm forehead, fingers lightly brushing the stitches there.

No one to pay the hospital bills. No one to look after him once he was released. No one to ensure that he had food, clothes and shelter. No one to stop him from being a fu-freaking idiot and going out to attack a villain old enough to be his Father.

Patton shuddered, pulling his hand back. Crofters forbid that. Teenagers were the worst. Onyx only proved that tenfold with how easily he’d wound up Patton in their fights. To have one living in his own home? With their constant mood swings, inability to do chores, and dependence on social media? Ha. No.

A groan from the bed drew him from his thoughts right as the shadows around the bed surged at him, latching onto his arm and jerking him forward with a startled yelp.

“Cold.” A hoarse voice whispered as pale fingers shakily rose from under the blanket, twisting to catch Patton’s wrist as the shadows pulled him within reach. Onyx’s eyelids fluttered as he placed Patton’s hand on his forehead. “Cold.”

Was he insane?! Patton growled, the temperature in the room dropping another ten degrees as he struggled against Onyx’s shadow grip. “Let. Go!”

The hero had the gall to smirk, dark eyes unfocused as he opened them fully, the shadows pulsing around them. “No way, Icy.” He whispered. “You cold. Feels good. You stay.”

WHAT?! He wasn’t an icepack! “I’ll freeze your burning head off! LET GO, you idiot!” He allowed a thin layer of ice to form under his hand to prove his point. It was bad enough that Onyx could match him throw for throw on a good day, it was worse knowing that a fu--freaking half-drugged teenager could still hold him with minimal effort.

Virgil closed his eyes, stupid smile growing wider. “Rubber. Glue. Back to you.”

Patton blinked. “Huh?” What was that supposed to mean?! This was why he hated teenagers. They didn’t make a lick of sense whenever they spoke.

“You’re the idiot here.” Virgil dropped his hand, the shadows releasing their grip. “Coming in uniform? To a hospital? To see me? For shame.”

Patton scoffed, taking a step back. He wasn’t some first year amateur to walk in the front door dressed like this. “Like I care if anyone sees me, kid.”

If it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t afford to let anyone see him actually caring about anyone’s welfare, especially some ‘random’ kid found on the street after the big fight with Onyx, he would have blasted the front doors off their hinges and made a grand entrance instead of manipulating the ice of his clothes to resemble simple civilian attire before sauntering inside, no questions asked. After all, no one ever looked twice at some guy walking around in a black shirt and blue jeans, not even in a hospital.

Though. He flexed his fingers. It wasn’t like it was outside his wheelhouse to freeze people to death if they got in his way.

Onyx frowned, the shadows pulsing as he opened his eyes again, making eye contact. “No...you wouldn’t would you….why are you here--No.” The darkness gathered underneath him, carefully carefully pushing the kid upright in the hospital bed. He hissed, uninjured arm moving to wrap around his stomach. “Why am I here and not dead, Icy?”

Patton lifted his chin, glaring at the hero. “Did you want to be dead?” He asked, hefting a javelin of ice in his hand.

The teenager had the gall to roll his eyes, though Patton didn’t miss how the shadows surged around him in a protective shield. “Missed your chance, buddy. Don’t tell me your frozen heart actually thawed a little during our fight.”

“No.” Patton jabbed at the shadows, not at all surprised when they easily shattered his weapon with a quick twist.

So the kid wasn’t as out of it as his dilated eyes made it seem. Good to know.

“So I’m alive then….why?”

Why did it matter? “You’re fourteen.”

Virgil scoffed, slowly moving the arm that was in a cast so it too rested against his stomach. “So? You’ve killed kids before.”

Patton stiffened, ice flashing from his feet to cover the floor like a mini ice rink. Did the boy honestly not care about his own life?! “You shouldn’t have been fighting me in the first place, Onyx! You’re a kid. A Fu-FREAKING KID. Your biggest worry should be passing some stupid Math test! Making friends in school. Not squaring up against the worst villain the city has ever seen!” A villain that always, always killed his nemeses no matter what.

Virgil huffed, spreading his arms, the shadows twisting around them. “Last time I checked, this kid could wipe your ass into the dirt without breaking a sweat. I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much.”

“But you shouldn’t HAVE to.” This wasn’t some stupid dystopian novel. No normal eleven year old should have such a stupidly high Chosen One complex.

“And who’s fault is it that I have to, Icemas?” Virgil’s eyes practically glittered like obsidian shards as the shadows lifted him off the bed, turning him to face Patton properly, the machines squeaking in protest as the various tubes connecting them to the hero shifted out of alignment. “No one else was stepping up. No one else would face you.”

“That’s the point!” Patton hissed, shooting a ray of ice to the door, crystals covering the window there and locking it in place so no one else would be able to investigate the alarms going off, before stepping forward to jab a finger at the boy’s chest, though he was careful to not actually touch the wounds there or send any ice bolts at him. “I’m showing everyone that being a hero is a useless archaic practice! No one should have to risk their life day in and day out for complete strangers who will never appreciate your sacrifice! If you had died tonight, Virgil, who would have cared?! The media? Ha.” He shook his head, gesturing to the blank TV screen in the corner as the shadows pulled back to quiver behind the young hero. “They’d mourn you for maybe a week tops before moving onto the next sensational story, the next stupid hero trying to make a difference. Maybe, maybe they will name some shiny new building after you, to remember you by, but then what? NOTHING. You’d be DEAD before you could ever drive and it would have all been for naught!”

Virgil frowned, shadows lowering him so he was sitting on the bed. “...You know my name?”

Patton stiffened. That’s what the kid was worried about? Him figuring out his civilian identity instead of nearly dying?! That was so messed up. “Someone had to try and track down your family, kid. The idiots here weren’t gonna do it.”

The hero had the gall to grin, though Patton didn’t miss how his fingers clenched the sheets. “Aww, well isn’t that sweet of you, Popsicle. How did that go?” He tilted his head to the iced over door where distant voices could be heard as the handle rattled. “Good old mom and dad waiting outside to see me? To check in on how their ickle Virgikins is doing?”

Teenagers. He hated them. “You know they aren’t. You have no one.”

Something flickered in the boy’s eyes. “Oh! Then let me guess.” He rested his chin on his uninjured hand. “You let the staff know I’m on my own? Do I get the oh so fun opportunity to experience our stellar A+ foster care system now?”

Patton rolled his eyes, shooting another bolt of ice at the door for good measure. “Please. They still think you’re a John Doe.” The lazy bums were waiting for him to wake up first. Hoping that Virgil would tell them who he was before trying to track down his identity or family.

“Excellent.” Virgil gave the door an appraising look. “Think they’ll believe amnesia?”

Patton blinked. “....Do you not feel the stitches holding your head together?” Or the baseball sized lump on the back of his skull from hitting the pavement?

The hero shrugged. “Honestly?” The shadows pulsed around him. “It’s all kinda fuzzy agony currently. Can’t differentiate what parts of me hurt and what doesn’t.”

How was this kid even awake?! Patton stepped forward, pushing the boy back down flat on the bed. “Then REST before you hurt yourself further, idiot.”

“Aw, love you too, Popsicles.”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT.” He would never be a fu-freaking Father to anyone.

“Or what?” Virgil relaxed against the pillows, even as his hand twisted to catch Patton’s wrist again. “You’ll kill me?”

If he wanted to do that the kid would be dead already. Patton jerked free, another ice spear forming in his hand, pointed to the boy’s throat. “No.”

“Aw. You scared to?”

“NO. I’m not killing a KID. Our fights are done with, Virgil. No more Onyx. He’s DEAD.”

The boy scoffed, pushing the spear to the side. “Last I checked, Icy,” The shadows surged over him in a swirling mass until the familiar shadowy form of Onyx stared back from the bed. “We’re the same person.” His voice echoed. “And I’m still alive and kicking.”

Ooooohoooho. Patton could feel his eye twitching as ice crept up the walls and window. If it were just Onyx he’d take great pleasure in killing the hero here and now. He itched to do so. But he couldn’t. Not with knowing that Virgil the child hid underneath the darkness. “I won’t fight you, kid.”

The shadows pulled back, revealing Virgil looking far paler than before, his face glittering with sweat. “Coward.”

“Idiot.” The kid needed to see a shrink. No normal fourteen year old would be this stubborn about wanting to constantly go up against him and face death by his hand!

“I know you are but what am I?”

The window shattered, sending frost covered glass glittering to the floor. “Hopefully grounded by the fool that ends up taking you in.” He got out through gritted teeth, ice particles shimmering in the air, ready to defend as the shadows around Onyx sprung up like a series of blackened tentacles writhing behind him.

He pitied whoever ended up with this troubled teen in their home…though...maybe he could arrange for the kid to be shipped across the country to live far far away from here. Getting out of this place could set him straight. Snap him out of this stupid hero phase he was in.

Virgil threw his head back, laughter ringing throughout the room as banging sounded from the door, the ice blockade cracking under the strain.

Judging by the way the ice was shearing off, someone with heat abilities had finally shown up.

Virgil shook his head, still grinning, though his eyes held no laughter as the shadow tentacles sharpened into jagged points, all aimed at Patton’s chest. “Oh that’s rich. Me, grounded? Like a normy would be able to stop me from coming after you the next time you decide to wreck the city.” He pushed himself up onto one elbow, jabbing his cast at Patton, the shadows quivering behind him like a pack of hunting dogs waiting to be unleashed as the temperature in the room dropped even further. “Face it, Popsicle. If you’re not gonna kill me then you’re stuck with me being your nemesis. If you want me to stop being the hero and keep me alive, then you have to stop being the villain. And we both know you’re not gonna do that. Your precious plan is too important to just give it up for my sake.”

And that was the crux of the matter wasn’t it? Patton snarled, raising his hands, the ice particles in the air morphing into a slew of arrows all directed towards the boy. He didn’t want to kill Virgil. But he couldn’t give up his plan. Give up being the villain. Not after a decade of fighting to get all those idealistic fools to see what a farce being a hero was. He was so close to winning. So close. “Fine.” He surged forward, grabbing the boy by the throat, ice arrows darting about to block the shadow tentacles of the kid’s from interfering. “You value my plan more than your pathetic life? Then you should--”

BANG.

The door behind them shattered, sending a heat wave full of shrapnel blasting into the room.

IDIOTS.

Patton whirled, flinging a wall of ice towards the figures in the doorway in an attempt to block the worst of the heat from outright killing Virgil then and there. IDIOTS! Did they not care at all that an already injured kid was in the ro---

A half melted silver door knob burst through the resulting steam before Patton could react to it, clocking him between the eyes with enough force to knock him backwards, his world vanishing into cold, silent darkness as the hospital floor rushed up to meet him.

#An Unconventional Defeat #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Morality #Anxiety #Superhero!AU #Villain!Patton #Hero!Virgil #Near Death Experiences tw #Death Talk tw #Injuries tw #Hospital tw

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