#maybe if it were just a piece of writing i flung out into the void rather than attaching it to myself and my personality and fandom presence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aslitheryprinx · 3 years

Note

These are from song titles, but I think these are poggers (I hope, at least)

* And there was life inside "it"

* Can it really be called "Cinderella" ?

* Love inside an empty box

* World is full of wonders (Or "Full of wonders!!!!")

* Near

* Angel's clover

Don't worry anon, they are most definitely poggers! (Both of my current ao3 published works have names based on song lyrics, so that really fits my vibe haha.)

There are so many good prompts here! I couldn't help but write like.... A lot lmao.

CW: dehumanization, themes of child abuse, themes of death. Be safe!

____

And there was life inside "it"

They called it RNB-00. It was the first in a generation of experimental life production using DNA from one of the most volatile creatures in the worlds: endermen. There were no endermen hybrids. The children could not survive, and the birth was volatile, tearing the parents and anyone near them apart with the violent magic.

They would perform the experiment anyways.

An unfinished human embryo, carefully extracted from someone who would be written in the paperwork as a volunteer. An enderpearl, freshly taken from a creature they didn't consider "human" enough to need even dubious content. DNA, taken directly from the brain of the enderman.

They spliced together the three ingredients, cheering when the chimera of enderman and embryo inside its tubes showed signs of life.

But some things are not meant to be done.

Nature is not meant to be tampered with.

The experiment turned south quickly. The specimen convulsed in its tube, growing at a rapid rate. Vibrant purple magic lashed out, dancing through the lab with a vengeance. There were the cries of a newborn mixed with the shrieks of an enderman- then, an explosion.

RNB-00 fell to the ground, the magic pulsing from it too bright to be looked at by the naked eye. A second explosion rocked the lab, this time all-encompassing and final. The building turned to ash and dust and settled around a new crater.

There would never be a RNB-01.

A shape rose from the center of the crater. It was a child from one angle, maybe two or three, with pure white hair, scarred cheeks, and a red eye.

From the other angle, it was a monster. Something not quite enderman or human. Jet black hair, and velvety black fur covered the left half of it. It's eye glowed an unnatural green, not the color of humans or endermen.

It toddled slowly away from the epicenter of the explosion, no memory of what had happened. As it walked, it noticed a mark, a brand, on it's right arm: RNB-00. The child stared, and blinked at the word.

And he named himself Ranboo.

Can it really be called "Cinderella"?

When Tubbo was young, he saw Cinderella, once. Even with how young he was, the story resonated with him. He wished all his stepfather did was give him chores, but he knew exactly how it felt to be unloved, unwanted, forced to stay on the sidelines. He just hoped his fairy godmother would come soon.

When he was a little older, he looked back on the story of Cinderella with nothing but bitterness. He was old enough now that he knew fairy tales didn't happen. There was no "fairy godmother" coming to save him; there never had been, there never would be. All he had was himself and his shitty situation. He wanted to forget the story that had given him such a bittersweet lie, but it was burned into his memory.

As he reached his teens, the anger turned into weariness. It wasn't Cinderella's fault his stepfather was a piece of shit. It wasn't the character's fault that she had help to break free while he didn't. And how miserable he was wasn't Tubbo's fault either, no matter how much his stepfather screamed it.

When he was 16, feeling ancient yet younger than he had ever been, he stopped comparing himself to Cinderella. Cinderella hadn't stood over her stepparent's body with a bat. Cinderella hadn't called the police on herself, showing them what she'd done and then the reason why, covering his skin beneath his clothes. Cinderella had been freed, but she hadn't paid such a heavy price for that freedom.

Tubbo had. Tubbo was far from a Cinderella story.

Love inside an empty box

Tommy's love was dangerous. He learned that at a very young age. Love for him wasn't just a feeling, it was a physical thing, at least to his eyes. He could feel every last drop of care, of love gathering around him like a storm. And just like a storm, when the feeling touched down, it was deadly. People, animals, anything that was touched by the love he couldn't stop feeling crumbled under the weight of something that shouldn't exist.

Tommy couldn't stop himself from caring. But he could stop himself from hurting. Hurting others, at least. Tommy commissioned a solution from a witch with a terrible reputation for cruelty, but a renowned skill with magical crafting. It cost him everything he owned, and some of who he was, but he walked away with an empty box made to hold what he couldn't afford to keep.

For years after that, every time he felt love building up in his chest- his care for friends, the people he considered family, even for strangers- he tore it off of himself and flung it into the box. Over time, the box grew full, bursting at the seams with his love. He learned to discard all but the most precious feelings, keeping those in his overstuffed box that weighed nothing and locking them inside.

But no lock lasts forever. Nothing lasts an eternity.

Tommy was alone with nothing but his thoughts, his box, and the ghost of a brother who was only really that in the privacy of his mind. He let his eyes shut, the box held loosely in one hand. The ghost, not knowing the consequences, touched the box.

And the seams of magic holding it together shattered and the love Tommy had stored away broke free, as powerful and terrible as a hurricane.

If it had been Wilbur, the man would've died as surely as he had when a blade was thrust through his heart. But this was Ghostbur, and you cannot kill what is already dead.

Still, such power has consequences. All the love in the box, far too powerful to be contained for long, spilled over, pouring over and around the ghost and the boy.

Yes, such power has consequences. The boy with too much love and his brother that never was would face those consequences together.

(world is) full of wonders

Wilbur is a simple musician. He travels alone, playing an ode to all of the world around him. He sings to the trees, the sky, the river, the sun, anything he pleases.

Though he knows it's silly, he can't help but imagine they sing back. He tries to match the harmony he hears in his mind, tries to play along with the symphony of nature. He can never keep up, but likes to imagine the world is fond of his efforts.

But even musicians can stumble into trouble. Too caught up in the ballad he played to the tune of the wind, he didn't hear the rattle of bones, the drawing of a bow. He heard only the twang as an arrow released before it pierced through his skull and everything went black.

But Wilbur wasn't gone. He didn't cease to exist, like he always assumed. He felt the cool caress of the void, the gentle brush of the universe against his mind and he gasped. Clearer than he'd ever heard it, he heard the song of the world, in perfect harmony and tune. This time, it sang along to him, to the pulsing of his soul.

Wilbur had no body, but if he did he would weep. He had no lungs, no mouth, no voice, but his soul took up the melody he longed to sing anyways. He sang with the universe until the song became more and more impossible to replicate and he could only listen in awe.

He woke up painlessly, laying on a gentle green field. His guitar was by his side, and his sweater was cleaner than it had ever been. He knew instinctually that he was not in the world he'd came from. This was a new world, a universe untouched, a new song to add his voice to.

Near

It hit him, one day, as he absently peeled a potato over the sink. That he didn't remember if he'd ever touched another person.

Techno had froze for a moment. It was quite the revelation to have out of nowhere. He dismissed it a moment later, memories of how he and Phil would bump shoulders as they walked and talked fresh in his mind.

But all too soon his thoughts turned back to the uncomfortable topic. Sure he'd touched Phil before, but that was through layers of armor and clothing. Had he ever had skin to skin contact with another person? Anything, as simple as a handshake? Hell, even something during battle would count.

He came up empty, and it was driving him crazy.

He didn't need to touch people. He didn't. Having someone he cared about liked close to him was good enough. He didn't need physical contact to reassure him. He never had, not even as a child.

Though that may have had something to do with the chorus of voices he'd had in his head that had kept him on the brink of insanity for most of his childhood. His voices were always there, always with him, so what need did he have for another person's company?

Except he did like company, Phil's especially. And he had it, plenty of it, more than he could ever possibly need. So why did he suddenly feel so off balance?

He asked Phil about it next time he saw his friend. He kept it casual. It wasn't a big deal, he didn't need to worry Phil by letting how much this had bothered him show.

"Hey, Phil, have we ever touched?" He asked. Phil gave him a weird look, then bumped his shoulder.

"Like that?" He asked, unimpressed. "Mate, maybe you should check your own memory before you call me old man again."

"Nah," Techno dismissed, "I meant like... skin to skin. Like a handshake or something."

This actually gave Phil pause. He thought for a moment, then laughed.

"I guess we haven't. Weird. Why?"

"I... Don't think I've ever touched anyone like that," Techno said. He tried to keep his voice steady, but his heart was pounding as he poured out his weakness in front of Phil.

The other man was silent for a long time. Techno could practically hear the shouts of ever??? running through his mind.

Suddenly Phil turned towards him, pulling off a glove.

"Handshake?" He offered with a smile, something sad beyond the amusement in his eyes. Techno rolled his eyes, but he hesitated taking his glove off. Slowly reaching out, as if Phil's hand was a snake that might strike at any sudden movements, he placed his hand in Phil's.

The sensation was like a fire roaring to life on his hand. It didn't hurt, not like a real fire, but it somehow burned. He froze, his brain having trouble processing the bizarre feeling. It was overwhelming, and the best thing he'd ever felt, and yet it was almost a relief when Phil gently pulled his hand away.

"We'll take it slow, alright mate?" He said, nudging Techno with an elbow. The piglin's brain began to work again and he snorted, pulling the glove on again and falling back into step.

"Of course. We can't overwork your old man brain," Techno said dryly, earning him a sharper nudge. He grinned, the amusement softening to fondness as Phil walked just a little closer, letting their arms stay pressed together as they went.

It was strange how you didn't notice you were missing something until you had it. Bare contact was a little too overwhelming right now. So he was right. For now, this was enough. Having his best friend near him was all he needed.

Angel's Clover

There is a special plant that only grows in the land of celestials. An ethereal clover that sprouts from the weary souls that come to rest on the soils of heaven. The souls and the clover flourish in time with one another, tended to by the celestials that walk the lands. It is only a rumor, in the eyes of mortals, but one who walks among them knows it to be true. He is the Angel of Death, and his presence can never touch the sacred halls of the celestial lands, lest they wither and die.

But souls do not always complete the journey, to find their final rest above. Some souls are too broken, too hurt to reach the peace of the celestial lands. It is the duty of the Angel of Death to guide the souls, and it is his duty to heal them so that they may be guided.

In the land of the mortals, there is one place where the clover grows. It is in the humble garden of a plain looking man, who wears a large hat to block his eyes from the sun, and keeps his unearthly wings folded beneath his cloak.

In his garden, the Angel of Death nurtures the precious remnants of life.

#dsmp #dsmp au #prinx fake title game #ranboo #tommy #techno #tubbo #wilbur #phil #aslitheryanswers

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snarkymonkeyprime · 3 years

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writing-prompt-s

Some time ago, you sold your soul to the Devil. He just gave it back and asked you for a favor.

kiriei

OOhhh @snarkymonkeyprime another distraction! How Dean got into the vessel =D =D

Prequel to this.

“I can’t believe I’m even going to ask this, but do you swear?”

Crowley smirked. “Your darling Sammy will become hands off. No more hassling. He will be free to be Moose as he pleases.”

Dean frowned. If he sold his soul, Sam would live and leave all this bullshit behind. Small price to pay, right? Dean swallowed and nodded.

“Fine. Do it.”

~~*~~

Ten years on and Dean was almost enjoying what he did. Almost. Occasionally, he did have to come through for Crowley. He made certain those particular souls were the more heinous ones. Desperate folk? Ones at the end of their rope and begging for help? Eh, maybe he forgot to reap those souls a time or two. Or three. No harm done.

Well, somewhat. Crowley often threw a shit-fit but he never did much as punishment. Beyond sending Dean on near-impossible reaps. He had one take him nearly two years to complete. Definitely less than fun.

But Crowley had relented as of late, letting Dean a little further off the leash, so to speak. That mean Dean was free to decide his own methods. And if said methods mean he stayed away from Hell longer than normal, who could complain? Other than Crowley, anyway.

His favorite? Piece of ugly shit shoved in the dirt. It was amazing how often he could snag someone doing that. He wandered the flea market, eyes open for the right vessel. Something shiny and misdirecting. If it gleamed, a lot of assholes assumed that meant money. If they assumed that, Dean had to do very little to take them to Hell.

it was like a grocery run for milk.

He stopped by one table, a small black vase with poorly placed agate. He picked it up, amused that the image was a wonky angel. Even better. Nothing he liked more than a bit of irony.

Perfect.

“50 pounds,” the old woman rasped.

Dean glanced at her. Her body was riddled with cancer. She probably wouldn’t make it out of the year. He smiled, getting her to blush and flutter her hand. “Got it, beautiful.” He dug out a sheaf of notes, dropping about three times that on her table. “Don’t spend it all in once place,” he added with a wink.

Once he was out of sight of her table, he vanished, reappearing near a dig he’d spied a week before. Even more perfect. People working here would likely jump at the chance for free money. He didn’t manage digging in the dirt paid a whole lot.

He lifted his thumb and bit down, tearing into the skin. Blood welled up and patted against the dirt at his feet. He murmured the binding spell in latin, the black and red chips of gemstone glowing like muted fire. He grunted when the spell latched onto his soul, knitting it into the ceramic and stone.

He chose one of the pits that looked like it had fresh digging. He dug a bit further and set the vase inside, kicking mud and dirt over it until it slipped from view. Hearing voices, he crouched down, peering over the top.

Three men. None of them Scottish. All Americans, likely. He tore his thumb again, more blood splashing the wet dirt. This was the part he hated. When he had to cram his form into the vessel in question. Like wearing pants two sizes two small.

“Now I know how genies feel,” he muttered. He growled out the spell and the world went black.

He must have dozed for a bit before he heard the tip of a trowel hit his vase. And then the lovely set of pipes murmuring, “My god . . . this . . .”

Melded with the vase, he could see the owner of said voice. Pretty blue eyes. Dark hair that twisted every which way. It would probably suck to drag this one down. He could think of better things to do with a man like this.

The spell flared to life, ignited by the want of the man. The urge to possess what wasn’t his. Had he been corporeal, Dean would’ve cracked his knuckles. Time to get to work.

But rather than stuff him in his bag as Dean had seen him want to do, the man handed him off, prouder still to grant it to a museum. A self-less act.

And as he did, Dean’s binding spell snapped. Like a slingshot, he was ejected from the vase, and flung into the dirt by a parking lot.

That was . . . what the fuck? He patted himself over, shocked that he was whole again. He hadn’t transformed. He hadn’t done anything. But there was a void in his chest. The link to the vase was gone. What burned in its place, though, was a connection to the man who’d been rummaging in the mud for the last few hours.

The same man who was currently cresting the hill toward his car. With a snap of his fingers, Dean manifested into that same vehicle, wincing at the stink of fried fish and old socks. Oblivious to Dean’s presence, the man opened the car door and sat, reaching down to start the car.

Annoyed, flustered, and wanting someone to blame, Dean growled, "The hell, man?” taking absolutely no comfort in the way the man screamed and flailed.

Well, maybe a little bit.

#destiel #demon!dean #scholar!castiel

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randomguywithwords · 4 years

Text

As The Dust Settles: Chapter 19 (Geten X Dabi Slowburn)

Chapter 19: Old Chains

AO3 Link

Previous Chapters: 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

–––––––––

The girl bowed and left the room in a hurry, nearly tripping over her feet as she did so. Geten watched her go, her lips pursed. Her behaviour reminded her of that messenger at her lodgings, but while she had smirked at the boy’s cowardice just a few days ago, she felt uneasiness coil around her stomach.

Do they all look at me like that? How long has it been since I’ve been in the city?

She rarely ever walked down a street, not having any need to with her cryokinesis. Transporting herself with her ice was much preferable to reducing herself by commuting alongside the other soldiers in the MLA. The few times she interacted with them...they always had the same look on their faces.

She put those thoughts aside and returned to an even more unpleasant subject: the book in her hand that she had requested the girl bring to her. It was familiar to her like a mother to her infant. The same indented red cover with its engraving of the symbol of the MLA. The same title emblazoned with gold.

Meta Liberation War.

She knew the book back to front. If prompted by anyone, she could recite the pledge, the paragraphs or the sign off by Destro in a heartbeat. She had spent years memorising every key sentence, every declaration made by the founder of the Army she belonged to, and so on.

So why am I holding it in my hand?

Well, for one, she needed something to keep her distracted while she was stuck in the hospital ward, thanks to a certain fire-user and a dumb pact made just an hour or so ago.

“Ok, five day hospitalisation, doc’s orders.” Dabi turned to leave the room.

“No, I’m leaving tomorrow,” Geten shot back, crossing her arms.

“Uh huh, because you’d be fully recovered, right?”

She paused, searching for a retort. “You can’t make me stay here.”

Even to her, it sounded childish, and Dabi’s choked laughter told her he was thinking the same way. “Tell you what, what’s your favourite food?”

The question caught her off-guard. She blinked twice, wondering if that question came from him. “I don’t have one.”

“Bullshit. Everyone has one.”

“Unlike you, I’m not that much of an adolescent to show preferences for food. I eat whatever’s there.”

“It’s something cold, isn’t it? Soba?”

“How – wha –” She spluttered. “No, no it’s not.”

“You chill here until Friday, and I’ll get you soba.”

“Even if I did like it, I could just get it myself.” She was hoping her expression wasn’t betraying how much she liked the noodles.

“Not in Deika City, obviously. You think this shithole has any good food?”

“We can’t just leave –” Her exasperation was overpowered by his when he cut her off with, “Do you want the soba or not?”

A spasm of pain coursed through her ribs, causing her to wince. “Fine,” She muttered, and sat down on the bed.

“See you Friday then. My god, you’re stubborn.” He left and shut the door.

The memory, fresh in her mind, was oddly warming to think about, while the metal-engraved title of the book felt cold to the touch, pulling her back to the present.

The second reason was repetition – too much of it, that is. She compared it to her mastery over her meta ability made it a part of her, that she barely gave a thought whenever she levitated ice. Likewise, she could recant any part of the book with no hesitance. But even though I speak the words out loud, how much thought have I given their meaning?

She flipped open the book. Destro’s words filled Geten’s head like a lullaby a parent might sing to their child, not that the young woman knew what that was like.

“I am not in a prison. I am in solitude, and in this solitude have I found solace…” She read out loud to herself in the ward. It was habitual to do so, but as she kept reading, her voice trailed off as she studied it, and a growing void inside her gnawed at her heart.

I dream of a society where the use of our meta abilities is uncontrolled, as the great power that granted the human race this blessing intended. It was, and is, and will always be, a gift. Yet it is also a responsibility to bear. We must show the world the truth the governments try to conceal. They pass human laws that goes against the natural law. I, and my army, tried to show them this truth, but it is with great regret and sorrow that I announce an obstacle in our path towards destiny. My incarceration.

…

Strength is survival. Strength is our meta abilities, and honing them to perfection, achieving what we called “apotheosis” in the ancient past. To become god-like.

“And yet, you died, Destro,” Geten murmured. “And still we...we honour and revere you…” The void grew larger.

The journey unto death is one I will undertake after I finish writing this, but know that death is not the end for us. While I concede death is a frightening concept, I encourage you to believe that it is an inspiration for others. To die in battle is honourable. I only wish I had done so, but what has happened is set in stone. My death is a protest to the laws that chain us, but it is also your empowerment, to do what I could not.

“Death,” Geten whispered, the word tasting like poison on her tongue. She remembered both times she was one thread away from it: the barrel of Trumpet’s gun pointed at her, and the fists of Takame. In the first, she was not in combat. It would have been an assassination, would it not? And in the second…

Her chest hurt at the thought. She felt no honour, only emptiness and fear, knowing what the Liberation Army had done to her attacker’s family, and knowing her death was imminent.

Is it possible that Destro had feared death as well?

The reminder about Takame’s wife brought her to flip the pages to the section on the powerless, or, as Destro put it...

It is not some genetic disorder as the men in white coats would tell you. They are simply the unfortunate ones to not have received this gift. Pity them, for they, the outcasts, deserve your pity.

“Mihara…” She looked just like her. If she was wandering around Deika City, Geten would have thought she was some ordinary soldier. An ordinary person, even. How was she an outcast? Why did the MLA start hunting down the quirkless? Out of pity? They deserved it?

She slammed the book shut as the image of her dead body appeared in her mind. She drew deep breaths to calm herself – had she been hyperventilating this entire time? Her fists were trembling, blood pounding in her head in anger of it all.

The agony was a python writhing on her chest while old memories resurfaced from the aching in her brain. She remembered what Re-destro taught her, and how he did it.

A growl rose in her throat.

Kicked. Starved. Left alone to fend for herself, in the name of “liberation”. Everything that she did. Everything that was done to me, was in the name of liberation, but it shackled me more and more.

“Gah!” She flung the book across the room and buried her head in her hands.

She sat there upright on the hospital bed for some time, the silence screaming all the answers she did not want to hear, but had to, to her.

“You don’t find anything wrong with that?” Dabi had said on the plane. She remembered his countenance, a mixture of irritation and pity, whenever she spoke about the MLA. She had chalked it up to the arrogance of the victorious, or just a dislike of her, which was mutual then, so it never bothered her to think further. The pieces started to click together.

“You dropped this.” A dry voice made her look up, and a paleness spread across her face like permafrost.

Tomura Shigaraki stood at her doorway, dressed in a crimson jacket whose sleeves ran down his arms and black undershirt, whilst wearing jeans. He looked like any other ordinary person, if not for the severed hand on his face. In his hand was the book.

Instantly, thoughts of a legless Re-destro, or the piles of dust that once were Shigaraki’s opponents flooded her mind. She gripped the bedsheets tightly.

“Why are you here? And...I don’t need that.” Geten averted her eyes.

Shigaraki tossed it to the side and shut the door behind her. “I’m not here to kill you or anything, don’t shit yourself. I came here to see how you were doing. I gotta say, you look like you got broken up with.”

His words didn’t reassure her in the least, especially not the way he said ‘kill you’, but his posture didn’t indicate any animosity, so Geten took his word for it. Clearing her throat and steadying herself as best as she could, she responded, “I’m fine.”

“What’s with the book throw? Test tomorrow?”

“No,” She replied with an edge to her voice.

“You pissed?”

She exhaled. “Yes,” She said, mustering all the civility and politeness she had left.

“How nice,” He said, the concern in his tone matching that of his expression. “Anyway, you’re free to do what you want now. I got nothing for Violet Regiment. You’re excused from the council meetings till you’re discharged, whenever the hell that is.”

She blinked. “That’s all?”

Shigaraki cocked his head. “What, you were expecting a celebration of your win?”

“No...never mind. Th – thank you, Commander.” She bowed her head.

She heard the door slam and looked back up. She let loose a shuddering breath of relief from the sole fact that she was alive and not missing a limb, or an entire torso. He had looked more disinterested, as if she was an ant on his finger, but she would gladly accept that over a smiling Shigaraki.

Did Dabi actually talk to him? She recalled the promise he had made on the motorbike ride.

Maybe the consequences were waiting for her once her hospitalization was over, which made goosebumps appear on her skin. She held the sheets closer to her. Still, Shigaraki didn’t seem like the type to grant her catharsis before unleashing whatever hell he wanted upon her. If he was going to punish her, he would have done so just now.

Geten sighed and sunk back underneath the covers. Or maybe I’m just lying to myself...

It was only mid-afternoon, judging from the sky outside, yet fatigue, both physical and mental, weighed her limbs down as if she had been training the whole day. The bed suddenly felt like the softest, most comforting thing in the world. Unable to fight against her body, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, her thoughts too cluttered to sift through. A few names and words stood out, one of which was, Find Dabi.

––––––––

Had some time to finish this up. Hope you liked it.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #dabi x geten #dabixgeten #getenxdabi #dabiten #geten #bnha geten #mha geten #dabi #mha dabi #bnha dabi #atds

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minnarr · 4 years

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leia meets the prequels gang

I’ve got this AU where Leia time travels from the destruction of Alderaan back to the middle of AOTC, and I’ve just been writing it for fun and don’t really want to edit it, but there’s also so little Leia time travel. So...just going to post bits of it relatively unedited, we have no structure or plan here, here’s 3.5k of it.

-------

Through the viewscreen, Alderaan glistened. Leia watched, terrified to miss its last seconds, terrified to see it go. A thin line of green spread across the void between them. One heartbeat. Two.

The agony of watching the explosion was too much for one human. She felt as if she’d been hit with her whole planet’s pain. She was collapsing, going supernova around the Alderaan-sized hole in her being, reaching out into the universe for something to fill that emptiness.

The universe went black.

One brief eternity later, Leia crashed to her knees. Slowly, she became aware of things that made no sense. The ground under her was soft grit. The floor of a tent-like structure, she realized as she opened her eyes. Nearby, soft voices spoke. In the low, flickering light, she saw two figures: a young man holding a woman. The woman was dying, that much was clear – and the man did not want to believe it. The scene couldn’t be real, so Leia watched, half-mesmerized, as another set of final moments played out.

She was certain that this wasn’t real, until the young man raised his eyes. The fury in them was so sharp that she could feel the power of that gaze, though it was aimed past her, at the tent flap. She shifted, and what happened next happened so fast she reacted on pure instinct: the man’s gaze snapped to her, she wrenched a spar of metal from a pile of straps and poles, and a humming energy met her makeshift baton in a flash of blue and a shower of sparks.

Leia gasped, ducking under and away from the blade. That was a lightsaber. She scrabbled at the ground, grabbed a handful of sand, and flung it in her attacker’s direction.

“Wait!” he whisper-shouted, but she didn’t stop until she’d put the woman’s body between herself and the man, hoping it would give her some scant protection. The man lowered his arm – he must have raised it in time for the wide sleeve to shield his face. He stepped towards her, and Leia raised her baton.

He stopped and held his hands up. “Did they capture you, too?” he asked, his eyes flickering involuntarily to the dead woman at her feet.

Time to evaluate her situation. She was, obviously, no longer on the Death Star. How that was possible was not an important question right now. The man across from her had put away his lightsaber, but he was still the most immediate threat – although now he was holding himself like someone approaching a frightened animal, not someone trying to kill her. Warily, she relaxed her stance. “Yes. They captured me.” Whoever they were. It was the best story she had.

There was a long silence as the man stared over her shoulder, hand fiddling with something at his waist – maybe the saber hilt, masked by his robes. Finally, he stalked over to a pile of baskets, roughly tossing their contents out until he found what he was looking for. “Help me get her out of here,” he said, stepping towards her with a bundle of cloth in one hand.

In silence, Leia helped the man move the woman onto the cloth and wrap her in it. Once he’d lifted the body into his arms, Leia moved towards the tent flap. “What are you doing?” the man hissed, and she stopped, startled. He jerked his head towards a shadowed part of the tent, and she saw a hole burned through the wall there. “Quietly. They won’t be asleep for much longer.”

Leia balked at climbing onto a speeder with this stranger, but when she looked around at the sleeping camp, she knew it was her best way out. They were in the middle of a desert, and though a chill crept through her light gown now, she knew it would be hot once the sun came up. And utterly unnavigable, with no equipment or experience to guide her. “It’s okay,” the man said, his tone stilted.

They were both suspended in a place where emotion couldn’t come, Leia suspected, as the desert blurred around them. Neither the Death Star nor this place felt real to Leia, and she clung to that distance, knowing the pain that waited. The man made no noise, but holding onto him as she was, she could feel the coiled-up tension in his body.

After a time, she shouted, “What’s your name?” into the wind.

“What?”

“I’m Leia. What’s your name?” she repeated.

“Anakin,” came the reply, and the silence fell again. This time the quality of it was different – Leia could feel the edges of questions neither of them was asking yet.

Dawn crept up on them, and Leia drew up her hood as the suns became punishingly bright. When they stopped at last, Leia lifted her head to see a tiny house, and people coming out to meet them. A young man at the front of the group leaped forward, then stopped, stricken, as he saw her face.

Anakin dismounted, still silent, and went around to lift the woman’s body off the back. They drew back as they realized what the unassuming bundle must be. These people were so obviously her family, and Leia hung back as Anakin walked through the group and took her below into the house. Three of the others followed him, but a woman with curled brown hair approached Leia instead.

“You look hot,” the woman said, trying to smile. “I’ll get you something to drink.” Leia followed her around the side of the house, looking around in curiosity. Yes, this was a moisture farm; Leia recognized the vaporators now, reaching towards the sky to glean what water they could. They went through a side door. Leia briefly caught sight of the mourners before they turned into a passage that sloped and twisted down, studded with the occasional short flight of steps.

“Don’t you want to join them?” Leia asked.

“They’re Ani’s family,” the woman said. “I’ll stay out of the way for now.” She stepped to one side and held out a hand, and Leia preceded her into a small kitchen. It was mercifully cool in here, and Leia took a seat with relief.

“Ani is Anakin?” Leia asked. “And you’re…”

“Padmé. I’m sorry, my manners…” She turned briefly, meeting Leia’s eyes.

“It’s understandable, under the circumstances,” Leia said.

“What’s your name?” Padmé asked.

“Leia.” Leia watched Padmé move with familiarity through the kitchen, taking down two glasses, filling them with something disconcertingly blue. Padmé set one in front of Leia and took a seat across from her at the table, eyes grave.

“Tell me, are you injured at all?” Padmé asked.

Leia paused, the glass halfway to her lips, and considered. She still had the aches and exhaustion leftover from Imperial torture, along with what was probably going to be a sunburn across her nose and cheeks. “Nothing rest won’t cure,” she said. She took a sip of the strange drink, then found herself gulping it, thirstier than she’d realized. She laughed. “Rest and… I don’t suppose you have any access to the HoloNet out here?”

From the look on Padmé’s face, it was an odd request. “You don’t have people nearby?” she asked after a moment. Leia almost winced, realizing her mistake.

“I’m from off-planet,” she said hurriedly. “I got separated from my crew. They might be pretty far away by now.” How far, Leia had no way of knowing until she got her hands on more information – something she wasn’t about to ask these people for, however nice they were. Padmé was nodding, though, appeased.

“I don’t know if the Lars family has much contact that way, but I can take you to my ship. You should sleep first, though.”

Leia couldn’t argue. Once more, they bypassed the family who owned this farm; Padmé told Leia she could have her room for now. Leia felt like a loose end being tidied away, but she didn’t mind it. She fell into the bed there and almost immediately into sleep.

A nightmare disturbed her: A hand gripping her shoulder so hard it hurt, her eyes glued to a glowing sphere in the viewscreen. A last glimpse of her home, and then fire. When she woke, she knew it was as real as the room around her, and the truth of it shook her to pieces. She muffled her sobs in the blankets, but she couldn’t stop them. In sleep, she’d let her shields fall, and the pain had caught up to her.

Distantly, she heard the door open, and an, “Oh! Sorry.” She tensed, holding her breath as if it would stop this storm. Furiously, she scrubbed her sleeve across her face and sat up.

“No, it’s your room,” she said, forcing herself to get up and move. She went to the mirror as Padmé moved tentatively around her. She heard the click of latches and rustles of cloth as she undid her very mussed buns, shaky fingers grasping each pin individually and drawing it out. It was a soothing task, and she welcomed the familiar ache of her scalp as her hair settled around her shoulders.

“Would you like a change of clothes?” Padmé asked, and Leia jumped. She could see the other woman over her shoulder in the mirror, holding folded cloth to her chest. “We look like we’d be about the same size,” she added. There was something helpless about it, as if she didn’t know what other comfort she could offer. That startled Leia into turning to look closer. The other woman looked worried, almost distracted.

“Is something wrong?” Leia asked.

Padmé hesitated, then nodded. “It’s Anakin,” she said quietly. “His family lost track of him, and the speeder’s gone.”

Leia froze, remembering the anger she’d seen in Anakin earlier, and the lightsaber he’d turned on her before he saw who she was. “I know where he’s gone,” she said, with a certainty that surprised even her. “Do you have a speeder?”

“Better,” Padmé said. “I have a ship.”

Leia changed quickly, and felt much better in pants and layered tunics. Padmé had holstered a sleek blaster at her hip, and Leia wished she had one of her own.

“Which way?” Padmé called as they ran up the landing ramp of her ship.

“Back towards the camp. The way we came,” Leia called. Padmé gave her a troubled look, but she seemed to have no better direction. She flicked switches and tapped display screens, and the ship hummed to life, slowly rising over the sand. When they were high enough not to damage anything below, Padmé turned the ship’s nose towards the horizon and let it loose.

Dunes sped past below, and Leia leaned over the controls to watch for signs of Anakin. “How long was he gone?” she asked.

“Half an hour, maybe an hour,” Padmé said. “I don’t know.”

“Then he’d still have a ways to go. We could catch him.”

“I don’t know why I believe you. About where he went,” Padmé said, nearly a whisper.

Leia didn’t know either. They were both avoiding acknowledging why he might go back to the camp. “I think I recognize that formation,” Leia said, pointing, and Padmé nodded and shifted course.

Finally, as the suns lowered over the maze of stone knobs and arches, they spotted a dark speck below, weaving through the rocks. They’d have to cut him off, Leia realized; there was no way they could chase him through such tight spaces. She scanned ahead for a place where they might land. “See that arch there? I think he has to go through,” she said.

“Got it.” Padmé was grim, her grip tight on the controls. She maneuvered carefully, speeding past the landing spot and turning to approach it more slowly. She brought the ship nearly to a halt mid-air and let the repulsors bring them down to the surface. Leia held her breath as stone drifted past on all sides, far too close for comfort. A blinking dot on a readout caught Leia’s eye, and she realized Padmé had locked onto the motion of the speeder and was tracking it.

It was nearly on them.

They had a breathless race to the landing ramp. “I don’t know if he’ll stop for us – I hope he’ll stop,” Padmé was babbling as she pressed her palm to the control that would open it. They were down the ramp even before it finished extending, hitting the sand running.

Leia could see the speeder now, Anakin’s robed form hunched low. “Stop!” Padmé cried, ahead of Leia by several paces and dangerously close to the speeder’s trajectory. Leia put on a burst of speed and tackled Padmé to the ground, just as Anakin swerved, the speeder jerking past them and coming to a long, skidding halt.

“Padmé!” Anakin was shouting, even before he disentangled himself from the speeder. Leia raised her head, glaring at Anakin.

“She’s fine,” she said, spitting a lock of hair from her mouth. Padmé nudged her away and stood.

“What were you thinking?” Anakin bellowed as he reached them.

“What were you thinking?” Padmé said, reaching out for him. Anakin grabbed her shoulders, and Leia tensed, but he just wrapped Padmé up in a tight embrace. She thought the thing he mumbled into her shoulder was, I could’ve killed you.

Leia crossed her arms, watching them have some whispered conference. Finally, she broke in. “I know what Jedi are and aren’t supposed to do. And running off to confront someone in anger definitely isn’t one of those things. Is there someone else stuck in that camp?”

Anakin tensed in Padmé’s arms, and she said, “Ani?”

“No,” he said at last, not looking at Padmé.

“Then what were you doing?” Leia asked.

His mood flared from shame to anger in a moment. “They killed her!” he roared, jerking out of Padmé’s hold and turning on Leia. “I wasn’t strong enough to save her, and they killed her! But I can stop them hurting anyone else. Ever again.”

Leia felt cold. “Will killing stop the threat?” she asked. “Or will it just make you feel better?” The words seemed to hang, trembling, in the air, and none of them knew how to respond to them. Anakin backed up a step as if from a physical blow. Slowly, his hands closed into fists, his face going blank.

Padmé stepped forward, putting her hands on Anakin’s shoulders from behind. “I’m so sorry about your mother, Anakin,” she said. “What they did to her was… But you can’t solve the injustice of it this way. You’re just one person, Ani.” She wrapped one arm under his, pressing a hand over his heart and holding him against her. “Come home,” she whispered.

Anakin closed his eyes, the fight finally going out of him. Leia watched as Padmé led him onto the ship, uneasy. She recognized that snarling anger. It lived in a cage inside her, fed with every death, every injustice, she saw.

She believed in using violence deliberately, only when it was the best option left. But would her better instincts prevail, faced with Moff Tarkin or Darth Vader, with a lightsaber and any hope of winning? She wasn’t sure, yet, if she could categorize Anakin as someone like her, or someone like her enemies. The uncertainty set her on edge.

Later, Leia watched from the ship as the inhabitants of the Lars homestead gathered around a newly-dug grave: the old man, his son and step-son, the two women, and a battered protocol droid. She had absented herself from the proceedings; this was not her grief to share.

Padmé had given her permission to do whatever she must to get in contact with her people, so here Leia was, trying to key into the HoloNet. The controls in this ship were a little unique, sleek but unfamiliar, so it took her some poking around to find it. Finally, a flood of feeds appeared on the screen. She minimized the ones Padmé had open and entered the encrypted path she had memorized.

Nothing.

Leia frowned. She hadn’t gotten the usual error she would have if the Alliance had simply switched keys. It was acting as if nothing had ever been there. Had the Empire won a more serious victory than she thought? Confused, she tried a different path, looking for news. No Imperial HoloNet out here, either – where the hell were they? She backed out to the local public newsfeeds, and stared in consternation.

Halapu Tatooine [Huttese | Basic]

Republic HoloNet

If the Republic HoloNet was the locals’ idea of a subtle anti-Imperial channel, they were not going to last long. Leia didn’t know of any rebel cells on Tatooine, but that was by the by; she’d never had all the information. It was worth a try.

The news that loaded made no sense. There were headlines about Republic Senate negotiations. About Separatist attacks. Leia’s scalp prickled. Following a gut feeling, she checked the dates on the stories, then did a rapid calculation in her head. Twenty-two years. These were twenty-two years old.

She tried a live broadcast. It loaded fine, but that, too, counted out seconds and minutes on a clock marked for twenty-two years in the past. Halapu Tatooine’s time-sync matched. Something was seriously wrong with this ship’s link-up. There was no other possibility.

That didn’t stop Leia from pulling up an Alderaanian drama feed and letting the familiarity comfort her. The station broadcasting that feed to the galaxy at large had been demolished hours, maybe a day, ago, but the HoloNet still held its ghost, like a dead star whose light still shone unchanged galaxies away.

Padmé and Anakin found her there, sitting on the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees. She jumped at the sound of their footsteps and exited the feed hurriedly. “You could’ve told me it doesn’t pull up current news,” she said to Padmé.

“That’s news to me,” Padmé said, leaning over Leia’s shoulder to check. Anakin still hovered in the doorway, and Leia ignored him – she doubted he was looking to her for comforting words. “No, it’s fine,” Padmé said. “Here, this morning’s headlines.” She’d gone back to the Republic feed, Leia saw. “Must have been a temporary error, I’ll have the mechanics look into it. Sorry about that.”

Padmé moved away, but she was still talking to Leia. “Did you manage to talk to your friends? Do you have a ride off-planet?”

“I didn’t. I don’t,” Leia was vaguely aware that Anakin had stepped inside, followed by an astromech droid and the awkward gait of a protocol droid, but she was still staring at the headlines of a morning years before her own birth.

“Oh, hello,” the protocol droid said brightly. “I wondered when we might meet. C-3PO, Human-Cyborg Relations.”

Leia stared up at the droid, decked out in a tarnished silver casing that the fussy version she knew would have been ashamed of. “Threepio,” she said, faintly, and her eyes focused next on the astromech, also hauntingly familiar. “And R2-D2. Of course.” Because things couldn’t get any stranger. The astromech beeped quizzically, and Threepio turned to look at him.

“My apologies, madam, but Artoo says that he does not remember meeting you. Well, no surprise there, you bucket of bolts, haven’t you ever heard of a memory wipe?” More beeps, another pause. “Well. I am glad to meet you.”

“And I you,” Leia said, pushing herself to her feet. She shook Threepio’s hand heartily. “Leia—” She stopped herself just before she said her surname. “Leia Antilles.” A nice, common surname.

Artoo beeped urgently, and everyone but Leia turned to look at him.

“Sorry to cut this meeting short,” Anakin said, “but we have some urgent business to attend to.” He put his hands on Threepio’s shoulders, pushing him towards Leia with an obviously false smile. “Threepio. Maybe you could show your new friend out?”

“Right this way, madam,” Threepio said, leading her out of the cockpit.

“Wait,” Leia said, stopping before they reached the turbolift. “Who do you serve right now, Threepio?”

“Why, Master Ani, of course. He made me, you know.”

Leia did not know this. She looked back towards the cockpit, considering. She had been ready to leave these two behind, but they were something more important than she’d realized, weren’t they? “And Artoo?”

“He came with a message from an Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Threepio said. It took him a few moments before he realized Leia had turned and started running back towards the cockpit. “Oh! Mistress Leia! Wait!” he said, but Leia had already slapped her palm over the door control. She stepped back inside just in time to see a projected image flicker out. “I tried to stop her, Master Ani!” Threepio huffed as Padmé and Anakin turned to look at them.

“I need to see Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Leia said. “Please. It’s important.”

The other two looked at each other. “No. Absolutely not,” Anakin said to Padmé, a warning note in his voice.

#leia organa #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #star wars au #star wars fic #minnafics #prequels gang plus leia #if i post it on ao3 i'm going to have to care if it's good

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star-birthmark · 4 years

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Something Left Behind: Ghiaccio x Reader

This is a sort of part 2 to the “Living Through You” fic that I did a while back, so that might provide a bit more context to this one. Also, @samira006 requested that I write more Ghiaccio, so here it is! Also sorry that i haven’t been posting much, again, college is kicking my ass. Please forgive me. Also fun fact, this piece hints at my personal headcanon of Gelato’s stand, so comment on that if you’re interested. ^_^

CWs: Silent torture, guns, killing, blood, overall violence

Without further ado: Something Left Behind: Ghiaccio x Reader (3.7k words)

“Tell me the right way! What do you mean you failed?!”

“I couldn’t do it! I just couldn’t!”

It was long before the team would reach its full potential. At that point, it was just Sorbet and Gelato, Risotto Nero, and their newest recruit Giulio, now red in the face and with tears in his eyes. The young man looked between the unforgiving couple sitting closely together in their armchair, and Risotto, the one who had recruited him in the first place, the man whose deep voice and stern tone quickly became a comfort for the newest member of La Squadra. The young man’s breath caught in his chest as Risotto spoke to him in place of their mentor Sorbet.

“Ghiaccio… what happened that you couldn’t do it?”

Young Ghiaccio, having just turned 18 that month, folded himself forward in his chair, feeling a pressure form in his stomach that he was sure would manifest in nausea. His whole form shook, his mouth unable to comprehend that his mind was commanding it to admit defeat. To admit that he chickened out of ending a man’s life. Sorbet stared him down with a disgusted impatience, one fist gripping onto his armrest, the other fist gripping hard onto his partner’s waist.

“... Answer him!”

Ghiaccio’s body stiffened as he turned to look up at the older mafioso before him, scared anger on his face, his eyes blinking rapidly to expel their blood-filled tears.

“I told you… I just couldn’t.”

The man raised an eyebrow and turned to his other half resting in his lap. The blond gave a small nod. Risotto took a sharp breath in, preparing himself for the words about to spring from his mentor’s lips.

“Again Risotto.”

Ghiaccio flew back in his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into the sensitive skin of his shut eyelids, his young voice exploding in a shrill scream of pain as the sharp point of the nails threatened to charge holes through his eyeballs. His tears stung his punctured cheeks as Ghiaccio convulsed in his chair. Nails that had already punctured through the young man’s cheek clattered to the floor as they were jostled around from the tossing and turning. He shut his mouth, his chest heaving erratically, his jaw clenching as to not give the couple before him their satisfaction. Risotto stared down at the floor and finally took the nails away before he could puncture the skin and leave the younger man blind. Ghiaccio remained leaned back in his chair, his body twitching from what he had just experienced.

After a few minutes of silence, Sorbet leaned forward in the chair as Gelato got up and walked across the room, touching Ghiaccio’s punctured cheek with care. Ghiaccio looked up at the blond man with a tired gaze, scared of what the controlling couple had planned for him. Instead, he felt a rush of warmth fill his cheek where Gelato touched it. Risotto watched as the dried blood on Ghiaccio’s body floated off his form to form a single square of skin-like fabric, which the blond proceeded to sew to Ghiaccio’s cheek until it blended in with the other’s skin.

Risotto let out a sigh, happy he didn’t have to use Metallica anymore. Ghiaccio rubbed his cheek, no longer feeling pain, looking up at Gelato with a tired smile of gratitude on his face.

“Thank y-”

His words were quickly cut off as Gelato brought his palm down on the young man’s cheek. Ghiaccio gulped away the pain; he knew it was too good to be true. Sorbet stood up from his spot and silently left the room, Gelato following behind him. The door clicked closed as the capo and his lover left, with only Ghiaccio and Risotto in the room. The tall gothic man went to sit across from Ghiaccio, looking at the other’s now healed but sore body. Ghiaccio eyed his elder mafioso, feeling betrayed. He didn’t trust Sorbet or Gelato one bit, but he thought he could trust Risotto at least. The person who saw the inherent violence laying dormant within him and decided to capitalize on it. The person who fought Sorbet and Gelato tooth and nail to let him stay with the group, even when he failed his first three solo missions, chickening out of killing another person. Risotto cleared his throat, commanding Ghiaccio’s attention.

“I know you lied to Sorbet to stay strong. Tell me for real… why didn’t you kill him?”

Ghiaccio glared at him. “I don’t know…”

“Yes, you do. You must.”

Tiredly running his fingers through his curly hair, Ghiaccio stood up from his seat, walking towards Risotto in his chair. He sneered down into the other’s black eyes, neither of them realizing that down the line, one of them would become the other’s capo. For now, though, Ghiaccio was content with glaring Risotto down with contempt, grasping at what little power he had in the world. Risotto remained sitting, gazing up at the shorter man, letting him have his moment of superiority.

“You’re scared aren’t you?" Risotto watched as the other’s eyes softened but he turned away.

“... Stop it Risotto.”

“You can’t find it in yourself to kill anyone because you were accused of killing her and that man that night right? You know in your heart that she was the only one that understood you.”

Ghiaccio tensed up, his fist closing at his side as he bit back his rage. “Stop it.”

“She died thinking you were noble, even if you were a little rough around the edges…”

“Stop it Risotto…”

“She died thinking you were a good man, didn’t she?”

“Listen to me…”

“And you don’t want to dishonor her by killing someone, because then you’d turn into the man that she knew you weren’t.”

“Risotto will you shut up?!”

Risotto, now standing tall over Ghiaccio, sighed heavily at the other’s frustration. Looking into the enraged teenager’s face, he placed a firm hand on Ghiaccio’s shoulder.

“The fact that you were falsely blamed for her death is in the past Ghiaccio… She would have wanted you to breathe free air, not rot in jail. So, man up. Do. Your. Job. “

Those were the words that managed to crush him the most. Feeling an ache in his chest begin to build, Ghiaccio decided to leave the room before he burst out in angry sobs. Risotto was left in the silence of the parlor, but he understood what the other was going through, even if Ghiaccio didn’t think he did. He too had felt immense guilt over a loved one’s death.

When he was finally alone in his room, Ghiaccio finally allowed himself to break down after so much pain, physical and emotional. This had been the fourth time he couldn’t pull through with a hit, for the exact reason that Risotto was stating.

You had taught him so much. How to skate, but also how to become calm and comfortable in his own skin. You taught him how to love and to not think of himself as a burden on others. And then you were gone in one fateful night, and his rage overtook him once more. But where was all the rage that Risotto was so obsessed with cultivating? If he was really so damn angry at this world, he shouldn’t have a problem killing a few people within it?

The young man sighed. No… he couldn't kill anyone. He had to get out for a bit, to clear his head. Slowly, careful not to make noise, Ghiaccio slipped out of his room in the hideout, White Album forming around him as he skated down the street into the night.

He wasn’t sure necessarily where he was going, or how long he’d be out before returning to his new home with the other assassins, but young Ghiaccio felt the spirit of his lost love lift his skates to continue on out of Naples.

By the time exhaustion consumed him, he was already for a few hours outside of the hideout, and decided to stop, walking into a seedy bar in the town nearby. The air was musty and thick with the smell of cologne and cigarettes, both scents that caused the irritable young man’s nose to wrinkle in disgust. He sat at the counter, the server soon asking what he wanted. Ghiaccio ordered with a heavy sigh, taking off his red glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. He had been skating for so long, he wondered if Risotto noticed that he was gone, or if Sorbet and Gelato even cared that he was gone. He wondered how he could possibly stay with the three men any longer if he couldn’t even kill anyone. He didn’t want to get iron nails in his eyelids each time he came back to the hideout empty-handed.

Still, there was something that kept him there. Something that compelled him to stay. Perhaps it was the way that Risotto’s void-like eyes bore into his soul and told him that he was capable. Or the way he wanted to prove Sorbet wrong for calling him weak or for shouting at him. Or maybe he should stay in order to have something to call his own. There was nothing left for him outside of Passione, except jail. But how could he even hold the weight of another person’s life on his shoulders? Ghiaccio continued his pondering until he felt a body slam itself into his back and knock his gut forward into the bar. The annoyed man flung himself around to catch a glimpse of your face, his anger soon diminishing the better of a look he got. Instead, his face twisted into shock. Had he collapsed in exhaustion? Was he dreaming? You were right in front of him… alive.

You turn around to lock eyes with the icy man, a smile playing at your lips. “Oh, sorry cutie. I didn’t mean to bump into you like that. Now if you don’t mind…”

The young man could barely hear your words, tears threatening his eyes once more at your presence before him. Ghiaccio watched as you kept walking, your words and voice compelling him to stand and follow, almost like a siren’s. The two of you walked towards the center of the bar. How did you not recognize him? You noticed that this man was now hot on your heels, your heart pounding in your chest. Was he the one they sent to catch you? No… he couldn’t have been. You’d been warned that they planned to intercept you at two am, and it wasn’t even one yet. You glance over your shoulder to see the short man lag behind you, the two of you catching each other staring, but you couldn’t identify him. You’d never seen him before in your life. Ghiaccio’s eyes widened, a chill crawling up his spine, suspecting something terrible was about to happen.

The man swiftly reached over to grab your arm. “… (y/n)?”

He asked softly, but you nudged out of his grip in annoyance and kept walking forward. You didn’t know him. That didn’t deter Ghiaccio, as he kept watching your every move, shock plastered all over his face. Finally, you reached your destination, a small corner booth, and in it, sat an older man accompanied by a woman clinging to him, her head in his chest. Ghiaccio watched as you curled up to sit down next to the man, a gentle smile. He couldn’t help but feel a chill creep down his spine in jealousy as he watched you sit down next to the man, feeling up and down his chest and whispering something into his ear until you reached your hand beneath the table. And then after that moment, Ghiaccio’s whole life had turned over again.

As soon as you reached your hand below the table, in a flash, you brought your hand back up, now containing a gun. Within the blink of an eye, you shot the man point-blank, killing him, and quickly rushed to escape. Ghiaccio looked amongst the frightened bar-goers and saw you rushing towards him. Failing to get out of the way, the two of you collide once more, you now filled with hot rage at his interruption.

“Wow I just keep bumping into you, don’t I? Bye cu- “

Ghiaccio gasped as someone rushed up behind you, delivering a blow only meant to knock you out. Apparently, those meant to hunt you down decided to come a little early. In a moment of indecision, Ghiaccio remained stiff and nervous instead of coming to help, and you were soon carried out of the bar and thrown into the back seat of the car, about to be taken away. Ghiaccio turned around, his chest heaving from fear as he watched the woman from earlier weep over her murdered husband.

Was this all real? Did that really just happen? Was that actually you? Wait- What was he doing just standing there?! With a quick turn, Ghiaccio stormed out of the bar, pushing past pedestrians, the yelling from the server that he hadn’t paid ringing in his ears.

The young man raced down the packed sidewalk, swerving between people and causing a ruckus. When he struggled to get through the crowd, the young man ran onto the street, White Album’s skates encasing his legs as he speedskated after the car holding you captive. It was still in sight thank goodness. Ghiaccio could see your head through the back window, a sight forcing him to keep going even as his newly acquired stand drained him of his energy. Cars were no obstacle, instead, he slid in between them, interrupting the practical flow of the city of Naples. Cars crashed into each other, skidding on the ice Ghiaccio left behind, and ran over people, but Ghiaccio was quick to block out the carnage that was in his wake. People became consumed by the cold, encased in the ice where they stood until their chilled death. He watched as your hostages turned onto the highway, and stepped on the gas pedal, leaving Ghiaccio behind once more.

The young man watched as the car drove away onto a riverside road, and he released himself from White Album. There he stood, on the bridge to the highway. He turned around to see a crowd of people staring at him as he stood on the edge of the destruction he had caused, all of them now knowing him for the monster he really was. Ghiaccio felt guilt way down on his heart before turning to see the car head into the distance.

No, he couldn’t let it end like this. Taking a few steps back, Ghiaccio listened closely as he heard police cars siren; it was then that he knew he had to leave. Running to the end of the bridge, Ghiaccio promptly jumped off the railing and plummeted towards the shallow water, the locals screaming out for him. Just before he could hit the water, his stand closed in on him again and allowed the young mafioso to skate on the river, running after the car that was still in sight.

“Hang on (y/n)... I’m coming.”

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

You slowly drifted back into consciousness, your eyes adjusting to the morning light streaming through the window. You sit up from the bed you must have been placed in, unsure of where you were. The door clicked closed, and you turned to see the same man from the bar walk into the room looking disheveled and nervous. His face lit up seeing that you were awake and he rushed to your side, but you scooted away from him.

“Who are you?” You immediately asked.

Ghiaccio looked hurt at the question. “It’s me…”

You eyed him warily, trying to distance yourself further. Ghiaccio only sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at the floor of his bedroom at the hideout.

“I thought you were dead (y/n)...”

“How do you know my name?”

Ghiaccio watched your face closely, his heart sinking as he realized you were serious. You don’t remember him… Well, taking a bullet to the head would have anyone forget… He was just happy that you were alive.

“What’s the last thing you remember (y/n)? Please…”

You watched him warily, but something in the back of your mind knew to trust him. “... I remember laying in the street, barely conscious. I remember sirens taking someone away… then I remember a man standing over my body and kneeling over me, and I just remember feeling so much better, and then I blacked out… I don’t remember anything before that. ”

You pull back the bandana you had been wearing, revealing to the man before you the deep scar at the side of your head, and the subsequent stitches that came with it. The two of you stare at each other in silence before Ghiaccio shyly nodded, tears threatening his eyes. You were finally back, and you didn’t even remember him.

You kept speaking. “But I can’t help but wonder who I might have left behind… I wonder if there was someone that loved me back in my old life. I still wonder who that man was that they took away after I got shot…”

Ghiaccio sat quietly, listening to your words, and couldn’t find it in himself to tell you the truth. He wasn’t stupid. He saw the pin of Passione that the man that you had killed had worn. He saw the pin attached to your clothing, one of the opposite gang from his. He could figure out why you killed that man. And if he told you the truth now, it would be likely that he would be next on your list.

“Well… whoever you did leave behind, they’re lucky that they haven’t truly lost you. If you can find them again that is…”

You watched this man before you as he hunched over the bed, his bottom lip quivering as he picked at it nervously with his teeth. You watched his hands as they fidgeted against each other in order to calm his itching nerves. What a scared, frightened man, you thought, your eyes tracing along his long white sleeves and his high collar to see a fading bruise right around his eye, both from Risotto’s treatment of him, and a fight he had gotten into as a kid.

You quirk your head to the side, moving in closer to catch a better look at the mark. You saw this bruise near his eye and thought of snow falling onto the streets. You saw the red glasses hidden behind his blue curly hair and you thought of the frozen pond near your house. Ghiaccio turned to lock eyes with you and then immediately turned back to the floor and you thought of the light bullet dent at the side of your head.

A new hour had arrived. The large, heavy clang of a church bell echoed throughout the city of Naples as you calmly got up from your spot in the bed and walked over to stand in front of the sitting man. Your body loomed over his as you brought your hands up to cradle his head in them. Slowly but surely, you tugged upwards to force him to look back up to you, a soft smile on your face.

“Who are you? Why did you save me?”

Ghiaccio looked as if he was about to break into sobs. “(y/n) please I can’t do this-”

“Tell me. Please.”

Ghiaccio pondered for a moment. “I just wanted to save one last person close to me before I would have to kill others for the rest of my life… “

You chuckled sadly, moving your hand to stroke the bruised cheek with your thumb.

“Don’t worry… I’m sure it’ll come as naturally to you as learning to skate was I’m sure... I know it was like that with me. Don’t carry their lives on your shoulders, it’ll weigh you down…”

“...(y/n)?”

“Whatever I left behind… Whoever I left behind, I hope they aren’t taking my death too seriously… I hope I find them one day… Thank you for saving me.”

With that, you reached down and planted a small kiss right on Ghiaccio’s healing bruise and moved away from him as he sat in shock. He didn’t have the emotional fortitude to turn around to look at you one last time. Instead, the young man sat at the edge of his bed and listened to the shuffling of fabric as you retrieved your coat and slipped on your shoes and as you reached up to escape out of the young man’s bedroom window. Shuffling, comfortable shuffling.

At the first moment of silence, Ghiaccio turned around to check if you were still in the room, ready to admit the truth to you, only to see you run down the street and fade away into the shadows. Ghiaccio stared out of his window, an ache taunting his eyes to allow tears to spring forth. It was in that silence that the young man screamed, his rage, regret, and sorrow woven into his voice as he filled the bedroom with the high pitched shrill. The door slammed open and young Guilio turned around to see Risotto rush into the room, with Sorbet and Gelato right at the doorway. Risotto did a quick scan of the bedroom before asking Ghiaccio what the matter was that he made so much noise.

“Nothing… I was just thinking… I’m sorry…”

Risotto was taken back by such a simple answer, unsure of what to say as a response. Sorbet let out a heavy sigh and turned away to head back towards his room.

“Pull yourself together Ghiaccio. You’ve got another mission tomorrow. Don’t disappoint again.”

Once everyone had left the room, Guilio turned back to his window to stare at the street that you had run away on, his eyes tracing the cobblestones that your feet had touched. The next day, Ghiaccio left the hideout in the early hours of the day to go do his job.

The target was dead within an hour and a half.

#jjba #jjba writing #jjba hc #ghiaccio #fem reader #part 5 #vento aureo #la squadra #request #long fic #golden wind #angst #blood cw #cw murder #cw torture #sorbet and gelato #risotto nero #jojo writing #jojo hc

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Lucid Dream

Category: Hurt and Comfort, Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Naruto

Characters: Shikamaru Nara, Sakura Haruno

EDIT: This beautiful piece of artwork was made by the lovely @deliathedork who just can’t seem to stop spoiling me rotten with all the presents! TT.TT Please give her some love too! She is very, very talented!

Bonjour, mes amis! Here’s today’s story for ShikaSaku Week Hanami, prompt “Drip, Drip, Drip (Our Blood). For some reason I really like writing in Shikamaru’s POV… Anyway, enjoy~

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The slow, melodic sound was the first thing to greet Shikamaru as he phased into consciousness. His vision rolled as he forced his eyes open but could only manage to part his eyelids into a small slit for the overwhelming nausea that engulfed him upon doing so. Eyelashes fluttering like a trembling leaf as he struggled to keep his eyes open and survey his surroundings and current situation, the water kept dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip. Dust was dancing in thin brown clouds all around him. It was dark save for a few spearing shafts of light pouring down from large, gaping holes in the ceiling.

A ceiling- he was in a building, or what was left of it. Chunks of the wall and roof were littered around him in great heaping gobs of crushed stone, with little pebbles and normal-sized rocks scattered around like their voluminous brood. Glass intermingled with the carnage, glowing with sheen as they reflected the harsh sunlight invading the dark space. Shikamaru turned his head to his left, though the muscles in his neck and shoulders screamed loudly in protest, to find a cavernous expanse stretching out just beside him. The floor- and the three stories underneath- lie far below in an indistinct collection of rubble. Illuminated by the sunlight below, a large red puddle bloomed on the smooth surface of one of the rock faces, a lake of blood that splintered off into many rivers that meandered into the cracks.

Drip. Another bead of blood bloomed on the tip of his finger from where his arm was slung carelessly into the void, then detached itself to fall down, down, down and splash into the puddle below. Blood. His blood, to be exact. It was a lot. How was he bleeding so much?

The spike of twisted metal embedded through his lower abdomen provided that answer. The jade green of his vest was dyed a dark brown where the blood had seeped into the thick fabric. He shifted slightly and could feel the sticky mass of blood squelching against his backside, traveling all the way down his left leg. The stretch of floor that he was laying on was sloped downwards and to the left, allowing the blood to run up his body, catch on his left arm, and pool on his hand before gravity stole it away.

“Well, shit,” he wheezed. His right arm twitched as he tried to move it, but the muscles were hesitant to comply at first. Slowly, he eased his arm up; his right hand shook violently that it made tremors wrack all the way up to his shoulder. Somehow, he wrapped his hand around the spear of metal that was jutting out of his stomach and gave it an experimental tug. All he earned himself was shooting pain blooming like flower petals from the epicenter of his wound; his head smacked back against the concrete as he hissed loudly in agony. That certainly wasn’t budging. It was probably his luck that the metal was worked into the concrete and had bent upon the building collapsing, and he had landed right on top of it. Pulling it out was counter-productive anyway; he would bleed out almost instantaneously. Shikamaru’s eyebrows threaded together as he fought to remember how he had ended up in such a drag in the first place.

The memories threaded like beads of dew on a spiderweb, spaced far apart but no less interconnected; he recalled something about raiding a suspected drug cartel compound. He tugged at the thread in his mind, hoping that all the dew beads would merge to form a coherent series of events. Green eyes and pink hair suddenly clouded him memories. Sakura, that’s right, he was with Sakura in the fifth-floor raid party; to catch the enemy unawares, they had planned to attack every floor at once to keep those on the upper floors from barricading themselves in or utilizing a secret escape route. It had been going all fine and dandy until some nutjob had decided to strap a bunch of paper bombs to himself to become a martyr. They had been in far too close quarters for the both of them to escape, and Shikamaru’s brightest idea at the time had been to wrench Sakura out of the window then dive for the stairs. The paper bombs had exploded and the floor had collapsed, and apparently, Shikamaru had ended up here.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The blood continued to accumulate in the rubble below.

Sakura… Is she okay? The girl was by no means a slouch, but she probably hadn’t expected to be flung off the fifth floor of a building, either. Shikamaru ought to be concerned with himself, but his thoughts were bent on the medical ninja. He could’ve killed her, really. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that were the case. Of all the things, that stupid set of decisions? He should’ve reacted faster. There were any number of alternate scenarios that could’ve unfolded, but that had been the one he had opted for. God, he was an idiot. If she did live, he almost hoped he did die to spare himself the beating he was sure to catch later.

Wow. He was actually acting like he was going to make it out of this alive. His vision, already fuzzing black around the edges, settled once more on the sharp metal bit jutting out of his abdomen. Shikamaru felt bile rise up in the back of his throat as he felt the acidic tang of fear beginning to flood his mouth. His grip tightened around the iron, as if his hand alone could shatter it. Waves of tingling numbness began to course over his body, head to toe. Then there was that goddamned dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip. It pulsed loudly in his eardrums like tinnitus, sending spikes of pain shooting into his skull with each accursed drop. He didn’t want to die. It’s not like Shikamaru was the biggest go-getter, but still, there were things he wanted to accomplish in life before kicking the bucket. He had to see Naruto become Hokage. More than that, he had to be that dumbass’s advisor, because he sure didn’t trust anyone else to do it. God, even though it was a drag, he wanted to get married, maybe have a kid or two, watch them grow up… Maybe, then, maybe he could die- but not right now. Not yet.

Sakura.

Maybe the blood loss was making him delirious. He was trying to keep his breath from coming in ragged, shallow gasps, because the faster he breathed, the faster the blood pumped through his veins, and the faster his blood began to drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Had it sped up? How long had it been since the building collapsed? One minute? Ten? How close was he to death, actually?

Sakura.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Girls were a drag. Shikamaru had always thought so. Seeing Ino and Sakura butt heads like fighting mountain goats was enough to solidify that in his brain. Yet… Somehow they had become less of a drag, over time. Especially her. Especially Sakura. He admired her, even. She was a bit feisty, but he preferred that to a total giggly fake pushover. She was smart, so he could hold intelligent conversation with her. She was strong, stupidly so, which meant Shikamaru never had to worry. Of course he hadn’t hurt her throwing her out of the building. It was Sakura, after all. She probably hurt the ground rather than the other way around.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He was definitely delirious. His vision swam like swirling water before his hazy eyes. He didn’t even have the strength to hold his head up any more. One minute? Ten? It felt like a lifetime. He was definitely delirious, because he was regretting not telling her that he loved her. When did that happen? They hung out, sure. They were often paired on missions because they worked well together. He’d walked her home after they went out to dinner a couple times, but that was just work stuff. Friend stuff, if he was being generous.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Did he think about her sometimes? Sure, but his mind just wandered like that. Wandered, to her pink hair like the cherry blossoms in bloom, to her spring green eyes that sparkled like a beautiful sea they had seen once in a mission out of the country, to her beautiful smile that shone like the sun itself. He had to be delirious, because he could see her before his waking eyes, calling his name with tears in those eyes like new spring growth.

“Shikamaru! Shikamaru, can you hear me?”

Was she actually there? Was she an illusion? Shikamaru really couldn’t tell. Everything around her was a smudge of indistinct grays and blacks and browns with those burning streaks of white light, yet she was so crisp and clear. His eyes settled on an abnormality, on the trail of bright red blood streaming down the side of her face from a gash in her forehead. Was that his fault? It traveled down her cheek, mixing with her pouring tears, down to her chin, where it beaded like a red jewel and dropped down onto his vest. Drip. Drip. Drip.

“Sakura… You’re… Bleeding…” Was that his voice? It sounded so garbled, like a frog croaking. His whole body was numb at this point, and the only point he knew that he had actually lifted up his hand was when it appeared in his line of sight. His trembling thumb gently swept over the thin laceration as his expression contorted into one of regret. “Sorry…”

“What? This? No, no, this is nothing!” Maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed to lean into his touch, cheek brushing into his palm. “Shikamaru, you saved me. I would have died in that explosion if you hadn’t pushed me out of the way.” His mouth twisted into a pitiful rendition of a smile. She wasn’t mad. No beating for him. He was finally catching a stroke of luck. That lovely pink hair of her whirled as she whipped her head around to shout at Naruto and Kiba, who were finally ascending the half-broken stairs to assist her.

“Sakura, you shouldn’t have run up the stairs like that! They’re all half-collapsed, believe it! We almost died!”

“Yeah, like, three times.”

“Shut up and help me!” Her voice was high-pitched, nearly manic. The tone demanded their will to comply. Shikamaru’s breath was rattling in his lungs now. It felt like it was water he was breathing, not oxygen, heavy and suffocating. He could vaguely hear the two boys suck in horrified gasps when they neared him, and Sakura vaguely instructing them to hold him still as she bent off the end of the pole. She stood over him, one foot on either side of his hips, while Naruto crouched down at his head to push his palms into his chest. Sakura grasped the end of the pole and charged her fists with chakra, and then bent the piece of metal as close as she dare to the gaping hole that was his wound.

The vibrations alone were enough to send Shikamaru’s legs to spasming, and Kiba had to dive on them to keep him from accidentally kicking her away. Short pained cries left his mouth, dignity ignored. It of course didn’t snap immediately; she had to bend it back and forth, working weakness into the metal until it finally broke, snapping off in a jagged point just above his heaving belly. “Shikamaru, this is going to hurt like hell.”

“Wha- AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGH!” he howled as the three of them all but jerked him off the remaining short spike of metal. The barbed end ripped through his flesh with fervor, sending more blood spurting into the air and his vision flaring white as he fought desperately against fainting. His entire body burned like he was being submerged in lava, but especially that small circle of agony in his lower abdomen. As soon as they had him on the ground again, Sakura was straddling his waist with her hands pressed deep into his wound, dying them a dark red that he could even see through the hemisphere of green healing chakra; his body continued to twitch with lingering tendrils of fiery pain wracking his nervous system. He was wheezing as his wide eyes attempted to fixate on her trembling form but failing miserably as they danced with white and black spots. He could feel the light tremors against his body. Her tears continued to flow, gathering on the end of her chin to splash down below.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

“S-Saku… ra… I…”

“No. Don’t you do that,” she growled at him. Her green eyes, alight with furious fire, snapped up to meet his. “You’re not dying. Not here. Not like this. I won’t let you.” He couldn’t help but allow the tired smirk to form on his lips. So angry all the time. It was amazing how much roiling rage was pent up in that petite body.

His hand was moving again. It settled in her threads of disheveled pink hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Stop moving. It makes this harder,” she ordered, but with much less bark. Shikamaru ignored her, going to tug on the neck of her shirt to get her attention. “What?” What he mumbled, she could not here. A faint tinge of pink arose to her cheeks, but whether that was from embarrassment or ire, she wasn’t sure. She shifted such that she was now kneeling by his side, allowing her to both continue administering medical ninjutsu to his wound and leaning close to his face. “What did you say?”

“Just in case,” he wheezed in a hoarse laugh, and with the last of his strength, he pushed his head up so he could press a light kiss to her lips. He actually managed to hold it for a few seconds before his head smacked back down to the concrete. She stared owlishly down at him for a few seconds more. She would probably still hit him even in his condition for pulling a stunt like that, but hey. “Don’t look at me like that,” he simpered weakly. “You’re not one to deny a dying man his first kiss, are you?” A trail of blush blazed across her cheeks like a sudden wildfire.

“Idiot,” she grumbled, looking back down to his wound. “You think I’m going to let you die now…?” He quirked his eyebrow at her soft features. Was that a smile he saw? He would’ve thought she would be angry. He yelped loudly when she suddenly applied more pressure to his abdomen. “Idiot! I’m gonna heal this stupid wound of yours so I can kill you myself! Jeez, men, can’t even handle a scratch before they start getting weird ideas in their head!” she raged loudly, and in tandem, her green chakra flared all the brighter and became bubbly and unfocused around the edges. He sputtered out apologies as the force of her fists against his stomach literally bent his spine and forced him to sit up a little.

“Yeesh, Sakura,” Naruto frowned at her. “I thought it was kinda romantic, actually…”

“Yeah, if I was a girl, I’d swoon,” Kiba agreed with his arms crossed.

“Shut up! You two want some of this?! Why don’t you go and make yourself useful with the clean-up effort before they’re washing your blood off the walls!” The two followed her advice and made a hasty retreat. She began muttering under her breath about their incompetency, which made him chuckle slightly. He soon regretted that, because it flared that flower of pain in his belly again.

“Ouch…”

“That was reckless,” she scolded him quietly. It took him a second to register that he was referring to his abomination of a strategy earlier.

“I know. I probably could’ve come up with something better if I had been thinking straight.” He could talk in longer sentences now without gasping for air, so he supposed his chances of dying were now slimmer.

“You? Not thinking straight?”

“I was too busy thinking about how I didn’t want you to die.” Her mouth folded in on itself as she blushed darker. She looked away, likely because she was embarrassed for him to see. A long period of silence unfolded between them, a book with blank pages. Shikamaru wasn’t sure of what he wanted to write there. Perhaps it didn’t need to be written at all.

“You…” she sighed, looking back to him finally as she removed her hands from his abdomen. “I’ve stopped the bleeding and sealed the wound shut, but it’s only a temporary fix. You need surgery. Move too much and you’ll bust it open again.”

“Moving too much? Doesn’t sound like me.”

“You could have died!” she shouted at him suddenly. Despite what he had just said, he flinched violently, and his hand shot to the half-closed wound as it snarled in protest. His eyebrows were knitted together as he stared up at her face, twisted in agony and regret. “You could’ve died,” she repeated, more softly, “and I don’t know what I would’ve done if you had.” She hung her head. He watched those tears, tinged pink with the blood still leaking from her forehead cut, drip down onto her lap. Drip. Drip. Drip.

He clenched his teeth tightly, forcing himself up onto his elbows, then pushing off to unsteadily pull himself into a sitting position. He slung his arms loosely around the crying girl, half in a consoling embrace and half in a gesture to ensure he didn’t fall right back down. He pushed his head into hers, his dark black strands weaving with those lovely pink ones.

“But I didn’t,” he breathed into her scalp, “because you saved me.” He felt her shaking hands screw into the fabric of the back of his vest as she held onto him tightly. Her face was buried into his shoulder, smearing it with blood and tears and low sobs.

Surely, he was no longer delirious.

He slipped his hand under her head to grasp her gently by the chin, lifting up her face. Somehow, it was possible for her to still be incredibly beautiful, even with her face smeared with dirt and smudged with blood and her expressed scrunched up into misery. Those bright green eyes peeked out at him through thick, tear-heavy lashes. “You saved me,” he repeated comfortingly. Her eyes flickered a few times before falling to his lips. Her gaze rested there for a moment.

“Just in case.” Her voice was like a breath among howling wind, nearly inaudible. She closed her eyes as she leaned into kiss him. This time, her lips molded fully into his, and he relished how soft and pliant they felt under his. With a hunger he had never known, he devoured her in passionate, starving kisses, pushing against her such that she had to brace herself with her palms flat against the concrete, back bent at a dramatic angle. His were holding her face in place as he kissed her fervently, over and over and over until both their mouths were sore and bruised. That ache in him wasn’t even close to being filled, but he forced himself to pull back regardless, mostly because his head was beginning to swim again. He laughed breathily as his forehead fell into her shoulder, and her arms jumped up to wrap around his broad back.

“Rest,” she cajoled him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“When I wake up, will this all have been some sort of twisted lucid dream?” he laughed wryly.

“No,” she laughed and pressed a kiss into the top of his head. “Not a dream.” Shikamaru decided to take that at face value and practically melted into her, allowing all of his muscles to finally relax. As he breathed in air, Sakura’s scent wafted in with it, a blend of strawberries and cream and the fresh spring breeze.

Even if he never woke up, he was pretty content with going out this way, held in the arms of the woman he daresay he loved while the sunlight warmed his back… Of course, it would be nice if he did wake up, lucid dream or not.

After all, there was a lot he still had left to do… Marry a girl, maybe have a kid or two, watch them grow up… retire to a home in the countryside, with cherry blossoms blooming in the brilliance of spring, and be greeted every morning by that smile that rivaled the glow of the very sun.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @searchfortheonepiece @shikasaku-week

#shikasakuweek #shikasaku week #shikasku-week #shikasakuweek hanami #shikasaku week hanami #shikasaku #shikamaruxsakura #shikamaru x sakura #sakura x shikamaru #sakuraxshikamaru #sakura haruno #haruno sakura #shikamaru nara #nara shikamaru #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto fanfiction #naruto fanfic

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buntrousled · 4 years

Note

🎵 - Playlist on random and write a drabble based on what I think the song is about, based on the title, or based on favorite lyrics or a combination

Send ✍️ + one of the following and I’ll write a drabble based on the topic The Protomen - The Hounds

It swept him up before he had chance to realise what was going on. Gunshots, fire, bullets of all kinds being flung about in the air, and a hand grasping around the neck of his shirt and tugging him along, minding he didn’t stray into any fire. He was adept at pinging bullets away from himself, to the point where it was reflex, which was likely a good thing seeing as he was too stunned to do much else but gawk until he’d managed to piece together even a sliver of what was happening to him.

Sleazy had grabbed him from his room and pulled him out, through the hallways, dodging this way and that. Taking as long a way as he could to try and throw off their pursuers. Sunny had forgotten just how much of a maze the building was, gotten so used to its walls being safe and familiar. All of that was torn out from beneath him in a matter of seconds, and he felt so dizzy that he almost couldn’t stand.

He shouted, he asked what was going on, but he received no answer. The thundering of his soul in his ribcage threatened to drown out the thundering of footsteps underneath them as he scrambled to keep up so that the other skeleton wouldn’t have to drag him. They dipped into another room, grabbed another person. Reset, this time. He didn’t need dragging. He seemed to know what was going on already, with that elder void-being tuition he seemed to have. Or maybe it was the bond.

Prickly and Jitters soon followed along. There was a small comfort in Prickly being as confused as he was, but she adjusted to the situation far quicker. Jitters had a grimness set in his features that Sunny had never seen from him before. That alone could have told him things were dire if he hadn’t seen it for himself already.

Monsters thirsting for dust swarmed after them, seemingly flooding into the building from every door and window, and out of the very floorboards. A voice called out from everywhere and nowhere, distant and yet making itself terribly known—

“KILL them! They MURDERED your CAPTAIN! Not ONCE but TWICE!! They are ENEMIES to MONSTERKIND!!!”

They were soon out of the doors, and Sleazy made damn sure that Rebelcairn was a blur on the horizon before he dared to stop; he only stopped to transport them elsewhere with his shadowy magic, and then kept running with them a ways further until he was absolutely certain.

Sunny had long since stopped asking questions, but, by the time they stopped, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.

All he knew is, someone had wanted them dead. And they were not.

#{}{} OOC #Anonymous

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skiesoftwilight · 5 years

Text

Need Over Want (Vergil)

I’m embarrassed for writing this. It’s like...really bad. I told you all that I can’t write anything remotely spicy, not even semi-spicy lmao. Vergil isn’t the character that I can personally see and write spicy things for, but the request I was given kinda hinted at that, at least that’s what I seen in my head. Anyways, Anon, sorry for it being so late, and I hope you somewhat enjoy! (If you don’t like it, I can always try again lol).

Requested by: Anon

Hi hii. Could you do 17 with Vergil (DMC 5)? I really love your writing thank you!

Prompt Inspiration (#17 - “I know what I want, when I want it. So get over here.”)

Word Count: 1674

Warnings: none, I guess, (even for a semi-spicy piece lmao)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Kiss me.” You sighed, running a lazy hair through your already disheveled hair.

“What?” Vergil turned to look at you, his mercury gaze narrowed at your sudden demand.

“You heard me,” You raised your hands in front of you, clapping them together in a snotty way with your chin tilted upwards and your eyes closed; the small, goofy, grin that crawled onto your lips was hard to suppress. “Chop-chop.”

“No...you’re not in your right mind…” Vergil folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head in disapproval at what you were asking, or more like demanding, of him. “Tomorrow, when your - “

“I know what I want, when I want it. So...” You stared him down from across the room; your gaze was so intense, Vergil had almost looked away from your darkened (E/C) irises. A sly smile appeared on your lips while you let your relaxed body be supported by your arms planted on the bed behind you, “Get. Over. Here.”

Vergil remained silent while he observed you. Your whole behavior and body language had changed within the last five minutes and he couldn’t help but smirk at the little glint in your eye that made him obey your little command.

He came to stand by the bed, looking down at you with a questioning gaze. Without speaking, you grabbed his wrist and tugged him down to sit on the bed. Sitting beside you, he turned his head to look at you with a confused stare.

“What are you staring at me for?” You questioned him. “I’m waiting.”

Vergil’s smirk grew, yet he didn’t move from his spot. He knew what you were trying to do, but he wouldn’t give in to your wants; he would only cater to your needs and what you needed at the moment were aspirin and a good night's rest. “Why can you listen? I said no.”

“You aren’t the only stubborn one in this relationship.” You insisted. Standing up from the bed, you came to stand in front of him. The little smirk on your lips talked for you as you placed both your hands on his shoulders before resting your knees on both sides of his hips, straddling him as he sat on the bed. Vergil remained silent as you brought your forehead against his and let your lips graze his all while staring into his blank, mercury gaze.

You paused, thinking that if you waited long enough, maybe...just maybe he would be the one to initiate the inevitable kiss, but you were wrong; the only reaction you got from him was a slight scoff and the slight upturn of the corners of his lips. You waited for a split second longer, but your need overpowered your want. You grazed his lips with your before pressed them firmly against his.

Vergil let his hands grip onto your hips to steady the both of you while you both fought to be the dominant one in expressing your need for one another. Your arms snaked around his neck to deepen the kiss. A light chuckle and a faint smile on your part came from you relishing in the fact that you were able to Vergil to something you wanted...even if you had to initiate it yourself...it was a start.

Vergil’s hands began to slowly slip under the hem of your blouse, letting his calloused fingertips drag over your soft skin. The small action pulled a small moan from your lips and you could feel his lips form his smirk in the middle of your kiss. Breaking away, you aggressively pushed him on his back, his upper body bounce slightly on the mattress.

“I’m not backing down.” Vergil stated, looking up at you as you stared down at him with your mischievous smile.

“I’m not either.”

Your fingers gripped the hem of your blouse and pulled it over your head and flung it across the dimly lit room. Vergil’s void gaze remained enraptured with your mischievous one; he knew exactly what you were trying to do but he refused to let you win; his willpower was stronger than you knew and he was making his own plan.

Your hands wandered towards your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra. Before you could unclasp one hook, Vergil’s hands suddenly reached upwards to grab your arms and pulled you down to lay on his chest; the sudden actions made you squeal in surprise and excitement as you placed both of your elbows on either side of his head to get another look at him.

Before you could say some snarky remark about his actions, he pulled your face towards him and caught your parted lips in a kiss. You melted into his kiss as hands roamed up and down your back; he dragged his calloused fingertips lazily up an down your spine, giving you goosebumps with every touch of his fingers on your warm skin.

Vergil’s hands came to rest on your backside while you tried to take control of the situation. Your lips began to slowly stray from his, leaving a trail of kisses that trailed down his jaw. Not a sound was heard from Vergil, by your actions and it irked you, but with his fingers slipping into the edge of your pants, tugging on the fabric, it told you that you were doing something right. You pulled your face away from his, looking into his gaze with a smirk that matched his very own.

A small laugh fell from your lips as you thought that you finally got Vergil where you wanted him. You began to move off of Vergil to remove your pants, but he wrapped his arms around your body rolled over so your back was pressed firmly against the bed while he hovered over you.

“I knew you would come around.” You stared up at him, a chuckle that left your lips broke the silence between you two. Vergil was surprising you with all of those sudden movements that you were beginning to think that maybe it was only you that could control him.

Vergil leaned down to press his lips against your once more, with a bit more aggressiveness. While you got drunk on his kisses, his hands were torturing you on how slow they moved across your warm skin; he slowly dragged up and down your sides, squeezing your hips as he pressed his own body against yours, pulling a lustful moan from your very lips. His hand came to rest on the front of your pants once again, this time fiddling with the button for a few moments before finally freeing it from its place.

A bubbly giggle left your lips as Vergil began to leave a trail of kisses down your own jaw. His kisses grew soft on your jaw, but once his lips met the skin on the nape of your neck, his aggressiveness returned, much more intense than before. His teeth grazed against the delicate skin before biting slightly and sucking softly; his very actions caused a bout of moans to tumble out of your mouth as you pressed your body against his.

You pushed him away to quickly take off your pants and with that he helped you, pulling them off your legs and tossing them to the side next to your discarded blouse. As you lay there before him, he would be lying if he said that he didn’t want you in the very moment, but he knew that although this was what you both wanted, it wasn’t what you both needed at the moment.

“How come I’m the only one losing clothes?” You pouted, propping yourself up on your elbows to give him a look that was filled with pure mirth. “Why don’t you at least lose the jacket?”

Vergil stared down at you from his position at the edge of the bed, still wearing his smirk that you could see perfectly through the dim lighting. He began to shrug off his jacket slowly, teasingly, as he backed away from the bed and turned towards the closet. Wearing his vest as he approached your disorganized closet, a cheap laugh fell from your tired lips.

“Really? You’re gonna hang up that thing?” You threw your head back on the pillow as a yawn slipped from between your lips.

Vergil shook his head but said nothing as he picked up a shirt from the top of your dresser and turned towards you and whipped it at you. The sudden feeling of a cool cloth on your warm skin was surprisingly relaxing, but confusion crept up on your face when you saw Vergil stand in the middle of the room, his arms folded across his chest as he gave you his emotionless stare.

“What’s this?” You held up the shirt, looking at the wrinkled fabric, before looking over at him with raised eyebrows.

“Your shirt. Put it on.” He demanded, looking you dead in the eyes.

“Uh, weren’t we in the middle of something?” You asked, gesturing to the wrinkled bed sheets and your lack of clothing. “We were making progress.”

“Now we aren’t.” He stated, walking towards the bed to help you put the shirt on and push you to lay your head on the pillow. “You need to rest. Especially tomorrow.”

“What?” You shouted, tossing your hands in the air. “I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need rest, what I need is you. Right now.”

“I did what you asked the first time,” He mentioned, looking at you with a tired gaze, “I’m not kissing you again until that alcohol is gone from your lips; I can only tolerate that for so long.”

“This is just not fair…” You huffed, staring at Vergil with a hardened gaze.

“If we finish that job earlier than expected tomorrow, maybe we can continue where we are leaving off tonight?”

You shook your head as you turned your back towards him while he made his way towards the door.

“I hate you.”

“I...I will see you tomorrow.”

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moorehollandplz · 5 years

Text

Always :-:Peter Parker:-:

RE-POST FOR A BAD KEEP READING LINK

I was requested by @peterrogers15 to write a part 2 for my first blurb “Goodbye”. So, here is my second blurb for @upsidedownparker ‘s Summer Blurb Request. I was requested to use prompts 9. “All my choices lead me to you” (But, this line didn’t flow into the story as I would have liked so I changed it a little it now reads as “Everything I do leads me to you.”)and 42. “You left me!” I hope you all like this. ==>Also… Peter is now 21.

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

If you haven’t read Part 1: “Goodbye” and are interested... it’s on my Masterlist!!!

ENDGAME SPOILER!!!!!

⚠️ Warnings: Angst, Fluff, and Mad Peter.

Word count: 1409

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

It had been five years since your father’s funeral. And, five years since you had said ‘goodbye’ to Peter Parker. You had left your shattered heart on the floor at Peter’s feet that day. And, you hoped he’d return them to you someday. That he’d return to you someday.

But, five years and he had made no attempts to contact you. And to be fair, you hadn’t contacted him either. You just couldn’t. It would have been too hard. For both of you. So, to say you were surprised to see Peter standing in the doorway of, what was now, your lab… well, that would be an understatement.

“Pete!” You jumped up at the sight of him sending your chair sliding backwards. “Wha… how did… what are you doing here?” You stammered not even completely sure you hadn’t fallen asleep and this wasn’t a dream.

“Hey.” He waved as he approached you.

Friday hadn’t alerted you to anyone entering the Avengers Compound. Or maybe you were too deep into your work to hear her. That’s how it had been since that terrible day. You were so broken and lost that you locked yourself in your father’s lab. Tinkering with Stark Tech, helped you forget, but never could fill that void inside you.

“Morgan let me in.” Peter pulled out a chair and sat at the metal table.

“Oh…” Was all you could say as you let your eyes wash over this version of Peter Parker.

Oh.

He was no longer that adorable sixteen-year-old boy. He was a man. And, something you kept locked deep inside you was very aware of that fact. He had really filled out over the years. He had always been strong due to his powers, but now he looked it. His face had lost most of its baby fat making his jawline so sharp it could cut glass. Your eyes connected with his and you knew you’d been caught staring.

“D-did you… uh… need something?” You turned away from grabbing your chair and trying to hide the deep blush that had formed on your cheeks.

“We need to talk.” He leaned forward resting his elbows on the table.

“Talk?” You asked pulling your chair back to its former position. “Why?” You sat down and resumed tinkering with the latest project you’d been working on. Anything to distract you from this beautiful man sitting across from you.

“What are you working on?” He asked pointing to the tech in front of you.

“Nothing… don’t worry about it.” You said glancing up at him.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” He leaned forward to get a better look. So close, you could feel his warmth. Your grip loosened on the soldering iron and it fell to the floor.

“Shit…” You hissed as you bent to retrieve it only to be met with intense brown eyes as you both reached for it. You quickly grabbed it from under his hand.

“It’s nothing.” You sighed as you put the soldering iron back in its cradle and pushed the tech into a drawer. “What did you want to talk about?” You leaned back in your chair giving him your full attention.

Peter held your gaze for a moment before looking down at his hands. “Actually… it’s about that day…” His words hit you like a bus. That’s the last thing you wanted to talk about.

“What a… about it?” You asked crossing your arms. Trying to protect yourself from the inevitable emotions that would come pouring out of you at the memories of that day. The day you said ‘goodbye’.

“Why did you kiss me?” He locked eyes with you. The intensity in his gaze could burn you alive.

You chewed on your bottom lip not entirely sure how to answer him. “I don’t know.” Was the best you could come up with.

“Don’t give me that, crap! Yes you do!” Peter was getting agitated clearly not liking the answer you gave him.

“What do you want me to say?” You asked leaning forward resting your elbows on the metal table and leaning your cheek on your hand.

“I want the truth!” He raised his voice slightly, sitting up straight.

You sighed deciding he deserved the truth. “I… I cared about you, Pete.” As soon as the words left your mouth you regretted them.

“Cared about me?” Peter scoffed shaking his head. “You left me!” He yelled as he stood up from the chair. “Remember?” His, usually, soft brown eyes were dark with anger as he stared down at you.

You felt tears stinging your eyes as you held his fiery gaze. “How could I forget?” Your voice was shaking as you spoke. “Pete… I didn’t leave you, because I wanted to.”

“Right… you ‘had’ to.” He said sarcastically turning away from you.

“What was I supposed to do, Pete!?” You slammed your hands on the metal table as you stood up. Peter turned back to you, eyes wide, and mouth open to retort. But, you didn’t let him. “Should I have stayed? So, both of us could suffer? Having to see each other all the time with the knowledge we couldn’t have each other!?” Your hands balled into fists against the cold metal. “Would that have been better, Pete?” You felt the tears slipping from your eyes. And you weren’t even sure if they were sad tears or angry tears. “You want to see what I’ve been working on, huh?” You tapped a key on the computer and swiped your hand over the screen. Suddenly, the two of you were surrounded by twenty different models of Spider-Man suits, hundreds of codes, and about fifty upgrades for any possible situation Peter could find himself in.

“Wh… What is all this?” He spun around trying to take it all in. He reached out touching a suit that was intended for extremely low temperatures, and all the specs and details of the suit popped up next to it.

“This…” You flung your arms out. “Is all I ever work on! Everything… I create… everything... I do… leads me to you! So… don’t act like… I don’t care… about you!” You said between soft sobs leaning your hands back on the table. You let your head fall forward and watched as the tears fell onto the table making small salty puddles.

Peter stepped forward his anger long gone. “I… I’m sorry.” His voice softened as he stopped in front of you. “I get it now.” His hand cupped your cheek and you jumped a little at his touch. He hadn’t touched you in five years, but your body never forgot what it felt like. It was like electricity being passed from his fingertips to your skin. He slowly lifted your tear streaked face until you had no choice, but to let your eyes meet his. “You did the right thing walking away that day. But,… do you know how much it hurt… to lose you?” He whispered wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“I lost you twice, Pete…” You stared into his beautiful brown eyes, that always had a way of making him look a lot younger than he was. “I’m pretty sure being impaled is less painful than that.”

Peter shook his head as he let out a small laugh at that classic Stark sass. “Well… I’m here.” He leaned forward his eyes dropping to your lips for a moment. “And, I’m not a kid anymore.”

“No. You aren’t.” You whispered as you instinctively leaned toward him.

“Five years doesn’t matter anymore, since we’re both in our twenties.” He dipped his face down brushing your nose with his.

“No. It doesn’t.” Your words ghosted over his lips as you tilted your face up slightly.

Peters face lit up into the most beautiful smile that could only belong to him. You missed that smile. “I love you, Y/n. Always have.” He whispered before he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and gentle. Perfect. Like two puzzle pieces falling into place. He pulled back resting his forehead against yours. He kept his eyes closed, almost as if he was afraid that when he opened his eyes you’d disappear. Like this was all a dream.

“Pete?” Your voice reminded him you were real and he opened his eyes. You pulled back to look at him properly. “I love you too. Always will.” You said pulling him back in for another kiss.

Tag List: add yourself here

@madmadmilk @starksparker @astronomyparkers @starsholland @gab-spidey @peterparker-imagines @peeterparkr @lilyholland @dibs-on-holland @star-holland @spiderboytotherescue @cabbagebag @lovestrucktom @magic-marvel @spider-bitten @spideykisses @tomhollandasf @hollands-poppet @curlyboyholland @infamous-webhead @hoefortomhoelland @sheismental @falalaholland @thepenisparker @h-osterfield @thelazypangolin @wazzupmrstark @summernykole @starkravingparker @badsext @dillyholland @hotsterfield @hollandroos @slytherinrising @tragicluver @curlyhairedparker @peterplanet @parkerpeterholland @parrkerspeters @keepingupwiththeparkers @marvellousparkerpeter @papayapapya1 @agirlwithpointlessideas @imarypayne @stuckonspidey @hollandhearts @lousimusician @blissfulparker

#peter parker x stark reader #peter parker one shot #peter parker imagines #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff

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quixlebug · 5 years

Text

Warning: unedited crack ahead

So, I didn't originally intend for my first writing piece posted on this site to be...well, this, but my friend and I wrote it together for fun and she said I could post it, so uh here you go.

Error belongs to loverofpiggies

Ink belongs to comyet

Dream and Nightmare belong to jokublog

"DREAM!" Blue yelled as he raced out of the kitchen, which had an alarming amount of smoke pouring out from every opening. "COME TRY MY NEW TACOS, THEY'RE PINEAPPLE-BACON FLAVOURED!"

Dream looked around frantically for somewhere to hide. Last time Blue had convinced Dream to try his new recipes, Dream had been sick for weeks. Running away was probably the best bet… But it was too late; Blue had already spotted him.

With a taco in each hand, Blue raced towards Dream. Before he could shove his creations down the poor guardian's throat, there was an ear-shattering crash.

"DID SOMEONE SAY TACOS???" Cross shrieked as he burst through the living room window. Before anyone could react he had grabbed both tacos and devoured them. Did he even stop to chew? Probably not, he really loved tacos.

“Cross! Those were for Dream!” Blue exclaimed. “Oh well, good thing I made extra!” With that, the short skeleton disappeared back into the kitchen. Good thing he didn’t have lungs, because he probably would have suffocated from all that smoke.

Dream raced to the door and flung it open, hoping to leave before Blue got back. The guardian quickly tried to exit, but smacked straight into someone standing in the doorway.

It was Blue.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked slyly. “You haven’t even tried a taco yet.”

Dream looked from Blue, to the kitchen, then back to Blue.

“H-how did y-” Dream’s question was cut off by Blue shoving a taco at his face.

Dream woke up in a cold sweat. He looked around frantically, but he was safe in his bedroom. But he wasn’t alone.

Blue was there, with a taco.

The nightmare continued. Literally. Nightmare walked in and stood next to Blue. "Are you alright, brother?" he asked, his voice dripping with fake concern. "You passed out. Blue was so worried…you didn't even have a chance to try his wonderful new tacos."

Dream briefly wondered if this was actually happening or if he was trapped in some hellish dream loop or hallucination.

"I made more tacos while you were asleep," Blue said. "Cross helped! He's a really good cook, and he has lots of ideas! Here, this one is chocolate, shrimp, and mustard! It will help wake you up.”

That’s when Dream noticed Cross was also in the room, wearing a bright pink apron that read “Kiss the Cook Cross,” and an oversized chef’s hat that was nearly falling off his skull.

At this point Dream was desperate for any way to escape the certain death that was the taco Blue was offering him. A distraction seemed like a good idea, so he jumped out of the bed and grabbed Cross by his shirt collar and pulled him close, smashing their non-existent lips together in a kiss.

Blue gasped and his eyes turned to stars. "I didn't know you two were dating!" he exclaimed! Nightmare looked like he wanted to throw up.

There was the sound of a camera snapping photos, and Dream looked over at the window to see Ink, who freaked out and fell off the windowsill, disappearing from view. Dream ran to the window, leaning out to look for Ink, but the rainbow asshole had already disappeared. The only thing left was a puddle of ink. Dream would have to find him before Ink decided to send the photos to everyone they knew (and everyone they didn’t). But his attention was grabbed once more by Blue.

“...So are you going to try a taco or what?”

Dream glanced at the taco, dripping with melted chocolate and mustard. He looked at Blue's hopeful face. He looked at Nightmare, who was banging his head against the wall looking like he wanted to die, and at Cross, who was passed out on the floor with a nosebleed. And then he turned and dove out the window, falling straight into the puddle of ink.

He wasn’t expecting anything to happen, other than maybe being covered in the black substance, and getting his clothes ruined. But Dream found himself falling much farther than he should have, and when he stopped falling, he was standing somewhere completely different.

It was the anti-void and Ink and Error were making out on the floor. Dream took the opportunity to get revenge (or in this case, perhaps it was just karma), and snapped a few photos with his phone. Ink and Error jerked away from each other as soon as they heard the click of the shutter.

"Dream!" Ink shrieked upon recognizing him. "I can't believe you've betrayed me like this!"

"Hey, you betrayed me first!" Dream shouted. "This is just revenge!"

"Yes, brother," purred Nightmare, who was suddenly standing next to him. "Let the darkness flow through you. Embrace it, let it c o n s u m e you, and together we shall rule the worlds!"

Suddenly, the two brothers each got hit with a slipper. They looked at Error, who was now barefoot, and glitching more than usual.

"Can you fucking leave already?!?!?" he shrieked. "Get out and leave us alone!!!!!" Error was not a happy camper. That much was certain.

"So-rry!" Dream said sarcastically, flipping his cape because he didn’t have hair to flip. “It’s not my fault I’m here. Blame Ink, if you want to get mad at someone! He left his stupid goop portal lying around.”

Nightmare gasped, offended. “Excuse me?!? Goop is my thing! He has paint, not goop!"

“I have ink, actually,” Ink corrected. “I mean, you’d think that would be obvious, given my name and all that…”

“Shut up!” Nightmare shouted.

"Yeah," Error agreed. "Shut up and kiss me." He grabbed Ink with his strings and the two fell backwards through a portal, already making out again.

“...I’m going to go post these pictures,” Dream decided, taking his leave.

"You're all idiots," Nightmare grumbled to the emptiness around him before he left as well, heading back to the castle to make sure his gang wasn't killing each other again.

Dream had forgotten why he'd left Underswap in the first place, and didn't remember until he walked into Blue's house and smelled burning tacos.

"DREAM!" Blue yelled as he raced out of the kitchen, which had an alarming amount of smoke pouring out from every opening. "COME TRY MY NEW TACOS, THEY'RE PINEAPPLE-BACON FLAVOURED!"

The End.

*Note: If you don’t want it to end, there’s a simple fix! Scroll back up to the top. There you go*

#this took forever to actually post mobile tumblr is hard please help #baby's first crackfic #undertale #undertale multiverse #undertale fanfiction

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vcg73 · 5 years

Text

Witch!Kurt #40 - Follow the Love

Your eyes do not deceive you! After something like three months and one complete rewrite once I finally decided that the dark crap I was writing was not where I wanted to go, here is a new chapter.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Almost immediately, Kurt sensed that this venture into the Void would be different from his first.

The last time he had been here, he had not been fully conscious of shifting out of the physical realm until he detected the first spark of Adam’s lifeline and threw himself towards it. He had felt an odd sensation then, like floating weightless in a dream, except that he had known he was still awake.

This was more like walking into a strange room, only to have the door slam shut behind him and then the floor fall away beneath his feet. But like before, the connection with his coven kept him from getting lost in the darkness, giving him reassurance that he was indeed tethered to the real world and that there was a safety net ready to catch if he should lose his way.

Trying to remember how it felt when he was levitating, he forced himself to take a deep breath, picturing his lungs filling and emptying, and almost immediately the initial sensation of panic ebbed away. He was fine, he was in control, and he could do this.

He began to sense his physical body again, able to register the slight sting of the knot-work pendant digging into his palm where he was clenching his fingers tight against it, to sense his fellow witches surrounding and supporting him. He reached out his senses and found that he could identify Sam and the trio of Familiars that guarded them both. After a moment, he recognized that Elliott had reached out to rub a hand across his shoulders. He could not precisely feel the touch, he wasn’t even sure it was physically there given that his friend had been in cat form when he left, but he knew that at least emotionally it was real, and he took comfort from that.

He could also feel Adam, away at the very edge of his consciousness, willing him the strength to go forward and not let the emptiness of the Void overtake him. Kurt concentrated on the web, giving each of the magical strings a little ‘pluck’ to signal that he was okay. Almost at once, he felt an answering vibration of relief and encouragement.

Reassured that he had backup if anything went wrong, Kurt began to move forward through the darkness, and after a while he began to notice that it was not so much a lack of light that surrounded him as simply a deep gray nothingness, distracted by occasional flickers. A tiny flash of light here, a bit of color there, a blur of motion distracting him out of the corner of his mind’s eye.

He wondered what those were. Surely there couldn’t be a lot of people trapped in pockets of space/time, right? So then what was he sensing?

A vague vibration of humor flashed through his mind, one that he identified as Sebastian. And then he understood. As he acclimated to this place, he was detecting the passage of other lives passing through the In-Between. Teleporters, Familiars, maybe even regular cats since he had been told they also had the power to use this space at will.

It helped him clarify his mission. He would not be searching what amounted to an otherworldly subway system. He had to look for someone who might be trapped on an empty platform, waiting for a train that would never come.

Well, that was a terribly depressing thought.

Still, he knew that time moved differently here, so if Finn was indeed stuck in this place and waiting for him, he might not be as aware of the passage of time as Adam had been.

Kurt had spoken at length with both his coven and his friend Troy about how assorted powers and castings worked. Kurt’s own power and his ease with magic had grown exponentially in the months since his first venture into the Void, and he knew now that doing Major Workings often resulted in time-slips as a result of so much raw power being pulled to a single location. So while Blaine was anything but a master spell-crafter, he would have been dumping a hell of a lot of energy – taken from god knew how many unwitting donors – into the Void when he shot his magical blast at Finn. And if Finn had countered with some sort of instinctive defense, his developing Telekinesis could easily have sling-shot him somewhere he could escape, someplace he might feel safe.

Of course, being flung completely out of his body would have fucked that plan up pretty royally, but the idea was sound.

Tubbington had been confident that physical distance held no importance in this place, but cats tended to see the world differently from humans. To L.T., one simply entered the In-Between space at one point and came out wherever they wished to be. But for human Teleporters it was different. Adam’s father could jump thousands of miles in a blink, even if he was carrying several other people and going to a place he’d never been before. Santana was limited to familiar locations. Elliott, though a Familiar, was only strong enough to transport a single extra person, and he required a point of reference.

Kurt was not a proper Teleporter at all. He had enough that he could sense and navigate non-physical realms, but for him it was like driving along a dark highway with no maps or road-signs to guide him.

“Finn?” he called, as he had been doing periodically since he started. He did not really expect a response, but he was unwilling to take the chance of not at least trying the obvious. “Finn, can you hear me? It’s Kurt. I’ve come to bring you home. Finn?”

Nothing.

He had to think about this differently. Part of him had been expecting Finn’s soul to react to his touch the way Adam’s had, but Adam had already been an experienced witch when he was projected to this place. He had had a physical body and at least some awareness of Kurt in the real world.

Finn would not have that advantage. He had not even known what was happening when his power began randomly manifesting, assuming the coven’s theory was accurate, and even if he had figured out his plight somehow, he certainly wouldn’t be aware that Kurt had the power to magically come to his rescue.

When Kurt was learning to separate his Talents, Adam had told him to identify each piece individually, to recognize them one by one before trying to blend them together. So what if he could do that here? If he could reach out and separate the threads of magic interwoven into the pendant he was holding, then maybe he could simply separate Finn’s thread and use it as a sort of divining rod to find the rest of him.

It took a long time, but finally Kurt gasped. Had he detected a faint pulse?

Touching the gossamer thread of Finn’s lifeline as gently as a raindrop rolling along spider-silk, he willed it to unwind further and take him where he needed to go.

~*~*~*~*~

Ohio.

Kurt was not surprised at all to recognize that he had suddenly jumped to somewhere in his home state. He couldn’t see the surrounding views, but he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Just as he knew that he was somehow picking up speed.

He found himself zipping through long empty spaces, some of them dark, some light, and the interruptions by those flashes of color and light were growing more frequent. He had at some point decided to concentrate on emotion rather than physically searching for his brother, and immediately felt a shift inside himself.

So much power was coursing through him that it felt like being struck by a lightning bolt of pure sensation. He understood now what the combination of his recent Joining and the High Magic of Valentine’s Day had to offer. He was picking up pieces of other people’s feelings as he traveled, so many shots of love hitting him from every direction; platonic, sexual, friendship, family; not all of it happy or clearly expressed, but every bit of it full of pure undiluted emotion.

It was dizzying and a little addictive.

He reached out again to his coven, needing their steadying influence, and felt the Familiar trio guiding him back to his path, giving him a helping hand through the confusion.

Think, Kurt.

Using the overwhelming emotion as an amplifier, he concentrated on the essence of his lost brother, letting his own love take the lead. Emotional instinct was his best and truest gift as both a witch and a human being and he needed to let it guide him.

There! There it was again. That faint answer to his call. It was not so much words as just a feeling of “?”, “!”, and finally “…”

Kurt grabbed on to that small reply and threw himself towards it. He gasped when he abruptly saw one of the sparks coming right at his face, raising his arms in instinctive defense, only to find himself then bumping into a very solid wooden door and landing on his ass on a very real wooden floor covered in rich Oriental carpeting.

He was, to all sensory evidence, back in his physical body and occupying a corridor that he knew very well though he had not seen it for several years. Not sure what else to do, he got to his feet and knocked on the red-stained cherry wood door. The door obligingly swung inward and he found himself entering the common room where he used to like studying when he was a student at Dalton Academy. The small one with the fireplace and comfortable sofas where he and Blaine had sung their first duet one long ago Christmas.

And he was not alone, though his companion this time was not his teenaged dream.

“Finn!” he said, stepping forward and reaching out a hand, only to stop when the long body lounging on the sofa did not react with the same joy and surprise.

Finn Hudson, dressed in slacks, a plain button up shirt, a sweater-vest, and loafers, all oddly devoid of any color but a dull muted gray, looked up at him with a familiar confused expression, as if he could not quite recall where he had seen this visitor before. “Hey,” he said.

Not knowing what else to do, Kurt sat down on the sofa next to him. “Hi, Finn,” he said softly. “It’s really good to see you again.”

“You too,” he said, smiling a little. “I don’t usually see you guys so clearly.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You know. Memories of the old days. You don’t usually come right in and talk to me. Maybe I’m finally losing it.”

This time, Kurt obeyed his impulse and reached out to grasp his hand. “I’m not a memory. I’m really here and I’ve come to take you home.”

Finn jumped, looking absolutely astounded by the contact. “You touched me! Who are you?”

Kurt felt his heart drop to somewhere in his shoes. In all the scenarios of finding Finn, he had never once considered that he would be so damaged by this experience that he would not remember his own brother. “Finn, it’s me. It’s Kurt.”

His brow scrunched. “Kurt? Nah, Kurt is just a kid. You look older than me.”

Puzzled by this response, Kurt sat forward, both giving and taking a closer look. Now that he mentioned it, Finn did look younger than the not-quite-20 year old who had been studying to be a teacher. He appeared to be around fifteen. The way he had looked when Kurt first developed his stupid crush on this boy back in their freshman year of high school. “I’m almost twenty-two now,” he said. “Same as you would be.”

Finn considered this, playing with the buttons on his vest, which Kurt now recognized in spite of the lack of signature blue and red, as one of the alternates to the Dalton uniform blazer. But Finn had never gone to Dalton Academy. He had never even set foot inside the place, unless he had come here to confront Blaine on the day he . . . oh!

“I thought . . . your body was found at your dorm at U of O,” he said, “not here.”

His brow scrunched. “Body? Dude, what are you talking about? I’ve been here ever since I transferred.”

Kurt decided to play along. He remembered that Adam had told him that he carried echoes of Blaine’s malice with him into the Void when he was torn away from his physical body. Maybe Finn had somehow carried memories belonging to his attacker, and confused them with the stories he knew of Kurt’s own time here. Also, Finn did not appear to realize that he had died. Rather than a formless phantom or wandering soul, his essence had simply transported to a place that gave him the appearance of a somewhat normal life.

“Finn, what exactly do you do here? At Dalton Academy. You said ‘we’ don’t usually come in and talk. Who is that?”

“I . . .” he paused, seeming unsure of the answer now. “I go here . . . don’t I? This room, and the choir room, and I see my mom, and Shue, and Rachel, and Puck, and Kurt sometimes. But they don’t come in, they just remind me of things we used to do together, and then they go away and I go back to hanging out in here. That’s okay, right?”

Surprised by the anxious question, Kurt patted his arm. “Yeah, that’s fine. But it isn’t exactly real either. Because you never attended Dalton. I did, remember? When we were seventeen, I got chased out of McKinley by a death threat and I came here for a few months. Until you helped me figure out a way to confront the bad parts and regain my old life and all of our old friends. Because by then you and I had become brothers.”

“Because Mom married Burt,” he said in a revelatory tone. “You threw them a wedding, and you and I danced together, and we were cool.”

He grinned. God, how he had missed that simplistic way of viewing things. “Yeah, we were. You made up your mind to look after me and to be a real brother to me, and you did.”

Sadness filled Finn’s brown eyes. “No I didn’t. I only cared about me, and once you were gone I stopped acting like a brother and just did stuff that mattered to me. Even when you came home again, I ignored how the other kids treated you.”

“Only for a while,” Kurt said, then he sighed. No, he could not do that again. His instinctive habit of letting everyone off the hook and pretending that their actions had not hurt him was what had led to Blaine being able to get under his defenses so easily in the first place. He had to be honest with Finn now, for both their sakes. “It did hurt me, when you buried your head in the sand over and over, pretending like nothing mattered except what was happening in your life. You didn’t really consider me again until you came to New York. You remember the day we found out Blaine had cheated on me?”

Was it his imagination, or was Finn growing more distinct? The colors of his uniform looked brighter than before, taking on hints of faded navy and burgundy instead of the nondescript gray. He also appeared slightly older, Kurt thought.

“I remember,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I think that was when I accepted that he wasn’t as great as we’d all been telling ourselves. He broke your heart, and he didn’t even care. But you guys kept making up again, and I told myself it was like me and Rachel, except that wasn’t so great either by the end of things.”

“He was using me. He never really cared at all, and I didn’t want to face that,” Kurt said bluntly, feeling tears prickle at his eyes. “Any more than you wanted to believe that you and Rachel weren’t good for each other.”

He nodded. “Rachel loved me, and I loved her, but we never would have worked out in the long run. We had passion, but we never had much understanding. And you didn’t even get that much. You guys were all about him, right from the start. I didn’t understand how bad he treated you until you met someone new that you were honestly happy with. You sort of bloomed then, like a big flower of some kind. It’s sounds weird but you got beautiful then, like you were really you for the first time and really happy with your life. Only instead of being happy for you, everybody at home kept trying to drag you backward, and turn you back into the sad little weed you always were with Blaine. I never knew why they couldn’t see what I saw.”

“They were under a spell,” Kurt told him. “A real one, with magic.”

Finn scoffed, but then his brow furrowed again. “You aren’t kidding, are you?”

Kurt smiled at him. “No, Finn, I’m not. Magic is real. I have it, from my mom.” He hesitated, then said, “And you have it from yours. Blaine has it too, although it’s a warped unpredictable kind of magic that he mostly uses for his own advancement. A lot of our old friends turned out to be witches, and mostly good ones, who’ve helped me to find my true self. And I found Adam again. He’s the guy who made me, as you put it, bloom. Blaine hurt him, trapped him here for a long time, and made me forget him.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, then Finn said, “That’s super weird. Are you sure? You don’t look like you have powers, and I don’t have any, I don’t think. How did you find out about all this stuff?”

“It’s a long story. I . . . do you mind if try something? It might save us a lot of time.”

Kurt was not sure this would work, given that the bodies they both occupied at this moment were little more than an illusion, but at Finn’s eager nod, he placed his fingers at his brother’s temples and willed him to See an edited version of Kurt’s experiences over the past several months. It was similar to things he had done with Adam, Brittany, and Elliott, and he was counting on the love that had grown up between himself and Finn to make it work for them.

Finn’s eyes were like saucers. “Whoa. That’s amazing. It’s awesome!”

“That’s a pretty good description,” Kurt agreed with a grin, relieved to have Finn take this so well.

“But . . . what you showed me. Blaine did that to Adam? And to you? And I found out but I still didn’t help? Or did I help? You said Blaine trapped him here. Does that mean he trapped me here? Am I not really where I think I am?”

A little surprised that he had picked up the subtext so quickly, not a skill he recalled being one of Finn’s better ones, Kurt nodded. “I’m afraid so. After you found out that Blaine was hurting me, trying to force me to marry him, you tried to stop him. Your powers were coming in, though none of us knew it at the time, and you must have come here to have it out with Blaine. I guess whatever you said to him must have freaked him out and he followed you back to your dorm, and you guys fought.”

“And my powers showed up?” he guessed, face brightening at that idea. Kurt suspected he was imagining himself as some kind of magical ninja death fighter, like something out of those video games he had loved to play with Sam, Puck, and the other “bros” back in high school. Then his smile fell. “Wait, if Blaine is still okay and I’m trapped at Dalton, he must’ve out-magicked me.”

Kurt nodded. “I think it was more like you started moving things with your will, he panicked and sledge-hammered you with magic, and you got knocked out of your body the same way Adam was, only whatever you did to defend yourself resulted in your memories getting tangled up. So you’re here, in a place familiar to me and Blaine, and he’s still walking around in his own body, doing who knows what kind of awful things to people.”

By now, Finn’s coloring had returned to full brightness and he looked like the version of himself that Kurt had last seen in Ohio a few weeks before his death. His clothing had also transformed, after briefly being a proper Dalton uniform, into a pair of jeans and a blue checked shirt. Likely the clothing he had worn on his last day.

“And I’m dead,” he said in a tone that was too resigned to be something he had never realized before, however subconsciously. “My body didn’t survive the magic blast, did it?”

“No,” Kurt told him. “I’m afraid it didn’t. You’ve been here a long time now, and I’m sorry I didn’t know that, or have a way to reach you before today.”

He looked startled at that. “Dude, it wasn’t your fault! If I can’t be mad at myself for not standing up for you sooner with Blaine, then you can’t be mad at yourself for not jumping off a cliff to come look for me. I don’t even know how you did it this time.”

“Oh, well, my friends that I showed you? My coven? They helped me get back into the Void, and we used the power of an especially powerful day, plus the ritual of my . . . did I tell you this was my wedding day? Adam and I got Joined this morning, and we’re getting legally married in a few hours.”

Finn beamed at him. “Seriously? That’s awesome, man. C’mere!”

His long arms abruptly reached out and embraced Kurt, drawing him close and squeezing tight. And just like that, Kurt’s determination to get through this meeting without tears fell apart. He hugged his brother tight, unable to stop himself as he began sobbing into that blessedly familiar shoulder. “Oh, Finn, I missed you so much.”

They held each other for a long time, neither one willing to let go, but finally Finn loosened his grip and said, “I missed you too, Kurt. Seriously, I’ve missed everybody but you’re one of the people I’ve missed most of all. Thanks for coming back for me.”

“Once I learned you might really be here, lost in here the way Adam was, I,” he choked up too much to talk, sitting up and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He jumped then, realizing suddenly that while they still occupied the little couch together, the common room at Dalton had vanished from around them. They were back in the empty gray nothingness of the Void.

Finn just looked around, unimpressed. “It does that sometimes. When I’m in the rooms at Dalton, I forget I’m here, and sometimes I forget other stuff too. Then I remember and I’m here again. It seems like I should go to McKinley, or my old room, or someplace else I spent a lot of time, but I never do. Sometimes when I’m thinking straight, I wonder if I’m in Purgatory, like they used to talk about in church. Like maybe I did something bad, but not bad enough for like devils and torture and stuff. I’d think that was happening now except that you’re way too real, and your story is way too weird to be something I imagined.”

“You’re taking this a lot better than I expected,” Kurt said, blowing his nose in a handy handkerchief that had appeared on the sofa next to him.

“I guess you get used to it,” he said. “If it was always like this, knowing I was stuck here with nothing to look at, and nobody to hang out with, I’d be as bad as you showed me with Adam. But it isn’t, so I’m not. I’m okay, but if you have a way to get us out of here, that’d be even better.”

“I do,” Kurt said firmly. “Now that we’re on the same page, it should be just a matter of both of us willing you back home with me. That’s what I did with Adam. Although, it feels like that was way faster. We didn’t have any time to talk about it. It just sort of happened. But I’ll reach out to the coven, and pull us back to the real world, and they’ll seal off the spell so nothing else can leak through behind us.”

Finn nodded, pretending that he fully understood. “Sounds good. Only if I don’t have a body anymore, what are you going to do with me?”

“Sam is willing to share his body,” Kurt explained. “Blaine damaged him pretty badly over the years of their friendship, by storing stolen power inside him. We need a steadying influence to help him heal from the magic poisoning he’s suffered, and we also need a physical body for you, so if you’re okay with it, the two of you will share.”

Finn considered it. “I guess so. Sam was always a good friend, and if this will help us both then I’m willing to try it. Who’ll be in charge, though? Will my mind just take over his body, or will we be like split-personality guy, or what? What if one of us wants to do something, like get a job or go on a date, and the other one doesn’t? Who gets to decide?”

“Uh . . . I guess that’s something we’ll just have to find out, or you and Sam can figure as you go,” Kurt said, a little dismayed that he had never considered that angle. “I’m not even sure this is a permanent solution. For now, it’s just the best we’ve got.”

Finn gave a philosophical shrug. “Better than nothing.” Suddenly, he perked up. “Ooh, maybe I’ll be able to transport in and out at will, like in a comic book! And then one day, somebody will build a super robot and I can transfer into that and have kick-ass powers! Speaking of powers, I wonder if I’ll have any in Sam’s body. I kind of like the idea of being able to move stuff at will.”

Kurt couldn’t help it. He hugged Finn again, laughing this time. “I have no idea, but I think I’m looking forward to finding out. Shall we?”

Finn hopped up, pulling Kurt with him, and the sofa vanished into the gray. “Let’s go.”

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Kurt kept both hands firmly locked on Finn’s forearms as he opened his link to the coven wider. Understanding, they began actively pulling him back home and Kurt sensed the cold emptiness fading away.

Just before the end, he opened his eyes, sealing away one last memory of Finn’s face. No matter what happened next, he would never look into these beloved brown eyes again. Finn seemed to understand, for he flashed his brother a crooked smile and gave him a nod.

~*~*~*~*~*~

With an abrupt jerk, Kurt’s spirit rejoined his body. He reached out, momentarily dismayed to find his brother gone, until he remembered that of course there would be nothing to hang on to outside of the Void. And then he felt Sam respond to the gesture and grip his arms in much the same way Finn had done a moment before. They stared at one another as Monica and Santana stepped forward, L.T., Elliott and Sebastian taking a few steps back and giving the second warding circle room to change places with them and surround the two . . . possibly three . . . young men in the center.

“Quick, give me your pendant,” Monica ordered, placing both hands around Kurt’s right one and closing her fingers around the chain dangling half-forgotten in his grip. She whispered an incantation over the metal and the enchanted pendant rose into the air, pointing like an arrow at a spot slightly above and to the left of Sam. “Got him. San, you’re up.”

Santana lifted both hands and wove them in an intricate pattern over the spot the pendant had indicated. “Just hang tight, Frankenteen, and try not to move from wherever you are. This won’t hurt a bit.” The force-field that extended from her wide-spread fingertips encircled a large area and coalesced around something roughly six and a half feet tall. “Good boy. Think like you’re really standing there. Dani, make us a snowman.”

Dani’s hands covered Santana’s, then helped her shape a rough outline of a person inside the force-field. It wavered and then slowly solidified until it really did look like a human being, if that person was formed entirely of ice. “Nice to finally meet you, Finn Hudson.”

A little cry tore from Carole’s throat at the sight and it was only the tight grip that she had on June and Adam’s hands that kept her from launching at the newcomer. However transformed, her son had returned. But the Crawfords kept a firm grip. They understood her reaction all too well, but it was imperative that the final warding circle not be broken while so much magic was being performed inside of it. Not until Finn and Sam were truly connected.

Burt left his place at the breakfast bar and came to stand behind his wife, massaging her shoulders in a comforting way as he joined her anxious observation. “Don’t worry, honey. Everything will be okay if we just let them finish what they started.”

Tears shone in her eyes as she nodded. “I know,” she said thickly. “I just . . .”

“It’s okay, Carole,” Kurt said, not taking his eyes from the substitute form of his brother. “I think we’re almost there.”

“Make us some room, Brit,” Dani said.

Brittany, her face unusually serious as she worked, squinted her eyes at Sam and softly sang out a musical incantation, then she uncorked a vial of potion that Adam had made up for her and tossed it at Sam. “I Conjure the soul of one Samuel Jason Evans,” she called out, beads of sweat breaking out across her face as she struggled to do gently what Blaine Anderson had done to two of her friends by force, removing Sam’s spirit from his physical body. “Catch him, Kurt.”

The words were so casually spoken that Kurt almost did not react in time, but he jumped forward and caught Sam beneath the armpits and pulled him into an embrace just as he began to fall. He held on tight and tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation that he was cradling a corpse, barely able to repress the urge to shiver at how still and cold the body felt in his arms.

“Okay, Johnny,” she said, still remarkably unperturbed in spite of the perspiration now running in rivulets down her face and neck. “We’re ready.”

Those with Sight could see the damaged soul she so carefully held, but even those without it could see what a struggle this was. Many of the observers in the room felt their respect for the member of Kurt’s coven they most habitually underestimated going up by degrees. What Brittany was doing clearly took both great power and very fine control.

Johnny reached out one hand toward Sam’s floating spirit, and the other toward ice-Finn. Then he closed his eyes and began to chant. Slowly, Finn’s frozen features transformed into Sam’s, and then the indistinct form of Sam’s damaged self began to solidify until it took on the shape of Finn.

Dani and Santana worked together to form a second ice-human within a force-field and Brittany fell back with a grateful gasp as she was able to let someone else take control.

“Back to you, Mon,” Johnny said.

Monica nodded and lifted the enchanted pendant, holding it aloft over a silver ring that Sam had been wearing when he arrived at the loft that morning. Kurt had not thought to ask about it, too distracted by other matters, but it occurred to him now that he had never seen his friend wear any kind of jewelry before. Studying it now as the ring began to glow in Monica’s outstretched hand, he realized that the Metallurgist must have created the item specifically for today’s event.

Speaking a series of spidery, barely audible syllables, Monica lowered the pendant until it passed through the center of the ring, then slowly wound the chain around and around it. “Kurt, please complete the Working,” she directed as the two spirits each reached out toward the interwoven jewelry without anyone’s advice.

He nodded and took a deep breath, hoping he had learned enough to pass this final test of the knowledge and power unique to a coven leader.

“You got this, kid. And we got you,” Tubbington said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

Kurt nodded to him, unable to keep from startling a little when he noticed that the golden-brown, blue, and green eyes of the three Familiars were all glowing like they had neon lights inside of them. He could almost reach out and touch the power radiating from the trio.

“Kurt,” Adam called. He looked up, meeting the eyes of his true soul-mate. A feeling of deep joy, love, and utmost confidence passed to him from his beloved and Kurt’s thundering heartbeat steadied. “You can do this.”

“Right,” he said, offering back a nod and a tentative smile. “Dani, Johnny, help me out here.”

They gently transferred the still body from Kurt’s arms into their own, holding it safe between them and freeing Kurt to reach out both hands and cup them around the enchanted jewelry. Monica pulled her own hand away and left Kurt’s covering the ephemeral hands of his brother and friend. Santana lightly pulled away her force-fields, trusting that the two disembodied souls were now safely connected to Kurt as he began to speak.

“Mind and Heart. Body and Spirit. Thought and Flesh. Let these two lost souls be joined by the power of this coven, and the will of this Gathering.” Kurt took a step back, keeping the jewelry telekinetically afloat and connecting the two spirits, then he spread his arms wide as if embracing his friend and his brother and began to close the circle around them, whispering magical syllables as he wove three of his powers together, compressing, swapping, heating, until the ice was fully melted and the two individual beings were joined into a single form around the joint ring and necklace. The new spirit grew indistinct, slowly became a human looking form again, which at first looked mostly like Finn, and then more like Sam, and then became something like both for a moment before melting into a form of light.

To Sight, he, or perhaps they, looked like a being made of pure Potential, bright and gleaming, the broken pieces of two damaged people healed through their own form of Joining. A brotherly bond of deepest love that spread out to include Kurt, his coven, and each and every person in the watching circle.

Kurt placed a hand on the new being’s chest, and the other on Sam’s waiting body, relying on instinct as he concentrated all his remaining strength on Whisking (a name recently given to his transference power by Elliott) the spirit into the body. It obeyed the silent command as easily as if the body was putting on a new garment.

The coven joined hands and as one they spoke. “So Shall it Be.”

The entire loft shivered as if it had been struck by a distant earthquake, and all of the people in it winced and gasped as their ears were vibrated by a surge of power that seemed to suck all of the sound out with it, leaving nothing but a yawning echo for several seconds.

The cats’ eyes glowed even brighter, every hair on their bodies standing on end as they yowled a chorus of magic, slowly closing down the powerful ward they had created, allowing the gathered power to dissipate back into the cosmos, then double-checking that no trace of the Void had been left open behind the travelers. The howl rose for a moment, then became something more human, taking on a distinctly musical quality that slowly softened into a gentle purr.

Around the loft, the pressure ebbed, normal sound returned, and this time it was Kurt who dropped to the floor like a lifeless puppet, completely unconscious.

“Show’s over, folks!” Tubbington called out with entirely too much cheer for someone who had just presided over a Major Working. “You may resume your normally scheduled panic.”

Babbling conversations broke out everywhere as people surged forward. It was a crush of confusion as some ran to Kurt, some to Sam/Finn, some to other coven members who all sat on the floor in exhausted heaps of depleted strength.

Carole and Mercedes were the first to reach Sam/Finn and they looked him over with a mixture of hope, fear, and worry. The blond man blinked at them, confused as he tried to process his new reality. Finally, he looked at Carole. “Mom? What happened? When did you get so tall?”

The distraught mother looked into his now blue eyes, searching, and then she laughed, crying at the same time and enfolded the young man in the tightest of hugs. “Finn. Oh my god. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I was so afraid to hope this could possibly work.”

He hugged her back, a long rocking embrace that seemed to seek as well as give comfort, though it was obvious that he had lost a few steps somewhere between the Void and this new integrated existence. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m right here.”

“Sam?” Mercedes asked tentatively, clearly not sure whether it was okay to interrupt the tender moment, but terribly worried about the man she had once been in love with. “Are you still in there too?”

He looked at Mercedes, not releasing Finn’s mother, but smiling sweetly as he rested his cheek against Carole’s head. “I’m still here, babe,” he said, in a tone that was somehow both familiar and strange. “Feeling better too. I’m just taking a back seat to the big guy right now.”

He blinked and then ‘Finn’ lit up as he recognized her. “Hey, Mercedes! Long time no see!”

Mercedes’ mouth dropped open, a bit taken aback as she also found that she could easily recognize her old friend in spite of the change in body. “Finn. My God, boy, if I didn’t already think Kurt Hummel was some kind of miracle worker before, I sure do now. C’mere.”

As Carole reluctantly released him, Mercedes lunged forward for her own happy bear-hug, laughing and crying with overwhelming emotion.

But the mention of his brother’s name had reoriented some of Finn’s confused thoughts. “Dude! Kurt! Is he okay? He saved me from that weird place. He saved both of us.”

“He’s okay,” Burt said, reaching out from his spot on the floor where he was holding one of Kurt’s hands, while Adam cradled Kurt in his lap and cooed over him, while Kurt’s lethargically blinking eyes offered proof that he was awake but too tired to do anything but lie back and let himself be fussed over. The two smiled at one another as Finn reached out for his brother’s free hand and gave it a squeeze of gratitude. Burt clasped his own work-hardened hands over their joint ones and swallowed hard, not even trying to hide the tears in his eyes. “All of my boys are okay. And that includes you, Sam, and you, Adam.”

“What about us?” asked Sebastian, newly formed into his human self and lounging wearily but smugly in Elliott’s arms. “Don’t we get any long-lost-son brownie points here? After all, Kurt couldn’t have done it without us.”

Burt huffed, but Kurt let go a tired laugh. “He’s right, you know. I needed every one of you today, and you all came through with flying colors. Thank you, all of you.”

Nods, smiles, a bow here and there, and Burt chuckled. “Aw, what the hell? When we first got married, Kurt’s mom and I used to joke that we wanted to have a dozen kids. This wasn’t quite what I pictured, but I expect I have enough room in my life for all of you. Just bring your own snacks, and call first if you’re gonna drop by the house.”

Everyone laughed, agreeing that this would be fine by them. “Same goes for me,” Henry agreed jovially. “Though I never pictured myself raising a pack with Burt Hummel.”

They laughed again, teasing the two older men who, over the last couple of months, had progressed from near enemies to sworn friends.

“Speaking of food,” Kurt said, raising his voice above the din, “I could really use some brunch right now if I’m going to have any chance of making it to my own wedding today. Never mind the reception.”

A new babble of excited conversations rose up as all of Kurt and Adam’s friends and family were reminded that there were joyous events still to come.

“I’m on the job, Junior,” Tubbington said happily. “My poor little kittens probably couldn’t conjure a cup of coffee right now, so the two Dads and I will go pick up lunch for everybody.”

“Or I could just Conjure you something,” Bethany offered. “I wasn’t involved in the main spell-casting so I’m still fresh as a daisy.”

Tubbington flung an arm around her shoulders. “Sorry Adam, I just found a new favorite Crawford. So, Beth, how do you feel about Kung Pao Chicken?”

As everyone else began conferring on a lunchtime wish-list, Carole, Burt, Henry, Adam, and Finn/Sam hung back. Picking Kurt up off the floor they moved back to the private bedroom alcove, setting the exhausted coven leader down to sit. Adam, having also been on the outskirts was feeling fine and he happily engaged in fussing over Kurt, kissing him and telling him again and again how brave and wonderful he was, while Finn/Sam was ironically bouncing with renewed energy.

“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Henry said at last, looking at his new son in law with undisguised admiration. “And I’ve seen some spell-casting in my time. The way your coven worked together, each providing his or her piece of the puzzle, was some of the finest teamwork I’ve ever encountered. You should be very proud of what you’ve built here, son.”

“I am,” Kurt said, looking around at his family and out at his friends, back to happily squabbling over little things now that the excitement was over. Johnny was ignoring everyone as he concentrated on moving all of the furniture back out of his bespelled bag and into its usual position around the room so that Tubbington could enlarge what looked like a collection of doll-house furniture back to its proper size. Others were complimenting each other on their part in the spell-casting and replaying their favorite parts for one another. “I really am.”

“That really took a lot out of you, though, didn’t it?” Adam said, stroking Kurt’s brow as he rested his head on Adam’s shoulder.

He nodded. “Yes, but I’ll be okay, and it was 100% worth it.” Kurt reached out and squeezed Sam/Finn’s hand. “I got my brother back. And my friend is going to be okay too. This new situation will take some getting used to, but I’m so glad you both trusted us enough to try it.”

“Dude, before I forget to say it, thanks for what you did for me,” he replied. “I don’t think I even knew how bad off I was until right now. I feel a thousand percent better, and even though it’s weird to have someone else rattling around in my brain with me, it feels good too. And Kurt? That brother sentiment goes double for me. You and me are family now, okay?”

Kurt smiled. “Okay. Thanks, Sam. I missed you too. And Finn?” He waited a second as the other man’s face made the minute change he was already beginning to associate with his brother. “You need to take it easy for a while. I don’t know what the future holds for you guys, but I want you both to have as good a second chance as you possibly can.”

“You got it. We’re just gonna go home with Mom and Burt, and see how things go for a while.”

“I already sleep in your old bedroom, so that’ll be easy,” Sam said. “And we already like the same movies, and music, and games, and stuff. That’s cool, right?”

“Totally,” Finn said enthusiastically. “And dude, this totally means we can now play both drums and guitar!”

“I never thought of that!”

The rest of the group was watching with fascination as the blond carried on a happy conversation with himself. It was a little confusing, but also an incredibly joyful experience.

“You’re gonna have to watch that in public,” Burt said, shaking his head. “Everyone’s gonna think you’ve got a screw loose.”

“Burt,” Carole scolded gently. She could not stop staring at the young man in front of her, marveling at how much of her son she could see in this boy she had known and loved for years as Sam.

Kurt also watched in quiet contentment. He had realized just a moment ago that if he turned on his Sight, he could somehow see them both, overlapping but distinct. He was not sure if this was a side effect that would fade, or if he would always be able to see them, but it was an amazingly comforting thing and he knew that he would cherish this gift for as long as it lasted. His step-mother did not possess Sight, but Carole’s natural Empathy was clearly allowing her to feel the reality of her son’s presence in Sam and for now that appeared to be good enough.

Elliott poked his head in, beaming like a ray of sunshine. “Food’s ready, everyone! We’ve got about fifteen different dishes to choose from. Adam, your sister really knows her stuff.”

“She does, and she has a slightly overdeveloped mothering instinct to go along with it, so I’m sure she provided enough for an army,” he agreed with a grin. “What do you say, family? Shall we go tuck in?”

“In a second,” Kurt said.

Finn/Sam, animatedly discussing with himself whether to change their name to “Fam” or “Sinn”, were already out the door, heading towards the food like a metal filing to a magnet. The parents moved a bit more slowly, but they kindly took the hint that the young couple needed a moment alone.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you, or worried you, when I decided to move you out of the main circle for your own safety. Forgive me?”

Adam kissed him without hesitation. “Of course I do. I understood, and though I can’t deny being worried for you, I also had confidence that you could do what you set out to do.”

He nodded. “I could feel that, and it gave me more confidence just knowing I had yours. That place was so . . . strange. It was different this time than when I went for you, but just as unsettling. I know I’ve said it before, but you’re incredible for keeping your sanity intact for so long. Finn got stuck in a strange little imaginary Dalton Academy that kept resetting his memory, so he never had much time to get freaked out by where he was, but you didn’t even get that. You just had to power through by your own brave, stubborn will. By the way, how long was I in there?”

“Not as long as it probably felt,” Adam replied, characteristically pushing aside the admiration in Kurt’s tone. “I would say . . . perhaps a half hour?”

“Really?” Kurt was astonished. It had indeed seemed like he was wandering for many hours in the Void before he had even located Finn, and then at least an hour talking with him before venturing back. “Wow, time really does move strangely there.”

Adam nodded. “It does, yes. And darling? Now that it’s over, you have my utmost gratitude for shielding me from the experience. I can see that you weathered it well, but I’m not sure I could have done so. Well, unless I also got a posh boarding school to wait in. Maybe one with a nice board and some excellent orange spice tea.”

Kurt laughed. “I guess that’s your way of saying we should get out there before all the food’s gone?”

“Wise as well as beautiful,” Adam said, pecking the tip of Kurt’s nose with his lips. “Are you up to it, or would you like me to bring you in a tray?”

“Oh, no, I’m feeling a lot better, though I wouldn’t say no to a nap and some cuddling afterward. If we have enough time before we’re due at the courthouse.”

Checking his watch, Adam smiled. “More than enough. Shall we?”

“We shall.”

Hand in hand, the couple walked out of their room and back into the throng of happily chattering loved ones. This was, once again, the happiest day of their lives.

THE END

#Witch!Kurt #Hummel Coven #Furt in the Void

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theotpeffect · 6 years

Note

writing prompts - 2 + jeanmarco :D

2 - “I know it’s 3 in the morning, but I can’t find my cat”

Jean hadn’t lived with a pet for a while. Since he had moved away from home, he had lost his sole connection with the one pet he had ever had, and that was with his angry little dog that his mom still found room in her heart for. He hardly ever spent time with the little gremlin. They hated each other too much for any kind of civility. One time, Jean had fed it when his mother was being held back at the office and the little beast almost bit his entire hand off. So he really didn’t have much experience in regards to pet-keeping.

But, recently, he found that he was considering getting a cat. It wasn’t exactly because he was lonely (he had Connie and Sasha to fill any pet-shaped void that might have grown in his heart), it was for a far less chivalrous reason and, if he was being completely honest with himself, this reason pretty much proved how much he didn’t deserve a pet.

Marco Bodt, who lived two doors down from him, absolutely adored cats and Jean, the mess of a bisexual that he was, absolutely adored Marco.

This led Jean to the only logical conclusion of getting his own cat so he could at least share a point of interest with Marco. He was getting desperate for interaction with the sweet man because their conversations had never really crossed the threshold of a nice, neighborly chat. And Jean was physically decomposing.

He was beginning to become absolutely rabid with a chance to speak with Marco again. He was just an angel amongst angels, and Jean felt blessed to be in his presence. Plus, he was handsome as all hell, and the dimples that poked into his cheeks when he smiled made Jean’s knees weak. He was just… absolutely perfect. And Jean was smitten.

His plots were reaching drastic measures. He never actually pulled any of them off, but he was seriously considering wandering into his kitchen and attempting to concoct whatever terrible excuse for a cake that he could. He even wondered if he should do the cliche thing and beg Marco for a pinch of salt because he had “run out.” Or, like Jean had said earlier, adopt a cat and then ask Marco for cat-caring tips.

These were all terrible plans, Jean knew but he was reaching the end of his embarrassing, flustered rope. There were only so many times he could push out “Hi” past his bloated tongue before he was going to die. He needed a plan for more conversation. Just a little.

And fortunately, before he could embarrass himself beyond repair, an opportunity presented itself one night when Jean was in a deep sleep and dreaming of himself and Marco surrounded by a thousand cats and angelic children that shared his good looks and Marco’s adorable freckles.

When the opportunity came, Jean was not in the least bit happy. He was so pissed off that, in fact, he was going to give whoever the hell was knocking at his door a piece of his mind instead of stewing angrily in his bed.

But, when he wrenched open the door as forcefully as he could to reveal his half-naked body and a scowl that would instantly evaporate whoever stood on the other side of his front door, he was more than surprised to be facing a very sheepish Marco.

He wouldn’t even make eye-contact with Jean, but Jean could still see the metaphorical anime sweat drops being flung from Marco’s blushing face. He was even fidgeting with a sweater that was just big enough to make sweater paws. Jean was seriously going to expire.

“Um,” Marco began. “I know it’s 3 in the morning, but I can’t find my cat.” Jean was about to open his mouth and say something undoubtedly stupid before Marco’s floodgates opened and saved him from himself. “She usually comes back every night, but I haven’t seen her since this morning. And her food is untouched and I’m panicking a little bit here. So I’m sorry for knocking on your door so late, but you seemed really nice and I thought if I would approach anyone at this time I had better start with you. But if you haven’t seen her then I’m sorry for waking you up.”

When Marco paused to inhale, Jean said. “Don’t worry, I was already awake.”

Marco wore his emotions on his sleeve, so his widened eyes and marginally raised eyebrows were a pretty good indicator of his surprise. And suddenly Jean felt stupid for telling a lie like that. It didn’t even matter, he should have just told Marco he didn’t mind, and that this was a serious situation that Jean was glad Marco approached him for. But he said something totally untrue, and now Marco thought he had probably interrupted Jean masturbating or crying into his pillow or, like, murdering someone, because what else did anyone do at three in the morning?

“Oh,” was all Marco said. And Jean was seriously going to die for an entirely different reason.

“That’s not important, though,” Jean said. Which made him sound even more creepy. Way to go, Jean. “I mean… don’t worry about it, waking me up or anything.” At least this was met with a smile. “Um, and no I haven’t seen your cat, I’m sorry.”

But Jean wondered if he would see that cat anyways if he had been looking. He had seen her in Marco’s arms, or rubbing against his ankles sometimes when they were standing around and saying their neighborly, “Hello! How are you”s. And, to put it lightly, she was the void incarnate. Her fur was so black, it looked like a little pocket of the universe had just been evaporated into nothingness and it just happened to resemble a fluffy Persian cat.

“Oh, well then I’m sorry to bother you again,” Marco said. He ducked his head and began retreating back to his apartment, ringing his hands together and biting his lip.

“Wait!” Jean said. “I… I can help you find her. If you want.” When Marco turned back to him, Jean threw some more nonsense into the air just so he could put off a catastrophe a little longer. “I mean, you’re really worried obviously. And it sucks to see you like that, and plus I really like her, she’s a cutie.” That wasn’t a total lie, at least. Jean did think the cat was cute and all, but really he had been so preoccupied with Marco he didn’t develop any strong feelings towards her one way or the other. He didn’t even know the cat’s name if he was being perfectly honest.

“I can’t ask that it’s so late…” Marco said.

“No, come on, man. You love her, we should find her.”

Marco’s shoulders sagged as the entire world finally sloughed off his shoulders. “Are you sure? I really don’t want to bother you can it can wait until tomorrow.”

“No, I doubt you’re going to get any sleep, as worried as you look right now.” They both chuckled in that awkward way that strangers and acquaintances do when they’re confronted with a worrying truth. “So let’s look.”

“If you’re sure…” Marco said.

“Yeah, just give me a sec to put my shoes on,” Jean said. He retreated into his apartment and tried to catch his breath. It was really happening. He was going to combust. Even though this wasn’t the most ideal circumstance, wandering around the streets at three in the morning was about as good a time as any to strike up a conversation with Marco.

He returned to the hallway at lightning speed. With his shoes hastily put on so that the heel was, annoyingly, partially tucked into the shoe, and his jacket slung over one arm and his keys nearly falling from his hands as he locked his door, he rejoined Marco.

“So,” Jean began. “What was your cat’s name? I don’t think you’d ever told me.” Jean was sure he had at one point, but, dammit, he had to admit defeat here.

Marco ducked his head and giggled nervously. “Frida Catlo.”

Marco really was after his heart, holy shit. “Like the artist?” Jean asked, trying his best not to shoot off into the sky. If Marco was really enough of an art hoe to name his cat after Frida Kahlo, then Jean really didn’t have to fear about them finding things to talk about.

“Yeah,” Marco said with a chuckle. “I really like art. Plus, Kahlo was really revolutionary, you know? I always kind of admired her for being herself. I think that’s part of what helped me come out, you know? So, I mean, the next logical step would be to name my cat after her.”

Seriously, Jean was falling hard and fast.

“I find a lot of comfort in art too,” Jean admitted. “I’m glad you found an artist that inspired you like that.”

Marco lit up. “So, you like art too?”

“I live and breathe it, I swear to god I came out of the womb with charcoal as fingers.”

Marco laughed. “That can’t have been good for your mother.”

“Oh, it definitely wasn’t good for her carpets, I can tell you that much.”

“So, I take it charcoal is your calling?”

Jean nodded. As they stepped out of the building, he dared to nudge Marco playfully and asked. “You?”

“I don’t really have a ‘calling’ exactly, but I do come back to watercolors a lot,” Marco said. He peered around the edge of the building and called softly, “Frida?” When no meows, or whatever else indicates a cat is close-by was forthcoming, Marco sighed and began walking to the other side of the building, Jean close by his side. “So, are you doing art, like, professionally?”

“I wish,” Jean said. “I don’t get commissions consistently enough, so I remain a desk bitch by day, art gremlin by night.”

Marco laughed. “Same here.”

When they reached the next alley, Jean was the one to call for Frida. But again, nothing. Marco was now chewing a hole through his lip and Jean was sort of beginning to get worried. What would they do if they found Frida dead somewhere? Marco didn’t deserve that.

“Don’t worry, Marco, we’ll find her.”

Marco gave him a wobbly smile. “Thanks, Jean.”

Conversation between them become a little more sporadic after this. Marco became more frantic with each alley they checked, and Jean didn’t want to distract from their search any more than he already had. He was also getting mildly panicked if he was being honest. No matter where they looked, Frida seemed nowhere to be found.

Marco sighed after what seemed like the thousandth alley they had checked. “Maybe I should just wait to look for her in the morning. It would be easier to see her anyways.”

Jean really didn’t know what to do. He wanted to keep searching for Frida almost as much as Marco did. But Marco was right, they weren’t exactly getting anywhere by looking for a black cat in the dead of night.

“I’m seriously okay to keep looking for her,” Jean said. He glanced at his phone and was astonished to find that the clock was steadily inching towards four. “Unless you’re tired then I get if you want to go to sleep.”

“I am tired, but I doubt that I would be able to sleep,” Marco said with a wobbly smile. “It’s late though and if we haven’t found her around the complex, who knows where she could have gone?”

Jean cast aside any feelings that might have hindered him in the moment and wrapped an arm around Marco’s shoulders. “Hey, even if we don’t find her tonight I’m sure she’ll be fine. I mean, come on, just think of her namesake. Anyone would know a cat with a name like that would kick ass.”

Marco laughed quietly. “Thanks for wandering around gross alley-ways with me for so long. And for cheering me up.”

“I would do that for you any night,” Jean said with a crooked smile he hoped didn’t twitch too much. While they slowly strolled towards their complex again, heads still swiveling back and forth, and eyes still wandering towards dark corners in an absent hope that Frida would reveal herself, Jean said, “So, tell me more about Frida. I really don’t know much about her, you know. You haven’t been kind enough to introduce us.”

Marco laughed. “Well, she’s kind of a perfect angel.”

“Must run in the family,” Jean said before he could lose his nerve.

Marco’s smile turned soft, and he nudged their shoulders together. Jean tried not to lose his mind when he realized Marco didn’t move away after like friends probably would.

“She’s also really needy. I can’t leave her alone for more than a couple hours before she comes knocking whatever it is that I’m working on out of my hands while throwing herself to the floor with dramatic wails.”

“Relatable.”

Marco laughed more brightly than he had the entire night and Jean’s ever softening heart flipped in his chest.

When he quieted, his smile turned into something softer. “I know it’s kind of the crazy cat person thing to say, but she really is my baby. I don’t know what I would do without her. I got her as a kitten and… she was so scared of everything. Me too, to be honest. But we found a lot of comfort with each other. And we’ve both grown out of our anxieties together. We really needed one another.”

Jean really tried not to cry. This man in front of him was the most deserving of happiness and he seriously deserved to see Frida again. Both that cat and this man deserved to be reunited.

So when they finally trudged up the stairs to their floor, Jean waved Marco off into his apartment, waited for an acceptable number of minutes, and then snuck into the night once more to find Frida Catlo.

He wandered farther than Marco and he had gone together, and it took actual hours. It was nearly five in the morning, and the sky was beginning to glow in the very, very beginnings of morning light when he found a beautiful black Persian sniffing at some garbage.

Jean could have shouted for joy, but as it was, he approached the cat with the utmost caution. Minutes of coercing her to come closer paid off when he scooped her up to finally get a good look at her rhinestone collar and found her name and address proudly displayed on her tag.

“I found you!” Jean said, nuzzling his face into Frida’s soft fur. “Marco’s going to be so happy to see you, trust me, girl, you really gave him a scare there.”

With his newfound treasure, Jean trotted as quickly as he could back to his apartment and frantically knocked on Marco’s door. It would definitely be a nuisance to their other neighbors, but honestly Jean didn’t even know their names and he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He cared even less about what they thought of the early-morning racket when Marco’s door swung open and revealed his beaming face, eyes nearly overflowing with tears as he realized what was cradled in Jean’s arms.

“You found her?” Marco said, gently taking her from Jean. He sniffled into her fur and smiled at Jean, with his cheek still resting against Frida’s back. It was the perfect picture. And all joking aside, Jean could seriously see himself falling in love with the man that stood in front of him.

“She was sniffing through the trash like the lady she is,” Jean reported. He smiled crookedly. “I couldn’t really leave the search in good conscience when I knew you were sitting in your apartment all alone, worried sick.”

“Thank you so, so much Jean, oh my god,” Marco breathed. “I’ll bake you a thousand cookies for this.”

Jean laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Marco smiled and then moved to close his door, lavishing kisses all over Frida’s scrunched face. But just before the door closed, Marco’s eyes popped open and he inched the door open again.

“Um, if you don’t want to the cookies, there’s a second option,” Marco said. “I mean – I know this is a little forward, we hardly know each other and – and it was kind of an emotionally turbulent evening, at least for me, and I don’t know if this timing is weird or something, but then again you did just spend hours searching for my cat for me, so I’m really hoping you feel the same way but – but I mean if you don’t want the cookies, I definitely wouldn’t mind going on a date with you.”

Jean’s mouth remained open for all the flies who waited around for idiots like him to leave themselves at their mercy, and it took at least a solid minute for him to pick up his brain from where it was heaving its last breaths on the floor at his feet. But, eventually, he did actually manage to say, “Yeah – yes! A date, I would – would love that.”

“Okay,” Marco said with a grin that put the sun and whatever the hell else the universe classified as “bright” to shame. He really was so beautiful. “Okay, I’ll see you later then?”

“Yeah,” Jean said. He undoubtedly had the most love-struck smile on his face, but he could hardly bring himself to care when he floated to his door and turned to see Marco still smiling at him softly from his cracked door. Jean was really, seriously, falling to his death.

#jeanmvrco #jeanmarco #snk #oneshot funshot #my writing #this one was fun holy shit #and also it's a monstrosity that i intended to be less than 1k and morphed into 3k before i could even blink

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granite-slab · 4 years

Text

eValuation

First I’ll just sum up where I’m at and what I’ve produced:

F O R E I G N _ Q U A R R Y

- STONES THROW - software - virtual pre-made stones in a limitless white void lie still and silent - at randomly determined intervals a stone will be given life, rise up silently and hovering above the ground, then suddenly and loudly be flung towards the viewer and make collision with the screen itself, shuddering

- VISIBLE WOUNDS - digitally manipulated photographs photocopied onto polarising film - rocks and shattered LCD screens are posed on a lightbox and photographed, then taken into photoshop and edited to appear like limitless asteroid collisions with science fiction psychedelic colours

- LIQUID Q - video - various images referencing cell division and microscopic life are flattened by Adobe’s preset emboss effect among footage of cracking screens and computer pieces suspended in water, sound is sampled from cracking ice

- IMPACT SITES - colour pencil drawings - scratchy shitty sketches of liquid crystal diffraction patterns, phone screen cracks and craters

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The work is an investigation into the materiality of technology, prompted by concerns of extinction, violence, material memory, trauma and labour exploitation, the dangers of understanding the world through science?

It’s pretty broad work inspired by far reaching concepts.

Aesthetically it’s taken on a science fiction flavour from some of my favourite films: Tarkovsky’s Solaris, as well as ofc 2001: A Space Odyssey. There are references also to the pagan landscapes of Dartmoor and the history of local stone. Granite mined from the moors in quarries managed by prisoners, used to build their own prison.

The concepts toyed with some autobiographical content, on my personal feelings towards my relationship with/addiction to technology: but i dont think this is a very large part of the work - it is much wider than that.

The work started as a sort of one-note concept and material investigation (digging with a spoon), moved on to assemblage, then developed into this new body of work where sculptures are intermediated through video or photography and removed from physical space, becoming wholly digital and absent in their presence.

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PRESENTATION

Following feedback from the formative assessment I decided to present the works in a dark space - the hot and smelly dark space room in the studio. It is a disgusting and claustrophobic space. During the presentation, to avoid confusion I will not be reading a written script, but I will be somewhat performing, using the light from my phone’s flashlight to highlight work, as if I’m at a dig site or something.

The STONES THROW piece will be running through, disrupting my muttering with loud and glitchy machine gun noises of rocks colliding. I will run it on a resolution far too intense for my laptop to handle, and consequently the simulation will run at a very low framerate, appearing very broken and stuttery. My laptop will be whirring loudly and struggling to keep up with the workload I have given it. I want the technology to be struggling, rendering the video sort of incomprehensible. Hopefully, in the dark and hot space this will be distressing and intense for the viewer.

Otherwise, the dark space will force the viewer into an uncomfortable situation. In order to properly view the 2D work they will have to manoeuvre around, finding angles at which the light from the tv reflects off the surface of the images so that they can see them. the simulation will be working in many senses, then.

The polarised images will be rested, cluttered, on a fallen metal air vent. This is a sort of cop out of a presentation. I tested with lightboxes and enjoyed the effect, and wanted to try something similar but without light. They are rested horizontal on a surface equally as reflective as they are - creating visual confusion. My idea of nailing an image into the lightbox is still one I want to test, but when I have attempted to print a larger image on a larger piece of film - not before. Cluttering the prints onto a dark and reflective surface also helps to... prohibit the viewer from seeing how shit the actual quality of the prints is. They look sortof discarded, like how they will be when I spend this next module refining the process. They were just tests after all, done rogue on the photocopier.

I nailed the other 2D work - the drawing and the galaxy - into the wall. I stripped this down from the formative, just one drawing - a crater - to juxtapose with the galaxy/big bang explosion. A creation and a destruction. One handmade, one a photograph. These are further away from the screen and are lit better than the horizontal prints.

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

PROPOSAL FOR 303

// new work? maybe // I’d like to experiment with video to make a companion for the software // two channel video in a dark and claustrophobic space [ one still and silent, occasionally loud and disruptive, the other constantly changing and ambient, trap the viewer between the two, constantly at the mercy of the work ] // new prints? maybe // new drawings? doubt it [ it’s not the right avenue for my work: i am not skilled and i won’t have time to improve ] //

//how will text fit in the work? // I’m not sure // I am reading Ed Atkins’ books atm, to analyse how his writing fits/doesn’t fit with his videos and installations // maybe an artists book? // or maybe I hold on to the urge to write and push it into something else… //

// continue to look into Katrina Palmer // perhaps the work should shift to be site-based, with a focus on a local area? // it is hard to tell how big I want the work to go in conceptual scale // I have a desire to make something all encompassing, as much about everything as it is about nothing //

// push specifically the conceptual and theoretical understanding of the work // try your best, Sam, to not get tired of it and move onto something else // make this as developed and complete as possible // look into materiality // investigate sculptors who write // try not to avoid sculpture, try it again //

// I want to focus on making the work emotionally engaging to the viewer, upsetting and unnerving // how to do so without being cheap or narrative // do I want a narrative? // no no no // not this time //

// materially? // I need to be big sheets of polarising film, and attempt to print onto them // large format inkjet or screen // work out the ink type I want to use, what finish, if I want them backlit or hung, glimmering // displayed in the dark? // the viewer has to use their phone torch to see the work // impossible to take photographs of = impossible to capture for Instagram = real work not virtual work //

// otherwise resources I would require would be, largest TV possible or video wall // I don’t know how likely this is // I would also need a high powered PC to run the stones at the best possible resolution //

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browniefox · 7 years

Text

Pro No Evens - YOLMT 6

Pro No Evens - You Only Live Multiple Times 6

In Which Powers Are Explored, Gar Has Another Breakdown, And Ethan Is Starting To Weird

Against All Odds is by @royalflushstories and Weight of the Medallion is by @trulymightypotato

“LOUDER!”

“WHAT?”

“I SAID, LOUDER!”

All of the radios they could find were in the room, blaring various music as loud as possible. Marzia was screaming with her hands over her ears. Cry was banging on various pots and pans. It was more than a little chaotic. From the middle of the room, Felix rolled his shoulders, looking at the various sources of sound.

In one quick movement, he flung his hands outwards and then down. For a moment, nothing happened, but then Felix pushed a bit harder, a bit more focused, moving his hands just a little more downward. The noise in the room wavered for a moment, then faded into nothing. Marzia experimentally took her hands off her ears, looking around. Cry stopped his banging. Felix grinned at them. Cry gave a thumbs up, and might’ve said something but the mask and lack of noise made it hard.

‘Get ready,’ Felix 'said’ the words, but nothing could be heard in the noise-void he’d made in the room. Marzia put her hands back over her ears. He lifted his hands back up, and with the movement stops pushing the energy. The radios blare back to life, Marzia’s screams can be heard again, and Cry adds another hit to a pot.

The three then proceeded to go around the room and turn down the radios.

“Nice, you’re getting better.” Cry praised. Felix shrugged.

“Eh, I still can’t hold it that long.” Felix shook out his hands as he felt his magic core, or whatever it was, relax, almost like a muscle. A ‘As long as I used to’ hangs unsaid in the air, but definitely not unheard.

“It’s my turn then.” Cry held out his hand and snapped. The lights fizzled out and the radios ceased their music, the electricity sharply cut off. In a moment the lights flooded back in and Cry brought his hands way before bringing them together roughly. Electricity sparked from the clap before buzzing around him wildly.

“You know, if you ever suddenly became broke, entertainers wouldn’t be bad fallback plans.” Marzia commented, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I’d like to think that, even without magic, I’m pretty spectacular.” Felix gave Marzia a dazzling grin. Things were... weird, between the two of them, but a good type of weird, a nice weird. A weird that made him want to go over there, put his arms around her and pull her into a kiss just because he could.

“On a more serious note, I’ve been thinking about JP.” Cry spoke up, adjusting his mask. “Do you think we should confront him?”

“I’m not sure.” Felix pressed his lips together. He’d been thinking about it, god he’d been thinking about it. But honestly Felix just wasn’t sure he was ready to widen their circle. And he’d been watching JP at Freddy’s the other night, and the kid had seemed okay, better than okay even. Not at all like Felix during The Loop, where he’d stare off into space forever, and give people weird looks, lose his place in conversations, and suddenly have weird panic attacks. “Maybe we should try and feel him out? See if he remembers anything?”

“Sounds like a sane idea.” Cry shrugged. “Marzia, are you giving him ideas through your marriage bond?”

“Hey!” Felix tried to sound exasperated and upset, but it was hard with the good humor pouring into him from Cry and Marzia. It didn’t matter whether The Realms were real or not, they had brought him closer to those that mattered.

“What’s going on in here?!”

Ken stood in the door way, looking from Felix, to the radios everywhere, to the electricity that still ran along Cry’s frame, and back to Felix.

Maybe one more in on the circle wouldn’t be so bad.

“Alright, so here’s what we’ve got so far.”

PJ threw his coat down on the coach as he strode over to The Realms Wall, as he and Dan had started to call it. Dan was currently running around town, both looking for things to write about and keeping Phil away from the house. It was bad enough The Wall was in his apartment, but it’d be even harder to keep things from Phil if they were talking about it right in front of him. And Dan and PJ very much wanted to keep Phil in the safe land of reality.

Wade, Gar, and Mat followed him into the room and PJ stopped the strange urge to bow.

“Wow, you two put this together?” Mat walked straight to the board. He ran his hand across the various papers.

“Yeah. It’s easier to... ‘keep it’, if it’s written down.” PJ grabbed some of the strips of paper and the pencils. “If we’re gonna figure out what’s going on, it’s going to take everything that all of us have. Don’t leave anything out.”

The next couple hours were spent like that, writing things down and putting them on the board. Jason and Gar were added to the Protector list, and Molly, Wade, and Mat to the ‘Nobles and Royals’. Watching Mat work on the board was amazing, it was like he was made for that.

He gave them a solid number of Protectors and Nobles, put a little moon with the Nobles that PJ somehow knew meant Luna. He was able to add Officer Static to the Proctor list too, the first person they hadn’t personally met but had for sure. He added more little symbols to go with the Dan and Phil’s, like a lightning bolt and a heart made of a fox and oddly enough a pineapple made of stars. Things were going smoothly... until Mat looped the thread around Demon Prince and Gar.

“What’s this?” PJ asked, pointing to it and snapping Mat out of zone that he’d fallen into. Mat looked at it, brow furrowed.

“I’m... not sure.”

PJ stared at it, because it didn’t seem wrong. And he felt something rise in him, slithering up from his core. And suddenly, he knew what the connection was. He reeled backwards at the sudden rush of memories that passed through him. There were so many things and people and events, but all he could grasp and hold on to was the a furry wolf face with heterochromatic eyes.

“A wolf.” PJ gasped. He was on the floor, when did he get on the floor? Wade was standing over him worriedly, hand outstretched to help him up. Gar flinched.

“What?”

“Gar’s the Demon Prince. He was a wolf, or something, I, I don’t,” It was already fading fast, the images. Gar was shaking.

“Gar, are you okay?” Mat put a hand on his partner’s shoulder, who jumped, spinning around, eyes wide like a cornered animal.

“No, nonono that can’t be right.” Gar pointed to the board. “The Demon Prince, he ruined the Realm’s magic. He killed Dlive and he burned the Seventh Realm and and and he was working with the Suzerian army and,” Gar was definitely panicking. “And he’s a monster.”

The police officer fell to the ground sobbing.

The room grew colder.

Stephanie looked at the paper in her hand.

Was she really willing to do this?

Go behind her husband’s back?

Meet with his enemy?

She felt bad enough having easedropped on his conversation the other night, and then going and finding Madam Foxglove’s.

She had shared what she’d heard with the woman, and Foxglove had shared her own observations on Wade. On his weird mannerisms.

And then she had told her that, if she really wanted to work together, she was to meet the mob boss as Jason’s grave. By coming she would be putting herself into an agreement with the mob boss to work together and connect the pieces of what was going on. She would not be able to tell anyone of it without first being allowed by Foxglove.

She was a policeman’s wife.

But she goes anyway.

“Alright, I called Hyacinth, managed to catch her before she left to yet another town. I didn’t say much, just that I really needed her home right now.”

“Okay. How’s she supposed to help us again?” Ethan asked, looking over one of the medallions. Virid ran their hand through their hair.

“I’m... not entirely sure. I’m sort of banking on the idea that she knows more about what’s going on or has more of her memories than either of us do. But it’s really important we get this things to their owners. I’m not entirely sure what’ll happen if they don’t have them, but I do know it’s Not Good.”

“Okay.” Ethan ran his thumb over the golden triangle-and-six-lines one. “Hey, Virid, is it okay if I hang on to some of these? In case I something comes to me while I’m at work or something.”

“Well,” Virid chewed on their lip. “They’re really important, I don’t want them to get lost but I suppose they’re not doing anyone any good just sitting in my bag. I, suppose, if you’re careful, you can hold onto one of them.”

“Thanks!” Ethan grinned, pocketing the disc. “Stop by the Tiny Box if you figure out anything, but I need to get to work.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tonight?” Virid gave a tired smile at Ethan. All of this really seemed to be wearing on them.

“Yeah, sure.”

He ran down the street, he was probably going to be late since he stopped by Virid’s instead of going straight to work and he knew nobody would really care but he still hated being late. But he was one of many people bustling about in the afternoon, and somebody rammed as they hurried elsewhere, not paying attention to him as he was sent to the ground.

Something ran through him, like a random jolt, as he hit the ground.

He got back up and rubbed his arm. It wasn’t bruised, wasn’t even scratched.

But it was definitely much scalier than it had been not a minute before

#pro no evens #against all odds #idk what i'm doing #browniefox writes #royal expectations #peasant impossibility #not as much happened as i wanted #but im still okay with it #you can see the groups focuses #felix's on powers #pj's on history #steph on anything at all #and ethan on the medallions #tbh #i didn't read this thorugh #so if there's any huge errors #tell me #and i;l; fix em

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