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itsohh · 2 years

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Until Dawn

A/N: GN reader, haha this is yesterdays ones whoops I had this done and just forgot to upload. It’s like 4am and I had already gotten through half of todays and was like ‘hmm did I actually edit / post yestedays’.

Day 22: Bondage

Word count: 1518

Warnings: NSFT, smut, predator / prey (kinda?), bondage

AO3 Kinktober Masterlist

Deep breaths escaped your lips as you kept up your pace. Years of practice and training worked well with you. Yet there was only so much you could do. In the dark night, the slight sliver of moonlight to guide your way could do only so much. Your focus needed to be on what was in front of you, who was behind you and the forest floor. The task required you to have eyes everywhere in a setting where you could barely see, while you had a torch its usage would immediately give away your position. A low-hanging branch caught your attention and you were careful to avoid it, your feet were suddenly snagged. With a grunt, your arms caught you while the wire wrapped around your legs.

If you were lucky, you might be able to get out in time, you had a decent gap over the man and he didn’t seem too much in a hurry. It rubbed against your ankles and you quickly leaned over, your fingers trying to pry it apart. It was tight, mentally you swore and let out a deep breath, calming yourself. In your still state, you spat onto your hand and coated the wire, lubricating it. While it was made to close but not open, so long as it didn’t get any tighter you had hope. Slowly you were able to roll the wire, one foot slipping up. With a slight amount of pain, you managed to slip the foot up and out, effectively freeing both of your legs.

Back on your feet you now had to make a fast decision. Continue your path or change it. On one hand, there was the possibility of more traps but on the other hand, he could be trying to heard you in another direction. Yet as you thought about your next move your eyes came across the small blinking light. Of course, he would have electronic feedback, hopeful he didn’t know which one exactly. In a haste decision, you decided to push forward on your original path, hoping to avoid any traps if he were to put them on any forks.

Of course, it was about four meters before you felt the familiar tightness around your ankles and you fell to the ground. As you rolled onto your back and made the smallest of curses you saw the movement in the corner of your eye. Out of his usual uniform he slowly stalked towards him. Sporting a hoodie and a pair of cargo pants he wasn’t exactly up to code. But it was enough for the current situation. “One kilometre, you're improving. But, taking the same path is going to become to downfall.” He squatted in front of you, his blue eyes on yours. “Yet, you have been caught, my dear.” He stood up and took a step towards you. “Which means…” Maxim leaned over and caught your wrist before promptly twisting it around you and pushing your face down onto the ground. His other hand found your free wrist and twisted it around your back before binding your two arms together. “Your mine.” His face was almost pressed against your ear as he whispered, a grin spread across it.

You heard the small sound as he cut the wire from the trap, freeing you from it but your legs were still bound. Maxim's hand found the binds around your arms and gript onto them, he pulled you back onto your knees into a somewhat comfortable position. The moon moved just into the right space, peaking through the trees perfectly so you could now see him. His tattooed hand cupped your face and he brushed the hair from it. Ever so gently he pulled a leaf from your hair which had tangled itself and flicked it off to the side. “I hope you remembered my warning from earlier.” His eyes roamed your face as his free hand went to his hip.

“Which one?”

“Don’t wear anything you wish to keep.” With that his hand swiped forward, cutting through the fabric of your shirt, the cool air free to bite at your skin. Unable to do much, you feel back from your kneeling state onto your back, your shirt flapping around in the slight breeze. The knife gave no mercy as he swiped it over your track pants, right down the middle. His eyes flickered from your sex up to your eyes at the discovery of your complete lack of undergarments. “Smart.” His hand was placed on your stomach and ran up your body until it rest on the side of your kneck, thumb on your chin. A small kiss was placed against the tip of it before you open your mouth wide, moving your head forward to suck the thumb into your mouth. To give him a light tease you bit down on it, not entirely hard, but enough to give him the message.

Suddenly his hand was snatched away from your mouth and he retreated to your feet. With his slightly wet hand, he gript onto your ankles and pulled them both forward so you were completely flat on your back. A sigh of relief left your lips when he cut the wire with his knife, allowing your legs to be free. Maxim was going to continue but paused when he saw the light redness of your ankles, no doubt due to your efforts to escape from the previous ones. “Zelenyy.” The colour left your lips when he started to rub the marks, no doubt he would want to bring it up later. But for the moment he knew to continue. The knife was dropped next to you and he rubbed his hands on your legs through the fabric.

He let out a hum of thought before he griped onto your ankle and flipped you onto your front. With your hands tied behind your back, you were unable to break the impact and your cheek made contact with the leaves on the ground. Slowly you blinked, recovering from the fast action when he used your bound hands as a handle and pulled you back. There was no warning as his lubricated finger penetrated you, soon added by another one. When he had time to lubricate his fingers, you hadn't figured out. Perhaps in your slightly dazed state after you were flipped.

A whine left your lips as you were stretched out on his fingers, gripping onto the binds around you. A slight ripping of your pants could be heard when he nudged your legs further apart, giving him better access to you. His fingers were removed and that's when he pushed in. Slowly Maxim moved, making sure you were relaxed enough he keep slowly entering until the thick fabric of his pants could be felt against your bare ass. Maxim massaged your ass cheek, feeling it roughly with his right hand. A moan left your lips embarrassingly loud when his right hand retreated only to come back with a slap which turned into a grab again. The sting sparked throughout your body and he rolled his hips back only to slam back into you. Without your hands for support, you were merciless pounded into the ground, dirt rubbing against your face without care as Maxim continued his steady and hard pace. Each thrust had him that perfect spot side inside you which had your move lazily open, slightly out of it.

His name left your lips and pathetic little whines that made the man ever so much more aroused, his cock twitching each time. It had his voice gruff and with his teeth clenched he let out the quiet of praises from behind you. Small words that you barely registered, a horny grin on your face, mixed with your half-lidded eyes. Time moved without notice as pleasure filled your mind constantly, your orgasm coming and going without notice to the man as he continued to pound you into the ground. Your hole used and abused, Maxim gripped onto your forearm and pulled your flush against his clothed chest. His lips next to your ear, he didn’t open his clenched jaw as he came. “Fuck.” The word came out as a tense grunt, his seed filling your stretched-out hole, only for him to pull his hips back, his seed coating the eternity of your ass in its last squirts. Panting breaths left his lips as he slowly lowered you down onto the ground again.

The binds that held your forearms together were cut and his cock tucked away in his underwear, pants up but still unzipped. Maxim gave you little warning as he rolled you over and picked you up over his shoulder in a fireman hold, his cum glistening on your bare ass in the moonlight. “I can walk.”

“I’m not finished with you yet.” He grunted as rose to his feet fully, his knife back in its home and a torch in his hand.

“It’s a kilometre back to your cabin are you really going to carry me back?”

“Take the break, it’s the only one your getting till dawn.”

#r6s #rainbow six siege #kapkan x reader #r6s x reader #maxim basuda #come glistening in the moonlight yeah im a romantic

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vinegar-on-main · 4 months

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you ALSO get my longest inbox fic to date!!!!!!!!!!!! wrote this one around halloween so it features neimi and colm experiencing a few spooks in the ch 11 abandoned fort...

Neimi didn’t hate a lot of things.

She liked to think she was open-minded. Willing to try new things, step outside her comfort zone, all that. But this fort? Oh, she hated this fort. It felt like a perfect combination of awful things specifically designed to set off every single alarm in her head.

For starters, it was dark. Oh, Goddess, was it dark. She could hardly see a few feet in front of her, which was an issue, since seeing things from a distance usually helped with her whole archery thing. Sure, there was the odd torch on the wall, but they barely helped pierce through the blanket of shadow that seemed to cloak the entire fortress.

And it would’ve been bad enough if it was Grado troops or some band of mercenaries they were fighting. But noooo, it had to be monsters. The horrifying things were usually so full of holes or lacking in skin that her arrows often didn’t even have places to land on them. That already made them difficult enough to fight, but Neimi’s unfortunate tendency to freeze up the instant one noticed her was certainly not assisting matters. The fact that the entire fort was shrouded in a thick fog wasn’t helping her nerves any, either. She couldn’t help but feel something would jump out at her any mome-

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Neimi? Y-”

“AAAH?!” Neimi shot around, bow primed at whatever just-

Oh. It was Colm.

…right. Colm had accompanied her down here. He spent so much time lurking behind pillars or under tables she sometimes forgot he was there.

…now that she was thinking about it, that probably wasn’t helping her nerves any, either.

“Oh…. it’s just you. Hello, Colm.” Neimi shakily responded as she lowered her bow. Him being there helped ease her fears, if only a little. She knew he would be there to back her up, no matter what. And just knowing someone was with her was… calming.

Colm looked around the fort disappointingly. “Guess the kid wasn’t kidding when he said this place was abandoned. Not a single thing worth taking in this whole darn fort. Just a bunch of rusted weapons and old books.”

He kicked a nearby dustball as if to emphasize his point. “With all the stories I’d heard about this place, you’d figure there’d be something worthwhile here.” Colm mumbled under his breath

“…Stories?” Neimi tilted her head. This was the first she heard of this.

Colm looked up, surprised. “You haven’t heard? Really?” Neimi nodded.

Colm’s grin turned mischievous, which was yet another thing to add to the list of why Neimi was so high-strung right now. “Do you want me to tell you it?” he asked. Neimi’s grip on her bow tightened. “I… suppose? It’s not… scary, is it?”

Colm shrugged. “Eh. A little. Its ab-”

“S-Stop! Stop right there!” Neimi blurted out. “A scary story is the last thing I need to hear right now!” She quickly turned on her heel and started to walk off, directly into a particularly thick segment of fog. She only now noticed just how loudly the floorboards were creaking and how the shadows cast by the wall-mounted candles danced to form all sorts of terrible things just in her peripheral vision and how-

She hurriedly walked back to Colm. Listening through the story was much more preferable then… whatever awaited her in the mist. Besides, she wanted to stick with him. “…Okay, fine, tell me the story.” Neimi relented.

Colm snickered, and quickly went to grab a nearby torch on a wall, holding it directly under his face for extra spook factor. “So…”

“A long, long time ago, this fort used to be bustling with soldiers. It was the nosy well-secured point on all of Caer Pelyn. One evening, all the troops were preparing for a battle that would tale place in just a few days. They all went to bed, prepared. But, that very night, people say an enemy mage snuck in, and cursed one of the soldiers. He went mad, and started going on a rampage on his fellow army-men. They were all asleep, so they could do nothing to stop him. Some say that the sickening laugh the mad soldier cackled as he chopped down his fellow soldiers can still be heard echoing down the halls of this fort to this d-“

…wah-ha-ha…!

The same laugh that Colm described suddendly boomed down the hall behind them, leaving the archer holding her bow in a white-knuckle death grip as she resisted the urge to scream. She looked behind her swiftly, to see that (mercifully) there was nothing behind her, just a hall. She angrily turned back to Colm.

“V-very funny, Colm! You probably got… Lute or someone to go down there and do that laugh when… you…” The argument died on Neimi’s lips as she saw that Colm had practically gone pale, any sense of playfulness that was there before completely absent from his face.

“I… that wasn’t…” Colm started as he took a wary step towards where the laugh had came from. He heard.. something, and quickly grabbed Neimi’s hand, desperate for some sort of comfort.

Neimi squeezed it as she leaned towards the opening in the hall, attempting to get a better look.

On the wall beyond them danced a shadow, likely illuminated by a torch further down, raising an axe. They both decided to flee before finding out who was holding said axe, sprinting towards the fort entrance as quickly as their feet would allow them.

———————————————————

“GWAH-HA-HA!” Dozla boomed as he swung his axe down directly onto a revenant’s head, causing it to roll across the floor like a bowling ball. His axe collided on the floor below with a resonating SHHING.

L’Arachel clapped furiously at the sight. “Oh, wonderful show, Dozla! That’s one more beast vanquished from this world!”

Dozla lifted his ace back up with a huff. “Its almost a shame, Lady L’Arachel. These beasts are hardly worth the effort. They fall to a single axe swing! What a waste!”

L’Arachel nodded solemnly. “I understand, Dozla. But regardless of how weak they are, we must clear every abomination from this place! It is our-“

She was cut off by… some sort of sound. Was it… screaming? She quickly looked towards Dozla, who looked just as surprised. Just as soon as they noticed it, it was followed by hurried footsteps, away from them. L’Arachel looked to Dozla, confused.

“You… heard that too, didn’t you?” L’Arachel questioned. Dozla nodded. “Who in blazes would wander into a place like this, though…?” He questioned.

L’Arachel waved dismissively. “Well, whoever they are, hopefully they realized how dangerous it is here and scurried off.” She excitedly pointed to a skeleton behind Dozla, who looked rather frightened upon being noticed, after seeing what had befallen their undead partner. “Ooh, get that one next, Dozla! Show them no mercy!”

“Gwah-ha-ha! Whatever you ask of me, Lady L’Arachel, I shall do!” Dozla laughed heartily as he charged toward the skeleton, who was now sorely regretting clawing out of the ground this morning.

If I brought Colm and Neimi into this map this would be so canon.

I love Colm being the mischievous big brother it’s so cute

#asks #inbox fic #fire emblem #fe8 #fire emblem sacred stones #sacred stones

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pengychan · 5 days

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[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 8

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** So, a rogue and a bard walk into an inn... ***

“You know, Durge, I don’t mean to insult Gale - he is the smartest man I know, probably - but coming up with names is probably not his strongest suit. Durge lacks a certain… I don’t know, it lacks a certain…”

“Je ne sais quoi?”

It was rare for Raphael to speak a single word while they made their way towards Baldur’s Gate through the night. As much as Raphael clearly loved the sound of his own voice when he held all the cards, he was much less inclined to speak now that he was markedly at a disadvantage. He usually walked at the back in sullen silence, with Wyll and Durge right in front of him carrying a torch and Astarion and Halsin further ahead, putting their darkvision to use. To be honest, sometimes as they talked among them they almost forgot he was there. His voice made them recoil, and turn back.

“Was that Infernal?” Halsin asked, and got a shrug in reply.

“Something similar.”

“Abyssal, then? The language of demons?” Astarion guessed.

“That does depend on who you ask,” Raphael replied. He didn’t seem inclined to add any further clarification, and the conversation turned to other matters as they walked through much of the night.

However, a few hours later Wyll went back to… well, names. If it were up to him, Durge mused, everyone would have such impressive-sounding names, no name would seem at all impressive anymore.

“I have grown attached to Durge, I’m afraid,” they chuckled. “Odd as it sounds. I think I may just stick with it.”

Wyll made a vague gesture with the hand carrying the torch. “I understand, but you could add something. For a little more flair.”

“I take it you have suggestions?”

“How about… D’urge?”

“... That’s exactly the same?”

“But, with an apostrophe!”

“Why?”

“Ah, a y is indeed a good letter, but not the best for every name. Dyrge doesn’t quite click, does it? Although perhaps--”

“Is this kind of talk how you bested the Netherbrain?” Raphael spoke up. He somehow sounded both weary and genuinely curious. “I for one can feel the contents of my skull shrink with every word you push past your lips.”

“I can take a dagger to your ears if you think that would help,” Astarion suggested without turning, and Raphael had the good sense not to respond. However, Halsin did turn, as did Durge. For Raphael to speak during their nightly marches was rare enough, but what really caught their attention was how weary he sounded - and it probably wasn’t because his brain was truly shrinking.

In the flicker of the torch Durge couldn’t see him as clearly as Halsin surely did, but when he stumbled on a root and barely caught himself before falling, they did notice how it took him a few moments to actually regain his footing.

“... You seem a little tired,” Halsin said, not unkindly. “Perhaps we should have ended that sparring march earlier than we did, after all. Did you not get enough rest before we set off?”

“I am perfectly fine,” Raphael snapped, and staggered again in a way that very much suggested he was not perfectly fine. To be fair he had recently recovered form grievous injuries, they had been walking through the night for nearly a week with heavy backpacks, and he was very much dealing with the limitations of a human body that was, frankly, a few years past its prime.

When Durge instinctively reached out to catch him, he leaned heavily on their arm rather than pulling away like he’d touched-- well, a rat. It made them all pause, and Durge cast Dancing Lights to better illuminate their surroundings. Once they could see clearly, Durge could tell that Halsin’s choice to describe him as ‘a little tired’ had been a kindness in itself: he looked exhausted.

“I think we have covered enough distance to warrant an early stop,” Durge said. After all, they were only hours away from dawn, and the drizzle that had bothered them through most of the night was starting to turn into actual rain. Against their feverishly warm scales, Raphael felt cold even through clothes; that may very well be the reason why he was not pulling away.

“... If we can push ahead just another couple of hours, we should reach a town on this side of the Chionthar,” Wyll spoke, gesturing to the path ahead with the torch and forcing Astarion to duck under it. “It’s called Sunridge. We passed right by it last time, but it has a really nice inn. They make some of the best rabbit in wine-currant sauce I’ve ever tasted. If the day will be as rainy as tonight promises, it would be nice to spend it in a room with actual beds in it.”

“Wyll, that sounds excellent. Not the rabbit, not for me, but a warm room and a real bed would be very much welcome,” Astarion declared, and turned back. “If the old man can bear another short walk, that is. Ah, don’t look at me like that. You are by far the oldest here.”

“Speaking of bear, I could turn into one and carry him,” Halsin offered, gaining himself a laugh from Astarion and a snort from Raphael.

“You really only want an excuse to change form, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not. I can walk,” Raphael snapped, and pulled away from Durge. Before anyone could point out the obvious fact he’d likely collapse within the hour by the looks of it, he pulled out the lyre and played a few notes. The sense of relief was immediate, and Durge looked around to see the others looked perkier, too. Of course, they thought, the Song of Rest. Useful little spell, that.

“Well, that was nice,” Wyll commented, gaining himself a scoff from Raphael. The magic had helped with some of the exhaustion, but clearly not with his mood.

“Glad to be of service,” he muttered, not sounding glad in the slightest. “Let us head to the inn, then. I shall gladly bear the walk as long as you keep quiet.”

They did reach the town and its inn within a couple of hours, as Wyll had said, only to find that the inn had no vacant rooms. The disappointment was somehow mitigated by the fact that, despite the late hour - or early hour, depending on what side of the day one looked at it from - the innkeeper was still able to bring them a hot meal.

“We’re hosting our annual Three-Dragon Ante tournament, from noon through the evening, and we’re full with players who came to sign up from out of town,” she explained, placing hot soup, roast rabbit, candied almonds and mulled wine on the table. “I do have some space available in the attic, if you have nowhere else to go, but I doubt more than two people could squeeze in there. I am very sorry.”

“Ah, I see.” Wyll sighed. “No need to apologize, it was bad timing from our--”

“Actually, the attic sounds good to me,” Astarion cut him off, and smiled at the innkeeper, gesturing to Raphael. From his part, Raphael had finished the soup and bread in a few bites and was staring intently at the candied almonds. Very intently. A little odd, that, really. He must be more tired than they thought, Song of Rest and all. “Our friend here is exhausted, and I expect a few hours of rest on a proper mattress would do him good. If you could accommodate the two of us in the attic, we’d be truly grateful.”

“Oh, I see. Well, that can be arranged. I’ll have mattresses and blankets brought up, give it a quick clean while you finish your meal. What do you think?”

“I think you’re a lifesaver, my friend.” Another bright smile and the innkeeper was off, leaving Astarion to turn to Durge. “You don’t mind, do you, love? Someone has to keep an eye on him, may as well be me. Staying out of the rain for a while might make my hair more manageable, too,” he added with a sigh, running a hand through impossibly well-coffered hair.

Later on, Durge would feel more than a little foolish for not immediately guessing Astarion was planning something: with the shared goal of getting to the Hells, there hadn’t really been any need to keep that close an eye on Raphael in the first place. But they were tired from the walk, and a little distracted by the fact Raphael was proceeding to absolutely demolish the entire dish of candied almonds by himself. They simply assumed Astarion wanted to sleep in a real bed for once, and couldn’t fault him for it.

“Of course, it sounds good. We’ll camp nearby and be back at sundown,” they said. Astarion smiled, and turned to Halsin.

“I know you’re probably looking for an excuse to wander around on four legs again, but would you stay in the tent with them today? Their sleep hasn’t been great lately.”

“That’s not nece--” Durge began, only for Halsin to cut them off.

“Of course, you need not even ask,” he said, with an eagerness that made Durge suspect they may not be getting a lot of sleep, and that settled it. The innkeeper announced the attic was ready just as they finished their meal, and they took their leave just as the sun rose.

Durge did not notice - none of them did - that their backpacks were only slightly lighter, their gold pouches gone.

***

When Israfel first arrived in Cania, all he had to hold onto was a bag of almond sweets.

There were other things he’d wanted to take with him, all his books and his lyre and his clothes, but everything had moved so fast. Duke Barbas - tall as he was wide, with a mane of black hair slicked with oil and flowing red robes - had refused a forced invitation to stay for a meal while Israfel gathered his belongings. Barbas had declined with a politeness that did little to conceal his disdain.

“As much as I’d love to accept, Lord Sunspear,” he’d said, very purposely misremembering the name, “I am in quite a hurry to return to Cania, as I have other duties to tend to and my liege lord is not a patient master. The boy’s belongings can be collected at a later time.”

Israfel had felt Lord Starspire’s hold on his shoulder tighten, pulling him closer to his side, but there was nothing he could do to keep him there and they both knew it. “His lordship can allow us a few minutes, I hope,” Lord Starspire had spoken, gaze low despite the furious tremor in his limbs, “for Israfel to--”

“Raphael,” Duke Barbas had cut him off, and dropped his gaze on Israfel. He’d smiled with no warmth. “Lord Mephistopheles is keen to choose the names of every spawn he welcomes home. Your name is Raphael.”

Israfel may have protested at being renamed like a dog changing master, if not for his surprise. He’d blinked, taken aback. “Mephistopheles? The archdevil?”

Barbas’ jet black eyebrows had gone up almost to his hairline. He glanced over at Lord Starspire, whose grip on Israfel's shoulder had turned heavy as stone. He looked surprised and oddly delighted. “You mean to tell me you never told the boy who sired?”

The man had swallowed, and looked down at Israfel, whose mind still reeled at the notion that his sire wasn’t just a devil, but the Lord of the Eighth. He had read stories about Lord Mephistopheles, his might and his fury, the power second only to that of Asmodeus himself. And he’d been reading about his father, all along? Israfel had stared at Lord Starspire, eyes wide, and the man’s own eyes seemed to veil with tears.

“Forgive me, boy. I’d planned to tell you, but I’d grown to hope this day would never--”

“Well!” Duke Barbas exclaimed, clapping his hands once and causing both to recoil. “Now that that has been cleared up, I think it would be proper for Raphael to discard that disguise. He won’t be needing it anymore,” he added, gesturing vaguely at him.

Israfel had wanted to tell him it was no disguise, that this body was real and his own just as much as the one with horns and wings, but the devil before him had raised an impatient eyebrow and he’d suddenly felt very, very small. He’d breathed out and willed his form to change back, from human to fiend. It gained him that smile devoid of warmth again, and the weight of his stepfather’s hand on his shoulder was gone.

A satisfied click of his tongue, and Barbas had nodded. “Much better. Your Lord father summons you, little duke. You may say your goodbyes, but be quick.”

The goodbyes had been quick indeed and most of it had been a blur, too fast for his usually nimble mind to catch up. He’d remember Nan holding him tight, whispering something-- You’re loved here, promise your Nan you’ll remember that, come back see us -- and he’d remember a few people crying, and the cook pushing something in his hand, a small bag of his favorite almond sweets.

Last had been Lord Starspire, who’d crouched and pulled him close in an embrace that Israfel-- not anymore, he had a new name now, didn’t he-- was too overwhelmed to return. He couldn’t make himself say anything, his tongue heavy as lead. “Be careful,” was all Lord Starspire managed to whisper in his ear, then he’d pulled back and stood.

As the boy nodded and stepped back as well, Duke Barbas had cleared his throat. “Come, boy. It’s time to join your kind,” he’d called, holding out a hand.

Raphael had taken it, and that-- love-- was that.

***

Astarion was not, usually, a details kind of guy.

He saw little point in planning and plotting when, more often than not, some absolutely insane shit would inevitably happen and make all the aforementioned planning and plotting entirely useless. He’d rather just keep his knives sharp and close at hand, and his eyes peeled.

This time, however, the situation did require some strategic planning and so plan he did. Quite brilliantly, if he said so himself, paragon of humbleness that he was. A perfect plan that would see them leave a couple dozen thousand pieces of gold richer, allowing them to get Helsik to open that portal to Avernus for them… and have enough left over to buy the best supplies available to give them a better chance at surviving the Hells than a literal snowball. It would all work out perfectly.

If the devil did indeed know how to play Three-Dragon Ante, of course. If not, Astarion hoped he was a very quick learner, or they would be utterly screwed. The others just might be a little cross to learn all their collective gold was gone.

Ah well. The die was cast, and it was time to find out how it landed.

“Hey, old man, wake up,” Astarion called out, shaking Raphael by the shoulder. He made a noise, trying to shake his hand off, to no avail. “Come now, you’re fine. I’ve let you sleep almost six hours.”

“What do you want, spawn?” Raphael muttered, voice thick with sleep. He sat up, blinking, but of course he could see next to nothing in the dark. Not anymore. “What time is it?”

“It’s time you get up and play your part to win us some gold, that’s what.”

“Wha--”

“Because we do need gold. Badly. You can play Three-Dragon Ante, yes?”

Raphael grunted, running a hand over his face. “I can play any game you mortals ever dreamed up and several you never did, obviously. But what--”

“And are you any good?”

“I am not going to deign that with an answer.”

“I’ll take it as a yes. Great. Come downstairs, the tournament is about to start.”

Raphael’s hand stilled midway through brushing back his hair. Astarion could see him frown while putting two and two together. “... The tournament the innkeeper kept going on about - you signed me up?”

“I did, so you can win that nice prize of ten thousand gold pieces. And I bet all of our money on you, so if we’re to pay our way into Hells, you know what to do.”

“And you didn’t think of asking me--”

Astarion laughed. “Don’t be absurd, of course I did! But you would have said no. Plus the others would have said no, and we really don’t need all that nonsense. It’s a nice simple plan, really. You go downstairs, sit your ass on a chair, and don’t get up until you’ve won every single game and claimed the prize. That should be easy for you. Unless, of course, you think you may lose to mortals.”

“If that’s an attempt at goading me into doing your bidding, it’s amateurishly transparent and--”

“By the way, if anyone asks, your name is Wulbren Bongle.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, darling. Up now, they won’t wait for you. And stop frowning, I’m sure beating scores of people at something will make you feel good.”

Raphael scoffed. “Would stepping on insects make you feel good?” he muttered, and Astarion smiled in the dark.

“Yes, actually.”

“... Of course it would,” Raphael muttered, but he did start feeling around for his boots, and Astarion considered the argument won.

***

“So, you found him well.”

“I’d say well is somewhat of an overstatement. He’s doing acceptably, for someone who was only recently turned into a mere mortal. Certainly an improvement from the state he was in when I took him to the Material Plane, though I regret to inform you his skill in bed has not likewise improved.”

“... That was not among my most pressing queries. Or anywhere among my queries.”

“Ah, I suppose that is not something that’s usually shared with one’s mother, hmm? Apologies.”

“You don’t look very sorry.”

“Don’t take it personally, dear. I’m never sorry for anything.”

Dalah held back a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I am no one’s mother,” she muttered. In the back of her mind, she remembered being terrified as months passed and her belly swelled. She’d heard enough stories to know what fate befell any mortal mother of a half-fiend, but ending the pregnancy would gain her an archdevil’s ire, and her husband’s certain death on the battlefield. In the end, it had been for Rahirek. It had always been for him.

She remembered locking herself in her rooms when flowing robes could no longer hide her state, and she remembered spending nights awake praying to any gods she knew of. She remembered what she promised, too.

Let me live, and I’ll learn to love the child.

But she had not lived, and that promise no longer mattered.

“... I was but the means to bring a spawn of Mephistopheles into the world,” she muttered in the end, her voice bitter as bile. Haarlep tilted their head.

“Well, you were rather successful. Half-fiends seldom live all that long. The least impressive ones are meat for the Blood War, and the more impressive ones tend to bite off more than they can chew sooner or later, and pay the price. Raphael lasted more than most. I am pretty sure he is Mephistopheles’ oldest living son, really.”

“It seems to me he did bite off more than he could chew.”

A shrug. “Eventually, yes. But it was always going to happen. That’s how cambions are.”

“That’s how all devils are.”

“Cambions most of all. Nearly all of them think they have something to prove, the silly things.” A shrug, and they grabbed an orange from a silver tray next to the bed. “And how’s the other half of him faring?”

“It’s hard to tell. It-- he seems restless. But he hasn’t attacked anyone without provocation. He has some form of control over himself, at least.”

“And the little trick with the name still works?”

“Yes. He stills whenever I speak it. He almost let me-- I think he may have let me touch him.”

“Good thing you didn’t, or you’d have to make do without hands. Still, interesting. It wasn’t a fluke, then.” Haarlep smiled, seemingly delighted, and finished peeling the orange to eat a slice. “That may be very useful.”

“Useful for what? What is it she’s planning?”

“My lips are sealed. You know that.” A pause, and they shrugged before eating another slice. “As in for talking, not for--”

Dalah held back a groan. “Yes, I know what you mean,” she muttered, already regretting trying to get an answer out of the incubus. They were far from the worst company to keep in Mephistar - not that it was a high bar to step over - but the longer any conversation went, the more she found herself thinking that being torn from the inside out while birthing a devil was perhaps not the most excruciating thing she had ever gone through after all.

“It’s not personal of course. She clearly trusts you to a degree - why else task you to give him the ring?”

Because it’s on me, Dalah thought. He’s my doing as much as Mephistopheles’.

Still, she chose to ignore the question. “Have you spoken with her at all since last time?” she asked instead. Duke Baalphegor could change her appearance just as easily as Haarlep could change theirs; it made sense that any communication would take place between the two of them, who knew in what disguises. It was the most sensible way to go about it, and Duke Baalphegor was nothing if not sensible. She had to be, to keep her loyalty to both Asmodeus and Mephistopheles for so many centuries. Until recently, that was.

In an official capacity at least, no one really knew the reason why Mephistopheles’ long-time consort had left Mephistar quite so suddenly. However, for the many qualities even his victims could begrudgingly recognize Mephistopheles possessed, subtlety was not among them. His bursts of temper were not all that rare, but few recalled seeing one quite as terrible as the one that had followed the disappearance of the Crown of Karsus from his vault.

… That may be partly due to the fact that most close witnesses to his tantrums rarely lived to tell the tale, truth be told, but that day his fury had been felt throughout the citadel, and probably through the entire glacier it was perched upon. And while there were many accusations one may move against the devils who formed the upper crust of Mephistar’s hierarchy, no one could accuse them of being stupid. They had immediately noticed that Duke Baalphegor had seemingly disappeared immediately afterwards, and put two and two together. More or less.

Among them, some whispered that Mephistopheles had destroyed her because he thought she’d played a role in the theft of the Crown; others said he had taken her prisoner. Others yet, more shrewd, knew that even in anger Mephistopheles would not risk Asmodeus’ ire quite so brazenly, killing such a close ally of his.

“Think of it, our Lord of Hellfire has always coveted Asmodeus’ throne--”

“Nearly every archdevil does, Quagrem, except perhaps Zariel with her obsession for battle. Or do I need to remind you what became of Levistus?”

“Ah, but none was ever brave enough to say as much in Asmodeus’ face. Why then would he sit on that crown and its power for so long, without using it for his highest goal?”

“It was the work of a mere mortal, who tried and failed to be something more. Perhaps it was not powerful enough to take on the Lord Below, even on his brow.”

“Or perhaps, Duke Baalphegor convinced him not to use it. Perhaps she even used your same arguments. Everyone with sense knows that Baalphegor’s diplomacy was all that’s kept the Lord of Nessus from removing Mephistopheles--”

“Do you truly think Duke Baalphegor had a hand in taking the Crown?”

“Oh, don’t be absurd, Nexroth. She certainly did not sneak in the vault like a common thief, and may not even know who did, but think of it - she convinces him not to use a powerful artifact against Asmodei, he listens to her as he always does… and when the Crown goes missing, he’s lost the chance to ever use it. To her great credit, Baalphegor balanced her role as Mephistopheles’ consort and close ally of Asmodeus for millennia, but even she couldn’t keep it going forever.”

“And you believe the Crown incident is what upset that balance?”

“Can you think of anything else that might have?”

A pause, a hum. “... Perhaps there is truth to your words. But if that is so, the Lord of the Eighth is in a more precarious position than ever before. As you said, without Baalphegor here, Asmodeus’ tolerance may run thin.”

“Indeed it might,” was the reply, and that had been the end of the conversation, because neither was foolish enough to push it further, to even voice thoughts of a possible demise of Mephistopheles. Neither of them had paid the slightest attention to Dalah, and why should they? She was one of hundreds of thousands debtors doing menial tasks in the citadel, the vast majority of them uttering to themselves whatever gibberish crossed their broken minds. No one’s sanity lasted long, with few exceptions.

Namely, Baalphegor’s personal attendants, all of them mortals who had been tricked or terrified into bearing children for her consort. As far as masters went, she was not unkind as long as instructions were followed… and she had extended some sort of protection over them, for none of them had lost their mind as other debtors eventually did. Not out of charity, clearly - it paid to have eyes and ears everywhere, those of debtors no one paid attention to - but Dalah cared little for her reasons as long as it kept her mind intact.

Except that now, suddenly, she could think of nothing but her reasons.

Saving Raphael, or at least part of him, had been a clear move against Mephistopheles - but to what end she couldn't begin to imagine. What game was she playing? Was it even just her game, or was it Asmodeus’? What role was Raphael supposed to play? What role could he play now that he was split into two beings, one enslaved and one a mere mortal?

Is he to be yet another lanceboard piece to sacrifice? Did I only delay his demise?

Not knowing ate at her, but one thing was clear: she may be on shaky ground but, very suddenly, even Mephistopheles’ position in the Hells didn’t seem all that secure anymore.

***

As it turned out, stepping on insects was making Raphael feel a great deal better indeed.

That was not something he planned on admitting to the spawn, of course. Not that he could have even if he wanted to, as players were not allowed to speak to anybody other than their opponents and the judges.

That, and Astarion was currently busy: it seemed that betting all the gold he had on him was not enough, and he had started his own little gambling ring. He was collecting small bets for each round from spectators whose chosen winner had clearly already lost, but who still had gold left to lose.

And lose it they would, unless they did the clever thing and bet on him.

Raphael smiled and leaned back on his chair, looking at the other five players in his group as they put down their cards. The only truly decent player, a half-orc with a sound strategic mind, had the highest strength flight by far; a quick calculation told her that Raphael could not possibly have a stronger one. Raphael allowed her a handful of seconds to celebrate her victory before putting down his own cards. The weakest flights by far, and yet…

“Unfortunately, my friend, I must claim this round.”

“What! Your flight is nowhere near--” she began, only to trail off when she properly paused to look at the cards.

Raphael smiled. “I have the Druid. The lowest strength flight wins,” he said, and smiled again - admittedly, only a touch smug - before leaning back to let the judge look over all flights and declare his victory, letting him pass the turn to the next game.

The announcement was not particularly well-received by the half-orc, who made her displeasure known by grabbing the judge and flinging him against a table where another game had just concluded. An impressive throw, considering that the judge was roughly the size of a particularly burly gnoll.

A brief bout of chaos unfolded, several of the judges banding together to throw out the sore loser. Raphael ducked under a thrown stool, took a moment to drink a mouthful of wine, and looked over to his left. Astarion was distributing wins and pocketing his fees, but he paused a moment to look back and grin.

Raphael didn’t quite smile back, but the corners of his mouth curled up just a fraction, and he raised the goblet in a silent toast. Another sip of wine, and he looked around again.

Several hours and many games in, the pool of players had significantly been narrowed down. They were now down to twelve tables and, in the last rounds, only one player would advance from each; two more games, then, and that entire travesty would be over with. Until then, he supposed he had no choice but to keep winning.

Not the worst task in the world, he had to admit. Compared to the dismal experiences he’d had in the past half a year, this was almost… acceptable.

As some semblance of order returned and the winners from their respective games were seated in groups of six, Raphael briefly considered losing on purpose right at the grand finale. Watching the spawn trying to explain to the rest of their companions where most of their gold went would be amusing, he had to admit… but they did need that gold to open up a portal to the Hells, so losing it would be too great an inconvenience to be worth it.

Perhaps the vampling’s little plan hadn’t been all that foolish after all. That, too, was something Raphael would definitely not admit aloud.

He turned his attention back to the game instead, and went ahead to stomp on a few more insects on his way to his first victory in a long time. A laughably small victory, in the greater scale of things, but a victory nonetheless.

May it be the first of many, he thought, and emptied his fourth goblet of wine just as finished his winning hand.

***

“I still maintain you should have told us what you were planning--”

“Thirty thousand gold.”

“That’s not the point I’m trying to--”

“Sorry, love. I can’t hear your point over the jingling of thirty thousand gold.” Half drunk on the bottle of blood he was drinking from, Astarion sat more comfortably on the tree branch he was perched on along with Wyll. He turned to Raphael, who was precariously sitting on another branch, and grinned, lifting the bottle. “Sharee!”

“... What?”

“Isn’t it Infernal for ‘cheers’?”

“It means turnip.”

“Ah. Well-- cheers for the Three-Dragon Ante champion of Sunridge, who just made us rich. We’ll very much enjoy carrying this money to Baldur’s Gate, where we’ll promptly spend it all to go, literally, to Hell.”

As Astarion set to work to empty the bottle, Durge shifted a little on the fork in the tree trunk they were sitting on, with Halsin in his cat shape sitting across their shoulders. They glanced over at Raphael. “... Congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

A shrug. “It was a childishly simple endeavor. Bragging would be poor form on my part.”

“He said, bragging,” Wyll muttered, but he seemed amused and even Raphael’s scoff sounded almost like a barely held-back chuckle. Durge suspected he’d had more than a couple of goblets of wine during the game, but said nothing of it and let their gaze wander back to the ground below, where they had set up two tents and started a fire, as visible as a beacon into the night.

If anyone had set out after them with the intent of robbing them of the winnings - more a certainty than a probability, to be quite honest - they couldn’t miss it. What they would hopefully miss was the fact that the several barrels near the tents contained smokepowder.

“... Well. How much longer are we supposed to wait?” Raphael asked, and Durge shrugged, holding back a yawn. Sharing a tent with Halsin was rarely conducive to a sound, long rest.

“I’d give it another hour at most,” they said, and they were not too far off: in the end, it took only about forty minutes before Halsin, still perched on Durge’s shoulder, hissed. They looked down to see shadows creeping at the edges of the small camp, a group of at least ten people. One dragonborn, from what Durge could tell, and a couple of dwarves, along with what was probably an half-orc and others who may have been human or elves - hard to tell.

In the flickering light of the campfire, they watched them split in two groups, each surrounding a tent; weapons were brought up, swords and axes, and they fell on each tent, the silence of night broken by cries and hollers as they proceeded to hack at the tents and… well, at the people they assumed to be inside.

“Not precisely professionals, these ones,” Wyll murmured. “Who wants to do the honors?”

“Oh,” Astarion whispered back, the grin almost audible in his voice. “I bet the devil wants to have a go. Don’t you, Raphael?”

“I’m surprised, spawn. I thought you’d be eager to end them yourself.”

“I’m just generous like that,” Astarion replied, his voice making clear he was also a little tipsy. Wyll reached to grab him by the shoulder, just to make sure he wouldn’t fall off the tree while he gestured widely at the scene below them. “Go on, old man. This shot’s all yours.”

“It will be my pleasure,” was the response, just as someone below spoke up.

“Wait a minute, there is no one he--”

“Ignis!”

The firebolt shot through the air, a streak of bright light in the dark. For a moment it illuminated the faces of the bandits below - one of them saw them, a dragonborn with blood-red scales, but it was too late to do anything - and then the barrels of smokepowder blew up in a deafening explosion that covered any screams, and left their would-be killers no hope for survival. Bit of a shame to lose two tents like that but, Durge figured, better those than their skins.

The shockwave of the explosion was powerful enough to make Astarion entirely lose his balance, but Wyll caught his leg on time and he just dangled for a few moments upside down, laughing at the carnage below. He glanced up with a grin, the flames beneath turning his hair into a bright halo.

“Admit it, devil,” he said, holding up the hand that wasn’t clutching the now empty bottle. “You had fun today.”

Raphael scoffed, of course; he seemed to spend half his time doing that lately, so it wasn’t surprising. What did surprise Durge was the fact he actually leaned over to grab Astarion’s hand and help him back up on the tree while Halsin dismissed his wildshape and cast an ice storm at the fire below, to keep it from spreading to the forest. That particular task covered, Durge’s attention stayed on Astarion and Raphael.

“I suppose that your antics do provide a sort of childish entertainment,” Raphael was muttering. “For those who care for it.”

“Sounds to me like you care for it.”

“Sounds to me like you’re drunk.”

“Sounds to me like you both had enough to drink,” Wyll laughed, only to recoil when both turned on him as one.

“Look who’s talking!”

“That’s a bold stand from someone who guzzles wine like water at all times of the day.”

“Hey, that’s not--”

“Amazed the Blade still recalls what end of the blade he’s supposed to hold, really.”

“Granted, your passable taste in wine makes it marginally more tolerable--”

“I only sample a little wine every once in a--”

“Oh, that’s sampling now? If I sampled necks the way you sample wine, I’d be leaving a trail of dead bodies in my wake.”

“I-- well--” Wyll groaned, clearly realizing he’d bitten off more than he cared to chew at the moment. “Oh gods, I did not sign up for this. Can you two go back to hating each other’s guts?”

“We still absolutely do,” Raphael pointed out, and Astarion grinned.

“The feeling is mutual,” he declared, and patted Raphael's shoulder hard enough to make him fall off the branch with a cry. Later he’d deny doing it on purpose, but as Durge nearly fell themself to cast Feather Fall and spare Raphael a very painful landing on icy ground, Astarion looked at them with a lopsided smile.

“You know, love,” he said, “I still think he likes us.”

***

[Back to Chapter 7]

[Back to Start]

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael bg3 #astarion ancunin #halsin bg3 #wyll ravengard #haarlep bg3 #hell to pay #bg3 raphael #bg3 astarion

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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 3 years

Text

what the fuck I just found this in my drafts I literally wrote this years ago, like a very significant number of years ago this is old shit

and apparently I just saved it and forgot about it??? anyway I polished it up and now it is here, I have no context and I barely even remember writing it, enjoy!

my apologies for the long post I still can't figure out how to do read mores in the app

edit: some lovely people have unformed me how to use readmores, thank you ~

-----

Jack was starting to wonder perhaps if he'd done something wrong.

It wasn't uncommon for him to accidentally say or do something to upset his wife or daughter, although usually when such an event occurred Maddie would glare at him to express her displeasure, and Jazz would always take the opportunity to tell him in exact detail what he'd done wrong and how to make it up to them (something he was honestly very grateful for).

It must have been something pretty bad this time, because both women wouldn't even look him in the eye.

Jack first twigged that something was off that morning during breakfast, when he sat in the empty chair by Jazz's side and gave his usual greeting, "Hey Jazzypants!"

She ignored his presence completely, steely eyes glued to the wall opposite her, they were puffy and red and Jack wondered perhaps if she'd been crying.

It had been a long time since her problems were easily pushed aside by her father's warm hugs and jovial attitude, he had stopped being able to handle a crying Jazz after she'd turned twelve and countered his attempts at humour by insisting that he 'stop trivialising her distress', whatever THAT meant.

Nevertheless, warm hugs and gentle jokes were the only method he knew and so he wrapped a comforting arm around her thin shoulders, noting that she continued to sit still as a rock, not even glancing his way as he tried to coax a smile out of her.

Jazz didn't say a word as she pushed herself away from her unfinished breakfast and left the room.

It was when he walked down to the lab intending to ask Maddie about Jazz that Jack started to suspect he may have been the one responsible, as it became apparent that the two had seemed to coordinate their punishment for whatever transgression he'd made.

"Hey Mads!" his voice boomed over the noise of his wife's current project. He strained to see through the bright light of her blow torch at the large gun-like weapon on the table. Jack whistled in appreciation is he took in the size of what he assumed was some kind of rocket launcher. "So what are we calling this one? Ooh! How about, The Fenton Spectre 'Sploder!"

Maddie's goggles made it difficult to see what expression adorned her face, but her tensed shoulders and the shaky grip on the blow torch told him that she was most certainly upset about something.

"Mads? Are you alright?" his voice quivered slightly as he took a few steps closer, seeing his wife this tense tightened a coil within his chest. Suspecting that he may be responsible added an extra weight to his stomach that he knew wasn't cause by the breakfast he'd skipped.

The light from the blow torch snapped off and Jack had to blink the bright spots it left behind from his vision, trying to peer through the blotches to find any indication that Maddie was going to acknowledge his presence. It seemed as though she'd looked his way for a moment but before his eyes could clear enough to meet hers she'd looked away again.

Jack watched, puzzled as his wife raised a hand to cover her mouth and catch the sob that ripped its way from her throat, she hadn't succeeded as the sound echoed across the lab and tore its way straight through Jack's heart, causing his eyes to sting and his throat to close up.

He reached a hand out to touch her shoulder, intent on giving her some form of comfort. He'd barely brushed it with his finger tips before Maddie stormed right past him up to the stairs, Jack had to quickly stumble backwards to avoid being trampled.

He couldn't imagine what he possibly could have done to elicit such a response from the woman he loved, but he knew for sure that he must have done something terrible for her to not seek him out for comfort like she did any other time she was upset. He just wished he could remember what.

Jack's shoulders slumped under the dim light of the glowing jars of ectoplasm lining the various counter-tops, he dry-swallowed a few times, trying to push down his confusion and distress before following his wife's light footsteps up the stairwell.

He found her in the kitchen, leaning against a counter with her goggles slung around her neck and her wild red hair loose around her head, abundant with the kinks and tangles Jack usually watched her brush out of it every morning.

"Mads?" Jack said, voice rough and quiet, "Look I... if I did something wrong I-" Jack's apology froze in his throat as Jazz poked her head through the kitchen door, eyes once again glancing right over Jack and instead locking onto her mother.

Neither woman shared a word as Jazz crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Maddie, who desperately grabbed at her daughter in return, burying her face in long red hair as violent sobs wracked her whole body.

Jack, at a loss of what else to do, wrapped his own arms around his girls. Nestling his chin on his daughters hair, he expected the annoyed scoff that Jazz usually gave him for his 'chin noogies', but it never came. Neither Fenton woman pushed him away though, so Jack considered it progress.

Finally, after an age of rocking and sobbing, Maddie's muffled words escaped through strands of Jazz's hair.

"Where is he? W-where'd he go, where'd he go?"

A deep chill coursed through Jack's veins, Danny? Had something happened to Danny? Jack pulled away, a million questions thrumming through his mind.

What happened? Was he missing? Was he hurt? Had he run away, been kidnapped, been kill- no. Jack shook his head violently, running a hand through the shorts strands of his thick hair. No he couldn't be. He couldn't be he couldn't be.

Jack's mouth was on the verge of catching up to his brain, multiple questions bubbled at his lips when he heard a voice echo down the stairs.

"Jazz?"

Jack took a steadying breath and grasped at the counter for support, relief flooding his body as his son rounded the corner and came into view. Danny was fine, Danny was safe. He had been fretting over absolutely nothing.

Then Danny's eyes locked into his.

A number of emotions flickered across his son's face, the first being a brief moment of sheer relief and delight, but it didn't last. Soon, too soon, Danny's dark brows pulled together and his lips curled sourly in confusion before a new expression swept it away. It was one Jack had never seen before.

He felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room, an icy chill prickled up his arms as the sudden wave of absolute horror overtook Danny's face. Jack couldn't tell if his son was about to break down crying or scream.

And then it was over. The tension in Jack's limbs released as Danny's face flattened into an unnaturally blank expression, he dropped his gaze and continued his way over to Maddie and Jazz. Once again it was like Jack wasn't even there.

Danny placed a hand on his mother's shoulder. "Maybe you should do another lap around town, you might find something today." he spoke softly into her frazzled hair.

Jazz looked at Danny strangely, her brother sent her back a glance that must have held some meaning because she then gripped Maddie tightly around the shoulders and led her straight out of the house, and suddenly Jack recalled that he still didn't know who it was that had gone missing.

"So... is anyone gonna tell me what's going on?" the jovial tone Jack meant to use came out flat and strained, Danny didn't look even remotely amused.

"I think you should sit down." Danny said quietly. He was no longer meeting Jack's eyes as he pulled out a chair for himself and one for his father.

Jack took the offered seat and prepared himself for the worst, obviously someone dear to Maddie and the kids had gone missing, Jack ran a list of all the people they knew, preparing himself for the worst, it was obvious Danny did not want to tell him what had happened. Perhaps whoever was missing was someone that Jack in particular had been close to? Was that the reason behind the horrified look on Danny's face? Because he'd realised he was going to have to be the one to tell him?

Something in Jack's gut told him he was on the wrong track, but try as he might he just couldn't imagine what else it could possibly be.

Jack kept his eyes on his son as the boy's thin torso straightened up in his chair and his icy blue stare bored into Jack's. Danny took a deep breath, then took several more, eventually he seemed almost ready to speak, Jack didn't rush him.

"Dad... you're dead."

#Bitter #danny phantom #lula's fanfics #jack fenton #I have zero context for this I barely even remember writing it #like this has to be 5 years old AT LEAST

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sharuruwrites · 2 years

Text

We Tried

Oikawa Toru x Fem!Reader

Tags: It'll be a surprise, Oikawa slander I guess

Excerpt:

"We tried, Toru." You cut him off before a tired smile curls to your lips.

A/n: This one is for an Oikawa fucker who is my friend, the same person who requested the Itadori angsts in my blog. I tried my best to capture his personality because I have only seen the first episode of Haikyuu. So, I do apologize in advance and pls don't come at me with torches and pitchforks.

Unedited btw

Disclaimer: I don't own Haikyuu and if I did, my friend would most likely pull up at my house and demand a dating sim of it.

Masterlist

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

Five years you've known an idiot named Oikawa Toru as you went to the same junior high as him. Idiot? Well, that's because of your first meeting at a park.

"She's finally awake, Trashykawa." A boy with dark brown hair and sharp green eyes scowled at his friend.

"Thank goodness!" Trashykawa(?), the boy with a charming brown eyes, exclaimed. "I thought my volleyball career would be immediately over with your carelessness."

Carelessness?! Wasn't he the one who hit you with a volleyball right on your face?! Where the heck did he got the audacity to blame you?!

Because of those questions, you snapped.

"First of all, It's your fault!" Your cheeks started to twitch in annoyance. "Second, What kind of set was that?! My grandmother could have done a better job than you and she's in her 70's!"

After that eventful day, he pesters you quite enough for you to bend and said yes to be his friend. On the bright side, Iwaizumi won't be suffering alone from keeping his childhood friend in check.

400 days into your friendship you realize your feelings for him has evolve into more than friends. Whenever he invites you to his practice matches or games, you always find yourself breathless as you watch him play.

Aside the passion he has for volleyball, he treats you different. Sure, someone call you a cliche bitch for falling the usual trope but in your defense, you strongly deny it at first.

Yet, slowly but surely, that idiot always find a way for you to fall for his charms. Eventually, you find his smiles more charming than they already are. His compliments makes your heart skip a beat. Lastly, his kindness finally seal the deal for you.

Three summers has passed ever since you first met him but something happened underneath the night sky full of fireworks. It left you becoming the happiest girl in the world.

"So..." You awkwardly rubbed your neck. "When did you realize you fell for me?"

"When I first saw you before you passed out."

"If I remember it correctly, you blame me for your mistake."

Your eyes widened at seeing Oikawa being flustered. "I was panicking, okay?! Can you blame me though?! When I hit the most beautiful girl I have seen with a volleyball!"

Embarrassed, you averted from his gaze to the side. "Whatever you say, Idiot."

"Correction," He pressed his lips against the back of your hand. "It's your idiot."

It was all sunshine and rainbows with the amount of affection you've given to him. In return, you'll be receiving twice of it with his hugs and kisses. Like a naive person, you believe that everything will be alright as long he's right next to you.

However, all good things must come to an end.

Two months after your 15th birthday where things get messy and the rose-colored tint over your eyes starts to fade.

It all started when Oikawa starts to not showing up on your dates. You give him a pass for it because he always look tired whenever you see him during homeroom.

But, You have to put your foot down when he didn't show up at the amusement park. Not only he made a promise to you, but also, you find out from Matsukawa that your boyfriend forgot he had a date with you.

Aftewards, you two have a very serious talk that ended up for the both of you to try this relationship to work.

You try to be more understanding by simply put his needs first and yours second. Yet, it's a failed attempt when you feel a sliver of resent.

He try to have more time with you by focusing less time on his studies. He can't forsake his practices. However, he gets an earful not only from his mom but also from the coach for failing a test three times in a row.

You two kept trying and trying until your both mentally and physically exhausted. If it weren't for Iwaizumi's intervention, you two might end up cursing and screaming at each other.

One full year finally give you the courage to break the news to him.

As the sun goes down, leaving with an orange sky, You patiently wait for him outside of the gymnasium. He finally arrive, heaving the bag on his shoulder as he walks towards you with his usual confident smile.

"I hope I didn't make you wait too long for me." Then, he press a quick kiss on your cheek.

"No worries," You reassure him. "Let's go home then."

Oikawa extends his hand to you and you grab it. Now that you think about it, this will be the last time you'll be walking next to him while feeling a sense of comfort from his warm hand.

A sense of wanderlust guides you two for a small detour in a park on your way home.

You find it ironic since this is the same park you two first met. You never thought that the place you start your relationship with him will be the same where you end things with him.

None of you dare to break the comfortable silence but you chose to pierce it with your voice.

"Toru," You hear a small 'hm' from Oikawa. "I...think we should break up."

Like a magic spell, he immediately looks at you with utter confusion. He can't believe what he's hearing, right now. Surely, you can't be serious?

"You mean a breather right?" Oikawa chuckles. "You gave me quite a scare with your joke."

Except, there's not a glint of mischief present in your eyes.

Only exhaustion.

"Listen, I-"

"We tried, Toru." You cut him off before a tired smile curls to your lips. "And even if we do have more time, I don't want to use it to teach myself to resent you."

Hearing the word resent from you finally brings your boyfriend from the suspended reality he used to be in. A reality where you and him are still madly in love with one another.

He clears his throat before he say anything else. "Then...May I hold you one more time?"

You only give him a nod and with a sense of urgency, Oikawa pulls you into a hug. The trembles in his hands, the tightness in his hug, and the deep breaths he takes – It's as if he's trying his best to remember everything about you.

It's feels like a forever had pass by when he lets go of you. Seeing the forced smile on his face almost falter your resolve, but you steel it through. You both need this.

With a small wave and smile, "I'll see you whenever at school then, Oikawa."

You start to walk away from him and not looking back. Meanwhile, Oikawa stared at your figure getting smaller until he can no longer see you.

He wants to call out your name and hope you'll run back to him. But he's too much of a coward to do so.

If his love is hurting you, then there's no other choice but to let you go. He can't bear the thought of you hating him.

Somehow, the box in Oikawa's pocket becomes heavy with guilt.

#oikawa x y/n #oikawa fic #Oikawa angst #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #haikyuu fic #oikawa toru angst #oikawa toru x y/n

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elsieys-blog · 3 years

Text

Perks of an insomnia-driven night.

Draco Malfoy x ravenclaw!reader

a/n: hi hello, this is my first draco malfoy au and I hope you get to enjoy it as much as I wrote it <3

contains: fluff, tension, cussing, insomnia, room of requirement, Draco's rings, and strangers to friends with benefits.

summary: due to another insomnia-driven night, you strolled and suddenly bumped into a particular Slytherin. He gave you a gift you would cherish forever.

———————————————————

A loud buzz from outside startled you as you curled up on your bed, pulling the blanket up to your torso to suppress the chilly weather. You couldn't keep count on how many times you've tried to close your eyes and think as if you went into a free fall in hopes of getting yourself adrift. But no. You've closed your eyes, opened it again, flat it again but it didn't help at all. You were widely awake despite the fact you hadn't eaten any chocolate at all.

You heaved a sigh before deciding to leave your bed and go on for a short walk on the dimly lit hallways. Perhaps the calmness and stillness of it would soothe you. You pushed the duvet away from your nearly naked body and slipped your slippers onto your feet. Standing up, you went over to the bathroom, did some basic hygiene before twisting the doorknob and leaving your dormitory in a swift.

God, even the Ravenclaw common room didn't look fancy anymore.

It usually does every morning to dawn. But every midnight and pass midnight? It looks like as though someone was murdered and students ought to stay hidden in their dorms.

As your quiet and soft trudges echoed the walls, only a few line of torches lighting your way, you exited the Ravenclaw common room and was now and finally outside. The hallways were now bigger and neverending, as if you had set foot into a deja Vu. A few floorboards you step creaked and so the snoring portraits on every corner and side of the wall yawns and went back to sleep.

You maintained a good slow and calm pace until you forgot to pick up your wand from your room. There was no going back now because it was a long way back. Now you had to squint your eyes so that it adjusted from the pitch black darkness.

Loud cawing from crows scare you sometimes so goosebumps prickled your skin. The only thing you could see was the dots of glitter from the sky and the shadows the oak trees casted on the ground. The shadow was formed strangely and it looks distorted so you held a deep breath, reminding myself that there was nothing to be bothered of. And that everyone was sleeping just fine.

As you walked silently, your head elbow-deep in thoughts, you didn't know you were now staring at a wall so called the Room of Requirement. The walls was approximately fifteen feet, bizarre patterns across it.

"Well, there's nothing else to go, so. . ." Your mind spoke and you closed your eyes, thinking of a plausible reason to get yourself inside. After a few seconds, you heard three faint clicks until the wall molded into a tall door. You glanced sideways before entering the room slowly.

You were met by the darkness once again, but this time it felt comforting. You walked and walked, taking in the unblemished and grubby furnitures hidden beyond the tall door. There were stacks and mounds of unused things that you felt suddenly guilty. As you roamed around without a route, a movement beside you caught you off guard and it piqued your interest. Is someone else here?

"hello?" You started, your brows furrowing as you followed the movement.

As far from your expectations, the anonymous person replied and it was a manly, cold voice. "What are you doing up in the middle of the night? Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

A shiver came across your spine. You shyly said, "aren't you supposed to be too?" You saw his shadow lurch and you took the chance to step forward.

He said, "doesn't matter why I'm here. This is my usual spot." His voice was a bit taunting and bragging.

"Well, you're hiding in the shadows so... And you're not supposed to hide if you claim this as your spot." You sternly said, keeping your gaze fixated on his moving shadow.

"I'm not hiding. Have you come to the realization that it's the dead of the night?" He sternly said.

"Yes, but— I think we should come over to the light so I can see you." You plead but you doubt he would actually do it.

"See me? Pathetic."

You sighed. "What? How about let's do it together? I'm really in the mood for some company right now."

The man was hesitant at first but he considered it. As much as he was irritated by someone invading his territory, he kind of wanted a company too. There was a strong exhale across you as he said. "Fine."

You gave an upturned smile, stepping into a small ray of light seeping through a window. The moonshine cradled your face as well as his. He stood tall and with poise in front of you with a neutral glare, looking down as if his eyes belittle you. "Better princess?"

You couldn't help but stare at his eyes. Wait- he was standing in front of you so he blocked the moonshine and you could only see his silhouette. You grabbed his sleeve and ushered him to a better angle. When you gently pushed his back on a partition, you finally got to look at his golden blue eyes, and the bits of freckles that stretched to his nose and cheekbones. His face was sculpted beautifully and even his nose shaped like a button. He was lithe and pristine. And you began to coil into a pit of fire.

"You're- Draco Malfoy?" Your voice shook.

"that's me." He smirked and it only made my headspace ablaze. "And you are?"

You were too busy admiring his features but your mind eventually rebounded. "I- Y/n- Y/n Y/l/n!"

He kept on smiling. "Oh, you!" He began to finally acknowledge your ghostly presence before. "You're the one I shared potions with on fifth year eh? The one where we got perfect scores?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Right. The only reason we got perfect grades for it was because of my skills actually. Don't forget that." He playfully said, beaming a wink at you which got your cheeks turning slightly crimson.

"Ha ha, very funny. I still helped though." You avowed.

"Mhm. But I did most of the dirty work and you just stood there, watching." He laughed and I chuckled. Fun times.

"Fine. Have it your way. I did watch instead of help. Happy?" You jeered but you couldn't help but glance at the collection of rings on his bony fingers. You went still for a moment and decided to ask the unthinkable. "Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"You- you have nice rings. It looks good on you." You faltered in the slightest but remained a tepid look. "Silver matches you to be honest."

"Silver?" His eyebrows rose and his voice was unbelievably sexy. "I get that a lot."

You keep on staring, checking out the patterns designed on the small ringed jewelry such as serpents and cursive letters. You didn't realize you were smiling until his fingers convulsed. "Y/n?"

You look back into his stormy eyes with embarrassment. "Oh I- I'm sorry, I was just-"

"It's obvious you really like them, don't you?"

"Well, I mean it's pretty but-"

"Would you want one?" His question was out of the blue so you nearly jolted.

Your eyes widen in full extent, the feeling of affection was set into extreme levels that you feel like you're about to explode. "Oh er- that's good thank you, but-"

"It's pretty I get it. And you seem to admire it as much as I do so ..." He paused, removing one of the glinting rings from his ring finger and held it into his palm. "Here, you can have it for me."

Your cheeks were flaming and it was intolerable. He was platonic and you never expected it from him. You sucked in a deep inhale, tongue-tied. "Oh my god, Malfoy, this was so unnecessary-"

"It's alright. Besides, I think that hand of yours need some color." He smiled tenderly, handing you the ring. His height was towering and it only made things worse for you to handle because of how the air thickens and the atmosphere suddenly getting hot.

"I d-don't know what to say." You stutter. "But thank you. Thank you so much, wow."

You got ahold of the metallic ring, inserting it on your ring finger but it didn't fit. It was expected of course. So you tried putting it on your middle finger but it was loose still. As you were about to put it on your thumb, his cold hands gripped your wrist making you halt mid-process.

"What is it-"

"Here let me help you out."

God, he was also wearing a silver glinting necklace. Now that is fucking sexy!

Draco unclasped his own necklace, putting either ends of it into the ring until it hang perfectly. When it was perfectly adjusted just how he wanted it to, he offered it to you without double thinking, a genuine grin sprawled on his handsomely face.

You were still deeply honored yet it felt... Wrong. "Draco- I really appreciate this but- it's yours and we barely even talk-"

"I don't care about that." He flawlessly said. "You remind me of someone I deeply love and... I guess this is my way of being grateful we met at this untimely night." He scoffed and you're a bit sure you saw a hint of blush on his face.

"Really?" You didn't bother asking who that person was since he probably wasn't in the mood to tell you. You were flattered by his words as you accepted his offer.

"Yes. Now take this, and wear it. I want to see your hands with my rings, Y/n." He flirtatiously spoke, giving you another wink.

You rolled your eyes at his ridiculous act. As you were about to out it, he stopped you once more and this time you were a bit provoked. "What is it again?"

He shrugged, and now the blush hidden in his handsome features was now displayed. It was cute seeing his pale, porcelain skin yo be tainted with a tinge of scarlet. He took the necklace into his hands and made strong and seducing type of eye contact. You nearly tripped at his look right now as he said. "Let's make this scene a bit... Romantic. And by that..." He clasped the necklace on your neck, his fingers ghosting your skin ever-so-slightly. "I get to do this to you."

You shudder, not just because of the cold weather, but because of his cold touch. It was so nice against your skin that you wanted him to do it again. You smiled and bit your lip to restrain any embarrassing words. "Draco, you're being too sweet-"

"Am I? People always like the idea of making me sound rude. It feels good I get to prove it to you that that is a lie." His hands sat ok your shoulder, the pad of his thumb caressing you pulse point between your neck and shoulder.

"I understand that. When people wanted to make you sound like a villain when truly your just trying to be genuine and basic?"

Draco grinned. "Yeah, Y/n. Something like that."

You contemplated for a moment, the tension between you building up because of how close your lips had been. It was merely an inch apart, your noses almost touching that you suddenly want to feel the saccharine taste of his lips and the soft texture pressed against yours. Maybe it would be the cure to your insomnia-driven nights. Maybe it would ease and alleviate you.

"You're pretty, you know?"

You were taken a back. You stared at his eyes still and didn't even realize his hands had dropped down to your elbows, pulling it closer to him, informing you that he wants your hands to lean on his chest—to feel how ragged his breathing had gotten just by her presence. You flinched a little and smiled.

"Oh?" Was the only word to roll out of your tongue.

"Mhm." Draco was lost in his own void, his concentration had dropped from your eyes and down to your gaped lips. "So pretty..."

Fuck...

You couldn't bear the growing impatience anymore and you knew to yourself that you had to do something about it. Something to help soften his heavy breathing. He looked tired and worn out. Fragile and about to burst. You had to do something about it quick before he breaks.

Shit!

And so you lifted your heel to match his height and pecked a kiss on the corner of his mouth. For a moment Draco closed his eyes to memorize the way both your lips linked—he was awestruck. He smelled good. So good that you wanted to give another go but was frustrated enough that he didn't slam you against the wall and leave you breathless from his aggressive kisses so you just stood there and watched him remember the unsolicited peck you just gave him.

"Y/n-"

"Can I kiss you?" You abruptly said without hesitation. "Again? And this time... Better?"

Shit..

He nodded in the slightest of movement before lowering his head and both your lips met anew. There were fireworks and butterflies erupting in your stomach and all you could feel was how graceful and subtle his tongue shifted against yours and it was pure bliss. And this time, it was rougher than you thought.

a/n: AHHH! i hope you liked this one, and also PART TWO IS COMING SOON! sorry, I left y'all in a cliffhanger ;))

#draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy one shot #draco imagine #draco one shot #draco fanfiction #harry potter #draco x y/n #draco x ravenclaw!reader #slytherin #ravenclaw

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silly-bean · 3 years

Text

twas struck with a shower thought that turned into me writing 1k for a scene in the middle of a fic that hasn't been written yet... so yeah, have some Zack and Cloud angst.

~~~~~~

"You expect me to believe that? That Sephiroth was the 'tragic villain' and that I died to save you: the 'big hero'?" Zack sneers down at him, his eyes flaring in his anger. "You do realize how that sounds to me, right? Like you're just spouting off your greatest fantasy where Sephiroth falls from grace and you're just conveniently there to save everyone by putting him down. Why don't-"

"I'm not a hero, Zack," Cloud says, voice small.

"Really?" Zack rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "You're gonna pull that shit now? What, digging for a compliment or something? Want me to pat you on the back and tell you you did a 'good job ridding your world of the big bad man'? I can't believe I'm still in here listening to this shit. We should have-"

"I'm not a fucking hero, Zack," Cloud snarls, feeling his own eyes starting to flare. "I didn't even make SOLDIER. I was a nobody who returned home a failure and was only able to kill Sephiroth the first time through pure adrenaline and the lucky fact that I didn't register as a threat to him."

He's standing now, his presence spilling out of his usual tight control and filling the room. "I spent the next five years being so utterly useless that you had to break me out of the lab and drag me across the planet and then die for me."

"So, what? Are you expecting a repeat performance? Want me to take the bullet for you again so you can 'honor my sacrifice' and save another world?"

"I LOVED YOU!"

Zack froze, his eyes wide and mouth parted. Cloud looks away, down at the table separating them and swallows.

"I loved you, Zack.” His voice is quiet again, thick with grief and guilt that he still hasn’t completely shed even after all these years. “But you were taken, dating Aerith, so I kept quiet, carried a torch until I sat beside you in the rain and mud, barely coherent and fighting mako poisoning as you passed your sword on to me and told me to live for you. And then I forgot you existed.”

He risks a glance up at the other man. Zack has closed his mouth, pressed it into a thin line, and his eyes shine with an emotion that he can’t begin to name. Cloud looks down again and clenches his fists, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I left you there in the mud and dragged myself to Midgar and then succumbed to the mako again and the only reason I remembered my name was because someone I knew found me and told me what it was. She assumed I was a SOLDIER and I accepted that fact, took the stories you’d told me, and turned them into memories since mine was so full of holes.”

Cloud’s struggling to get the words out, a lump in his throat choking him up as tears spring to his eyes. The image of the Zack in front of him is flickering, flashes of his Zack smiling up at him covered in mud overlapping with the other’s horrified expression. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to pull air into his lungs.

“I was with you in your last moments and couldn’t remember in time to let your girlfriend know what happened to you before she died. It took my best friend literally going into my head and fixing it for me to remember you existed at all, let alone how you died and what you’d done for me.” He swallows, clenching his jaw, and opens his eyes again. He looks up, nervous.

Zack stares down at him, hands loose and open at his sides. He looks away, clenching and unclenching his fists, before he lets out a heavy breath and flops back down into his chair. He scoots it forward and rests his elbow on the metal table, pressing his clasped hands into his lips.

“I’m not a hero because I decided to chase Sephiroth for revenge,” Cloud continues. “And, when it mattered, I couldn’t save anyone. I couldn’t save Aerith even though I was right there. I couldn’t save you, him, whatever. Sephiroth wanted to fight me because I got lucky one time and then was unlucky enough to attract Hojo’s attention. The only reason I ended up helping save the planet from Meteor was that I had friends who weren’t gonna tolerate me sitting around regretting everything I’d ever done.”

They sit in silence for a while, deep in thought. Cloud suddenly regrets his outburst; this Zack isn’t his Zack, he doesn’t need to deal with all his shit on top of everything else he’s dealing with. He takes a moment to reexamine his mental bonds, making sure they haven’t come unblocked in his burst of emotion and mollified by the fact that he probably wasn’t beaming his self-loathing directly into the other’s head.

“Then why did you come?” Zack asks, his eyes darting up to meet his. “You said you had a choice, didn’t you? You chose to come here, to help us. If you’re not a hero, then why?”

That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Why was he here? Why did he decide to jump headfirst into another dimension and help them solve their problems?

“It’s nothing big, really. Even after everything, with the healing I’ve done and the forgiveness I’ve received, I still feel guilty. I feel like there’s still more I could have done. This is my way of atoning for it, I guess.”

Cloud shrugs, breaking eye contact and looking back down at his hands. He feels Zack’s eyes on him, scanning, evaluating his honesty. Trying to understand, to know why someone who looks like his greatest enemy would want to help them. Eventually, he must reach some kind of conclusion and sighs heavily. He stands, Cloud looking up to watch the movement. Zack stares down at him, face a mask of indifference once more.

“Thank you for your time. Someone will be down to escort you back to your cell in a bit while we discuss what we’ll do with you.”

He turns, pushing the chair back into place and walking to the door. It buzzes open and he turns to give one last long look at Cloud before stepping out. The door slams shut behind him, leaving Cloud alone with his thoughts once more.

#my fanfic #fic snippet #phantom be still #calamity cloud au #ff7 #ffvii #ff7 fanfic #cloud strife #zack fair #zakkura #im having feelings about these boys #and this fic that i wanna write when i have more time #please bug me about it if you want more!#my aus

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stray-kids-react · 3 years

Text

Having surgery scars

Masterlist

...

Bang Chan

° You had no idea about Chan's crush on you, not many people did. The only person who knew about his crush was himself and his best friend Felix. You never thought he could love you due to how you saw yourself.

° You never wore cropped tops or anything that had the chance of rising up too high, even during the summer. He knew about your scar, but never saw it or knew how much you hated it.

° One day he was going to visit you by surprise, using the spare key you gave him to his advantage. You walked out in a cropped pajama shirt and underwear, not expecting your best friend/crush to be in the room.

° You scar was on your stomach, it was deep and noticeable to whoever walked by when itt wasn't hidden under clothes. You thought it gave off a negative impression, while Chan thought it gave you a unique beauty.

° Before you could cover yourself up, Chan gently embraced you in a hug. Calming your conscious, his fingers gently tracing over the scar. He placed multiple kisses to your head, asking you why you are so self conscious.

"Why can't you see how beautiful you are?"

Lee Know

° You were very clumsy all throughout your life, constantly falling and running into things. But the worst scenario bad to be when you fell and someone kicked you straight in the face.

° This led to you having to get surgery on your broken nose, leaving a scar on the right side of your bridge. It wasn't overly noticeable unless you were very close to your face, which Minho happened to be.

° He wondered how he never noticed this scar before, especially since he loves giving you kisses on the top of your nose. He knew you were clumsy, but wondered how your only scars ended up in such a specific place.

° Minho gently traced over the scars, finding it cute how you scrunch your nose immediately at the touch of his fingertips. Before you scrunched your nose, he noticed that your nose must've been stitched.

° He assumed you did this by accident, by either falling or hitting your face with something. Minho was surprised to hear that someone did this to you intentionally, wondering why someone would hurt you.

"I'm losing hope in humanity at this point."

Changbin

° You has multiple scars on your arms due to an accident you had as a child, this is why you'd constantly wear long sleeve outfits. Feeling that people may become worried or grossed out if they ever saw them.

° But after being asked out by Changbin, you knew you couldn't hide your scars from him for too much longer. He didn't seem suspicious of your long sleeves, until you spent your first summer together.

° You were both sweaty messes who were slumped in front of multiple fans, he was just in his boxers while you had no pants but still your long sleeve shirt. You were turning red by how hot you were becoming.

° He looked at you astonished as how you hadn't passed out from the heat yet, but Changbin was mostly worried since he knew it wouldn't be long til you hit that point. So he moved the fan closer to you.

° You had enough of the heat, telling him to look away as you took of your shirt. Turning your back to him once you said it was okay to look. Changbin noticed your arms even if you tried to hide them, they were gorgeous.

"You will always be a super model to me."

Hyunjin

° You had a few scars on your neck, and you were embarrassed to admit where they came from. Even if you were close to Hyunjin and loved him dearly, you still felt silly admitting it came from a drunk bar fight.

° Hyunjin was curious to where the scars came from, but didn't want to pressure you into telling him in case it was from something traumatic. So instead he would just press soft kisses along the scars.

° You felt bad when he admitted ab embarrassing story of his to you, since he was revealing a moment that stuck with him in a bad way. Yet you were still hiding your scar story from him as he waited patiently.

° His puppy eyes and sweet smile made its mark on your heart, the story leaving your mouth hesitantly. You couldn't look him in the eyes, your cheeks were bright red from embarrassment. You felt stupid.

° He stroked your heated cheeks, turning your head so you'd make eye contact. All of your worries washed away when there wasn't a hint of judgement in his eyes. Only pure love and adoration were held in them.

"I won't judge a simple drunken accident."

Han

° You had scars all over your hands from a burning accident with a kettle, you were self conscious of your hands. But tried to hide those feelings when around other people, not wanting to make them worried.

° But your best friend Jisung noticed when something bothered you, your shimmering eyes would dimmer whenever someone would give you nicknames like 'Freddy Kruger' or 'The human torch'.

° Jisung loved you, even if you were too dense to catch onto that fact. He loves you and wouldn't let someone make you feel like garbage, which led to him defending you countless times throughout the years.

° You had this one fake friend that always rubbed him the wrong way, she would go out of her way to make fun of you and praise herself. Calling you ugly, and getting grossed out whenever you touched something.

° During a game of truth or dare, she dared anyone in the room to hold hands with you. No one was stepping forward, until Jisung crawled over. He didn't just hold them, but he also placed kisses along your knuckles.

"I would've done this without the dare."

Felix

° You were never self conscious over the scars on your legs, if anything Felix usually had more self doubt moments about himself than you did about yourself. Which led to you giving this angel SO MUCH LOVE. (He deserves the world ngl)

° But when visiting Felix back stage, a make up artist mistook you as an idol and suggested finding something to cover your scars. This left an unfamiliar sting to your heart, never thinking it was an issue.

° You say in one of the chairs back stage, placing your coat over your legs as you awaited your boyfriend. It wasn't long before Stray Kids were ushered to where you were sitting, all of them hyped and energetic.

° Felix knew you well, immediately suspicious as to why you were hiding your legs. He had many scenarios in his head, you were cold, period problem, hiding a present, no underwear. His mind was racing.

° But when he saw your sad smile, he knew it had something to do with your scars. Someone must've said something insensitive, and they hurt his favorite person. This wasn't the first time this happened.

"Don't hide your beauty from me, lovely."

Seungmin

° Seungmin witnessed how you got a scar on your back, you were running to catch the bus when you tripped over your feet and rammed into the glass of the bus station waiting area. Causing many gashes to appear.

° He rushed you to the hospital, watched the stitches and bandages go on, helped you up from the bed, helped you go to sleep, gave you medication for the pain. He made sure you were in perfect condition.

° Seungmin felt terrible that you got so severely injured, even though he couldn't do anything to prevent it from happening. He still felt guilty, even when you reassured him that it will be okay and will just leave scars.

° Scars were left on your back, and everytime he witnessed them he felt a slight ping to his heart. Wishing he could've done something to help you, but he doesn't want to relive that moment so he tries to ignore it.

° You asked Seungmin for a massage after a long day, laying down on the couch as he sat on top of your legs. His hands traced down your scars, rubbing the oils onto them gently as if they still hurt you.

"You look like a cute little tiger cub."

Jeongin

° You sometimes forgot that you had scars on your thighs, only remembering them if you see them. They don't effect you in any way, especially since they came form a bike accident when you were very young.

° You and Jeongin both had long days at work, so you both wanted to have a relaxing bath together. This was one of the moments where you forgot about your scars, until Jeongin pointed them out.

° He was worried they were recent, concerned if someone did this or if you did it to yourself. But you calmed him down with a kiss, before explaining it was from an accident with a bike when you very young.

° Jeongin covered you in bubbles, before cupping water in his hands and washing them away. He started around your thighs, rubbing them lightly after they were washed off. He felt a bit bad for bringing them up.

° You did the same treatment for Jeongin, relaxing in his arms for a while until the water was beginning to cool. He dried you off, playfully whipping your thighs with the towel, giggling as you stared in shock.

"It's part of my drying treatment baby."

#stray kids #kpop #changbin #skz scenarios #stray kids reactions #han jisung #hyunjin #jeongin #lee know #bang chan #felix skz #skz seungmin #skz requests #skz reactions

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sevlgi · 3 years

Text

hit and run teaser

group: blackpink

pairing: rosé x fem!reader

genre: a shit ton of angst, some fluff

contents: idol!rosé, actress!y/n, closeted!rosé, costar!au, slight enemies-to-lovers, unhappy endings because i’m a bitch, a lot of attempted cinematic parallels, italicized dialogue is when they’re speaking as their characters

synopsis: There’s absolutely no reason for you to get involved with a costar who you should hate by all accounts. But of course, you manage to forget that love is usually more like a hit-and-run than a cruise ship.

a/n: a year after selfish, i think i’m gonna make june 1st rosé fics into a tradition! i’ve never done fic teasers before, but this fic is my baby lol... so enjoy 😉

release date: june 1st 2021

Perhaps it’s just your luck that the first proper scene you have to film with Chaeyoung is your culminating kiss scene.

It shouldn’t be in the trailer at all-- according to the scene schedule, the two of you would’ve filmed your scenes together in chronological order, and the kiss would’ve been at the end, hopefully after a reconciliation between the two of you. However, for some inexplicable reason, it’s going to be the first one you do, without a single second of rehearsal.

You’re a one-take wonder, and you always have been, but you can’t help but think about how impossible it’s going to be to pull off such an intense scene with someone you just fought with. Sighing, you lean over to fiddle with your hair; it’s slightly tangled now, and there’s a fake scrape on the side of your cheek.

At a side, Chaeyoung is similarly beat up, fake blood smeared on the left side of her face. Her long hair has been put in an updo and then taken down, and parts of her dress are ripped; to you, she looks more like Helen than herself now.

“Okay, everyone, are we ready? Positions, please!”

You arrange yourself on the ground where you should be, holding a handkerchief to your cheek like instructed as Chaeyoung stands by the camera to run to you. Exhaling sharply, your eyes meet hers for the first time in days. “Action!”

Chaeyoung sprints to you as soon as she’s cued, falling in front of you in a heap. “Luna,” she gasps, reaching a gloved hand out to the ‘injured’ half of your face.

“I’m fine,” you smile weakly. The camera hovers by Chaeyoung’s shoulder, and you soften your gaze as much as possible as your hand comes up to hers.

The other girl only moves closer, her eyes scanning yours and her dress surrounding the both of you like a sea of gauze. Her nose is almost brushing up against yours, and you mutter softly, “Be careful. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want.”

“Well, what do you want?” Chaeyoung implores, almost inaudible. Her breath quivers, and you feel it when you reach forward to cup her jaw. “Luna, what do you want right now?”

“I’m not making a move until you tell me to,” you shake your head.

The blonde’s hands slip off your face, and she braces herself on your thighs instead. She laughs breathily, “Coward.”

“Your coward, huh?”

Chaeyoung pauses, scraping her teeth across her bottom lip. It’s so quiet that you think you could hear a pin drop, and the torches held up by the crew flicker across her face so naturally. “If you want to be.”

There’s probably another line that comes after, but with Chaeyoung so close to you, it swims blurrily in your mind. So instead, you just lean up, pull her down, and connect your lips.

She plays along, thankfully, stumbling slightly in her character’s eagerness to get a little closer. The only thing you can hear is Chaeyoung’s slight gasp when you let your hands wander down to her waist, and it’s almost scary how absorbed you are in the scene.

“Okay, cut!” Seulgi’s shout breaks you from your trance, and you hold your hands up as if in surrounder. Chaeyoung’s cheeks are red yet again when she sits up, staring anywhere other than you.

Your director hops off her chair to run towards you, a huge grin on her face. “That was perfect,” she shouts. “Y/N, I think you forgot a line? But it worked out amazingly. The one-take wonder, right?”

You grin when she pats you on the shoulder, a little harder than necessary. Apparently, all your worries were for nothing, as you and Chaeyoung stand to monitor your own shot in the screen next to Joohyun.

You can’t even hear all the praise she showers on the two of you, and you pay no attention to all the details she points out that apparently showcase your perfect chemistry with your costar. All you feel is a slight squeeze on your hand, hidden in the mess of fabric by your side.

#blackpink #blackpink x reader #rosé x reader #rosé imagines #rosé scenarios #blackpink imagines #blackpink scenarios #blackpink reactions #blackpink in your area #blackpink is the revolution #blackpink icons #rosé icons #park chaeyoung #rosé #blackpink rosé #blackpink chaeyoung #park chaeyoung x reader

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wagner-fell · 3 years

Text

I am still very new to this website and I don’t know how link a post but this fic is based on a post by @sandersgrey

(If someone reading this knows how to link a post please either explain it to me or link it in the comments because that post is *amazing*)

“Hmmm,” said Tessa, depositing Mina into Kit’s waiting arms and examining her buzzing phone critically. She shot a quizzical look in his direction.

Jem looked up from his novel. “What is ‘hmmm’, my love?”

Kit mimed vomiting but stopped dead in his tracks when she replied, “it’s Astrid’s mother. You remember her from parent teacher night, don’t you, my darling?” Kit swears they were being extra insufferable just to mess with him but he didn’t have the time to be annoyed when Astrid’s. Mom. Was. Calling. Tessa.

To understand why Kit was panicking as much as he was, you must know that Astrid’s mom was incredibly chill. She never got mad. The worst punishment she’d ever given her daughter was taking away her iPod for a week so she couldn’t listen to Mitski.

Was she calling about last night when Astrid, Mari and Kit threw eggs at the Shadowhunter’s that were giving Mari’s pack a hard time for no reason? No, that couldn’t be it. She’d given them the eggs.

Could the call be about the day before yesterday when Kit and Astrid got distracted doing homework and ended up snapping the coffee table clean in half while battling gladiator style with pool noodles? No, that wasn’t it. She’d just handed Astrid a twenty and told them to go to Kevin’s parents' shop and get a new one. Was she pissed because they ended up spending the money on ice cream instead? No, they ended up finding a table for free in the rubbing bin outside a fancy hotel.

Kit clutched his sister to his chest and prepared for the worst.

“Seo-yoon! What can I do for- Oh, hello Astrid!” Tessa paused briefly, presumably to listen to Astrid speak, and Kit sighed in relief.

“Kit is occupied at the moment but I can relay the message.” Another pause. “Oh don’t be frightened of me. I’m a tots rad mom. Your secret is safe with me.” Kit felt his face flush red as he heard his best friend’s laughter echo across the living room. “Okay! I’ll let him know. He has to get Mina to sleep before he can leave though. Lord knows he’s the only one who can these days.” Tessa chuckled at something Astrid said before wishing her good luck in her endeavour and ending the call.

She turned her attention back to Kit. “Astrid needs your help breaking into your teacher’s home to retrieve her cell phone.”

Kit blinked at her, dumbfounded. “You aren’t mad I’m going to go break the law?”

Because of course he was doing it. Astrid’s dad had bought it for her and he was extremely cautious about money. That was one of three things Kit knew about her dad. He was cheap, he lived in America and he loved the movie Fight Club.

Tessa ruffled Kit’s hair affectionately. “Please. I’ve raised two other Herondales. At least I know about this particular adventure beforehand.”

Mina began snoring softly and Kit handed her back to her mother. He grabbed his bag and started his journey to the door when Tessa added, “she also told me to say hi to a ‘daddy Kit’. Are you ‘daddy Kit?’”

‘Daddy Kit’ closed his eyes and wished for the sweet release of death.

“Why is Kit a daddy,” Jem asked, genuinely confused. “Aren’t I the daddy?”

Kit swung the door open so fast not even a speed rune could have aided him. But not before I heard Tessa reply, “Lily Chen certainly thinks so.”

Mrs. MacNamara clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we all go around and say a few things about ourselves?”

Kit buried his face into his hands. He’d been relieved when no other teacher had fulfilled the Disney channel stereotype of making every student introduce themselves to the new kid. But Mrs. MacNamara didn’t even seem to realize what she was doing.

All Kit’s fellow classmates groan. Expect one. Her hand shot up immediately. She was short, like smaller than Clary short. She wore a baggy pink shirt with the words ‘Queen Glimmer of Etheria’ sewed on with purple sequins and tight black jeans. Her colourful, choppy hair was in a low ponytail and she flew a few strands out of her eyes as her hand wiggled in the hair.

Mrs. MacNamara pointed at her. She stood up and smiled at Kit. “Hi. My name is Astrid. My hobbies include making my little cousin’s girl Barbies kiss, as it should be, and watching television shows where everyone is a terrible person so you can love all of them!”

“And what shows might that be?” asked Kit, already in the process of pulling out his phone and opening the Notes app.

“Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, Grey’s Anatomy again because it’s seventeen seasons as of right now. And to be fair it practically became a different show when they killed off Mark Sloan.”

“That’s enough, Miss Yang,” said Mrs. MacNamara. Astrid sat down and winked at Kit. Then she took out her phone and airdropped him a complete list of all her favorite shows, along with her number.

After Blessica’s pre-birthday birthday party, they went to Cirenworth and stayed up till four A.M. binging them.

They met outside a queer dry bar called Aries Not Welcome, the unspoken gathering place of the Merry Hoes. It was run by a poly lesbian couple in their mid-thirties. Quinn, Sydney and Aliyah may not have served alcohol but at least they were open 24/7.

“Did you bring the shit?”

Kit gave her a look. “The shit? How conclusive.”

“Shut up. You know, the shadowhunter thing.”

“The shadowhunter thing?”

“The, the, the glow stick that you draw with.”

“The glow stick that I draw wi-“ Kit closed his eyes briefly. “Do you mean a stele?”

Astrid snapped her fingers. “That’s it!” Kit shook his head in exasperation, smiling fondly. “I borrowed a torch from Quinn, let’s move.”

“Should I be worried that you know where Mr. Smith lives?” questioned Kit as he followed Astrid’s lead through the park.

“Should I be worried that your mom was fine with us breaking and entering?” she shot back playfully. Kit pushed Astrid and she fell off the path, laughing all the way.

“You called me ‘daddy’ to my mom’s face.”

She just laughed harder, slinging her arm around Kit’s shoulder. “It was over the phone, Christopher. And as I should.”

“Pffffttt. Why did you get your phone taken anyway?” She put her hands into her jumper pocket and looked at the ground. “Astrid.” She remained silent. “Astrid?”

She mumbled something under her breath. “What?” asked Kit.

“I WAS READING NINEJ FANFICTION!” she shouted.

Kit gasped. “I thought you were a die hard Kanej shipper,” he whispered.

“I’m a multishipper, okay?!” she replied, equally quiet.

“Does Blessica know?”

She shook her head. “And she will never find out.”

Kit saw the opportunity and he seized it. “She’ll never find out as long as you never call me daddy in front of either of my parents.”

She removed her arm from his shoulder and guided them out of the park, in the direction of the many apartments that lined this side of town. “I hate you.”

“Well, so does Mari. You're not special, Ast.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know Mari doesn’t actually hate you, right?! They’re just still in the enemy phase of your enemies-to-lovers romance. She only dislikes you because they feel something for you but they don’t know what so she interrupts it as loathing. In reality, her inner soul knows you’re hot and shmexie.”

Kit didn’t know how to process this so he just nodded and follow Astrid in silence to Mr. Smith’s house. (Plus, he was kinda glad that, according to his best friend, he had a little more time for Mari to ‘discover their true feelings’. If Kit screwed this up, he was out of countries to run off to.)

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What,” asked Kit, turning around to face Astrid and closing the drawer he was rifling through. “Did you find your phone?”

“Yeah. But I also found Blessica’s. She was Snapping Kevin. Platonic my ass. But he took the fucking trans flag out of her phone!”

Kit snatched Blessica’s phone out of her hand to examine it for herself. She was telling the truth. Where the glitter pride flag usually rested was just a clear purple case. Kit couldn’t believe his eyes.

“It’s one thing to misgender her every day.” Blessica had forced all four of the other Merry Hoes to sign a contract saying they wouldn’t do anything to harm him because of it. “But this is the last straw. You know what we have to do.” Oops.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any spray paint.”

Kit eyed Mr. Smith’s pink sofa, blue bar stool covers and white picture frames. “I think I have something better in mind.”

It would have been easier for both parties to just zip off the sofa cushions and tape them to the wall but by ripping them off in strips, they ensured he would have to buy new ones. And judging by the car he drove and the fiji water in his fridge, Mr. Smith could definitely afford it.

That reminded him, “I’ll finish up with this. Go put all his fiji water into my bag.” Astrid saluted him and ran off. “Wait.” She stopped and looked at him. “Steal all the remotes you can find.”

“How is he not awake?,” asked Astrid as they ripped the fabric of his seating from the stool.

He shrugged. “Don’t question it.” He shoved the bundle of cloth into her arms. “Glue this above the pink. I’ll handle the frames.”

“Say the magic word,” she sang.

“Please?”

“No. Lesbian. Come on, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Kit laughed quietly. “Can you lesbian glue this above the pink?”

She grinned at Kit. “It would be my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hello! Sorry I haven’t written anything in so long. School just restarted and it has been…a lot.

@adoravel-fenomeno @thechangeling @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @noah-herondale-lightwood @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @maxboythedog @book-dragon-not-worm @hardlymatters

Very sorry if I forgot anyone. Lmk if you want to be addEd/removEd from the tag list.

#mari the werewolf #mari machado sotomayor #mari machado #kit rook #kit herondale #astrid yang #blessica reyes #Kevin chu #tessa grey #jem carstairs #lily chen #mina carstairs

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jilyesplz · 3 years

Text

Helpless: a TLAT Drabble

‘Cause I think I owe you all something sweet.

Six months together, and still he left his own parties just to watch her exist.

James half-kicked himself as he stepped out through the portrait hole into the cold corridor. She probably wasn’t even here…perhaps she’d holed up somewhere with Mary or Price or Shack…perhaps she’d wandered up to the Astronomy Tower…or it was always possible she was still in the party somewhere and he just hadn’t noticed her (it wasn’t, really).

But there she was. The flickering torches warmed her skin, and her cheeks looked pinker than usual, though perhaps that was the alcohol. Her face was tilted up toward the sconces as she leaned against the wall, and flecks of torchlight glittered and danced in her eyes. She was smiling very softly.

James forgot she was his.

He knew how her flushed skin tasted and the precise shape of the curves beneath her dress. He knew, rationally, that he would end tonight inside of her. Yet in this moment, gazing at the girl he had coveted across hallways and classrooms and crowded parties for six years, James did not believe he got to touch her. He leaned one shoulder against the wall two meters away.

“Bored already?” he asked, and she started and turned her head toward him.

Lily lit up when their eyes met, and this James did not believe either.

“C’mere, you,” Lily murmured, reaching for him. James gave her his hand, let her tug him toward her until his body pressed hers into the wall. In return, she pressed her lips briefly to his. “Why so far away?” she complained—lovingly, happily, not really a complaint at all, because now they were touching everywhere, and she reached up to wind her arms around his neck. She raised her eyebrows in search of an answer, though, and James’s hands found her hips.

“I asked first, Snaps.”

“My question was better.”

Lily was right, of course. She was a difficult person to bore; she liked the world too much.

“Then explain why you’ve abandoned your House victory party. This is the only chance you’ll ever get to be a Quidditch girlfriend, you know.”

Ever. James swallowed hard, kicking himself, but if Lily noticed she didn’t comment.

“I feel like I did the Quidditch girlfriend thing pretty well this afternoon,” Lily said slyly, and James smirked, relieved. “Screaming your name while wearing your jersey…”

“Mmm…”

“Screaming your name while not wearing your jersey…”

“Mmmmm…”

“Interrupting Padfoot when his speech moved into weird territory…”

“Hold on, I don’t know that we’ve explored the jersey point to my satisfaction yet...”

“Oh, I think the jersey point was explored to all parties’ satisfaction, actually.”

James snorted, but then his eyes narrowed. Two sex jokes in two minutes? And her eyes looked a little red…His grin broadened. “You’re baked, Snaps.”

“No!” Lily’s flushing cheeks betrayed her.

James pinched her hip. “You’re a rotten liar.”

“Okay, maybe my mates shared a couple joints before the party.”

He smirked, self-satisfied, and Lily stuck her tongue out.

“Mary’s idea?” James guessed.

“Mine, actually. I got sentimental.”

“Sentimental? You?”

Lily made a face and flicked the back of his neck, then soothed the skin with gentle fingers. “Quiet, you. The first time we ever smoked was after the Quidditch final fourth year...

“Well,” she giggled, “actually, it was before the match, and Donna nearly hit Mary when she found out, because none of us had seen a single thing she’d done…we were too busy staring at the back of Kevin Sherbatsky’s head. His hair…”

“Catastrophic," James said at once.

“Intriguing,” Lily corrected generously. But he had made her laugh.

“But this time you waited till after the match, hmm?” Lily nodded, and James smirked suggestively. “Now, why would that be?”

“It certainly wasn’t about you, if that’s what you’re implying, James,” Lily said loftily, pointing her nose in the air. James ducked to kiss her neck.

“Of course not,” he murmured, smirk still evident in his voice.

“For starters, Donna would have been furious…”

“Mmm…” his lips found her pulse point, and Lily sighed. “But surely you’re better at hiding it by now…”

“And it was one of our only chances to watch Marlene…”

“She’d be rather hypocritical to be annoyed, though, wouldn’t she?” His fingernails had found her thigh and they trailed upward, pushing the cotton of her skirt scandalously high as his teeth made her whimper.

“And…oh…and…James…” words were trickier to form now, but at length she managed: “Kevin Sherbatsky has a man-bun now.”

James burst out laughing, lips releasing her neck, and Lily joined him. “That’s a fair reason,” he admitted.

“A person has a limit.”

“Think we can deduct points? Call it public indecency, maybe?”

“Did you ever even look at the Prefect manual, James?”

“When it fit so well at the bottom of Queen Elizabeth’s cage? Why would I?”

“Git.”

“Prig.”

“And also…” Lily slid a hand up into James’s hair, nails running slowly and luxuriously up his scalp, then tugging gently. He closed his eyes and felt her lips press briefly to the corner of his mouth. “I’m in love with a bloke with fantastic hair, and I wanted to be sober so I didn’t miss a single thing.”

James kissed her forehead. “Who could blame you?” Lily made a face, and he grinned. “So why did you say you were out here?”

“Oh... just thinking, I suppose…” James raised his eyebrows when she trailed off, and Lily smiled and elaborated: “About how I was right.”

“Usually, yeah. Anything in particular?”

One arm still wrapped around his neck, Lily let her other hand trail down to rest against his chest and gazed up at him, shaking her head disbelievingly. “You didn’t even want to come back this year.”

And nothing had changed. She was still too good for words, and he was still helpless. Nothing had changed, except that James kissed her, because he could and because he couldn’t not, because she was his, and she left parties to think about him now.

When he could breathe again, James snorted. “So you left my party to meditate on how awesome I am?”

Lily laughed too. “You’re easier to like in the abstract, James.”

James wrapped an arm around her shoulders to steer her back toward Gryffindor Tower. “That’s a pretty common reaction there, Love.”

#jily #tlat #thank you to the anon who reminded me that this existed #and hbd to clare my love <3

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Note

General #7

Hiiii! Okay, well I bet you thought I forgot about this! Or, more than likely, you forgot you even requested this back in Decemeber. But never fear, my child. I remembered and have been thinking of this fic and what to write for months.

And so I’m so sorry, I’m a total perfectionist and I started and discared like 3 ideas for this before deciding on this oneshot sooo if this sucks, I’m at least comforted by the fact that I accomplished something in writing this itself? That sentence made zero sense but... I’m tired 🤷🏼‍♀️😅.

Prompt : General # 7 :

“Is that blood?”

“Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-”

“You are literally bleeding.”

Anyways, thank you for the prompt and here we go!

Whispers Of Light

I don't know exactly how I got roped into this. How exactly Delly Cartwright, Peeta's best friend—and alright, my friend now too—managed to convince me to help her and Leevy and about three dozen other members of the community with sorting boxes.

Sorting boxes. Organizing contents. Decorating with "found treasures".

The type of activities Prim loved doing with our mother. The type of activities I refused to do after my father died, to punish my mother for her depression.

The type of activities I now kick myself for walking out on, that I'll never be able to take back. I'll never be able to get those moments back with my sister. I'll never know what those hours between her and our mother entailed, because I chose to exclude myself, just so I could hold onto my petty anger for something that was out of all our control.

Maybe that's why I agreed to help Delly and the others with sorting through boxes upon boxes of debrief, of the items that scarcely survived Twelve's bombing almost two years ago. Maybe I only agreed out of guilt, both for never doing this type of endeavor with my sister and for being the direct cause of the bombing itself.

But whatever my reasons were, I agreed to help nonetheless, and I always follow through my promises. If there was one part of me forged in the war, if only one minor aspect of me was amplified in the smoke and haze and blood of revolution, it was the importance of keeping your promises, against all odds.

The dire consequences of a broken promise has long lasting aftereffects, beyond anything either Haymitch or I wish to dwell on.

"Katniss!" Delly calls, holding up an old, half-ripped paper book that is completely void of a front cover. "Look! I think this book is from the old Apothecary Shop!"

I squint at the dusty, decimated item, not entirely convinced. "I don't think so?" I murmur, unable to even decipher the words on the now melted, conjoined pages. "I'm pretty sure my mother kept the only apothecary book in her family?"

Kanon Bagley turns to inspect the battered item in his girlfriend's hands as well. "I don't think this is a medicinal plant book, Dells," he says sheepishly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

She gives him an incredulous look. "What do you mean medicinal?"

I peer up at him too, not comprehending his meaning any more than Delly. "What kind of plants do you think are in here?" I ask, taking the nearly destroyed object myself and flipping through the worn pages again, seeing odd herbs that neither of my parents ever mentioned or had on hand. "These don't look like the poisonous ones my father told me about?"

Kanon bites back a laugh now and I can't help feeling a little perturbed. As kind and soft-spoken as he usually is, I'm foreign to the feeling of him laughing at me. "What?" Delly snaps at him before I even can.

He still chuckles though, in spite of both our nasty glares. "You guys, it's a book of plants that'll get you high."

It takes a full minute for the meaning to dawn on me. Long enough that Leevy and a couple guys I used to go to school with come over to inspect the book as well. Long enough that they confirm Kanon's assessment just as I realize we're talking about plants that'll make you feel akin to how the morphling made me feel while confined for I killing Coin.

While everyone else snickers—and Delly full on chortles—I pass the book back to Kanon, sliding out of the crowd and moving towards a brand new box of savaged items.

It's not that the mention of plant-based drugs is a trigger for me. It's not something I ever truly gave any thought to before, to be honest. My father likely knew of them but it's not like he was about to bestow that kind of knowledge on his eleven-year-old and my mother perhaps felt it was inappropriate to mention.

No, it wasn't the subject in itself that hit a sore spot for me. But like so many times before, it's where the subject led my mind. It's where the topic took me back to.

Snow's Execution Day. The day I chose to kill President Coin instead. Being thrown back into my old tribute room. Getting high on the morphling.

Trying to forget all that I'd lost. Trying to forget my little sister becoming a human torch before my very eyes. My district engulfed in flames. The ambiguous loss of my best friend.

The connection between me and Peeta that I believed then would be permanently severed. That I believed then to be irreparable.

I suppose I believed then I was irreparable too.

And I miss Peeta suddenly, even more than I already did. Because he always knows what to say when my thoughts turn dark, when I'm suddenly triggered out of the happy, every day events and suctioned backwards to a war torn bird with her wings clipped.

But he's not here to talk me down or scare away the ghosts haunting my mind. He's not here to comfort me or even shoot me a supportive glance. No, he's at his very busy business today.

Peeta's bakery—the Mellark Bakery—has only proven to withstand the test of time these past few months. Since someone accidentally burned down the place, with nothing more than a croissant and a fancy Capitol toaster, the rebuilt bakery has been nothing but a success.

And also extremely time-consuming, I grumble internally, as I begin to pull out stuffed toys that once belonged to dead children.

"If any of those are still intact, we can donate them to the community home," Leaf John says as he opens the box across from me.

"And what exactly are we supposed to be use as decorations from these boxes?" I murmur, peering into another cardboard container, full of half-charred papers and cloths.

The general idea of today, as Delly had pitched it to me last week, was to help the community of Twelve finally sort through these boxes, donate what we could to those in need and decorate the new Justice Building with the leftover contents inside.

Somehow though I can't imagine pinning up terrible drawings of plants that'll inebriate you or headless teddy bears is going to bode well with the district.

Delly rolls her eyes in my direction—a whole new kind of response that I never thought I'd be receiving from the girl who skipped through the town square until she was fourteen years old—before nodding towards boxes on top of the ladder. "We're decorating the Justice Building with the surviving photos from those boxes, Katniss."

"Oh." Then why am I sorting these grimy, dirt-covered playthings? Why didn't anyone give me more clear instructions on today?

And why has it taken almost two years for Twelve to get a group of people together to organize the surviving items from the bombing?

I have no idea how Peeta's managed to get two bakeries built in the time it's taken for thirty-eight of us to come to the Justice Building and look through fifty cardboard boxes. And if I'm being honest, I have no idea why I'm even still here helping. I'm clearly not contributing much to the event. There's definitely more than enough volunteers without me.

And, of course, I could be at the bakery right now. Without a doubt, I'd be of more service there than I am here, digging through dusty knickknacks. I could be helping Peeta and Thom and the other part-time employees, exerting more knowledge and authority than I have here.

After all, Peeta did say the bakery was partially mine. In his mind, at least.

The ulterior motive of getting small, fleeting moments with my boyfriend, of basking in the feeling of safety with him beside me, of the occasional stolen kiss or hand squeeze when no one is looking, runs through the back of my mind.

And sways my decision immensely.

I open my mouth to tell Delly and the others that I'm about to head out, that they clearly have it covered here and I'm just in the way, when at the worst possible second, Leevy kindly murmurs, "Katniss, do you mind starting on the box on the ladder? Seeing if any of the pictures are in decent enough shape?"

I hesitate for a long moment, realizing immediately my predicament. It'd be rude to leave right after someone just essentially assigned me a task. I did agree to be here today, to help out with this tedious project. Leaving right now would only come off as rude and inconsiderate.

This is the reason I never did enjoy group assignments in school. The longer I'm here, the more I'm rediscovering this fact about myself. The division of the workload, the bore of the standing around, not knowing if you're doing the right or wrong thing, the lack of total control.

But I still nod after waiting a beat too long and agree with the nicest flare in my tone I can manage.

I'll go through the one box at the top of the ladder and then subtly make my exit afterwards. The image I unintentionally conjured up of Peeta and the bakery is still pulling at me, making me anxious to get back to him, to see him again even though we were together only three hours ago.

Since we officially became a couple a few months back—though Haymitch scoffs at that notion, claiming we've been together since Peeta first started sleeping over in my bed—I've found myself growing far more clingy to him than I ever could have anticipated. I hate when he leaves for the bakery in the mornings now, even as I still revel in the solace I find inside the woods. I look forward to his return home every night. More than even look forward to it, I'm usually at the bakery around the closing hours, helping him clean and inventory, asking him when he's coming home. Maybe looking somewhat unconsciously flirtatious as I say it.

I grab the box sitting on the ladder's top stair and pull it open, easily maintaining my balance one rung down, the same way I maintain my balance on a tree branch while hunting.

Inside pours out a plethora of photographs, mostly of Twelve's now past citizens. Near the top of the pile I see images of Greasy Sae's daughter, Dolly. The mother of her granddaughter. The daughter who died of croup a few years before the war.

Those photos must belong to Sae, I realize. Which means more of her items are probably scattered throughout the boxes here. And despite the fact that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she'll tell me not of be impractical, that if she's made it two years without these things she doesn't need them now, I still make a mental note to return her lost items. If nothing else, I make a mental promise to give back to her the photos of her daughter.

I know better than anyone what kind of comfort photographs of the deceased can provide.

As if in line with my thoughts, as if I alone manifested it somehow, the next image that catches my eye is one I entirely do not anticipate.

It's a shiny photo, on the kind of glossy paper my family could never afford. In the image is a blonde man with broad shoulders and a tall build. Wrapped in his embrace stands a petite girl, with long blonde curls and mascara accentuating her already long lashes. The couple both have eyes that match the color of the sky and are dressed up in some of the nicest clothes in all of Twelve. A white dress with lace. A gray suit with a black vest. The pretty girl wears jewelry and lipstick and there's a familiar glint in the male's eyes and I find myself mesmerized.

And I can't pretend I don't see my boyfriend in both of their faces. I can't pretend Peeta isn't the spitting image of both his parents.

He has his mother's smile, I realize with startling assurance. I never saw the witch smile personally, at any point in my life so I suppose I wouldn't know where he got his charming, sweet grin from.

The mannerism looks so out of place on his mother. The kind smile Peeta has, the one that could light up a blackened sky, doesn't bode with the woman in the picture, even on her wedding day. The charming smile doesn't fit with what I know of the woman's character. With what little about her Peeta chooses to share.

But I'm even more surprised to find how much Peeta has come to resemble his father. How much Peeta has grown to favor the now deceased man.

The last time I saw the baker—the original baker, that is. Haidon Mellark—before the Quarter Quell, I resented the fact that Peeta wasn't as tall or as broad as his father. I privately believed if he'd inherited those traits, he'd be even more likely to win the games again and I could worry about him less.

Peeta was always taller than me and was always remarkably strong, after working in the bakery since childhood. But his father was a whole different level. Haidon Mellark, I'd forgotten until now, had a body that could only rival my own father's.

And as it turns out, Peeta did inherit Haidon's physicality. He just also happened to be a late bloomer. Like his mother, I imagine, staring at her tiny frame in the picture.

The change in Peeta's form occurred so gradually I barely even noticed until a couple months ago, when I woke up with my head against his heart and abruptly realized just how broad he had become. Until I couldn't even reach to kiss his jaw on my tip toe. Until he started laughing at me and had to lift me up in order to properly embrace the way I like.

"Katniss?" I hear Delly beckon, trying to bring me back to reality. Trying and failing, that is. I hear her but only in a vague, distant sense. My mind is still stuck on the image in my grasp. Still stuck on the novelty that I managed to find a remembrance for the boy who still at times questions if his memory is full of lies.

"I still cry about my family and somedays I can't even remember their faces."

I never even considered the possibility of finding a token of Peeta's departed family here. It never occurred to me, the potential finds in this box at my fingertips, that I could take home to my boyfriend. I never imagined finding him something to hold onto when the inevitable dark day came again like a storm cloud, full of thunder.

I'm so entranced what this could mean for Peeta, so lost in my own little world, that I'm barely even hanging onto the ladder. I'm definitely not as steady as I should be, standing near the top rung.

And I'm definitely not steady enough to hang on when Delly gives it a rough shake, trying to catch my attention.

The boxes break my fall. Sort of. Kanon and Leaf John had taken the liberty of placing the empty cardboard, already looked through and emptied, beneath the ladder.

Falling headfirst into a large, void box is better than falling plainly onto the filthy, concrete tile floor. But not ideal. Not as helpful as falling into a box of surviving clothes or toys would have been.

Delly apologized profusely for shaking the ladder. She'd even begun to cry when she noticed the blood seeping from my forehead.

Thankfully Kanon was there, as I didn't have the energy to console her much. I don't even know how I managed to cut my head at all, but it stung a fair amount and it provided me the excuse I wanted minutes prior, to escape the group project and head for the bakery.

Even after the fall, my mind still was cemented on the newfound treasure. My first instinct was still to show this memento to Peeta as soon as possible.

Kanon though, like a good friend, insisted on walking me home, despite my many protests that it was unnecessary, that I was just fine, that I could walk home blind if I had to. He insisted, foiling my intention to walk directly to the bakery and not wait for Peeta's return home, which still remained hours away.

Kanon was surprisingly stubborn when he felt strongly about something and I chose to relent, to give in and allow him to accompany me back to what used to be Victor's Village—where he now resided with Delly, inside Peeta's old home—without much fight.

Fighting for your independence and autonomy doesn't exactly present you as rational when there's a bloody gash in your forehead.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Kanon asks as we make out way up my porch.

I look up, maybe a little startled, from Mr. and Mrs. Mellark's wedding photo. "My head?"

"Yeah," he says carefully, looking at the blood like it's a mutt in an arena.

I shrug, doing my best not to indicate how dizzy I actually feel. Either from the fall or the blood still dripping out despite my attempt to plug the wound up with old cotton rags someone sorted into the trash box. "I've had worse."

He chuckles, a little sardonically. "Yeah, so have I."

I thank him for walking me home—for it was as inconvenient as it was sweet—and close the door slowly behind me, before leaning my ear against the wooden frame, waiting. Waiting for him to climb the steps down from my porch and make his way back to the Justice Building. Waiting for him to be far enough out of sight that I can sneak back out without him also trying to accompany me to the bakery.

It's not that I don't appreciate Kanon and Delly and all of my other friends' concerns. It's the fact that I wish to bestow a likely loaded item upon my boyfriend and I really don't need an audience to do it.

It's not the easiest feat, to slyly time it so Kanon won't hear me opening and shutting my front door again. And it's probably not my smartest plan, to walk alone along the rocky cobblestones and the uneven concrete, with a less than level head and body.

But I make it to the back door of the bakery still, just as I knew I would. It takes three times as long, but I make it there nonetheless.

Still clutching the photograph of his parents between my fingers too. Still with the same primary focus on my mind. To give him a token of remembrance, a token of the imperfect family he lost so tragically, that he still greatly missed, even when he can't say their names. Even when he can't conjure up their faces.

"You don't remember your family?"

"Sometimes I do... I'm not so sure other days. My memory isn't exactly top notch, if you know what I mean."

I push open the heavy-weighted back door, using all the energy my body can muster up. To my relief, Thom is already in the back room, sweeping flour off the floor.

"Hi, boss," he greets slyly as I walk in, barely glancing up at me. I shoot him an over-the-top eye roll, though I can't help smirking myself at the stupid nickname, when he beckons Peeta. "Hey, your girl is here!" He yells loudly. Too loudly to be packed with customers at the counter.

I take that to mean the daily rush has come and gone. Which would be very convenient, as it means I can present Peeta with my finding that much faster, without having to worry about his business—or our business, as he teasingly calls it—being held up.

I hear the sound of my boyfriend's quiet laughter from the front. The sound that I akin to my father's singing or my sister's squeal of delight. The last sound still alive that can make my heart do a flip.

But it dies out the second he peaks his blonde head into the back room. The moment his baby blues, the same color as both his parents', meet my silver ones and then trail upwards.

Almost as if remembering the gash in my head, I reach to my forehead, to ensure the makeshift cloth bandage is still in place.

"Katniss?" Peeta says, his eyes looking far more nervous than I anticipated. Which I can only take to mean the red liquid has seeped through the plain fabric. "Is that blood?"

I don't want him to focus too heavily on that fact though. Like I told Kanon, I've had much worse injuries in my life. Me and Peeta both have.

Just look at his prosthetic leg.

"Yes," I reply easily, before moving closer to him, pushing the glossy photograph towards him. "But that doesn't matter right now. What does matter is-"

"You are literally bleeding."

I sigh, feeling slightly perturbed now. "Peeta, look," I insist, thrusting the image of his parents towards him, waiting for it to take anchor.

And it does. It takes a beat longer than I expect, but it happens nonetheless. I watch silently as the image captives him, as the shiny photograph takes him back to a time when this exact location was the only home he'd ever known and this business was run by the two people inside the picture.

He touches the photo, as if to test it's realism, before looking up at me in disbelief. "Where did you find this?"

"The Justice Building today. Inside the boxes, with all the things lost in the bombing."

There's a long pause as Peeta process this. The silence makes me antsy, finding myself abruptly uncertain of what could be going through his mind.

Finally, he whispers softly, "I never thought I'd see this picture again."

And the awed, tender smile that spreads across his face swiftly encompasses me in its warmth.

And I suddenly don't even feel the gash in my head anymore.

Read The Rest On AO3

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #everlark fics #fanfic #everlark fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #play with me 🥰

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starcrossedkaiju · 3 years

Text

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Five

If you remember that post I made about the Red Resistance you’re a real one.

Notes: this one is very short. It’s just to move the plot along and blah blah blah. Next chapter is a good one I think.

The next time Scott showed up to the Red Desert it was for a petty fight that Scar had instigated by trying to steal directly from the Renchanting base. The situation made Scott face palm, and he contemplated not even showing up. However, when Jimmy offered to go in place of him, he told him not to bother. That he would be back in less than a day and night cycle.

Scott walked into the meeting just as the Red Army crested a hill. Which they stayed on. Scar yawned exaggeratedly and trekked up to his opponent, who was wearing a bandage on his left arm.

Cleo was also there. She seemed to be focused on drawing shapes in the cracked sand with the tip of her sword. Most likely feeling bitter about her former ally, Tango, joining Dogwarts. Everyone was paying as little attention as possible while Scar fired off false promises and white lies. Grian busied himself with apologizing to the nearest members of the Red Army for Scar’s embarrassment.

Scott was nearly falling asleep on his feet when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Tango.

“Hey Major, you got a minute?” he whispered.

“So many,” Scott responded, gesturing to the desolate state of their meeting.

The two of them quietly excused themselves from the group to speak in private. Scott didn’t know why he didn’t tell Tango to just leave him alone. Maybe it was because Tango had a certain air of reluctance about him, Scott was certain he pulled his punches. Maybe it was shear boredom.

“So, nice weather,” Tango observed the arid desert sky.

“Uh huh..” Scott provided, unimpressed.

Tango stared at him blankly. Awkwardly.

He cleared his throat, “so I heard about your battle with Skiz and Ren. Impressive,” Tango said.

“What is with you people and beating around the bush? We’re not friends,” Scott pushed Tango away by the middle of his chest, “Tango,” he reminded.

Tango looked hurt for a second, “ouch Major. Fine, I wanted to ask you to join me,” he said.

Scott burst out laughing, to which Tango scolded him and shook him by the shoulders. That shut him up, it also earned Tango a slap.

“Don’t touch me,” Scott ordered.

Tango put his hands up, “no touching here! But be quiet. I brought you over here alone for a reason,” he pointed out.

Scott glanced at his allies. Blissfully unaware of the possible treason he may have been about to commit.

“Nobody knows this yet,” Tango whispered, “but I’m spying on the Red Army,” he said.

“What?” Scott asked rhetorically.

“Yeah, I have a plan. It involves you,” Tango responded.

Scott paused to consider if he was really about to entertain whatever was about to come out of Tango’s mouth.

“How do I know you’re not just trying to get close to me and then kill me on behalf of him,” Scott pointed at Ren, who was rolling his eyes at Scar and animatedly conversing with him about something Scott forgot about a long time ago.

“You remember the cow farm right?” he said.

“Yes,” Scott nodded suspiciously.

“I let you take my cow, on the promise that you and Jimmy wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tango recited.

“And we didn’t,” Scott said.

“Exactly. I know I can trust you, and I can’t trust them, Etho tried to kill me remember?” Tango pointed at Etho and Ren.

“So I want you to join me. Not the Red Army, me. Impulse is doing the same thing,” he concluded.

“Didn’t Impulse actually kill you?” Scott pointed out.

Tango waved his hand, water under the bridge.

Scott drifted off into contemplation. Everything about joining a coup against the Red Army screamed danger. More than usual. Dogwarts was a force to be reckoned with. They had superior gear, defenses, players, and alliances. Maybe Scott could cheap shot Martyn and Skizzle, but he could not promise that same luck against Etho or anyone else for that matter. The thought of even trying made his stomach turn.

And then there was Jimmy. If their plan didn’t work, what would happen to Jimmy? The Crastle? Or the Red Desert for that matter? The target on their backs was large enough. Scott had to take a step back. Since when did he get himself involved in a war?

Since he started defending himself, his mind provided.

Since he started standing up for his own freedom. For their freedom.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“Really? You’re in?” Tango’s eyes lit up, his joy was a bit loud for Scott’s new predilection for secrecy.

“Shh!” Scott put a finger in front of his face, “that’s not what I said…” he averted his eyes.

“I want to, believe me, I do,” he said, “but I can’t.”

Tango’s smile faded instantly, his red eyes grew disappointed, “Why not?” he seemed hurt.

“I have too much to lose. I can’t risk this,” Scott held the charm of his necklace up, it’s gemstone still shimmered bright green.

“Scott, I admire your devotion, I really do; but this is a bit bigger than that,” Tango said.

Scott’s expression fell into shock and reproach.

That seemed like enough of an answer for Tango, who backtracked as he realized he’d struck a nerve.

“I mean!” he corrected, “I mean nothing will happen to Jimmy. Cross my heart, he will be under the Red Resistance’s finest protection,” Tango stood up straight and crossed his heart.

Scott decided that was satisfactory. He made a face that said the opposite though, just to make sure Tango’s pride wasn’t too uplifted.

“Fine. I’ll join you Tango, but if I get even the slightest inclination of funny business, I’m out,” Scott cautioned, but he agreed.

“Terms and Conditions, I get it. The Red Resistance will not indenture any of its members,” Tango responded with a gleeful grin.

“You guys and your red themed names,” Scott teased, but held his hand out. They ought to make it official before everyone stopped snoring.

Tango shook it enthusiastically. The two called it done and Scott returned to his side, and Tango returned to the Red Army.

*****

Scott traveled back home that day. No fighting had taken place, although Scar had decidedly talked himself into a hole and ended up giving Ren access to any sand Dogwarts and their affiliates needed for the next week. It was no skin off Scott’s back, he didn’t care. Not his sand.

Wearing so much armor and standing in place for two hours gets on ones nerves. Taking off his heavy diamond chestplate felt like enough liberation for the day. He expected to hear from Tango or Impulse at some point, preferably soon.

Jimmy asked him how the meeting went when he returned, holding out a cup of coffee.

Unsure of whether or not to tell the truth, Scott lied, he said nothing happened and made fun of Scar for running his mouth so much. He said he was tired.

*****

“Scott? That you?” Tango’s voice came through a small door in his abandoned cow farm. It wasn’t needed anymore.

Scott pointed his torch towards the voice, illuminating a door, which Tango had crafted into the side of the underground farm.

“Yes it’s me. Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.

“I don’t want people to know I’m still using this place, that’s why,” Tango motioned for Scott to come to him.

Tango silently listened for any sign that Scott had been followed, then pushed a stone slab in front of the hidden door with a silent thud.

On the other side of the door was a short hallway, then a very small room with some pillows on the floor and a table. A map of the server that included all the structures and members was pinned up on the wall. There was also a well loved notebook on the table.

“Where’s Impulse?” Scott asked, sitting down on one of the pillows.

“Ren needed him for something, he’ll probably be here next time,” Tango explained. He sat down and lit a candle to make more light.

“I thought we would start by going over the basics today,” Tango picked up the notebook and flipped through some of the pages absently.

Scott looked away and then back, “okay, shoot,” he said.

The “plan” centered around infiltrating the Red Army, convincing them (mainly Ren) that Scott had decided to switch sides. Then, him, Tango, and Impulse would eventually build their trust. Somewhere in there they would convince the Red Army to stop messing with people and come to an agreement with the rest of the server. Something about working together instead of against each other.

“We still have to work some stuff out,” Tango concluded with confidence.

“That’s the plan? You really think this’ll work?” Scott crossed his arms.

“If you can insult Scar convincingly enough, yes,” Tango said.

“Oh this’ll be easy!” Scott laughed, mostly to cover up his nerves.

Tango chuckled with him, then became serious once more, “I’m glad you have a sense of humor going into this. Even after what they did to you,” Tango said.

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he apologized.

Scott’s hands stung a bit in response, but he nodded a silent “thanks”.

They were quiet. Scott nervously fiddled with the hem of his coat, lost in thought, mostly regret.

Impulse did show up the next time. He arrived just after Scott did. Everyone sat awkwardly in the little room for a while and Scott was wrapped in nostalgia for a similar time. A time where the only threat was an obscene number of phantoms.

Over the course of their meetings, Scott observed his teammates and their actions. A far cry from who they used to be, including him. Scott’s hair had grown past his ears and turned purple at the tips, and he’d become rather paranoid about always wearing armor.

Tango spent much of their interactions lost in thought. The ghost of whatever was eating at him weighed visibly on his shoulders in the way his head was always bowed in a perpetual staring contest with the ground. He was irritable.

Impulse was a wild card to Scott, they’d never really met before; but it was clear he’d been changed as well. Illustrated by his long “mining” trips, which he only returned from to attend their weekly meetups with no resources to show for it, and a general aura of depression.

His mind was drawn back to the picture Cleo had taken of almost all his server-mates, together in front of the Vibe Machine. He’d studied everyone’s faces countless times. Mostly wondering where everything had gone wrong.

Had they ever truly been friends in the first place? Or was camaraderie a comfort when everyone else was just as weak as one another.

#finally. the end of act one.#also the end of me having to select from my notes app because #up until now I wrote EVERYTHING in the same document #never. ever do that.#kingslayer au #scott smajor #tangotek #impulsesv #3rdlife #3rd life smp #cas types #mcyt

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themadlostgirl · 3 years

Text

Keeping Warm (2)

*Did I make a second part to this because one person asked for it? Yes I did. Come to me my Felix simps! Enjoy your fluff!*

~~~

That had to be the best sleep I’ve had in a while! This cloak was a lot better than my old one. I wonder how long I could get away with keeping it before the boys stole it back. I folded it up neatly and hid it under my cot so it wasn’t out in the open for them to steal back.

I left my tent and noticed that the boys that had been laughing and teasing me yesterday were keeping a wide berth from me today. I had no problem with that. The farther away they stayed the better.

Since I was truly well rested for the first time in a long time I decided to take advantage of my energy and practice my archery. Before Neverland I never had a need to learn how to wield a weapon but archery was fun and it helped in hunting small game. I grabbed my bow and quiver of arrows before setting off into the jungle. When it came to game on the island there wasn’t a whole lot outside of fish and some birds but they didn’t make for much food.

If you wanted a good meal you had to head into the dark jungle of the island. It’s where all the big game lived since anyone ventured in there. You could sometimes find a rogue boar running around outside of the dark jungle but they mainly stayed within the perimeter. Other than boars there was also a type of goat that lived there. The boys had tried keeping some of the goats for milk a while back but after the “incident” all the goats were shoved into the dark jungle and water became the only acceptable source of drink. Probably for the best.

I was out tracking for a while when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I tried to make it out through the foliage and saw the head of a goat pop up. Gotcha. I notched an arrow and took aim. I let the arrow fly and cheered when it went right through the goat’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Another head popped up, this time it wasn’t a goat though. Felix turned to look at me. “What was that?”

“Sorry!” I rushed over, “I was hunting and saw the goat head. I didn’t mean to shoot at you. What are you doing out here?”

“Same as you it seems. I had been tracking this fat bastard for over an hour.” He kicked the dead goat at our feet. “Almost had it too before you got it first. Nice shot by the way.”

“Thanks! I was really lucky this time around. I usually don’t get a clear shot like that.” I tore the arrow out of the goat’s head. “Since you’re here do you mind helping me lug this beast back to camp?”

“Sure,” Felix heaved the goat up and threw it onto his shoulders. “Let’s get moving.”

“This will surely make for a good dinner tonight.”

“You really wanna let those jerks tear into your catch?” Felix asked.

“I mean not really but this is way more food than you and I can eat so we kinda have to split it up.” I shrugged, “Why do you care anyway? I thought you liked the other Lost Boys.”

“They’re my brothers but brothers can get damn annoying.” He muttered, “Taking shit that doesn’t belong to them and whatnot.”

“Ugh, I know what you mean.” I sighed, “They stole my cloak out of my tent last night so I stole one of theirs as payback.”

“Did you now?” Felix trudged further ahead, “Did you give it back yet?”

“No and I don’t plan to. Mine was so thin it didn’t help at all but this one is really warm so unless they come and pry it away from me I’m not giving it up. It also helps that is smells good so I cuddle up in it even tighter.” My face started heating up after I realized what I just admitted. “Sorry, that was a lot of unnecessary information.”

“It’s fine,” Felix muttered.

I jogged to fall into step next to him. I grabbed an apple out of my bag and started cutting off slices with my knife. I wordlessly offered one to Felix. This time when I popped it into his mouth for him though I didn’t roll my eyes since his hands were full carrying the goat. We trekked back to camp in companionable silence. Felix set the goat down for the others to skin and cook while we rested.

We sat down on a log together while I picked bits of goat fur off his shoulders.

“Felix,” One of the boys approached us, “Pan was looking for you earlier but you were away from camp so he wanted me to pass on a message.”

“And?” Felix asked.

“He’s gone off the island on a mission of sorts. Says he may not be back till morning at the latest so you’re in charge till then.”

“Got it.” Felix nodded and the boy ran off again.

“Man in charge tonight,” I poked his shoulder, “Don’t crack under the pressure, captain.”

“Har har,” He rolled his shoulder ushering me off, “Being in charge for a night doesn’t entail much. I just have to make sure these idiots don’t go rogue during Pan’s absence and do something stupid like burn the camp down again.”

“These boys can really be just the dumbest things on the face of the earth, can’t they?” I shook my head. Then my body shook. A cold gust of wind blew through the camp. It wasn’t like the slightly cooler breezes that Neverland usually had. This was cold. Really cold.

The other boys felt it as well. All of them rushing to their tents and reappearing with cloaks and others running for firewood. “What’s going on?” I asked Felix as I rubbed feebly at my arms.

Felix sighed. “I almost forgot that this happens when Pan leaves. He so rarely does anymore it didn’t even cross my mind.”

“What?”

“When Pan leaves then time stands still. I don’t mean that in the way that tie naturally stands still here. I mean the island basically goes into hibernation without him around. Depending on how long he’s been gone we should start to see the beginnings of…” Felix looked up. The once clear sunny sky had been replaced with dark dreary clouds.

“Oh don’t tell me it’s gonna rain!” I pouted.

“Worse than that.”

We sat there for a minute as delicate white flakes started falling from the sky. “Snow?!” I gaped at the offending weather. “How is there snow? This is a tropical island!”

“It is a magic island too though.” Felix said. “You may want to grab something to put on, viper. It’s only gonna get colder.”

“Right, I’ll be right back.” I ran back to my tent and pulled the cloak out from under my cot. I put it on but while it was thick enough to keep out the chill of the night it was just another feeble layer against the bitter cold that we had been subjected to now.

I went back to the log where Felix and I had been seated but he wasn’t there anymore. I made my way towards the bonfire the boys had started and huddled as close as I could get to the flames. I really hope the boy I stole the cloak from won’t try to take it back now. I fear I’ll freeze to death without it.

The sky grew even darker and the island got even colder. We were quickly burning through our supply of firewood and I knew that it would run out soon. When that happened it was every man for themselves. I figured I’d hunker down in my tent and try to keep warm by myself until Pan returned and the cold went away.

I stayed by the fire as it dwindled down to faintly glowing coals. The snow had really piled up and my toes were numb in my boots. Oh no! I didn’t even take into account the snow! I ran as fast as I could to my tent but it was of no use. The snow had weighed it down and it crumpled. My cot was soaked and the beams I had used to pitch it had snapped. This was just great.

It looked as if the other boys had gotten the memo to keep the snow from piling up on their tents since they rest were still standing. Would have been nice if they mentioned something to me. I shivered violently against another harsh gale of wind and trudged away from my ruined tent. Maybe I could find Felix and he’d take pity on me and let me stay in his tent for the night.

I scoured the wintry white camp but saw no Felix. He was probably already hunkered down. If only I knew which tent was his.

~~~

Damn this cold. Why did the island have to go into hibernation just cause Pan wasn’t around? It really wasn’t fair. Felix hated it all the more since he didn’t have anything to keep him warm now that he had let you have his cloak.

Upon realizing just how bad it was going to camp Felix remembered something that could help him keep warm. He jumped up and ran into the jungle until he found the old, gnarled dead tree that years and years ago had been the first home of the Lost Boys. He knocked against the trunk until he found the hatch that opened up. It would be a tight fit but if he kept his arms close to his chest then...Felix slipped down the hollow trunk of the tree and was deposited into an underground cavern.

He lit a torch along the wall and breathed in the dusty but altogether warmer air. This place looked as if it hadn’t been touched in decades. It probably hadn’t. Felix only ever remembered this place when Pan left and turned the rest of the island into a wintry hellscape. He never told any of the other Lost Boys about this warm oasis since he didn’t want them crowding in around him.

Felix was down there clearing cobwebs and shaking out the dusty furs and blankets when he was hit with a sharp realization. He left you back at camp. He left the one person who cannot handle any amount of cold in any way back in a blizzard!

“Shit!” Felix hissed and climbed back out of the cavern. He raced back to camp and spotted you easily enough since you were the only one still outside. Why were you outside? Why weren’t you in your tent at least?

“Hey,” He shouted, pulling you away from where the bonfire had been, “What are you doing out here?”

“Tent collapsed under the snow.” Your whole body was shaking so bad that it even bled into your voice. “Was looking for you…”

“Come on,” He grabbed your hand and tugged you along, “I know someplace we can go to wait this out.”

Felix knew it was a bad time but he couldn’t get over the sight of you in his cloak. It was just like last night when he got that strange fluttering in his chest. He gripped your hand tighter and tried pulling you faster but you ended up losing your balance and tripping. Felix caught you before you landed in the snow but he could tell you were having trouble keeping up.

“We’re almost there, just a little further,”

“I can’t feel my toes,” You whimpered.

“Damn it,” Felix ran a hand through his hair. “Well we can’t stay out here. Hold onto me.” With that Felix gathered you in his arms and pulled you off the ground. He hiked his way back to the dead tree with you held in his arms. This was the first time he had really been this close to you. Your head nestled on his shoulder as your body trembled. He set you down long enough to open the hatch on the dead tree again and set you inside. You went sliding down and Felix shortly followed.

“Where are we?” You gazed around the cavern you both were in. “It’s warm in here.”

“My own little get away when the island goes into stasis.” Felix explained. He helped you up and ushered you towards the bed at the back of the cavern covered in blankets and furs. “You’ll keep warm down here.”

“Blankets!” He burrowed underneath the blankets with a content sigh. “I am never leaving this pile.”

“Thought you’d enjoy that.” Felix smiled. “Are your toes still numb?”

“A little.”

“Let me see, I want to make sure you don’t have frostbite.” He instructed.

You untied your boots and Felix grimaced when he saw that your socks had been soaked through. You peeled those off too. There was no way to make this awkward so Felix grabbed your feet and inspected them, pushing on your toes to make sure they hadn’t incurred any damage.

“Good news, you get to keep your toes.” Felix pushed your feet off his lap and pulled the blanket you were wrapped in back over them.

“That is a relief.” You smiled brightly. “Thanks for sharing this space with me.”

“Well I wasn’t just gonna let you suffer out there in the cold. The others deserve it but not you.” Felix said. The fluttering was back and he could feel it’s way creeping up his neck into his face. The air in the room suddenly felt too hot. He shuffled back to the foot of the bed further away from you.

There was a beat of silence.

“Hey Felix?” You crawled over to sit next to him.

“Yeah?” Felix tried not to look at you lest the pink in his cheeks be noticed.

“Where is your cloak? Don’t tell me you were out running around in this weather without grabbing it.” You said. Felix resisted a bark of laughter. Said cloak was still around your shoulders and you clutched it tightly in your hands as you looked at him.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” He pulled the hood up over your head and down in front of your eyes. “You kinda stole it, viper.”

“Huh?” Your eyes peeped out from under the hood. He watched with amusement as the realization hit you and you pulled the hood back down to hide. “I’m sorry! I had no idea it was yours! I thought it belonged to one of the jerks that stole mine!”

“It’s alright, you needed it a lot more than I did anyway.” He chuckled softly. “Glad to know you think I smell good though.”

“AGH!” You dove under the blankets to hide further. Your embarrassed voice still rung clear from underneath the furs. “I cannot believe I told you that!”

“Come now, it’s not that bad.” Felix couldn’t help the spark of joy he felt when he teased you. “Come out. I wanna talk to you.”

“Nope! I am never leaving again for the sake of my dignity.”

“Fine.” Felix took a deep breath and pulled the covers up over himself. Your face was inches away from his under the blankets. “I’ll just come to you.”

“Felix…” You muttered, you were still keeping your eyes down so you weren’t looking at him.

“I wanna know something.”

“What?”

“If you get so cold at night why didn’t you ask me for help? I could have brought you as many blankets as you wanted from down here.”

“I didn’t ask because I had already tried asking the other boys for help and all they did was make fun of me. I didn’t want you to tease me too.”

“Teasing you is fun but I’d rather you not freeze to death.” He said, “I also told the boys that if they steal anything from you again then they’ll answer to me.”

“Why would you do that?” You asked, “I get that we’re friends but you don’t have to fight my battles.”

“It’s because you are my friend that I want to help you, idiot.” He poked your forehead, “Which means threatening Lost Boys and letting you steal my cloak. It kinda feels like it’s my mission to keep you warm.”

“A noble cause indeed.” You laughed and Felix decided then that he had never heard a more pleasing sound.

Your smile softened and Felix got lost in your eyes for a moment. The fluttering was getting worse but he found he didn’t mind it. “Here,” You closed the distance between the two of you and left a quick kiss on his cheek, “A little token of thanks.”

Okay. Now he minded. It felt like a billion butterflies had gotten trapped in his ribcage. It was just a moment. A mere second of contact but it lit his body from the toes up as if he had stepped into a fire.

“You okay? Did I cross a line? Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just thankful for what you did and you’ve always been nice to me so--”

“Give…” Felix mumbled under his breath but it was enough to stop your mess of ramblings.

“You say something?” You asked.

“Give you…” Felix took a deep breath but it did little to calm his nerves. “Want to give you one.”

“Give me one what?” You asked.

“A...um…” he tapped his cheek. This was stupid! Why was he trying to initiate this right now? It was only meant to be a thank you kiss between friends and he was making it weird!

“Oh!” Your face got even hotter than it had a moment before. “I mean if you really want to then go ahead. Can I ask why first?”

“A thanks for never dropping a hermit crab in my mouth whenever you offer me food?” he joked. You laughed again, the tension between you breaking.

“I do deserve thanks for that.” You nodded and presented your cheek, “Go ahead.”

Okay Felix. Do not screw this up. There is not conceivable way to mess this up. He inched closer and left a darting kiss to your warm cheek.

“I bring you a lot of snacks,” Your voice was a whisper, “I think maybe that’s worthy of two kisses.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Felix turned your face so he could kiss your other cheek. “While we’re at it I think I’m owed more thanks for lugging that big goat of yours back to camp. It wasn’t light at all.”

“I suppose you do.” You grinned wider. This time when you kissed him you pressed it to the tip of his nose. “You also carried me here so if we think about it logically then I should--”

“Just kiss me already.” Felix pulled you closer.

“Yes sir,” You held his face in your small warm hands and kissed him on the mouth. Your lips were so soft and you tasted sweet like berries. “Felix,” You murmured against his lips.

“Hm?”

“If this is another way of keeping warm, it’s working.”

“Then we probably shouldn’t stop.” His lips met yours again. He couldn’t have you getting cold again after all.

---

(Part 1)

#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #peter pan ouat #request

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