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nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius · 6 months

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TBB Incorrect Quotes, Part 18

Crosshair: Are you okay? Omega, crying: Yeah, it was just the onions Crosshair: *Picks up an onion* What the fuck did you say to Omega?

Tech: Synonyms are weird because if you invite someone to your cottage in the forest, that just sounds nice and cozy. But if I invite you to my cabin in the woods you’re going to die. Wrecker: My favorite is explaining the difference between a butt dial and a booty call. Hunter: It’s called connotations. Crosshair: Try this one on for size, “Forgive me, Father, I have sinned” vs “Sorry, Daddy, I’ve been naughty.” Echo: Great news! Language is now banned!

Hunter: You know, you were right. Tech: About what specifically? Because I’m right about a lot of things.

Tech: How do I ask someone out? Echo: Roses are red, violets are blue, guess what, my bed has room for two. Tech: No. Wrecker: Twinkle twinkle little star, we can do it in a car. Tech: Stop. Crosshair: Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily I can make you scream. Tech: I feel like the last one is verging dangerously into serial killer territory.

Wrecker: Hey, Crosshair, where are you going? Crosshair: Well, it depends. When I die, probably hell. Crosshair: But right now I’m going to McDonald’s.

Hunter: What the hell is wrong with you? Crosshair: I have this weird self-esteem issue where I hate myself but still think I’m better than everyone else.

Crosshair: Hostage or not, sometimes it’s nice being held. Hemlock: Are you okay.

Crosshair: Get on my level! Tech: Unfortunately, to "get on your level" I'd need a boat trip to the Mariana Trench and a pair of cinderblock shoes.

Hunter: What do you do for a living? Echo: I exist against my will.

Tech: And if you have any suggestions, please put them in the suggestion box. Wrecker: That’s a trash can.

Tech: I am the most responsible person in the group. Crosshair: …You just set the kitchen on fire. Tech: Yes, and I take full responsibility for that.

*Tech falls through the ceiling, landing near Wrecker* Tech: Hey, Wrecker! Wrecker: Hey, Tech! Tech: …that hurt.

Wrecker: Surgery is basically just stabbing someone to life. Tech: Please never become a surgeon.

*The Squad using an Ouija board* Wrecker: Tell us… Is there a spirit in this house? Spirit, through the board: YES. Echo: Great! Rent is due on the first of the month. Omega: Oh, and movie night is on Friday if you want to hang out. Spirit: WAIT, WHAT—

Omega: I can’t believe my birth certificate says F... Omega: ...How did I fail being born?

Omega: Hey, you wanna know a secret? Crosshair: No. Omega: Ok. Crosshair: Crosshair: Do you smell smoke? Omega: The secret is that the house is on fire.

Echo: Alright, what pizza toppings should we order? Hunter: Anchovies and pineapple. Wrecker: I like beets! Tech: Have you guys ever had a cheese-less pizza? Echo: I’m disowning all of you.

Hunter: There is no i in happyness… Echo: There is if you fucking spell it right.

Hunter: Wow you and Wrecker are home early from the movies. What happened? Omega: We got kicked out because Wrecker wouldn't stop yelling diving scores as people jumped off the titanic. Wrecker: That last guy had a solid 8, I'm telling you!

Crosshair: I’m really glad “fight me” has replaced “sue me” in the common vernacular because I don’t have money, but I do have fists and I am always angry.

Wrecker: You’re insane! Crosshair: Sure I am, what’s your point?

Crosshair: My bad, It’s a knee jerk response. Tech, holding Hunter's unconscious body: WHOSE KNEE JERK RESPONSE IS TO START THROWING THINGS AT SOMEONE???

Crosshair: it’s illegal to look better than me. Echo: I guess we’re all going to jail then.

*after discussing a plan* Tech: Does anyone have any questions? Hunter: Is this legal? Tech: Does anyone have any relevant questions?

Bailiff: Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? Crosshair: No.

Crosshair: I don’t need any more friends. I already have three. Wrecker: Don’t you mean four? Crosshair: *looks directly at Tech* Crosshair: No, I’m pretty sure I meant to say three.

Wrecker: Why are we friends? Crosshair: Poor decisions on your part.

Hunter: I have one brain cell and it bounces around in my skull like a windows screen saver. Hunter: When it hits a corner perfect, I’m allowed one good idea.

Crosshair: People tell me I have a unique way of lighting up a room. Tech: It’s called arson and those people are called witnesses.

Wrecker: Do you always have to attack me with your words? Crosshair: Would you prefer me to use a brick?

Echo: The path to inner peace begins with four words… not my fucking problem.

Omega: What’s up with you? Crosshair: What do you mean? Omega: You’ve been nice and helpful and considerate all day. What’s your game?

Hunter: If a demon possessed me, I’d just be like, “Okay, take it from here, good luck man.”

*during a group project* Tech: *does 99% of the work* Hunter: *has no idea what’s going on* Wrecker: *says he's gonna help but does not* Crosshair: *disappears at the very beginning and doesn’t show up again until the very end*

Hunter: We'll talk about this later. Crosshair: Fine, I won’t be listening.

Wrecker: This is a judgement free zone. *Pulls out a knife the size of his forearm* Wrecker: And I mean it.

Hunter: Team A will consist of myself, Crosshair, Tech and Wrecker. Hunter: Team B will consist of Echo.

Crosshair: Do I sound smart, or am I smart? Hunter: You sound unbearable, to be perfectly honest.

Wrecker: Now, Tech, all of us are doing this because we care about you, okay? Crosshair: Except for me. I just wanted to see the look on your face.

Hunter: *very seriously* You need to stop doing weird things to cope with the stress. Going outside might help. Wrecker: I went to the park today. Hunter: There you go! I hope you got something from that. Wrecker: *opening his coat* This duck.

Wrecker, singing: I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need- Echo: A better life. Crosshair: Mental stability. Omega: *clueless* Bagels?

Omega: Basic is CRAZY. Oregano is both a spaghetti leaf topping and a form of paper art! Tech: What is this "paper art" you speak of? Omega: That stuff where you make cranes and stuff out of folded paper! Tech: ... Omega.

Hunter: COMPANY IS COMING! I WANT THIS PLACE LOOKING LIKE DISNEY ON ICE IN ONE MINUTE! Hunter: TECH IF YOU HAVEN'T MADE YOUR BED THROW IT AWAY IT'S TOO LATE TO MAKE IT NOW! Hunter: GET RID OF THE COUCHES, WE CAN'T LET PEOPLE KNOW WE S I T !

Crosshair: I have lots of friends! Tech: Name one. Crosshair: Well, there’s- Tech: Name one you haven’t gotten incredibly angry at. Crosshair: Hey, that’s not fair, then there isn’t any!

Wrecker: Physically, yes, I could fight a bird, but emotionally? Imagine the toll!

Hunter: Everyone has a toxic trait. Except Wrecker, he's perfect. Wrecker: Wrong! My toxic trait is how badly I want to domesticate a raccoon.

Crosshair: Hey, Hunter? Hunter: Yeah? Crosshair: Can a person breathe inside a washing machine while it’s on? Hunter: Hunter: Where’s Tech?

Judge: Does the defendant have any special requests? Crosshair: Death penalty. Tech, from the gallery: Crosshair, it’s just a parking ticket. Crosshair, whispering into the mic: Please kill me.

Hunter: Seriously, all you do is bitch. Crosshair: I happen to bitch the perfect amount for someone in my situation.

Tech: I hate to disagree with you, but- Hunter: Please, you love to disagree with me. Its your favorite thing to do.

Tech: I don’t know, she just doesn't seem interested... Echo: Did you try talking to her? Tech: Tech: Try what?

#star wars #incorrect quotes #incorrect bad batch quotes #tbb incorrect quotes #the bad batch #tbb

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songofthesibyl · 6 months

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Phantasmagoria In Two

For Nos Calan Gaeaf—when Tam Lin is rescued from the fairy queen in The Ballad of Tam Lin— a short piece from (ACOTAR) Tamlin’s POV, set just as Rhysand visits him for a second time in A Court of Frost and Starlight.

He remembered—

Spring. The sting of hawthorn. Rose cordials. Sugared violet petals on butterfly cakes. Green salads peppered with nasturtium. Apple blossom jam, and lilac syrup. Plate after plate, a riot of color. A softening to thin layers of pastry, and swirls of pink and white in the shape of cherry blossoms. Sweetness on the tongue. Too fussy, she said. But then she brought it to her lips, and a sound of pleasure at confection, at designs on plates in sugar and cream, that were a waste on her, she said. Then a dollop of strawberry cream on her nose, and her face scrunching up. Sweetness, and frivolity, and nothing hunted.

He remembered—an arrow through the wood, and the pulse of blood gone, and skin peeling off.

No—

A flush to the cheeks, strawberries, and red roses.

Blood to his head. Hanging by his foot.

Blood dripping on the marble floor, drip, drip, drip.

It’s all over now, you can rest.

Wild laughter at bad poetry, screams at Hybern’s camp, heads rolling to the ground, he saw.

Stars glittering, and a crown, and the parting of lips, and poisonous words.

Have you—

Have you noticed that little noise—

Bat’s wings, bat’s wings, no—

No.

Hair flying as they rode on horseback through the wood. Wind in his ear.

You have to. Show of strength.

They’ve had months to save enough money. They want to give. You saved them. This is right.

Bodies of wolves, sentries in ribbons. Rhysand’s scent, a burnt floor.

If you don’t do it, I will find a more creative punishment for him. Do you doubt I can? Look at the wall, and see.

Crack of a whip.

You must punish them.

Twenty-one lashes, High Lord.

No choice. No choice at all.

I couldn’t bring myself to—

There are no High—

He couldn’t find her, he remembered, he couldn’t find her. Fire, and dried woad. He smelled her before he saw her. Dark green scales under his fingernails, and entrails on the ground.

He remembered pulling away thinking she finally had what she wanted, her taste in his mouth. And spit her out, and blood leaking from her head, and in a motion gone, and Feyre’s broken body, and blood from her nose. And no screaming, and a terrible silence.

And he could hear it now. Dripping on the floor.

He remembered cases of frothy dresses in pink, and purple and blue, laced with flowers and ribbon. Barefoot in the grass.

Bodies pulsing, and sweat-drenched.

Emerging from a pool, stars glittering, dropping from their skin like pearls.

A chair set up in a meadow full of wildflowers, and blankets laden with food and drink, and a table with a case of paints, and water, and palette, and lazing by the willow, drifting in and out as he idly watched her paint. And then the sudden shift, and rain pouring, and paint running down the canvas onto the grass.

And him rushing up, and getting the blanket, and putting it over her, but her taking it and putting it over the canvas instead, and letting the rain soak her hair before he winnowed them inside, and her laughter as the water in her hair fell onto the floor, drip, drip.

A warm hand on his, and soft cloth wrapping, and splinters everywhere.

And red paint dripping.

What have you done.

Traitor.

A fist to the face, and a look of pain, and stinging tears blinked from his eyes, and black leather squeaking.

And he remembered a cauldron for cooking, boiling hot. And humans thrown in, and vomited back onto the floor, their dresses sopping wet, and their hair dripping onto the floor. And the horror, and fury in Feyre’s eyes.

And the horror in her eyes, and the guilt, and vomiting herself up in the next room, because of him.

Are you running low on food?

A crown of laurel.

I thought it was over.

Flowers in her hair.

You deserve this pathetic, empty house.

He remembered a glowing crown, and dark shadows rippling, and his claws outstretched at his sides, lying limp, dripping with his father’s blood.

He remembered.

Rhysand. Here again. He scented her on him. The smell of sex on him, everywhere. Every time he saw him, he smelled her first. Even with his senses dulled, even with the blood, everywhere. Red on splintered wood, red on the infirmary table, red in his mouth, soaked with it, bathing in it, a cauldron of it burning, a cauldron for cooking. The scent getting stronger, he was coming, it was time, dark shadows rippling, and skinning it, and hands limp at his sides, covered in blood, onto the floor—

Drip, drip, drip.

#tamlin #acotar

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sepedarodatiga · 3 years

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The Snow Queen fairytale as a motif used in GoT/ASOIAF

First of all, how many fairytales and myths can GRRM fit into this story, seriously?? I know many have written well thought and well informed meta of various fairytale motives fit with ASOIAF/GoT, and I am just here adding into an already huge pile, but it bothers me, okay. I have to get it out there into the tumblr void. And this is not really a well thought and well informed meta (I’m not a folklore/literature expert, not to mention European folklore/literature), I’m just pointing my fingers into the patterns I saw fit. Also, I can’t count myself as ASOIAF book reader, I just watch the show. What I know about the books, I read it here in tumblr.

But anyway, you might be surprised as to which character I saw fit as The Snow Queen in GoT

It’s Daenerys Targaryen.

I know I know... whaat? The Mother of Dragons, Bride of Fire as The Snow Queen? Get out of here, right...

But it’s a pun. It’s not The Snow Queen, it’s Jon Snow’s Queen, get it? Remember how Jon repeatedly saying “you’re my queen” to Dany during season 8? Yeah. Oh and Jon is Kay, while Sansa is Gerda.

What made me realize that Dany is The Snow Queen is when I was reading my son the fairytale. In the version retold by Kate Friend, it describes The Snow Queen as beautiful and terrible. And I was like, huh, just like Dany, especially with the white hair and the all white costume in season 8.

Daenerys Targaryen, beautiful and terrible.

And then of course the story went on describing how Kay becomes her prisoner and then I was like, well that’s like Jon Snow during season 8 too.... And then in Disney’s adaptation Frozen, Elsa has white hair with purple eyeshadow, while Anna (Gerda) has....red hair....which is like... Sansa Stark. Then I also remember the illustration on my son’s book which is by John Patience, that reminded me of the Iron Throne.

The Snow Queen illustration by John Patience. See how much alike this setting is with the Red Keep? Especially in Dany’s vision in HoTU when snow was falling.

So I went investigating, and shit... I mean obviously the sequencing was moved around, GRRM likes to subvert things, but my God!

Before we get into Jon Snow and his queen, I have to start with the other characters first. And I will be taking excerpt of the story from The Hans Christian Andersen Center website which I assume would be the most original one.

Gerda = Sansa Stark

Here is a description of Gerda’s power: “No power that I could give could be as great as that which she already has. Don't you see how men and beasts are compelled to serve her, and how far she has come in the wide world since she started out in her naked feet? We mustn't tell her about this power. Strength lies in her heart, because she is such a sweet, innocent child.”

Furthermore, her connection with Kay are through roses (they have a window box full of roses) and a song that goes like this: "Where roses bloom so sweetly in the vale, There shall you find the Christ Child, without fail." Another variation of the song is: “The rose in the valley has flowers so sweet, and angels come down there the children to greet.” She saved Kay with her prayers, hugs, kisses, tears and her song and their reunion literally ended winter and brings spring. If that’s not Sansa Stark (and the jonsa reunion), then I don’t know what is.

Gerda made a journey to the North to find Kay and bring him back together with her to their home. Sansa did not meant to make a journey North to find Jon and bring him back home, but this is what happened anyway. The story even stressed on the fact that when they came back to their homes, they were no longer children but grown ups. On her quest Gerda offered her red shoes to the river to get information about Kay’s whereabouts but the red shoes were given back to her the first time. But she did it once again and the river set her on the path to find Kay. I’m not really sure but for Sansa it could be her betrothal to Joffrey that was then canceled but then she got married to Tyrion Lannister. Her red shoes is her name and her claim to the North.

Gerda then met an old woman who wanted to keep her and made her forget about Kay by keeping all the roses underground. The old woman’s place was beautiful. Here is an excerpt: “Then Gerda was led into the flower garden. How fragrant and lovely it was! Every known flower of every season was there in full bloom. No picture book was ever so pretty and gay. Gerda jumped for joy, and played in the garden until the sun went down behind the tall cherry trees. Then she was tucked into a beautiful bed, under a red silk coverlet quilted with blue violets. There she slept, and there she dreamed as gloriously as any queen on her wedding day.” But then she saw a rose on the old woman’s hat and finally remembers her purpose of finding Kay. I would say that the old woman is Cersei Lannister who tried to make Sansa forget about her home and her innocence. Sansa was also saved from her clutch by roses (The Tyrells).

Then Gerda with information from a crow, met a Princess and Prince. She thought that the Prince might be Kay, but it turns out he was not. This might be Sansa’s vale arc and the Prince is either Petyr Baelish or Harry Hardyng. The Prince and Princess also gave provisions for Gerda’s journey to the North, so this may be that the KoTV helps Sansa getting Winterfell back. The crow, has a ladylove, another crow and they finally get married and live in the Princess’s castle though unfortunately the crow then died. The crow was a wild forest crow while his ladylove is a tame crow. These two crows could be genderbent into Sam Tarly and Gilly. Remember that Sam is mock as Jon’s ladylove by Alliser Thorne?

Next Gerda met a robber girl who sleeps with a knife and have plenty of pigeons. Yep, of course that is very much like Arya Stark (who sometimes is being referred to as “a girl”)

The pigeons told Gerda about Kay and The Snow Queen. The robber girl finally gave Gerda her reindeer called Bae for her journey to the North. The girl likes to tickle the reindeer’s neck with her knife. At the end of the story it is told that the robber girl then decided to leave her place and find adventure in the world. Very much like Arya’s ending.

Now about that reindeer Bae who helped Gerda to reach to Kay in The Snow Queen’s palace in the far North. In ASOIAF/GoT, we can connect Bae to Baelish. Make sense. Petyr Baelish helps Sansa get to North and Arya’s knife did end up in his neck. But also we can connect it to two foreshadowing of Sansa bearing Jon’s child. The first is more well-known: Bael the Bard. The second one I think is more hidden and I made a post about it quite long ago: Baelor. Is this far fetched? Maybe, but I’ll take it.

Kay = Jon (+ The Night King)

Kay and Gerda are neighbours and they share a garden (particularly a flower box full of roses). Their relationship, in the words of Hans Christian Andersen himself are: “These children were not brother and sister, but they loved each other just as much as if they had been.” So they are NOT brother and sister but love each other as such. While Jon and Sansa are also NOT brother and sister but was raised as such.

Then Kay got splinters of magic mirror stuck to his eyes and his heart. The mirror “made everything great and good that was reflected in it appear small and ugly, but which magnified all evil things until each blemish loomed large”. It made Kay hated all the roses, they look ugly now to his eyes and also made Kay loved the snow and the cold. Jon Snow at the beginning of the story was a cynical little boy because he was raised as a bastard. He wanted to leave Winterfell and sneered at the idea of having a family of his own because he felt that he can’t have them. So he went to the coldest place there is.

In the story, Kay plays with his sled, and then The Snow Queen came with her sled and Kay hooked his sled to hers. The Snow Queen first, covers Kay in a bearskin rug and gave Kay kisses. The first kiss “was colder than ice. He felt it right down to his heart, half of which was already an icy lump. He felt as if he were dying, but only for a moment. Then he felt quite comfortable, and no longer noticed the cold”. The second kiss makes Kay forgets about Gerda and their homes. The third kiss, The Snow Queen does not give him because it would be the kiss of death.

I argue that GRRM subvert this story. I think Jon Snow was already saved by Sansa before he met Dany. The splinters in his eyes and heart was already gone when he faced The Snow Queen. The reunion happened before he met Dany. The first two kisses also already happened: Jon Snow had died and came alive again, and he also forced to forget about his home and family while he was at the Night’s Watch. The bearskin rug which The Snow Queen used to cover Kay can allude to Jeor Mormont and/or Longclaw.

Then Jon Snow met his queen finally, but instead of a hooking sleds.... it’s dragons. Jon Snow’s sled was his dragon Rhaegal which are hooked to Dany’s sled Drogon. But his eyes wasn’t blinded by the splinter and his heart were already warm. He knowingly and willingly follow the dragon to save his family.

And the third kiss of death that wasn’t given by The Snow Queen? Jon Snow will give it to his queen instead.

Now let’s go back a little bit. Kay was also given a puzzle from ice by The Snow Queen, and if he can solve it then he is free. He was supposed to spell the word “eternity” but he couldn’t figure it out with the shard in his eyes and heart. In GoT we know exactly who has got an shard in his heart.

The Night King. And so that is why he plays with puzzle in ice. He is struggling to form the one symbol that would set him free.

Bonuses

Other than those patterns, there are several interesting tidbits from the story that fits with ASOIAF. There is this one blog said that The Snow Queen story was inspired by another story called “East of the Sun and West of the Moon” which if you read it, it is essentially “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” (the bear is a white bear, by the way)

More bonuses here. When Gerda finally remembers to find Kay during her time in the old woman’s home because of the rose, different flowers gave her different stories even though none tells her about Kay.

This is the story from tiger lily:

"Do you hear the drum? Boom, boom! It was only two notes, always boom, boom! Hear the women wail. Hear the priests chant. The Hindoo woman in her long red robe stands on the funeral pyre. The flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo woman is thinking of that living man in the crowd around them. She is thinking of him whose eyes are burning hotter than the flames-of him whose fiery glances have pierced her heart more deeply than these flames that soon will burn her body to ashes. Can the flame of the heart die in the flame of the funeral pyre?"

So GRRM didn’t take the sati ritual for Dany’s rites of passage as mother of dragons from just anywhere, but it is from this story.

Also, hear this story from hyacinth

"There were three sisters, quite transparent and very fair. One wore a red dress, the second wore a blue one, and the third went all in white. Hand in hand they danced in the clear moonlight, beside a calm lake. They were not elfin folk. They were human beings. The air was sweet, and the sisters disappeared into the forest. The fragrance of the air grew sweeter. Three coffins, in which lie the three sisters, glide out of the forest and across the lake. The fireflies hover about them like little flickering lights. Are the dancing sisters sleeping or are they dead? The fragrance of the flowers says they are dead, and the evening bell tolls for their funeral."

Of course this immediately bring to memory the quote of Jon Snow with Val: “The light of the half-moon turned Val’s honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. “The air tastes sweet.”” Well then, according to Hans Christian Andersen, that means death. There are three sisters here which could allude to the three queens at the almost end of GoT: Cersei Lannister (red), Sansa Stark (blue) and Daenerys Targaryen (white).

So those are my stab at it. I would be interested to hear if anyone’s take on it.

#jonsa #anti jonerys #anti daenerys targaryen #sansa stark #jon snow #the snow queen

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the-crows-typist · 3 years

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Hello! I recently read your azul's ficlet and i'm close to crying at how beautiful it is (its 4am emo hours). If its okay, may I request a ficlet of Jade with a gn!reader with the word 'sleep' or 'rest' (pick whichever suits better!). Thank you in advance! 💖

CW: Spoilers for the movie Your Name (Kimi no na wa), character death, body switching, angst with a happy ending, and slow burn (sort of)

Feedback in greatly appreciated!

Thank you to @opalmaplehibiscus , @jellyfishstuckinwonderland , and @raven-at-the-writing-desk for the input in the making of this fic. I greatly appreciate your help.

The Possibilities are Endless

“My name is..”

“Please remember me...!”

The crowds on the train pushed them apart, a braided bracelet was tossed towards Jade. A lifeline connecting both of them together, a connection between two souls; the face of one that was desperate to keep holding on, they yelled one last time just as the doors of the train closed and their grip on the bracelet wrap loosened.

“My name is—!”

Jade opened his eyes and he was in his room, his very dark room. To his side was his closet and to the other a white wall. The sound of bubbling water churned behind the window of his dorm room and with one slow blink, he pulled himself up and hunched over.

The same dream, the same voice, the same bracelet tossed to him.

He craned his head to his lamp stand where the colorful wrap lay next to his earring, he doesn’t remember where he got it nor does he remember why he wanted to keep it for so long. He took the bracelet and looked at it and thought back to the voice in his dream.

“Please remember me...!”

Pushing himself off he moved to the mirror to fix his appearance, with his brush and hair gel in hand he let out a gasp when the lights of vanity shined light on a note. A note written on his cheek with a marker, a message he didn’t remember writing.

“Who are you?”

It was during breakfast that Jade began to notice the strange happenings around him, how Azul asked if he was feeling better or how Floyd said he was wearing his earring again. “What do you mean,” Jade questioned. “I always wear it.”

“You weren’t yesterday. And you looked so lost like some little guppy, you even forget how to get to class yesterday morning.” Floyd complained, eating his breakfast with a huff. “Was it a prank? Cuz’ you got me good.”

What was he doing yesterday?

He woke up, went to school...No. That wasn’t what happened. He didn’t recall anything from the previous day. In fact, he remembered being at a different place.

In a city full of buildings and faraway from the sea, the familiar smell of white roses, the smile of an unfamiliar fellow and a bento box he had no recollection of him cooking or making.

His uniform wasn’t black but a cream with a tint of yellow, his magical pen was nowhere to be seen and was instead replaced with a pen nib brooch. He touches his cheek, remembering the message written on his cheek. “Who are you?”

“C’mon, you gotta tell me.” Floyd pestered, his arm over Jade’s neck “Was it a prank?”

“Perhaps.” The twins laughed, Floyd pulling close but in his mind he thought of the message, his incapability to remember the previous day. He needed more answers but only questions filled his head.

His notes were a mess and full of sketches. There were sketches of Night Raven’s facade and the students, his classmates. A slew of messy messages on paper, the handwriting worrying as if the person writing was stressed beyond belief.

“The uniforms are black, the gems are pens.”

“Nothing but roses for miles.”

“Wishing well???”

“Where am I?”

“Mr Leech, please read the next line.”

“Yes, sir.”

Trein’s brow raised and he blinked. “Well, today you actually remember your name. Perhaps you were just feeling ill.” A hum of laughter passed through the class. “And your hair is fixed as well; I was beginning to think you and your brother switched places when you came into class with a messy bed head.”

Jade blinked, tilting his head. “I...see. I’ll make sure to not make that mistake again, professor.”

“Good. Continue on reading.”

“Magic transcends all meaning when twilight occurs, when the sun and the moon share the sky for a single moment.” Trein explained, using a magical pointer. “The word twilight means ‘half-light’ when the light of the sun glows and causes refraction in the atmosphere and signaling the end of the morning and welcoming of night or visa versa. At times like this does magic become unpredictable and free-forming and when realities begin to overlap each other for the time twilight occurs. This was used to the advantage of the earliest magician in recorded history.”

Trein faced his students. “Nowadays, these times of day are known as dusk and dawn as the world twilight has fallen out of favor in recent years.”

“It’s probably because of that one book.” A student yelled from the rows behind and Trein nodded his head. “Ah, yes, ten years ago was an odd time for the word ‘twilight’.” Trein blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Who would have thought the human body produced so much diamonds but that is beside the point.” The bell rang and the students began taking their books. “Be sure to read up on your lesson today, we will be having a quiz tomorrow on the topic.”

Jade stayed in his seat for some time and stared at the diagram on the board.

Twilight.

In the back of his mind, a flash of a memory comes to him. He remembers a train stopping by and the droves of people coming in and out. Jade was alone that time, buying something some seeds or fungi. The sun was setting at the time, the yellow sun turning orange and the sky dimming to a nightly violet.

“Jade.”

He didn’t know the person who called out his name nor did he remember what they looked like but he did remember the smile they had, as if they were looking for him for a long time, it was a face relief.

“It’s me.”

He didn’t know who this person was nor did he ever remember their face and yet, at that instant he seemed to have known them his entire life. In his heart was a feeling of warmth, of glee, of content and relief; he was confused by it all. A strike of panic pierced his heart when that smile turned into a confused and upset frown. “You don’t...remember me..?”

The next stop came and people began filing out, pushing the two of them away from each other. “Jade, please remember me!” They said as they were pushed out by the crowd. Reaching up, they pulled the braided tie from their hair and threw it out of him. “Please remember me..!”

He caught the braided tie just as the other let go and doors began to close.

“My name is—!”

“Is there something wrong, Mr Leech?” He blinked, looking to Trein with confusion. He had missed the door and stood by the wall of the classroom. “Ah—I’m sorry.” There was a hissy laugh from Lucius as Trein set him down on the table to collect his papers. “You seem to be in deep thought, is there something on your mind?”

“No, professor, I was just thinking about our topic today.” Jade lied through his teeth and Trein took it with a huff. “I know twilight is a regular phenomenon but I didn’t know that it was an important time of day for mages and magicians.” A nod came from his professor. “Many people nowadays don’t see its importance as magical materials and magic itself have grown and changed over time. With the new technology and the new breakthroughs we have, the archaic practices of the past have since then been abandoned.”

Trein looked to the window and Jade followed his gaze, the sun began to set and the color of orange and violet painted the sky. “Twilight has begun.” Picking up his beloved cat, Trein stretched his back and moved to face the student in front of him. “It’s best to get back to your dorm, you might miss the curfew.”

“Professor, have you ever experienced anything during twilight? Like the way you’ve explained it during class?” Jade asked suddenly, his professor’s eyes widened then looking to the side to think for a moment. “I have but they were more of dreams than the otherworldly claims of recording happenings. I would often see myself in another person’s shoes, seeing a world I did not know about, it wasn’t a pleasant experience but...It was interesting, for a dream at least.”

“I see. Thank you very much, professor. I’ll be on my way.”

He stared at his messy notebook unblinking, the messy handwriting and the sketches were foreign to him. He drew a few doodles but he never put any detail to it nor was he able to do sketches of his peers in movement.

“Where am I?”

Taking his pen, Jade wrote a message. What had happened to him wasn’t a dream, he knew that and he knew that what he was about to do wasn’t a sure fire guarantee that whoever wrote this will see it but the unpredictability of the situation allowed him to push through with an eagerness to see the end results.

“You are in Night Raven College. My name is Jade.”

The night loomed over the dorm, the once blue waters a dark purple and tinge of black. Twilight has ended. Jade closes his eyes for a moment and sighed, thinking back about the lesson and to the confused glances of his peers.

“Please remember me...!” The voice begged, the image of a braided bracelet flowing through the air as it flew towards him. Tugging his sleeve, the bracelet was wrapped around his wrist snugly; its design was simple and bright mix of blue, yellow, and red.

“Please remember me...!”

Jade tugs his sleeves back down, only stepping out of to his bed when he felt tired. The bracelet was removed from his wrist and sat next to him.

“My name is—!”

The voice echoed through his mind, he felt that he should remember it, he felt like he should know who it was, and all he felt was frustration and eagerness to see this unpredictable situation through. He closed his eyes wanting to rest his eyes rather than sleep.

“So this is what Night Raven College looks like. It’s very pretty, your uniforms are very pretty too but I’m not used to the environment there. It’s probably because of the walls or the silence.”

It had been a few days since the messaging through the notebook began with Jade and his pen pal, of sorts. It seemed that his new pen pal had been observing weird happenings to them too. Their classmates telling them of their weird behaviors, one time all they ate were mushrooms.

“I don’t even like mushrooms and because of you I ate a whole lot of them in just one day!”

It seemed that his odd dreams of seeing another world unlike his own weren’t dreams after all. The white and yellow uniforms, the sweet smell of lilies, and the pen nib brooch all pointed to Royal Swords Academy. Apparently the person he switched bodies with studied there.

“And I was told that I ate eel for lunch and it upset my brother. It seems both of us are even on this regard.”

He always wrote messages on his notebook the moment he got home and he preferred it that way rather than waking up to writings on his face and arms. The marker ink was hard to wash off, even with large amounts of sudsy soaps.

“We have a notebook to communicate for a reason, please use that.”

“I like writing on your hand, Jade.”

There were moments that he expressed frustration with them, even anger but that soon dissipated into childish antics of messages written on skin, eating disgusting foods they came to like, and a bond that transcended physical reality. They were from two different worlds and yet, here they were being friends.

All this was just like a dream to him.

“Hey, about that braided bracelet...Where did you get it? I had one just like it before it disappeared; I used to wear it on my hair.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to that. It just came with me, I suppose. I couldn’t part with it for some reason so I’ve been wearing it ever since.”

“I guess we just so happened to have the same braided tie, huh? Hehehe!”

After class, Jade went to experience the twilight hour for once and see the students filter out of school and run about. It was the end of the week and it was a time for fun, brooms flew overhead and magical swirls of dust were thrown about by fun-loving students.

“What I like about your school is that none of you are afraid to get dirty and have fun.” He remembered his pen pal writing. “I love RSA but the uniforms and the rules we live by stop us from having fun like all of you there in NRC.”

He couldn’t blame them, RSA had some rules to go by and the uniforms really stopped them from having fun too. The chaos that he saw in RSA wasn’t like those in NRC, not by a long shot but he could see the charm it had in it despite the difference in school life.

Jade wanted them to experience this first hand one day. In their own body, of course.

He went back to his room when the sun had disappeared and the moon stood in its place. Sitting by the notebook, he took his magical pen from his pocket and began writing his response to his pen pal’s recent message.

“RSA has beautiful scenery, there’s no doubt about it. It’s a nice change of pace from the gothic feel NRC has, I find it rather peaceful. Though the sudden music lessons do tend to throw me off but that is something I will eventually come to get used to.

He tapped his pen on his desk, humming at his short reply. He looked at his wrist; the braid coiled around his wrist and was vibrant under the yellow light of his lamp. Unlike them, he never really gave hints of what his school life was about nor did he give details of what it was like to spend a day in RSA.

“We had a lesson about the magical phenomena known as Twilight. Apparently around that time, magic becomes different and realities begin to overlap...Do you think that’s what’s causing us to switch bodies?”

“Twilight...I’ve heard of that phenomenon too! It actually makes sense, maybe that’s what's causing it but if it’s really true then that’s some real strong magic!”

Jade slept that late that night, the braided tie next to his forehead. For once, he didn’t dream of the train station but of a hand coming up to take his own. No, it wasn’t his hand, it was his pen pal’s hand, and it grasped softly then tugged for him to follow.

He was on a mountain, the sky glittering with millions upon millions of stars. It was a beautiful sight, his eyes widening as the stars grew closer and closer, the heat around him rising and rising; burning his skin and singing his hair. The world around him was destroyed and the last thing he heard was the terrified scream of someone he was beginning to hold dear.

He awoke with a gasp, his eyes tearful and his lungs out of breath. Next to him were a concerned Azul and his brother Floyd. “We could hear you gasping from the hallway.” Azul explained but Jade kicked off his covers and ran to his desk, his notebook, their means of communication was empty. The messages he had collected with them were gone and only his own remained.

His brother tugged at his shoulder. “Look at me.” He was whirled around, their foreheads touching. “Breathe. You’re gonna give yourself an attack if you don’t breathe.”

He closed his eyes, leaning against his brother to breathe harshly. A pair of hands pats his back, Azul’s and Floyd’s, in an act of comfort but none of their touches reached Jade. He was too confused, too shaken up, too anxious. “It was just a bad dream.”

A dream...

What he had seen in the eyes of his pen pal was all a dream...?

Pen pal?

“It’s best that you get some more rest.” Azul said, pulling Jade back to his bed. “I’ll explain to the teachers what happened to you.” Floyd nudged him down and pulled the covers up until his brother’s chin. “We need you well rested, Jade. We’ll have the others check on you every once in a while.”

He forced himself to breathe slowly and carefully, his eyes screwed shut and thoughts in a whirlwind. His memories scrambling and confusing, he tries to remember the train station, the lake that was on RSA’s sloping hills and the falling meteorite.

Had there been a meteor shower? There was no news of it, no indication.

A hand caressed his head, shushing his sounds to silence.

“Sleep, Jade.”

The next day, Jade spent all his time in the library with books about stars and meteors and sleep being the furthest thing from his mind. He poured through the articles about meteor showers, checking online news sites, and pouring through scientific documents.

Nothing.

No recent reports of a meteor shower anywhere near the area of RSA or NRC.

A frustrated sigh left Jade’s lips and he held his head with a huff, burying his fingers into his hair when a fluffy tail rubbed and pawed against his arm. “Good to see you’re up and about, Mr Leech.” Trein stood over him as Lucius stepped over the articles to sit on one of the books.

“I didn’t know you were taking a liking to astronomy.” The professor commented, taking an article and reading through it. “Meteor showers, eh? I haven’t seen those for some time. The last one was beautiful but also very tragic.”

“What do you mean, professor?” Jade stared up at his teacher, slightly surprised.

“You weren’t in NRC at the time this happened but there was a meteor shower that passed by Twisted Wonderland, it was a festive time...But that soon became a tragedy when a fragment broke off from one of the passing meteorites.” He sighed, closing his eyes and setting the paper down. “Though NRC and RSA have been rivals for a long time, I can’t bear to think such a catastrophic event would happen to them.”

His heart skipped a beat, eyes wide in surprise. “You mean to say...”

“A meteorite fragment fell on RSA three years ago, specifically on the field just outside the school where some students were watching the shower. Those poor children...”

The white crystal of his magical pen glowed bright and Jade pushed himself off his chair, figure hunched forward and head hung low. Lucius let out a meow as he scrambled away from the student. “Mr Leech, what are you doing?” Trein demanded but his voice fell on deaf ears, Jade remembers his last dream, the last time he switched bodies. He remembers the falling meteorite, the scream that wasn’t his own, he remembers them.

His pen pal.

In a burst of magic, Jade disappeared from his position leaving a scared Lucius and a confused and upset Mozus Trein.

The landscape around him was heavy, the crater left by the meteorite was massive and no traces of life were seen within the impact zone. The memory of the meteorite fragment falling right on top of his pen pal, killing them instantly played again and again in his head. Jade, normally so aloof and calm, fell to his knees.

They died.

They died where he stood.

For the first time in a long while, Jade screamed his heart out. A wail of agony loud enough to echo through the empty void that was essentially his pen pal resting place. He sunk to his knees and continued crying until his throat became hoarse and painful.

He laid on his side as the sun went down, the braided tie peeked out of his blazer.

“Please remember me—!”

The train station...Was that a dream too? What had he been doing when he was in there? What was he there for?

Who was calling out his name.

“Jade...?”

The sun set over him, the sky turning orange and violet. It was twilight hour.

“Jade..”

“Jade.”

There was a touch to his shoulder and a soft shake. His head turned, his eyes widened. A student from RSA stood over him. They smelled of white lilies, uniform a mix of white and yellow, and their magical crystal a pen nib brooch. There was a familiar gleam in their eyes, a smile he came to know from the many days they had switched bodies.

His pen pal smiled at him, offering their hand for him to take. “It’s really you, Jade. It’s actually you.”

They laughed, pulling Jade into a hug; his tall figure dwarfing them easily as they hugged his chest. Jade sighed, returning the hug soon after and rocking each other back and forth for a few moments the sun shined in the horizon.

“I thought I lost you, y’know?” They said, looking up at him. “I just...I suddenly couldn’t reach you.”

“I thought you had died. I saw the meteor fall on you.”

They looked at each other for a moment and a laugh was shared, their foreheads linked together soon after. “I know but...somehow, maybe...I don’t really know what happened to me. I just couldn’t reach you to tell you what happened on that day. I nearly forgot about you and I cried for days wondering why.”

Pulling away, they looked down to Jade’s wrist. “Hey, that bracelet...”

“You gave it to me in the train station.”

It was all coming back to him now. This person, his pen pal, was someone he held dear for a long time.

He felt comfort.

“Oh yeah! I did, didn’t I?”

“Do you want it back?”

“No. Keep it.”

The two held hands for some time but were immediately thwarted by them pulling out a marker. “Hey, why don’t we write our names? That way, if we ever forget each other there’ll always be a reminder. Ah, but I don’t have any paper with me...”

Jade offered his palm, his smile teasing and knowing. “You always liked writing on my skin.”

They shared another laugh and the marker’s cap was pulled off, Jade looking over the horizon as they wrote their name on his palm. “Your turn.”

He took the pen from them and as soon as he wrote the starting strokes of his name, the marker fell from his grasp.

The twilight hour had ended and the moon took over the sky.

“Eh...? What am I...doing...?”

Jade was found by his peers not long after, taking him in and letting him rest as they descended the crater near RSA. Mozus Trein was their chaperone, explaining to the staff of the rival school and covering his own students.

“Someone he knew died here,” He explained, looking at Jade being covered with a blanket by his brother. Jade’s eyes were closed and he leaned against him, clearly exhausted from the ordeal and exposure to the elements.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, professor.” Said one RSA’s employees, brows upturned and frowning deep. “The meteorite crash was a very tragic event for all schools. I can’t imagine how much grief that young boy has gone through knowing that a friend of his died that day.”

“I hope you can look the other way on this. I know we shouldn’t come into each other’s premises without proper—“

“It’s quite alright. I’ll explain the situation to the headmaster once everything has settled.”

Floyd pulled his brother to his chest and stood up, Azul placing a hand on his back.

“Let’s go home, Jade.”

Jade wasn’t alone that night, Floyd and Azul wouldn’t allow him to be alone. They slept next to him, keeping him company but while the two slept, he couldn’t. The moon shone against his window and gave his room a very soft blue glow. He raised his hand to his face, the message from someone he held dear was still visible but slightly smudged.

“Thank you.”

Bitterness rose in his chest and to his throat, his brows furrowed in frustration. The tears forming stung his eyes.

“You idiot,” he brought his palm to his face, sniffling. “I can’t remember you this way.”

A year had passed and the dreams stopped coming after that night. Jade had picked up the habit of sitting outside during twilight hour, watching the set and holding the bracelet that never left his wrist for more than a second. He wore it everywhere he went but when asked; he never had a proper reason for it.

“I feel complete wearing it.”

The yearly magical shift festival brought troves of customers and onlookers, Jade and his brother sat on a bench and let their legs rest after a long day. “I’m gonna go get something to eat. You want anything?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll buy some myself.”

“’Kay.”

Jade was left alone after that and he closed his eyes for a moment, his nose taking in the different smells of food and perfumes.

There was a familiar smell of white lilies.

“Excuse me.”

A person stood in front of him, holding a brochure. They were a uniform of white and yellow and a pen nib brooch. They smiled at him and familiar warmth bloomed in his chest. “I don’t mean to disturb you or anything.”

Their smile was sheepish but it felt as if he’d seen it somewhere before.

“Do we know each other by any chance?”

“I think so.” Jade’s smile was easy and suddenly their eyes began to water. “I had a feeling we did.”

“Hey,” Jade reached over and intertwined their hands, the bracelet’s colors were vibrant against his skin and theirs.

“May I…”

“Can I…”

“...Know your name?”

#works from the typewriter #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #jade leech x reader #jade leech #twst jade leech #twst jade x reader #angst #jade ficlets #this took me so long to write oml #twst #twst x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader

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make-me-imagine · 3 years

Text

Red Roses: “I Love You” - Clint Barton Ending

Valentines Special: Day Nine

Day One: Morning Glories // Day Two: Blue Salvias Day Three: Sunflowers // Day Four: Pink Camellias Day Five: Yellow Tulips // Day Six: Violets Day Seven: Lisianthus // Day Eight: Daffodils (Post with rest of the character endings)

Plot: It’s finally Valentines Day, the day the reader will finally learn who it is that had been leaving them flowers and notes expressing their secret feelings.

Pairing: Gen!Neutral Reader x Clint Barton

Triggers: Mention of gunfire/violence (very brief)

Words: 1,678

Requested Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @thebookbakery, @fablesrose, @kitkatd7, @thefallenbibliophilequote, @beksib, @destynelseclipsa, @criminaly-supernatural, @tammythompson-singslikea-muppet, @belloangelus, @snarky--starky, @saintbootlegloras, @wecallhimbrowneyess, @empath-bunny, @okkulta, @katinthemoon, @ravennight41, @youcancallme-rae , @radhumandragonclam, @unfortunateidiotinadilemma, @past3l-w1ngs , @goinggoinggonzo, @mxxnmocha, @theofficialzivadavid, @fred-deeks-ben

February 14th

You ducked down behind the car as one of the assailants fired his gun at you, peaking out after hearing a grunt followed by a thud, you see him lying on the ground, stun-arrow stuck to his back. Your eyes dart to where the arrow came from as Clint and Natasha came out of the building.

“Took you guys long enough!” you yelled as you threw a stun grenade into the building where you heard men coming from to chase after you “What happened you get lost?” you quipped as you all began running back to the car.

“Whats your hurry, got somewhere to go?” Clint asked eyeing you with a smile as you all jumped into the cars.

“Maybe I do, what’s it matter to you?” you asked as you caught the hard drive Natasha tossed you. Unseen by you, Natasha and Clint shared an amused look as you all caught your breath.

You had suddenly been sent on this mission this morning when you found out that two home-terror groups were sharing dangerous information and SHIELD secrets. Finding out about a drop of the hard drive you were sent to retrieve it.

“I never knew you to be interested in any of Tony’s parties.” Natasha said.

“I’m not” you replied simply as you plugged the hard drive into a computer.

“Why not? Should be fun.” Clint said.

You remained silent as you began hacking the hard drive, ignoring Clint’s comment, but unable to ignore the heavy beating of your heart.

After getting back to the SHIELD office you were heading back to the tower, Natasha fell into step beside you “So, are you excited about tonight?”

You glanced at her quickly “I don’t know.” you said truthfully. You had told her about what tonight would bring, the truth about your admirer. You hadn’t told Clint, because, well, you wanted it to be him more than any of the others, and you were afraid that talking to him about it, would make it too obvious, or maybe he would be to obvious about it not being him.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine” she said, as if to console you.

Entering into the tower, you see various Valentines decorations littering the front entrance all the way to the elevator. You and Natasha stopped as you looked around, none of it had been there when you left. Feeling a presence behind you, you realized Clint had entered.

“Wow. Looks like Cupid threw up in here.” he joked before brushing past you.

You and Natasha smiled as you followed behind him, all three of you had to rush to get ready, the party was starting in about an hour and you were sure you all looked like hell after having a firefight.

- - -

After quickly taking a shower, and getting ready, you sat on the edge of your bed as you slipped on your shoes. Taking the silent moment to really think about what might happen in the coming evening.

You tried your best to be accepting of the fact that it could be any of the others who might confess to you tonight, and you tried convincing yourself that you would be alright with it being any of them. And in a way you were.

But, thinking more about it being Clint, made you feel more excited and hopeful that it being any of the others. And thinking about it, not, being Clint, made you the most disappointed. You had known each other for years, he is the reason you became an Avenger in the first place. He knows almost everything about you, and you about him. He makes you comfortable, he makes you smile, laugh, and he makes you feel safe.

Looking over at your desk, your eyes land on a series of photo booth photos of you and Clint you had pinned up. You went undercover as a couple once a few years back and took them. It ended up being one of the funnest nights of your life, even through the spying and fighting. He had a matching set of photos tucked away also, his favorite of them all, torn off and placed safely in his wallet. But this, you didn’t know.

Checking the clock, you take a breath as you stood and left your room, the party had begun. Once you got to the party you were a bit intimidated with how many people had already shown up. ‘How many people did Tony invite?’ you thought to yourself as you scanned the room.

You jumped slightly when an arm slipped through your own. Looking over you see Natasha by your side as she looked around the room too “I don’t even know who have of these people are. And that’s impressive for being a spy.” You smiled at her comment, feeling comforted by her presence as you both walked further into the room.

The first hour of the party seemed to go by quickly as you spent most of it greeting and chatting with some of the guests, per Tony’s request. Walking away from a particularly perverse man, you rolled your eyes as you walked into the other room, someone falling into step beside you.

“Someone certainly pissed you off.”

You turned to look at Clint with a look of disdain “If I had to hear one more suggestion about what would make my superhero costume look “better” I was going to deck him.”

Clint snorted as he took a sip of his drink before setting it on an empty tray in a waiters hand. Reaching out his hand he looked at you “Dance?”

You looked from him and into the crowded room of slow-dancers, you hesitated “Ehh, I don’t know, you know I’m not much of a-”

“Oh come on” he smiled as he took your hand in his and all but dragged you further into the room. As he brought your intertwined hands up, and set his other on your waist he smiled at you as you began to move with the music “You’re a great dancer. And I say that as the guy who taught you in the first place.”

You smiled at the reference back to an undercover mission you had been on, that involved going to very rich man’s party. “Now you’re just trying to boost your own ego. As if I didn’t crush your toes more than a few times.”

“Hey, I got over it, and you got better.”

“We’ll see, it has been a while.”

“You’re doing fine.” He said honestly with a small smile that made your heart pound.

You chatted through the rest of the song, and as the next started Clint paused as he looked around “I have something for you.”

Queue the rapid beating heart again “What?” you asked.

Reaching into his suit pocket, carefully, he pulled out a single, delicate, half-bloomed rose. You froze as you stared down at it as he handed it to you. You stared at in in surprise before you glimpsed up at him, your eyes briefly scanning the people behind him, noting that they were all preoccupied with their partners.

“Clint, this is...”

“A confession.” he finished.

You met his eyes “So it was you the whole time?”

He smiled while gesturing his head “Yeah well, I guess I just couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with my best friend.”

If your heart could beat so hard out of your chest, this was the moment. “What?” you almost whispered out.

He took a small step closer so that your faces were mere inches apart as he brought up his hand to gentle brush the side of your face “I’m saying I love you Y/n. Have for quite a while actually.”

Unable to stop yourself you all but leaped forward and you wrapped your arms around his neck in a tight embrace making him chuckle as he wrapped his arms around you. He spoke into your ear “I’m hoping this is a good reaction.”

You pulled away with a laugh “Yes it is Clint. I- “ you hesitated, out of fear and excitement before whispering out “I love you too.”

Clint grinned at your words before he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you into a kiss. Both of you smiled into the kiss before pulling away. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a hell of a long time.”

Your smile continued to beam at him as he said this, before he reached out and pulled you closer, his hand intertwined in your again. Leaning in, you kissed again before pulling away as he began to sway your bodies again in time with the music “Natasha knew didn’t she?” you asked, thinking back on all the times you and her had talked about it.

“How could she not? Besides, she helped me deliver them on a few occasions.” he smirked making you smile and shake your head as you thought back to that day in the gym.

“So why the flowers and the notes? I knew you were a romantic, but even for you this is a bit...dramatic, not to mention patient.”

He chuckled “Oh trust me, there were times I almost gave in and just told you. But, I heard you talking to some of the others about Valentines a while back, you know when you guys were laughing about how they put all that Valentines stuff in stores two months before? And I heard you mention that you’ve never really had a Valentine before, so I thought, hey what the hell, I’ll be your Valentine.” he finished with a cheesy smile that made you giggle.

“Well.” you paused “I couldn’t have asked for a better Valentine that you.”

He smiled fondly at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Moving to rest your head against his shoulder he pressed a kiss to the side of your temple as you continued to dance. Both of you unaware of the grinning and giggling Natasha and Wanda watching from the corner of the room.

xx xx xx xx xx

If you liked it, please consider reblogging and checking out the rest of the endings!~ :)

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funkzpiel · 4 years

Note

Another consideration (sorry) is if Jaskier did lose his voice permanently from the Jinn and Geralt feels guilty and doesnt stop trying to find a cure even though he knows there isnt one (or lies to Jaskier that he's trying to find one til Jaskier finds out)

He doesn’t sing again. That prickly part of Geralt that’s been traveling alone for most of his life gruffly thought he’d enjoy that result. After all, he did his level best to have the issue resolved. It wasn’t his fault that the bard got involved. He hadn’t invited him along – he had just wanted to fucking sleep for fucking once in his life, damn it. It had been his wish though, however unintentional, that brought the bard into this new life, this silent existence. A world without Jaskier’s singing.

It is like biting into a pie only to find it has no filling.

Those words haunt him in the lingering silence of Jaskier’s presence. They hang between him and the bard as heavily as any wraith might – leeching him just as much as actual conversations exhausted him. Jaskier, like the birds of the woods, was born to sing and talk and fill the world with the litany of his voice and his perspective and his life; and Geralt had taken part in shattering him.

Yennefer had, in her way, tried to heal him. They had released the Djinn – much to the mage’s dismay – and that should have been the end of it. Jaskier’s swelling went down, his bleeding stopped.

But when he opened his mouth to greet Geralt when finally he woke, nothing more than a wheeze passed his lips. In that moment, the witcher watched a part of Jaskier die. He saw it in the bard’s eyes – a small bit of the light that constantly filled him fading away like a cloud passing over the sun.

Jaskier stayed with him. Geralt doesn’t understand why. It was his fault, his words, his hasty and ill thought out wish that had crushed the bard’s vocal cords to dust. Jaskier should hate him, and yet he stayed. Geralt thought pragmatically that it was because alone, Jaskier would struggle. He was a man who had independently crafted a life and a career for himself off his voice, and now that was gone. He had his fingers, his lute, of course – but drunken pub-goers relished the bard’s songs, his lyrics, and with nothing to sing along to, it left Jaskier’s lute playing, while lovely, pale and hollow by comparison to what patrons expected to hear when they recognized who he was.

Geralt did that to him. So it was the least he could do to keep Jaskier by his side. To provide a safe place for the bard to sleep, coin for him to eat. And that must be why he stayed, he reasoned. Why else?

As they passed through villages, he asked for healers, for mages – anyone who might have insight into the bard’s situation. He even began to direct their travels in the direction of famous herbalists or sorcerers (or sometimes even creatures), all without ever making it plain, just in case they might stumble upon someone who might have a cure.

‘Sorry’ hung heavy on his heart, weighing it down between his ribs, pressing in on his lungs, strangling him. He spent his nights, already so prone to sleeplessness, on his back and staring up at the sky as though the stars might suddenly align and spell out the answers he sought. His eyes drifted to Jaskier, curled by the fire. Small and quiet. So fucking quiet.

Geralt was really beginning to fucking detest the quiet.

It made him admire Jaskier’s penchant for conjuring a conversation seemingly out of nowhere; particularly when he began to try and solve this problem of too much fucking quiet by doing what Jaskier could not: talking.

“Pleasant day,” he growled one morning, eyes on the meal he stoked above the fire as Jaskier silently worked on lacing up his clothing. Blue eyes sought him out over the fire. He could feel the weight of them, the surprise. But what else was there to say? His words had been efficient. The day was pleasant. What should he say next? Describe the color of the sky? Foolish.

He grit his teeth, hating himself for his blatant inability to provide even so much comfort as this. But he keeps trying. He practices. Only because when he does, Jaskier’s gaze falls to him – keen in a way those blue eyes had not been in some time since the silence started – and for a moment he feels as though his bard has returned again.

Jaskier, for his part, does not simply melt back into the stone of a garden wall like a shrinking violet. His voice was not what made him so lively, so vibrant; it was a side effect of all the life and sunlight and existence that the gods had seen fight to cram into a body as lithe as Jaskier. He learned how to speak with his hands and Geralt, a man who had only spoken through body language for so long, found it easy to listen. It was an act of communication that drew no end of curious looks when they went to villages. How could two men speak so silently? Some even began to suspect Jaskier was a familiar of Geralt’s – which made the bard wheeze silently, laughing.

Geralt couldn’t even be annoyed by that. It was good to see the bard laugh.

Jaskier’s hands grew more and more fluent as they travelled until he learned how to fill the silence in an entirely new way. And if Geralt’s attention were distracted, his eyes not on the bard, Jaskier found ways to grab his attention. A pebble to the shoulder, if annoyed. A hand to his side, to the small of his back, to his bicep if not.

But still, Geralt looked for a cure. He did not ask for forgiveness. He didn’t deserve it – not while Jaskier was still unable to say the words to pardon him for his wish. Wishes. How Geralt hated them, hated the word. His wish had driven Yennefer away. His wish had bound Jaskier to a life in which he could not do what he loved. Geralt didn’t deserve forgiveness. So he did not ask.

And then came the contract about the witches of the bog.

Ancient hags. Magical ladies. So old that Geralt wasn’t even sure if the word ‘witch’ truly befitted them anymore. He didn’t even know what to call them, what to research in his bestiary. Three witches of the bog. Complicated and powerful, hand in hand. Some of the village worshipped them. They kept the forest rich with game. They protected birthing mothers. They warded off those from foreign lands that might colonize their home, change it, urbanize it. It left the area like a capsule from another time; perfectly preserved.

Others hated them. Virgins tended to disappear now and then. Children too. Livestock would die, men would suddenly fall dead. Believers called it penance, divine and unknowable justice for deeds the public might never see or fathom. Nonbelievers called it terrorism at the hands of monsters. Geralt found himself stuck in the middle.

He insisted Jaskier stay in the village. This was beyond even his expertise. Even with normal monsters there was always the chance that he might fail, not protect Jaskier, however slim. Now? He would not tell Jaskier that he had a healthy fear for what laid ahead, but he made it known that for no reason should the bard follow him this time.

He approached the bog with his swords on his back but his hands nowhere near their hilts. Women as old as these, there was a chance he might be able to reason with them. Negotiate.

There was just as big as chance that he might offend them by trying.

His heart thumped in his chest as he kneeled in a dry spot in the bog. He set out the offerings the believers told him would attract the witches to him. He rested his hands on his thighs. Closed his eyes.

“Bog women,” he said, calling to them in a hushed, croaking voice, “Ladies of the North, Winter Women… I have no request but to parlay with you. I humble myself, I kneel, knowing I don’t deserve an audience. Would you speak with me?”

At first there was nothing. He wondered if the believers had lied, if the nonbelievers were far more stable by comparison. He was just about to stand, to leave, when a wind brushed the faint hairs not held back by his hair tie to wisp about his face. The willows around him swirled and sang a sorrowful tune. The fine hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms rose.

“What is a boy’s name?” A witch sung to him. A boy. Despite his years, he felt very much like a boy kneeling at the feet of those women.

He nearly responded. Nearly. But there was power in a name for folk such as them.

“You may call me witcher,” he said instead, careful in his wording. Another witch laughed, delighted.

“Clever witcher-boy,” the laughing witch chirped, stepping out of the fog. She was lovely. Her red hair hung down to her bottom. Her face was round like a peach, her cheeks pink like one too. She wore a gown unlike one he had ever seen before. She looked kind, her smile pleasant, but her eyes – if he looked too long, he could see the predatory glint in those eyes. Her glamor blurred around the edges and if he peered too closely, he could almost see—

His pupils dilated, huge and blown out as he tried to make sense of what he saw. Limbs, so many limbs. A body distorted with tumors; or what he thought might be tumors, but perhaps just did not know the right word for them. Too many mouths, eyes, faces. The punishing visage of those warped by black magic or simply the form of a god not meant to be seen or understood by mortal men? He didn’t know, but he did register something wet beneath his nose. Hot and dripping. His heart thundered. He wondered if it might burst when finally another woman came up behind him, bent over him, and gently rested a hand over his eyes.

“A strong boy with keen eyes,” the woman behind him hummed, “Few have seen past our glamor. Fewer still remained sane enough to tell the tale.”

The first witch cackled, having appeared from the fog as well, and sneered, “You steal our fun,” then said a name that made Geralt’s lashes flutter sickly. The name sounded more like the mad tumble of rocks down a mountain side that any human word. His stomach lurched. He was so fucked. “I wished to see how far a witcher-boy’s mind might bend.”

“A boy came to us in good faith,” the witch whose name sounded like falling rocks said. Her voice sounded like the voice of many women, but also, one woman. His mother. He wondered if that was part of the glamor as well. If that magic was seeping into his mind, collecting fragments and details that might sooth him, lure him into a false sense of security.

Too bad it was the voice of the woman who had abandoned him. It only served to wake him up.

He decided to call that woman Earth Mother. The name pinged something familiar in the far recesses of his mind.

“Laws of matronhood,” said the second to the first, naming her as well. He gritted his teeth against the sound of it – glass shattering, wolves howling. It made his muscles tense, ready to flee the jaws of a wolf. When the feeling passed, a human name appeared in his mind seemingly from nowhere: Beast Mother.

“Aye, I know the laws,” said the Beast Mother, then a final name. Geralt’s stomach dropped sickly like missing a step on a staircase. This name sounded like the wind – both tame as the first warmth of spring thaws the fields, and wild like the storm that punishes a village. Sky Mother, his mind supplied.

Geralt bowed his head as those final, hind-brain instincts washed over him and eventually dulled. He felt suddenly exhausted. Word thin by the mere presence of these women.

“What does a witcher-boy call to women such as we for?” Asked the Sky Mother.

“Does a witcher-boy come to kill us?” Laughed the Beast Mother cruelly, and even with the third woman’s hand over his eyes – cool and soothing and dark – Geralt knew the Beast Mother was grinning with too many predatory teeth. More teeth than any human mouth should have. Teeth and teeth and teeth—

“The village placed a contract on you,” Geralt forced himself to say. “But I’m quickly realizing this is no monster hunt.”

He was in the presence of gods, or at least as close to gods as reality might ever get. Every story, every religion, stemmed from something after all. These land spirits, these witches, these women – they were so much more than a contract to be hunted. They owned the land, the wood, the swamp, and all inside it. Fuck.

“If you know this, then why come?” The Earth Mother asked gently.

“Some of the villagers are suffering,” Geralt explained, “I’m here to help. To parlay.”

“Life is to suffer,” laughed the Beast Mother cruelly.

The Sky Mother said instead, “And what can a witcher-boy offer us? How can a witcher-boy help?”

The Earth Mother was against his back, matronly and kind. He felt like a boy hiding behind a mother’s skirts – or more accurately Vesemir’s legs. It felt both nostalgic and sickening at the same time, his mind peeled apart like an onion so easily in their presence.

“I am nothing and no one to you Mothers,” Geralt acknowledged, “But I cannot turn my back on suffering. If I do so here, I have no right to my namesake.”

“A witcher-boy wanted to be a hero,” cackled the Beast Mother, fangs gleaming in his mind’s eyes, pearly and wet with hungry spittle.

“A witcher-boy is kind,” whispered the Mother blinding him with her mercy, her hand.

“A witcher-boy is doomed,” offered the Sky Mother clinically, but not dispassionately.

“What did the village ask?” The Beast Mother spat, “Did they whine about their lost babes? Their disappeared virgins? Their dead men? Their cows?”

“The milk had spoiled in their udders, so we killed them,” the Sky Mother said simply.

“The men had raped and stolen and marred the virtue of our lands, so we removed them from the grace of our hospitality,” the Beast Mother growled.

“The virgins sought escape from abusive homes, sought freedom and peace, so we guided them to happier places,” the Earth Mother hummed.

“And the babes would have died a painful death from winter, from illness, from genetic deficiencies – so we lured them to that better place in peace instead,” the Sky Mother finished.

“Life is cruel,” the Beast Mother growled like the sound of hooves on earth, pounding in chase after the fox, “But we are not. A witcher-boy cannot fathom our motives, so we pardon him once, but question our intentions again and a witcher-boy will understand punishment for himself.”

Geralt bowed his head intentionally this time, hands in tight, humbled fists on his knees.

“Apologies, Mothers, I knew not what to expect.”

“As we said, a witcher-boy is pardoned,” the Sky Mother said simply.

“We know a witcher-boy,” the Earth Mother sang behind him, her voice the laughter of a babe’s first smile, the song of a mother kneading dough in the morning. “A witcher-boy withholds his name, but we know him.”

“White. Wolf.” The Beast Mother is grinning with too many hungry teeth again. Geralt shivered.

“You helped a Godling not far from here,” says one.

“Spared a group of trolls in the eastern mountains,” says another.

“Helped a succubus escape the fires of the cities and the purge of daft men who put their faith in nonsense,” says the last.

“The list is long,” the Earth Mother says, her other hand stroking through his hair now. She’s untied it, let it fall loose around his ears. She tsks and says, “At least a witcher-boy tried to bathe for us. You need fine oils for hair such as this.”

He feels disoriented, exposed. Unsure of his footing.

“I will explain to the village—” he begins, but clicks his jaw shut audibly when the Beast Mother howls, “We were not done, witcher-boy!”

He swallows dryly. His very bones shiver. The Earth Mother shushes his fears and continues to pet him like a dumb, beloved dog warming her feet. It feels… nice. He has to shake his mind awake not to fall for that glamor, that lulling sense of safety. There is no safety. Safe is an illusion.

“Clever witcher-boy,” the Earth Mother says proudly, fondly.

“You’ve helped people and creature alike on our land,” the Sky Mother said.

“But you’ve also taken justice into your hands, as if we were not suitable to maintain it,” snarled the Beast Mother.

“What are three Mothers to do with their witcher-boy, their kind hearted wolf, their man of stone?”

They might kill him. They were not wrong, he had taken their affairs into his own hands unknowingly when fulfilling contracts in these lands. If their territory extended as far as he thought it did, he had only done so twice perhaps. Maybe thrice. A werewolf that had gone mad, slaughter their family. A cockatrice that had been spoiling the hunt for another township, killing the best of their providers. A wraith left behind by a widow spurned.

“We would have gotten to them in our own time,” the Beast Mother said, answering his unspoken question of why, if they protected these lands, had they not handled it?

“Or perhaps we did handle it in our own right,” the Earth Mother offered with a chuckle. Working through him, he realized. A pawn in their ways just as he was a pawn to fate. He shuddered helplessly, a little flame of offense rising in his gut as it always did at the concept of ‘fate’. She brushed his hair back in apology, stroked his cheek. “You need a shave.”

Disoriented didn’t begin to cover it.

“Spoil sport,” the Beast Mother snorted. So that had been it, then. He had acted as unwitting representative for them and their will.

“You are a trustworthy wolf,” the Sky Mother said, “Good in intention, civil in mercy.”

“You will go to the village,” the Earth Mother continued. “You will explain the way of things. Those who cannot abide by those ways can flee freely or be dealt with accordingly… They will not pay you, witcher-boy. Their hearts are selfish and easy to see reason why they should keep their coin despite your bravery, despite how you put yourself between we women and their cowardly souls.”

“For this, for the works you’ve already done unintentionally in our name and for the works you will later do intentionally in our name, we women shall pay you instead.”

He stiffened. Every bone locked in his body like rusted hinges on a door, painful and tight. That was a dangerous offer. He could not deny it and live. But one wrong word would spell a world of pain unending. He swallowed.

“You are too kind to someone as undeserving as me,” he managed to croak.

The Beast Mother laughed cruel and amused, high like a harpy’s screech and low like a bear’s roar. He shuddered visibly. The Earth Mother smoothed down the hackles that rose on the back of his neck like a master calming a spooked dog.

“Correct, we are too kind. Wise of you to notice,” the Beast Mother said.

“What does a witcher-boy want?” The Sky Mother asked.

Geralt clenched his jaw, feeling more like a mouse caught between a cat’s paws than a witcher. It was an uncomfortable, greasy feeling, and he hated it.

“I require nothing –”

“—Ha! A man says he requires nothing from gods!” The Beast Mother howled like a pack of wolves.

“You would spit in our eye and refuse our gift?” The Sky Mother asked diplomatically.

“Do not let them frighten you, witcher-boy,” the Earth Mother hummed, stroking his hair again. “We Mothers are unused to debt.”

He could ask for a token from them; small enough so as not to ask too much, but enough to appease their debt. He could ask for some tidbit of knowledge; the location of a cache in their lands, perhaps. He could ask for hospitality in their woods; safety and peace whenever he visited. But as their champion, which he was quickly coming to find that he was unknowingly, he inherently knew he need not ask for any of this. They had always provided for him, had always shown him the way. He never went hungry or thirsty in these woods. The birds called when anything deigned attack him, warning him. He slept here. To ask for what they already provided would be turning a blind eye onto their gifts – a dangerous thing.

He should find something else – something small, something humble. And yet…

“My friend… what would it cost for you to heal him?” Geralt finally asked.

“Aaah,” the Beast Mother crooned, “A witcher-boy does not love silence after all.”

“A witcher-boy did not know what he had until it was gone,” the Earth Mother said, her voice if possible even more fond.

“Witcher-boys tend to be clever, and yet dumb as rock trolls,” the Sky Mother said blandly.

“Please,” Geralt said, leaning into the cradle of the Earth Mother’s hand which blinded him, protected him. She hummed soothingly behind him.

“We women are powerful and old. We saw the mountains form and the rivers fill. We were there for the first storm, the first wind that graced the ground, the first sprig of grass, the birth of the first land beast,” said the Sky Mother.

“But alas, this boon you ask for is not as simple as you think,” the Earth Mother said sadly.

He nearly asked ‘so you can’t help’ before he caught his tongue. What a stupid way to die, offending gods. The Beast Mother cackled. She knew what he had almost asked.

“It is not that we are not capable. You ask for something more than what we owe,” the Beast Mother said, fangs glinting, her words the framework of a hungry maw in his mind’s eye, waiting for an excuse to eat him. A merry chase, a dangerous game. It thrilled her to chase him like a rabbit through their laws and customs and loopholes, waiting for him to trip and yet hoping he might not so the game would continue. “And you cannot afford a cure outright.”

“What is the cost of an outright cure?” He asked. He had to know. Maybe he could—

“Souls. Innocent souls. Blood. Flesh. Creation and death. You request to overwrite a Djinn’s will, witcher-boy. That sort of magic by human means, by the means in which you could pay us, would change you fundamentally. You’d no longer be worthy as champion of our will. We have no intention of warping a witcher-boy and losing a pawn such as yourself. Too dull, too boring. Too simple. A witcher-boy offends.”

He hung his head again. His debt to his friend was more expensive than his morality, the makeup of his being, than his use to the world and to these witches, these gods. His stomach became a stone inside him. There was no outright cure…

His head rose a little.

“What cost for his voice?” He asked. Not a cure. A voice. The Earth Mother stroked him approvingly. The Beast Mother smiled with impressed fangs. The Sky Mother considered him.

“A steep price,” the Sky Mother said, like spring rain.

“A generous price,” snorted the Beast Mother, like boars stomping in the brush.

“A fair price,” hummed the Earth Mother, like the sound of a gentle hands guiding a plant into fresh soil.

“Name it,” Geralt said, something unidentifiable to his knowledge of himself in the edges of the words, though he recognized it in others. Pleading.

They named it.

He agreed.

“But first,” said the women with too many voices, “What is a witcher-boy’s name?”

They already knew it. Geralt knew that they did. But he hadn’t given it to them. There was power in giving a name.

Geralt paid.

–

He returned to town feeling exhausted, hollowed out and reed-thin, and yet he held the light of dawn in his chest, weightless and hopeful. He carried it with him over the hall and down the path that led to the village, leaving behind him his Ladies and the offerings he had placed on their humble altar.

He followed their instructions precisely.

He went first to the village alderman – a believer – and the man who had posted the notice – a nonbeliever. He explained that this village was not in fact their home, but the home of the women, and it was by their mercy that their crops flourished and their lives went by in relative peace. When the nonbeliever questioned him, cheeks red with rage that Geralt had not done as he was tasked, Geralt merely offered precisely what the women had told him to say.

“If you do not like living in the lands of the Ladies, you are free to relocate somewhere with no matronage. But if you stay and presume to keep calling the lands your own, and living outside the laws of matron and guest, there’s nothing I can do to spare you from them. This was their land first. They’ve upheld every law, provided every mercy. Live by their terms, live somewhere else, or find out for yourself why men have disappeared from among you by becoming another face on a flier.”

They had bid him not over explain. There was no faith to be had otherwise, no trust, and the Ladies asked for little more than that from their guests. To explain would be to condemn these villages to eviction. So he left the nonbelievers’ fate to themselves. Heed, flee or perish.

They didn’t pay him, just as the women had warned. The nonbelievers accused him of solving nothing. They called him a charlatan and a cheat. The believers claimed that they had not asked for help in the first place – and honestly, that was fair.

He didn’t need their payment anyways, not now. He would not go hungry or thirsty while in their wood. They’d tide him over until he left their lands in pursuit of his next contract. That was more than enough.

He brushed off their accusations, their thanklessness, like kicking dirt from his shoes. He wondered if that was what endeared him to the Ladies, or at least part of it – for both he and the god women understood thanklessness despite service.

He went to the inn, carried himself up to the room he had left Jaskier in. He could hear his lute from halfway up the stairs. It was a pleasing sound, something cheerful to wake to – it’d have to be, not to received complaints from other patrons also guesting at the inn.

The moment he walked in, he found Jaskier seated on the window sill, face to the early morning sun like a plant soaking in daylight as he played with mindlessly fluent fingers. Geralt leaned against the doorframe and enjoyed watching the dance of those fingers over the strings, plucking, always searching for the next note. He let himself bask in that moment, in the portrait of his bard in peaceful domesticity. Then, knowing the Ladies would not wait forever, rapped two knuckles against the doorframe, drawing Jaskier’s attention.

The bard let his song lull to a stop, his face lighting up at the sight of him returned unharmed. There was relief there, plain and naked as Jaskier was in most ways; unabashed and quick to feel, to express. He set his lute aside with the same sort of care that Geralt might give one of his swords and immediately his hands went into action, his whole body speaking to Geralt as easily as he once did with words.

Well, what happened, don’t keep me waiting? Were they in fact witches or something more nefarious? Well? Come on, Geralt, these stories don’t write themselves!

He smiled. There was a weight in his chest he hadn’t realized he had been carrying until now as it slowly lifted, so close to resolution as he was. He stepped forward without a word, amber eyes locked on his bard, his traveling companion, his friend, his partner. It drew Jaskier’s hand to a stuttering motion not unlike ‘um’ or ‘uh’ or ‘what’s going on?’.

“Months ago, I stole your voice from you,” Geralt finally said, standing in front of the bard, close enough to touch him – but not yet. A puzzled look spread across Jaskier’s face.

I don’t understand.

“I wished for peace not knowing I already had something better. Already had peace in my hands. I was just to blind to comfort, to kindness, to know that I had it.”

Jaskier gave him a baffled look that both said ‘well aren’t you chatty today?’ and ‘who are you and what did you do with my witcher?’

Geralt did not know this language, this new tongue he was trying to learn: intimacy, apology, love. He reached to cup Jaskier’s jaw and paused nearly there feeling foolish, blushing, because words and intimate touches had never been a language of his. It felt foreign. Like a crude imitation, rusty and weak for what he was trying to convey. But Jaskier just watched him patiently, brows drawn into a curious frown as he met him halfway and nestled his jaw into his calloused hand.

‘Geralt?’

He brushed a thumb over Jaskier’s smooth jaw, freshly shaven and smelling of sweet oil. Memorized the lines of Jaskier’s face, the soundless paragraphs of his expression, and tucked it away in his mind for later.

“I am sorry knowing me left you silent,” he finally said, croaked, hushed, admitted.

Jaskier’s brows drew tight, his mouth a strange line. He shook his head.

“I understand if you cannot forgive me,” Geralt looked away. “I should have apologized the morning you first could not speak, but it felt wrong to ask when you could not answer. But now… Do you trust me, Jaskier?”

There was still that expression – anger, grief, confusion, all deserved. He’d leave him after this, no doubt. Geralt had pushed too far, presumed too much. But he pressed on. He had to see this through. Then he’d let Jaskier return to his normal life. Let him make his choice. Set him free.

He thought he heard a womanly sigh.

Jaskier’s hand came up to cradle Geralt’s on his jaw. In his touch and in his face, Geralt heard him: Of course I trust you, you daft excuse for a witcher.

Do or die.

He leaned down. Watched as Jaskier’s eyes widened. Watched until he was too close to see anymore. Got closer until their lips brushed – his so chapped against the bard’s meticulously cared for lips, soft and pleasant. The bard felt like a canary in his hands, all fluttering energy; fragile with hollow bones, more melody than flesh. He pressed, then swiped a tongue across trembling lips to ask permission.

Jaskier let him in. He sealed their lips together. Let his hand move from the man’s jaw to cup the back of his neck, crush him close without actually crushing him. Then he felt it. It began in his throat, behind his Adam’s Apple, and slowly crawled up – warm, not unpleasant but certainly not normal. It rose. When it met his tongue it tasted of night and bestiaries; earthy and deep. His voice. It passed by his teeth, slipped through their lips, then felt Jaskier jump in his hands. He leapt as though stung, or perhaps shocked like walking with socked feet and touching a door knob – surprising, sharp and fleeting. Then settled in his hands.

Geralt pulled away to mumble three words against Jaskier’s slack mouth, his own stomach twisting when no words actually bloomed despite his tongue and mouth doing what needed to be done to make words. He was mute. It had worked. The price had been paid.

He should have said it before he lost the chance to, and yet, there was a pathetic sort of comfort in murmuring the words soundlessly against Jaskier’s lips instead – like hiding behind a mask, bold because he could do so secretly.

Jaskier pulled away, speaking on instinct out of shock, “Geralt, what’s wrong with you—” then he stilled, eyes owlish. His hands shot to his throat. Patted and fluttered and searched for something that might give away what was going on.

Geralt smiled. His throat vibrated as it would if he had chuckled, but no sound followed.

“My voice,” Jaskier croaked, pale from shock and relief and all manner of emotions he wore as plainly on his face as he did his clothes. “How?”

Geralt felt relief bloom in his own belly: that weight lifting fully now that he had made amends, had fixed his wrongs. Relief that Jaskier’s voice was his own and not Geralt’s because that was a level of weird even the witcher couldn’t handle. He tapped his own throat with his fingers and looked at Jaskier pointedly.

Color leeched from the bard’s skin.

“You gave me yours?”

Geralt nodded, then blinked – confused – when Jaskier suddenly sprung to his feet, all pent-up nervous energy, and slapped faintly at Geralt’s chest with a sharp, “Take it back!”

Geralt’s brows drew tight, his lips pursed, utterly baffled.

“You lummox! Don’t you give me that look! You can’t—I can’t—this is too much!”

Geralt shook his head.

‘I had to make it right’ he said, using his hands, with his face, with his body; a pale imitation of Jaskier’s fluency.

“It wasn’t yours to make right! The Djinn did it, not you!”

‘My wish—’

“Was an accident! You thought the Djinn was under my control anyhow, it hadn’t been intentional. I honestly don’t recall if you even wished for it or said ‘I just want some damn peace!’ – you had warned me it was dangerous! If I had just listened—”

Wait. Wait.

Geralt shook his head. How had this spun away from him so quickly?

‘This wasn’t your fault.’

“It was no more yours than mine or mine than yours!” Jaskier pointed out, as if that had been his intention all along. He threw his hands out to his sides, pacing quietly – quiet, he hadn’t expected that, as if it had become a habit. He watched as the bard fluttered nimble fingers against his lips, eyes darting to Geralt distractedly, and mumbled, “Lovely kiss, by the way,” and when Geralt smirked he continued haughtily, “Which we will further discuss later, you oaf!”

Geralt chuckled without chuckling.

“You are,” Jaskier said slowly, finally stopping his pacing, “Insufferable. Your hero complex will see you into the ground one day, I swear, and no one will even know now because you can’t talk.”

Geralt gave him an obvious, deadpanned look. This? This felt right. Natural. Things had always been this way. Jaskier just hadn’t realized that yet.

‘You have always been my words.’

Jaskier stilled. In the lines of his body Geralt saw the quiet sway of wind through a garden well cared for; buzzing with bees, home to all manner of flowers, beautiful and soothing to its guests. So alive, so open. Jaskier was a garden. Geralt had merely returned the birds that had lost their way.

He waited. Waited for the inevitable. He had taken Jaskier’s voice, then made parlay for it without his permission. Surely the bard would leave him. He no longer needed the witcher, after all, and in his silent days had seen more than enough journeys to sing about for the rest of his life. Geralt waited.

“You bloody imbecile,” Jaskier breathed, his face going slack with subdued outrage and realization. “You daft man, you uncommunicative bastard!”

Geralt looked away. He didn’t need his voice. It was better suited in the bard. He didn’t need Jaskier. He had been on the road alone for years before him, and he could do it again.

But there was something in his chest – heavy, prickly and unfamiliar. Want.

He swallowed. He didn’t approach him, but also did not shy away when Jaskier stomped forward and reached for his face. He waited for the slap, for the slam of a door.

Jaskier guided his gaze back down to him.

“Don’t belittle my affections by presuming I stayed because you were convenient. I do not need my voice to live a comfortable or enjoyable life. I need you.”

He felt like shattered glass in a repair man’s palms, all his broken edges grinding together in wrong ways.

“What’s done is done,” Jaskier finally said, his hand reaching back to cup the back of Geralt’s neck as he had done to him not long ago. “And… you’re right. We’ve never needed words to speak and they have never been a tool you enjoyed using. I shall be your words. I’ve been with you long enough to know how to explain your creatures to townsfolk and gods above know I am a better haggler than you – you let that bastard swindle you into this contract for 250 crowns, for gods sake, Geralt! I was dying – ahh,” he shook his head, refocusing, “Nevermind. Point is, we’ve always made it work. We’ll make this work too. But for the record, I wasn’t broken, Geralt. Not with you.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to the witcher’s mouth, smiling and soft at the sight of Geralt’s baffled look, his inability to collect himself to react in the face of such an unexpected confession. Jaskier was the one to whisper into his lips this time between kisses, “Not that I don’t appreciate your sacrifice. The songs I’ll sing about the gift you’ve given me, Geralt – gods above, I’ve missed singing.”

‘I’ve missed it too,’ Geralt thought, perhaps said with his touch and the way he leaned into every peck Jaskier gave him, every breath against his lips.

“Fucking knew it,” Jaskier said, grinning against his mouth, “Filling-less pie, you emotionally constipated dog. And don’t think for one moment I didn’t hear you. We’ve been talking without talking for too long for me to have missed it, you know.”

Geralt felt heat rush to his cheeks and crawl up his neck, making a home in the tips of his ears. He turned away to hide it as Jaskier pulled back, but it was too late. The bard chuckled fondly and when Geralt finally chanced looking back at him, he grumbled embarrassedly – silently.

“It’s not the first time you’ve said you love me, Geralt,” Jaskier said, smiling with all his teeth, skin aglow like dawn breaking the night. “You’ve been saying it for ages.”

Jaskier drew his face back to him when Geralt tried once more to look away, bristly and unsure of himself and self-conscious that all this time he hadn’t been half as secretive – or aware himself – as he thought.

Jaskier took his time looking him over. Memorizing his face, Geralt realized, as he had memorized the bard’s when he found him on the windowsill. He felt exposed as he had at the Mothers’ feet. Known.

He leaned into Jaskier’s hand. Enjoyed the brush of a thumb over a sore scar on his cheekbone.

“I don’t need words,” Jaskier said gently, “But I am grateful to have them. Thank you, Geralt. I’ll use your voice wisely.”

The witcher leaned in, loose like a puppet with his strings cut now that it was finally done, and pressed his forehead to the bard’s. Power thrummed between them, the magic of being known and kept.

Silently, love spoke for them

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #gaskier #prompt #wtf do I even tag this #i don't think I've ever written so much back to back fluff as I have for this fandom #who am I?#witcher writing

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sukkasupremacy · 4 years

Text

Marry Me? Sukka Week

“Gran Gran?” Suki was in the igloo with Gran Gran learning how to make traditional water tribe food.

“Yes sweetheart what is it?” Gran Gran replied as she ripped some seaweed noodles apart.

“Can I ask you something.” Suki nervously fiddled with something in her coat pocket.

“Of course sweetheart. What is it?” Gran Gran put the seaweed noodles in the pot of boiling water. Suki stepped closer to her go watch what seasonings she put in the soup. The steam from the pot warmed Suki’s reddened face. She loved being in the South Pole with Sokka but the cold was almost unbearable for her tropical body.

“Do you think Sokka would want to marry me?”

Gran Gran jumped and looked at her grandson’s auburn haired warrior girlfriend. She took Suki’s face in her palms, “ Why of course he would!” Gran Gran was overcome with joy.

“But when is the question? I’ve been by his side since forever. We’re almost 20 now...”

Suki stirred the pot as Gran Gran added the seasonings. The igloo filled with scrumptious aromas. As she stirred the pot, Suki couldn’t help but reminisce on when she realized he was it.

They were on a team Avatar vacation in Ember Island. The war had just ended and life was good.

“SUKI!”

“Yes Sokka?”

“Look what I made you!” He gave her that goofy-lopsided smile that she adored and held up a vibrant lei.

“Do you like it?”

Suki was grinning from ear to ear. His gesture touched her deeply.

“Sokka... I love it!” She threw her arms around him and nestled her face into his bare shoulder. She took in his salty beach scent and sighed.

What did I ever do to deserve you?

Sokka brushed her auburn locks away from her face and put the lei around her neck. He took a step back to examine his girlfriend.

Suki gazed at him adoringly. His face was so concentrated and serious she had to giggle.

“What?” His voice squeaked which caused her to to giggle even more.

“You are just too cute. She leaned toward him and locked her lips onto his. He picked her up and spun her around. They laughed and danced the rest of the evening without a care in the world. The stars and waves seemed to dance with them and go Suki the world was in harmony

Suki smiled at the happy memory. Gran Gran looked up at her and smiled.

“Are you thinking of him?”

“Yeah,”Suki sighed, “I’m just...I don’t wanna wait anymore. I wanna spend my whole life with him by my side. I never wanna say goodbye ever again.”

“My dear, “ she put her hand on the young warriors shoulder, “I think if you asked him to marry you he would say yes.” She smiled.

“I thought the water tribe had a tradition of the male asking the girl?”

Gran Gran chuckled and added the fish into the soup, “Suki. Suki.Suki. You of all girls should know that some traditions are meant to be broken!”

Suki was taken aback, “I thought you out of all people would love to stick to the tradition.”

Gran Gran chuckled some more, “Suki, my dear, there’s a lot that you don’t know about me. I myself was an emblem of breaking traditions back in my day.”

Suki looked at the old women curiously, “What did you do?”

“I ran away from a sexist man in the water tribe. I left him because I didn’t love him! We did arranged marriage up there. I came here and found myself.”

Suki was in awe, “Wow, you are so brave.”

Gran Gran took the boiling pot off the fire and set her brittle hand on Suki’s cheek, “And you my dear are even braver.”

————————————————-

After dinner, Sokka went to his dad’s igloo to ask for some advice.

“Hey dad!” The young water tribe boy hit his shoes on the door Gran to get all the snow off.

“Hello son! What brings you here?”

“I need to ask you for advice. It’s about Suki.”

Hakoda’s eyes widened and he gestured for his beloved son to sit by the fire with him, “What’s on your mind Sokka?”

“When did you realize you loved mom?”

Hakoda sighed, “I have loved your mother since we were teenagers, “ smiled remembering his late wife, “ I have always known that I loved her. Every second with your mother was like a dream that I didn’t want to wake up from. The moment I realized I wanted to spend my life with her was when we were about 18 years old. The fire nation attacked our tribe. The first thing I thought of was her. Where she was. If she was safe.”

“Wow dad.” Sokka rested his hand on his father’s shoulder.

“What about you son. When did you realized you were in love with Suki.”

Sokka thought for a moment. “I have always loved her.”

“But when did you realize that she was it for you.”

Sokka closed his eyes and thought for a moment. Then he remembered.

It was a cold winter’s night about two years ago. The snow began to fall in the South Pole.

Suki’s eyes lit up. She ran ahead of Sokka, her auburn hair flowing behind her. She twirled around herself as the snow thickened around her. Her laugh filled the evening with music. Her smile lit up the dark winter of the South Pole.

Sokka was mesmerized by her aura. This girl brought light wherever she went. She brought light into his world. She found joy in things as little as snow. Sokka stared at his beautiful girl friend with stars in his eyes.

“Sokka! It’s snowing!” She shrieked as she fell into the power beneath her. She started to play in it and Sokka laughed.

“Sokka! Come on.” She flashed a smile at him and his heart skipped a beat.

The auburn hair warrior got up and pounced on her boyfriend causing both of them to collapse into the snow. She giggled and brushed his chocolate brown hair away from his face. Sokka looked up at her. Her cheeks and nose were as red as a cherry. It was as if she had been kissed by the snow. Her hair was messy and damp but it still fell in the right places. Her violet eyes shined and pierced their way into Sokka’s loving gaze.

“Hi!” She smiled and nuzzled her nose on his. His stomach clenched and his heart fluttered.

Was this even real? How is she real?

Later that night, Sokka watched her go to sleep. She looked precious wrapped up in those fluffy water tribe blankets and in Sokka’s arm. He watched her body gently rise and fall.

How are you real?

He stroked her hair and she shifted even closer to him. Her arms made their way around Sokka and she cuddled into him.

“I love you.” Sokka’s heart jumped.

Did she just say that?

It was at that moment that he realized she was it.

————————————————

Suki laid on Sokka’s chest and listened to the sound of his heart beat. The fire crackled and filled the room with warmth.

“Sokka?”

“Yes Suki?”

“Can we take a walk? I want to ask you something.”

“I would love that.”

The two warriors rose from their shared bed and put on their winter coats. Suki fiddled with the item in her pocket.

The two of them walked for about an hour, sharing their thoughts, listening to each other, gazing into each other’s eyes, and stealing kisses. It was nights like these that Suki treasured. The world being silent was her favorite thing about being in the South Pole. Well, almost her favorite. Sokka beat the silence.

“I then I was like...WHOOO NOOO.” Sokka flailed his arms in the air. She covered her mouth with her mittened hand.

The two of them stopped at the end of a cliff. The sky was beautiful that night. Lights of blue, green, and purple painted the sky. Suki gazed at it in awe.

“Wow...” she sighed.

Sokka glances over at his girlfriend. She was wrapped in warm clothes from head to toe. You could only see her face. Suki’s eyes fluttered as she gazed at the lights in the sky.

“Hey Suki.”

“Yes Sokka?”

“You know what the best view in the Southern Water tribe is right now?”

“There can’t be anything more beautiful than this Sokka.”

“It’s you!” He blurted. Suki turned her frost bitten face toward him. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks flushed an even darker shade of red.

She ran to him and jumped. Her legs around his torso and her arms did the same around his neck. He steadied her and brought his forehead to hers. She smiled at him and he kissed her sweetly.

“I love you Sokka.” She beamed.

“I love you too Suki.”

She hopped back down. Her face grew small.

“Sokka? I need to ask you something.”

Sokka’s brows knit together. He cocked his head to the side, “What is it Suki?”

The young warrior reached her hand into her coat pocket. When her hand came out she revealed a necklace. It wasn’t just any old necklace, it was a betrothal necklace. On the pendent was carved the joining of a fan and sword.

Sokka covered his mouth. She smiled at him with tears daring to spill out of her eyes.

“Suki...”

“Sokka.... will you be mine forever?” The tears streamed down her beautiful face.

Sokka’s face softened and tears began to spill out of his eyes. He took her hands, “Yes Suki. I will be yours forever.” He began to kiss her all over her face which caused her to snort. She pulled him in for a kiss. Suki lost her footing and stumbled down into the fresh powder bring Sokka down with her.

Sokka gazed into her violet eyes. Just like the lights in the sky, they were beautiful and painted his life with color.

@sukkaweek

#sukka #sukixsokka #sokkaxsuki #Sukka Week 2020 #sukka week #sukka week 2020

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just-mirko · 4 years

Photo

lavender petals - part 1

MASTERLIST

Mirko x Reader

Angst, Slow-ish burn, fluff,

WC: 4.1K

MANGA SPOILERS IN LATER PARTS

A steady and constant roll of tapping continued outside

where the rain poured down in fleets of cold water. The little drops all

together sounded like thousands of typewriters; the tiny stamps pressing fresh

ink stains into parchment. The storm did not only darken the sky but slowly,

the concrete was dampened into a charcoal shade and the glass windows collected condensation. The scent of petrichor had not reached where I was, but the

second I stepped outside I could already feel it overtaking my senses. have caused me to be

upset, and make me curse the heavens, but today, the rain started just as the

the shop was about to close, only 30 minutes till I would lock the doors and turn

around the little double-sided sign; switching it to “welcome” to “come back

later. I could not anticipate any customers would actively rush to my store in

the terrible weather, so I accepted it as an easy break where I could stay inside

and relax with warm herbal tea.

My shoes squeaked beneath me when I turned back to the

service counter. Aromas and floral notes were everywhere I stepped. Even if you

stood still, they still changed. orchids, roses, daisies, and violets all

dancing together in harmony.

Once I reached behind the counter, I could see every

corner of the shop in its array of colors that seemed duller than usual from

the lack of sunlight. Nonetheless, they still stood out against the dull pots

and glass vases.

‘I should be done for the day’ I thought to

myself, already having swept the floor, put out the new flowers, and clipped

the old ones before the storm arrived. An overdramatized sigh passed my lips

when I went to sit at the stool next to the register.

Sitting behind the register was always slightly

inconvenient, because blocking my view of the entrance to the store was a

large, and I mean large, bouquet of fresh lavender sprigs. They were normally

used as filler plants but had just come in today and I still could not decide

what to do with them. Additionally, I lacked a new arrangement to add them too,

so they were left out to stand alone.

By far they were the most prominent in the store. Their

sized rivaled all the large wedding table pieces we had. And the smell, though

calming, gave me a headache after being with them all day.

It is not like anyone would buy them either. They were not

as easy on the eye as a rose, three times as expensive, and once again,

typically used as filler flowers.

I settled on scrolling on my phone to distract myself

from thinking about what to do with them. I did not want to wait too long to

sell them lest they wilt.

‘Oh look, my webtoons updated.’

Fifteen-minutes passed quickly and mindlessly. Only 15

minutes till I could lock up and go home. The storm still had not relented, and

now, the rain was accompanied by large clashes of thunder and lightning.

These days life was quite simple. It was not exceptional

nor terrible, but a mediocre and peaceful existence that brought me the chance

to do what I loved. I had friends I visited occasionally, a small business that

was doing well with the white day just around the corner (an eastern type of

valentine’s day). But no matter how many

flowers I had, it wouldn’t quell the little part of my heart longing for

something more.

“CLASH”

The lightning what getting closer outside. It got louder

and louder, making me jump in my seat a little.

“CLASH”

The rain slammed into the ground, but something else was

happening as well. Something in the background of sorts.

“CRASH”

A resonating bang that sounded nothing like lightning

erupted nearby. A car alarm blared as well.

‘Could it be a villain?’ I asked myself as I look

over the purple blossoms to see if I could see what was going on from outside

my window. Alas, it must have been a street down.

‘Why would they fight in this type of weather though?’

Villain activity has spiked rapidly in the last few weeks as the League of

Villains had risen to power than out of nowhere disappeared without a trace. Not

to mention the capture of stain had encouraged many of the morally grey

antagonists to step out of the shadows in pursuit of their own type of justice.

Everyone had their own definition.

I tried to stay up to date on villain activity but so

much was constantly happening. Three times a week we got a new story. In the

beginning, the attacks seemed petty and selfish. Things like; “3 criminals rob a

local bank” or “Enraged fire-type quirk user burns down workplace” but today,

they were more organized, harder to stop. All the villains were working towards

a greater goal that was easier to see.

A little bit ago, one of the most popular quirks inclusive

department’s CEO joined the LOV after an all-out fight. Many were injured. It

was practically a bloodbath. Citizens remember seeing ice and blue fire merge

in giant tornados in the sky. The entire building disintegrated without a

trace. A witness with still in shock commented that she saw a UA student emerging

from the rubble, but that claim was shut down instantly by that student’s very

own teacher.

Unease was everywhere. People even began to stop trusting

figures of authority out of fear they might not be who they said. I was not a

target to any kind of villain myself, but who knows if I could become just

another statistic on the news.

Police sirens came into earshot.

I guess it was a criminal after all. Soon enough I would

be able to find a nice little article online detailing everything that happened

with a cover image of an unscathed hero smiling at the camera as if all were

well. How they tried to convince us that all was wel-

The chime of bells interrupted my thoughts when someone

came through the store door, very close to closing time.

When I looked up at them, I completely froze, unknowing

of what to do say, even think.

Before me stood… Mirko? Mirko. Mirko the Rabbit Hero. The

number #4 hero. The best female hero. And she was- Injured?

She stood with her shoulders rolled back but she was

panting heavily. Her platinum hair dripped water onto the pristine checkerboard

floors I just mopped. Across her, the skin on one of her shoulders was a crimson

slash. The blood that came from it dripped partially into her hair, staining it

slightly; and partially mixed with the water she was absolutely drenched in. She

looked cold in the light hero gear.

In her weak state, she still held an air of strength. When

I looked up in obvious shock at her condition, I was met with piercing red eyes

and a smile I would describe as manic on anyone else.

“C-can I help you—are you okay?” I stumble out when I

started to panic, realizing that she just fought the cause of all the racket

down the street.

My response only looked to entertain her, and she smiled

wider chuckled then pulled her hair over one shoulder: twisting it to ring out

the excess water (and blood).

“Yea, you do sell flowers, right?” She said. We were

obviously on different pages. She seemed completely relaxed as she was still

bleeding a watered-down red puddle onto the floor. Meanwhile, I was seriously

concerned about her health. Online, I simply assumed that every pro-hero held a

façade. That they were not as cocky, brave, or positive as they seemed once the

cameras were cut. This though was a spitting image of every picture of her I

had seen. Despite that, nothing could have prepared me for this in person-encounter.

“Y-yes I sell flowers”

I frantically scanned across the store for something for

my eyes to latch onto. My fingertips pressed hard against the side of the

resister to the point where my fingertips were turning white and my knuckles

began to cramp.

Mirko walked forward. Despite her injuries, she did not

have any limp and strolled casually over to some of the display stands

near the front window. I fidgeted with my finger while I stumbled over to where

she was. Her gaze we currently focused on some white lilies, though she soon

switched to some yellow roses.

“What is the, um, the occasion- For the flowers?” The

words tumbled out of my mouth. They felt out of order and out of place. Seeing a

hero in public is a strange thing. As amazing as they are, you always suspect

that there is an underlying threat of danger. You are both drawn to them yet

repelled by the hint. It's always ‘Why would a hero be here.” That wasn’t

the occasion now though. She was just- here for flowers? She was definitely just

off from work and needed a few band-aids; at most, stitches. My mind still had a

rough time thinking over why she so casual. I hoped this doesn’t happen often

for her.

Mirko’s fingers paused when she traced the outline of an

imported lily.

“A friend of mine got his ass beat up by a walking flamethrower”

The way she said that, so lightheartedly, with a slight smirk on her face, but

sadness in her eyes confused me.

“Is he a hero too?” I inquired; taken aback by the lack

of filter. It had nothing to do with the

flowers, but my curiosity got the best of me.

“Hawks.” She shortly stated before turning back towards

me.

A look of recognition must have crossed my face as she did

not explain any further and just continued.

“So…” She crossed her hands over her chest and looked up

towards me (we using Mirko’s canon height today cause she short short lol).

“What flowers would be best for ‘get better idiot’” Her

hair was still disheveled and soaking wet but the ethereal glow the rain seemed

to give her face made me want anything but eye contact. I shouldn’t really get

flustered so easily, but when a celebrity built like a Greek goddess steps into

your shop looking like she’s straight out of war…

“Well, I wouldn’t be able to make any custom arrangements

today because I’m closing-“I looked down at my watch for the time. “5 minutes

ago, but we have many premade sets and custom vases if you’re interested?”

I tried to seem chipper and avert my gaze from her hair,

bleeding shoulder, and foot that was insistently tapping on the wet floor, but

in between each word I stole a glace that did not go unnoticed.

“That’s okay, I’m fine with a pre-made bouquet.” I

fiddled with my thumbs once more. She was really giving me nothing to work

with.

“Any flowers in specific you like?” I asked, grasping for

straws. Mirko’s expression was perfectly neutral and ambiguous. Even if she

gave me a color, I could work off that, but all I had was a name and extra

mopping to do.

‘I wonder if blood will stain my tile’

What she said next seemed to fit with the personality I

was slowly assembling her.

“You guess.” And with that, she turned to look at more

bouquets and potted plants that lined the shelves.

The lavender! I thought, finally thinking I had found a

way to get rid of them but realized that may not be well suited as a get well

soon gift.

Hawks. Hawks. Hawks. The bird hero. The bird men. Red

feathers, right?

Because of the hero’s color pallet, per

se, I was drawn to red roses and yellow daisies, maybe some red and white

lilies. I found an arrangement I thought fit on one of the shelves next to a

window, where it was still raining outside. I carefully picked the flowers up;

their silky petals caressed my hand. Two petals floated down onto the floor as

I relocated them back to the assembly station.

“Would you like a vase with this?” I questioned. Her ears

perked towards me, shocking me in the slightest. Of course, it was not unusual,

but with how she seemed to hear me from across the room without turning her

head made me fear that she would hear my heartbeat racing in my chest. This was

a hero. A real-life hero. God, I hope I do not mess this up.

“Mmmhnn,” She said, inflecting that meant yes. I walked

near a shelf where we stored them and looked at the variety of glass, plastic,

and even porcelain vases reserved for special occasions. My eye was stuck on a

red one that caught the soft lighting of the store beautifully. I reached up to

grab it and held the cool glass in my hand. With the sleeve of my jacket, I

began to brush off some of the dust, ignoring the mark it left.

“Ooh, I like that one” I heard from behind me. Quite

startled I jumped, and the vase left my hand, seconds from crashing into the

floor. Before I could blink, Mirko had caught it agilely.

“The color is nice,” She said as she turned it over in her

hands, clearly pleased with having shaken me.

Honestly, the banter was a nice break from today. I guess

it would not hurt to lighten up a little.

“Yea,” I said with a gentle smile.

I had almost finished totaling her order and was putting

the flowers in the box to protect from the rain when I looked over at Mirko and

saw her quite intrigued by the lavender practically overtaking my desk.

“We just got that lavender in! It's fresh and quite relaxing.”

I hummed to myself, pleased with the wrapping I did on Hawk’s bouquet.

“How much for them?” She asked turning to me inquisitively.

“Well lavender isn’t normally sold alone but that’s about

10 arrangements worth” I said pointing to the sheer number of flowers. Upon

the counter, they were more than two feet tall.

“So?” She said, resting her elbows upon the table and leaning

in to smell the lavender even more. The ivory ears atop her head sloped

downwards a little more reminding me of a little puppy when they got pet. An

obvious show of their aromatic effects.

“Two-hundred, though I could definitely get you a smaller

amount if you would like, they’re sold twenty per bundle just because of how

hard they are to transport and a how delicate they te-“

“I’ll take them all,” She said with an aggressive smile

and firm shake of her head. There was a switch in her tone like she suddenly

decided she revealed too much of herself to the general public. I did not like

thinking that though. That she saw me as the public. Everyone wants to be

special sometimes.

“How was errr- work today?” I asked, clearly insinuating

my concern for her condition.

A small shadow passed over her face. Her eyes got a

little darker and the corners of her mouth turned down before her typical passionately

a confident smile came back.

“Nothing I can’t handle” Those smug words were

accompanied by a flourished wink that was embellished her white eyelashes.

“I heard a crash nearby. Was there a villain?” This time

she did not hesitate to answer.

She finished paying and gave me an address to deliver

them to tomorrow. One to a hospital, and one to a home address. I expected a

PO box and assumed her address was not something she just gave away, but that was

not the only thing I was warmly excited about. Instead of signing “Mirko” her

formal hero title on the receipt, She signed her real name, Rumi Usagiyama.

---

The weather was much more considerate this morning. When I

awoke, golden rays filtered light through my lashes into my eyes. The faint

sound of birds chirping and bustling people in the city below faintly reached my

ears.

I lived right above my flower shop, making my commute to work

conveniently. I chose to dress a little bit nicer today, opting for a cream-colored

turtleneck and dark washed jeans instead of my normal gardening attire. Spring

was right around the corner in Musutafu Japan. Winter was leaving and the city

was in the awkward middle state where it's too cold to wear spring clothes but

too sunny to stay in jackets.

Since yesterday was Saturday, I had today off, kinda. I

just had a few flower deliveries to complete before I could go back home and lay

on the couch eating watermelon sour patch kids (ichor itself) and reading

terribly done 9k fanfics online. (Wow! Our reader!! Is super!!! Self!!!!

Aware!!!!!)

My brain had completely blocked out everything that

happened last night, so when I checked my order list and saw Rumi

written in neat handwriting, my confusion was immense.

‘So, It wasn’t a dream then…’’ huh.”

I walked downstairs into my store. I saw a few

schoolchildren peeking in the dark windows since there were no lights on to look

at the flowers. I waved to them and then chuckled to myself when they left tiny

little handprints on the glass. Tall buildings could be seen across. A café, a

tattoo shop, a little library, and many small businesses that were nestled right

in the center of town where they got lots of attention. Around the back exist to

the stores were where most of the employees parked. My friend and co-worker had

called in sick this weekend, so it meant I had to do all the deliveries myself.

I went over to the storage room. A wave of cold rushed

over me and sent tingles down my entire body. This was always kept cold to keep

the flowers alive longer, but always hated retrieving boxes from there.

I steadily grabbed the lavender-filled box and stacked

Hawk’s arrangement box on top of it. The white cardboard stood so tall in front

of me when I held them I could barely see when I walked out the back door and

over to my car where I nearly dropped them loading them into my car’s trunk.

I clumsily got into the driver’s seat and started the

engine to head to the first address. Hawk’s hospital. Right in the center of

town, it was only 10 minutes when you accounted for traffic.

The hospital was the nicest in Mafatsu, with white pillars

and balconies on some patient's rooms. Only the best for heroes. When I got out

of my car and drew near, the building felt like it was swallowing me whole in

its large size.

My soft footsteps appeared insignificant with prestigious

doctors and nurses bustling around in choreographed chaos. When I got to the reception

area, a pink-haired nurse with a kind smile greeted me cheerfully.

“Hello! How can I help you today?” She began typing before

I even said anything. Maybe a prediction quirk.

“Hey, I’m here to drop off flowers from Mirko for Hawks?”

She nodded in understanding and scanned her eyes over my

body, then the box I was holding, all while typing fluidly into a computer. Finally,

her gaze broke and she looked down at a small printer that made a small sticker

with the words visitor pass in bolded font.

“He will be on the top floor, level 60 in room 219. If he

isn’t in his room, just call a nurse with the pager in there, he’s been getting

out a lot recently.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“He really just wants to get back to work but whenever he

flies he leaves a trail of blood and feather in his path”

Her hair swished when she leaned over to give

me the papery sticker. Her fingertips brushed against my palm for a second

longer than platonic before she went back and waved goodbye to me. Her cheeks were tinted slightly pink.

The encounter made my heart rush but that might just because

it’s the first romantic-ish thing that has happened to me in a while. I mean

she was pretty- but we scarcely talked. My palm still tingled where our hands

touched though. I was so distracted I did not notice when I found myself in Hawk’s

room.

I had never delivered anything to a hero before. Should I

just drop them in and leave? My hand rested atop the doorknob questioning how

to do this. The fluorescent hospital lights desaturated everything including my

ability to make cohesive thoughts.

Just as I opened the door, I heard a shattering sound,

something collapsing, and then

“Wait no shit-“Another thing fell to the ground. “-fuck” I

carefully opened the door. To see Hawk’s the pro hero, clutching his side with

one hand, and holding a sideways IV drip in one hand, but the fluid bag itself

was on the floor, along with some kind of glass and a medical device I couldn’t

identify from the various dents and scratches on it. It did not look like he

noticed me yet, he was much too preoccupied.

“Hey should-“

“AH!” He yelled turning towards me. I couldn’t flinch

fast enough before three-foot-long red feathers with murderous intent came

spearing towards my head. Within that instant in closed my eyes prepared to be

dead but when I opened them up, the feathers were hovering just centimeters

away from my skull.

I shocked me that I was still holding the flower box when

I checked. My eyes were wide as I stood still, jaw open, not a single breath

leaving my mouth.

“Are you a new nurse or something?” The feathers remained

there. I gulped before answering, my body felt light, flight, or fight already taking

place.

“I’m a- a florist.” I gestured down at the box with my

logo on it, and he seemed to relax a little bit.

“Oh.” He replied and the feathers returned to beside him.

He tried to make the IV drip stand back up again, but in a futile attempt he

gave up, just letting it fall to the group beside the other tools. He turned away

from me.

‘He is obviously in pain right now’ He faced away just

to hide the scowl and how much he was now clutching his side.

He looked over his shoulder “Who sent you?”

“Mirko” I responded relieve that he was no longer about

to kill me.

“Where should I leave the flowers?”

“The table next to my bed” I stepped over there. An

assortment of papers where there is messy handwriting that I had no place in

reading. Nonetheless, I caught the words “Touya.” Too bad I didn’t know any Touyas.

I sat the box down and opened it up.

Luckily with everything that went on, I didn’t destroy any

of the blooms.

“Did Mirko say anything about me?” He questioned quickly.

As much as he tried to seem tough, he valued her opinion very much.

“Get well soon and all of that, nothing much, she was too

busy teasing me, you know?”

“Mirko was? Teasing you?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion

before settling into a knowing look.

“Ohhhh” He winked.

“No no, it's nothing like this I promise I just met her.”

“Mmmn k” He didn’t believe me in the slightest.

“Just watch out she packs a punch”

Hawks walked over to where the flowers were and observed

the arrangement. He had a particular fondness for the red lilies, the same ones

that Mirko liked. He talks about her punch though reminded me of the crashes

and villain attack last night.

“I hope she’s okay, she seemed pretty beat up last night

after the battle.”

“Eh, she recovers inhumanly quick. Something to do with the

rabbit in her.”

He looks over to me and paused.

“What’s your name?”

“(Y/N)”

“(Y/N Hmmm) He mumbled to himself like he was getting

used to the way it sounded.

“I can’t imagine this will be our last encounter (Y/N),

It was nice to meet you.”

I smiled graciously and sighed.

“Nice to meet you too.”

#bnhabookclub #mirkobnha #miruko #mirukobnha #bnha fanfic #bnha mirko #bnha x reader #flowershop au #kinda flower shop not really its just the reader who works at a flower shop lol ahaha #mirko x reader #rumi usagiyama #rumi usagiyama x reader #just-mirko #justmirko #Lavender Petals #pegahawks2020 #kinda gay

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fallstreakfeathers · 4 years

Text

Don’t Look Down

[Ch 1 ] [Ch Rating: T ) [Word count: 4898 ) (Also posted under ‘Arkhelios’ on Ao3. https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956846/chapters/57618382 Do not repost to other sites. ) Update 9/21- grammar/etc has been edited and corrected. Should flow much better and clearer

[ If you had told Kita as she lay herself against her old pillow and pulled the scratchy wool blanket over her head that the next time she opened her eyes, she’d be trapped in a room full of attractive men who claimed to be demons, she would’ve offered to drive you to the nearest mental ward. And yet, here she was.]

Kita sighed, shifting her arms into a more comfortable position as she shoved her face deeper in her own warmth. The room’s cool air sent a light shiver up her spine. She slowly became aware of the soft buzzing of voices, muffled by the pressure of her ears against her forearms. “... -eird way to sleep,” one said. She shifted in an attempt to hear better. “Looks like the spell is wearing off,” another muttered. Where...am I? She must’ve fallen asleep at the desk again. Go figure.

She could feel the soft cotton of her pajamas, a t-shirt and sweatpants, and the small granola bar that she always kept hidden in its pockets pressed loosely against her leg.

I was sleeping… Did I leave the television on? “Welcome to the Devildom! As a human, it may take some time for you to adjust here.” What kind of name was ‘Devildom’? What the hell was playing? Some dumb new show, probably. Oh well. She could turn the television off later. For now, it would stay on and mask the sounds of vehicles and people in the streets. It was doing this remarkably well, Kita thought. “...Kita?” That was strange. Television shows rarely said her name. She blinked, raising her head from the hard surface below her and wiping at her bleary eyes before blinking as she tried to focus. She immediately sat straight, eyes wide with alarm as the fog in her mind finally cleared. In front of her was a group of men, eyeing her expectantly or with mild annoyance as she slowly glanced around the rest of the room. With a quick look down, she thanked every deity and spirit she knew of that she’d been too lazy to remove her sports bra that day. How long had she been asleep? No light fixtures hung from the ceiling. Instead, the lighting came from the moon that hovered brightly in the night skies beyond the windows of the room, and the candelabra scattered around the tables. Only a few were lit.

A large banner dangled above each of the cushioned chairs. Each had been decorated in gold, and the black silhouette of an animal stood ominously against the violet material. From left to right the emblems bore a peacock, crow, serpent, a unicorn, a scorpion, a fly, and the last held something she couldn’t quite identify. A bull, maybe? The banners could’ve used some better composition, in her opinion. The red-headed man in the center had paused for a moment for Kita to respond, frowning a bit when she watched him with wary eyes. “...Oh, pardon me. Feeling a bit shocked, are we?” Kita remained silent in her confusion, shifting slightly under the man’s golden eyes. She blinked once, and then again, before finally comprehending her small discovery with a sudden clarity. Gold, not brown or green or blue like most people. Contacts? They looked real. She took a quick look across the line of men seated in front of her. She was met with four sets of irises just as oddly colored. Black eyes watched her from under the peacock banner. She wasn’t sure if the red glow was natural or an effect from the fire. Next was a blond man with bright green-blue irises that looked not the least bit interested in her but had an intelligence she knew was far beyond her own. Beside him sat another male. He bore eyes like the colors of the rising sun and he regarded her with what seemed, to Kita, to be too much interest. The last held a grumpy expression and his violet irises stood out against his fiery orange hair. The seats that corresponded to the crow, snake, and bull were empty.

“I think the human might be broken,” the second to last murmured before the one beside him threw a warning glance.

“I suppose I should start by introducing myself.” It would appear… they kidnapped me? Kita resisted the urge to squint at the warm tone of his words. If this was real, then surely nobody who’d gone through the trouble of stealing someone from their bed...desk… home in the middle of the night would have their captives’ best interest in mind? No. She’d have to escape as soon as possible. She swallowed, her mouth dry and muscles tense, and she shook uncomfortably under the sudden hot flashes and lightheadedness traveling through her like fire. This must all be a strange dream, Kita decided. But it couldn’t be. Her anxiety was too real. The nauseating dizziness, like a ship on rough seas, was too visceral and she could feel every muscle as they cramped.

“My name is Diavolo.” So, when am I going to wake up? She considered making a break for the door, but quickly pushed the idea aside. She didn’t know what this building’s layout was, and there was sure to be people in the hallways. She’d never make it. Besides, the door was enormous and looked solid. It would take too much time and energy to open. Better to wait. “I am the ruler of all demons, and all here know me. Someday soon, I’ll be crowned the king of the Devildom.” He was the prince? Should she bow?… Maybe not. She stilled and blanched, sitting somewhat straighter in her alarm when the next word of the sentence finally registered. Demons? That was... that’s impossible. Demons weren’t any more real than werewolves or unicorns or dragons. Interesting and fun to read about or study in fiction, but completely imaginary. Why can’t I wake up?

“This is the Royal Academy of Diavolo. We just call it RAD.” Kita nearly snorted. She supposed having to go to school in Hell would make sense. She took a breath to calm herself and quiet her trembling. If these men really were demons, the last thing she wanted was to appear weak in their presence. Many monsters, she knew, fed off fear and other such negative emotions. “Why am I here?”

I’m still tired. What time is it? She clenched her jaw before she had the chance to voice the offhand thoughts.

“I will explain everything to you,” the man in front of the peacock banner stated.

“Kita, this is Lucifer,” Kita opened her mouth as if to speak but closed it just as quickly, eyeing them both with a guarded expression as her discomfort, again, rose, “He’s a demon and the Avatar of Pride.” You’ve got to be shitting me. Of course his name is Lucifer.

“He’s the vice president of the student council and my right-hand man...aside from that, he’s also my most trusted friend.” Diavolo’s laughter was loud, joyous, and startling. She gripped her thigh painfully tight to hide her flinch. She was very much awake now, and she struggled to control her breathing again, cursing herself as the severity of her situation began to set in. She was kidnapped from her small and lonely home, in her sleep, and now she was sitting in what apparently was Hell itself, in a room with not only the Prince of the realm but Lucifer himself and what was likely 4 other demons of the same strength and cruelty. “Flattery gets you nowhere, Diavolo,” Lucifer muttered. “Why am I here?” Kita couldn’t hide the fear and irritation in her voice this time, and she chastised herself. “I’m not dead yet, am I?” She earned herself a slight chuckle from the prince. “You aren’t.” “This one’s really different from Solomon.” Why did that name sound vaguely familiar, Kita wondered. Probably some book she read. It wasn’t uncommon for names to be repeated. “Diavolo believes that we demons should start strengthening our relationship with both the mortal world and Celestial Realm,” Lucifer explained. Celestial Realm? Ah...If the Devildom was Hell, then that must be Heaven. “As the first step towards this goal, we’ve instituted an exchange program. We’ve sent two of our students to the human world, and two to the Celestial Realm. I take it you’ve figured it out at this point?” Kita frowned at the barely hidden smirk on the black-haired demon’s face. There had to be an ulterior motive to this ‘exchange program’. She doubted demons would want to play nice with everyone out of the blue. “I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

She shuddered at the thought of returning to school. She’d never done well in any class back in her own world. She drew, so she took Art, but failed that (somehow drawing was less fun when you were told what to do. Who wants to spend an hour painting fruit when there’s a hundred worlds to be seen instead?). She latched on to some bits of history, but it was always the parts that were glossed over. She hardly passed math (only because the instructor had taken pity on her final exam). Why bother learning some math theorem when the whole of space held a thousand and one secrets? How could she focus on English when the ocean’s depths remained unseen? “Irregardless, you’re here now. Your period of stay is a single year. You will work on the tasks assigned to you from RAD.”

Kita grumbled to herself. What was there that she could do that would prevent this? She turned to the prince in front of her. “I am the worst possible choice for this,” she reasoned, “did you even look at my previous school grades before... selecting me?” “You truly are quite different from Solomon!” he laughed. “After one year,” Lucifer continued, “you will compose a report about your exchange here in the Devildom.” “You mean kidnapping?” She couldn’t stop herself. I could just... not write the paper. They know that, right? “If you must view it that way.” Kita bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to distract herself from the fear still pooling in her stomach, her expression dark.

“Don’t glare like that,” Lucifer smiled, condescending and borderline cruel, “you won’t be abandoned all by yourself here.” Gee, what a relief.

“You’ll need someone to look after you. I think that person should be my brother, Mammon.” Kita wasn’t sure what it was about his remark that made her think the demon in front of her was up to no good, but she quickly concluding that she did not like him in the slightest. “He’s the Avatar of Greed and... how should I put it…?” he shrugged, “well, you’ll understand soon enough.” She hadn’t thought it was possible to admire someone any less as he handed her a small device.

“This is yours for as long as you’re here. Call Mammon.” She looked between Lucifer and the phone with distaste. “Can’t I just text him?” “I believe a call would be more appropriate.” “Texts are easier, and more practical,” she countered. “Call him.” Kita sighed, thumbing through the contacts and pressing Mammon’s name. It rang twice before a raucous voice erupted from the phone. “Yoooooo.” “Uh… hey?” “Eh? Who the hell are ya? You ain’t Lucifer!” he sounded as confused as he was relieved.

“Kita. I’m a human.” “Huuh? A human?” Was he always this obnoxiously loud? Kita held the phone off her ear, wincing. “Geez, I was gettin’ all chilly here thinkin’ it was Lucifer again. So, what business does a weak little human got with THE Mammon.” She nearly rolled her eyes. Who refers to themselves like that? “Apparently you’re in charge of me from now on.” She did not try to hide the distaste in her voice. Mammon snorted. “Hell no! There’s nothin’ in it for me. Whaddya even mean by ‘be in charge of you’?” The phone fell silent and then exploded in noise again as he yelled excitedly. “AAH! I get it now! You’re the other human exchange student! Yeah, g’luck with that. I ain’t got time to play babysitter. See ya!” “Listen here, jackass,” Kita snapped. She was tired. She was stressed, and she sure as hell didn’t need this. “I’m not happy about it either. You think I want some asshole demon telling me what to do? Lucifer called for you.” Mammon laughed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Ya think the Mammon would listen to your bull just ‘cause you’re tryin’ to scare me with that name? I ain’t stupid.” She was abruptly aware of the demon behind her as he turned her shoulder towards himself so he could speak into the phone. She jerked herself out of his grip with a grunt, but allowed him close enough that Mammon could hear him. “You’ve got ten seconds… nine… eight…” Kita held back a laugh at the sharp yelp that squeaked through the phone. “YESSIR!” The call disconnected, and Kita shut off the screen. This is who was supposed to keep her safe here? Are they joking? “Sounds like you had a pleasant chat,” Lucifer said, a patronizing smile adorning his face. She had the sudden urge to throw the device across the room. Or at him. Throwing it at him would be much more satisfying. “Yeah, he seems about as trustworthy as the rest of you.” She smiled as sweetly as she could, hoping the insult would fly past him. It didn’t, and she didn’t miss the brief laughter from the green-eyed man. “You should show us more respect, human,” Lucifer growled. Kita glared back at him, hands clenched tightly as she stood and stared at him. She was silent a moment before she spoke, imparting as much hate and rage into her words as she could. “I will never respect any of you,” her voice left her with a hiss and the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen as Lucifer tensed angrily. “Well, if you were suddenly brought to an unfamiliar place and told that a stranger would take care of you, I’m sure you’d be anxious,” Diavolo interrupted softly. The room returned to normal, although Lucifer continued to glare at her. Kita nodded once at the prince, appreciating his understanding, and recognizing how easily he diffused the situation. “Mammon won’t be the only one helping you out,” he turned to Lucifer, “we still need to introduce our new friend to your brothers. It’s probably better that you do that, wouldn’t you say?” He must mean the others sitting here.

“Yes… As much as I dread the idea of doing so, you’re right.” Kita raised her eyebrow at his words. He didn’t like his own family? Well… there was one matter they shared in common then. Not that it was an excellent thing to bond over. “Come now,” the man in front of the scorpion banner said, his hair bouncing slightly, “you should be honored that you get to introduce a sweet and charming little brother like me!” Lucifer ignored his words. “This one here is Asmodeus. He’s the fifth eldest, and the Avatar of Lust.” Kita nearly cringed. So, what? He’s horny all the time? Gross. “Wh… I can’t believe you just totally ignored what I said,” Asmodeus frowned, “And not only that, you referred to me as ‘this one’. How rude!” The demon in front of the unicorn spoke next, eyebrows pinched together, “Hmph. At least he didn’t ignore you altogether. How do you think I feel?”

“That one there is Satan,” he watched the blond with an unreadable expression, “He’s the fourth eldest of us. At first glance he may seem like a responsible demon with a good head on his shoulders, but looks can be deceiving.” Of course there’s a ‘Satan’ too. “So is insulting each other a thing with you all, or is it just you?” Satan smirked, but Lucifer let her go unanswered. “I am the Avatar of Wrath. Nice to meet you, Kita.” “Likewise.” I guess. “So what’s Avatar of Wrath even mean?” “It sums up what he’s about,” Lucifer explained,” he may flash you a pretty smile like that, but it’s all an act.” Wow, he really does like dragging his brothers.

“If you continue making claims like those, you’ll just scare her.” Satan smiled. Kita wrinkled her nose. It honestly did look forced, and she leaned back in her seat, anxiety rising, as the surrounding atmosphere grew dark again. Angry. Kita didn’t like anger. It reminded her too much of memories she’d much rather forget. She mentally shook her head to clear it. “Don’t take him seriously, Kita. Lucifer enjoys speaking ill of his brothers. He’s the Avatar of Pride, after all.” “I’ve noticed,” she said shortly. “Are you done?” the black-haired demon sighed.

“Now, the one there with the grumpy look on his face is Beelzebub. He’s the sixth oldest.” It didn’t take Kita more than a second glance to realize the size of the demon. This guy was absolutely enormous and would’ve dwarfed her had they been sitting next to each other.

“Lucifer, I’m hungry,” the orange haired man frowned. He held his stomach with one hand as it erupted in a monstrous noise loud enough to echo through the room. “That’s too bad. Behave yourself.” Beelzebub turned his head, a crestfallen look on his face as he muttered, “I’m Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony.” “There are seven of us siblings in all. I am the eldest.” Lucifer said. “Mammon is the second. My other brothers aren’t here at the moment.” Diavolo chuckled lightly. “They will lend you their strength during your stay in the Devildom. To keep you safe, you’re to remain with them at the House of Lamentation.” Sounds inviting. Lucifer nodded before turning to Kita. “Most agree with Diavolo, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t vulgar demons out there who would harm you,” Lucifer told her, “if anything were to happen to you, it’d be our responsibility.” His expression turned dark and Kita could feel the warning behind his words when he spoke, “I won’t betray Diavolo’s expectations.” ‘Don’t make yourself any more trouble than you already have’, was the unspoken message. His face lightened a bit. “Although we will live together, you should still have the means to reach us at any moment. All our phone numbers are already on your D.D.D, along with a messaging app.” “I’ll send you a message!” Diavolo’s cheery tone cut in. “Isn’t that nice, Kita? Now you’ll be friends with the future king of the Devildom!” Satan grinned. “Texting doesn’t make anyone friends,” Kita muttered as she looked at the screen. Diavolo: This is my account. Diavolo: Feel free to send me a text at any time.

The emoji he sent next was an odd, three footed bird creature. It was obviously angry, and oddly adorable. Have I irritated him already? She shoved the thought away when a glance at the prince revealed a face slightly twisted in concentration. Diavolo: Oh, sorry. Diavolo: I haven’t gotten used to this yet. Diavolo: You see, Lucifer is the only demon who sends me messages…

Kita supposed it would be intimidating for anyone to knowingly speak to the prince, but for Lucifer to be the only one who would text him? It made her almost feel bad for the guy. She replied with an emoji of a shivering shiba inu, confused at the random human world animal amid a hundred demonic creatures. Diavolo: Hahaha, that’s a cute dog! It took Kita a second to realize that he hadn’t laughed out loud, but he grinned at her before putting his phone away at the exact moment she heard muffled shouting from outside the room. “It seems the idiot has arrived.” A door slammed open behind her, crashing into the wall as a white-haired man stormed inside. “Hey!” Oh, God, his voice was even louder in person, “just who do the hell do you think ya are, human? You’ve got a whole lot a’ nerve summoning the Great Mammon.” “I wasn’t aware I could summon demons with a phone,” she smirked, against her better judgement, “thought all that needed a blood ritual or something? Maybe it was a goat.” Mammon glared at her. “Listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once,” he growled, “if you want to continue your pathetic existence, then hand over all your money. And anything else of value, too!” This sounds like a corny mugging. She should just keep her mouth shut. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to stay quiet. Unfortunately, she was never very good at listening to herself when she was frightened. “Do I look like I have money to you?” “Hey! I’ll wipe that stupid, happy-go-lucky look right off your face...by eatin’ you,” he barked. It was hard to take him seriously with the way he spoke, even as he leaned close to her. “Not if I eat you first,” Kita snarled, earning her another amused chuckle from Satan. “Like a weak human could ever do that.” “On second thought, I wouldn’t want to anyway,” she mused, “you look like you’d be tasteless and gristly.” “Why you-” He gripped the edge of her shirt. “Mammon, knock it off or I’ll punch you!” Lucifer snapped. Kita turned her sight to the prince in front of her as Lucifer wasted no time hitting Mammon and drawing a loud yelp from the younger demon. “This is what I’m going to have to deal with for the next year?” “Kita, Mammon here is the Avatar of Greed,” Satan interrupted from his seat, “he oversees all forms of it. Whenever he takes a liking to someone, they suddenly find themselves awash in money. From what I hear, if he breaks it off with someone, that wealth evaporates.” “He’s also a masochist,” Asmodeus snickered, “that part’s important.” Kita eyed him, no longer trying to keep her irritation and disgust hidden. There was no possible reason she could think of that she would ever need to know that.

“Indeed,” Lucifer said, “and it just so happens that I have a job for my masochist of a brother.” “Y’all, stop telling lies!” Mammon groaned, “I ain’t asked for that punch, and I ain’t a masochist!” “Mammon, you will be in charge of seeing to this human’s needs during the entire exchange. I expect your full cooperation.” “What?! Why me?!” Kita tried not to wince at the volume of his indignant shout. It really wasn’t as if she wanted the white-haired demon to tag along with her, and he was obviously about as fond of the idea as she was. That is to say, not at all. “You’re lucky, Mammon... I’m so jealous,” Asmodeus whined. “Then why don’t you do it?” Kita froze. Somehow, she trusted and liked Asmodeus even less than her current assigned sitter. Besides, Kita and flirting went together as well as oil and water. “Hell no, too lazy.” Thank my lucky stars. “Just give up, Mammon,” Satan sighed, “there’s no getting out of this. You cannot refuse a direct command from Lucifer.” “But why does it have to be me?!” Mammon grumbled, “what about Beel? Why can’t he do it?” “We might as well ask him to eat this human,” Asmodeus said. “Mm. Yeah, I can’t promise I wouldn’t.” Kita wasn’t sure if it was the nonchalant way the man spoke that amused her, but it took all her concentration not to laugh. Maybe it was the absurdity of it all. At least he was honest? “You’re useless, you know that?” “Mammon?” Lucifer spoke softly, his eyes darkened and dangerous. “..Wh-What?” “Surely you’re not telling me you object to this arrangement?” The room darkened again as the flames of the candelabras flickered, and Kita shivered as a sudden chill ran up her spine. Mammon was silent for a moment. The room was quiet enough that Kita was certain she could hear a pin dropping from the hallway. “Ugh… I hate you guys, every last one of ya!” he growled, “fine... Fine, I’ll do it, okay?” Drama queens. She was going to have to spend a year dealing with the seven demons who quickly were becoming the biggest drama queens she knew. Great. Perfect. She placed her index and thumb between her eyes, rubbing in an attempt to quell her growing headache. This was all just too much. Her exhaustion had long since quelled the anxiety and fear she’d felt, and even her anger was slowly slithering back to the confines of her unconscious thoughts. Now, she simply wanted to go back to bed and pretend this hadn’t happened. “All right, human,” he spat the word like it disgusted him, “listen up. As much as I don’t want to look after your worthless ass, I’ve got no choice. It’s an enormous pain, and I’m too important for this kind of thing, but Lucifer told me to do it, so I will. You better make sure you don’t cause me any trouble, got it?” Kita crossed her arms, frowning. “...” “Man, there really is something wrong with this one…”

≿————-　❈　————-≾

It had taken another two hours to wrap up Lucifer’s basic explanation of what was expected of her and by the time it he finished, after countless insults and complaints thrown by her new ‘guardian’, Kita wanted nothing more than to scream and disappear into the void. Her anxiety was back with a vengeance and seemed hellbent on making her suffer. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but the tremoring of her leg as she bounced it off the floor to keep herself awake. “To sum it up for you, you will be an exchange student here at RAD for one year and you must do your tasks,” Lucifer said, “your tasks consist mainly of dance battles, and as you have no magic power, we will lend you a hand.” Ah. Right. Dance battles. These demons are fighting over my soul… by shitty dance competitions, apparently. “Why?” she had asked Diavolo. “Ordinarily, many demons would settle disputes via physical or psychological battles. I believe this is a much more peaceful solution that puts us in a better light,” he had grinned at her, “we aren’t savages.” They could’ve fooled her. She shifted against the intense heat wave that clutched her spine like a vice, tightening and choking her until she could hardly breathe against the lump in her throat and her burning eyes. She was so, so incredibly close to breaking.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. Don’t you dare show any more weakness in front of these things.

“I wanna make one thing clear right now: don’t blame me if someone gets eaten,” Mammon spoke, as if she wasn’t in the room, “‘cause it ain’t my fault.” “Lucifer, I’m hungry…” Beelzebub grumbled. So I am... “That’s too bad. Now behave yourself.”

Beelzebub, again, turned his head away and his frown deepened. It was at least the third time the demon had mentioned his empty stomach, and he seemed increasingly upset each time. Oh, Kita’s shoulders relaxed in sudden amusement and understanding. Do demons get hangry? Poor guy. Kita rummaged through her pajamas pocket, pulling out the granola bar she’d forgotten about in the midst of all the chaos. “H-Hey… I don’t know if you’ll like this, but you can have it if you want?” Kita offered the large demon. She nearly snorted at how quickly his face lit up as he nodded. She pulled her arm back to toss the small bar to him and, despite missing her mark by at least two feet, he caught it effortlessly. “Thanks!” His smile seemed to brighten the room as he tore open the wrapper. Oh… it should not be legal for a demon to look that sweet. He looks sorta like a puppy, smiling like that. An enormous, really dangerous puppy… What am I doing thinking about him like that? Kita shook her head to clear her thoughts. Thank God it didn’t seem like they could read minds.

Diavolo seemed enthralled with her actions and she avoided his intense look by awkwardly staring at the ceiling, and then the table. “I have no more food, so don’t ask,” she told the prince, only partly joking.

Kita yawned, eyes beginning to droop in her exhaustion. It had been well past midnight when she’d gone to bed, and she wanted nothing more than to return to one, soon. “Are we done here yet?” she asked, trying to mask her irritation behind yet another yawn. “Yes!” Diavolo said,” as stated earlier, you’ll be staying in the House of Lamentation with Lucifer and his six younger brothers. They’ll escort you there now.” Wonderful.

“Humans, angels, and demons… I imagine a universe where each accepts the other. Where we are brought together as friends.” Kita rose from her chair as the others did, slowly trailing after the group as they moved through the hallway. So much for escaping as soon as possible. They surrounded her on all sides, and she was ready to collapse, anyway. “One year,” Diavolo called after them, “that’s all I ask of you. Good luck, Kita.”

#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #arkwrites #Dont Look Down #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me diavolo #obey me shall we date #im very excited about this fic LMAO #q #what do you do when a demon threatens to eat you? threaten to eat them first

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hecate-herself · 4 years

Text

To mark 100 Invisible Library one shots on AO3 I am setting myself a challenge.

The first 5 people who anonymously send me a prompt from the list below the cut (every single prompt that I have come up with, including new ones that I haven't posted yet) and a shipping/ scenario, will get 5,000 words written for that prompt.

If it isn’t anonymous, I won’t do it, if you can’t decide on a shipping that’s less important, but I will only do anonymous responses for this specific thing

1. “[mama/papa]’s got you.”

2. “…How on earth did you manage to get up there?”

3. “After everything that you put me through, you come here and ask for help? How dare you?”

4. “Alright, which one of you idiots left your shoes out for me to trip over again?”

5. “Am I just a game to you?”

6. “Are you asleep?”

“Not anymore.”

7. “Are you bleeding?”

“We don’t have time to deal with it. I’ll be fine.”

8. “Are you day drinking?”

“It’s apple juice, not whiskey.”

9. “Are you sure that you have enough blankets?”

10. “Are you wearing a new lipbalm? It tastes really good.”

11. “Bite me.”

12. “Can I adopt the stray cat out in the street?”

“Do you want fleas? Because that is how you get fleas.”

13. “Can I have a story?”

“I just ready you a story.”

“’nother story?”

14. “Can I kiss you?”

15. “Can you check for monsters under the bed?”

16. “Can you please tidy your toys away? Preferably before I break my neck tripping over a stuffed turtle.”

17. “Come any closer and I will hit you with this book. I swear to God!”

18. “Come to bed with me?”

19. “Come to bed. I sleep better with you there.”

20. “Did you ever love me, or was it just an act?”

21. “Did you get shot?”

22. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Uh huh.”

“Come on, get into bed with us, you can sleep in bed with us tonight.”

23. “Did you just get dragged through a bush, or are you always this messy?”

“I couldn’t find a comb.”

24. “Did you just stab me?”

25. “Did you make me breakfast in bed? I think that I love you.”

26. “Did you sleep last night? At all?”

“God no, what do you take me for?”

27. “Do we have any cookies in? No? I’m making cookies.”

28. “Do you even still love me?”

29. “Do you have a reason to get out of bed today? Let’s just stay here as long as we can.”

30. “Do you pinky promise?”

“What are you? Five?”

31. “Do you want a bed time story?”

32. “Does it hurt here?”

“Everywhere hurts.”

33. “Don’t go. Please. I can’t lose you.”

34. “Don’t move, they hit your head really hard.”

35. “Don’t pass out on me now, we’re nearly home.”

36. “Don’t touch me!”

37. “Don’t you dare die on me, you promised me!”

38. “Don’t you look absolutely stunning?”

“You’re biased.”

“I am your partner, I am allowed to be.”

39. “First day of school, are we excited?”

“No.”

40. “Fuck off and fall off a cliff.”

41. “Fuck.”

“Fuck!”

“No. Don’t repeat that. It’s a naughty word.”

“Fuck.”

42. “Get off my foot!”

“Get your foot out from underneath my foot.”

43. “Get out!”

“Please let me explain.”

“Out!”

44. “Get out. I am done with you.”

45. “Go ahead, leave, I am not going to stop you.”

46. “Happy birthday!”

47. “Have a good day.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

48. “Have you stolen my shirt?”

49. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Do I look alright to you?”

50. “Hey, you passed out, stay laying down for a bit longer.”

51. “Hold me, please?”

52. “Hold still, I think it’s broken, I can set it, but this will really hurt.”

53. “How did I get here?”

“I had to carry you. You hit your head really hard.”

54. “How did you get pen that high up the wall?”

55. “How do you feel about spiders?”

“Where is it?”

56. “How is the hangover?”

“You can great straight to hell, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred pounds.”

57. “How many coffees is that?”

“You try having a toddler who refuses to go to bed.”

58. “Hush little baby don’t say a word, mummy has a headache and your crying hurts.”

59. “I am madly in love with you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

60. “I can’t breathe.”

61. “I can’t sleep.”

62. “I can’t stand the sight of you right now. Get away from me.”

“I just wanted to help.”

63. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but the spider in the shower is frankly massive.”

64. “I don’t want to talk about it, just leave me alone.”

65. “I don’t… I don’t feel good.”

66. “I dreamed about you last night. I woke up happy.

67. “I feel like no one could ever love me.”

68. “I feel safe in your arms.”

69. “I hate you so much.”

“I know. I deserve it.”

70. “I haven’t slept in days. The nightmares won’t stop.”

71. “I just put them down for a nap. We probably have an hour of peace.”

72. “I love mummy.”

“What about me?”

“Just mummy.”

73. “I love you, but please, shut up.”

74. “I love you.”

“But I don’t love you.”

75. “I may have… mildly panicked?”

“You shot at me!”

76. “I need a hug. Please?”

77. “I never want you to feel like you are alone.”

78. “I said that I never wanted to see you again. Why are you here?”

79. “I think I can feel them kicking!”

80. “I think you need to see a doctor.”

81. “I think you’re bleeding…”

82. “I trusted you.”

83. “I want another baby.”

84. “I was thinking, you, me, the bottle of wine in the kitchen and sitting in front of the fire. Thoughts?”

“Yes please.”

85. “I will make dinner if you don’t speak for the rest of the afternoon.”

86. “I wish that I never had met you.”

87. “I’d have stayed, if you had asked me to.”

88. “I’m calling the doctor.”

“I’m fine.”

“You really aren’t.”

89. “I’m not hurt.”

“You are actively bleeding.”

“Oh. So I am.”

90. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice!”

91. “I’ve got you, you are going to be okay.”

92. “If the kid can nap, am I allowed to as well?”

93. “Is it wrong for me to wish that they never grow up and I can keep my baby forever?”

“I kind of want that too.”

94. “Is this heaven?”

“Well, judging by your presence here, hell.”

“Oh. So I am dead?”

95. “Isn’t it your bedtime?”

“Hypocrite.”

“Come to bed with me then.”

96. “Isn’t this illegal?”

“Yes, but technically no.”

97. “it could be worse.”

“You aren’t the one bleeding.”

“Look, you are still alive. Stop whining.”

98. “It could be worse?”

“They got jam everywhere!”

99. “It hurts.”

“I know, it is going to be okay, I promise.”

“It burns, please… Make it stop.”

100. “It would be better if you just forgot me.”

101. “It’s just a bad dream. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

102. “It’s just a bit of blood. I’m fine.”

103. “It’s just a nightmare. I’ve got you.”

104. “It’s so cold.”

“You need to hold on a bit longer, you are going to be fine. Just stay awake a little longer.”

105. “It’s your bedtime.”

106. “Kiss me, please?”

“Nah.”

“Fine, I will kiss someone else.”

“No, don’t do that!”

107. “Kiss me. Now.”

108. “Kiss me.”

109. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.”

110. “Look up. Mistletoe.”

111. “Lunch?”

“It’s half seven. In the evening.”

“Dinner then?”

112. “May I have this dance?”

113. “Nothing could go wrong, you said. Well guess what? Everything has gone wrong!”

114. “Oh god I think I am going to throw up.”

115. “Oh, you can go to hell.”

“Stop threatening me with a good time.”

116. “Okay, start from the beginning, you lost me right after you said that you punched someone.”

“That was the first thing that I said.”

117. “One drink, two drink, three drink, floor!”

118. “One little shoe. Two little shoes. Already to go out.”

119. “Open wide. Come on, eat your dinner!”

“It probably tastes awful.”

“It doesn’t- okay. No, it is pretty bad.”

120. “Pass me that would you- no, no the other one. On your left. No… your other left.”

121. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“If my thoughts are only worth a penny, I shall keep it to myself.”

122. “Please breath, please… oh god.”

123. “Please don’t say that, I don’t think I can take it.”

124. “Please don’t vomit on me. Please don’t vomit on me. Please don’t… You vomited on me.”

125. “Please tell me that isn’t all your blood.”

126. “Please… I am begging you, just open your eyes. Please. You can’t die.”

127. “Put the cookie down, eat your dinner first.”

128. “Quick, I think the baby is coming!”

129. “Roses are red, violets are blue- ow. Fuck you!”

130. “Say goodbye to mama and papa, they’ll be back soon.”

131. “Shh, it’s okay, you don’t need to cry.”

132. “So… the baby is fine, I want you to know that first, they are absolutely fine.”

“What did you do?”

133. “Stay in bed a little longer. It is warm here.”

“Alright, five more minutes, then I have to get up.”

134. “Stomach bug?”

“No, morning sickness.”

135. “Stop lying to me!”

136. “Stop pretending to care.”

137. “Stop smiling at me like that, I am trying to concentrate.”

138. “Stop wiggling! I need to get you changed!”

139. “Take a break. I’ll stay up with them, you need some sleep.”

140. “Take a deep breath.”

141. “It hurts.”

“I know, but you have to breath.”

142. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“For you I would do anything.”

143. “That best not be the last of the milk… Oh you bastard.”

144. “That hit hard, are you okay?”

145. “That is going to leave a really nasty scar.”

146. “That looks broken. You need a doctor.”

147. “The amount of alcohol I am going to need to forget this is going to kill me.”

148. “They have grown so much, it’s hard to believe how little they used to be.”

149. “They won’t stop crying and, in a minute, I think I am going to start crying first.”

150. “Tuck me into bed?”

“You are an adult.”

“So?”

151. “Wake up, I think someone else is here.”

152. “Walk it off.”

“I don’t know if I can walk.”

153. “What are you reading?”

154. “What do you mean you aren’t interested in me, it’s me!”

155. “What if I don’t get better? What if I am broken?”

156. “What would you do if I said that I may have burnt the dinner?”

157. “When mummy and daddy love each other very much…”

158. “Where am I?”

159. “Where did you get that scar from?

160. “Where did you put your blankie this time.”

161. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Well-“

“That was rhetorical.”

162. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I am just… speechless. You look beautiful.”

163. “Why are you on the floor? Did you fall?”

“Would you believe me if I said not?”

164. “Why did you lie to me?”

165. “Wouldn’t you rather be with [him/her/them]?”

166. “Yes, you look great in my shirt. But I kind of need it back.”

167. “You and me, together. We’re unbeatable. We can go against all odds and come out on top.”

168. “You are perfect, my little [pet name].”

169. “You are the worst mistake I have ever made.”

170. “You broke my heart.”

171. “You didn’t see anything.”

“Yes I did. I saw all of it.”

172. “You drank my coffee? Why must you heart me in this way?”

173. “You hurt me!”

174. “You loved me!”

“Loved. Past tense.”

175. “You made me breakfast in bed? What did you do this time?”

176. “You really are your [mother/father]’s child.”

177. “You ripped my heart to pieces. Did it even hurt when you left?”

178. “You’ll come crawling back to me.”

“Never.”

179. “You’re burning up.”

180. “You’re going to be okay, just breath. Oh god… is that bone?”

181. “Your brat keeps kicking me in the kidney.”

“How come you say they’re mine whenever they are doing that?”

182. “Your nose is bleeding.”

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lothirielswan · 5 years

Text

“Pastry Crimes” [20]

Join the journey on AO3!

Quest Objective: Save the mages (I’m talking to you, Thedas).

My feet squeaked on the tile as I came to a stop. The world felt hazy around me, like I was trapped in a dream--or a most terrible nightmare.

He knows.

My boots let out another shriek as I spun on my heel. Grand Magister Rommath’s face was mostly unreadable, but his stare was as watchful as stars in the night sky.

“How…” My voice was far more scratchy than normal. “how did you know?”

The Grand Magister seemed a lot taller than he did before. Intimidating. Threatening. My wild imagination twisted reality and I suddenly felt like I was standing before my own Vampyr, draped in blood-soaked robes, barring his sharp fangs. I wanted to run, and when I realized why I couldn't, my legs trembled.

I was terrified.

My family was filled with social pariahs, but I had kept one part of that lineage secret. It was one less thing I had to worry about on a new planet. Now the flat of the blade called vulnerability slid across my skin with a cool caress. I’m the daughter of the so-called monster and the faraway coward. I am the spawn of the outcasts of Outland. And it has come back to bite me in the ass.

“I had my suspicions...the Black Prince confirmed them.” Rommath said.

The daughter of a traitor was betrayed...how ironic. I didn't have to believe Rommath’s words, but I knew the truth had a habit of stinging. It was searing in my chest now.

I couldn't decide between fidgeting with my fingers or fixing every strand of hair on my head. I settled for crossing my arms across my torso, steeling myself for how bleak my life was about to become. “Are you going to kill me, then?”

“No.”

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“I should.” Rommath mimicked my actions as his bare arms folded across his chest.

I loathed the new position that Wrath had put me in. Rommath knew my secret, which meant he had leverage. He had power over me. Wrathion had placed me on his chessboard, and now I was stuck taking his punishment for the game.

A banging started in my head. Only when Jaina spoke did I realize it was her footsteps on the stairs as she fled down them. Her blue skirts fanned around her like choppy waves.

Blue.

Kalec.

My inhale was deep and painful as I looked up at Jaina. She had no idea of my lineage. I preferred to keep it that way, but Kalec came first.

“What are you doing? We need to move!” Jaina’s voice was back to it’s grim determination, young yet aged, and she grabbed my arm as she passed.

I glanced back at Rommath one last time. What would he do next? Inform Sylvanas, and lead her to the peak of anger towards me? Set me up to an impossible task, bound to his will?

I had no clue. And the unknown clawed at my insides like a caged beast as Jaina blinked away from the Violet Citadel.

We suddenly appeared before the thick double doors of Violet Hold. Two guards stood at attention, adorned with troubled expressions as Jaina approached.

“Questions will be answered later. Double the patrols of the city.” Jaina shouted orders like a veteran general and strode with the grace of the tides. The two guards raced down the coral ramparts. Jaina and I stopped before the crippled metal doors.

“Prisoners will spread across Dalaran. I informed council members Ansirem, Karlain, and Vargoth. We will rescue Kalec, and join them in the fight on the streets. We keep this as covert as we can.”

At least one of us has it together. Jaina really does deserve a vacation. After this, maybe Kalec can send Jaina to some island getaway where she can smell a bunch of books--and I’ll send her a danish. Oh, food. I miss the comfort of food right now--dammit, stomach, not now! Kalec and my future are on the line!

Jaina pointed her staff at the entrance and the doors shuddered. The battered doorway was forced open by an incredibly unhappy host, coming to throw out her rude guests.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness quicker than Jaina’s. Embers emitted a weak lavender glow in braizers. My sight felt strained. There was a thickness in the air when I breathed in. I had become accustomed to the air saturated with magic as I stayed in Dalaran, but this was different. It was like trying to breathe underwater as something foreign filled my lungs.

My hands immediately went to my goggles, securing them on my face to mask the glow of my eyes. The shadows welcomed me with open arms, and I greeted it with both knives in my grasp.

I glanced back at Jaina. The glow of her staff was the brightest object in the room; she was a lighthouse, searching the ebony seas for Kalec.

“I smell fel.”

Lord Malgath--I remember him. It's sick and sad that I do.

I sensed something else in the dark with me. I stayed away from the walls and empty cells; being cornered in my profession was a death sentence. I stumbled on something as I backed up into the middle of the room.

“This behavior will not be tolerated.” Jaina’s tone was stern, like an adult addressing a child. “You will return to your cell or face the wrath of the Kirin Tor.”

I did a costly move and glanced down at my feet. Once again, my vision was deceived, like a veil suppressing my view. Inside my leather gloves, my fingers ached from how tightly I held my daggers.

“Ha! The Kirin Tor is nothing to us--beware the might of the Legion!” An orcish voice howled.

Jaina’s eyes blazed with an icy blue light. “Beware of me!”

In one swift motion too perfect for mortals, Jaina pointed her staff at the empty space beside her. The air caught fire and red flames roared.

Lord Malgath’s form was released from the shadows, crying out in pain. I wanted to extract my own hatred on the Legion, but I was onto something. I jammed one of my fists in my pockets and threw a flare at the ground.

Light popped into place like fireworks and the ground was illuminated. Kalec’s dragon form towered over me, drenched in some dark mist.

Stars! I can't get rid of that junk…

“Jaina!” I juggled sharp objects in my hand and blasted my pistol at the fel orc. The archmage looked over at me, the source.

I gestured with my gun at Kalec. “Switch places with me!”

“We’re in battle, Eona! You could use a more formal term--”

“Can you teach me proper grammar and word choice later?” I said and raced back towards the entrance. My words were wispy against the wind and my knives whistled as I gained speed. Jaina ducked as I leapt over the stairs and planted my foot in Malgath’s abdomen.

Jaina went off to undo the warlock’s bonds. I was alone, my mind distracted with thoughts of Rommath and Kael’thas and impending doom.

I wanted to gag as Malgath panted from my blow. His breath carried the heavy stench of the Legion; brimstone and sourness and decay. It made me feel younger and smaller, summoning memories of days long ago when I visited the toxic lands of Shadowmoon Valley.

I was supposed to be fast and fatal. I was supposed to be a tornado, unleashing the ferocious fury of nature in quick, twisting blows. But I was none of those things; I was just a scared kid running around in circles.

My footing slipped and I crashed down the stairs. The sharp edges of the stone cut into my side, promising bruises and slightly cracked ribs. The pain was nothing as my skull knocked against the tile floor. Foreshadowing resonated to intensify the agonizing throb.

“And another so-called hero falls to the Legion,” The orc was cloaked in shadow, but I could imagine the satisfied smirk on his face from his tone.

My fingers hastened back to the depths of my pockets and shook as I tossed a handful of little paper balls packed with ammunition at Malgath’s looming silhouette.

As my to-be murderer was stunned by the popping lights and stinging pain, I yanked my boomstick out of it's holder. I winced as the weapon went off. The sound of Malgath’s corpse hitting the ground followed.

“Jaina,” I called out from my upside-down position, staring up at the inky-black ceiling that threatened to reign over my whole world. “I’ve fallen...and I can't get up.”

Kalec’s half-human, half-elven face hovered over mine. The long tendrils of his hair eerily reminded me of Malgath’s magic. The longer I stared, the more he started to sway...he multiplied into three Kalecs, each of them bearing a look of weariness and worry.

“Before you get on to me about my carelessness and pastry crimes, I have to tell you...what do I have to tell you?” I asked, my eyebrows scrunched together as my thoughts scattered like a pile of dead leaves.

Six Jainas appeared with her braid swaying like part of an old clock. It was a dizzying, hypnotizing motion that made my head spin.

“Are you alright, Eona?” The Jainas asked. Despite the many voices talking, they sounded faint.

“You know…” I held up a finger as I pondered what I wanted to say. “if Khadgar was turned undead by Sylvanas...I think he would be a lot like Beetlejuice. I see it now.”

“...Damn, I broke her. Sylvanas is going to kill me now,” Each Jaina said and pursed their lips. But now all of the copies were fading, and the endless night was taking over.

“Wait...isn't that...isn’t that my line?”

Before I could catch her response, darkness took over.

~Anduin Wrynn, Violet Citadel~

Aunt Jaina desperately needs a vacation. It takes me a while to recall the last time she smiled, or laughed, or a time when her goblet was filled with water instead of a...stronger substitute.

“You look troubled, Your Majesty. You’ve looked troubled for quite some time.”

A larger figure caught up to me in the carpeted halls of the guest suite. The scent of crushed leaves and fresh dirt crossed my nostrils.

Father?

I buried the thought as soon as it came. I didn't have the time nor the strength to dwell on it. The true figure striding beside me was the night elf leader; Malfurion Stormrage. His form was truly unique; from the antlers that rose high above his head to the feathers that billowed down his arms. Malfurion was the embodiment of nature.

I straightened my back and offered him a polite nod. “Thank you for your concern, Archdruid. I learned the look from Lady Proudmoore.”

Malfurion’s lips smiled beneath his owl-shaped nose. I was allowed to utter such remarks in his company; we spared together many times. Playing Hearthstone, of course.

“I’d rather you acquire that than Greymane’s stubbornness,” Malfurion’s voice lowered as we passed closed doors along the way. The halls were lit with faint candles and furnished with violet silk. The pearlish texture of the walls was far more refined than the halls of Stormwind Keep. Dalaran held a faint resemblance to my home, but there was a strange feeling to it; the exotic energies and the endless knowledge. Aunt Jaina was lucky to spend time in such a bizarre place.

Aunt Jaina spoke of some accident that occured, and I was to tend to the victims. Malfurion was given the same orders, and we reported to the Purple Parlor together. When I activated the portal to the tower, a tingling sensation raced across my skin. The magic of mages was thrilling, but I preferred the warmth and peace that radiated in my core when I used the Light.

My gaze flit across the seating area to the three limp bodies. Archmage Khadgar, Archmage Modera, Archmage Aethas...they’re the most powerful mages in Dalaran! What in Azeroth’s name happened here?

Malfurion and I exchanged a look before I walked over to Khadgar. He appeared older from the aging spell, but in this moment, he truly seemed weak and feeble. His skin was pale and his chest rose with uneven breaths.

“Our archmages seemed to have a run in with a Vampyr,” Malfurion gestured with his claws beneath Khadgar’s neck. Two small entry wounds swelled at the base of his throat.

“How did this happen?” I asked. My brows furrowed together as I looked up at the green-haired elf.

“It’s Dalaran, King Anduin. Mages are known for their dangerous practices--you’re questioning the lot that juggles fire with their bare hands.” There was a hint of distaste in Malfurion’s voice when he spoke of them. I chose not to address it.

“So how do we tend to them?” I said.

“Hmm...perhaps you could burn the venom out with the light, and I will remedy the rest?” Malfurion offered. When I nodded, he took a step back, “I’ll restrain the other two. Be careful with that one.”

I kneeled down next to the archmage and pressed my fingers over the two small gashes. I jumped when Khadgar’s eyes flew open.

“You smell…” He sucked in a heavy breath like the air was wine. I didn't budge. I murmured a prayer and a refreshing wave of light flew to my fingers.

I liked to think that I knew Khadgar very well. We exchanged many letters and met secretly during the recent Legion invasion. He was one of the few that did not detest my belief in peace, and did not require me to have the same intimidating presence of Father.

“Anduin…?” Khadgar rasped. His heavily dilated eyes focused on me. “What...where is...where is Eona?”

My face felt hot at the sound of her name. My skin tingled like I was calling upon the Light. I looked down and shook my head. “I don't know, Khadgar.”

Another thought came to me. I glanced back at Malfurion. He was too busy directing the potted plants of the room to restrain the archmages. Khadgar may not remember me asking, with the loss of blood and all. I’ll be lucky if he understands a word I'm saying.

“Eona and Ranger-General Halduron seem close,” I said carefully. “Are they…?”

“No, thank the Light. The whole ‘sexy cheetah’ nickname concerns me,” Khadgar groaned and turned over. I rose to my feet to keep my hands on top of his wound, whispering another prayer. Some color returned to Khadgar’s skin when the light faded in my palms. “But she’s chosen worse.”

I froze. “Chosen worse…?”

Khadgar nodded into one of the pale blue pillows. His voice was muffled as he said, “There was this goblin on Draenor that reeked of sarcasm--but I’ll never get over her first boyfriend. Who names their child Om? Must’ve been a troll thing, or a food craze. He died, found an Alliance banner on his dead body one day.”

My eyes widened. Well then...irony at its finest.

I thought back to my history. Have I been with anyone else, in the romantic sense…? I was always trying to convince diplomats of peace, and studying the Light. It was hard to incorporate any other personal affair with everyone always leaning over my shoulder--and Genn shoving suitors at me. Every person I met through nobles and diplomatic gatherings was so proper and precise. I think I have enough of that in my life, Eona is different. I feel like I’m allowed to be human around her--I’m allowed to be myself.

“But there was one…” Khadgar tapped the edge of the pillow. “Yes, this one fellow in Pandaria that she dated. Eona really liked him--she wouldn't shut up about him.”

My face grew hot again as he continued. “--Then Alexstrasza threw a bunch of suitors her way. Those did not end well.”

“Anduin? The cleansing only works if you summon the Light,” Malfurion’s voice shook me from my daze.

“Right--! Sorry,” The rest of the time I cared for Khadgar was spent in physical silence, but my mind was filled with ramblings. When I first met Eona, she never showed me any hostility. Yes, Garrosh was chasing both of us around with a giant stick, but she never mentioned the troll that died because of my people.

I finished my work with Khadgar and removed the venom from the rest. It was a tense job, but I completed it unscathed. The portal to the Purple Parlor shimmered as newcomers arrived.

Jaina had become a pillar, supporting the sagging Kalecgos that leaned on her and carrying a limp form in her arms.

I stood as soon as I recognized her. Rosy-pink skin and copper locks like the birth of the day. Freckles like the lingering stars of the dawn. Eona’s smile was like the early-rising sun, but it did not shine in this moment.

“You really need to lay off the pastries,” Jaina cast a glare down at Eona’s unmoving form, then her eyes sought mine. “Don't tell Sylvanas.”

#thrilling adventures of eona #Eona Strider #Anduin Wrynn #Khadgar #Malfurion Stormrage #archmage modera #aethas sunreaver #Jaina Proudmoore #kalecgos #World of Warcraft #world of warcraft fanfic

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forever-more-never-again · 6 years

Text

Liquor Truths

Requested: Anonymous

Word Count: 1370

Pairing: Natasha X Reader

Warnings: Drunk, descriptions/mentions of depression. ANGST!

Request: Hi!! Love your writing btw :D ok, my request is Natasha x fem!reader with ANGSTTTTT. Get creative girl! I don't care the ending lol just make sure you break my heart lmao (I'm a slut for angst) xoxo

Masterlist

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe there was a reason for it. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

“[Y/n]?”

Your name shook you out of your dark thoughts, looking over your shoulder, you saw Steve approaching, with a cup of Asgardian liquor in it.

“Hey Cap. Some party, huh?” You gestured out towards the crowded common area where revelars were laughing and getting drunk.

Steve squinted at you suspiciously, but your pasted smile was perfected too much for him to see past it. He shrugged, taking a sip of the only alcohol that could give him a buzz, “You know Tony likes it, and thinks it gives good press, but you know I don’t really care for these things.”

You laughed, punching him lightly in the shoulder, “You’d rather be out there butting heads with hydra ops, we know.”

Steve flushed slightly, coughed, and raised his cup to his eye, “Stronger than I remember. I better lay off or else I be like Bucky here in a few.”

You and Steve both glanced over to the balcony where Bucky was making out with his own reflection.

“That’s probably for the best.” You took his cup from his hand and set it on the bar before turning and pushing him away from you, “Now go out there and mingle, people came to be wowed by America’s heroes.”

If Steve noticed that you didn’t include yourself in that category, he didn’t say anything. He smiled, ruffled your hair and walked away.

While it was true you were part of the Avengers, you didn’t feel like you deserved the same praise and attention as the rest of the team. You weren’t anything special. The most you could do was change your appearance into a mouse. That’s right. A mouse, and nothing else.

You glanced at the half full cup of Asgardian Liquor sitting before you. Glancing around the room confirmed that no one was paying attention to you. You knew that Thor said that it was not for ‘mere mortals’, but you needed something to get you out of your own thoughts.

“Here goes nothing.” You muttered before swallowing it all in one go.

“Huck! U-ack!” It burned something horrible and felt like fire going down your throat.

“[Y/n]! You okay?” The sweet honey toned voice of your girlfriend floated in the air before you. Your eyes tracked the soft words, following them back to ruby red lips.

Giggling, you gripped her arms, letting her hold your weight as you stumbled, “You sound pretty..hehehe...I sound sad.” You raised one hand and weaved it through the air in front of you where your words mingled with everyone else's.

“Oh my god, [Y/n]... How much have you had to drink?”

You frowned at the gruff tone of your girlfriend, tears welling up in your eyes, “Are you mad at me Natasha? Please, Don’t be mad at me…”

You turned your puppy dog eyes up to meet her emerald green ones, they swirled like oceans, drawing you in.

She blinked, drawing in a breath, before tugging you close to her and started walking towards your room in the tower, bypassing nosy guests. “Of course I’m not mad at you [Y/n].”

You cheered and nodded, “Good! Cause I hate myself enough already!”

“What? [Y/n]? What are you talking about?” You noticed that you were now in your room, wow, your girlfriend walked fast.

You ran from her arms and jumped onto the bed, leaping and trying to touch the ceiling, “Hehe. This is fun! Come on Tasha! We never have fun anymore!”

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose, “I know we’ve been going through a rough patch lately [Y/n]. What with all the missions Fury has me going on, but I am not discussing this with you when you are obviously drunk. Now, sleep it off!”

She stormed out and slammed the door behind her, causing you to fall into a heap on the bed, staring after her.

The energy she left behind was a faded blue, raising your hand, you saw that your energy radiated a red.

“You were blue, and I was red, and together we created a violet sky. But Purple isn’t enough for you.” You murmured the words, vaguely recognizing them from some sappy quote thingy you saw on a wall once.

Fire rose in your eyes as yous talked across the room to the balcony of your room. Throwing open the french doors, you felt the wind tangle its fingers in your hair, its breath caress your cheek and tickle your ears as it spoke in silent whispers.

“Of course Fury wants her on all the missions, she’s more talented. More better….Murrr Avensher than meee.” You laughed as your words came out garbled and sloppy.

“Cush I only do tsiss…” Your body tingled for a minute as you suddenly shrank down into our mouse form. Squeaking, and stumbling, you gripped the side of the building with your paws and began climbing the side of the building up to the tippy top.

Once on the top you changed back into your human form, on your hands and knees, gaspiong for breath between hysterical laughter.

“Ishhhh better this way….maygeee.”

You crawled to the edge of the tower, and glanced down. The building seemed to be swaying from side to side. The moon called out to you in a haunting howl as the ground beckoned you with dark shadows and sweet surrender.

“Who would luve me? I’m brosken. Tattered. Not an avensher worth Natasha.”

Tears found their way down your cheeks in shallow rivers.

“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry!” You screamed out into the busy New York night.

“It’s better this way!”

“I’m not worth it!”

You were feeling everything tenfold. In the back of your mind, you figured it was the Asgardian Liquor doing this, amplifying the feelings and thoughts you already had.

“[Y/n]? FRIDAY says you climbed up here. Are you okay?”

You slowly stood and turned to face Natasha, Steve, and Tony. They all looked worried. Standing in front of the door to the fire escape.

You doubled over in laughter, the tears splattering the grey roof. You took a step back, which was also up, onto the edge.

Natasha jerked. Steve’s eyes widened and Tony grimaced, hands on his watch.

“No suits Tone tone!” You sang, as the realization hit him. He had Dum-EE doing repairs on the one suit he kept after getting back together with Pepper.

“[Y/n]...you’re drunk. Let’s go to our room. Come here..”

You screamed as Natasha took a step forward, causing her to freeze.

Not once did the tears stop, they were a constant lullaby of despair.

“I’ve felt this way for a long time! No one noticed! I’m not worth saving!”

You heard your words, no longer garbled, now sharp as a knife, piercing the hearts of the three people before you.

Tony spoke gruffly, you could see the shimmer of water in his eyes, “[Y/n], I’ve been where you are, it doesn't have to end like this.”

You stared him down, “You have never been here. Because you are Iron Man. And you,” You turned to Steve, “ Are Captain America and you,” You looked at Natasha, your gaze dropping as your heart sang out to her, “You are Black Widow, the woman who owns my heart. Maybe it will still be beating when you scrape me from the ground.”

You edged closer to the ledge, the heels of your feet teetering close to the open space. The thousands of feet to the shadow covered ground.

“[Y/n], what are you talking about!? Get off the ledge, please!” You could smell and see the desperation and the love in her voice, but it wasn't enough. It was too late. It was better this way.

“I was never an Avenger. Let’s be honest. I’m not apart of this team, or this family. Goodbye.”

And with those last words, you let your body fall backwards.

“Noooo!”

The sight of the red hair of Natasha spilled across your vision as the wind rushed to cushion you. You smiled as you closed your eyes.

You were finally free.

FOREVER Taglist

@sxph-t @littlestfangirl @rainydaysrnevergrey (No Smut!) @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @ayyidkeither @mcuimxgine @mythixmagic @chas-z @iflew-onabus @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger

Natasha Taglist:

@ludwigvonbaethoven @hanjiscience-slut @kitten-q-p @morbid-gaymer @honeybadgerwhodoesntcare @sunnyandtwisty @zoeyknight @kurlyafro @thewomanofwonder @5aftermidnight

Avengers Taglist:

@jadepc

#avengers #avengers tower #avengers x reader #avengers x you #natasha romanoff #natasha x you #natasha x reader #angst #black widow #steve rogers #tony stark #avengers imagine #imagine #imagine request #reader insert #please give feedback #please give credit #rose writes

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xekstrin · 6 years

Text

The Angel’s Workshop

A/N: Some stress relief Moicy, playing around with headcanons and stretching my writing muscles. Special thanks to @theivorytowercrumbles for the title.

Summary: Sometimes we just want to feel bad. Moira is deeply familiar with the concept, even if Mercy isn’t.

Warning for insinuations, though nothing explicit. Read here on AO3

She'd seen the angel's workshop in many times and many places. They scattered across her memory, each one cast in a different light.

A psychologist once recommended that Angela take up some sort of artistic craft, because of the sense of completion a finished project could bring her.

That made a certain amount of sense to Moira, since they both rarely got to see the final product of their work. A set bone, a list of instructions, and occasional follow ups. Then their patients might as well fade into the abyss, unless they were lucky to get stationed together again, or unlucky enough to be a patient again.

It carried over through the years, ranging from stacks of those cute, kitschy "adult" coloring books to puzzles, painting, music, and for a brief period, wood carving. She blamed Lindholm for that one. There'd been loose shavings all over the floor for months afterward.

It was certainly Angela's adopted father that gave her access and insight into smithing and engineering and how to make metal come alive. That’s how they built Genji. Moira always found it fascinating to watch Angela shift from one mode to the other, stitching flesh and melting steel and forming something new from it all.

Now, decades after they had first met, Moira saw the angel's workshop was a desk in the corner of their shared office. Angela had long strips of paper cut up next to her, soft white with pale pink roses. She folded them into little cranes, ten each evening, and put them into a jar.

Tonight she only did five. Roughly thirty feet away, in the ward across the hall, Hanzo Shimada was in critical condition and there was no way of knowing whether or not he would survive the night.

The two of them were still recovering from the surgery in their own ways, too exhausted to acknowledge the tension that always existed between them outside the operating room. Moira was a traitor to Overwatch and Angela’s ex-wife and she didn't know which part Angela hated more.

"You want a cup?" Moira asked quietly, nursing her own mug of very sweet, very strong coffee. It would keep her up all night but it was one of the few ways Moira knew how to reward herself without dipping into old, unsavory habits. She was curled protectively around it, slouched on an old tattered loveseat they'd shoved into the space. Steam coiled up in the cold room.

"No," Angela said so quick it must have been an impulse. Because then she said, "Yes," and Moira got up to make another cup, when they heard a knock on the door. It must be Genji; nobody else had knuckles that sounded like a drummer on a tin roof.

He opened the door a fraction, poking his head in. "Hello? Doctors?"

"Genji," Moira greeted him with a low voice, warm but not entirely kind. Angela didn't say anything. "Did you get my message?"

Taking it as invitation, Genji stepped inside and lifted up his communicator. "Yes. I was just wondering if now was a good time to see Hanzo?”

The new lenses over his eyes were an attempt to hide the eerie red glow of exposed circuitry and blood vessels. The blue only did so much, washed out by the light. But the violet was preferable, in her opinion. "He's not in stable condition just yet. But yes, you can. Just don't touch anything."

Even with the respirator on, she could see the way his eyes softened in a smile. "Thank you." Then his attention turned to Angela, who was still seated at her desk with a half-folded strip of paper in front of her. "Both of you. Thank you for saving my brother's life."

"Actually," Moira started.

That's when Angela finally moved, sitting up straight. The blood drained from her face, but she remained stoic, if a little wide-eyed.

"I hardly did anything at all," Moira finished. "Dr. Ziegler makes me feel like a glorified nurse at times."

In her confusion, Angela allowed herself to relax, shooting her a glare.

Picking up on the mood, Genji's brow furrowed. He wasn't stupid; he could sense a game was afoot, but had no desire to play. So he bowed his head in thanks and left, his new feet not making a sound against the bare floors.

"Did you enjoy that?" Angela sounded strained, tension making her shoulders straight. "Playing mind games with me?"

"More than you know." In truth she felt nothing more than a brief flash of wicked glee, but pretending was part of the game.

The only way she felt pleasure was when the stakes were much higher. And even then, that rarely justified most of what she did. Working off of impulse and stubbornness, Moira latched onto whatever might further her goals and rode along as far as it would take her.

Angela spun in her chair, eyes narrowed suspiciously at Moira. "Why didn't you tell him the truth?"

"Why should I have?"

Why would she tell Genji that when his brother was wheeled in, the impeccable Dr. Ziegler choked? That was a precious gift, something Moira had never seen before. What purpose would there be in sharing that?

No doubt Angela expected her to rub it in, to gloat that their guardian angel played favorites. That if you crossed her, she might let you die. That kind of reputation held no appeal to Angela, which is of course why it presented itself to her most often. Moira was envious of how Angela wielded power, with restraint and purpose. Moira wasn't capable of doing that. She was too hungry for it. Too open in flaunting it.

In any case, no one needed to know that Angela took off her gloves and said, "Moira. Please." without tearing her eyes from the man flatlining in front of them.

It had been two years since the recall. Moira's communicator, the one buried at the bottom of her desk, blipped weakly. The agents of Overwatch were needed, desperately, and Moira responded out of curiosity more than anything else. Did they consider her one of them? Did they forgive her for her part in their dissolution?

Lots of difficult questions. No easy answers. Her favorite kind of chaos.

Two years and Angela finally said her name again. Of course she tackled it all on her own, and Hanzo might live or he might not, but Angela Ziegler played little part in that decision.

"I was merely doing my duty." Moira unwound herself, setting her mug on Angela's desk and propped herself right next to it. "Would you have given him to me if you didn't think I could do it?"

A question with no answer. Angela did her best. "No." She didn't sound like she believed it. Then she rested her face in both her palms, elbows propped on top of her desk. "I don't know. It's been so long, I don't know why..."

Moira waited.

"I spent fourteen hours putting Genji's body back together after what Hanzo did to him," Angela said. "It took ten years for him to heal the damage my scalpel couldn't touch. And I couldn't even help with that."

"And?"

"And?!" Mercy's head snapped up. She got to her feet, shouting suddenly, still not at eye level with the taller woman but trying her best. "And I don't know why Genji even wastes his energy trying to forgive him! He doesn't even deserve to breathe!"

A little tremble rolled up Moira's spine at the viciousness in her words. Rattled, Angela started patting herself down with the desperation of an addict until she found the pack of cigarettes, tapped one out, and tried to light it with a shaking hand.

"And you're loving this," she said with a dark mutter. "Aren't you?"

She was. She started laughing, but not for the reasons Angela suspected. "Please. I've seen you treat much worse than Hanzo Shimada. There's no reason you wouldn't have done it again,” Moira said. "But you always were more likely to believe things based off of your emotions rather than fact."

"If you weren't there--"

"But I was. Relax."

Angela refused, scowl deepening. "But--”

Moira leaned in, cutting her short. "You just wanted a moment to pretend you were capable of letting him die and you knew I'd give it to you." She held her hands clasped between her spread knees, smiling serenely down at Angela. “Just like I needed you to beat the demons out of my skin from time to time."

When Angela’s eyes landed on her she swore she felt that righteous fire, set ablaze just under her skin. Blue eyes wide with shock, Angela’s hand froze with the cigarette midway to her lips. She seemed gaunt, and starved, and afraid, the way people get when they’re too accustomed to watching things break and die in their hands. Moira hung there, for the first time nervous that she might have finally pushed Angela too far.

She'd seen the angel's workshop, after all. She knew what Angela was capable of. That she could have killed Hanzo, a million times over, drew the lines over life and death and crossed them every day. Moira had been strapped to that table herself while Angela picked shrapnel from her spine, or beat her until her pale skin was criss-crossed purple and blue and red.

Moira was a "project person" by her own admittance, but one that couldn't ever be completed.

Then the doctor shook her head with an insincere laugh. Another long drag from her cigarette gave her the opportunity and time to compose herself again. “You always were a brat.” “I prefer the term tease, myself.” “Yes,” Angela said. “I’m sure you do.”

The rest of the cigarette went into the ashtray and Angela announced she was going to go check on the patient.

"Still want that coffee?" Moira called out after her.

"Some other time, perhaps. Good night, Dr. O'Deorain."

"Good niiiiight," Moira sang out, grinning as she left.

When she was gone, Moira lingered on top of her desk for a while. The jar of paper cranes was open, and next to it was an old, heavy coin. It was big enough to fit in Moira's palm, faded bronze and white stripes of Overwatch. The call to duty they all received, the one Moira wasn't quite sure she was here to answer yet.

Ten cranes every day for months, exactly. Was Ziegler aiming for a goal, or just seeking to fill the empty space?

When she was sure no one was watching, Moira reached inside and took a crane, tucking it into her pocket.

She finished her coffee and left, feeling lighter than she had in months.

#moicy #overwatch #fanfiction

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suisosei · 5 years

Text

Songs of a Dead Dreamer Aesthetic Meme

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

The following quotes and phrases are taken from the stories in Thomas Ligotti’s anthology Songs of a Dead Dreamer. Some of these quotes were slightly tweaked for the sake of this meme. If you enjoy the imagery or writing in this meme, please support the author by purchasing his work. Content warnings for horror in general and brief mentions of blood, nihilism, unreality, mannequins, dolls, puppets, and some body horror.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Muse: (If you are a multimuse blog, specify what muse you are filling this out for.) Tagged by: Me, myself, and I Tagging: *spins a wheel* @rubberbodied @takesaim @onforce @hairctrl and whoever wants to do this!!!

The Frolic

Absolute madness paired with a sharp cunning / an expression of sky-blue peacefulness / the indistinct happiness of the future / a piece of moon above the opulent leafage of spring trees / a broken-down kingdom of miracles and horrors / a Neverland where dizzy chaos is the norm / a cosmos of crooked houses and littered alleys / a slum among the stars / a jolly river of refuse / jagged heaps in shadows / a phantasmagoric mingling of heaven and hell / a moonlit corridor where mirrors scream and laugh / dreamy back-drops / ice cubes in an empty glass / shifting expressions on a lean face / vague suggestions and subtle jokes / an Aphrodite sculpture / the wind, cold and dead / a crumbled piece of paper / black-foaming gutters / the dank windowless gloom of some intergalactic cellar / starless cities of insanity / a bright freezing scream of laughter / a passing anecdote of some obscure hell

Les Fleurs

sorrowful flowers / lilting blossoms for a loved one’s memorial / a florist shop / flowers which open only at night / a hothouse warm smile / night-blooming cereuses / a sleek ocelot / well-preserved old places / plants resembling birds / white picket fences / flower-printed curtains / liqueur tasting of flowers from open fields / cool, clean offices / invisible wings whipping the warm air in darkness / the sounds of black orchids growing / the flower-bedded earth / a ripple of empathetic insight / a gorgeous kingdom of glittering colors / velvety jungle-shapes / contorted rainbows and twisted auroras / hyper-radiant hues / a marvelous arcana / tongue-like floral appendages / tongues flowering

Alice’s Last Adventure

Volatile years when anything might go wrong / the embodiment of topsy-turvydom / pools of rainwater / tarnished mirrors / moonlit windows / a thousand misshapen marvels / a universe handed over to new gods / stoic tolerance of a second-rate reality / two complete strangers gawking at each other / a shiny, pearl-grey casket / black orchids / a strange combination of relief and confusion / a delayed echo with oblique origins / a chain of occurrences with links as weak as smoke rings / a sunny autumn morning / a sense of duty, vanity, and other less comprehensible motives / the seas of the moon / costumed kids / the cries of bedlamites / the clamor of rambunctious kids / a half-cocked oration / jack-o’-lanterns glowing orange and yellow / masked children / a plastic cup of cider / shadows wavering against two-story facades / a lamp with a shade of Tiffany glass / a disciple of the bizarre / an autumn moon hanging in the blackness / demonic giggling / the moon / a clock / shadows in the window

Dream of a Manikin

A mostly tacit but somehow complete biography / a marvelous trick of the mind / jeweled lamps along the walls / lights shining on an intricately patterned carpet and various pieces of old furniture / star-clustered blackness / a starry abyss / an iciness drifting in from a starscape / a horrible truth / a legend written somewhere at the bottom of a dream / echoing voices bouncing here and there around the room / a motto printed on fortune cookie-like strips of paper and hidden in bureau drawers / a broken record repeating itself on an ancient Victrola / an alighting flock of birds / a field of dynamic tension / a dry sibilant voice / people dressed as dolls / shaking with tremors of the uncanny / a manikin dresser / astral ambience / occult studies and depth analysis / delving into speculative models of reality / cosmic static / harassments of the self / the boundaries of the self / a Bigger Self terrorizing its little splinter selves / cosmic ennui / a serendipitous discovery / this dream of flesh / guilty until proven otherwise / valerian and camphor baths / cryptic impudence / softly glowing display windows / the divine bonds of unreality / a medium-intensity shower / display-window dummies / rain-spotted glasses / a car with rain-blinded windows / a moment of self-terror / the mythical conspiracy of a treacherous universe / a galaxy of constellations / a vaporous glowing / a whitened hallway / dolls made up to look like people / eyes shining in the white darkness / a powerful psychic metaphor

The Chymist

Daydreaming in the key of Rosicrucianism / bubblegum and beer / a chalice in a church / a serum vial in a laboratory / the tartness of one’s smile / a very keen appreciation of diversity / decrepitude / the withering heart of the deceased / bastardized nostalgia / the putrescence of things past / arching mirrors / chrome chandeliers / second-hand fantasies and out-of-date distractions / one strange thing next to another / a genius of vulgarity / a lawless paradise / violence without violation / a smoke-gray sky / city-soiled clumps of snow / fluxing clouds that swirl above the chimneys and trees / alchemical transmutations / the glamour and sanity of former days / a new mask of rats and rot / a hopeless stroll along the path to hypothetically higher worlds / a body whose true outline remains unknown / the whims of chemistry / the caprices of circumstance / the enigma of personal taste / a leather vessel with a void inside / the skeleton of a dream / lights outlining the different venues and avenues below / a bottle of powdered light / pulverized diamonds / the flesh and blood kaleidoscope of one’s imagination / a prodigious insurrection of entity / a tempest of transfiguration

Drink to Me Only with Labyrinthine Eyes

The full powers of a master hypnotist / a mesmeric wilderness / marked by fate’s stigmata / crystal twinkling under a chandelier’s kaleidoscopic blaze / power and prestige socializing / a pair of metronomes / a glossy black cabinet / two bluish gems in an alabaster setting / a tiny sequined outfit / mesmeric stunts / intact and unbloodied / routines in defiance of death and pain / a jaw-dropping finale / a blare of heavenly horns / a labyrinth of light / a gossamer veil / snow-white wings / the angelic luminary beneath the human beast / the eyes of the audience / mock-death and bogus-pain / sinking deep into a downy darkness / pillows stuffed with soft shadows / a sun at the center of a drab galaxy / vacant and full of grace / a business card with a cloud-gray pearl finish / riotous rococo / a chair of blinding brocade / flowery fabric / a shelf of delicate figurines / tall smoky mirrors / a bottomless pool / a sky wiped clean of clouds / dispassionate elegance / postures and poses like frozen roses / pajama-clad legs dangling /a shiny chrome-plated pen / a very soft but not condescending tone / a mazy wallflower / cartwheels of agony / somersaults through fires of doom / nosedives of vulnerable flesh into the meat grinder of life / serene constellations / sweet nullities / a spell-binding, snake-eyed charmer / high society vulgarians / eyes recessed in their sockets, sunken into a rotting profundity / labyrinthine depths / dancing clothes all clotted with putrescent goo

Eye of the Lynx

Missing girls in Gothic garb / amber going on red / a reddish haze / a crazy purpurean tapestry / a fair-haired girl / denim slacks and a leather jacket / bloody moonlight / a long sip from a can of iced tea / persecutions and imperilments as glamorous as those of any Gothic heroine / violet eyes / the machinations of an evil-hearted malefactor / haunting second-hand shops / a strip of dark velvet seized by a pearl brooch / a frail chain from which dangles a heart-shaped locket / a whirlpooling lock of golden hair / gloves, long and powdery pale / the shoulders of heavy capes lined in satin that shines like a black sun / enveloping hoods / capes with deep pockets and generous inner pouches for secreting precious souvenirs / capes with silk strings that tie about the neck / capes with weighted hems that nonetheless flutter weightlessly in midnight gusts / doll-size in a dark doll’s costume / quivering bones and feverish blood / fear’s funereal plume / carriage wheels rioting in a lavender mist or a pearly fog / nacreous fires twitching beyond the margins of country roads / cliffs and stars / a blur of crimson shadows / vast regions of sublime desolation / mountains hulking in hazy twilight / a rather large animal collar at the end of a chain leash / a light the color of fresh meat / a page in a depraved story book / a single candle glowing through red glass / little zippers and big zippers / a moth-eaten cloak / enthralling cruelties / spangled eyebrows / a brow of glittering silver / glistening with tiny flecks of starlight / the velvet embrace of one’s favorite cape / the tall candles one lights on stormy nights / chains of raindrops whipping against one’s windows / places where raging storms and brutal subjugations never end / the hardships of traveling to strange faraway places / frail little dolls / wild-wind nights and sadistic villains / corridors of scarlet darkness / a captive of one’s heart and its infinite chambers

Notes on the Writing of Horror: A Story

Something magical / something timeless / something profound / a sooty basement / the putrid members of a man who is decomposing / a plain brown package marked Hope, Love, or Fortune Cookies and postmarked: the Edge of the Unknown / a helter-skelter universe where things are ever threatening to go abnormal and unreal / a normal, real love / impermanence and decay / evils sent out under various covers / sublime and terrifying conflict / fearsome, fantastical, and inhuman / moon-trimmed shadows / lunar landscapes of craggy peaks / skeletal wastelands of jagged ice / a brooding Gothic hero / an ethereal Gothic heroine / a castle-like skyscraper / an extra dose of obsessiveness / the Gothic tale / a militant romantic / waves of bombast / winds of ecstatic hysteria / a partially shattered window, its surface streaked with a blue film of dust / a sublime sense of desolation / the diluted glow of twilight / night’s enveloping cloak / grimy azure dimness / bluish semi-luminescence / tears of confusion / turquoise haze / blue shadows of silence / liquefying legs / an old storyteller / the voice of a tiny insect crying for help from inside a sealed coffin / a piercing, crystal shriek that lacerates the midnight blackness / a haunter of spectral marketplaces / Gothic glory / a horror writer / an ardent consumer of the abnormal and the unreal / a visitant of discount houses of unreality / subject only to the rule of demonic forces / puppet-shadows / a hell so excruciating it is bliss itself / bony wings rising out of one’s back / jaws that are a cavern of dripping silver / rivers of putrescent gold running through one’s veins

The Christmas Eves of Aunt Elsie

Diamond-paned windows / a thick December fog / a serene congregation of colors / holly, both fresh and artificial / a pale purple ribbon / a ritual forever reenacted without hope of escape / a large chair beside a fogged window / crackling logs / a foggy winter’s night / bright Christmas lights shining through the fog / always dead with darkness / always alive with lights

The Lost Art of Twilight

A streak of iodine red / a spattering of flat black / the early autumn sun / silver hair / a gray suit / a long envelope, neatly cesareaned / the charnel house creeps / a silver shield / crepuscular radiance / an offspring of the dead / the progeny of phantoms / the big green eye of an EEG monitor / De Plancy’s Dictionnaire infernal / a rainbow of insects / the science of superstition / the Provencal countryside / a pantheon of gargoyles amid the splendor of a medieval church / a holy soldier of the living / a monster of the dead / the astral banquet of Art / the rotting flesh of rainbows / the sonar screech of a bat / vampiric origins / the oncoming onyx of a storm / shadows and sunshine / glare and gloom / bright clouds and black / iron-red leaves / tentative drops of rain / blue bears and yellow rabbits / neither a blood-warm human nor a blood-drawing devil / oceans of blood / the ravenous life of the undead / an authoritative impatience / eternal life in an eternal death

The Troubles of Dr. Thoss

Pale gray pajamas / thick sheets of paper / a bottle of black ink / a shapely black pen with a silvery nib / strands of blond hair, almost white / a sudden salty breeze / silhouettes and shadows / unreflecting windows / metal hinges squeaking somewhere in the wind / a sleepless night / constellations beyond the window panes / star-filled hours / the pure whiteness of the page / a flung shoe leaning toe-up against a bedpost / nothingness unstained by inner conception / white snow in a white sky / dark lines and vacant spaces / vast expanses of frozen whiteness / a church in a foreign town / assorted devils and demons / ice-mad mountains / a spirit of malicious abandon / nightmarish anatomies / a sickle-shaped scar of moon / sea-licked shores / dark letters / feeding one’s troubles to the sea / brown-leafed trees / a forest of memorials / clumps of crosses / groves of gravestones / dark, cowl-shaped windows / unblemished by shadows / the sound of crashing waves / bending dawns into twilights / static from a broken radio / breaking waves / seaside air / a gleaming crescent moon / a bone-white cicatrix / chronic insomnia / a blade of moon / white night, white noise

Masquerade of a Dead Sword: A Tragedie

The confusions of carnival night / gyrations of squealing abandon / lines between pain and pleasure / a rainbow of rags / a startling length of blade / pale pages elegantly dappled by somber verses / a pair of strangely darkened spectacles / the toneless voice of one who is dead to all appeasement or mercy / mounds of snow that had been sown with ashes / eyes as dark and swirled with shadows as the raving night itself / a constellation of designs / mad games of flesh and steel / a forbidden madness / dense forests of tall pikes planted in the earth / shadows rolling in empty sockets / lacerated mouths / the darkness of dreams / to see the world drown in oceans of agony / visions of butchering the angels / a god of deceit or illusion / chaos at feast / black with scars of madness / darkly clouded glass / the brightest and highest of stars / shimmering halls / unnaturally colored wine / red-smeared forms / many-taloned claws / the velvet fingers of a tightly gloved hand / a pair of leviathan leeches / a lord of the sword made mad / the dark powers which we cannot understand but only hate / rhapsodic voices in the streets / a privileged doom / the face of the soul of the world / the cool marble of the floor / an onyx-black knight / a face flushed with crimson glory

Dr. Voke and Mr. Veech

A scribble of lightning engraved upon a black sky / a long, brightly colored coat / noisy jets of blue-green light flickering spasmodically / life-size dolls hanging suspended by wires / wetted strands of a spider web / shiny satin legs / a beautifully pale hand / pulverized stars / dismembered limbs of dolls and puppets / the repose of ruin / an oily red glare / a well-dressed dummy / a white high-collar shirt with silver cufflinks / a billowing cravat which displays a pattern of moons and stars / wood waking up / a sleep that should have never been broken / something too painful for tears / the false fire of the moon / two faces sharing a single head / faint, hollow screams from high above / a dummy’s silence / leftover tears of berserk laughter / bluish-green irradiance

Professor Nobody’s Little Lectures on Supernatural Horror

Mist on a lake / fog in thick woods / a golden light shining on wet stones / a little trickle of suspicion in the bloodstream / the solar brilliance of a summer day / supernatural horror / a corner alive with cool drafts and fragrant with centuries of must / a rancid world rife with things smelling of the crypt / a sower of vice / mad winds / wan moonlight / pasty specters / the vividness of pain / the lasting effects of fear / natural-born puppets whose lips are stained with their own blood / dead bodies that walk in the night / living bodies suddenly possessed by new owners and deadly aspirations / the sepulchral pomp of wasting tissue / compassion for human hurt / a humble sense of one’s impermanence / an absolute valuation of justice / a demented innocence in the face of gruesome facts / the horrific reprisals of affirmation / the Cosmic Macabre / the shudders of a thousand graveyards

Dr. Locrian’s Asylum

Gray walls pocked like sponges / nights of futile tears and screaming / an expression of almost paternal forgiveness / the supreme delirium of the planets / bright puppets dancing in the blackness / a golden speck of magic / the silent, staring universe / something as pathetic as a puppet and as exalted as the stars / something at once dead and never dying / autumn constellations in the black sky above / harshly brilliant eyes / the remote places where truth had been shut up and abandoned

The Sect of the Idiot

Extraordinary joy / extraordinary pain / the great hollow of dreams / an infinitely secluded place / a world that both menaces and surpasses this one / a holy madness / infinite stillness on foggy mornings / miracles of silence on indolent afternoons / the strangely flickering tableau of neverending nights / deceptive depths of shadow / heaps of clouds like dust balls / a fluorescent map of the cosmos / medieval autumns and mute winters / kaleidoscopic windows / a kind of cataclysm of empty space / an earthquake of the invisible / strikingly clear eyes / a dusty trunk of dreams / a maze of streets / an abyss of stars / a great reaching blackness / a stale gray dimness / an alien order of being / an icy blackness / starry blackness / a great round moon / deep aquatic blue / the voids of astronomy / a state of both paralyzed terror and spellbound curiosity / whispering figures / stagnant moonlight / withered, wilted claws / drooping tentacles / the spinning legs of spiders / the greedy rubbing of a fly’s spindly feelers / the darting tongues of snakes / the triumph of the grotesque / whispering effigies of chaos / putrid arcana / an ecstatic horror / horrific ecstasy / the demonic elements of which all creation is composed / corruption in disguise / a cache of unwonted offerings stored out of sight / currents of fear / dark tremors / splendid scenes broken with malign shadows / the lurid and the lovely forever lost in each other’s embrace / the arch of an old street / tunnel-like hallways / sickly light shining through unwashed, curtainless windows / atmospherics of infinite melancholy and unease / a decayed paradise / the everlasting residue of some cosmic misfortune / a solemn, mechanical intentness / a smooth and solid cube of black glass / a malignant puppet of madness / dazed in darkness / embarrassed throat-clearings / reproving looks / words which could only have meaning in a nightmare / a thing of strange degeneracy / a quintessence of hellish delirium / freakish, echoing laughter / the whispering of strangers / twitching tentacles / a horror which cannot be helped

The Greater Festival of Masks

The old and new / the real and imaginary / truth and deception / shops of costumes and masks / an incautious curiosity / shredded rags that are easily disturbed by the wind / a poster stuck to a crumbling wall / strange pathways of caprice / the outsized moon / silvery windows / doors which are elaborately decorated yet will not budge in their frames / massive shutters covering blank walls behind them / faces of dreams / sardonically grinning / innocence and excuses / a reddish glow of fire / a wad of bubbling blackness / smooth and faceless faces / the speaker in the shadows / the soft creaking of new faces breaking through old flesh

The Music of the Moon

Breaking the quiet of a moonlit room / enchantments that nearly make amends for one’s stolen slumber / some unusual shape leaping across steep roofs / a bewildering agility / many nights of sleepless hell / a knife / rope / a poison vial / an exploit of uncommon decisiveness / blank nights of insomnia / a handbill / ashes mixed with grease / a door with a faint yellow aura leaking out at its edges / small, shadowlike things moving in corners and along the floor molding / a quartet of musicians / a voice which sounds both exhausted and malicious / pale, ragged clouds of hair / sonic abnormality / an empty shaft of blackness / spherical lamps caked with dust / the silence of a dark, lifeless world / black silhouettes of human heads visible only in the moonlight / slow music in the soft darkness / a single note wavering in a universe of darkness / a incalculable proliferation of slightly dissonant harmony / the light of a quiet gray dawn / completely helpless, and yet content to be so / thick layers of webs / gazing at nothing with bleeding sockets / the moon all fat and pale, glaring down from its gauzy webs of clouds

The Journal of J.P. Drapeau

Unstained by any habits of the human / the ideal of everything alien to living / some molding backwater of the earth / the city of Bruges itself / a corpse of the Middle Ages / bony bridges / the black veins of old canals / a lonely evolution in shadowed streets and beside sluggish canals / the music of graveyards / a resonant chorus that fills the air and sometimes drowns out the voices of those who still live / layers of cobwebs floating about the near ceiling / a burst of resistance / the pealing of church bells / the language of whimsy / the force of stars tugging away at various points / the dark waters of a canal / shiny black hair parted straight down the middle / a low table covered by a red velvet cloth / a world that applauds trumped-up illusions while denying or demeaning those that create the very lives they are living / a spectral thing full of strange suggestion / an untenanted room filled with the echoes of nothingness / the eyes of certain crudely fashioned dolls / a greenish glow from a mirror /placid meandering canals / enwrapped in mist / close crumbling houses / odd arching bridges / innumerable church towers / narrow twisting streets / queer little courtyards / everything gone forever / an empty mist / an eternal twilight

Vastarien

Candles in a cloistered cell / shapes beneath the shadows / tall buildings whose rooftops nod groundward / wide buildings whose facades follow the curve of a street / buildings whose windows and doorways tilt like badly hung paintings / stairways that wander off-course into useless places / caged elevators that urge unwanted stops on their passengers / a sequestered civilization of echoes flourishing among groaning walls / thin ladders ascending into a maze of shafts and conduits / the dark valves and arteries of a petrified and monstrous organism / a desolate serenity / silvery cinders / the mouths of great chimneys / shadow-puppets / cluttered gardens and crooked gates / the purling waters of black canals / faded masks concealing profound schemes / a place of supernatural clarity and stillness / the crystalline glare of a lantern / moonlight through a curtained window / darkened windows / souls who believe that the only value of this world lies in its power—at certain times— to suggest another / a scattering of stars and lights / a coveted paradise / the most gauzy phantom of another place / a shadowy mimic / the anatomy of a great dream / everlasting echoes / a rectangle of smudged glass within another rectangle of scuffed wood / crowded shelves / remnants of a luxuriant autumn / an obscene reality / to dwell among the ruins of reality / shadowed volumes / scripture that would begin with the portents of apocalypse and end with the wreck of all creation / to become the wind in the dead of winter / to howl the undoing of all that would abide in warmth and light / an enticing verse in a volume of esoterica / the dream of attaining some untainted good / a disastrous enlightenment / some hypothetical state of pure glory / the revelation that nothing ever known has ended in glory / some strictly demonic enterprise / something about one’s presence that makes one think of a crow / a scavenging creature in wait / a large, two-headed shadow / the sad frustration of the uninvited, the abandoned / the brilliant rectangle of a doorway / hopes and curiosities of an indeterminable kind / free-standing bookcases / pages and bindings of uncommon texture / abstract diagrams suggesting no orthodox ritual or occult system / a chronicle of strange dreams / an invocation of a world in waiting of genesis / days distilled into dreams and nights into nightmares / a deliverance by damnation / nightmare made normal / a horror uncompromised by any feeling of lost joy or a thwarted searching for the good / a nightmare transformed in spirit by the utter absence of refuge / a utopia of exhaustion, confusion, and debris / a dialogue of mystification, and possibly one of lies / the edge of a dreamless void / a dark and devouring bird / shadows and moonlight / an unbending web of heavy wire / unjust confinement / a slender syringe crowned with a silvery needle

#headcanon #meme response #cut for length ///#blood tw #gore tw #horror tw #nihilism tw #unreality tw #body horror tw #( i mean if i were being completely honest i'd have bolded way more of this but...y'know...i had to be discerning so it wasn't like...every #spooky thing )

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supervalor · 6 years

Text

Hope For The Future

Title: Hope for The Future

Pairings: Implied Karamel

Summary: It was just a normal day at the DEO until it wasn’t.

Hey! this is just a little idea that I had knocking around in my head for a while actually. Enjoy!

It seemed like a regular morning at the DEO. The team were gathered around the monitors as they searched for the third world killer while Imra and Mon-El stood off to the side talking – arguing – about something.

Winn and Alex were discussing last night’s trip to the bar that had led to a drunk Alex falling to sleep and drooling on the tech guy’s shoulder. Kara was stood glaring at the screen with complete focus after having another nightmare about the world killers the previous night.

Things seemed pretty normal all in all and they were…until a flash of violet light emerged in front of the group, teleporting a person inside the DEO.

“Hold your fire!” J’onn commanded as the DEO Agents grabbed their guns and pointed them at the figure while Kara got ready to punch the potential threat. Mon-El and Imra had jumped apart and were also staring at the steadily fading violet light.

When it faded, they were all surprised to find themselves looking at a young girl who must have been a teenager at most, dressed in a purple leather leotard of some sort with a matching purple mask and an attached hood that covered her hair, as well as the more telling giant pink S on her chest.

“Who the hell are you?” Winn exclaimed, his mouth gaping at the girl and her costume. “You some sort of alien Supergirl fanatic? If so, you’ve chosen the wrong person to stalk”.

The girl’s lips twitched up in amusement at the comment. “I adore Supergirl but I’m no stalker, Winn”.

His eyes almost bulged out of his head when she said his name. “Wait…how do you know who I am? I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you before in my life”.

“Nope, you haven’t”, she confirmed cheerfully as the rest of the room stared and gaped at her in astonishment. “Hi Aunt Alex!”

Alex almost choked on air. “Excuse me? Did you just call me Aunt Alex?”

“Who are you?” Supergirl demanded, her patience wearing thin. She was still on edge from her nightmare and this person could have been sent to distract them from the real threat.

“Sorry I guess I should have started with that”, the girl replied sheepishly as she whipped off her mask and pulled down her hood revealing a startling familiar face and a head of long blonde hair that was tied up in a tight pony. “My name is Astra and I’m from the future. Not the distant future like you guys”, she directed at Mon-El and Imra. “But more like about twenty or so years from now and in case you haven’t caught on yet, I’m Kara’s daughter”.

The room went deadly silent as they processed what the kid had just said. “You’re my daughter?” Kara started, her mouth dropping open. “How…? And why are you here?”

“Well mom you see when two people love each other they…”

“Not like that. I know how babies are made”, the older blonde blushed.

“You fell in love, got married and then wham! I was born”, the girl – Astra – flung her hands out to add emphasis on the ‘wham’. “And as to why…err…it was kind of an accident”, Astra actually turned pink at her admittance. “I know I made a total badass entrance and it was definitely exciting to see you all pointing your guns at me like that but it was definitely an accident. I don’t even know how to send myself back and I know for a fact I’m going to be in a huge heap of trouble when my parents find out I’m gone”.

“How the hell do you time travel by accident?” Winn asked, staring at her incredulously. “Did you accidentally steal a TARDIS or something?”

“I was messing about with stuff that I shouldn’t have been like Uncle Winn’s time teleport and I fell over, landed on a lever and the next thing I know the room is spinning around me and here I am”.

Everyone else stared at her but Winn began shaking excitedly. “I created a time travel teleport?!”

“Who is your dad?” Alex randomly blurted out causing Astra to smirk.

“Yeah, who is your dad?” Mon-El butted in, staring at the kid that was a perfect copy of Kara. She could have been Winn’s kid for all he knew. She looked like her mother with very little attributes from her father.

“You of all people should know that I can’t give future information away like that. I only told you that Kara’s my mom so that none of you would try shooting me. I’m bulletproof but I don’t want to be locked up in those crappy little prison cells”.

“How old are you? Surely you can’t be more than seventeen? And I’m letting you go out and be a superhero at your age? In a costume like that?!” Kara pointed at the girl’s outfit in disbelief. She would never let her teenager go out and do what she did, not until she graduated college and was an adult at least. And she was positive that she wouldn’t approve of such a suit. A hood? What kind of suit had a hood? She thought of Oliver Queen for a moment but he was the Green Arrow who kept to the shadows. They didn’t need a hood and it wasn’t practical while flying about.

“Nah, this was just something Uncle Winn threw together for my superhero themed Halloween party” she shrugged. “I had just come down to the DEO to try it on and then this happened”.

“Well at least we can cross Winn out as your father”, Alex snorted.

“I’m fifteen by the way”, Astra informed them with a grin. “Do you really think I look seventeen?”

“No but I was hoping that my future child wouldn’t get herself lost in time before that age at least”, Kara retorted, bursting the girl’s bubble. “And you’re right. I know my future self will probably want to throttle you for disappearing and for messing around with dangerous equipment. Why were you doing that anyway?”

“I was bored. Aunt Alex had stolen Winn away for something and you were off saving people on the other Earth. I have always been fascinated with technology and Uncle Winn’s inventions…I was just looking at them, I swear I didn’t mean to actually do anything with any of it!” Her blue eyes were wide and earnest that made it undeniable that she was Kara’s daughter.

“The question now is, how do we send you back?” J’onn spoke up for the first time since she arrived and a bright smile appeared on Astra’s face when she spotted him.

“Grandpa J’onn!”

The Martian’s eyebrows rose in surprise but a smile appeared on his face at the evident closeness that he would have with Kara’s daughter in the future. It sent a warmth to his chest at the thought of his future family.

“I’m sure by now Uncle Winn will know something has gone wrong and will come for me. Or my parents will. I hope not my parents because that could be awkward”, she rambled. “Maybe Aunt Alex. She’ll probably threaten to lock me up when I get home though”.

“Is your father in this room?” Alex tried again to get the girl to confess who her father was.

“I can’t tell you that”, Astra huffed. “So stop trying. Besides there’s no one in this room that could possibly be my father right? We already crossed out Winn, James isn’t here, Mon-El is married and the rest are just random DEO Agents”.

Alex narrowed her brown eyes at her while Mon-El tried to hide his discomfort at the thought of Kara having a kid with someone else and who that someone could be.

“Maybe you’re lying. Maybe Winn is your father and you are calling him Uncle to throw us off!”

“You got me. Winn is my dad”, Astra nodded with a straight face causing Winn to make a strangled noise in response and Kara’s eyes to widen in shock. “I’m Astra Schott. Damn, I should have known I couldn’t get anything past you Aunt Alex”.

“Astra, what the hell are you doing?” A new but familiar voice erupted, having teleported in when everyone’s attention was caught on the fifteen year old. Astra jumped and turned around with a start, her eyes widening in shock. “Your mom is going to kill you when she finds out what you did”.

“Dad!” she ran and leapt into the newcomer’s arms, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. “I knew you or mom would come for me”.

“What did you think you were doing playing with the time teleport like that?” An older Mon-El, clean shaven and with slightly longer hair, dressed in his red suit looked down at Astra sternly while his younger self started in surprise. Imra stepped away from him, knowing now with the irrefutable proof in front of them that her husband was always going to love Kara and he’d eventually go back to her.

“I was just trying to look at how Uncle Winn had managed to put it together. I didn’t mean to actually press the lever. Why’d it bring me here anyway?”

“Because this time was the last place that the teleport was set to go to. And you managed to give poor Winn a mini heart attack when he realised what had happened so you are going to give him a big apology and make it up to him by being his assistant for two weeks”.

“Cool!” Astra grinned but quickly forced herself to look dismayed. “I mean, oh no, that’s a horrible punishment”.

Mon-El’s lips twitched at his daughter. “We better get going. The watch is set to take us back in five minutes”, he gestured to the black device that was strapped to his wrist.

“Okay. But can I just do something first?”

She left Mon-El’s side to run over to Kara and throw her arms around her in a hug. “I know things probably suck right now but they will get better, mom, I promise. I’ll see you in twenty odd years”.

Kara stared at her before her attention moved to the older Mon-El, who approached her with a small smile. “Kara, I forgot how young you were…still as beautiful though”.

“Mon-El? What…?”

“We’ll be together again someday but there’s going to be a lot of things that we’ll have to go through before that can happen. I know you’ll be strong enough to handle it though”, he told her sincerely, his grey eyes filled with love as he gazed at her. “Just try and take it easy on him okay?” he gestured to the younger him that was staring at them unblinkingly. “He’s struggling as much as you are”.

“You look good”, Kara blurted out, feeling awkward under this unfamiliar Mon-El’s scrutiny. Why was it that every time she got used to one version of him, another one cropped up to surprise her?

“Thank you. I’m sorry but no one will be able to remember this encounter, not until the future anyway. That’s how I figured out where my daughter was”, he explained as he glanced over at his wife’s mini me who was smiling at them. “I better get over to her now before the device activates. I promise you that everything will work itself out”.

Kara watched as older Mon-El grabbed hold of their daughter in an embrace before a violet light suddenly engulfed the two of them and they were gone. A few seconds went by and she blinked, wondering what she was doing just staring at thin air. She was surprised to look around to see that everyone else in the room was doing the same thing and she frowned, wondering what just happened.

“Why are we all just standing around?” J’onn barked out, cutting her thoughts short. “Get back to work!”

#Karamel #mon-el #supergirl #fanfic #kara danvers #my fanfic #supervalor

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