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thewestern · 6 months

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Chapter 19:1

That car was still parked there, half-a-way’s inside. They couldn’t back it out for fear that Baby, the fifteen-hectoliter fermentation tank there in the corner, would come toppling down and flood the alleyway. Here was a high-stakes game of Jenga. They couldn’t even rescue poor Bertha, whose spot on the wall remained barren. The Mick was surprised how nobody noticed she was gone. Not even the Twins, with whom he had a corrective interview re the keys. Didn’t hardly punish them though, nor revoke their closing duties. Just asked as polite as he could muster to fucking please be more fucking careful closing up next time. They got the fucking picture.

Now that you've become a man, looking very mean

Got a nice shiny sports car, keep it very clean

As for what happened to Billy Wolff, what do you mean What Happened to Billy? Like, as in consequences? Nah, player. On the contrary, after exfiltrating himself from the brew kettle, Billy calmly explained to Kitty and the Mick how it would behoove them to keep this whole thing on the down low. To his credit, a lesser man would have played the, Do You Know Who My Mom Is, card. Homie don’t play like that. Because this wasn’t homie’s first rodeo, which is to say Billy’d been in similar situations many times before. For a fact, it wasn’t even his first time crashing his car through someone’s wall. In some ways Billy felt most himself with his back up against the wall, regardless of whether he’d just crashed through it. He steadied his heart rate, calmed his tone, and broke it down for them.

Trust me, you don’t want to call the cops and make this a whole thing. We have people that deal with these situations discreetly and generously for all parties heretofore. You know what I’m saying. They’ll take care of you. However, if you insist on making it a thing, they’ll fuck your shit up for real. That’s not a threat. It’s just a fact.

Don’t ask him what it was, tell him what it is

That was two days ago. Since then, the Mick hadn’t heard bupkis from Billy or his people. Mostly so that the homeless folks that frequented the alley wouldn’t feel tempted to use the protruding car as a toilet, Mick covered up the stern end with a tarp from Hank’s closet. (Some business guys kept golf clubs in their office. Hank had camping equipment. And for what it’s worth, the Mick wouldn’t have given a shit about a bunch of bums fucking in Billy’s car, were it not parked partway in his workplace.) Apart from that, all he could do was work around it. Today he and G were prepping a shipment of their winter seasonal. Yeah, they had some fucking tunes going: Phish. Clifford Ball. 16 August 1996 - 17 August 1996, Plattsburgh Air Force Base, Plattsburgh. All was not lost.

Grace was currently piloting the forklift, navigating around the tightly-quartered stockroom with an ease worthy of her name. If you’ve the good fortune to be a white collar candy ass (hey, no shame in that game), and you’ve seen a forklift operating at your local big box retailer and thought to yourself, that looks kind of fun … well, then you’d be right. It Is fun. Now, you can imagine the novelty diminishing, driving that train day in and day out for forty-odd years. Not to mention it’s murder-one on your fucking back. And the two-day certification course you got to get renewed every thirty-six months is hella boring. But, fortunately for Grace, fulfillment was only a small part of her scope of work. Having a machine to aid her in the heavy lifting was like a special treat. Especially one you get to scoot around in like a go-kart. You know they say it’s only a matter of time before these types of monotonous tasks of men and women working with machines are automated off every factory floor on the face of the earth. Won’t that be a shame.

Grace was hard at work stacking palettes of Home Invasion Holiday Ale, which featured more of the Mick’s provocative can art. A so-called Nativity Crime Scene, depicting Santa Claus coming down the chimney with care, only to be confronted by a responsible gun-owning citizen in a stocking cap and slippers, standing his ground with the AR-15-style rifle that he keeps by his bedside for home defense purposes. (AR-15-style, because AR-15 isn’t any specific gun, a detail which a lot of folks are confused about. It’s just a Style of rifle. Like doggy style. You don’t have to go out in the yard. It’s just the style. And the AR-15 is shorthand for any lightweight semi-automatic modeled after the Colt AR-15, which suppose then would be sort of the Kleenex of weapons systems. One of the reasons everybody knows about AR-15, is their enduring popularity among civilians. And not just school shooters either. Lots of Sportsmen and Sportswomen like ‘em, one of the main reasons being that they’re fully customizable with all manner of aftermarket components. That’s why they call ‘em Barbie Dolls for Dudes. It provides them a much-needed outlet to express themselves. Via accessorizing. Bump stocks, angled foregrips, holographic scopes. Don’t skimp on those holographic scopes now. A quality one can cost more than the whole platform. Worth every penny too. Get you some backup iron sights as well, god forbid in case that fancy new scope of yours craps out in the field of battle. Runs out of battery or something. If you can’t reliably aim your rifle, you’re combat ineffective, kimosabe. Out of the fight.) Fucking freeze fat man! It was the Mick’s hamfisted attempt at doing a social commentary. Some people say don’t be edgy. He doesn’t know any other way. (Part of the backstory the Mick created for this beer label was that little does this guy know, Saint Nick has something special just for him in his sack. A Blackout Defense Zero Trigger, the fastest on the market. Although the one that comes stock on his Daniels Defense DDM4 is plenty quick enough to blow Santa’s head clean off. How’s that for irony? If that don’t get him top of the Naughty List.)

HIHA was also the Mick’s homage to one of his early beer influences, Saint Bernardus Christmas Ale, of Belgium. Christmas Ales are a big fucking deal over there. All the breweries make one, and they make for the giving season’s perfect aperitif. Just picture, strolling the cobblestone streets, beneath some Medieval-ass Architecture, basked in the moonlit glow of a winter’s eve at Christmastime. Having a gay pint on a cafe terrace in the old towne square. Ain’t it a proper fucking fairytale.

Stylistically Belgian Christmas Ales (ou Bieres de Noel) are somewhat derivative of Scotch Ales, which were imported by the boatload around the turn of the previous century into Brussels (by way of Antwerp, probably), where they were then rebranded as Christmas Ales. They’re of a dark amber hue and an alcohol content in the high single or even low double digits. (Saint Bernardus classifies Christmas Ale as a Quad or Quadrupel, a stronger and darker variation on the more common monastic ales, Belgian Dubbels and Tripels.) Crucially, they differ from their Scottish predecessors in that they are Delicately Spiced. But don’t you dare ever ask a Belgian brewer how, you nosy bastard, you. You’d just as soon ask a magician how he pulled the hare out of that dern hat, or sawed his lady in two, wouldn’t you? Alls you need to know is that basically, they taste Like Christmas, which was what the Mick was going for. And he fucking nailed it too, bang on. He went and fermented the Christmas Spirit. Not bad for a non-practicing Jew.

Very similar to how the Mick followed in the clog-shaped footsteps of his Belgian forebrewers, Phish was in many ways inspired by the Grateful Dead. Yes (and), artistically, in the sense they were both improvisationally oriented. But also commercially — or anti-commercially, as it were — in the manner with which fans consumed their music. (It is the music Business, after all.) For a fact, in large part owing to their improvisatory natures, they are both considered preeminently to be Live Bands. Meaning that their music is best experienced in a concert setting, wherein the virtuosity of each unique performance can be properly appreciated for the musical snowflake that it is. This opposed to the studio recording, which is the same every time you hear it. Which is exactly how come a major pillar of the fan culture for both bands formed around the grey market trading of bootleg tapings of live shows. So those concerts may be enjoyed in the comfort of your own home or station wagon.

Now, normally, the suits at the record company would strenuously discourage such infringement on their artists’ copyright material. (For the same reason they’d boot you out of a movie theater if they caught you sitting in the back row with a camcorder, like George Costanza. Likewise, Billy and the Mick had both separately been sent cease and desist letters for torrenting episodes of the premium cable television show, Entourage.) The Grateful Dead, meanwhile, were of the mind that once they performed a show, they were done with it, and the Deadheads could have it. (That was Jerry’s belief system, anyway. He always had a more Eastern way of looking at things things. Mickey was perhaps a bit more pragmatic when he said that, truthfully, it would have been too logistically difficult police this flurry of illicit activity. They’d have had to hire a bunch of rent-a-cops, and of course they had a checquered history with private security. [See Angels, Hells.] They didn’t want to be that anyway. Meter maids. Confiscating cassette machines and issuing citations. So they let the bootleggers be. And it turned out that in return, those very bootleggers, they gave them back the world, in Mickey’s words. Because between all the taping and the trading and the obsessing over which version of what song was best, it became this proto-viral phenomenon. Part in parcel to what made the Deadheads such a devoted bunch. What’s more, as Bobby let slip to David Letterman and his studio auidence, if they ever did make a studio record that was worth a shit, those same folks’d rush out and buy that besides. [Those albums mostly hold up quite splendidly, apart from Built to Last. Ain’t that ironic. But even she has some hidden gems on her. Perhaps it should come as no surprise how Hank loved Standing on the Moon. Another good wedding song.]) So, before they signed to a major label, the boys took care to include a proviso in their contract that allowed for fans to carry on with their pirating ways without incurring threat of penalty. Phish followed suit by not filing suit against their fans, and took the collectivist ethos a step further by going to battle with BIG TICKET, the live entertainment monopoly that gooses its fat fucking margins by colluding with venues to pass on costs to everyday concertgoers with outrageous service charges and other bogus fees.

Grace was being specially careful, having been a bit spooked by recent events as she was. Also, Thad and Lulu had sent her an online video compilation of Forklift Fails as a morbid Congrats for earning her safety certificate. We’re talking tidal waves’-worth of wares crashing down upon poor defenseless laborers below. The twins could always be counted on for a pick-me-up. Or for to forward the email chain equivalent of saying, You Want To See A Dead Body? (It probably goes without saying, but they shared an email address: twin freaks at hot mail dot com.) Lucky for Grace the little canning area and loading dock weren’t hardly large enough an operation for incurring much bodily harm. (The brewhouse proper on the other hand was a death trap, as Kitty could attest.) Suppose that would change if they ever did move into that fancy new production facility. Grace for one doubted the handshake agreement with Jaime would hold up. That guy gave her the heebie jeebies. His red-hot assistant, however, could come get some.

Saint Bernardus is an abbey brewery, which is different from a Trappist brewery. (It’s sort of a not every rectangle is a square, situation.) At the latter, all the beer making and packaging and other grunt work that would usually be left up to Grace is done by real live Trappist monks. It counts as their works. Some monasteries bake bread. Others train German Shepherds. (Or Belgian Malinois, the far superior breed. IYKYK.) It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference what they do according to the Cesarean Order, just so long as it pays for them to sit around the rest of the day long, deep in prayer. Also, it has to be done with their hands. Saint Benedict was very strict about that. Only manual labour. So then there are no Management Consulting Monks.

Abbey breweries, for their part, although they usually maintain some monastic affiliation, are operated on a day-to-day basis by unordained brewers. Saint Bernardus, for example, has a contract to brew on behalf of the nearby Saint Sixtus Abbey. Now, let’s pause a second there. Because, in the vernacular of American craft beer, the term Contract Brewing opens up a whole other can of worms. Some of the most famous craft brands, including one many consider to be a Founding Father of the American Beer Revolution, began as contract brewers, which in laymans’ terms means that they outsource the actual brewing of the beer. Alls they do is sell the stuff. Listen, it’s a provocative approach. Because making the beer is without a doubt the hardest part of being a brewer. But it’s kind of false advertising though, isn’t it? Like, for example, if you named your company after the city it’s incorporated in. Say, Philadelphia Brewing. And your flagship beer was called Ben Franklin Philadelphia Ale, or some bullshit. But then that beer was brewed by some other company in Rochester, a good half-a-day’s drive from Philly, where Ben Franklin wouldn’t have been caught dead.

Hey, suppose you can’t knock the hustle. Rest assured, though, the fellas at Saint Sixtus weren’t trying to pull a fast one when they licensed their name, recipes and famous yeast strain to Saint Bernardus. (For their part, the Bernie Bros were previously a holy cheesemaking brotherhood before selling out to secular interests.) It was just that the Second World War was awfully tough on everybody in the Low Countries. And going through a trauma like that makes you want to focus on what’s really important. So, the monks at Saint Sixtus put their funny bald heads together and reevaluated their priorities. As established, the Trappists have only two of them (priorities), and they’re handed down by almighty god himself — Prayer and Work. (Ora et Labora.) Delegating part of the latter allowed them to spend more time on the former.

Larry tried to convince Hank to go the contract brewing route, presumably so he could also spend more time in prayer. Hank rebuked him and hired Russ. Not only would the New Frontier brew its own beers, it would self-distribute them too. Again, the significance of this decision requires context, but please, save yourself the self-flagellation that is trying to understand the byzantine nuances of the three-tier system for alcohol distribution in America. Settle for the cliff notes, and even then, don’t strain yourself to pay attention. Just allow the information to wash over you, like a hot four-beer shower.

Okay. The business schoolhouse rock version is this. That the alcoholic beverage industry works as follows. Ahem. Check one-two. What were we talking about? Right. Three tier system. There are the two tiers that everybody knows. First, it’s Manufacturing. Those who make the hooch. (Breweries, distilleries, fucking vineyards.) And then Retail. Those who sell it. (Bars, liquor stores, that new brunch place with the bottomless mimosas. You get the idea.) For the longest time, that was all there was. And, as industries are wont to do, things started consolidating, insofar as the manufacturers were creeping in on the retail sector. That’s called Vertical Integration. Lots of bars would be contractually beholden to a particular brewery to exclusively sell its beer on-premises, if they weren’t owned and operated by a brewery outright. That type of arrangement is what’s known in the liquor business as a Tied House. At the close of the nineteenth century, most of the popular Saloons of the day were tied houses. And these saloons were thought among the teetotaler types to be dens of ill fucking repute. For a fact, the most powerful Prohibition lobby was the Anti-Saloon League. It’s true these saloons turned all the way up, on a Tuesday and every other day that ends in Y. People drank an awful lot in those days. Part of the problem with the perceived Plague of Saloon Culture was that dammit if there wasn’t one on every cotton picking corner. Because, when the deep-pocketed manufacturers got involved in retail, they were in fierce competition for market share in the industrializing American cities. It was an all-out turf war. Fighting for hearts, minds and livers.

(Of course it’s more complicated than that, how come prohibition came to pass. For one thing, the temperance movement, which took root out of the same fertile soil of emerging Evangelicalism from whence the abolitionist cause had sprung in the pre-Civil War period, became closely aligned with the fight for women’s suffrage. See, these saloons were men-only type of joints. No Girls Allowed. (Fine print: unless they’re prostitutes.) It wasn’t only that the wives didn’t want their husbands out day and night, drinking themselves stupid and screwing whores and the like. It was also because, being how it’s where the menfolk spent all their time, these saloons became places of power. And these uppity women didn’t like being excluded from all their political maneuverings. Hence the synergy with suffrage.

But then that’s not all either. Racism and a rising tide of anti-immigrant sentiment of course played a role. Firstly, all the big breweries were owned by Germans, fresh of the U-boat. Krauts were none too popular at the time, what with the Kaiser running amok all over the Continent. But also the saloons themselves catered special to the immigrant populations, to the extent that prohibition was thought by some to be a tidy means of ethnic cleansing. Enter the Ku Klux Klan. (Du, Du, Duh.) After the Volstead Act made prohibition the law of the land, the KKK fancied themselves to be vigilante enforcers. Sort of like an Old West posse, that would take the type of extraordinary measures — ones the real cops could or would not — they felt were necessary to shut down the moonshiners and the bootleggers. Measures such as dragging Catholic families out of their beds in the middle of the night, planting evidence of stills and burning down their homes.

So, there you have it. Like any good wedge issue, it can piss off different groups of people for different reasons. Abolitionists, suffragettes, the dang Klan. Strange bedfellows indeed.)

Eventually the party poopers prevailed and prohibition won the day. But as we well know that didn’t last. About damn tanked the global economy it did. Nonetheless, when it came time to repeal, certain regulations needed to be put into place, so that we didn’t go straight back to our old Salooning ways. So, the twenty-first amendment to the US Constitution granted the individual states broad latitude to prevent manufacturers regaining control of the retail channel. What most of them did was insert that third tier — Distribution — in betwixt t’other two. Like a buffer.

Did it work? Well, it depends on who you ask. A distributor, or literally anyone else. The former will claim the Distribution channel provides a value add to the marketplace, or some bullshit like that. Anyone with sense can see it’s a bastion of corruption. Rent-seekers’ paradise, this veritable rats’ nest of favors and kick-backing is. These distributors, so-called, are nothing but the same old bootleggers. But now they got a police escort.

Because graft doesn’t go away, like some grime you mop up. It’s more like a gas. It fills the space it’s in. Case in point, whatever statutes barred manufacturers from vertically integrating across retail, didn’t prevent them from taking controlling ownership stakes in distribution concerns, many of which are granted near monopolistic reign over their respective territories. The New Frontier’s region was equitably divvied up into a duopoly of two distribution firms, one majority-owned by Wolffenbeir Inc., and the second by its slightly-larger macro brewing competitor. (Mayor Larry himself, it should come as no surprise, was granted a five-point interest in the Wolffenbeir-affiliated distributor. Of course, there couldn’t be any paper trail linking the two. That would be untoward. Thus, the LLC Lawrence used was formed under the name of Matilda Mockingbird, his own long-suffering Mary Todd. For her fucking troubles.)

Rather than bend over for those crooks, Hank did what he did best — said fuck it and found a loophole. So long as they sought agreements with other craft brewers in the area (Hank called it a distribution co-op, and members eagerly joined up … he was the first craft brewer in the city, but by no means the last), they’d be free to distribute among themselves.

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sleeping-on-cracking-ice · 3 years

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Hi, I have an idea for Chishiya if it's okay! He have something going on with Kuina's friend, and after she didn't came back from a game everyone thought that she died, but she actually just left (she didn't want to become too attached to Chishiya maybe?) and 1 month later the militants found her and Chishiya is rather cold toward her because she left him without saying anything. Happy ending if possible, please

Thanks for requesting, here you go. Enjoy! 🥰

Home | Shuntaro Chishiya

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Character(s): Chishiya (ft. Kuina, Niragi)

Summary: You run away from the beach, but soon were found by the militants again. Chishiya, your closest companion, is mad when you return for not saying anything.

Warning: mention of sexual harassment, swearing, grieving, heavy angst

Word Count: 4.8k

*reader is female

Author’s Note: I’m sorry if the ending is a bit cliché, but I really enjoyed writing this one!

“I’m so sick of this shit Kuina. She’s gone. What the hell do we do now?”

Chishiya and Kuina sat on the top roof of The Beach. Their legs were dangling over the edge, above the groups of people who sang their hearts out over the loud music. They couldn’t be down there themselves, not that night.

“It’s so unfair,” Chishiya grumbled, rubbing his stained eyes with his hands. “I hate how everyone just moves on like nothing happened.”

Kuina sniffled, trying to control her runny nose as she listened to Chishiya’s pained words. “Look Chish, it was going to happen to one of us three at some point, it just happened to be Y/N.” Kuina tried to keep her voice stable, but the occasional voice crack gave away her sadness.

“Yes I know, but it still hurts so fucking bad.”

You hadn’t returned from your game. You hadn’t returned back to Chishiya and Kuina. You hadn’t returned home.

*******

“Oi Y/N! Slow the hell down!”

You heard Kuina yell out to you from down the hall. You laughed at her desperate attempt to catch up while Chishiya walked at his own pace watching you guys.

“Why are we suddenly having a race?! We have all day to get down to the pool!” Kuina called out. You stopped in your tracks and turned around to face her. “I want to get down there before the sun comes out and everyone wakes up! Don’t you want to have it just for us three for a while?”

“I suppose so,” Kuina breathed out heavily.

Chishiya’s lips pulled up into a smile as he watched you too bicker. “Oi you two. Be quiet. People in these halls are still sleeping,” he said.

Kuina turned to Chishiya and pulled a mocking bored face towards him. “Well you’re fun this morning,” she muttered in a sarcastic tone.

All three of you made your way to the pool on the bottom floor of The Beach, tripping and shoving each other playfully while giggling. You hardly ever did this together, because Chishiya always slept until noon, so you were excited about having the pool to yourselves before the sun came up.

When you reached outside, your chatters and the sound of your bare feet on the pavement broke the silence of the night. You hoped that Hatter kept the windows closed to his suite because you knew if you woke him up he would come down and beat your asses for being awake so early.

You looked over towards the pool that was still lit up with underwater neon blue lights from the night before. You’d think that they would shut all the lights off at least to save a bit of electricity, but apparently not.

Kuina had thrown her towel down carelessly on a nearby deck chair and was now chasing after Chishiya, who powered his short legs to try and escape her.

“Chishiya you’re going in the pool! You can’t chicken out forever!” she yelled as she caught up to him and wrapped her strong arms around his waist.

You could tell the years of martial arts training paid off for Kuina as she lifted Chishiya into her arms like he weighed nothing. “Bitch, put me down! I don’t want to go in the pool! Why is that such a crime!?”

You doubled over in laughter as Kuina held the cat-like blonde in her arms, him squirming more violently as she got to the side of the pool.

“Goodbye!” she yelled and dropped him into the pool. His screaming cut off as he was submerged into the water. You walked over and placed your stuff down, listening to Kuina and Chishiya bickering in the background.

It was a shame that you were planning on walking out on these guys. But in a world like this, the bad moments really outweighed the good ones.

“Alright you’re next!” you heard behind you, making you snap out of your short daze.

“Wait, no!” you bellowed as Kuina repeated the same thing she did with Chishiya. This time, it was his turn to laugh at you.

“Jesus christ woman. The fuck got you so lively this morning?” you laughed at Kuina, who gracefully dived into the pool to tease you two.

You felt Chishiya tuck his chin on your shoulder gently, taking you by surprise. “I guess we got to act as happy as we can now. Our five day visa ends tonight.” Chishiya mumbled to you two.

The air around the three of you suddenly became stiff at the mention of the games. You lifted your hand and placed it on Chishiya’s damp hair. “It’s alright, it was a fun and relaxing five days while it lasted,” you said cheerfully.

“Don’t say that like as if you’re going to die,” Chishiya scolded you. “You won’t die, none of us three will.” He was trying to reassure himself that he would come back from his game with you all happy and healthy waiting in the lobby for him. He hoped for that exact reality every time he had to leave you to restore his visa. He panicked even when you were ten minutes later than usual. It was a constant battle with anxiety when it came to caring for you in a world like this.

But unfortunately, while Chishiya was willing to fight against the growing anxiety that came with loving you, you didn’t want anything to do with it.

You and Chishiya have been as tight as two peas in a pod since Kuina introduced you. Kuina and you happened to meet at a diamonds game that was further in the centre of the city which was where you appeared in the game. She was nice enough to take you back to The Beach, because she thought that your intelligence and gentle personality would be useful.

But the plan of using you for Kuina and Chishiya’s own personal gain went out the window when both of them built a strong connection with you. They tried so hard to stop it, but in the end, they decided to make you an addition to their little manipulative games with the others. A mysterious duo became a peculiar trio.

That’s when Chishiya began to notice other things he felt.

He began feeling an irrational attachment to you, always wanting to be around you and always wanting to make sure that you were safe. You began noticing his additional little quirks as well, as soon you both fell for each other, without the other knowing of course.

Kuina obviously knew, as she was incredibly observant. She always kept her mouth shut though, wanting to see the drama play out in front of her. It was entertaining at times.

“You two are cute,” she gushed at you and Chishiya, holding a cheeky smile on her face.

Chishiya tucked his face into your neck to hide his blush, but it only made your heart skip a beat. “Shut up,” he mumbled into your skin.

You sighed heavily as he kept his place there, snaking his arms around your waist. This was honestly normal. The closer you’ve gotten with Chishiya, the less shy he’s been to convey physical affection. You loved and hated it at the same time, because you knew the more he made your heart race, the harder it would be to leave him.

At times you thought you’d rather deal with his cold and untrustworthy personality, like how he was when he first met you. It was easier to dislike him then, but now that his real personality has shown through, you realized how good of a person he actually seemed to be.

Chishiya never became close to someone, because he knew it would be hard to pull away when he needed to use them for his own survival. So he’s just always chosen to keep everyone at a distance.

You on the other hand, you hadn’t fallen down the deep whole of caring fully for someone in this world, but you knew you were about to stumble off the edge.

While Kuina and Chishiya waited to renew their visas, you waited to run away from the stress of waiting for your friend’s potential deaths.

******

You, Kuina and Chishiya trudged down the steps that led to the lobby. Hatter had called everyone to meet there a few minutes ago to prepare for the games. Hearing the familiar bell ring throughout the so-called paradise made your heart weaken. It was calling you to your end, every single time.

The trio of you took your usual place towards the back of the lobby, leaning against the cement walls and looking over everyone’s heads. How weird it felt, that by the time you gathered here next, the number of people would reduce by a couple dozen. It made your stomach sink in remorse. You truly were nothing more than soldiers fighting a war that wasn’t your own.

You looked down at your own feet, beginning to feel guilty about your plan of running away. The people you would abandon, the friends who would miss you. And even they can’t come find you, but you knew it was for the best. For both you and them.

You felt something tickle your hand. You glanced your eyes down to see that it was Chishiya, trying to sneak his hand into yours as Hatter began his booming speech across the crowd. You looked up to the blonde’s face, but he was focused on Hatter. You smiled sadly and accepted his hand into yours, earning a soft squeeze from him.

Kuina placed her head on your shoulder, leaning closer towards you. It was as if they knew, and they were trying to get you to change your mind. You felt tears building up in your eyes, but quickly wiped them away with your hoodie sleeve before anyone noticed.

Damn. You were never going to forget them.

******

Chishiya sat in the leather lounge in the lobby. He had just arrived back from his spades game. Wasn’t too difficult, for him at least.

Only now he was stressing inside, leg bouncing up and down on the carpet quickly. He knew you wouldn’t return for a good while, but yet he always was worried about you. No matter the situation.

Niragi didn’t help the situation. He strolled over earlier with a few of his militant mates and roughed Chishiya up for a bit. He honestly wasn’t in the mood for their antics, so he didn’t fight back much. They eventually got bored and walked away.

There hardly was anyone in the lobby, it was strangely quiet.

Chishiya looked towards the entrance to the lobby where a small group of people just walked in from. He recognized them as the group Kuina was placed with, so he stood up from his seat and quickly made his way over.

He managed to spot Kuina walking by herself at the back of the group. Chishiya let out a relieved sigh and strolled up to her. “Thank god you’re okay,” he said, giving her a short hug. “You too,” she replied.

They walked back over to where Chishiya was sitting beforehand and sat down. “Do you know who Y/N went with?” Kuina asked.

“No idea, I had to leave with my group before hers,” he answered.

They both sat in silence for a while, hearts squeezing in on themselves from tension.

As group after group piled into the lobby and moved to go to the back pool to celebrate their wins. While their hearts and minds were overflowing in joy of surviving, Chishiya’s and Kuina’s slowly became heavier and heavier with grief.

One of the last groups finally came back, being a few hours later than everyone else. Chishiya searched the small crowd for your familiar face, but didn’t see it.

“Kuina,” he started with a tense voice. “Don’t say it,” she immediately cut him off. “Don’t say anything Chish. She’s fine, I know it.”

That became harder and harder to believe the later into the night it got. Soon enough, no one was left in the halls and the lobby, either gone to bed or stayed out in the pool area.

Chishiya didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t feel anything. His body was tired from the constant tensing, the constant anxiety.

He stood up abruptly and looked towards Kuina, who had her head in her hands. He gave her a sad smile, and reached his hand out to help her up. “Come on, let’s go to the roof like old times,” he smiled, fighting the tears building up in his eyes.

*********

When they reached the top of the building after climbing many annoying flights of steps, Chishiya tilted his head back to feel the wind blow around his head. He opened his eyes and saw the galaxy of stars above him. ‘So weird,’ he thought to himself. ‘In a horrible place like this, such beautiful things can still exist.’

Kuina and Chishiya sat on the edge of the roof, feet dangling off the edge. Complete silence took over them. Neither of them knew what to say.

Kuina broke her gaze off the staggering height of the drop below them and glanced at Chishiya. He was staring straight ahead of him, hoodie covering his face so she couldn’t see what he was looking at.

“Chish, are you okay?” Kuina asked quietly, leaning forward to try and see his face. It felt strange to her, having Chishiya be completely silent for a change. Usually he would be making a smartass comment or a teasing joke towards her or Y/N. It was like the happiness in him had drained out.

He didn’t answer for a short moment, but then he turned his head to look at Kuina in the eyes. Kuina was taken back.

Chishiya had pools of tears cascading down his pale face, mixing with the sweat that he still endured from the game. He let out no sobs and no cries. Just dry, empty tears running down his cheeks like doves flying down the edge of a cliff.

“No, I’m not okay,” he muttered to her. “This fucking sucks.”

*******

It had been a few weeks since your death, not that there was a huge difference at The Beach from your disappearance. Everyone carried on like normal, everyone except Kuina and Chishiya.

They became secluded, more than usual. Kuina spent most of her time in the hotel’s gym, trying to distract herself from everything that happened. She wanted to get stronger so she could win games, she knew that’s what you would have wanted.

Chishiya however, he wasn’t taking your death well at all. Chishiya lost his fire, his headstrong attitude and snappy remarks. He kind of disappeared himself, but only his body stayed.

He felt stupid at times. What would he have expected? Of course you died, knowing his luck. He began irrationally thinking, believing that the world took you away because he didn’t deserve someone as warm-hearted as you. He felt cheated almost. It was like the universe had you dangling on a string in front of him, and when he finally had the courage to reach towards you, it yanked you away out of his view.

When he was having particular hard days, he would lie on his bed in his room for hours, not bothering to get up for food or the bathroom. He felt numb inside, he honestly thought nothing would be able to hurt him anymore, because he’s endured the worst of his emotions.

The mirror in his room was smashed, due to his own doing. He broke it a few days after the incident, screaming into the stuffy air of his room and throwing one of his makeshift knives at it. He watched in pain as it crackled and crumbled under the impact, seeing his own reflection fall into a million pieces, much like how he was feeling at that moment.

He had never experienced this kind of hurt before. He always thought other people were being dramatic when they broke down crying after hearing their significant other or friend didn’t make it back to The Beach. He thought that it should’ve been expected, that they shouldn’t be surprised that it happened. But he guessed you never know what another person is feeling unless you experience it yourself.

But god, does he wish he didn’t, because it hurt more than a thousand knives to his cold, stone heart.

**********

One day, Chishiya was standing on the edge of a balcony that looked over the entrance to The Beach. He enjoyed standing up there because he loved the spectacular view of the ocean. It reminded him of his real home, when he used to ride his bike down to the beach with his friends and swim in the water for hours. He missed life when it was so easy for him.

The breeze was cool on his skin, giving him goosebumps. It felt refreshing and somewhat free, a small taste of bliss for him. His eyes were shut as he listened to the crows screech in the distance and the ocean waves hit the shore. The sound of nature rang in his ears, making his endorphins swirl in his brain.

It was a good break every now and then from the usual melancholy emotions that swarmed around him, keeping his happiness locked down in chains. While he was on that balcony, actually breathing fully and normally for once, his demons decided to let loose of the chains that held his sweet happiness trapped.

Chishiya opened his dark eyes and glanced downwards towards the bottom level and saw something that caught his eye.

A group of three militants seemed to have a young woman in their grasp, one of them being Niragi himself. Chishiya watched as they tried hard to hold the smaller person at bay, as she was thrashing around trying to escape.

He frowned, confusion painting across his face. That girl, she looked oddly familiar.

Niragi told the militants to bring her around the side of the building, where a small alley was located beside the entrance. Chishiya knew that’s where the militants dragged people to kill them off, they were planning on killing her.

Chishiya wondered what she did that was so bad. Hatter hardly ever gave the order to kill someone, unless the situation was betrayal or anything worse.

He moved himself along the balcony towards where the commotion below him was occurring. He wanted to hear what they were saying, because who knows what shit Niragi gets up to without Hatter knowing. It seemed a little too suspicious to be dragging someone to their death in broad daylight, especially where everyone could see.

Chishiya heard slight fragments of what they were yelling: “You thought- … run away?!” Niragi screamed in his psychotic voice. “Let go of-...! …could have just left me there!”

Chishiya felt his heart drop. That voice, it was all too familiar. How could he have forgotten what your voice sounded like.

He lifted his head and stared forward in shock. That couldn’t be right, you’ve been dead for weeks!

He thought for a second, trying to come to a possible conclusion with the horrific yells in the background of his mind. How is it possible you could still be alive?

That couldn’t be you, it just couldn’t be. Chishiya shook his head and chuckled. “The fuck am I thinking? Great, now I’m hallucinating. No one told me that was another stage of grief.”

He turned his body to walk back inside to look for Kuina, until he heard the young woman getting attacked yell again, this time, clear as day.

“Chishiya! Kuina!”

That was it. That was definitely you.

Chishiya lifted his legs and began sprinting towards the staircase inside. There was no doubt in his mind that that wasn’t you. The way you said his name was too real to not be you.

He tripped and stumbled down the stairs, almost falling flat on his face on one flight. He had to get there before you were dead, for real this time.

As he pushed his entire body weight against the entrance doors to the hotel, he pulled a small knife out his white hoodie pocket. He had made it out of glass from his broken mirror, considering that Hatter wouldn’t allow him to have his own weapons.

Your screams were much more prominent now, more desperate sounding and more fearful. The sound pierced through Chishiya as he made his way quickly around the side of the hotel.

There you were, being pinned against the wall by two militants while Niragi held the barrel of his rifle against your chest, right over your heart.

Chishiya yelled out, which probably wasn’t the best idea considering his current situation. It was three tall men with guns against a small, frail man with a makeshift knife.

“Chishiya! The fuck you doing here?” Niragi asked with a cheeky smirk on his face. God, Chishiya wanted to punch him so bad.

“Let her go Niragi, you don’t want this to get ugly do you?” Chishiya threatened, holding his glass knife out.

Niragi laughed along with the other two militants. You still struggled against their grip, seemingly more calm with Chishiya distracting them.

“How cute ‘ey? Little blonde twink coming to save the love of his life, how sweet of you.” Niragi pressed, pushing his rifle harder against you just to push Chishiya’s buttons.

“If you haven’t noticed Chishiya, she ran away! She never died like you thought she did! She ran away from The Beach, she ran away from you!”

His words were like bullets in Chishiya’s chest. He felt belittled and mocked, he hated it.

“Shut up! She wouldn’t do that!” he yelled frustratingly.

“Oh really?! She wouldn’t?! Then explain why we managed to find her strolling the streets of Tokyo! Not a scratch on her, and she seemed smart enough to run away when she saw us.”

Chishiya’s scowl dropped on his face. He looked at you to see if you would deny it, but you had stopped struggling against the two men and hung your head low, not looking into his eyes.

He shook off the hurt he felt from this fact. He had to focus on getting you away from Niragi before he took time to think about other things.

“Niragi please. Just let go of her, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” Chishiya begged. He felt small, never has he ever begged for something in his life.

“Hmm? How though? I was just about to have some fun with her before I killed her off. Why should I give that up just because you want me to,” Niragi spat at him. Your eyes widened in fear and you thrashed around in the grip that the militants had on you, panicking from Niragi’s threat.

Chishiya thought for a second. He would honestly give anything to bring you over to him. “My cards. You can take credit for every card that I collect for a couple of months. If Hatter or Aguni asks, just say I’m slacking. I’ll take any punishment they throw my way.”

You saw Niragi consider it before lowering his weapon off of your torso. You breathed out heavily in relief.

“Fine, but don’t expect me to do this again. You can’t bribe me with everything you sneaky fuck.” Niragi growled. The two militants let go of you and followed him out of the alleyway and into the entrance of The Beach.

You leant against the wall, staring at Chishiya as he stared down at the ground below him. The air between you two was tense. You could tell he was mad, Chishiya was always silent when he was incredibly angry.

“Chish, I-”

“Don’t talk to me. Just come.”

Don’t get me wrong, he couldn’t have been happier to see that you were alive and well. But the betrayal he felt from the fact that you ran away from him greatly outweighed his happiness.

He walked briskly ahead of you, you didn’t dare walk next to him or too close to him. He was scaring you a bit, and you wanted nothing but to sprint to your own room and hide from the rest of the world.

You were embarrassed and also frustrated you were caught. Trust Niragi and his cocky ass to find you.

Chishiya stopped in front of his own room, opened the door and gestured for you to walk inside. You hesitated before slowly making your way through the door. You hated how tense it was, it was the complete opposite of what you usually felt when you were around Chishiya.

You sat down on his bed, sitting in an awkward position and looked towards Chishiya. It was complete silence as he was frozen at the door, back towards you and holding the door handle harshly.

“What the fuck Y/N?” he mumbled. It was almost inaudible, but you could hear pain in his words, which made you immediately feel guilty.

“What the fuck was that? You ran away!?” he turned and yelled at you, tears building up in his eyes.

You flinched as his loud voice. You had never heard him yell in anger before, usually he kept his calm. You looked down to the ground, feeling your own eyes fill with hot tears. You felt like you were back in high school with your parents screaming at you for running away from home.

“I THOUGHT YOU DIED!” he shouted louder, “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH PAIN YOU PUT KUINA THROUGH?! HOW MUCH YOU PUT ME THROUGH?!”

You couldn’t breathe. Pain and suffering dripped off his words like rain on a roof, coming together and creating an atmosphere that held air that was unbreathable. You suffocated on the oxygen, making you choke and cause tears to begin running down your cheeks.

“Why!?” he cried. “Why did you run!? There was no reason, me and Kuina could have protected you if you were too scared! Why did you think that running away was the only option!?” Chishiya stumbled closer to you, almost tripping over his own feet.

You flinched heavily as he placed his cold hands on your shoulders roughly. They were shaking from trying to hold your sobs in.

“WHY DID YOU LEAVE-” “Chishiya!” you interrupted him by snapping your head up to meet your eyes with his. His face dropped as he saw the sadness behind yours, replacing the wonderful and cheerful happiness that once swam in your eyes like dolphins in a sea.

“I l-love you,” you mumbled out between your shaky breaths. “That was the problem Chish. I-I’m in love with you and it hurt too fucking bad to know that you could disappear out of my reach at any moment. I ran because I didn’t want to watch you and Kuina die!”

Chishiya’s own hands shook violently against your shoulders. He gazed into your eyes which were red and puffy from your tears. They were shining more now than they had ever before.

“You don’t have to leave Y/N,” he whispered, still trying to control his own breathing. “I want you here, next to me. Not out there, because when you’re out there, I can’t be with you.”

You nodded and smiled sadly. Chishiya pulled his hand from your shoulder and cradled your face gently. He swiped his thumb over your cheek to get rid of the tears there. “I love you too, but I can’t be without you.”

A grin crept onto your face as you looked into his eyes. You felt safer than ever in his arms, why did you think of ever leaving?

Chishiya wiped his own tears with his hoodie sleeve and put on a happier smile. “You want to know how pathetic I am without you?” he giggled and held your hands in his.

“I almost threw myself off the top of the hotel the night you didn’t come back. Kuina had to tackle me to the ground to keep me away from the edge.” he laughed at himself.

You chuckled along with him. “Imagine if you did! What a shocker it would’ve been if I came back and Kuina saw me alive after you killed yourself because you thought I was gone!”

You both sat on Chishiya’s bed and laughed at each other. You had to do it, humour is best in times of stress and anxiety.

*********

You opened your eyes slowly, only to be met with the blinding light of the sun seeping through the blinds. You hissed and turned your head the other way.

Chishiya chucked at your reaction, making his chest that was underneath your head vibrate. “So cute,” he muttered to himself.

You pushed your face deeper into his chest and breathed in his scent. It felt good to be back with Chishiya. It felt good to be home.

Author’s Note: oKaY so this ended up being a lot longer than expected. Please send in some requests if you have any! 🥰🥰

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styx1an · 3 years

Text

A Chat about Chat

A short fic about how Chat came to be a singular being, written by yours truly. By all means, this isn’t canon, it’s just my interpretation of things.

Word count: 1,863

Fandom: RTGame, Miitopia (NGL I’m a little displeased with how I wrote the ending, but oh well!)

You know, there is this odd sense of irony in knowing how terrified Chat was of Magical John when they aren’t even human nor a singular being in the first place. Wait, so you didn’t know? Of how they became such a being in the first place? (They chuckle.) Then I suppose that means I’ll have to tell you their story. Well then, shall we begin the tale of Chat? (You see the twinkle in their eyes. They must’ve been waiting a while to be able to do this.)

> You nod. You’ve been waiting a while to understand Chat’s origins. Tonight, like many others, belongs to the storyteller.

> You shake your head. No thanks, you think you’re too tired. Dawn shall rise anew soon, and you will not waste your time with tall tales.

(They nod, pleased with your decision.) Then I shall begin to relay their tale.

Our tale begins in the vast lands known as Twitch, a domain that belongs to another, a far crueler being whose tale is for another time. It is a place where one is free to express their opinions and whatnot (as long as it suits the many whims of its Amazonian overlords, of course), and many are versed in the easy to learn, but difficult to master art of gaming. Many such masters have gained a large following, and even if they do not possess such skill, more often than not their humor and charisma paves the way to fame.

One example of the latter would be RTGame, a man of sizable repute. Aside from the frankly ridiculous story of the origin of his moniker, he is also known for doing some… questionable things for the sake of entertainment. There are still tales of his quest in the bathtub along with Gilbert (yes, the very same Gilbert on the quest to defeat The Darker Lord Khadgar!), the night of the Painted Wall’s Communion, the birth of Mr. Compost- But my dear, we are here for one of his lesser-known exploits, one that would change the world as we know it.

> You lean closer to the campfire, watching the storyteller with a renewed interest. Where does the tale lead? Where does it end? You need to know.

> It’s getting even later. You think some rest will be needed before tomorrow’s travels begin. Perhaps the rest of the story can wait another time?

It was a dark and stormy night. The then-Dark Lord Von Karma had just been unleashed upon the land, and I Want Die set along the path of salvation with his fellow party members, Mr. Bean the Warrior, Goofy the Thief, and Mint the Horse. He was pleased with the ease with which they vanquished monsters and saved (literal) faces, but the lack of actual conversation within the party had begun to get to him. Mr. Bean had nothing to offer other than a simple “Bean!” every now and then, and Goofy terrified him with all the “hyuck!” and talks of absolving the world’s many sins. Mint is a horse and therefore cannot participate in a verbal conversation unless you happen to understand what her neighs meant. She also happens to be the most normal member of the party, strangely enough.

Either way, I Want Die longed for a proper conversation.

And God took notice.

It was inevitable. The fourth party member was always going to join, whether he wanted one or not. It shouldn’t be notable in any way whatsoever, yet here I am regaling this tale to you.

It is not how Chat had come to join the party that I wanted to explain, but rather how they came to be.

Do you remember the man I had called RTGame? I hope you had not thought of him as irrelevant to our tale, as he is the patron saint of I Want Die’s adventures. Surely you know of the vast armory that belongs to the party? The various delicacies fed to the team? All his work. Along with his followers’ contributions, of course.

Chat was what he called his followers, the ones who watched his various endeavors as he traveled across the land of Twitch. Oftentimes the crowd would conversate with him (hence their name), offering jokes and sardonic commentary whenever he did anything remotely comedic. Other times, RT would have to tell them off for being such a rowdy bunch- the usual group of thousands could never keep quiet for long.

It happened that Chat witnessed I Want Die’s pilgrimage along with RTGame. They all looked upon him with a jolly sense of humor (after all, their master is well-versed in the art of comedy), some wondering where his travels will bring him. The others who knew how it would all end kept silent at the behest of RTGame. Either way, every single one of them was enjoying the show he had put on for them.

And came the time to summon the fourth member.

As per usual, RTGame withdrew into his workshop, closing the curtains around him so no curious onlooker could see inside. But that did not stop Chat from yelling their predictions and demands.

“EDGEWORTH” one cried.

Another begged for a certain “End Mii!”

“CHAT CALM DOWN!”

“!uptime”

“69420toesucker just subscribed for 5 months!”

“TURG”

RTGame smiled at them. He wasn’t surprised at all at their reactions, rather it was something he had hoped would happen.

“Alright then Chat,” he said, “here they are!”

His pale, thin hands reached out to open the curtains-

And unveiled a faceless, empty husk of a being.

Under any other circumstances, Chat would’ve rioted, demanded justice against the irony of sending a faceless doll to retrieve the faces of others. But they had no time.

Almost in an instant, the skies darkened. Clouds swirled up above with vibrant shades of violet, cobalt, magenta. Bright blue lightning strikes a tree and dissolves it into dust. Somewhere distant, something roars. The air feels thick- something magical, something electric is positively buzzing. Magic truly is in the air.

And thunder strikes once again.

The crowd is gone.

Silence fell. All that is left is the master and the doll, no longer an empty husk.

> You look up to the storyteller, their eyes reflecting the blazing flames. You have a feeling that you know how this ends, but you’d rather have them confirm it first.

> You’re sleepy. As tempting as it is to continue listening to their story, you must admit that the very idea of slumber is even more tantalizing.

RTGame had managed to do exactly what he wanted. Chat’s consciousness, placed inside of a single, physical being. A puppet controlled by a hivemind would not be very easy to control, yes. But the idea intrigued him. And wouldn’t it be better than having a large gaggle of people constantly behind him, watching his every move? It could help I Want Die on his journey too.

So it is settled. It happened that one of the members of his temple had just crafted a rather nice puppet, in case RT needed one. And he did come to use it. It does look a little plain, as both body and head are painted in the same shade of bright white. However, the face was not white like how it was in the beginning, but a disturbingly pitch-black space. No, that’s not the right word.

Rather, it was like a void had formed. That’s also not the right phrase to describe it either, as there were drops of ichor dripping down onto the ground, dissolving the once green grass. But I digress.

Chat broke the silence that had fallen between them, wailing as a cacophony of noises and emotions spilled out. Despite what RT had done to them, they were still determined to voice their opinions. Quite in character, really.

“RT WHAT”

“NO NO NO”

“!uptime”

“I'M ON TV!!!”

“bazingabanana just gifted 5 subs!”

“that’s kinda meta”

As their voices grew louder, ichor kept pouring out of the void. As expected, RT thought to himself. He still needs to act fast. So with a quick snap, he fastened a wooden mask the temple-goer made; the same shade of white, a pair of beady black eyes almost as dark and soulless as the void, bright purple ears.

The yelling and complaining didn’t stop of course. Still, as their voices were muffled by the mask, it was an arguably better experience than the previous ear-splitting wails. And it was less deadly too. Ichor had stopped dripping down onto the grass, which meant that the constant sizzling would finally stop.

Now, one last thing.

RT stared into Chat’s eyes.

This in itself wouldn’t have been quite a remarkable action had it been anyone else, but it’s Chat that we are talking about. The very sensation of doing something as simple as gazing into a hivemind’s many souls wasn’t anything ordinary, either.

It felt like you had just plunged one of your hands into ice-cold water in the middle of winter and not only are you freezing, you’re scared and you don’t know whether you’d come out in one piece.

They all stared back. Thousands and thousands looked upon RT, all different yet whispering the same things, each claiming to be an individual yet virtually nothing distinctive belongs to them. A true hivemind. It’s exactly what he wanted, but he wondered if perhaps other troubles would arise.

He let himself go from their gazes. It asks too much of him.

“Alright then, Chat. Ready?”

A gaggle of voices reply, sounding their agreements.

“OK then!”

I Want Die finally opened the inn door, after convincing himself that he’d like this new friend. That this one would be neither an anime villain, a comedy star or a horse. Someone with actual rational thoughts and words to speak.

In front of the door stood a short figure, clad in a purple mage’s robes. Their pitch-black eyes looked at I Want Die, and a chorus of voices came from their permanent smile:

“Hi, I’m Chat!”

And I Want Die wondered if he had forgotten to cross off ‘hivemind’ off his list of potential party members.

Chat’s introduction ends here, of course. But not their tale. The journey was far from over in fact. The party had yet to meet the Royal Court, witnessed the court’s love affair, or get kidnapped by the Dark Lord Von Karma. Even the party wasn’t complete, as it was only the first party I Want Die would encounter in his tale of redemption.

And it’s not the only story either. You haven’t heard of Magical John’s past life, or how Cupcake isn’t as pure as she seems. Gilbert’s fear of the kitchen. How Jefferson came to be, and Obama’s past life with Mr. Bean.

But I’m afraid I must stop here, for it is late already, is it not? Our journey must continue tomorrow. Let us rest. Goodnight, may the stars shine for you. (They head off into their tent, leaving you alone with the flickering embers of a dying fire.)

> You bid the storyteller goodnight. Perhaps they’ll tell you another one of their stories, underneath the moonlight once more.

#rtgame #magical john #well i wrote! dont like how the latter half was written but ok #miitopia #writing #rtgamecrowd

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hogwartsfirebolt · 3 years

Text

cw: wizarding war, and the violence it ensues.

The year bled.

It bled great gouts of wizards, beacons of hope shining bright red at the tip of their wands. Led them to their deaths, in the battlefront that had taken their friends and family, yet remained unsatisfied.

The year took his Hagrid, took his Ron, the year flung a sword into Harry’s survival instincts and turned them inside out — backwards, all wrong. He lived and breathed for his days on the front, inhabited the outermost trench for longer than anyone was allowed, his wand glowing green more often than red.

Voldemort’s tooth — sharp, a snake’s poisonous incisive — hung on a thread, rested against Harry’s throat, had for the better part of the season. Yet the war raged on.

There’d been a time when things had been simpler.

“Will you be resting this fortnight?” Hermione had asked him when she’d served, a few days earlier. She was at a safe-house, now, replenishing her core, drawing energy from the underground streams that pulsed with golden magic so she would be ready to return to the fight. It was was everyone did, every couple of weeks, what their warlord had ordered.

Harry’d not been to a safe-house in three months. He’d not known anything but carnage in all those days, was beginning to suspect that the inexhaustible nature of his core didn’t extend to his body, definitely didn’t extend to his mind.

“Where are they getting this strength? These numbers?” Ron had asked, the night before a Death Eater had torn his head right off his neck.

They still did not know the answer. It happened everyday, at the strike of dawn: dozens of Death Eaters arrived at the front, and it didn’t matter that Harry sliced right through their ranks like a sword, there were dozens more the next morning. And they still did not know the answer.

It was not simple. Nothing was simple.

“They must have found a way to clone their soldiers. It can be done — they have Voldemort’s knowledge on soul-splitting.” Kingsley had written, in the letter Harry had received two days earlier. “Soon enough they will press at their advantage. I trust you will know what to do. Do not fail me.”

There was no “soon enough”. The advantage was already being pressed, every waking second, on multiple fronts. Harry spent his days blocking them with his magic, with his body, and his nights fighting against their secret weapon, they one they seemed to reserve for him only — the mind games.

“They impersonate us?” Arthur had asked, when he’d brought health potions the previous week.

“They show up as you, or Molly, Gin, R-Ron. I’m not sure what they want, they seem to be trying to extract information, but not on our lines, not on our manpower. I don’t know what I have that they want.”

“Don’t trust anyone.”

The days cut him, and the nights suffocated him. He got approached by group after group of imposters, wearing a different face every night. People Harry loved and hadn't seen in months. Those ones didn't hurt as much. Not like it hurt when it was people he had loved and lost.

Arthur had told him not to trust anyone. Some nights, he didn’t even trust himself.

He was going mad, sending away whoever it was that wore Cedric’s body, that showed up in his mother’s face, that slipped into Sirius’ limbs like they would into a coat. People he trusted, people he loved, and whose memory would forever be tainted by this, in his mind.

The night Draco Malfoy showed up, Harry thought it was another mind trick. Then, he realized that it broke the pattern. He’d never trusted, never loved, never even tolerated Draco Malfoy.

But there he was. He showed up, nose bleeding, broken arm cradled against his chest, miserable, everything Harry raged against. His tears shone bright silver over his cheekbones, down his jaw, carrying magical energy, draining him.

“Please,” he said. “Please, I don’t know where else to go.”

Harry didn’t trust him, he shouldn’t help him. But he did. He mended the fractured bones, cut his own palm with a knife and gave him some of his magical energy, poured it right into his gaping mouth. Saved his life.

Malfoy stayed.

Something like guilt, if he was still capable of that, draped itself across Harry’s shoulders as he fed him their food, let him drink from their goblets, gave him their healing potions.

He didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust himself.

Malfoy talked, at least, which was useful.

“Portraits.” He coughed, shivery from the core-loss. “They all have hundreds of them, their magical energy split. Not their souls, that’s not sustainable, it’s their magical energy. And they take them out, give them life. There’s an energy source, and an ancient spell, a rune ... I wasn’t told, but I saw, she performed it in front of me. Please, I’ll tell you. I ran. I need your help.”

Harry didn’t need to ask who she was.

“I can fight. I can help. Please. Please, they killed my mother.”

And there were the tears again, but crystal clear, no longer carrying Malfoy’s power. Harry had successfully stopped the drainage.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Please. Write to your general, I’ll say anything, I hate her.”

There had been a time in which Malfoy’s desperation would have made him feel at an advantage, would have made him laugh, prod at the wound. But that time was long gone, desperation was the only thing he knew now, as well, and there was no winning. It was a winless fight. Malfoy was too human, too scared, not an instrument of war.

“No. We don’t know he’s telling the truth, I forbid you from sheltering him.” Kingsley’s letter said.

There’d been a time when things had been simpler.

But the war raged, the weeks blended into each other, and the pain, renewed as it was every single day, numbed him.

Harry was human. Harry was scared. Harry was an instrument of war.

He sheltered him anyway.

“One wrong move, and you’re out. You have one chance.”

Malfoy nodded, weeping right there in the trench, in his blood-stained clothes. Harry couldn’t afford to distrust him, was too busy staying alive.

And Malfoy did not fail him. In the morning light, dozens of Death Eaters Harry had killed a million times marched into the battlefield, and Malfoy fought next to him. Harry’d not had anyone watch his back in months, and it made for a nice change.

At night, they fended off the imposters, and Harry fed him his own magical energy, watched him grow stronger with it. His core was inexhaustible, he knew. He didn’t have to send Malfoy away to regain strength, he gave it to him, every single night.

It was forbidden, but it was also the only thing that seemed right in the vortex of destruction he’d been living in.

“She keeps an artifact at the Manor. It looks like a prophecy, is kept under lock and key inside her chambers. I saw it, she made me clean it once. I think it’s the source of all this. I think if you destroy it, this will be over.” Malfoy said, three weeks after they’d been fighting side by side. He looked stronger, energized, and if Harry closed his eyes, he could feel his own magic inside Draco’s corestream, like an extension of himself.

“How?”

He felt Draco prodding back, felt him extending his energy so it circled back to Harry, so it flowed freely between them.

“There’s no time to look. Burn down the manor.”

The discovery that they could access each other’s magic should have been monumental, yet felt like nothing at all. They’d known, they’d experienced it every night for weeks. An intimacy unlike any other, between enemies, between allies.

“I thought I forbid you from taking him in.” Kingsley’s letter said, when Harry proposed the idea. It didn’t feel like a reprimand. It felt like a father, telling a child off for keeping a stray kitten. “I have sent reinforcements to the front, come to headquarters. Both of you. We’re burning the house this week.”

The plan was to march off to Malfoy Manor the morning after they arrived at headquarters. Instead, they slept for three days straight.

They were in different rooms, but Harry only had to close his eyes to trace his energy back to Draco, and it soothed him.

They’d been enemies. They were human, they were scared. Now, they were allies. Now, they were one, more than they were two.

“I think we can read each other’s minds.” Malfoy said when they woke up, except he wasn’t anywhere in the room. The voice had come from Harry’s head.

“So it seems.”

They found each other in the kitchen, had breakfast, made vague conversation, not a single word spoken out loud.

“Is the war ending?”

“Once they stop multiplying like crazy, we can beat them, and stop fighting. Live our lives, maybe. But I don’t think the war will ever end, Draco.”

He wanted to explain that he felt like he would carry it forever, but he didn’t have to. In the space between thinking it and wanting to communicate it, he already had.

“I know.”

For the first time in months, when Harry searched inside himself, he didn’t feel empty. There was energy, magic, there was someone else with him, in the space that had existed between his anger and his grief.

“Also, I can do wandless now," Draco added.

“Yeah, that’s on me.”

“Do you think this means we are …?”

“Yeah.”

They showered.

After, they apparated to Malfoy Manor, didn’t even have to touch to do it together, the crack of the spell going off in unison, turning heads once they arrived. The entire Order was there, and, in front of them, the house aflame.

The Manor bled. It bled tendrils of black magic that dissipated into thin air, screamed, called to the tooth hanging at Harry’s neck. He wrapped his fingers around it and held it tight — his trophy, his burden.

All that was left of the enemy army were twenty wizards that scuttled out of the blazing house like fleeing rats. She wasn’t amongst them. Somehow, Harry knew she’d died trying to protect her energy source. He knew that he would have, and soldiers weren't so different.

He and Draco took care of the survivors, both their powers pulled into a single explosion of green.

“Wow.” Hermione said, standing next to Harry.

“We think it’s over.”

“You two are …”

“Yeah.”

“Permanently.”

“Yeah.”

“You know that’s forbidden.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

The year had bled, had been an open wound. Then it had been cleaned and stitched, messily, but closed. It ached. It bore the name of the friend Harry had loved the most, his other half. It would never go away, it would scar.

But it was healing.

Harry reached out with his magic, and felt Draco meet him halfway.

Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt "forbidden"

#drarry #drarry microfic #drarrymicrofic #mine #drarry fic #draco malfoy #harry potter #mywriting

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nerdzzone · 3 years

Text

Only For A Moment: September

Summary: A series of shorter one shots from Chris and Whitney’s life together throughout the pandemic. Some happy times, some harder times, some fluff and some things a little more sexy - they work through it all as they try to get settled in their new and blossoming relationship.

Chris Evans x OFC

Part of the Once Bitten/More Hearts series

Only For A Moment: August

Note: I really liked writing this part so please let me know your thoughts!

-----

September 2020

Before the pandemic hit, we'd planned to send Grayson to preschool in the fall after he turned three. However, with the state of the world when the time arrived, it became a more complicated decision. We knew the benefits - we knew it would give him the opportunity to make friends and jumpstart his learning - but after many long, anxiety filled discussions, we decided to keep him home for another year. We didn't need it for childcare as neither of us had any work on the horizon and he still had another year before kindergarten so he wouldn't be missing out on preschool education completely. The risks just seemed to outweigh the benefits at that point in time given the case numbers in our area.

But not everyone had such an easy choice to make. People with older children had to educate them somehow - whether that be in person or online. In person classes had a much higher risk of exposure to the virus, but online classes were harder for children to focus on and required much more participation from the parents.

Carly had made the difficult choice to keep her kids at home and continue their online education, but it was proving to be harder than she'd anticipated. The kids were tired of learning through a computer and they missed their friends. Despite the risk of in person learning, they wanted to go back to school and were dragging their heels when it came to doing their work at home.

They started in August and by the middle of September, Carly was quickly losing her patience with all three of her children and, after a tearful phone call from his sister, Chris and I agreed to take them for an afternoon. They had some homework that we had to make sure they did, but Chris' goal was more related to sending them home with a renewed appreciation for their parents and a promise to keep working hard.

He'd picked them up just after lunch and given them a stern - but understanding - talking to on the way over to our place, but once they arrived he was back to being fun Uncle Chris and started their afternoon of school with gym class in the form of a soccer game. He ran them around the yard for over an hour before they wrapped up the game and came in for a snack. Then, the real school work started.

"So," Chris clapped. "What homework does everyone have?"

"Math..."

Ethan wrinkled his nose in disgust as he answered and his siblings nodded their heads in agreement.

"Well, it's your lucky day!" Chris grinned. "Whitney happens to be a math whiz! She went to university to be an accountant."

It was hard not to laugh at the disgust on their faces and I was tempted to inform them of the fact that I had dropped out just to retain my status as their uncle's 'cool' girlfriend. I thought that information might not help inspire them to work though so I kept it to myself.

"Why did you do that?" Miles questioned. "That's so boring!"

"It doesn't have to be," I insisted. "Chris, why don't you take Gray to do a puzzle or something and we'll get this work out of the way?"

"Sure," Chris nodded, plucking Grayson off the stool he was sitting on and throwing the giggling child over his shoulder. "And remember, the faster the homework gets done, the faster we can get back to doing fun stuff!"

I waited until Chris had left the room before shooting a smile at the little students that I was left with.

"Okay, now that he's gone, I can show you the secret to making math fun," I told them, stretching up to grab a big jar of jelly beans from the top shelf of a cupboard. It was Chris' secret stash, but I was sure he wouldn't be too mad if I borrowed it. "You just need to find some motivation."

The kid's eyes went wide.

"Are those Uncle Chris'?" Ethan asked, a hint of wonder in his voice.

"Yep," I smiled. "So, let's hurry and get to work before he comes back and catches us."

I shot them a wink and they all scurried off to get their notebooks.

It was easier to incorporate the candy into Miles and Stella's math homework as in the younger grades, they were mostly doing addition and subtraction. I helped them use the jelly beans as counters and let them eat them after every few questions. For Ethan, it was a bit trickier. In sixth grade, he was getting more into the start of algebra and some harder level fractions which jelly beans were less useful in. Instead, we used them as motivation and he got to eat a couple of jelly beans for every row of questions he finished.

We almost got away with our jelly bean thievery, but just as the kids were packing up their books, I heard a gasp come from the doorway.

"Are those my jelly beans?!"

The kids all burst out laughing as I shot Chris a sheepish look.

"I'm sorry. They needed some encouragement..."

Chris shook his head, but the smile on his face told me that he wasn't really that upset.

"I trusted you," he scolded me. "Now I'll have to find a new hiding spot and you won't be informed of its whereabouts."

I pouted at that as Grayson scrambled up onto the stool beside me to get his hands in the candy before it was moved.

"You could just be nice and share," I pointed out. "Making them forbidden just makes them more tempting."

"Yeah, Uncle Chris," Ethan nodded in agreement. "Plus, you're always telling us that we have to share stuff."

"You're getting too smart, kid," Chris smiled at him. "But unfortunately for you, I'm still in charge which means you have to do as I say, not as I do."

Ethan rolled his eyes at that as Stella frowned.

"That's not fair!"

"That's life," Chris shrugged. "Now, who's going to help me make some dinner?"

Grayson and Stella threw their hands up in the air as I popped another jelly bean into my mouth.

"What are we having?"

"Pasketti!" Grayson enthusiastically informed me, earning a laugh from Chris as he ruffled his hair.

"Spaghetti," he clarified. "With Ma's recipe for the sauce."

"Ooh, yum!"

I stole one last jelly bean before putting the lid back on the jar. The kids all whined in protest, but if Chris was making dinner then I knew it was time for me to stop stuffing them with sugar.

We all stayed in the kitchen as Chris started getting things ready, giving the kids simple jobs to do like opening jars and the occasional stirring. Dinner was about halfway ready when Miles got a cheeky smirk on his face.

"Uncle Chris?" He questioned, getting Chris' attention. "Aren't you going to sing the spaghetti song?"

That piqued my interest and I raised an eyebrow at Chris whose cheeks were slightly pinker than they'd been moments before.

"What's the spaghetti song?"

"On Top of Spaghetti," Chris informed me as if I should know what he was talking about. I didn't and my face must have shown him that. "C'mon! You have to know it!"

"I can't say that I do," I shrugged. "You'll have to enlighten me."

"Daddy sings it every time we have pasketti!" Grayson informed me, still mispronouncing the word.

"Well, I think I need to learn it then," I smiled. "Go on, Chris. Let's hear it."

The kids all agreed with me, hassling him to start the song.

"Alright, alright," he agreed after a moment of resistance. His cheeks were still looking a little rosy with embarrassment as he took a deep breath and then began. "On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese. I lost my poor meatball, when somebody sneezed..."

I watched - filled with an almost overwhelming sense of affection for him - as he sang through all the verses of the song. The kids joined in where they could and all of them were giggling by the time he was done.

"Again, again!"

Grayson started the chant, but they all joined in and with a smirk, I did too.

"Yes, Chris! Again, again!" I teased. "So I can film it for Instagram!"

"Ha-ha," Chris laughed sarcastically. "You're so funny, Whitney. There will be no filming of this performance."

"But just think how much your fans would love it," I smiled. "You'd melt the hearts of women all over the world."

Chris let out a laugh at that comment, but didn't have time to respond before the kids took over again, demanding another performance. Once he was sure that my phone was safely out of reach, he launched into another round of song.

By the time dinner was done and the kids were all settled in front of the TV watching a movie, my heart was feeling rather full. Seeing Chris with all the children and enjoying the afternoon of a house full of their joy and laughter had me feeling things I hadn't been entirely sure I was ready to contemplate yet.

As I sat at the island in the kitchen, sipping my second glass of wine as Chris finished loading the dishwasher, I broached the subject.

"Today has been really nice," I told him, my voice catching his attention in the quiet room. "Having a house full of kids."

That thought clearly gripped his interest as he spun around to face me, still drying his hands.

"Yeah?" The excitement in his voice was palpable. "We haven't talked about that, have we? Do you want more kids?"

"I do," I smiled at his overzealous reaction. "At least one more. I'd like Grayson to have a sibling. It seems lonely to make him grow up all alone."

"It does," he agreed. "I can't imagine growing up without siblings."

"What about you?" I asked. "I mean, I know you've mentioned in interviews that you want a big family, but is that real? Or just for the family man image that your fans love so much?"

Chris chuckled and shrugged, but there was something sheepish about the way he was looking at me.

"Honestly?" He paused as if waiting for a response, but it seemed unnecessary. We both knew I wouldn't want anything other than the truth in a moment like this. "I want at least two more, maybe even three. Hell, I'd have another one right now if you were willing."

I almost choked on the wine I was sipping as those words left his mouth, but as I placed my glass safely back on the counter, the coughing shifted into laughter.

"We can't have another one now," I protested. "We've only been together for like four months!"

"Five," he corrected with a soft smile. "And we were only together for one night before we had Gray and I think he's turned out alright."

He was right about that and I would have been lying if I said that the thought of another little baby didn't stir something inside me, but the more rational side of me came through.

"We can't just rush into another baby," I insisted. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but that's a big decision."

"I know it is," Chris assured me. "I'm half-kidding. I know it's not something we can rush into, but another part of me thinks it would be nice to have one now while we've got nothing else going on."

"That's true, but this pandemic won't last forever," I pointed out. "Even if you got me pregnant right now, you'll hopefully be working again before it would even be born. I'm not sure I could deal with Grayson and a newborn all by myself."

"Yeah, but some experts think this mess is gonna last for a few years still which would make this the perfect time to have a baby."

I shot him a look and he shrugged with a smirk.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," I warned him. "Let's just see how this whole pandemic situation goes for a bit longer before we make any massive life plans."

"Alright, alright," Chris chuckled, coming around to my side of the island. He rested his chin on my shoulder and slid his arms around my waist, placing his hands on my stomach. "It would be nice though, wouldn't it? Having another little baby around. Another little mix of the two of us."

I could feel his breath on my neck as his voice was low in my ear and I had to admit that he was right. I was one of the lucky women who actually loved being pregnant and, despite how exhausting and stressful the newborn phase was, I did miss having a little baby around.

But my worries about our ability to co-parent if we split up were still lingering in my mind. They'd been eased slightly by how solid our relationship had been so far, but if it all fell apart, I was still worried about how we would cope. Adding another baby to that so soon seemed like a foolish thing to do.

"It would be nice," I agreed, letting my hands rest on top of his. "It will be nice, one day."

"Well, whenever you're ready," Chris paused to place a kiss on my neck. "Just let me know."

I smiled at his eagerness and turned my head to kiss his cheek.

"I will," I assured him. "And maybe, once the kids have gone home and Grayson's in bed, we could practice. Just so we know what we're doing when the time comes..."

"Oh, I know what I'm doing," Chris practically growled, his grip tightening around me to pull me closer against him. "Don't you worry about that."

I giggled at his confidence before wiggling out of his grasp and standing up from the stool I'd been sitting on.

"I'm not worried, but practice makes perfect, right?"

With a wink, I grabbed my wine and turned to leave the room and check on the kids. Our conversation had given me plenty to think about, but it was comforting as well. I had no doubts that one day I wanted to expand our little family and even if I wasn't quite ready yet, it was nice to know that Chris was on board.

The man was born to be a father, he excelled in every aspect of parenting, and I was grateful that I was the one who got to help him find that role and that I got to share the experience with him.

October + November [part one]

Tags: @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10 @partypoison00 @theladybiers @sidepieces @firoozehmoon @patzammit @sparkledfirecracker @mytbel0st @chvntelle-99

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fluff #once bitten/more hearts #only for a moment

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brattyfics · 3 years

Text

— until we meet again, preciosa

PAIRING || bishop losa x black!ofc, miguel galindo x black!ofc (mentioned)

SUMMARY || She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

TAGS || angst, unresolved feelings, not a hea, mentions of toxic relationships, sex (referenced).

WORD COUNT || 1.6k

Shadowy clouds hang overhead, blocking out the warming glow of the Sun. Raindrops pelt the roof above, drumming a beat of their own before pooling down to the concrete paved streets below. Isis watches stray droplets gather on the tall windows for several moments before stepping out onto the covered balcony. It felt colder than usual inside the three-story, Spanish-style shophouse, but outside it’s the opposite-- balmy, earthy. The air is heavy with humidity, so she has to take deep breaths, but she doesn’t enjoy it any less. Invigoration comes with the rain, brings hope for new beginnings, renews faith for the hopeless.

Down below, people dart between vendors to continue their shopping as the rain lightens. Colorful rays spring from puddles up towards the sky. A pair of young siblings splash each other while their mother sells delicious smelling tamales wrapped in banana leaves. Another young woman peddles gold necklaces, praying candles, and other little knick-knacks to the tourists of Sonora. Everybody has to make a living, including Isis.

She spends her days stroking the strings of a guitar or the keys of her piano, helping patrons of the music shop in between. The ground floor of the shophouse boasts string instruments and an extensive collection of vinyl records. After hours, she makes money hosting private piano lessons. She performs at the Discoteca down the street on weekends, fueling her passion for music almost 24/7 except when Preciosa is closed for ‘maintenance’.

Overstock merchandise and whatever else the Mayans’ Motorcycle Clubs needs to store clutters the second floor. Don’t ask, don’t tell is her motto, so whenever they come to the shop, she simply flips the sign to closed. There’s no point in fighting it. Besides, El Presidente always makes it a bearable, if not pleasant, experience. Bishop had called ahead to warn her that he was bringing Hank, Angel, and the new prospect, Angel’s baby brother, along. She could hear them bumping around, a noisy reminder that her shop only thrived because of the illegal deals happening in the back.

“Why don’t you put all that time and energy into something that’ll get you somewhere?” Being a musician wasn’t an acceptable career in her mother’s eyes, so the woman took every chance she could to crush her daughter’s dreams. “Nobody wants to hear all that noise!” Staring out into the street, she can’t help but wonder where she would’ve ended up if her mother had been supportive. Maybe she could have been a star rising to the top of Billboard charts or someone who worked behind the scenes, writing songs, singing demos. She had the skill set. Yes, her path would have been much different.

Isis had stood front and center, crooning out an old school blues song at a hole-in-the-wall spot when Miguel Galindo first laid eyes on her. It was a chance meeting, one that felt like fate at the time because dive bars weren’t his scene. The owner was a business associate who decided to try his hand at being a restaurateur; Miguel had been kind enough to come out and support. When he caught sight of her shapely frame in a slinky, satin number, he insisted on being introduced.

Miguel stood out in a crowd, wearing a tailored button-down, dark dress pants, and an expensive pair of Italian leather shoes. His salt and pepper beard groomed to perfection, hair gelled so that no strand was out of place. The moment she’d looked into his eyes, she was caught in his web. His masculine scent drew her in like honey to a bee. His charisma held her attention. Miguel sweet-talked her all night, insisting Isis sit next to him, eat h’orderves, and drink overpriced champagne. She obliged. Who could say no to that face? He used their close proximity to reel her in like a fish on a hook, leaning down to whisper in her ear. You’re beautiful. He told her. You have such a smooth, seductive tone. You should be performing for bigger crowds. Have you ever thought about branching out? He told her everything her mother never had, so she was a lamb to the slaughter.

For months, Miguel had treated her like his very own LifeSize doll to play with. He took her on shopping sprees, kept her draped in silk and lace. Isis didn’t think of herself as materialistic, but she couldn’t deny being showered in gifts felt splendid. He was always so tender, handling her delicately as his newest prized possession. As time went on, she became more like an ornament. Something for him to marvel at when he felt like it and then hide away the rest of the time. But nothing was worse than him leaving her to harden after he was finished molding her like clay. She asked for more—time, commitment, only for him to do the opposite.

Thus, Preciosa was born. A way for him to placate her and later make it easier for the M.C. to make him money.

“Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be out your way.” Isis jumped at the sound, turning away from the street to see Bishop. She hadn’t heard him come outside; didn’t expect him to venture up into her personal space.

Isis’ smile rarely reached her eyes, Bishop noticed. He stepped forward, holding a velvet box that felt heavier than it was. Her fingertips tickled him as he passed it over. Diamonds surrounded in white gold gleamed as the clouds cleared away for the Sun. Even Bishop could admit the set was gorgeous, but she didn’t look impressed. He hated being Galindo’s delivery boy, watching the way her face fell when the gifts she received became increasingly impersonal with each week. Not long ago, he’d also been tasked with passing along handwritten love notes or antique music sheets that she caressed like she would a lover’s skin.

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t hide her disappointment from him. Not for lack of trying-- Miguel always reminded her, appearances were everything. Smile. Don’t make me look bad. But Bishop watched her closely, knew her tells. Despite every nerve in his brain urging him to walk away, he steps forward to stand next to her. His calloused hands rest on the balcony’s edge next to her delicate pair, brown in varying tones of sepia and mahogany contrasting against the white paint.

Bishop feels the heat of her eyes on his frame, but he doesn’t let himself respond. Sharing this moment, a quick breath of fresh air will have to be enough. But she’s all around him, smelling of florals and sweet spices. He can’t think. He fumbles with his pockets in search of a cigarette. “You mind?” She shakes her head but is otherwise silent. Still watching him as he smokes; the way he takes long, steady pulls, cradling the stick between his full lips and then between his strong, veined fingers. She would bet her last dollar that he was an expert at other things involving his fingers and mouth.

When his hand drops again, she links her pinky with his, hesitant but exploratory.

Bishop looks at her, really looks at her like he sees her. It’s nice to be seen, especially when you’re the princess locked up far, far away from everyone you’ve ever known. She’s a black girl from Texas living in Sonora for goodness’ sake. This is no life, and she knows it. Several moments pass where neither can look away, both weighing their desires with the potential consequences.

With a deep breath in, she musters up the courage to ask Bishop what she’s been wanting to for months.

“Stay?”

Her heart feels like it might just explode while she waits for a response.

Bishop drops his head to his chest, cursing under his breath. “Fuck.” If Miguel ever found out… But he already knew what his answer would be. He’d been waiting for the invitation. The heated looks they exchanged, the way her fingers lingered on his when he passed her something. That damned pout she wore when Miguel forgot to send a flower arrangement-- she had no idea Bishop had been the one buying the flowers for some time now. No matter what mood she was in, fresh flowers always brightened her day. He loved watching that lonely look transform into something more lively, curious as she marveled over his choice for the week. He went for variety, slowly learning what she loved and what she just liked; her favorite color, favorite scent.

The subtle tension between them, he wasn’t even certain she noticed. The cash and the bling could’ve blinded her to all other men. But it didn’t.

When the Sun had gone down several hours later, and the guys were gone, Bishop redressed. Belt buckling with a clink, leather sliding over his shoulders easily. He let himself take one last look at her wrapped up in a poofy comforter set. The mustard-yellow velvet complimented her skin in the best way, bringing out a gold undertone. Her eyes seem to have brightened as well. He couldn’t resist leaning over to stroke her sweaty skin. Dark coils stuck to her beautiful face, frizzy in some parts from when she rode him, sweat escaping from her pores, flat in the others from when he laid her on her back and hooked her legs over her shoulders.

He wants to stay, to prop himself up against the intricately carved wood headboard and hold her in his lap while they whisper sweet nothing to each other, but he can’t.

She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

NOTES || This fic and the collage above was inspired by @isisafrofairy’s gorgeous moodboard! Also, the wonderful “Until we meet again, preciosa” line is hers as well. This is my thank you for the moodboard you made for me. I really leaned on the pictures you used for inspiration and I think I managed to capture/include each element. It was so hard not to ruin the surprise, but I was able to shut tf up for once 😂 I’m really proud of how this turned out, and hopefully you enjoy it just as much! Also, I realize the moodboard had nothing to do with Miguel but he lives in my head rent-free apparently 🥴

GENERAL TAGLIST || @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903 @thesandbeneathmytoes @amorestevens

MAYANS M.C. TAGLIST || @cant-decide-at-this-moment

#mayans mc #bishop losa x oc #miguel galindo x oc #bishop losa x ofc #bishop losa x black!ofc

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emilia3546 · 3 years

Text

Together - Nessian

Written for Nessian month using prompt: miscarriage

I wasn’t going to write this prompt, but my friends convinced me to, so you have them to thank (or blame) for this one.

After four years of trying, Nesta is finally pregnant, but it’s not meant to be just yet, leaving her and Cassian to face their grief together.

*****

TW - miscarriage

There was no warning. One moment Nesta had been sitting with Feyre and Gwyn, a hand resting on the slight swell of her belly, the next she had an awful feeling that something was wrong. She made to speak, but a sudden pain had enveloped her stomach. Feyre had been at her side at the first stumble, sending Gwyn for Madja as she helped Nesta to sit down, leaning back slightly.

"Is the baby okay?" Nesta lost track of how many times she asked, not caring what was happening, so long as the baby was okay. Gwyn got back only minutes later with Madja, but the moment Madja saw her, her face fell. Still, she knelt by Nesta's side, reassuring her that she was going to be okay, and rested a hand on her belly. "Is the baby okay?" Nesta glanced between her sisters and Madja, none of them able to answer her yet, and she sobbed in fear. It had taken four years for her to finally get pregnant, she couldn't even consider something being wrong with the baby. She squeezed Feyre's hand tight, looking to her in horror when she fell silent, clearly having some sort of silent conversation with Madja. Feyre finally looked back to Nesta, and she didn't have to say anything, a part of Nesta already knew, had known just before it started to hurt, she was losing the baby, and there was nothing to be done to save it.

Tears started slipping down her face, and she shook her head,

"Please, you have to do something, please," she whispered, hardly noticing Gwyn's arm around her, Feyre's comforting touch on her shoulder,

"I'm so sorry, Nesta, there's nothing I can do," Madja admitted, "If it's hurting, I can give you something for the pain, but I can't save the baby." Her heart stopped at those words, no, she had to, she had to, Nesta couldn't lose it now, not when she'd spent so long waiting, not after everything. Madja turned to get something from her bag, pain relief, she didn't want it, but Madja placed it beside her,

"No," she whispered, if she took the medicine, she wouldn't be able to feel the baby any more, she couldn't just let go, "Where's Cassian?" she sobbed, he would help, he would know what to do, he would remember something, anything to save the baby,

"He's coming, Nesta, he's coming, okay? Just hold on a little bit," Nesta hardly registered Feyre's words, sobbing harder,

"Why isn't he here?" She demanded, "I need him," Madja didn't even hear the last whisper before telling Feyre to keep an eye on Nesta, and to let her know if anything else was wrong,

"Try and convince her to take that," she gestured towards the pain medicine before she left, apologizing again for being unable to save the baby.

Nesta didn't care, she didn't care that Feyre was trying to look after her, that Gwyn had made sure she was comfortable, she only cared about the baby, the baby that she wasn't losing, Madja was wrong, it was just one of those cramps she'd been getting the whole time. But when Cassian arrived, she couldn't keep denying it, one glimpse of him rushing towards her had the tears flowing again, she sobbed into his chest when he sat beside her, folding her into his side.

She couldn't draw breath to speak, couldn't fill her lungs enough for anything, she was going to die. She was losing the baby, and now she was going to die. She sobbed again, her breathing speeding up even more, this was it, she was going to die, right here, right now. Distantly she heard a voice, felt someone stroking her hair, she was going to die, she was going to die in Cassian's arms along with their baby. That voice again, there was something about it that made her want to listen, that made her focus enough to make out the words,

"Nesta," It was Cassian, he was here, he was talking to her, but something was wrong, his voice was shaky, the usual confidence gone, replaced by worry and grief. She sobbed into his chest again, managing one proper breath before struggling for air again. He kept talking, and she kept breathing, one breath, two breaths, three breaths. She wasn't dying, she couldn't die, not yet, she wasn't ready to die.

When she finally managed to steady herself enough to raise her eyes to meet Cassian's, his eyes were filled with tears, grief mirroring her own shining there. There was nothing she could say, she didn't know what to do, but Cassian brushed her hair back, wiped away her tears, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Something cracked inside her at the love in that gesture,

"I'm sorry," she whispered, mumbling it again and again as she buried her face in his chest, her whole body starting to shake with the force of her renewed sobs. Cassian said something, but she didn't really hear it, hardly noticing his arms around her, his hand stroking her hair as he murmured softly to her.

She wasn't sure how long it had been, but at some point Cassian must have brought her back up to the House, settled her in their bed. At some point she'd fallen asleep against him, his words in her mind, I love you, always. We'll face this together. It isn't your fault. I'm here. I'm going to look after you. He was right, she knew it wasn't her fault, not really, but it still hurt. There was nothing there where she'd been able to feel the baby before, nothing.

"I can't feel anything," she whispered, and Cassian wrapped his arms tighter around her,

"I know, sweetheart, I know, I've got you, okay, you're going to be okay," she buried her face in his chest, stopping another apology before she could voice it, he was right, it wasn't her fault. No matter how many times he said it, or she did, she couldn't quite believe it, she must have done something wrong. She let Cassian keep talking, allowing his voice to wash over her, holding the grief at bay, helping her to sift through her own feelings before they had a chance to crush her. It could have been hours that they lay there, Nesta still silent, finding comfort in Cassian's closeness, his voice, but she finally did speak, finding that it wasn't as scary as she'd thought it would be,

"Do you want to try again?" Nesta did, she wanted a baby, but she didn't want to push for another attempt soon if Cassian wasn't ready as well, she knew it would take a couple weeks at the very least to consider trying for another baby, but she wanted to know.

"Yes. But not right away," she nodded, and snuggled into him, "How are you feeling?" Good question, Nesta didn't really know how to respond,

"I'm, I don't know, better, I guess, but I don't really know right now, are you doing okay?" He'd wanted this baby as much as she had, had loved it as much as she had, right from the moment they'd found out she was pregnant,

"I'm okay, it didn't feel real for a while, but Gwyn suggested we have a memorial for the baby, and I think that would help, unless that would upset you?"

"I'd like that. Thank you, for looking after me," she could do this, she could face this, with Cassian, they could face it together.

#fanfiction #fanfic #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #nessian #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #nesta #nessianmonth #cassian #angst

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demonictales · 3 years

Note

May I ask for headcanons with Wei ying, Jiang Cheng and Nie huiashang (if I spelled that right). Where reader was their one of their best friend and a Wen, but soon disappeared when the Wen clan started to take over the other sects. Boys then finding their friend, disabled from their golden core and imprisoned in a remote place where no one could have found them, because they rebelled against the clan leader. Could be more angsty if they lost their hearing or sight, because they were tortured.

oh, i’m excited how this one will turn out. here we go! my heart while writing this went →↑→↑←↑↓↑→↑←↓ also I know you said imprisioned but i got kinda carried away writing this. I'm so sorry okijd

TW: TORTURE, BLINDNESS

GUSU LAN CLAN LECTURES

First of all you were Wen Chao's cousin, unfortunately. However, you pretty much did as you wanted to because who could really control you, so of course you went along to the Lan Clan's lectures alongside Wen Qing and Wen Ning.

Of course you arrived in old fashioned Wen manner and interrupted the ceremony already breaking rules at the entrance. When no one else but Wei Wuxian spoke up. It did indeed amuse you the way he spoke up agains Wen Chao so you carefully watched him.

Excused for the day all three of you eventually went their own way. You had no idea what Wen Qing was up to or Wen Ning, so you eventually walked around the clan, exploring your new home for the few lectures to come. Eventually, in the back hill you bumped into Wei Wuxian who thought Wen Ning to use bow and arrow until that nearly backfired when Wen Qing's voice rang through the air.

"Let's say we are even now that you nearly killed Lady Wen. ---" You were joking obviously, but refering to the earlier incident.

He wasn't quite sure how to deal with you yet but it seemed you made quite the point. Eventually you walked along with him, leaving Wen Ning and Qing to their own.

Meeting Jiang Cheng once more you, indeed did apologize for interrupting his greetings earlier that day. You were quite different than most in the Wen Clan, you did apologize and show manners, though you weren't completely innocent.

As much as you did enjoy art and classics, you were also a little troublemaker, It was a healthy combination of mischief and manners that allowed you to walk the grey zone. So of course you soon bonded with Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huiasang.

You became great friends soon. You learned about Wei Wuxian's mischief, enjoyed his stories of bickering with Lan Zhan, came to know Nie Huiasang's grand taste and love for art and other not so lady like things, as well as his dislike for fighting and of course Jiang Cheng, he was rather complicated but you still enjoyed his presence. You could never quite tell what was on his mind but you knew for sure he deeply cared for his family. He was in fact, someone who seemed to long for his own little happy ending.

Meeting up in secret for a drinking which was strictly forbidden, you had lots of fun until the next morning when you were called for punishment. Even though you were a Wen, you could simply walk away but decided to stay and take the 50 hits. You had made friends for a lifetime during the lectures.

WEN CLAN LECTURES

You'd lie if you say you weren't excited to see your friends again, however, it weren't the best circumstances. You greatly disliked the way it had processed to far yet there they stood, all clans: Nie Clan, Jin Clan, Jiang Clang and eventually Hanguang Jun.

This wasn't much of a lecture, more of Wen Chao showing of his power due to the enormous power the Quishan Wen Clan had gathered. You weren't sure if you were embarrassed or disgusted by your cousin but either way, knowing Wei Wuxian's character you soon had something to laugh. And you were right.

Wen Chao made him recite the Wen Clan rules which ironicially, he didn't even know himself so you nearly busted a lung and earned an angry side eye from your cousin when Wei Wuxian recited the Lan Clan rules.

Of course this would not go without punishment, not for you not for Wei Wuxian and co.

Eventually you helped with the dung being spread, being trapped between Jin Zixuan, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan. Fun times. Once more, you apologizes for his behaviour knowing your words could do nothing. The only thing this gave you was the title of Gentle Wen. An embarrassment to your family but in the cultivation world between your friends quite the praise.

You tried getting their swords back but with no luck. You only ended up being grounded in your own room with guards outside.

You weren't able to help your friends out and it did annoy you. It seemed as if you tried harder the more complicated it would get for you to get out of here. It did drive you insane.

When every visitor was suppossed to hunt the monster that roamed through the mountain you once again were by their side, refusing to speak nor act according to your cousin's order.

Which led to quite the argument between you, who stood on your friends side, and Wen Chao and his woman, who for the love of cultivation, wondered where she came from

Either way, you stood between him and Wang Lingjiao when she had ordered to use Mianmian as a sacrifice. You at this point who would believe you, matter of fact, you knew that he was just being abusive. Safe to say it did piss your cousin off and ended up in a fight, eventually were Wei Wuxian would get hurt.

Just like the rest, you got stuck in the cave alongside the rest of the cultivators. Proofing your loyalty to your friends once more. Not so much to the other clans.

This time you helped out Huaisang the most. The poor guy was frightened to death. He was such a soft boy. You felt bad about it and apologzied multiple times while staying by his side, doing your best to help him through the situation. At this point, if you were no traitor to the Wen Clan what else could you possibly be?

You followed Jiang Cheng's introductions to leave the cave through the water, Nie Huaisang by your side.

After all you had made it out word spread proufoundly about you and the Wen Clan. Some said you were a spy, working for the Wen Clan and earning sympathy, others said you were honest about your intentions, later was some encouring words by Nie Huaisang. You truly did appreciate his words.

The moment you stepped foot into Qishan, you were confined to you room until they needed you. They made use of your connections to Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang whenever they needed to. Tricky but smart.

WEN CHAOS HAVOC + SUNHOT CAMPAIGN

It was only when you dumb cousin started to wreak havoc among the clans that you started to see the situation clearly and did not want to have anything to do with it. After cloud recesse had been burned to nearly ashes you spoke up, you were against it. Precious memories were made there and now they had became ashes, quite literally.

If you had known about all the scheming you'd have told Lan Xichen right away, made sure nothing would happen to the Gusu Lan Clan. But being confined barely gave you any choices until one day you fought your way out, meeting your uncle, confronting him about it.

You knew that the Wen Clan was better than that, but the yin iron had taken up to much of his sanity, he instructed Wen Chao to take care of you.

Of course it pained you to see all the chaos and blood being she'd of cour once former friends familie's. There did not a day go by where you begged him to stop. You even tried going against him, but failed miserably.

Wang Lingjiao enjoyed her given power, using it to destroy every piece of hope you still had. Even bringing you along to Lotus Pier to watch the massacre of your closest friends parents.

Daily torture was on your agenda. Being wipped, being burned, being starved or simply kicked and punched by her minions. But you were to prideful to give in just so easily, especially when you head news of Jiang Cheng being captured.

Again, you tried your best to stop him but Wen Chao had enough of your antic and ordered Wen Zuhliu to end it but his woman had a better idea. Get rid of her golden core and blind her. It was her revenge for you spitting the hot soup right into her face, eventually burning her slightly. It was worth it.

You were left in pain, after you felt the power leave your body, the spiritual power who kept healing you in a very slow pace if you needed it but eventually had lost it. The worst was losing your sight, the light of day, not knowing if it was day or night, not being able to navigate on your own.

Treason, that was the reason. You could have had so much more if it wasn't for your weak heart. The words were spoken as hot iron was pushed into your eyes. Your screams were hunting the people who were present. Yet you had lost all of hope and strength in one night, being dumped somewhere on a mountain with nothing but the purpose to die.

After the sunshot campaign people had wondered what happened to you as you were nowhere to be found, yet they all agreed to not search and leave things as they were, the Qishan Wen Clan was extinguished.

PASSING YEARS

Years had passed and you had managed to get yourself back on your feet, even if it wasn't as safe anymore. You learned to live with your blindness.

Deep in the forest in an abandoned little hut. It was perfect for you. You secluded yourself from the world, living in peace. You remembered some tricks your old friend Wei Wuxian had once taught you, and even though your golden core was gone, little tricks like these did do. Obviously you had to renew them every now and then but it was no bother at all.

What you did not know was that the mountain, or rather the forest you lived in belonged to a clan, and possible night hunt had given up your days of silence and years being secluded.

Only when you heard footsteps that did not belong to anything on your small land, you ended up hiding in your small hut, a knife held firmly in your hands.

The voices you could make out seemed familiar but you stayed quiet, perhaps they'd leave.

Of course they did not leave and soon it seemed, three people were standing in your small front yard where chicken where quietly eating and living.

They surely were surprised that someone had managed to live on the mountain of the Jin Clan largest property. That did put you quite in panic. You knew they were your death sentence if they would find you, so you tried to sneak away, but of course Wei Wuxian was one step ahead of you.

" Where do you think you're going ?"

" Wei Wuxian? "

Your voice was hesitant yet filled with surprise but you could definitely make out his voice between a hundred people. A smile almost creeped upon your lips, soley depending on your hearing.

Your attire was still very much simple. A very out worn red hanfu, the logos of the Wen Clan faded but still slightly visible. It was Nie Huaisang that pointed this out. Of course he would notice such details, so he still was alive and breathing. You were deligthed to know this.

However, it was Jiang Cheng who put 1 and 1 together.

" Lady Y/N ? ---"

Silence filled by gasp of Nie Huaisang, as you nodded quietly.

"Guilty."

You were not sure how to feel, happy that you finally met the people you once called friends or scared knowing it could now mean your death.

"I'm glad to hear you are all still well. How have you been all these years? -----"

They would have expected anything but not to meet you. It were raw and mixed feelings. You know you owed Jiang Cheng your live for your family had taken his. You dared not to move your head his way and kept it strictly on the ground.

It was also Wei Wuxians family but it wasn't as deeply rooted.

Nie Huaisang was the first one to approach you, carefully. Asking what had happened to you. So until late night, you told them what happened to you, what your clan did to you, how you ended up here.

You also apologized again, falling to your knees, knowing you could not make up for the loses they had suffered. You started crying, begging for forgiveness.

They explained what had happened on their side, and also admitting they hoped they had not lost you but eventually gave up. You on the other hand did not blame them.

It was a bittersweet reunion after years of forming friendship, betrayal and chaos. Feeling pain and rejoycing again.

#mdzs x reader #mdzs reader insert #wei wuxian x reader #jiang cheng x reader #nie huiasang x reader #the untamed x reader #cdrama x reader

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wesimpforxiao · 3 years

Text

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 6.2

Il Dottore entered your cell early the next morning and was followed by Childe. "Rise! It is the beginning of your contribution to Snezhnayan society!" His entire demeanor reeked with a vivid excitement despite the bland atmosphere that sat within the cell.

But you, on the other hand, just looked blankly at him. After all the crying you did yesterday, your determination and perseverance had renewed somewhat. The bags under your eyes were still puffy and blotched with red. Your skin felt dry and chapped long after the tears dried.

Your lack of enthusiasm seemed to upset the man, and he frowned. He pulled an abnormally large syringe out of his coat pocket. "I had a feeling you'll resist, so we'll make do with mild paralysis, yes?" Your gaze slid to the tool that had to be as long as his own forearm.

Childe reacted when you shifted your attention to him. "I believe this is the last we'll see each other, ojou-chan," he spoke as Dottore approached you. "It's a shame we'll have to part ways like this, but have comfort in knowing our banters and battles were entertaining while they lasted."

"Stop." You flinched as Dotorre grabbed your chained arm. "I-I won't resist." That needle was large. Did it have to be that big? Was it really necessary? And the amount of liquid inside it--simply terrifying to look at. "I won't resist." You even made a point to hold still, but to no avail. He wasn't going to stop.

"Remember what I said, ojou-chan. I gave you a way out of this rough treatment." The needle jabbed into your forearm, making you wince in pain as your eyes pleaded for Childe's help.

Panic had begun to set in. "Get off of me!" You pushed at Il Dottore. The force in your hands did nothing, and you quickly realized in complete horror that you were already losing feeling in your limbs. What quick reflexes you had were now achingly slow and uncoordinated. The harbinger stood and proceeded to carelessly toss the empty syringe onto the other end of the cell.

"Go ahead and escort her," Dottore called out for two Fatui agents in the hall. They lifted your heavy body and began to drag you out of the cell.

"Wait! You can't do this! Tartaglia, please!" Your screams echoed once you were pulled into the hallway. The useless kicks of protest were weak against gravity. "Stop this!"

"This is goodbye, ojou-chan." Something humane and hesitant flickered in his eyes, but he saw you off with an ominous grin.

..........................................................

Despite Diluc's apparent dislike towards Kaeya, Aether invited him on their mission anyway. Things got heated pretty quickly, but Paimon managed to cool them down by insulting both of them whenever they got too heated.

It was day two of their caravan journey disguised as simple merchants. Diluc manned the wagon while Kaeya walked along its left side, Xiao on the right, and Aether in the back. Zhongli was scouting ahead, but stated he would not intervene once the group reached Snezhnaya. They had barely managed to cross Fontaine's border without being detected by border patrol. The weather here was more humid than that of Liyue or Mondstat.

"To think I would get such a humble request from the Hero of Mondstat," Kaeya spoke loud enough to get on Diluc's nerves. "I never would have thought such a strong individual would need a Knight of Favonius. Must be desperate times." Diluc grumbled something under his breath, but kept his focus on the dirt path. His hands were holding onto the reins a little too tight.

"We thought you'd be able to help us with diplomatic stuff since you're a Knight," Paimon admitted. "You might be able to get us into the palace, right?"

"It's possible, but I wouldn't count on it," the knight shrugged carelessly.

"We wouldn't dream of it," Diluc scoffed.

"Oh? And is that because I'm associated with the Knights, or," Kaeya tested, "because you feel threatened by my presence?"

"You're as unreliable as them," Diluc retorted with a frown, finally facing his adopted brother. "You fit right in with that group of--"

"NGH!" Xiao doubled over from an unforeseen searing pain that tore through his chest. He knelt to the ground and clutched at his sternum.

"Xiao!" Paimon and Aether ran toward him. Zhongli, who was returning from his position to report back to the team, heard the shouts and came running. Diluc stopped the caravan, and he and Kaeya joined the duo next to the yaksha.

"Haah...hah..." Xiao heaved, sweat beading at the top of his forehead. "Tch." The pain had just begun to subside when another one replaced it, this time in his shoulders. Then his legs. Then his back. He was practically seeing spots by the time Zhongli reached him. "Don't touch me!" He swatted the air around him similar to that of a wounded animal. "Urk..."

"What's hurting you?" Zhongli observed the yaksha's behavior carefully. He suffers from chronic pains, but I have yet to see him react so harshly. "Do I need to get your medication?"

"I-I'm fine," he assured even though it was obvious the opposite was true. His labored breathing brought concerned looks to everyone.

"You should rest in the wagon," Diluc spoke. Then he turned to Aether. "Is he well enough to accompany us?"

"Your eyes," Zhongli knelt before Xiao, "are glowing." Like hers.

"So?" I don't need useless observations of my pain. Ugh... It doesn't compare to my past injuries, but it's enough to upset my stomach. What is this? His eyes frantically flit around the group's surroundings only to find nothing out of the ordinary. Was I poisoned somewhere along the way? I did not consume human food. There was that merchant awhile back--

"Xiao," Zhongli snapped him out of his thoughts. Once he regained the yaksha's attention, he repeated his words. "When was the last time you took your pain killers?"

"This morning," he groaned. "This doesn't happen." The sun's cool rays suddenly acted like they were burning him alive.

"Have you heard anything from her?"

"Not in the past two days." The pain is subsiding. Xiao's shoulders slowly began to relax as he continued to try and steady his breathing.

"Do you hear anything now? Perhaps recall random memories, or visions?" This is the second newest side effect in the past three days...what could they possibly be doing to trigger this reaction in the two of them? First, an emotional mirroring, and now with pain? What are they tormenting her with?

"No. It's just pain."

"I see."

"It's gone now," Xiao stood abruptly, ignoring the swaying earth beneath his feet. Kaeya was about to grab his shoulder to steady him when Xiao's vision was obscured by red and yellow splotches. His legs gave way from under him.

..........................................................

"A nerve agent seems to react well with your eyes," Dottore chuckled, and he set the remaining syringe on the top of a stand to his left.

You couldn't really talk anymore, but your illuminated irises and the tears that streamed down your cheeks said plenty about the situation. Your arms and legs were tied down with leather restraints, and your convulsing body lay atop a metal operating bench. From what you could make out, this place was some type of arena, but Dottore didn't make you fight monsters of the abyss like you initially thought he would.

You would've preferred it if that were the case.

"Now I'll ask again," Dottore grinned manically and moved his face close to yours. "How much do you know about your condition?" His hair swayed as if to portray his sick enthusiasm.

"Nothing," you sobbed quietly. Finally, the immense pain jolting through your bones was subsiding. Relief washed over your twitching limbs similar to that of the tide.

"Childe told me you knew about our plans. What did you think those were?"

When he began to reach for another syringe, you stopped him. "Just that you want whatever's in my blood."

"Do you know the powers you possess?" You shook your head. "Haah..." Dottore sighed. "Another lie." He picked a new syringe up and tapped the excess liquid that spewed out of it. "We are not fully aware of each aspect to your predicament; if we had the two of you here, we wouldn't need to pull the information out of you. This would be much easier if you told me the truth of what you know. That way, we wouldn't have a reason to test every substance on you, yes?"

"I don't know anything."

"Round three it is, then."

................................................

"ALATUSSS!" You screamed, now delirious from the never-ending onslaught of pain that you've been through for the past several hours. Il Dottore paused his sadistic torture as if a light bulb had gone off in his head.

"Now that is a name you haven't yelled before," a slow smile crept upon his face as he watched your chest heave from exhaustion. "Who is this 'Alatus?'"

"P-please," you whimpered. You were drenched in sweat and tears now.

"How does round ten sound to you?"

"No," you whimpered helplessly, what's left of your fighting spirit finally shattering to pieces.

"Now now, Dottore," a woman's voice rang through the arena. "We don't want her dying on us. She's our only shot at this." Signora came into view, and she eyed you like a piece of meat. "Oh dear, you look tired." Another tear dripped in response to her mocking tone. Tension rose in your body yet again when she came to your side and examined you with cold eyes.

"She's not under your jurisdiction, Signora," Dottore shrugged. "If she had just given me the answers I was looking for, we would skip this step entirely. But if she insists, I have no problem with torture."

"Oh?" Signora narrowed her eyes at you. "So then, who is Alatus, little one? All this suffering would be over if you answer our questions." She gently swiped the hair out of your face, a gesture that heavily contradicted the predatory expression on her face.

More tears rolled down the sides of your face as you stared back at her. It hurts...everything hurts so bad, Xiao. I can't fight... You choked down a sob and looked away from the harbingers. I'm so tired...

"Resume your interrogation tomorrow. She's drained."

Dottore grumbled something under his breath as he set aside his next syringe. "Guards! Hurry up and untie her already!" His subordinates immediately did as they were told, fearful of not moving fast enough to the harbinger's liking. They dragged your limp body back to your cell.

You were too exhausted to resist.

.........................

Coming Up Next: An unexpected reunion.

#xiao genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #xiao fanfiction #genshin one shots

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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 3 years

Note

I have a weird request:

Android!Virgil and Cyborg!logan in a kinda dark fic about Virgil figuring out that he's an android/breaking down a bunch of times and having to be updated or repaired with new tech and memories. (The new tech being fake stuff to make him more human-like. Like a fake pulse or something) and every time he gets a reboot virgil and logan re-fall for eachother. (Romantic analogical with background royalty or rociet, you choose.)

Rust and Bones

Word Count: 1,524 CW: Abuse implied, memory loss, food mention, mentions of bones.

Author Note: Soulmate trope in use- Ink marks are present on the body. When your soulmate is in the vicinity, the marks will slowly move to follow them, reaching out and being on the body part closest to them. When you touch, the ink marks connect with each other in the place with the most contact.

Logan crowed in triumph, his hands hovering in the air as Virgil turned on. “Virge? Darling, can you hear me?”

Virgil looked around the room. “An500, ready for instructions.”

Logan sighed. Once every three months, Virgil’s owners, Logan’s stepfamily, sent him off to be upgraded and reset. Logan had been trying to think of a way to at least get around the memory wipe but it seemed nothing worked. “An500, register your name.” He waited the three heartbeats it took for Virgil to look at him. “Virgil.”

Virgil smiled. “My name is Virgil.” His voice still sounded so robotic.

Logan stood. “Free from factory settings. Use personality pre-set two.” This was the closest he’d gotten, being able to pre-program his snarky personality.

Virgil blinked a few times. “Personality pre-set two, initiated.” He looked at Logan, voice changing from the standard cheery to his usual sass and indifference. “How can I help?”

Logan rubbed his elbow, where flesh met metal. “I’m Logan, by the way. Start by putting those tools away, please.” He gestured to the table beside them that was covered in tools. Tools Logan had used to try to fix Virgil.

Virgil got off the low stool and started gathering the tools. “You gonna tell me where to put these or am I just supposed to guess?”

Logan groaned, trying to get his eyes to focus. “Of course, sorry.” He picked up a tablet and sent the labeled map of the workshop directly to the android. “There. Now, I’m going to wipe this grease off.”

Virgil gave a thumbs up, focused on his task.

Logan entered the tiny bedchamber he occupied, more of a closet than a room, filled with pictures and memories of him and Virgil. He ignored every memento and went through the doorway leading to his bathroom, a place even smaller than his bedroom. Luckily, some water came out of the tap when he went to shower.

The dirt and grime of his week washed away, leaving a purple ink splot on his shoulder, the part of his body closest to Virgil. He rubbed the soulmark, hugging himself as it slowly followed Virgil’s movements around the workspace. Holding his hands in front of him, Logan looked at the metal hand and forearm that was starting to rust, desperately trying to imagine it as flesh and bone. He’d been so young when it happened, he didn’t even remember becoming a monster.

Some would see that as a blessing.

The water didn’t stay hot for long. It never did. Still, he stood under the cold spray for a few moments longer before dressing.

The weeks passed slowly, lonely without his Virgil’s company. Sure, Virgil was there and helpful but it wasn’t the Virgil he knew. It wasn’t the Virgil that would hold him as he slept, that would laugh with him during repairs, that would do a hundred little things to make the time pass easier. Their usual banter was gone, replaced with sarcastic replies that shut down conversations. It was as if a stranger was wearing his lover’s face.

About a month after the reset, Virgil found Logan counting what little cash he had. “What are you doing? What’s the money for?”

“I’m doing odd jobs here and there. The family doesn’t know about it and I want to keep it that way. I want to get out of here one day, start a new life somewhere.” A life where he didn’t have to worry about the love of his life not knowing him, a life where he wasn’t worked to the bone with nothing to show for it.

Virgil’s face fell. To anyone else, it would have looked barely different, but Logan had spent the last year studying Virgil’s micro expressions. “Oh. Okay. I just came to tell you that I’m finished. Anything else you need?”

Logan shook his head. “No. I’m sure the family has some use for you.” He hoped Virgil came back in one piece.

He didn’t.

Not fifteen minutes later, Logan heard a loud thump and snap and rushed up the stairs to find Virgil lying on the ground, his left leg broken just below the knee. Oil leaked from the break and from his eyes as he cried black tears.

Logan’s stepmother turned to face him. “Oh, good, you’re here.” She pointed at Virgil. “Be a dear and fix it for me?”

Logan held back a scream of anger and frustration and instead went over to Virgil. “Hey, you’re going to be fine. Just focus on me, baby.” His voice was low enough that only Virgil could hear.

Logan wiped the tears away as Virgil clung to him. Logan tried not to think of the purple and blue ink drops that were winding around their highest point of contact. He helped Virgil stand, holding the leg in his flesh hand and supporting Virgil with the metal.

They made it down the stairs and Logan helped Virgil sit on the table while he gathered supplies. “What happened?” Logan kept his voice soft and gentle, no judgement found within.

“It all happened so fast. I was first just trying to help with something but she bumped me and suddenly I was falling over the stair banister, my leg taking the brunt of the impact and snapping.” Virgil watched Logan sit on the low stool in front of him and get to work on welding his leg back on. “Thank you.”

Logan looked up at him. “This fix is only temporary. Your leg will be replaced when you go in for maintenance.” He tried not to think of what else maintenance meant for him.

“I didn’t mean just for the leg.”

“Oh.” Logan realized he meant the comfort from earlier. “That was nothing.”

Virgil reached out, stilling Logan’s hands. “You’ve never treated me as anything less than human. I think it’s what I love the most about you.”

Logan didn’t dare look up from his purple hands being held by Virgil’s blue ones. Finally, he kissed the back of Virgil’s hand, rubbing his thumb over it. “How could I not treat my soulmate well?” His voice was quiet.

Virgil tilted Logan’s face up and lent in, being met halfway.

The next two months found the pair renewing their romantic relationship and taking on more odd jobs to make more cash. The plan was for them to run off in the dead of night, before Virgil was reset. However, as all plans tend to do, it went awry.

Logan’s stepmother stood at the top of the stairs that led down to the workshop, the farthest into the space she’d go, three days before the planned escape and told him to get Virgil ready. He knew that meant he was going to the shop to be reset and upgraded, probably to have his leg replaced as well. When Logan asked why, she tersely replied that they had an opening and agreed to take him early.

Logan went and told Virgil, too agitated to stop pacing. Virgil stood from his stool and held Logan, one hand fumbling in his pocket. “Things are going to be okay. I thought this might happen.”

Logan sighed, laying his head on Virgil’s shoulder, watching their soulmarks move to that spot. “What do you have in mind?”

Virgil pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket. “This has all my memories up until two hours ago. You hold onto it while I’m reset. Then, while they expect you to be putting me back to normal, we escape. Go as far as we can and don’t look back.”

Logan carefully took the backup drive. “How long have you been planning this?”

Virgil shrugged. “Since you told me about the memory reset half a month ago.”

Logan nodded, remembering the night he’d woken from a nightmare of Virgil being reset, and stowed the drive in one of his pockets. “Okay, this can work.”

The worst feeling Logan ever felt, bar the first time Virgil didn’t recognize him, was having to watch and do nothing as Virgil entered the truck that would take him to be reset. Logan spent the next few hours in agony, pacing the length of his bedchamber. All his and Virgil’s personal belongings were stored in an old suitcase his stepfamily had thrown out for having a broken wheel.

He received a message that Virgil was done that evening and rushed to the front gate to wait for the truck that dropped him off. He brought him back to the workshop along with as much food as they could smuggle in unnoticed.

It was only a matter of ten minutes for Logan to put Virgil’s memory in. They shared a tender kiss and both shed a few tears. Logan filled Virgil in on what he missed while they waited for the sun to set and the house to quiet down before they left, exiting out a side door.

Logan had a bus pass from traveling to and fro and androids rode free, on account of being seen as property rather than people, so they hopped on the bus to see where it would take them.

#cyborg!Logan #android!Virgil #soulmate identifying marks #soulmate au #memory loss #established relationship #virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #ace writes #I hope you like it and I'm so thankful for your continued patience

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therosefrontier · 3 years

Text

Whumptober Day 4

No. 4 - TRUST FALL

“Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

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Genshin Impact | Diluc, Kaeya, and Mondstadt’s resident dragon friend

(crossposted to AO3)

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“Well, what a surprise this is, you asking me for help? You must be really desperate, then.”

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not asking for your help tonight; I’m only asking for this one favor.”

“So, you play hero and I watch from the sidelines? Hmph, you wound me, Diluc.”

Diluc leveled his eyes at Kaeya with complete lack of amusement. He really didn’t have time for this. He pulled his sort-of brother into the stock room at Angel’s Share this morning with the intention of getting him alone with as little fanfare as possible (he wouldn’t be going to the knights for this, that’s for certain) and in as little time as possible. “I’m serious,” he insisted. “I’m only asking you to do this because you’re the only one who can. I need you to convince Vind to leave her post, just for one night. There’s going to be danger, and I need to ensure her safety. Obviously, I can’t do it myself, as this could reveal me as…well, the rumored vigilante.”

“The Darknight Hero, you mean?” Kaeya supplied with a smirk.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine, fine.” Kaeya shrugged. “I understand; you wish to keep your secret identity a secret. No worries; I have no intention of letting Vind be prey to some Abyss mages tonight. I’ll make an excuse to get her out.”

“Right…wait!” Diluc’s eyes widened at the realization. “I didn’t tell you—!"

“That the Abyss Order was the ‘danger’ described?” Kaeya appeared far too satisfied with himself. “Don’t be so surprised. I have my sources just like you have yours. It is the reason why Sucrose is on her way right now to tell Vind about those strange weather anomalies in Dragonspine that need her attention right now, as they could be the sign of a great storm that the expertise passed down to her through generations might be useful for. Plus, she has the official knightly request signed by yours truly.”

Diluc sighed. “You…already had a plan.” Of course, he did. A very official-sounding one, actually. “Wait, is there actually…?” If this was a lie, there was no way that Sucrose would go with it.

“No, probably not, it’s just a little stretching of the truth. I asked Albedo to hype up the facts for this purpose. But don’t worry, he doesn’t know any details.”

And…he got Albedo in on his scheme as well. “You would think of everything.” He exhaled while rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well, fine then, you do that; I’ll handle the rest.”

It really wasn’t that much of a surprise to him that Kaeya would show up anyways. And, if he was being honest, it wasn’t unwelcome. Especially considering his timing.

Diluc struggled to regain his footing quickly, use the flat side of his claymore as a shield when another barrage of cryo icicles came his way. The cryo still caused a melt reaction on the flaming bush in front of him that made the fire burst in his face and deal yet another painful shot of damage. He inhaled a sharp breath and responded with launching himself at the cryo abyss mage with a flaming sword. He then unleashed his flaming phoenix on the hoard—half of Stormbreaker Point was already on fire, so it really wouldn’t matter if he added more flames to the mix.

A wound on Diluc’s arm was bleeding heavily, and he reached up to touch his face to confirm that there was blood there, too. Before him, a large group of abyss mages and Hilichurls made a blockade stretching across the clifftop and around the watchtower, and behind them, four Ruin Guards stood as support. The grass and trees around them had caught on fire, making a beacon in the pitch-black night sky. Behind Diluc, there was the edge of Stormbreaker Point and the long drop to the ocean. And beside him, there was Kaeya.

Diluc did not expect the fight to be as intense as it was. He knew that the Order was planning some raid because they got it in their heads that the tower at Stormbreaker Point must have something vitally important in it, and that Vind was some kind of powerful, mystical protector of it. Hilichurls hung around the tower a lot, so maybe they…communicated, somehow? Either way, Diluc planned to put a stop to it. However, he wasn’t planning on this much resistance…maybe they learned of his involvement?

Or maybe, that one Abyss mage in the middle, the cackling pyro one, was just a cut smarter than the rest. It made a point to sneer at the “Darknight Hero” upon Diluc’s arrival, and when Kaeya came in from nowhere to bowl through the line and take his place by Diluc’s side, it sneered at him, too.

“Well, if it isn’t the great cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius? Such a…wonderfully unique star in your eye, isn’t it?”

Diluc felt Kaeya tense by his side.

“Hehehe, what’s the matter? Worried about your precious Darknight Hero? Or your precious secrets?”

Kaeya didn’t respond to the taunt. He kept his stance steady, his sword angled towards the hoard. His one visible eye didn’t lose sight of the sword’s target. “They’re coming,” Kaeya spoke in a whisper that only Diluc could hear. “Our reinforcements.”

So Kaeya knew, coming here, that the battle was bad enough that they would need help.

“What’s that, oh great knightly captain?”

Most of the mages didn’t talk that much. Diluc wasn’t sure they even knew much, or if they remembered things. They ran on their one-track goal against humanity, and they plotted and schemed to meet that goal. It was enough of a reason to destroy every one of their ilk Diluc saw.

(He tried not to think much about what Kaeya told him that day, about the truth. He didn’t know what to do with that truth. He couldn’t protect Mondstadt if he doubted what he should do about it, so he didn’t. Whatever those mages used to be, they were only monsters now.)

Kaeya unleashed a blast of cryo in front of him, and Diluc followed by running into the fray of fighting renewed, taking out every creature he saw. In his distraction, he almost missed that he had been targeted by a Ruin Guard’s missile, and he stumbled to the ground in a desperate last-minute attempt to dodge. A Mitachurl tried to capitalize on that moment of weakness and bring down its giant flaming axe on him, but Kaeya in that moment dove in and struck the monster deep in the side. He then grabbed Diluc and they dodged backwards.

They were going back too far. Little by little, they were losing ground, to the point that their feet neared the edge of the precipice. Still, they fought. It hadn’t been so long for them that Diluc’s fighting by Kaeya’s side felt unnatural…although it was odd. Because, they were older now. Kaeya had a Cryo vision now. Everything was…different, but every now and again, they’d still end up doing something together anyways.

Diluc breathed heavily, his hands around his claymore sweating underneath the gloves. He pushed whatever pain he felt from his injuries somewhere deep, deep in the back of his mind. He needed—they needed to push through the line. He wasn’t confident in the state of his glider after getting himself roughed up and singed so much or in their ability to avoid further attacks during their descent.

“Kaeya, we need to—”

“Diluc, do you trust me?”

Diluc’s eyes darted over to him, taken aback by the gravity in Kaeya’s softly-spoken question. “What kind of question is that?”

“Well, do you?”

As if he could answer that in one sentence or less. He trusted him…in some ways, he guessed. He trusted him in battle. He trusted him…with Mondstadt, yes. Just…well…that was all very besides the point and this was really not the time. “Yes, sure,” he huffed.

“Excellent.” Kaeya smiled.

What was he—?

Then, Kaeya laughed, loudly and triumphantly, a wild look in his eye and he reached out for Diluc’s collar and grabbed it tight. His soft voice had turned into a shouting, mocking one. “Hahaha, end of the line, Darknight Hero! The Knights have no need of meddlers like you!”

What the fu—

He pushed him. Before Diluc knew what was happening, he felt his body succumbing to gravity, his feet losing their hold on the stone of Stormbreaker Point’s edge and following the rest of his body into the open air, suddenly void of every handhold or foothold within reach.

Kaeya fucking pushed him.

Diluc had to open his glider—fast. It wasn’t working. The hell was Kaeya thinking he couldn’t open it in time he was going to—

And then, he landed on something with a thud, much sooner than he should have. The surface uneven and scaly and distinctly familiar, it didn’t take him long to realize that it was a someone. Was that—?

Dvalin arced into the sky with a powerful beat of his wings, looping back around to the space underneath the cliff, coming in close at the moment Kaeya jumped off the edge as well. Diluc repositioned himself on Dvalin’s back to a place of more stability astride his spine and watched Kaeya make a much more graceful (much better prepared, that is) landing than he did.

Diluc’s first thought was that he was relieved to see Kaeya in one piece. His second was that it was time to demand an explanation. “What was that about?”

“Clever, wasn’t it?”

“You could have told me something!”

“But would it have believable to the mages if I did? You’re not that great of an actor, Diluc.”

“Your theatrics are utterly pointless,” Diluc huffed. “And now that we’re both gone, who’s going to stop them?”

“Well, look down,” Kaeya directed.

Dvalin had flown back up into the sky, well above the surface of the cliff but low enough that one could see exactly what was going on. Diluc looked down and saw, sure enough, some familiar forms attacking the small army on the cliff, now at the perfect position to pin them against the edge. He saw Jean herself, along with Amber, the Traveler, Eula, and a number of other knights as backup. Diluc had almost forgotten that Kaeya did tell him about the reinforcements. Looking again, he noticed even Venti hanging in the back, acting as if he were there for mild support and not the actual anemo archon. Dvalin’s presence was probably his doing. Wait, Kaeya didn’t know about Venti, did he…?

“Since we had discovered during our Golden Apple Archipelago adventure that our very curious bard friend is a good friend of our resident dragon, I thought I’d ask him for his assistance. Sure, there’s other ways we could have gone about this, but sometimes, striking fear into the hearts of your enemy is very much a job for ‘theatrics,’ as you called them.”

Well, it did make some sense, Diluc guessed. He was just relieved to see that the reinforcements in question were having little trouble that hoard which had given him such a difficult time solo. Still, the relief didn’t quite keep all the lingering irritation from his voice. “You really called in the knights.”

“Well, this may come as a surprise, but that is their job.”

“Hmph,” Diluc grunted. “You say that like it would have been easy to get the bureaucracy to trust an anonymous source about the attack happening in the first place. They’re consistently useless on matters like this.”

“So you still don’t trust them.”

“No.” He’s established this already.

“All of them?”

“I trust Jean,” Diluc clarified.

Although, he supposed she might not be the only one on the list. There were…some knights who knew what they were doing, mostly. And, he had respect for the Honorary Knight, not that they really counted as a “knight” in an institutional sense.

“Well, that’s a start.” Kaeya shook his head with a smile. “I’d be worried if you threw even her under the bus for doing nothing wrong at all.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Is it, now?”

“Kaeya, what are you even talking about?”

“Well, maybe I could bring to your recollection that because of your insistence on working alone, you walked into a rather significant ambush today, facing a threat to Mondstadt without bothering to communicate to the people of Mondstadt, and also sending poor Vind all the way to Dragonspine because you couldn’t be forthright on the potential danger to her life.”

“You know that last part was specifically your plan, right?”

“But you were the one who wanted me to make up an excuse.”

“You literally already had your plan in motion while I was talking to you this morning!”

“Are you two quite finished?” Dvalin’s booming voice rattled through their ribs, his point made quite loud and clear.

“Right, understood,” Kaeya agreed. “So, Diluc, ready to head back and get someone to look at that arm of yours?”

“I can still fight, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I do not think that would be necessary. They’ll be fine, and besides, I can always return to provide backup.”

“No,” Diluc refused. “If I’m seeing a healer, so are you.”

“So you’re fine with that, then?”

Dvalin was already ending his circling to start heading towards the city of Mondstadt, but Diluc could still look back and see the clashing forces on the cliff, now with two Ruin Guards down and many more mages extinguished or thrown off the edge. It was clear to see who the winning side was, now.

“It’s fine,” Diluc finally conceded with a steady exhale. “I trust them.”

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #do you trust me?#pushed #fandom #fic #genshin impact #diluc (genshin impact)#kaeya (genshin impact)#more fluff than whump ngl #i mean...pain is involved still #abyss order shenanigans #the ragnvindr brothers being their dense chaotic selves

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vpyre · 3 years

Text

From Above and Below, Face to Face and Behind (Grelle x Reader)

Anticipation. That was the feeling coursing through me, setting my nerves alight and sharpening my focus. My heart pounded in my ears and I grinned as I brandished my weapon -an elegant, double-bladed scythe- and dropped into a wide ready stance. I faced down a smirking Grelle and watched as she adjusted her scarlet coat with a flourish and readied her own weapon. I could’ve sensed her smug confidence from a mile away. She did, after all, have more experience than me since I’d only been a Reaper for a decade or two. I wasn’t about to chicken out though. I'd scored mostly A's in my intro training, and besides, you should never underestimate those with something to prove.

There was a second of charged stillness. Another. Then a flurry of movement as she surged towards me.

I ducked, and her roaring chainsaw came swinging through the air right where my head had been. I felt my pulse spike with the sudden rush of adrenaline, and my grin widened. Rolling with my momentum, I sprung up and went for a headbutt, but she spun away with graceful agility. As she turned; eyes shining with excitement, scarlet hair streaming out behind; her scythe followed in a streak of gleaming silver, arcing downwards at me.

There was no time to dodge it. Instinct kicked in and my own blade came up to meet it. The resulting CLANG sent a shockwave up my arms, but the sound itself was almost lost amid the cacophony of murmuring spectators, blows, grunts, and clashing Death Scythes echoing off the pale sparring room walls. Grimacing in discomfort, I angled my weapon down and away, which sent hers sliding off with an excruciating screech of metal on metal, overbalancing her. She stumbled and I swung down at her exposed back, but in a blur of speed, she recovered and snapped her chainsaw around behind her, intercepting my strike with another ringing crash.

Grelle's vibrant chartreuse eyes met mine over her shoulder and she languidly turned to face me as she held my scythe away with hers; a casual display of the immense strength her lithely muscled figure held. I saw my own ardor mirrored in the fire of her gaze, and there was a wildness to her razor smile as she drawled,

”I’m impressed, my dear! It’s only been a moment since we began and I very nearly fell head over heels. Though, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait if you want me on my knees for you.”

My racing heart skipped a beat at the thought, but I forced my mind back on track. If she thought she could throw me off with innuendo, she was mistaken (though I wasn't complaining. Seeing her on her knees would be a pretty picture indeed). I jumped back and out of reach before she could push her advantage.

“Don’t get too cocky. Pride comes before the fall, after all”, I snarked back as I lunged towards her, my scythe swinging. We matched each other blow for blow, dodging and leaping and whirling around the sparring court in a dangerous dance as the other reapers looked on. Gradually, I let my movements slow. I let dodges become near misses. I let her shove me back. But just as she wound up for a powerful swing that likely would have sent my scythe across the room, I dropped my act, dodged the hungry blade, and shoved it harder along its trajectory. With the combination of surprise and force, I sent her sprawling in a heap of limbs, fiery hair, and red fabric.

As soon as she hit the ground, I was looming over her. I pinned her to the ground, hands on her wrists to keep her from fighting back, knees straddling her hips to stop her from getting up.

“I told you you'd fall,” I said, narrowing my eyes and huffing out a quiet chuckle. “Don’t let your guard down, Darling, and don't get too confident. Things usually won't turn out the way you think they will.”

I took a moment to just look at her, her flushed face, her sultry gaze and smirk, and my confident air died on the spot. I shivered ever so slightly. Seeing her like this, blushing and trapped beneath me, was intoxicating. Her hair shone like the most priceless of rubies in the pale light of the room, her smooth lips were gently parted and so so inviting. Without really noticing, I tightened my grip on her wrists and pressed closer. The added pressure elicited a delightful little breathy whine from that enchanting mouth as she tilted her head back and shifted against me, back arching ever so slightly, body seeking out just the slightest bit more contact. The spectators became a distant memory in this haze of lurid heat. Distracted by the whole scenario, I didn't register right away that she was moving again. With two quick twists, she freed her wrists from my grasp, then tucked her legs and kicked me off.

Shit!

The moment broken, my ears reddened in frustrated embarrassment as I rolled away and to my feet. I had just chastised her for getting cocky! How big of an idiot did I have to be to forget my own warning? She'd played the whole thing up knowing full well that it would distract me, and it showed in the smugness that permeated her tone when she spoke,

"You really should take your own advice, Dearest. Pride comes before the fall, as they say, and it seems that you fell in more than one sense of the word. Besides, I'm not quite ready to be subdued yet, since I'm having so much fun with you!"

Oho. I'd show her.

Letting the threat of my intentions show with the tenfold return of my devilish smile, I felt a renewed vigor well up inside me. I had an ace up my sleeve, and now was the time to show my hand. Grelle's smug smirk faltered for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough to show me she knew I was up to something. Not giving her a chance to speculate or prepare, I sprung at her; but this time, instead of just lashing out with my double blade, I split it in half at the handle. This was my secret weapon, one that had served me well in days gone by, and one that no one knew about save for the dead. Two scythes gave me a singular style, a unique advantage, but that was not all. No, not at all. When using two blades that were usually one, I, naturally, needed to ensure that one half of my weapon couldn't be lost or knocked from my hand. The simple, rather useful solution to this problem was connecting the two with a chain of adjustable length. This chain seemed almost to respond to my thoughts, changing length as the situation demanded. It could be used as a simple convenience, as a weapon, or as a restraint. It truly was one of the finest made scythes I'd yet encountered (along with Grelle's and Undertaker's, of course).

Now as I sailed through the air, bearing down on a dumbfounded Grelle, the long, silvery chain flew out behind me, glinting in the harsh lighting with a delicate scintillation that belied its strength. On seeing the chain, she must have made a certain sort of connection, likely rather indecent, judging by the color of her cheeks. I huffed a small laugh. How prophetic. After I win, we’re definitely going to get some use out of it. I slashed down hard with my scythes, catching her off guard and forcing her a few steps back. She shot a glare at me over our crossed weapons, and I responded by giving her my biggest, most innocent smile. It probably came off as more of a shit-eating grin, but it did the trick.

She shoved her scythe harder against mine in an attempt to throw me off, but being caught off guard and in a flustered sort of state, she hadn't thought far enough ahead to realize she'd be leaving herself open. Seizing the opportunity, I brought one of my blades around the other side of her chainsaw and yanked, wrenching it from her grasp and sending it spinning away over the ground. She staggered, and I landed a well-aimed kick to her stomach, likely knocking the breath out of her if the huff she let out was any indication. To keep from falling, she leapt backwards, and I pulled out another surprise. Literally, I pulled one end of the chain off its handle. As she flew back, I lashed out with it, fully expecting her to block it, but she made no move to defend herself before it whipped her across the cheek. I might've imagined it, but I thought I heard a yelp underneath the noise and chaos of the sparring area. I flinched as her head jerked to the side.

Oh god, I hope I didn't hurt her!

She landed on her feet, but she remained hunched over, trembling, with one hand on her poor cheek and the other holding her stomach. My energetic fervor evaporated and rained down as worry.

What if she's really injured?!

I'd just taken a step toward her to check when she lifted her head slightly. She certainly didn't look pained. In fact, she seemed to be blushing. Her gaze was intense, yet unfocused; and as I watched, she ran her fingers across her cheek closed her eyes. It looked very much like she was fighting valiantly to hold back something untamable; and though she was trying to hide it, her breathing came in wavering gasps as she struggled to compose herself.

Ah. Uhm... Fuck. I knew where this was going.

I tried to back off a little, unsure if I should risk keeping this up while there were other reapers watching, but Grelle seemed to sense my hesitation, and she was having none of it. Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed and refocused. She darted past me, snatched up her scythe, and took a wild swing at me; one that I batted aside easily enough, but she kept coming.

Oh, so that's how you want to play it. Time to put my knowledge to good use.

My "knowledge" stemmed from something she'd told me one night when I was tipsy and she was dead drunk. We'd simply been friends then (though that had changed soon after), and we'd gone out drinking with Ronald and Othello after work. Ronald disappeared an hour in; probably to go throw up, and Othello wandered off to poke at this newfangled "radio" thing. We were talking about our experiences as trainees, and it sent her off on a spiel about her first reaping with William. She told me everything. Including every detail of her fight with him and what it led her to discover about herself. And alas, as is wont to happen, since she was blackout drunk she forgot pretty much the entire night and woke up with, "One of the most awful hangovers of my life. I felt like I was dying!"

I remembered though. At the time, I was insanely jealous, but now... Now I had a plan. And I was feeling downright devious.

So she wanted to play it rough? I'd give her rough. She wanted to continue, even with reapers there? I'd give them a show. Smirking, I threw all my weight against our locked scythes, forcing her back for a moment, then pushed her chainsaw away with one blade and swung the other at her unguarded torso. She just managed to catch my arm in time, but in one quick movement, I broke her grip and grabbed both her wrists. Through pushing her backwards, we'd ended up near enough to the wall for me to slam her into it, pinning her wrists above her head. The feigned defiance on her face might've been intimidating if her every mannerism wasn't contradicting it.

"I know what you're trying to do, Darling," I intoned, reveling in the way I could feel her knees weaken at my tone. "You get off on the passion of battle, the pleasure of pain, the high of being brought low. It shows. You might be able to fool them for a while," a discreet gesture to the small crowd, "but you aren't fooling me. Now fight back so they don't get wise to your predicament."

Helpless desire dancing in her stare, she murmured, "Oh, y/n Darling, you really know how to get me fired up!"

With a grunt, she freed her wrists, braced her back on the wall, and shoved me off with a solid kick. I sprung back to keep from stumbling, then rushed at her, scythe raised. We traded rapid blows, but I never let her put me on the defense, and I never let myself waver. Hers was a doomed endeavor from the start. Knowing what I knew, there was no way I'd let such a chance slip through my fingers, and I think she felt the same. She was barely putting up a fight at this point, and it felt so good to see her just aching for me to take her down. With every swing, a bit more of Grelle's composure was chipped away and a bit more of her desperate need bled through. The sight of her coming undone was wearing my own restraint to the bone. The lustful miasma welled up again; dense around us, within us, permeating the air and every particle of our being. I wanted to drown in it, surrender to the frenzy it promised, let it grow until it was all that existed.

Unable to hold off any longer, I called on what she'd confessed to me that hazy, drunken night. I slowed my attacks, lifted my scythe, and swung hard from above. When she intercepted it, she let out a small sound of distressed want that only fueled the fire in my core. I let my blade glance off, then brought it back from below. She was panting hard now, and one look at her face was enough to tell me that she wasn't going to last much longer. With a thrill of excitement, I locked eyes with her and struck; first from the right, then the left. I saw the exact moment she realized what I was doing, her electric green eyes widened as I moved to dash around behind her. I poured all my pent-up passion into my kick, striking her square in the small of her back.

Time seemed to slow as she sailed through the air in a graceful arc, the elegant arch of her back strikingly erotic. She threw her head back and let loose a ringing cry of pure, exquisite ecstasy that dug needle-sharp claws into my last shred of self-control and tore it to useless pieces. Thank the high heavens the other reapers had taken the hint and made themselves scarce, because goddamn if the palpable steam of lust in the air and that sound (Oh god, that sound) didn't absolutely destroy my inhibitions. I strode towards the trembling goddess on the ground in front of me, wave after wave of raging heat crashing through me in anticipation of what was coming. Her half-closed, yearning eyes wrapped a tether around my soul, drawing me ever nearer.

As soon as I got close enough, I was on her. I dropped to my knees bestride her hips, pinned her slender body with my own, roughly tangled my fingers in her hair, and yanked her into a desperate, hungry kiss. At the sharp pull of my hand through her hair, she groaned in pleasure against my mouth, a noise that had my already spinning thoughts careening out of control. When I nipped at her lip, she whimpered and my mind went blank. I tried to undo the buttons on her shirt with my shaking hands, but I couldn't get a good enough grip. This is taking too long!

Pulling away, I let out a frustrated growl, grabbed the sides, and ripped it open. Buttons popped and clattered free and fabric gave way beneath my fingers until I could toss what was left off to the side and run my hands over her tantalizingly smooth skin. No matter how many times I saw it, her body never ceased to steal my breath away. All slim, firm muscle and soft angles, hard lines and curves. She was a contradiction in every sense of the word, and she was beautiful.

I pressed my mouth intently against hers again as I slid my hands up from her hips and over her firm stomach, exploring every inch of her flawless skin as heat welled up in me. I couldn’t get enough of the sensation of touching her, of running my hands over her body, of just being able to touch her anywhere and everywhere. My desire was an irresistible force, guiding me higher and higher; as I went, I dragged my nails over her skin, relishing the way she shivered. I palmed her breasts through her bra and squeezed ever so slightly. She squirmed beneath me, pressing into my hands as she entwined her fingers in my hair, intensifying the kiss. Teeth clacked and tongues brushed, and it was electrifying.

I slipped my hands beneath her bra, searching desperately for any and every scrap of contact, of closeness. Anything. Everything. I stroked my thumbs over the tips of her nipples and she whined, a delightful little sound that brought buzzing, blazing lust surging up from where it pulsed in my core. I needed more of those sounds, needed them like I used to need air to breathe. I needed to hear her wail and moan and gasp and scream, needed to hear my name on her lips at the very height of her pleasure.

It was with these thoughts in mind that I broke our kiss and propped myself up, silencing her noise of protest with a smoldering stare that held the promise of everything I’d just imagined. I eyed her chest, watching the way it rose and fell with her rapid breaths, then looked back up. We locked eyes as I snaked my hand under her and undid the clasp of her bra. I held her gaze as I slid its straps off her shoulders and tossed it away, then lowered my head.

As soon as I started running my tongue over her nipple, she let out a ragged gasp and grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, spurring me on. I licked and sucked and worried it with my teeth, sending shivers through her body and eliciting whimpers from her mouth. I knew I’d found a sensitive spot when she cried out and arched her back, digging her fingers into my waist. I kept at it -all the while letting my hands wander lower and lower over her figure- until she was shaking like a leaf and I could feel the wetness of her arousal through her pants. I fiddled with the zipper, having a hard time functioning in the consuming blaze of my desire; but stopped when Grelle grabbed my hand.

”Wait.”

Anxiety cascaded over me like a bucket of ice water and I sat up abruptly. Oh shit, oh fuck, did I do something wrong? We’ve done this before, but did I somehow misread the situa-

“I want to see you, to touch you, too.”

I blinked down at her, then relaxed with a relieved huff. I guided her hands to my chest, to the buttons of my shirt. As she finished undoing them, she leaned in and brushed her lips against my throat, right over my racing pulse. Her touch on my neck and my chest was like fire, and I nipped at her ear in response, shrugging out of my shirt and bra. The sinful heat sunk into my skin and suffused my voice as I whispered,

”Now would be a good time to put my chain to good use, don’t you think? Don’t worry, I won’t tie up your hands, you can still touch me. What I’ll do is restrain you in a way that won’t let you close your legs or interrupt me while I have my way with you. Would you like that?”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “Yes, love,” Grelle breathed out as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her pants and began to work them off, along with her panties. Her arousal was plain to see, and I couldn’t resist brushing my fingers over her slick skin; slowly, sensually. Her whole body twitched in response and she ground into my hand, letting out a breathy moan. If she was already this sensitive, I couldn’t wait for what was to come. With no small effort, I dragged my hand and my attention away then slipped out of my own pants, basking in her attentive, hungry gaze. I reached for the chain that had so conveniently wound up nearby. For a moment there was no sound but our lust-heavy breaths and the clinking of the chain links as I wrapped them around her spread legs and bare torso in an intricate pattern, watching the goosebumps rise on her skin in response to the touch of the cold metal and the thought of what it meant for her. When I finished, I tugged at the chain to make sure it held.

“Does that feel alright?” I asked. I didn’t want to hurt her any more than she wanted me to.

“It feels wonderful,” came the breathless reassurance. “Being exposed and helpless before you... it's thrilling.”

“And seeing you so eager for this is thrilling for me too, darling,” I murmured darkly before pulling her in for a kiss that emanated passion, caressing her face then continuing down. Down over her shoulders and chest and stomach, down to where she wanted me most. She cupped my breasts and thumbed my nipples, sending tingles of pleasure through my body, spurring me on. No more hesitation. I plunged two of my fingers into her soaked cunt and was rewarded with a muffled groan of pure rapture, sweet against my mouth. I stroked my fingers over that one spot I knew would absolutely undo her, my thrumming arousal consuming every inch of me at the torturously salacious sound she made. I reveled in the way her whole body shook as I pleasured her, in how wet she already was for me, in the way she threw her head back with each movement inside her. I kept up a steady rhythm, then I brushed my thumb over her clit and began rubbing circles around it, denying her the complete pleasure of my touch on the more sensitive center, but giving her just enough to intensify her bliss to the point of near delirium. I tugged sharply on her hair with my other hand, and she cried out, nails digging into my back and leaving marks on my skin.

Almost at the edge, at the peak of it all, her noises of rapture were music to my ears. A wild symphony, a rhapsody, my feverish magnum opus. Her legs strained at their bonds and her skin glistened with sweat, so close, so desperate. Nearer and nearer, nearly there. I brought my head down to pleasure her with my tongue. I needed to be closer to her, to taste her euphoria as she came. I slid my tongue in and out, finally stroking directly over her center the way she so longed for. Each brush of my tongue sent a shudder through her. Her legs twitched and trembled and her breath came in sharp, ragged, appetent gasps.

"Darling, plea- aah! Please! I'm going to-!"

She came with a wail of unadulterated ecstacy, spasms rocking her entire body, legs jerking in the throes of her climax. Her come was ambrosia on my tongue, sweet and heady as I took it all, working her through her high until she was just on the verge of oversensitive. I raised my head, gaze travelling up her body, limp with exhaustion and satisfaction, to rest on her flushed face. The look in her eyes about melted my heart with the amount of pure affection and deep passion it radiated, and I poured every ounce of my own emotion into a slow, sincere kiss. When we parted, I rested my forehead against hers and closed my eyes, just savoring the stillness and affection that suffused the air. She was so beautiful. No matter how hard I tried -and I tried- I could not find words worthy of her. She was indescribable, and I could only hope she could see and feel my reverence in this moment. This moment, and every other moment of every other day. Her eyes told me she did. In them, I could see my feelings reflected back at me, could see that she understood and that she loved me just as much as I did her. Where words failed, our bond did not.

She smiled a bit, just a small upturn of her mouth, and said,

"That was wonderful, love, but you can't expect me to take so much pleasure from you without letting me return the favor. I want to show you just how much I adore you."

#grelle x reader #grelle sutcliff #grell sutcliff #kuroshitsuji #black butler #fanfic #smut #my writing #Just posting it here for peeps who don’t have an ao3 acc

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leapyearkisses · 3 years

Text

Nice Work If You Can Get It - (m/m) Eliseo/Padgett

So after a year of abject depression, I’ve decided I still like my writing so I’m reuploading it. For the time being, requests are not on the table. I have definitely flaked out on some people and I’m really sorry for that. :( Hopefully if people still want to read what’s already done though, this will be okay.

NSFW, MESS, CONTAGION - Eliseo has hired Padgett to get him sick.

___

"All right... close your eyes." Eliseo swallowed and did so, blocking out his bedroom, the red-gold sunset light pouring in from the windows, and Padgett, who was straddling his hips. He could still hear, quite easily, the other man's labored breathing and feel the heat of his thighs... and his crotch. Eliseo was under no illusion that he was in an incredibly compromising position at the moment. He hadn't thought much about the.. particulars when he'd first decided to strike this deal. "Are we really doing this?" he asked, voice weak.

Padgett laughed, voice tumbled and edging on hoarse. "Hey now. Not getting cold feet are we, my lord?" His exhale ghosted over Eliseo's forehead and his tousled black hair touched Eliseo's cheek. Eliseo cleared his throat. "No..." He could imagine the other man's smug look. They'd known each other long enough now that the image rose unbidden to his mind's eye. Padgett's eyes always glittered like opals when he was scheming something. The man surprised him with a tender touch on the shoulder, and Eliseo almost opened his eyes again. "The safe word is 'pumpernickel,'" Padgett said, managing not to chuckle. "We can stop whenever you want... Hhk-" He fought off a gasp. "Decide hh quickly, though." Eliseo shivered. "I'm okay. Let's do it." He didn't want to admit it, but Padgett's reassurance did put him at ease, even if this had been his idea to begin with. He relaxed and tried to lose himself in the late afternoon heat. "Yehh-s, my lord." Padgett leaned forward and took a shaky breath. It stuttered and caught on invisible hooks, sounding at once to be full of potential and then gone again, like a ghost vanishing at the window. Eliseo could feel his body tightening again with anticipation, especially when Padgett gasped and leaned back. "Hh-... hah-- "Huh-ktschht!" A warm rush of air burst in Eliseo's face, almost immediately followed by a watery spray over his forehead, closed eyes, and nose. His instant reaction was to curl back, or try to, and he had his hands braced on Padgett's chest before he could think about it. "Hey now," said Padgett, delayed by a sniffle. His tone was light. "Easy. You specified this in the contract, remember?" He rested his hands lightly on Eliseo's wrists. "How are you feeling about it?" Eliseo found he was holding his breath, but-- Well, that would defeat the purpose of this exercise. He cautiously let it go and then opened his eyes. Padgett was gazing down at him, looking neither smug nor concerned, just curious. "I- this was on instinct," Eliseo murmured. After a beat, he lowered his hands, and Padgett let him go easily. "Yes, I imagine so. It's natural." Padgett smiled then, and then his expression crinkled. "Wh- hh- want to do it again? Hkt-- hhh..." Eliseo forced himself to surrender again to his pillows. "Yes." Again, he closed his eyes. Padgett shifted forward on his lap and oh- but then he was sneezing once more. "Huh- hktsschit!" Again, the spray. This time it dusted over Eliseo's nose and mouth. He fought to keep from thinning his lips and... took a deeper breath. Padgett hadn't moved, was still fighting with his own lungs, reeling in another insistent sneeze like a stubborn trout. "Huh- hh... hh hh huh-" He made an annoyed sound. "Hah-- hah-krttschtts!" Eliseo felt droplets of saliva decorate his cheekbone. Padgett sniffled thickly. "...Bless you," Eliseo murmured. He was feeling hot. Maybe it was Padgett on top of him. The man was running a fever. "You are... doing the job admirably." That earned him a laugh. Padgett shifted his weight to his heels, which did interesting things to his cock's relation to Eliseo's own. "Thanks, I guess? I never would have thought anyone would be hiring for this, much less you." "Circumstances are dire," Eliseo intoned without a hint of irony. "Mmhm." Padgett sniffled again. "You must really hate weddings. Couldn't you have just gone on a hunt or something this weekend instead?" Eliseo sighed. "No. My sister would do anything to ruin my plans if I tried to avoid the party any normal way. But luckily, she's terrified of germs. I think a miserable head cold will be the ticket." Like hell he wanted to sit through another of his sister's weddings. Every time it was some new, world-changing drama. He wasn't even sure whether the groom this time was noble born. No doubt the reception gossip would be scathing. What absolute drivel. "Lucky also that you have me around, hm?" Padgett's next chuckle turned into a bit of a cough. Eliseo patted his knee awkwardly. "I- well, yes. Very. But believe me when I say that I would not wish for you to be so stricken if I had the power to stop it." "Of course, my lord." Padgett rubbed his nose. And though his breath hitched a few times in the following moments, he stayed where he was. Eliseo blinked. "Are we...?" Done? He didn't really think the exposure had been long enough. "I am ready." Padgett blushed a little. Blushed? "Sorry," he said. "I can kind of feel that, uh, the uh, next ones are going to be kind of... wet. I could blow my nose." His voice trailed off, wavering again. His nostrils twitched, and Eliseo did see within the promise of moisture. Perhaps it was the taboo of it, but Eliseo was alerted instantly to a sudden thickening of his cock. It pressed at his trousers with some gusto as Padgett sniffled again. Eliseo swallowed. "No. No, this is good. This will... help." Padgett gave him a considering look, at least as well as he could between soft gasps and squinting against the itch in his nose. "If you're sure, my lord." "Just- call me Eli, like you used to," said Eliseo, stumbling over the words. He wasn't sure where they had come from, but now they were bare between them. Still, perhaps a bit of affection wasn't so odd compared to what they were already doing. Eliseo closed his eyes on Padgett's startled look. "Eli," Padgett said, and he sounded like he'd just come home from a long war to find the hearth kept warm for him. "I will." He leaned forward again, bracing himself. "Now, I'm going to- to hih-- to snhhsneeze, hah- haktschtsch! Hrh- Hnkgstschhiu! More spray this time, more wetness, and Eliseo gasped himself when he felt a thick drip against his chin. Padgett hadn't moved. When Eliseo tentatively looked up, he saw his friend caught in a limbo of urgency. His green eyes were shut, eyelashes fluttering. His nostrils, gently pink now, flared. A clear trail hung from one of them, quivering as Padgett panted. He looked wild and fever bright and teetering on a precipice. Eliseo ignored what it might mean that Padgett's desperate expression, his wet nose - even the mess - suddenly went to his cock. He was hard, looking up at a portrait of a sneeze. Carefully, he placed a hand on Padgett's thigh. "It's okay," he said, words coming of their own accord. "I've got you." Padgett's fingers tightened fitfully in the sheet as he shifted his weight again. He was making soft, irritated noises. His nostrils flared and Eliseo saw another drip lying in wait on the cusp. When the urge became too much, it was like watching a wave finally crash down. Padgett's breath caught; he tensed and leaned back. Eliseo hurriedly closed his eyes again, and none too soon. "Hhhhrektschuckh!" He felt the mess streak his face, fly to spatter his mouth and nose and chin. Padgett moaned and then gasped again, chest swelling with air. "Hah- Huhrttschuh! Hshtt! Hah- hsshtt!" Again, he teetered, teasing the air with shivering gasps. Then, he abruptly folded with a crush of vowels and congestion. "Hggtschiucht!" A baptism, pondered Eliseo's brain as it detached from reality momentarily. Pinned as he was to the bed by Padgett's sex, he couldn't move when he felt himself coming just as abruptly as the sneeze. Somehow the slick wash had become a mounting sense of urgency in each of his muscles, racing from his fingertips and toes to his abdomen, where, quite unbidden, his cock had tugged all that energy into a gut-wrenching orgasm that sent the shockwaves back out with renewed vigor. Padgett whined, and Eliseo took him firmly by the shoulders and drew him in for a messy, off-putting, contagious, blindingly good kiss. "Wow," said Padgett, when they finally broke for air. "Don't ask me why," Eliseo muttered, but he refused to be made a fool of by embarrassment. "C- come here." He shifted to sit up further and put his hands on Padgett's hips. "I want-" He wanted. "This. Yes?" Before he could stop himself, he swept his tongue over Padgett's mouth, under his nose, to rest at the edge of a nostril. He tasted salt. It was not entirely pleasant, but whatever pilot was captaining his body right now didn't care. He could still feel his cock pulsing against his trousers. Padgett moaned. "It feels... odd. But, my lord, you can do what you- I mean, Eli." He was breathless for different reasons now. Eliseo laved the tender skin above Padgett's lips, then licked up his septum. When Padgett shivered, Eliseo kissed him again. Slowly, he cleaned away the mess from Padgett's face. When he was finished, neither of them knew what to say. Eliseo was hard again. Finally, Padgett laughed shyly. "I think you'll be catching your cold, Eli." Eliseo blushed and shrugged. "I should hope so. I am-" He bit his lip. "I'm not ready to stop. Will you stay the night? I'll look after you." Padgett kissed him, tenderly drawing them together. "I would like that, very much."

#lyk writes #eliseo jorvald #padgett foxborough #elipadge #snz

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namjoonsteeth · 3 years

Text

Episode 18

Time seemed to tick by slowly. It always did when Saram looked forward to something.

That was yet another thing he wasn’t used to. Anticipation. Waiting. Yearning. It’s amazing the amount of emotions worked in opposition to the passive disposition he’d had all those years. Right now, it was anticipation.

He tapped his pen on his desk in front of him, forcing his eyes to stay focused on the documents in front of him, instead of the clock just to his left. If he could just read through this patient’s chart and make the appropriate notes to get his team through the weekend, then he’d have two and a half days devoted to Tak Dong Kyung. And yes he was even counting the last eight hours left in this day. Every moment counted.

After wrapping up everything he needed to in his office, Kim Saram rushed through the hallways down toward the elevator to the garage. He could barely force himself to smile at the patients and other staff, afraid that if he’d smiled too long or held eye contact for even a second they might take it as an invitation to get into a long winded conversation. Once in the elevator, he could finally relax, sagging against the wall as the metal box descended below ground.

With his bags already packed and loaded into the trunk of his car, the only thing left to do was pick up his very frustrating girlfriend who’d spent the night before chastising him for his lack of summery clothes in his closet. After a lecture about how nothing in his wardrobe was appropriate for a summer road trip, the two of them went shopping. Again. And again. Until he had to remind her that they’d only be gone through the weekend.

Pulling up to her home, he saw that she was already outside waiting for him, a travel pillow around her neck making her already round cheeks even puffier.

“Cute,” He said to himself while getting out to help with her luggage. Saram couldn’t help himself as he used two fingers to pull at her right cheek. Giving him an indignant grunt, Dong Kyung shook her face out of his grip.

“Yah, Kim—,”

Saram bent to kiss her quickly, cutting off what ever complaint she had coming his way.

“Hi,” he smiled while grabbing the handle of her suitcase from her little fist. She looked wind blushed and wide eyed as always. She reminded him of spring, and fresh flowers, the smell of the air after it rains early in the morning. She was fresh and bright and his forever symbol of renewal and rebirth.

Her chest sagged against his as she leaned into him. Sometimes, more often than not, she still looked at him with those scared eyes. Still afraid he’d disappear at any moment, it seemed like the only time either of them were truly at peace was when they’d touch each other.

It was never enough to just be in the same room, not anymore. He had to hold her hand, kiss her temple, rub his fingers along his jaw just to remind himself that he hadn’t gotten pulled away again. It was almost worst for her. She was still having nightmares. On those nights, she’d call him in thar tiny voice of hers and ask him all the questions she had stored up for the last three months.

“Ready?” He spoke against her cheek, unable to keep himself from pressing another kiss into the dimple to the left of her lips and then another to the right.

“Where are are we going?” She asked.

They had to pull away to get everything loaded into the car, but when they slid into their seats, she’d wrapped herself around his fingers again, holding his arm against her chest.

“Somewhere simple,” Saram smiled as he took off, driving toward their destination. Keeping their final stop a secret had a lot to do with the excitement he saw in her eyes when he’d glanced down at her. It also had a little bit to do with not turning on the human gps that was Tak Dong Kyung. He couldn’t handle two and a half hours of her directing every turn they took.

“Don’t tell me,” she sighed dropping his hand. He felt the loss of her touch immediately. “Your house doesn’t count as a vacation, Kim Saram,”

He thought about it. He really did.

“It would save us some time—,”

“You’re kidding!” She scolded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Saram still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of why making her eyes glint with vexation made him so happy. Maybe it was proof that she was living. Really living. If she was mad at him about the small things, she couldn’t possibly be worried about anything big. He’d hoped for as long as they both lived for each other that having her boyfriend be a bit irksome would be her biggest and only hardship. Dong kyung had been through enough to last three lifetimes. She deserved easy and simple and just a bit of provoking.

“I am kidding,” he smiled at the road. Tilting his head toward her, he let his eyes fall on hers quickly. “It’s a secret,”

He’d expected her to pout but as always, she took him by surprise. She clung to his fingers again, alternating between guessing where they were going and complaining about Na Ji Na cancelling their breakfast date this morning to go have a meal with Cha Joo Ik’s father. It seemed like most of her complaints these days had something to do with the CEO and Saram was learning to read through her usually harsh words and realize that she actually liked the man. He just couldn’t figure out why.

When they’d finally pulled onto the property of the old home, Saram felt a sudden rush of emotion. He’d been here often over a long period of time. He’d watched the current owner from when she was an infant until now. While Tak Dong Kyun was the first human to make him feel love, this family was the first to make him feel anything at all.

They carried their luggage to the entrance of the hanok, admiring how the wind swept cherry blossom petals across the front of the guest house. With each breeze the air seemed to swell sweeter and sweeter as they drew closer.

“How did you find this place,” Dong Kyung asked. She leaned forward on her tip toes to pluck a petal from Saram’s hair.

“I’ve known the owner for a long time,” he smiled just as the old woman breezed out of the guest house. Her white hair was pulled into a simple bun, and though she had a bustling flair to her movements, she looked so well put together. They could only tell she was busy because of the way her eyes moved quickly between them.

“Hello, how long will you stay?”

“Two days,” Saram stepped forward and took care of the reservation. They traded their shoes for slippers and followed as the woman led them into the home, all the way to the back room where a single large mat took up the corner. The surrounding wood looked and smelled warm. Saram and Dong Kyung watched as the woman opened the canvased window for them, letting in fresh air and a view of the back of the house. A small field of flowers sat surrounded by tall trees that blocked off the property. Saram could remember how the land looked when he’d first saw it decades ago, but the changes between then and now had gone fuzzy. He couldn’t remember when the cherry blossom trees were planted or when the wood panels changed but he could recall the woman’s mother in law sweeping the entrance of the property when some laborers stomped dirt off of their shoes before renting a room.

“You’ve traveled far, why don’t you take a rest and I’ll come get you when dinner is ready,”

Saram and Dong Kyung gave polite nods and then the woman was gone.

“Are you tired?” Dong Kyung pushed her suitcase into the corner of the room before sitting on the edge of the mat.

“No, not really,” Saram told her. Still, he settled on the mat beside her and pulled her tiny body against his chest. The two lay side by side, as the smell of flowers and the preparation of their meal filled the room. Everything felt perfect.

“You said you know the owner, does she know you?” Dong Kyung asked.

Saram shook his head. “Her parents were a young couple I couldn’t help but keep an eye on,”

Saram remembered their faces. He remember the tears and the smiles, the fights and the moments that were passed down through the generations after. The old woman kept pictures of her parents safe with her children somewhere in Seoul, but the memory of them filled every corner.

He held her hand tightly because he could. Brushing his lips against her knuckles, he once again sent a silent thank you to god, thanking her for giving him this particular life. He could have been born as anyone. How grateful he was to be born in a world where Tak Dong Kyung isn’t the past or the future. She’s the present.

“Saranghae,” he whispered because he could. Because he was lucky to get to love her.

Dong Kyung smiled over at him, her eyes big and bright and beautiful. “Tell me about the couple,”

His memory was failing him. Not so much failing, but becoming less diety and more human. He couldn’t remember the name of every single human anymore. He couldn’t remember all of the stories that made him cringe or made him angry or made him feel something when he believed he couldn’t.

“I don’t remember their names,” he admitted. “But I brought you here because I figured if you knew them too, you’d help me not to forget them,”

“Her father’s father,” he nodded at the door behind them where the woman whistled lowly as she cleaned and checked on other guests. “He owned this land. He ran a guest house out of it too. Back then his family lived in this room while he let guests rent a spot on floor in the rest of the house. It was smaller then, and they didn’t make a lot of money. But it was enough to send their son to school and then it was enough to send him to Japan when the war started. Before he left for Japan he met a woman and they fell in love. She’d become pregnant and lived here with his family while he studied and eventually while he was at war. They’d meet maybe once every two years, just to be separated again by something. For a decade it seemed like they would never be able to live together. Until finally, he could come home. And the three of them lived in this house ever since. The couple were able to grow old together here, their daughter too,”

Dong Kyung moved closer to him. Her chest pressed tightly against his. “How did you find them,”

“I knew everyone. But, more specifically, this family had more hardships. I saw them often,” He paused before tucking Dong Kyung’s head under his chin. “When I saw how they were able to come back together despite everything they’d gone through, I envied them a lot,”

Dong Kyung hummed knowingly. Maybe before he’d met her and was loved by her he’d only remember how he was responsible for all the bad things that happened to this family in this house.

But Tak Dong Kyung had her way.

It made him see that even though he was the reason for so much doom and chaos in this household, he also allowed them to see better days. And maybe their reunion, the smiles and laughs that followed, were much more appreciated. At least he had hoped so.

“Do they remind you of us?” Dong Kyung squeezed him tight and tilted her head back so that she could gaze up at him.

Saram nodded in agreement. Had he known what it would feel like to be fated to be separated from the person you loved, back then maybe he could have pitied the couple a bit more. And if he would have known what it felt like to find each other again, back then maybe he would have smiled down on them a bit more too.

Dong Kyung sighed. “We should visit here often. So we both can remember,”

He’d thought about bringing her to the house when he was sure that he was going to be gone forever. He wanted to tell her the story when everything was clear in his head, but he never got to. Somehow though, with his blurring memories and without the threat of losing her forever, it felt better than he could have imagined.

#doom at your service #DAYS #seo in guk #park bo young

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