#telling him his beloved friend & the person he promised to protect has been dead under his nose for like 10 years or whatever is also | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carryonthroughtheages · 3 years

Text

Hello everyone!

Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! We have emotions and exhaustion, but we're so happy that this year had the hype and excitement that it did.

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to all of the AMAZING creators who spent the last several months working away at their historical content!

Thank you also to the hard-working mods: @bazzybelle, @giishu, @palimpsessed, and @xivz . This fest would not have been as successful as it has been without you!

We encourage everyone to look under the page break for all the fics and art. They're all fantastic!

Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2021!

Thank you all, and until next year! 🧡🧡🧡

MONDAY:

1) sun on the sea (T) - @trenchcoat-moth : AO3 // Tumblr

Tensions run high in England, and Malcolm decides it's for the best he sends Baz to live with Fiona, where he'll be safer.

That is, until Baz's ship is attacked.

2) The Words I Long To Say (M) - @bazzybelle : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow was dead.

Baz Pitch was sure of it. Simon had gone away seven years ago to fight a war in the jungle and he hadn't come home.

So, when Simon shows up in Baz's club, investigating a string of brutal murders, all Baz wants to do is hold him close and never let him go.

But these aren't the same boys from 1960 and Baz has a lot of processing to do before he's ready to believe in Simon again.

3) we are slaves to gods, whatever gods are (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // Tumblr

I don’t fully understand what plagues him, but I know it’s bad, and I know it goes deeper than guilt. He didn’t want to kill his father, not really, but we were instructed to do so by Apollo. Cleanse the house of its sins, dispose of a murderer to set things right. It was only right that I join him; he was avenging my mother as much as his. Clearly, Apollo didn’t seem to consider that such an act would make Simon a murderer in his father’s place. It seems I got off fine, but as far as Simon is concerned, the vengeful spirits that once spun and danced on the roof of the palace now hunt him down, determined not to stop until he rids the world of himself.

4) World War II Era Art - @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr

TUESDAY:

1) the art of loving you (E) - @one-more-offbeat-anthem : AO3 // Tumblr

1955. London. Young love.

Forbidden love.

A year ago, starving artist Simon Snow met Baz Pitch, son of a wealthy art patron, at a party, and their days (and nights) together have been a wonderful secret.

But Simon is tired of being a secret and knows it's time for things to end.

(Baz has other ideas.)

2) Reliquary of an Arsonist (T) - @tea-brigade : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow grew up a ward of Watford Abbey, but when his magic manifested in an explosive accident as a child, he became the Abbey’s anchorite—never to leave Watford’s walls, for his own protection. That is, until Abbot David sends him on an important errand…

Basilton Pitch paints portraits for his patron, Lord Grimm. But he’s never forgotten the magic he learned from his mother—nor the men who condemned her to death as a heretic. When Simon arrives and offers Baz a commission from Watford Abbey, he sees his chance to avenge his mother once and for all...and he’s willing to burn down everything in his path to that end.

But it was no coincidence that pulled these two unlikely souls together. Something more sinister is underway at Watford Abbey, and only Simon and Baz can uncover the truth before everything goes up in flames.

3) Westward Son (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon and Baz have found each other again, but there's nowhere in Brooklyn or Virginia where they can safely be together. So now, they venture the hazards and struggles of the Oregon trail, to perhaps find a little homestead in Oregon of their own.

4) A Way Out (T) - @lying-on-the-sofa : AO3

I frown at him..“You don’t know me.”

He offers his hand. “Simon.”

Simon. I feel the name around in my mind and assign it to his face. Simon. I don’t shake his hand. They’ve still got my arms pinned. “Basilton.”

Simon nods at me. “Now we know each other. Let him go.” Very casually, he takes his other hand from behind his back. A sword, flashing. He leans on it and smiles invitingly. “Let him go.”

This time, they listen.

Simon Snow has been trained for years to become a tribute—one of the fighters Athens sends every ninth year into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. He wants to know the way out, if only for Penny’s sake. Luckily for him, Prince Basilton of Crete also wants a way out—off the island, where no one will know he’s the half-brother of the Minotaur.

Unluckily for both of them, they don’t exactly form the most agreeable pair.

WEDNESDAY

1) long is the road the leads me home (G) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 (Version 1) (Version 2) // Tumblr

Baz has a rather unremarkable life, and he's fine with that. Running his late mother's beloved inn with his temperamental aunt, estranged from his father and step-siblings, he's successfully convinced himself that he's better off without attachments.

Then Simon barrels into his life, guns blazing and rapier drawn, and Baz is swept up in dramatic plot he never bargained for.

Worse still, he finds he quite likes the thrill.

2) New Romantics (T) - @ninemagicks : AO3 // Tumblr

Basilton Pitch, twenty-two years old and a famed poet of the Romantic era, has fled to the countryside. In Mummers House, the fabled haunt of literary greats, he sulks himself into oblivion and awaits a sad, disappointing end to his brief years of brilliance. The cause of his downfall? None other than Simon Snow, the so-called “bad boy of English poetry”, breaker of rules and eternal thorn in his side. Baz hopes that Mummers House might mean an escape from London, from Snow and his increasingly virulent popularity... but the rain that comes has other ideas.

3) thnétos (T) - @snowybank : AO3 // Tumblr

thnétos: subject to death, mortal

a retelling of Apollo and Hyacinthus

4) A Medieval AU art piece - @thewriterxj : Tumblr

THURSDAY

1) From Eden (E) - @orange-peony : AO3 // Tumblr

I wonder if his skin is warm or cold to the touch. I tell myself it’s simple curiosity, that I’m an artist and capturing things on paper or canvas is my way to make sense of the world. That drawing him feels so natural, so I should just follow my instincts. Ebb used to say it all the time. Follow your heart. It knows where you’re supposed to go.

I wish I could. I wish I had enough money and freedom to just draw what I want. To paint him in his unattainable beauty. To draw him the way I want to. Naked and vulnerable, raw. Without frills and expensive suits.

Just Baz on paper, my fingers tracing his delicate and beautiful lines with simple charcoal.

2) Slings and Eros (M) - @palimpsessed : AO3 // Tumblr

Young god of love Simonides is tasked by his father, the god of war, to bring about the ruin of a mortal prince to punish his blasphemy. However, once Simonides sees his intended victim, he begins to have misgivings. Prince Tyrannus might have offended the gods with his very existence, but all Simonides can see is how beautiful and lonely he is.

Or, a very loose interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth.

3) I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (M) - @knitbelove : AO3 // Tumblr

September 1940: Going back to Watford feels different this year, and not just because England is at the brink of war with Germany and Italy. Penelope seems unsettled by everything, and Agatha is distant, and Baz is … simply not here.

What if Carry On but during the Blitz?? Yeah.

4) A Fool's Oath (M) - @thewriterxj : AO3 // Tumblr

A simple soldier is invited to join the ranks of the royal guard. He and his appointed mage arrive at the royal city to find themselves at the mercy of an unmerciful court. As he struggles to find his place in this foreign environment, he also finds himself entranced by music that only he seems to hear that floats out about the city. He makes an oath to wed whoever makes such beautiful music.

Too bad that person is the crown prince.

FRIDAY

1) Stranger Tides (T) - @tea-brigade & @xivz : AO3 // Tumblr

“If some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…” Captain Simon Snow of the Chosen One is many things—cunning, handsome, ruthless. Greedy. It’s no surprise that Snow finds a way to piss off the God of the Sea, he always manages to get himself into some type of trouble. This time, however, he’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. Poseidon promises to not stop his pursuit until Snow and all of his men are dead.

Enter Basilton Pitch—rich, beautiful, mysterious. Suspicious. He offers the crew of the Chosen One a hefty sum to take him back to Europe from the Caribbean. And who is Captain Snow to refuse so much coin? After all, Greek gods aren’t real.

Right?

2) The wayward heir [comic] (M) - @letraspal : AO3 // Tumblr

Like a folk song, our love will be passed on. Simon Snow wants to be an artist. He used to live in Fiesole where he worked in the wool shop of his good friend Ebeneza Petty. He has now chosen to return to his native Florence in order to participate in an art contest hosted by the Pitch family, the most important bankers in all the three continents and Simon’s last chance for an art patronage. No matter how much he hates them.

But being back in Florence also brings back the memories Simon wanted to leave behind : his days as an orphan, the mystery about his mother, and once more being under the inquisitive eyes of his godfather, the new archbishop Davy. The archbishop is very same man who would never forgive him for dropping out the priesthood and ruining his secret plans against the Pitches.

The last thing Simon needed was an unbearably handsome jerk getting him into trouble on his very first day in Florence. How can focus when this man is the most annoying person he has ever met and yet his major source of inspiration.

3) Prohibition Blues (T) - @heyyyandrea : AO3

Simon Snow is a baker and aspiring playwright in Prohibition Era New York City. When he meets a handsome man at Shepherd's speakeasy who is interested in his work, he can't help but think it feels too good to be true.

4) Earth Below & Sky Above (M) - @phoxphyre : AO3 // Tumblr

In the depth of the palace of King Minos of Crete lurks a creature known as the Minotaur.

Baz, prince of Athens and chosen of the god Poseidon, has heard the stories. And now he’s volunteered to come to Crete as one of the annual tributes—to dance with the king’s bulls and fulfill his destiny. He just wants to survive the bulls, protect his people, and go home.

But what if the Minotaur isn’t a monster—but just a boy? And what if instead of slaying him, Baz fell in love with him?

A Carry On retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set in Bronze Age Crete.

5) A 1980s AU Art piece by @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr // Instagram (Slightly NSFW)

99 notes · View notes

yandere-ac · 3 years

Note

Can you write a little bit Mondo x Girly! Reader?

Yandere Mondo Owada X Girly Reader

Promise

⚠️ Spoilers for chapter 2 ⚠️

Ever since Mondo was little he’d have one thing drilled into his brain. When a man makes a promise, he has to keep it, even if it kills him. That is what his brother Daiya had taught him and that was something he was never going to forget. And he never did, no matter how difficult it could get he never ever broke any of the promises he made. So when it finally happened, the shame hit him hard.

He had remembered his utter confusion when he first woke up at hopes peak academy. He had rested on a desk in some classroom all by himself, which only confused him more. Why was he here? He was just walking into the school and now he was sleeping on a desk? Had he just...slept through a lesson or something? As he gazed around the room he saw a big clock hanging above the big blackboard. Nope, he couldn’t have slept through any lesson. There was still 15 minutes left before the school started. So why was he here? Never mind, he had to get to the entrance.

Walking out of the classroom he felt a sudden shiver up his spine as dread crept up his back. He didn’t know why, but something about this place was freaking him out. But he hadn’t had any time to process this new uneasiness as he heard the faint sounds of footsteps running towards him. Immediately he tensed up and got ready to defend himself in case anything happened. But he hadn’t gotten any time to process this new threat as something, or rather, someone ran into him. They had turned a corner in the hallway and didn’t seem to see him before it was too late. As they crashed into him they fell backwards and landed on the floor. Mondo was pushed back slightly by the crash but unlike the person before him, he didn’t fall. It only took him a few seconds before he regained his posture. Letting out a grunt he turned to the person still on the floor.

"HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING DUMBASS!" He could now see the other person more clearly. They wore a puffy white blouse which they tucked into a pink skirt. They had pastel pink knee high socks that reached their thighs and they had a small bow in their hair. They were rubbing their head as they groaned slightly. After a couple of seconds they looked at him and their face immediately turned from dazed to panicked. "Oh my god I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to run into you like that!" They apologised to him profusely as they put their hands together, still on the floor. Mondo rolled his eyes and extended his hand to them. "Quit fussing. I’m not gonna hit you or anything. Just get up." Their face turned slightly pink as they realised they had been rambling. "Oh, yes of course." As they grabbed his hand Mondo could feel something in his chest for a split second. But he quickly brushed it off as he pulled them up off the ground. As soon as they stood up, they let go of his hand and brushed off their skirt. And that for some reason made Mondo a little bit irritated, but he didn’t understand why.

"Well, since first impressions are out the window," the person began as they smiled at Mondo. "Hi! My name is Y/N L/N. It’s nice to meet you!" As you introduced yourself to him you gave him a little bow. Mondo had eyed you up and down. You looked to be about his age, but you seemed nothing like him at all. You were like the personification of the colour pink, cute, polite, feminine. It wasn’t his style at all. And yet, something about you, it intrigued him. "Names Mondo Owada." He stated bluntly while putting his hands in his pockets. "So I’m guessing you’re a student here. What class do you belong to?" You gave him a slight smirk while you asked this. Something about it seemed almost endearing to Mondo. "Yeah, Class 78th. I was just heading to the entrance ceremony." This made you perk up. "Oh? Me too! I was just going there actually. That’s why I was running before. Sorry about that again." You flashed him a smile as the two of you continued. So you were his classmate huh? He didn’t know if that was good or bad. You sure seemed to like chatting, that’s for sure.

And that’s what you two did on your walk to the entrance. During said walk he learned that you were the ultimate makeup artist. And it really showed, you’re face was full of makeup. And Mondo would be lying if he said that it didn’t look good. But he would never admit something like that out loud. Still, you had given him a compliment about his makeup, the eyeliner he wore specially. Which made him kinda happy, it was good to know he was doing it right. But sooner or later, you came to the entrance. The two of you weren’t the first ones to arrive. There were about 8 other students there, standing around and waiting for something to happen. But what was weird about said entrance was that the door had been replaced by a giant vault door. Suspicion was rising in Mondo as everyone started talking to you both.

The way you two met was...less than optimal. But you hadn’t let it get in your way at all. You hung out with Mondo a lot. You kept reaching out to him, which he appreciated. You made him feel strong. From little things like grabbing his arm whenever you felt uneasy or uncomfortable to telling him you felt safe with him. He felt good around you. Like he was actually as strong as you beloved him to be. But the one thing that you ever did that made him feel good was after the Sayaka trial.

He remembered it clear as day. It was nighttime, a couple of hours after the first ever class trial. And it had hit him hard. That Sayaka was dead, that she had tried to kill Leon and blame it on Makoto, that Leon had been executed in such a horrible and gruesome manner. It fucked him up. He sat up in bed, just staring at the floor while he rested his head in his palms. Sayaka had always seemed so nice, so sweet. She and Makoto very obviously had a thing going on. So to know that someone like her would blame it all on him in order to escape, it made him question who he could trust. Sayaka had been the first to attempt something like this, now that you had gone over the line of comfort anyone could be next. He couldn’t die now, not after years of maintaining the Crazy Diamonds. He couldn’t fail Daiya! He couldn’t-

Knock knock

Someone had knocked on his door. No, he was not answering that. He wasn’t gonna become a victim like Sayaka and Leon. But the knocking continued, and continued, and continued, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He walked up to his door, and opened it slightly. Through the small crack in the door he could see it was you. And you saw him. You’re eyes were glossy and your nose was red. "Could you let me in? I’m not armed I promise." Mondo hesitated for a few seconds, should he? He knew you. You would never hurt someone, let alone him. But...he thought the same about Sayaka. Mondo looked at you once again. You were hugging your sides and wiping your tears off your cheeks. You didn’t have any makeup on, which was unusual for you. But most of all, you just looked so small. You were pretty much cowering together as you waited for him to open the door. You couldn’t be here to kill him. He refused to believe it and mentally cursed himself out for even thinking about the possibility. With a swift move, he opened the door and let you inside. You thanked him as you walked into his dorm.

"Are you okay?" That was the first thing he asked you after he closed the door. You sat down on his bed, clutching your hands together as your eyes fastened to the floor. You didn’t give him an answer, you just stared at the floor, just like he was a couple of minutes ago. After a couple of seconds of silence, Mondo sat down next to you. He let out a sigh and used his hand to stroke your back. "Hey it’s okay, or well- it’s not okay right now but uh..." Damn it. He wasn’t very good at this was he? "Hey, look at me." He cupped the side of your face in his hand as he turned it towards him. "It’s gonna be okay, I promise. This shit sucks, it’s fucking insane. But you’re going to be okay." You let out a sniffle and a sob as he stroked your cheek. "But how can you say that? Two of our classmates are dead! How can I, how can any of us be safe when two of us has died!" You cried out, and as your voice cracked under pressure Mondo could feel his heart break. "...Y/N, do you wanna know the one thing that my brother made sure to teach me? When a man makes a promise, he has to keep it, even if it kills him." Mondo told you, now letting go of your face and grabbing your hands. "It’s something I’ve always told myself, every single time I ever make a promise, I think of that. And I have never in my life broken a promise. So when I tell you this I want you to listen. You’re going to be okay. You’re gonna survive this shit, no matter what. I promise you will Y/N. Do you wanna know why?" You looked at him as you let out another sob. "Why?"

"Because you have me."

You spent that night with Mondo. The two of you keeping each other company and keeping each other calm. That night Mondo not only made a promise to you, but to himself. He had to protect you. It didn’t matter if he thought he could or couldn’t, he had to. He wasn’t gonna loose someone like you.

And for the most part, he was able to keep that promise. There hadn’t been any other deaths until then and Mondo was happy about that. What he was also happy about was that you and Taka got along well. After all, it would be a little awkward if his best friend didn’t get along with his...partner? Friend? He didn’t know. You two hadn’t made anything official or put any labels on your relationship but it was obvious that it wasn’t strictly platonic. You and him have shared a bed multiple times, much to Takas dismay. But it didn’t matter, because you and Taka got along. He wasn’t sure why, but Taka was the only guy that he felt comfortable with you being around. But anytime you hung out with any of the other guys he felt this burning sensation in his chest. He didn’t blame you or anything, he knew you weren’t gonna get with one of them, but it still felt bad. Like they were trying to take you away from him. He wasn’t so sure about the girls since he didn’t know if you were into that, but you were into him, which meant you were into boys. He hadn’t told you about this, he knew that wouldn’t be a smart thing to do. So he just kept all his feelings inside of him. Which also wasn’t a smart thing to do. He already struggled with a lot of self worth issues, so mixing in the paranoia about the other guys only made it worse. What if one of them convinced you to leave Mondo? And what if you realised that he wasn’t as strong and tough as he made himself out to be? What if you left him? He couldn’t loose you. Not now. Not ever.

But strangely, you didn’t spend much time with a lot of the guys. You mostly spent time with the girls. Him and Taka were the only guys you seemed to hang out with most of the time, but most of the time, it was with the girls. The one you spent most of your time with was none other than Chihiro Fujisaki, the ultimate programmer. You and her talked a lot, which at first annoyed Mondo slightly. An annoyance which you noticed pretty quickly. So when you asked him about it and he answered, you couldn’t help but laugh slightly. Which only made him madder. With a quick peck on the cheek, you explained to Mondo that you and Chihiro were like best friends. "Don’t worry Mondo. Chihiro is like my Taka." Chihiro was like your Taka. Once you had put it like that Mondo felt better. He started to wonder why he was even worried in the first place.

But then came the accident.

It had been a rough evening for Mondo. Monokuma had given all of you new motives in order to get you all to kill. This time it was embarrassing or scandalous secrets. If a murder didn’t happen within the next 24 hours he was gonna reveal them all to the outside world. He had wished his motive was just one of the embarrassing things he had done when he was little. But no. His secret was the murder of his big brother, Daiya. He remembered the pit that had formed in his stomach as he read his motive. Everyone in The Crazy Diamonds were gonna find out. After keeping the gang together for so long it was all gonna be ruined. He felt shitty, he felt MORE than just shitty. And he didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. So when you had asked him what was wrong he simply stated that he wanted to be left alone. Maybe a bit more aggressively then he wanted to. And he beat himself up over it. Why couldn’t he just talk to you! Why did he have to be so stupid! That day he spent hours in the gym, working out and releasing his anger. But it wasn’t working. His thoughts kept flowing back to Daiya, and you, and his secret. What would you think of him after you found out? What if you started to hate him? He couldn’t let the last conversation you had with him before you find out be the one you had before. The one when he snapped at you and stormed off when the only thing you did was ask if he was okay. What had he done?! He had to find you!

But right as he opened the door to the gym he was met with Chihiro. She let out a slight yelp as Mondo had opened the door rather violently. "O-Oh! Mondo. There you are. Is this where you’ve been all day?" She asked him. "Yeah, what’s it fucking to ya?" Mondo answered, once again getting more aggressive then he wanted to. Chihiro frowned slightly as he raised his voice at her. Damn it, he knows he shouldn’t yell at Chihiro. "...I’m...did you want something or what?" Mondo asked, his voice a little lower then before. "Huh? O-Oh yes! I wanted to ask you...could I train with you?" This question caught Mondo completely off guard. "...train with me? Can’t you just train with Sakura and Aoi instead? How would you even get into my training room?" Mondo asked. Chihiro looked a little uncertain for a moment before taking in a deep breath. "Because..." she grabbed the door to the men’s room and closed it. Then she pulled out her tablet and pressed it against the automatic door lock. And with a small click, the door opened. Mondos eyes widened as he saw this. Soon he looked down at Chihiro. "I wouldn’t be able to get into the girls room..."

Chihiro told Mondo about her secret, or rather, his secret. How he’s been dressing up as a girl his whole life. How he’s always thought of himself as too weak. How he...how he wanted to change. He told Mondo about how he’s tired of hiding, tired of living a lie. He wanted to be like Mondo. He wanted to be strong like him. He told him that he admired Mondo. Admired him and his strength. As Mondo listened to him, he couldn’t help but think how, how did he have this much courage?! How could he face his flaws like it was nothing? He was so strong...and it just showed how much weaker Mondo was. Chihiro was strong, he faced his problems and wanted to change. But Mondo, Mondo was the opposite. He had hid away the entire day, working out just to distract himself. He had kept it all inside of him and refused to work on himself in any way at all. He had lashed out at one of the people he cared about simply because he didn’t want to be vulnerable around them...he was nothing like Chihiro...Chihiro Fuji-fucking-saki. That bastard. How dared he sit there and act like Mondo was as strong as him. As if he was anything but a coward.

"Are you making fun of me?! I’m strong? Are you fucking with me right now?" Mondo raised his voice slightly as anger seemingly seeped through him. "I’m not making fun of you. You really are strong Mondo." Chihiro tried to explain himself, thinking that Mondo got the wrong idea. "What do you want me to do? What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to just sit back, let my secret get revealed and ruin everything? Let my best friend and partner know I’m a murderer!?" Now Mondo started to shout. "Wh-Whats wrong?" Chihiros voice became fearful and worried as he tried to approach Mondo. But Mondo quickly snapped at him, turning his whole body towards him rather violently as he looked Chihiro dead in the eyes. "Why did you have to tell me all that? Are you trying to rub my failure in my face!? Huh?! Is that it!?" Mondo started to approach him as more and more fury built up inside of him. "N-No, I just- I really admire you! I admire your strength! I promise Mondo, I just want to become as strong as you are!" Chihiro backed up, but for every step he took, Mondo took one as well. And soon enough, Chihiro was backed up against the wall. He was shaking. Tears spilled out of his eyes as the taller male towered above him. "That’s right, I am strong...I’m strong! I’m strong! Stronger than you ever will be! You hear me?! I’M STRONG!" As Mondo shouted this, he bent down and picked up the object closest to him. A dumbbell. "Mondo you’re scaring-"

THUNK!

Chihiro didn’t get to finish his sentence as Mondo struck him with the dumbbell. With one hit, Chihiro fell down. With one hit, blood started to pour from his head. With one hit, the ultimate programmer known as Chihiro Fujisaki was dead. Dead and gone forever. One hit. That’s all it took. And with that one hit, Mondo came back to reality.

"....o-oh...oh fuck. Fuck! FUCK! CHIHIRO!" He fell down to his knees as he grabbed ahold of Chihiros shoulders. He started to shake him slightly. "Chihiro? Chihiro get up man! This isn’t funny! Wake up!" But his pleads fell on deaf ears. Because Chihiro wasn’t there. Chihiro was dead. He was dead because of Mondo. Chihiro trusted Mondo enough to tell him his secret and ask for help, and Mondo had killed him. Tears started to prickle Mondos eyes very soon. He let out one last breathy "fuck" and brought Chihiro close to him as he realised what he had done. He used to be the one that feared what someone might do to him. He used to wonder who he could trust, who might betray him. But in the end it was him, him who betrayed someone. Someone who could barely defend themselves. Someone who trusted him. And he betrayed that trust. "Chihiro...I’m so sorry..."

•••

And that brings us to where you all were right now. Mondo hadn’t said much during the trial. As everyone was discussing who might have killed Chihiro, the guilt was eating at him. He was a monster. He had killed someone who looked up to him and wanted to be like him. Every time he would try to focus on something else his mind just repeated what Chihiro had told him. Chihiro was strong. Strong enough to not hide away from himself. Unlike Mondo. Mondo did it when he was informed about the motives and he was doing it now...he couldn’t do this. As he looked around the room he saw that everyone was deep in their discussion. He looked at you, you had a frown on your face, he remembered the scream of pain you let out once you found your best friend tied up in the girls gym, blood pouring from his head. And even if this case clearly hurt you, you had to focus. You were gonna find out who did this. Your eyes were intense with raw emotion. That is, until you felt Mondo staring at you. You turned your gaze over to him, and as your eyes met his, they softened slightly. And that broke Mondo. He promised to protect you. And here he was, trying to get away with murder. If he got away with this, you would be executed. But if he spoke up...he would be the one dying. And as his hands started to shake he remembered what Daiya used to tell him. When a man makes a promise, he has to keep it. Even if it kills him. "Even if it kills him...." he said to himself in a very low voice. He had promised to protect you, that you would make it out alive. So even if he had to die, he had to do this. "Hey. Hey!" He said loudly, quickly getting everyone’s attention. Even if it kills him. "I have something to say..." for the first time in his life, for the last time in his life, he was gonna be strong. He was gonna be strong, like Daiya.

Like Chihiro.

Even if it kills him.

“WHY MONDO!? WHY WHY WHY?! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?! HOW COULD YOU KILL HIM!" As his best friend shouted at him he felt like curling up and hiding away. His words cut deep into Mondos heart, even if all the words were true and justified. But what hurt the most were the words he didn’t hear. Taka was screaming at him, but you, you just stared at him in silence. You looked at him with hurt and betrayal in your eyes, and yet, not a word left your mouth. Tears were running down the sides of your face, tears that he was responsible for. “It would seem like you’re all ready to vote!” Monokuma said gleefully, much to Kiyotakas horror. “W-Wait! No! Hold on!” Taka cried out as he wanted to get answers from his best friend. “No more waiting! No more holding on!” Monokuma trailed on. But Mondo didn’t listen. He knew what was going to happen. He was going to die. But at least he died for the people he loved. He looked at you. You had tear filled eyes and a big frown. Suddenly, the levers you were all supposed to pull appeared. As everyone pulled their levers, only you, Mondo and Kiyotaka had been yet to vote. “Y/N! This can’t be happening! Tell me this isn’t happening! We’re not...WE’RE NOT VOTING FOR MONDO!” He yelled out as sobs escaped his throat. “Hey...Taka...Y/N...” Mondos voice rang through the trial room. You both turned to him. “It’s okay...vote for me...be safe...” and so, he grabbed his lever and placed his vote. “No! Don’t do this Mondo! Don’t do this!” Mondo gave the lever a big yank. Finalising the vote. He looked at you, you looked at him. Through your tears you saw him nod at you. And so, you pulled your lever.

•••

Taka was violently sobbing into the long coat that you had placed on his shoulders, Mondos coat that flew off him during his execution. It was the night after the trial. And Taka was completely destroyed. He was hysterically crying, letting out a sob in between every single breath he took. You stroked him on his back while trying to calm him down. “Hey...shh...shh...it’s...it’s not okay right now. I know that. But it’s going to be okay. We’re gonna get through this Taka. You and me. For Mondo. For Chihiro. He looked at you for a second before pulling you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay. You and me, we’re gonna get out of this alive. Because...” you trailed off for a second. “....because you have me.” Kiyotaka only started to sob more after you told him this. And you just kept stroking his back. “And I have you. We have each other. And we’re gonna be okay....”

“I promise you...”

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

i know who i am

summary: really, he never saw himself ever willingly letting anyone in on his broken past, but here he was, sitting in across from Waipo in the tiny cramped office at the back of the shop and nervously sweating about what he was about to tell her

read it on ao3: chapter 1 is the original version with Mandarin, chapter 2 has everything translated into English

the movie really hit me hard as an ABC, and I really wanted to write something for it. even though she barely had any screentime, I loved Waipo—she reminds me of so many of my relatives—so I decided to make her be one of the most important people in Shangqi’s life, and it turned into this wonderful mess (i had to stop writing this for a bit because I literally made myself cry). there is mandarin in this, it's kind of intended to be a physical manifestation of how my bilingual brain works (i did put the English-only version first, the original version with Mandarin is under that one but the formatting for it one is better on ao3, so i suggest reading it from there). apologies for my shitty mandarin; I have mediocre language skills, but I'm still so excited to be able to incorporate it in my writing. in regards to the character's names: I only know for certain the Chinese characters used for Shangqi and Wenwu, but for Xialing, I'm going to go with what it apparently was in the hong kong release (夏灵, with 灵灵 as the nickname)

English Translation:

“Waipo, do you have a bit of time?” Shangqi stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously as fluent Mandarin rolled off of his tongue with an ease he's never felt in any other part of his life. “I want to talk to you about something."

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “Does it have anything to do with the trip you and Katy went on this past week?" she asked, Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

He wasn’t exactly sure what within him prompted this interaction. He had come to San Francisco for a normal life, to get as far away from his father’s reaches as he could and to outrun the blood that stained his footsteps.

Never did Shangqi imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to Xialing, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

Never did he imagine letting anyone in on his broken past, and even though his hand had been forced when it came to telling Katy, here he was going to the second person who truly saw something in him when he first started his new life and planning to tell them everything.

(Okay, fine, Shangqi wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling Waipo, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, Lingling, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“Little Dragon, what’s on your mind?”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that Waipo also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

You have the heart of a dragon, she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

It was a while before he could bring himself to visit the family again—there were a lot of awkward excuses before Katy reluctantly backed off—and it took even longer for him to get somewhat used to the name again, but he eventually started seeing it as a gift with each faint impression of happier days that he got every time Waipo called him that.

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. Shangqi wondered how Waipo would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell Wenwu had put him through, he was still his father. Shangqi still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past Wenwu wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered the whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

Mom, I miss you so much.

(And now Wenwu is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

(But just as she died to protect her children, he did the same. Now, his children are reunited and in contact again, getting ever closer despite living as far apart as they did, and he was reunited with his love in the afterlife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at Waipo, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“Waipo, have you heard of the legend of the Ten Rings?”

And Shangqi told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving Lingling behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before Waipo moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw Waipo.

“You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person.” she finally said gently, and the tension in his shoulders slowly loosened under her familiar touch. “You decide your own fate.”

~~~

That night, Shangqi knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

Am I still your pride and joy? Lingling grew up, but I didn’t even take care of her like I should have.

I swear to you, I will never abandon her again

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and Lingling dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their parents’ legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

Lingling is dating my best friend now, and they’re so happy together. Mom, I know you would have loved Katy. Dad, I know you didn’t like her much, but she really is a wonderful person.

Life went on.

There were the good days, when he went out with others and could almost feel normal, and there were the bad days, when phantoms pains plagued him and he woke up from a restless sleep expecting to see bruises mottling his body like they did so often when he was younger.

(Also, he was considered a superhero now and holy shit that’s still insane, even years after he first got in contact with the Avengers and the sorcerers in New York. Now he was going all over the West Coast, to help the locals take care of whichever crazy supervillain decided to wreak havoc that day.)

Dad, I hope you find this story as funny as I did: I helped a group of American superheroes yesterday. They’ve never been to San Francisco before and were extremely unfamiliar with the roads, especially Lombard Street. They spent half an hour trying to drive down the street, but I ended up driving them down myself.

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and Xialing whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

Mom, Dad, Lingling and Katy are getting married today and everyone is so excited for them. I’m taking over the Ten Ring within a month so Lingling can take a break. She’s led the organization for so long, it’s my responsibility now. I hope I can live up to her standards, she’s done really well. She’ll be back in a few years, but even after, I’m going to be much more involved to lessen Lingling’s workload.

Shangqi walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll take care of them.

I hope you’re happy together in the afterlife.

~~~

Don’t be afraid, Shang-Chi, for you have heart of a dragon and the power of the Ten Rings.

We will always be with you and Xialing.

Original Version w/Mandarin

“外婆，您有没有一点儿时间？” 尚气 stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously. “我想告诉您一些事情。”

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “是不是跟你和瑞雯这前个星期去的旅行有关？” Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

Never did 尚气 imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to 夏灵, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again and damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

(Okay, fine, 尚气 wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling 外婆, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, 灵灵, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“小龙，你有什么心事儿？”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that 外婆 also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

你有神龙之心，she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname. You have the heart of a dragon.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. 尚气 wondered how 外婆 would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell 文武 had put him through, he was still his father. 尚气 still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past 文武 wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

妈妈，我太想你了。

(And now 文武 is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at 外婆, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“外婆，您听说过 ‘十环’ 的传说吗？”

And 尚气 told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving 灵灵 behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before 外婆 moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw 外婆.

“你是所有在你之前的人的遗产，但你是你自己的人，” she finally said，“你决定你自己的命运。”

You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person. You decide your own fate.

~~~

That night, 尚气 knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

我还是你的骄傲吗？灵灵长大了，但我也没好好照顾她。

我向你发誓，我再也不会抛弃她。

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and 灵灵 dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their family’s legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

灵灵跟我朋友最近开始谈恋爱，他们俩可开心了。妈，如果你还在我们身边，我保证你会喜欢她。爸，我知道你一开始不太喜欢她，但她确实是一位精彩的人。

Life went on.

爸爸，我希望你跟我一样觉得这个故事很好笑：我昨天帮了一组美国超级英雄开车。那是他们第一次来旧京山，对道路非常陌生—尤其是 Lombard Street。他们开也开不好，花了半个小时慢慢的开下去。最终，我把他们的车开下去的。

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and 夏灵 whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

妈，爸，灵灵她今天会跟我最好的朋友结婚，我们都很兴奋。我一个月之内开始接管十环的业务，让灵灵休息休息。她干了多少年了，现在是我的责任。我希望我能辜负她，她管的非常棒，帮了许多人。她几年后会回来继续当领导，但我好像在领导方面发挥更大的作用。

He walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

妈，爸，你们放心吧，我会照顾他们。

我希望你们俩来世都幸福。

~~~

尚气，你别怕，你有神龙之心，十环的力量。

我们永远会在你和灵灵的身边。

#i’m so sorry if the mandarin is shitty #the format is better on ao3 #but i’m so excited to be able to at least try it #shang chi spoilers #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings spoilers #shang chi fanfiction #shang chi #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #marvel fanfiction #mcu #shang chi imagines

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jessikahathaway · 3 years

Text

Into Eternity - FINAL

So, oh my gosh this is actually happening???

I have been writing this story for three years and it honestly has gotten me through so much? I love these characters and to give them an ending has brought me so many emotions. Thank you to everyone who has read and has loved these characters as much as I have.

Now buckle up, for the finale.

Pairing: Jimin X Reader

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Royalty!AU

Words: 8,877

Warnings: Attempted Suicide (it isn't graphic, but it's there so please be aware of that), Explicit Sexual Content, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Unprotected Sex (She preggie, but y'all be careful), Creampie, Dirty Talk. Birthing Scene (Not terribly graphic but just be aware), the fluff we've all been waiting forrrrr! (If I forgot anything please do let me know!)

It had been a week since the fight with Morgana and your death.

Jimin hadn’t been coping well at all.

Taehyung entered the bedroom where they had set you after the fight. Father Jin redressed you and washed your hair, but other than that you hadn’t moved or breathed. Nothing to note that you were alive. Father Jin had resigned himself to his room and hadn’t come out. Jungkook was training for hours on end and Taehyung was too busy trying to keep Jimin alive to do much else.

Hoseok had sent for more guards and they arrived soon after. Although they weren’t allowed inside the palace. No one was to come near, Jimin would have them beheaded.

Taehyung saw the same sight he’d seen for the last week. Jimin, at your bedside, waiting.

“Sire,” Taehyung announced his entrance.

“Taehyung,” Jimin answered softly.

“I brought you something to drink and a bit of porridge, will you eat it?” He asked, looking down at the small mugs in his hands.

“Yes, I’ll eat,” Jimin answered.

Turning around Taehyung sighed as he saw the dark bags under his eyes. The look of exhaustion that filled his frame was overwhelmingly sad. Taehyung knew his friend, and he was a shadow of himself. As if he were slowly dying without you with him.

But Taehyung pressed on, a smile coming across his features.

“Here you are,” Taehyung said, setting the mugs in his hands.

Jimin ate slowly, methodically. As if it was a chore to be doing so.

Taehyung wondered if he tasted it, his eyes were so devoid. It was like he was a skeleton walking around. No joints or ligaments, just bones clacking together. The way he moved was awkward and ungraceful, nothing like the Prince he knew. One thing was for certain.

He missed you.

“Jimin, do you want to take a bath?” Taehyung asked, looking at his friend’s appearance.

“No,” he said quietly.

“It’ll take a few minutes, please,” Taehyung urged.

“I’d rather not right now,” Jimin almost whispered.

“It’s okay, perhaps later,” Taehyung gave in, knowing that it wouldn’t happen later either.

“Taehyung,” Jimin’s voice was stronger this time.

“Yes, sire?”

“Do you think she’s really dead?”

“I don’t-”

“Perhaps this is what they wanted for me. To suffer without her,” he said bitterly.

“Don’t think so lowly of your ancestor, he tried to do what he could for you both,” Taehyung admonished.

“Perhaps I should die as well, join my beloved where we can be free together,” Jimin said, laying his head down on the bed, and gazing at you with misty eyes.

“Jimin!” Taehyung yelled.

Jimin flinched but didn’t move.

“I don’t think this is what Y/N would’ve wanted for you. She wouldn’t want to watch you starve yourself. She would want you to lie here and wait for something that might not happen. She’d want you to go out and live your life. To go out and be happy. Jimin, please listen to me. The way you’re treating yourself isn’t anything like what Y/N would’ve wanted for you. She loved you so much, and wanted nothing but the best for you. So for you to disrespect her wishes like this... It makes me sad, Jimin, truly it does.”

“So you do think she’s dead,” Jimin whispered.

“Jimin,” Taehyung said.

“Get out,” Jimin demanded softly.

“Jimin listen.”

“Get out Taehyung!” Jimin screamed, standing up.

Taehyung didn’t waste anymore time, slamming the door before he left.

It was the day of your funeral...

Jimin had fought tooth and nail to make sure he never saw this day, but here it was. It had been two weeks since your death. And Father Jin said it was time to lay you to rest. Jimin had denied it at first, but now, there was an eerie calm that settle over the palace. Jimin was silent, save for the few words he spoke to Taehyung. But other than that, no words left the man.

“We are here today to lay to rest a soul who has touched all of us in many ways,” Father Jin began.

You were laying in your coffin, beautiful as the day Jimin first saw you. The maids had braided gorgeous ribbons in your hair, and graced your face with the smallest amount of makeup, enhancing that natural beauty you had. Jimin’s eyes were filled with tears as he looked at you. His beloved bride, going so soon. And it was his fault you were dead. Because he couldn’t protect you.

“Jimin,” Taehyung whispered, nudging his friend.

“I’m fine,” he whispered back, wiping his eyes gingerly.

“Lady Y/N was a tender soul. Someone who wanted nothing but to share love and happiness wherever she went. I had the pleasure of knowing her, and I will forever miss her and her laughter. She is with God now, and I will take comfort in knowing that. May God rest her soul.”

Father Jin stepped away from the casket, Namjoon taking his place.

“Lady Y/N was fearless, and bright. Always willing to lend a hand to those in need. I failed her a guard and I will forever be unworthy. But as I continue on with life I will live for her, I will live with her in mind so that no one will ever suffer the same fate. I will protect the Royal family for the rest of my days, and will forever ask for forgiveness that I wasn’t able to protect them this time. Lady Y/N, I am so sorry. May you grace us with your love and kindness, so that we may forgive ourselves as well. You will be missed, dearly,” Namjoon said.

The rest of the proceedings went on, yet Jimin felt numb.

You lay there before him, so close yet out of reach. His soul yearned to reach out for yours, longing to touch you, to hold you. To bring you into his embrace and care for you as you did for him. When it was finally his turn to save you, he failed...

“Y/N was a beautiful person,” Taehyung began.

“She was smart, funny and a true joy to be around. I remember the first time I met her. She was outspoken, yet, in the best way. She challenged all of us to be better. To think more, to be more. She challenged me to be the best version of myself, and all I can say, is that I will continue to be the best person I can be. I will remember her fondly, and I will always be grateful for what she has done for me and my friends. May God rest her soul,” he repeated.

Yoongi spoke next, saying little but it was enough. Although Jimin still felt as though something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

Soon, it was Jimin’s turn to speak.

He felt awkward as he went to the front to speak. He took a deep breath in and imagined you, holding his hand. The warmth that suffused him gave him the strength to speak.

“Y/N was... everything to me. Never have I loved like I loved her. She was beautiful, caring, sweet and... maddening. She challenged everything I knew about myself. Everything I ever thought I knew, and she changed me. Y/N changed me for the better. She made me believe that I could do anything, be anything. No matter what I thought about myself, she always believed in me. More than I did. Y/N was knowledgeable. She loved to read, I promised her a library. That way she could read without me getting in her way, I had a way of interrupting her at the most important part of the book she’d tell me...” Jimin laughed, tears coming down his cheeks. “I love her so much, even now I love her so dearly and so fiercely that this all feels wrong. To be burying her feels like a foreign concept to me that I cannot accept. I-I... don’t want this to be it.”

“Y/N, I love you. Please forgive me,” Jimin said, taking out a vial.

It was poison. Jimin had planned to end his life here. Perhaps that was what had felt so wrong the whole time. The fact that he knew he’d be ending his life in front of his friends brought him no comfort. He only felt guilt, but he couldn’t bear another day without you here. It wasn’t feasible to him. It was everything he could do to stand right now.

“Jimin no!”

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, bringing the vial to his lips.

“I love you too,” a soft voice answered.

Before Jimin could turn around, Namjoon and Jungkook tackled him to the ground, taking the vial from his hands.

“No!” Jimin fought back, thrashing around like a child.

“Sire please!” Jungkook said, reaching for the vial.

“Jimin?”

Everyone froze.

Jimin looked up to see you, his beloved bride, sitting up in your casket.

“Y/N?” he whispered. Unable to believe his eyes.

“Jimin? What’s going on?” you asked, looking around. From your standpoint, you felt like you’d been asleep for a very long time. As if you’d be put under a sleeping spell or something along those lines. But now, you felt better than ever, as if you were refreshed for the first time in a long while.

“Y/N...” Jimin said, looking at you in disbelief.

“Jimin, what am I doing in here?” you asked, placing your hands on the side of the coffin.

“My love,” Jimin said, standing up and coming to your side. You looked up and smiled, so glad to see him.

“Hi,” you said, placing your hand on his cheeks. He’d been crying, you could tell.

“Y/N,” he whimpered, wrapping you up in his arms and cradling you to his chest.

“Jimin?” you asked, trying to push him back so you could look at him. But he held you firm.

“My darling, I thought I lost you,” he said, tears falling down his cheeks so freely.

“I don’t understand, the last time I saw you I was... How am I here?” you asked, looking around.

“It doesn’t matter, my love, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re here now,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you.

“But Jimin,” you started.

“Shhh,” he shushed, tangling his fingers in your hair. “I love you, so much,” he said, tilting your head up.

“I love you too,” you said back, but before you could say much else his lips were on yours. Jimin wasted no time, pulling you from the coffin without much difficulty. Jimin had you in his arms and like hell he was ever going to let you go again.

Slowly he pulled away and let his head rest against yours.

“Can you stand?” he asked, placing your feet on the ground.

“I think so,” you answered. Carefully, you took a step, almost falling to the ground if it wasn’t for Jimin’s strong arms keeping you up.

“Maybe not just yet darling, let me carry you,” he said, sweeping you up into his arms.

“Jimin!” you gasped, hanging onto his neck, not wanting to fall.

“I’ve got you,” he said, starting to carry you back towards the palace. The rest of the men there did nothing but watch as Jimin carried you in his arms.

“I never thought that this marriage would work out,” Taehyung said softly, looking at the disappearing silhouette of you and Jimin.

“Well, never say never I guess,” Namjoon said back, crossing his arms.

“I’m glad it worked out, Jimin deserves to be happy,” Jungkook commented.

“They both deserve it,” Father Jin said, smiling.

Your coronation was creeping up on you.

You and Jimin both would be crowned King and Queen of Arcane Kingdom. The people would be yours to govern and yours to care for. They were now your responsibility and duty. It weighed heavily on you, the stress of being a Royal. But you didn’t let it show, because you had been given a second chance at life another try.

No one gets that lucky.

But you did. And you weren’t going to waste it.

After everything that had happened, you were still so glad that you were with Jimin. Able to call him yours. It made your heart sing knowing he was your partner in all of this, your husband and truest love.

A knocking at the door shook you from your thoughts.

“Lady Y/N,” Father Jin said from the other side of the door.

“You can come in Father,” you said, putting your hairbrush down as you turned to face the door.

“I’m here as you requested,” he said, holding his bible and other various things you’d requested.

“Wonderful, I need your help,” you said, moving towards the bed.

Father Jin looked at you with confusion.

“It’s been two months and I haven’t bled yet. I-I was hoping you could find out if I was with child?” You said softly.

Father Jin almost fainted on the spot.

“W-With child? My dearest Y/N are you sure?” He asked coming forward.

“I’ve been having symptoms, the nausea in the morning, wanting weird foods and of course not bleeding but, I just wanted to know. I know if I have the palace physician check and I am pregnant he’ll run and tell Jimin. I want to tell him myself, it’s our possible child,” you said.

Father Jin beamed at you, quickly getting his materials ready.

“It would by my absolute honor my Lady,” he said. You smiled.

He busied himself with usual questions and looking at your stomach.

Finally Father Jin smiled brightly at you.

Biting your lip hard you heard his answer.

“My dear Lady Y/N, congratulations. You’re with child,” he said. Tears burst from you quickly, unable to handle the emotion of the whole situation.

You had been so worried that perhaps Morgana killing you would ruin your chances at having a child with Jimin. And considering you two had been having plenty of intimate moments, it was starting to become a fear.

But now...

Now you’re pregnant. With Jimin’s child.

Everything you’ve ever wanted and more.

“Father Jin,” you cried, hanging onto him so tightly. He pet your head gingerly, making sure you were alright before pulling back.

“Your timeline is correct, you are around two month pregnant,” he said, looking at your stomach with nothing but sheer adoration.

“I’ve been so worried,” you hiccuped.

“It’s alright Y/N, you are pregnant. And may the Lord bless you and your unborn child,” he said softly.

“Can you please keep this between us?” You asked.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he agreed.

“Thank you Father, truly, thank you so much.”

—

You were incredibly giddy for the rest of the week. Everyone had taken notice of your spunk and lively attitude. The stoic Yoongi even asked what had you all excited.

You just brushed it off, telling them you’d read a really good book or just ate something delicious. You wanted to tell Jimin so badly. But he was nowhere to be found no matter how hard you looked. The only time you were with him was when he crawled into bed with you early in the morning. Wrapping himself around you and keeping you close to him.

But he was always gone before you woke up.

You knew he was getting ready for the Royal coronation coming up soon, but it still made you a little sad. The distance.

However, you had planned it perfectly.

Jimin’s favorite lace night dress was wrapped around your body. A soft pink dressing gown over top. The man enjoyed unwrapping you like a present.

It was everything you could do not to just run to him in his study and proclaim your pregnancy to him then and there. But you oh so loved the look on his face when you gave him surprises.

Teasing little hints.

It was already late into the night, but you were determined to stay up and see your husband. It was moderately boring in your bedroom, alone, but it wouldn’t be lonely for long...

Just as you thought about going out on the balcony for some fresh air, you heard Jimin enter the room. You hadn’t seen him awake in a few days so you rushed over immediately to see him.

“Jimin!” You said, rushing to bring him into your arms.

Jimin smiled, looking exhausted, but happier now that he got to see you.

“Y/N, it’s late. What are you doing up?” He asked, kissing the top of your head with such tenderness it made your heart ache.

“Wanted to see you,” you mumbled, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“Well, you’ve seen me. But I think it’s time for bed,” he said, removing his tunic and draping it along the chair of your vanity.

“Can we talk first? There is something important I have to tell you,” you said, taking his hand in yours.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

“Just sit down,” you said, moving him towards the bed. Jimin sat down heavily, looking up at you with a gentle smile.

“Alright my love, what did you want to discuss,” he said, rubbing his face.

He was utterly worn out, and you could see it on his face. But you knew what you were about to say would make it all worth it. It would be okay.

“Jimin, I want you to know something,” you swallowed hard. Trying to keep your emotions from becoming too much.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yes, I’m fine Jimin. But, I want you to know how much I love you. How much I adore waking up in the morning next to you. And how much I love being your wife,” you said, bringing your hand to his cheek softly.

“I love you too,” he said, a smile appearing on his weary features.

“Jimin, I-I...” you stammered, trying to find the words to get them out. Jimin frowned at your flustered attitude. Normally you could tell him anything, he wondered what had gotten you so worked up.

“Jimin,” you said, walking closer. His sparkling eyes looked up at you and you so hoped the babe in your stomach would inherit those beautiful eyes.

“Jimin I’m with child,” you said, bringing his hand to your stomach.

Jimin’s whole demeanor changed instantaneously.

“What?” He croaked, looking up into your eyes with so much hope.

“Father Jin confirmed it,” you said.

“Y-You’re really pregnant?” He asked, looking at your stomach with a multitude of emotions running across his face.

“Yes,” you said.

“Oh my God, Y/N,” he cried, bringing you into his arms. Big fat tears were rolling down his face, catching in your hair and dressing gown.

“It’s okay, Jimin it’s alright,” you said, holding him tightly.

“I’ve waited for so long to hear those words from you,” he whimpered.

“I was worried that... possibly I couldn’t after-you know. But, I-I know they’re healthy, I can feel it,” you said brightly.

“I know they are too, my love. You’ll care for them so well, they’re going to be so perfect. You’re perfect,” he said, bringing his lips to yours gently.

Smiling into the kiss you attempted to deepen it, longing for your husband's touch. But Jimin quickly pulled away.

“I’m so exhausted my love, would it be okay if I just held you tonight? Both of you?” He asked, looking down at your stomach with so much love it made your heart stammer.

“Of course, Jimin, that’s always okay,” you said.

You both went to bed, sharing innocent pecks and warm words of love for each other.

It was so perfect.

—

Being pregnant was rather grueling task, you’d found out.

There were the weird food cravings. The palace chefs could hardly keep up with you. Then the constant nausea that had plagued you and often made you miss out on certain meals. And the aching of your back and feet was another problem.

But the love you felt for the being inside of you right now, was more than you could’ve ever dreamed.

Although, there was another symptom of your pregnancy that had been particularly hard to handle.

You were ravenous for your husbands touch.

Except, he hadn’t really wanted to do anything like that with you for a while... the last time you two had been intimate was when you made this baby. And that was five months ago.

Now that you were coming into a different stage of your pregnancy, everything was getting harder. Clothing yourself, putting on shoes. It was all so taxing and you mainly wanted to rest.

Unless Jimin was there.

In which case you wanted him to ravish you until the morning came.

But, for some reason, he didn’t feel the same.

Of course he loved you, this wasn’t something you doubted. But he was very busy and you were already pregnant so what was the point in engaging in those kinds of activities if the end goal was achieved... right?

You knew Jimin loved you, he said it and showed it often. But you wished he would take you to bed and pleasure you. Let you have as much of his cum as you wanted. However, something was stopping him.

And you were determined to find out what.

Walking through the palace halls you found your husband admiring the gardens out in front of the castle. Jimin loved seeing the flowers blooming and flourishing with colors. Made him feel light inside.

You came up beside him and looked at the flowers with him. He smiled at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and bringing you close.

The two of you stood like that, in silence for a few moments before you decided to speak.

“Jimin,” you said, keeping your eyes trained outside.

“Yes my love?” He answered, looking at you with pure joy.

“You seem distant lately,” you said, wrapping your arm around his waist.

“Have I? I thought we’d been spending quite a lot of time together... although if you’re feeling neglected I can see if I have more time to spare-”

“I-uh... I’ve noticed that we haven’t been... intimate since we conceived and I was just wondering, if you simply weren’t attracted to me being like this? Or if it’s because we’re already pregnant so there’s no need to try anymore or, um, something else maybe?”

Jimin’s face looked mortified as he tried to gather his scrambled mind and unprepared thoughts.

“Y/N, love no! Of course not! I absolutely adore being intimate with you! And not attracted to you? I-I can’t hardly control myself when I’m around you. Pregnant and swollen with my child,” he said, almost growling out the last part.

“Then why Jimin? Why haven’t you been touching me? Letting me touch you! What’s going on?” You asked, wondering what was causing the distance between your husband and you.

“T-the palace physician warned me about being with you like that, I don’t want to hurt you or the baby,” he said softly.

“But it’s not dangerous-Father Jin was encouraging me to, well as much as he would encourage someone to be intimate...” you said. “He said we should be... with one another as much as we can. It’s good for us to relieve the stress and I’ll never complain about you showing your love to me and my love for you.”

“But, what if I go too hard? What if I, I don’t know, make the baby come early? Or what if-”

“Jimin, my love, these are a lot of what ifs. Not a lot of what will... Nothing will happen to me or the child. That I can promise you,” you said, holding your distended stomach with affection. “You’d never hurt us.”

The young King looked so torn. Like he truly didn’t know what to do.

“I’m just... I’m worried about you,” he said softly, resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m tough,” you said, squeezing his hand gently.

“I know, God I know how strong you are. More than fit to be the Queen of this Kingdom, my wife, my equal... But, carrying a child is no small feat,” he said, brushing your hair off your face.

“It isn’t but I’m not doing it alone,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’ve been with me every step of the way. We had rocky beginnings, but look at where we are now. Look at how much we’ve overcome and how much we will overcome in the future. It’s incredible, Jimin. You are the ruler that destroyed the witch Morgana,” you said.

“Actually, you’re the one who dealt the killing blow on that one, I just get all the credit cause I’m the King. Unfair if you ask me,” Jimin laughed lightly.

“What I’m saying is, you’re so brave, stubborn and wickedly smart. Surely you can think of a way in which we can be intimate and it not harm me or the babe?” You said, biting your lip.

“Don’t do that, I’ve been having dreams about your sweet mouth,” he groaned.

“Mmm, have you? Perhaps I should give it to you then, hmm?” You teased.

Jimin was a rather dominant person, but you’d discovered that sometimes he likes to be pushed around in bed. Told what to do and to be praised. It wasn’t something you’d been entirely good at to start, but, with a little practice you’d gotten the hang of it.

“My love,” he croaked.

“Jimin, I know you. I know how careful and gentle you can be. I’ll tell you if anything hurts or if I’m uncomfortable. But please, please take me to bed,” you begged.

Finally, it seemed you broke through. Because soon, you were being practically dragged down the hallway. Jimin’s grip on your wrist was tight, but not enough to hurt. You smirked as he hauled you into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind the two of you.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, coming forward to place his hands on your swollen belly. “So beautiful, so perfect carrying my child.”

“All yours,” you agreed, humming as his lips touched your neck.

“And I’m yours,” he said softly.

“Take this off,” you pleaded, tugging at his shirt with disdain. Giving you a coy grin, he pulled the shirt off and threw it on the floor. You ran your hands over his beautiful body, teasingly pinching his nipple, causing him to flinch.

“Little sprite, I’ll teach you to tease me,” he growled. Wetness pooled between your legs. Jimin came forward, finally connecting your lips.

Kissing Jimin was something you’d never tire of. You were certain. The way his plush lips moved over yours with reckless abandon make you squirm. His mouth captured your own, pulling you into a romantic embrace as the pair of you shared your breath.

“Jimin,” you whispered as he pulled away.

“What is it my love? What do you desire?” He asked, moving his lips along your jawline.

“Whatever you’ll give me, I want it all,” you pleaded.

“My my, so greedy. What a greedy Queen I have,” he tutted. You whined at his tone, wanting nothing more for the clothes between you to be removed.

“I just want you, only you,” you pleaded.

“You have me my love, all of me,” he said, kissing you softly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, cradling his head. You felt the back of your bed against your knees, forcing you to sit down while Jimin kissed you with such ferocity it made your poor core clench tightly around nothing.

“And you have all of me in return,” you smiled. Jimin pushed you onto your back, making you stare at the ceiling. Your heart was hammering so hard in your chest, you could feel it in your throat.

“I-Is it okay if I pleasure you? With my mouth?” He asked, looking at you beneath his long lashes. You smiled and brushed his hair from his face gently, but this was not without difficulty, you swollen tummy proving to be an obstacle.

“Mmm, that does sound nice. But, you have had me wait five months for you. I’m slightly tempted to skip the foreplay and go right for the main event,” you mused, watching as Jimin’s eyes inflated slightly. You smiled at his obvious desire for you, before you sat up and undid the ties at the front of your gown. Jimin watched as your chest relaxed, breasts bigger than they were before you’d gotten pregnant.

“I-If you’re wet enough,” he said, licking his lips.

“Why don’t you check?” You said, peeling your dress from your shoulders and easing the fabric down. Jimin moved so you could wiggle out of the offending material and lay naked on the bed. He was astounded and slightly concerned that you hadn’t been wearing any undergarments underneath.

“Oh my beautiful wife, how lucky am I to have someone like you...” he trailed off, gazing at your center with wanton desire.

“I’m just as lucky, if not more so,” you smiled, tugging on his ashy locks, earning you a warning grunt in response.

“A husband who neglects his wife for months on end? Surely you jest with me,” he chuckled sadly.

“You are more than attentive. Sometimes smothering, but never neglectful. Jimin listening to the palace physician isn’t wrong. He just happens to think he knows everything while Father Jin has had actual experience with pregnancy and birth. By the way, he will be delivering our child, not that ridiculous palace physician. I’d rather not have him near me when I’m giving birth,” you huffed, pouting slightly.

“Oh? I see, who else did you want there while you deliver? I know I should’ve asked this but-”

“You, Father Jin to deliver and Jungkook as well as Taehyung. Yoongi and Namjoon, and... Hoseok,” you said pondering for a moment.

“Those are all men, Y/N,” Jimin reminded, pouting from above you.

“And? Hoseok is our Godfather for the child, I believe he should be there. Jungkook is good in a crisis and also has knowledge of pregnancy and birth from his mother. Taehyung is such a dear friend, I certainly want him there. Yoongi is always calm and collected, and Namjoon would just feel left out if I didn’t include him!”

“You missed one,” he frowned.

“Of course I want you there silly. It’s your fault I’m like this, so you’re going to be there for the whole thing, no stepping out and no leaving me, understood?” You asked, raising a brow at him. Jimin just nodded.

“It’s not just my fault you’re like this, I don’t ever recall you saying no,” he snarked.

“I’m also not saying no now, if we could get back on track?” You asked, bringing his hand to your throbbing center. Jimin seemed to get the message as he rubbed his fingers along your slit, collecting your slick between the pads of his fingers and your skin.

“My love, so ready for me,” he murmured, coming in closer to kiss your neck. You let out a sigh of pleasure, running your hands down his back, scratching along the skin gently, causing goosebumps to rise in your wake. He groaned as you gripped his ass in your palms, causing him to rut forward like a pup in heat. You smirked at his enthusiasm, squeezing once more before he whined against your skin.

“Oh!” You gasped as he entered one finger inside your tight heat. A soft groan came from his cherry red lips, causing you to clamp down on the digit inside of you. Jimin moved his finger gently, stretching your hole out carefully. Everything he did, he did with purpose. It made your heart stammer in your chest as you could feel another finger slipping in next to the first one.

“So tight,” he growled, pumping in and out of you with a delicious tempo that had your hips grinding down against his hand. “You’re soaking the bed my darling.”

“I-I can’t help it, you feel too good,” you moaned.

“Mm, you sure I can’t have a taste? Just a little bit wouldn’t hurt,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. You wanted so badly to encourage his devilish mouth, but you gripped his wrist and forced him to stop moving those dangerous fingers inside of you.

He looked worried for a moment. But you smoothed your thumb over his brow.

“I can’t wait any more, please don’t make me wait,” you whined, humping against his fingers. “Give it to me, please. Fill me up.”

Jimin’s eyes turned dark as he pulled his hand away from your center. Watching with rapt attention you saw him take his sticky digits and put them in his mouth, sucking lewdly on your arousal. Jimin made a show of it. Licking and sucking on his fingers, trying to get every last drop of your essence off of his fingers. He was also proving that he could pleasure you with his mouth if you’d only let him.

“You want my cock? Want it so bad huh? My beautiful Queen, you want it? Huh? Tell me why I should give it to you?” He said, eyes glazing over as you presented yourself on all fours for him.

“Because, I’ve been so good for you. I’m carrying your baby, so pregnant and full, but not full enough. I need more, more of your cum Jimin. Want more of it leaking from me, please, remind me how you got me pregnant. Please, won’t you give me your cock? Your cum? Please, I want it so badly,” you pleaded.

Jimin’s eyes darkened further. He knew you were good at begging, it was one of his favorite things to teach you, because you learned so quickly what he liked. And he would never be able to deny such an earnest request.

“If that’s what you want my love, then you’ll have it. Have me,” he agreed, moving off the bed to push his pants and underwear to the ground before coming back to the bed. You felt his presence behind you, smoothing over your back gently. “Is this position okay? Or do you need something different?” He asked, kissing your shoulder.

“This is okay, I’m comfortable,” you encouraged. “Now, fuck me.”

Jimin needed no further words as he sank into you slowly for the first time in months. The pair of you breathed out heavy sighs as you finally felt the fullness you’d been craving for weeks. Jimin choked on a moan when you flexed your walls around him, making him buck into you a little harsher than expected.

“Sorry! I haven’t-Since we haven’t been doing anything I haven’t even pleasured myself, I haven’t had the time, you feel so good around me, fuck,” he moaned out, gripping your hips firmly.

“It’s okay, I won’t last long. I’ve missed you so much,” you moaned, your fists tightening in the bed sheets beneath you.

“Oh shit,” he growled, bucking into you again, building a steady rhythm that had your chest jolting almost painfully. Your core was soaking, and Jimin wasn’t letting up. He was fucking into you so hard some of your arousal was falling down your thighs.

“Jimin, harder,” you pleaded, head falling into the mattress. Your husband didn’t have to be told twice as he started rutting into your wet heat with vigor.

“I’ve been thinking about this everyday since you told me you were pregnant,” he snarled, pulling all the way out just to force himself back in once more. You cried out when his fingers found your clit, causing you to grind back against him. The air rushed from his lungs as he watched you practically use him for your own pleasure.

“Everyday? Then why didn’t you do anything?” You whined, bouncing back against him harshly. Jimin swallowed hard as he tried to stave off his looming orgasm.

“Because the physician... I was worried I’d hurt you or the baby, like I said earlier. But now that I know this is safe, don’t expect to be able to walk for a while,” he warned, pulling on your sensitive nipples gingerly. You cried out into the mattress when milk started to leak down Jimin’s hand. He watched as the pearly white substance soaked the sheets beneath you like your arousal had earlier.

“Fuck! Jimin, keep going please!” You begged when he got distracted by your chest practically flooding the bed.

“Have you not been expressing the milk? Doesn’t it hurt?” He asked.

“Yes, it aches so much during the day and I’m so sensitive when I try to sleep. Sometimes I wake up and my nightdress is soaked from milk,” you whined, trying to reach for him so he would keep pounding into you.

“Mm, since I didn’t get to have a taste of your pussy... Maybe you’ll let me have something else instead,” he teased, licking the milk off of his hands and groaning when it hit his tastebuds.

“More, please more!” You begged. Jimin noticed your frantic bouncing and eased you into a spooning position. He was still throbbing inside of you, but you could feel his head come to your shoulder, placing soft kisses against it.

“Let me drink from you, it must hurt my darling. So full and heavy with milk for our child, but they can share, surely?” He teased, kissing the side of your breast while giving shallow thrusts to your womanhood.

“You can have it, whatever you want as long as you keep fucking me. Please, Jimin, I’m so close,” you whimpered. Sensing your urgency Jimin started his brutal pace back up. You cried out in bliss when his mouth met your sensitive nipple. Jimin gently suckled at your chest, causing more milk to enter his mouth.

He groaned at the flavor and gave a few sharp ruts into your clenching pussy. You were besides yourself with pleasure, almost in tears at all the stimulation.

Jimin wasn’t doing much better. Five months without even masturbating was proving to be his end far too quickly.

“Y/N, I’m going to cum. Are you close?” He asked, reaching down to push at your clit gently.

“Yes! Right there, pleasepleaseplease! Jimin,” you cried. Your walls tightened beyond belief, causing Jimin to freeze in his thrusting. He watched your face as you fell apart for him, causing him to reach his end as well. A cry of your name on his lips as ropes of hot cum painted your walls milky white. Jimin shuddered in overstimulation as you continued to clench yourself around his spent cock.

The pair of you lay there, clutching each other in the afterglow as you tried to catch your breath. Jimin decided to move first, pulling his still twitching length from your abused center. You watched as he stood on wobbly legs and came back with a towel to clean you up with. A soft smile took over your features as you spread your legs easily for him.

After he was satisfied, you opened your arms for him. Jimin moved forward without hesitation, wrapping your exhausted body with his own. He kissed the top of your head, then around your jaw and finally a firm kiss was placed on your lips.

“I love you so much my darling,” he smiled, resting his head on the pillow.

“I love you too, we both do.”

—

You’d never thought that giving birth would be a pleasant experience.

But never in your entire life did you imagine it would hurt this much.

The contractions had started early in the morning. Making you wake Jimin with a frantic push.

“My love what is it?” He asked, sitting up in the bed with a bewildered look on his face.

“Get Father Jin right now,” you demanded, leaning forward to hold your severely swollen stomach. Jimin was out of bed and quickly called the guards to get the Priest from his room as fast as possible.

They yelled back their confirmation before they hurried off. You felt the distinct cramping from your groin and moaned low in pain. Jimin came back over to you, looking at you with worry etched onto his features.

“Do you want anything? Anyone? I’ll call for whatever you need,” he said, taking your shaking hands in his.

“Good morning,” you whispered, giving him a weak smile.

“Good morning,” he smiled back, kissing your knuckles gently.

Soon you were in a different room entirely, getting settled into the blankets and all the people close to you had been summoned.

Jungkook and Taehyung had gotten there first, both excited and ready for the proceedings.

“Lady Y/N! It’s really happening? Oh my gosh! I’m so excited for you,” Jungkook said, coming over to place a gentle kiss on your hand out of respect.

“Thank you Jungkook, how is training the new recruits going?” You asked, trying to distract yourself from the pain.

“Oh that’s all boring! We don’t want to hear about that!” Taehyung said, coming next to you and also kissing your hand.

“Maybe she does my Lord,” Jungkook sneered. You knew the two of them had always had a friendly competition going on. But, right now you shushed them and told them to go sit down.

Hoseok and Namjoon were next, coming in shortly after Taehyung and Jungkook.

“My lady,” Namjoon said, taking to his knee in front of you.

“There’s no need for that right now, Namjoon. How are you? We haven’t had tea in a while, and I fear if this babe comes now we might not for a long while yet,” you teased and Namjoon just smiled as he stood up.

“We can sneak some tea in soon my Lady, leave the child with the King to see how he fares,” he smirked. Jimin was pouting. You knew it without even looking at him.

“I might have to do that,” you smiled. Hoseok came over quickly after, kissing your hand a few times before looking at you with excitement.

“Is there anything you want? Anything you need? I know you’re not supposed to eat anything right now but maybe some water?” He asked.

“It’s so sweet of you to offer, but right now I’m just tired and a little cranky,” you laughed, trying to keep yourself in good spirits.

Hoseok seemed to understand, giving your hand a soft squeeze before walking over to talk with Namjoon and Jungkook.

“Where’s Yoongi? And Father Jin?” You asked, looking around.

“We’re here!” Father Jin said, a bright smile on his face as he escorted a grumpy looking Yoongi through the doorway.

“Yeah, here,” Yoongi said, yawning and scowling at the older man.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” you whispered, reaching out for the stoic man. His resolve quickly melted as he came by and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

“I’m sure you’d rather be sleeping now too, but I’m fine. Are you alright?” He asked, looking at you with an intensity you always forgot he possessed.

“Yes, just some contractions right now. My water hasn’t broken yet,” you said. Yoongi nodded and looked at Jimin with a soft smile.

“How are you faring, feeling okay?” He asked, looking at the father to be with kind eyes.

“Nervous, but happy,” he confirmed, taking your hand in his.

“Wonderful,” he yawned, going to sit down and hopefully doze off while you were still in the early stages.

Father Jin gathered everyone up and they all listened attentively to whatever he had to say. The day progressed and your water hadn’t broken yet, but the men all stayed, asking if there was anything you needed, holding your hand if you felt a particularly rough contraction.

But most importantly, Jimin was right by your side the whole time.

When your water did finally break, it was like hell also had broken loose.

It was later, probably afternoon when you felt it happen.

Father Jin was suddenly on his feet demanding towels and hot water for you, as well as some herbs that would help numb the pain as much as they could. Jimin looked panic stricken when you clutched onto his hand.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, brushing your hair away from your face.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, another wave of pain crashing through you without remorse.

“I’m scared too,” he confessed. “But I know you can do it. You’re already the perfect wife, now you’re going to be the perfect mother... Our child is almost here,” he said, kissing your cheek.

“Jungkook, Lord Taehyung each of you grab a leg and hold them please,” Father Jin said as he sat in front of you. Both men looked shocked at the idea, but you and Jimin both nodded, giving them permission.

Jungkook gently placed his hands on your calf and pushed your leg back holding it in position for you. Taehyung did the same, each of them keeping their eyes respectful.

“Why do we have to hold her legs?” Taehyung asked, looking at Jungkook.

“Gives her more leverage and relieves some of the pressure on her back,” Jungkook answered.

“The only problem is it can close off the birthing canal at an awkward angle, but for now this is the best position to give her a break,” Father Jin said.

When you started pushing, you felt your lower back ache with how much strain you were under. Jimin could only watch as you cried out in pain when Father Jin urged you to keep going.

Everyone in the room was tense with worry.

Your health had always been fragile, even after coming back from the dead you still fell sick easily and had trouble with your lungs. But Father Jin was focused on the baby, while Jimin was focused on you.

“I never expected it to hurt this much,” Namjoon whispered, watching on in horror as his Queen and dear friend struggled to keep conscious through the pain.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” you wailed. Hoseok was quick to grab a bucket that was formerly filled with water and held it as you threw up. Jimin smoothed his hands down your back, trying to keep himself from crying. Jungkook and Taehyung had given you a break with your legs so you could turn as you emptied your stomach.

“Y/N,” Jimin murmured, kissing your shoulder gently.

“Sit back straight, Y/N, you need to keep pushing,” Father Jin said. You were delirious with pain and exhaustion. You needed something to keep you grounded. The one thing you knew would always keep you grounded.

“My love, talk to me, just keep talking to me,” you pleaded, voice hoarse with how much you’d been crying.

“Y/N, it’s alright,” Jimin soothed, kissing your sweaty forehead with worry. “They’re almost here, we’re so close to meeting our baby. We’re so close to being a family.”

“Alright your Majesty another big push on the count of three, one... two... three!” Father Jin said, you pushed hard and felt nothing but sheer agony as the child started crowning.

“I can see the head!” Hoseok said, standing behind Father Jin, now hanging onto Yoongi tightly.

“Oh my God,” you cried, head falling back on the pillows.

“Keep pushing Y/N!” Father Jin said, preparing a cloth.

“I can’t, I really can’t, I’ll die if I keep going please,” you stammered. Taehyung and Jungkook shared an anxious look. Namjoon looked at you with fear written all over his features.

“My love, look at me,” Jimin said softly, bringing your eyes to his.

“It hurts, I can’t... Please don’t make me, ah!” You cried out as you felt another contraction.

“Y/N you need to push! Hard as you can,” Father Jin said, looking at your situation.

“Keep going Lady Y/N,” Jungkook said, looking up to your weary face. He’d seen several women give birth in his village, his mother being a midwife. But, to see someone he cared about going through this was difficult.

“You’ll be alright, you will. But if you stop pushing you’re putting you and the baby in danger,” Father Jin warned.

“How much longer?” You cried, giving another hard push.

“You’re so close,” Yoongi said, watching you with concern.

“You’re doing great!” Taehyung chirped, watching on in amazement.

He couldn’t wait to have his own family...

“The head is almost out, come on Y/N, keep going,” Father Jin said.

“Jimin,” you whimpered, clutching his hand as you gave the hardest push yet.

“I love you so much, keep going Y/N, I love you,” he whispered into your ear. You pushed again and finally, finally there was some relief.

“Oh my God!” Hoseok yelped, gripping onto Yoongi’s arm so tight he was certain that he was going to break his limb.

“You’re going to rip my arm off! Father Jin is a little busy right now!” Yoongi growled.

“Can you give me one more push? Just one more,” Jimin asked, kissing your shoulder. Looking at him with tears in your eyes you nodded, giving another strong push before soft cries filled the room.

“It’s a boy!”

“A prince!”

“Congratulations your majesties!”

You slumped back onto the bed, breathing heavily when a small bundle was placed on your chest. Looking down you saw your son, wiped off haphazardly and clutching your nightdress tightly.

“Oh Y/N,” Jimin whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“He’s so handsome!” Hoseok cooed, looking on at you and Jimin both. Father Jin had you push a few more times to deliver the afterbirth, but nothing was as intense as giving birth to your son.

“Ji...min...” you breathed, eyes growing heavy.

“Can she rest Father?” Taehyung asked, looking at the little prince attached to his mother with tear filled eyes.

“Not yet, Y/N, stay awake,” Father Jin warned.

“Why...?” You asked, slowly taking in deep breaths.

“I need to check you and the baby over, and he needs to feed,” Father Jin said softly, cleaning you up still. Your eyes were still heavy, but you heard your baby crying softly on your chest.

Instinctively you shushed him, bringing him to your chest so he could latch on. After a little struggle, he was feeding eagerly. You brushed his hair gently, watching with sleepy eyes as he ate his fill.

Father Jin came over, congratulating you on a wonderful delivery. He did tell you everything you needed to do for the coming days, encouraging you to stay in bed and keep the baby close to form a relationship. He also told Jimin to take the baby and have time as well.

“It’s important that you two stay together for this coming week, I’ll make sure that the advisors and everyone just leaves you alone unless it is absolutely life or death,” Father Jin said, looking at your babe with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

“What’s the baby’s name? Hmm? What do we call our new prince?” Namjoon asked, raising a brow.

“Jihoon?” You asked, looking at Jimin for confirmation.

“It’s perfect,” Jimin agreed, giving you a kiss on the forehead.

“Prince Jihoon, I’ll let the advisors and everyone know,” Taehyung said, running into the hall.

“Lord Taehyung! Just hang on a second!” Namjoon yelled, chasing after the excited noble.

“We’d better go and make sure they don’t get into any trouble,” Yoongi said to Jungkook, patting his shoulder before guiding the younger male out the door.

“As much as I’d love to spend time with my Godchild, I have to make sure that my brother and friends don’t cause a scene,” Hoseok said. He came up and gave your hand a gentle kiss. “Congratulations Lady Y/N, I’m truly happy for you.”

With that he left the room, followed shortly by Father Jin.

You and Jimin were alone with your baby, the soft sound of his gurgles filling the room. Jimin looked down at you, eyes watery as he kissed your child’s head. You brushed the tears away from his face, even though exhaustion was flooding your aching body, you wanted to make sure he was okay too. He had also been through a lot today.

“I love you,” you said, watching as more tears fell from his eyes.

“I love you too, both of you... So much,” he whimpered. “That was the most beautiful and heartbreaking thing I’ve ever had to experience.”

“Heartbreaking?” You wondered out loud.

“To see you in so much pain, and there was nothing I could do about it,” he said, looking at your child, hands shaking.

“It’s alright, I’m okay now,” you said, holding his hand in your clammy one. Jimin pressed a delicate kiss to your wrist, looking up at you with so much love and adoration.

“I’m sorry you hurt so much, if I could take your pain I would,” he said, brushing your hair back.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore,” you mumbled, eyes closing slowly. “Just tired now...”

“Sleep my love, we’ll be here when you wake up.”

And they were.

And they always would be.

Forever.

91 notes · View notes

gowoshusoul · 3 years

Text

Fanmade Chaos Insurgency Item: Grandmother’s Ring

(TW: themes of suicide, mentioned/implied domestic violence)

Item: Grandmother’s Ring

Size: Size 8

Type: A wedding ring of unknown era

Living: No

Sentient: No

Potential/current hazards: Can induce madness, can cause death

Location: Base Five

Reported Anomaly: Mind altering cognitohazard

USAGE

The Insurgency currently has no use for Grandmother’s Ring.

REPORT

Grandmother’s name is an ornate, diamond Victorian wedding ring. It was a family heirloom before being collected by the Insurgency. While it appears to be nothing out of the ordinary, there are multiple written testimonies of its anomalous properties. Grandmother’s Ring should be kept in a standard felt ring box and should not be worn by anyone under any circumstances.

If a married person assigned female at birth puts the ring on, they will be driven to madness. If a person assigned female at birth is not married, the ring will have no effect.

If a person assigned male at birth puts the ring on, they will be strangled by an unseen force.

The entity attached to the ring cannot be seen by anyone not wearing the ring and cannot be captured by cameras. Our only knowledge about the entity is from first-person accounts and interviews have proved unsuccessful.

A picture of Grandmother’s ring before it was put in storage.

ADDENDA

Below are relative journal entries written by the last person to wear Grandmother’s ring. Her skeleton was found with the ring still on its finger. Skeleton has been collected for testing.

7/17/1841

I’m to be married in a week's time. My dress was my mothers, though certain alterations had to be made for it to fit my figure. Ma was always a small thing. Petite and fragile, she preached that men would love me for my shape. For all the soft parts of me waiting to be slept on and hugged and loved. I would keep my husband warm at night, she told me. Her words ring true as my beloved Harry tells me I have more to love than the average woman and he loves me well. He spoils me more than I think I deserve, and I pay him back in poetry. He loves me, and he’ll love me more in my mother’s dress. White, floor length, modest with frills around the wrist and beading from foot to breast. My veil will be my own. My ring has been in the family for so long that we’ve forgotten the name of the woman that once wore it. I’m honored to wear it, and glad my sister declined to fight me for it. She doesn't wish to marry, she said. Rather, she fancies planting a garden with a close friend of hers. They can eat the fruits of their labor and that will be enough for them. I’m thankful for her decision. For the ring.

7/24/1841

It’s the morning of. From the moment I awoke, my hands trembled with excitement. They still did as my sister Adelia dressed my hair. She helped me in the dress and behind me I saw her eyes full of tears in the mirror. Behind her, I saw a flash of white in the corner of my vision. I’ve come to accept that I’ll meet the same mad end as my mother. Adelia will as well, but today is not one for lamenting the inevitable. Even if I’m to forget this day in my old age, I will enjoy it. I will revel in it for as long as it remains in my memory, and I will cherish my Harry long after I’ve forgotten his name. We have a love that transcends madness and forgetfulness. When we are old and decrepit, we will hold hands on our deathbeds and go together, neither of us willing to go alone. I’ve found a man I can face death with. No matter what greets us on the other side, we won’t be lonely.

7/25/1841

Last night was the greatest of my life. Even now, the next morning, my head is light and airy, my chest full of suppressed giggles as I awoke to his loving face on the pillow beside mine. There’s no feeling to compete with that of waking to see his face, to hear his gentle snoring as I sneak out of bed to write my love. Should someone one day in the future read my diary, know that there is love for you. Pure, untouched love you can never imagine before you feel it. It doesn’t happen fast. It isn’t like falling. It’s like sinking into a comfortable bed and having a blanket lovingly tucked around your shoulders. It’s a feeling of utter safety, of waking up on an overcast day with the gentle pattering of rain against the grass. You know you have nothing to do that day. You revel in the warmth until you realize the blanket wrapped around your shoulders are the arms of your beloved. You will feel love like this, too. All you have to do is give it the time to flower.

7/27/1841

I never expected the madness to grip me so quickly. I awoke to the sight of Harry’s dark beard against the white silk pillow cases. At the foot of my bed, however, I saw a woman. Her hair was the color of straw, her eyes white and tearful. She stared through me, into something I can’t understand and spoke to me. Fear not. You are in danger, she said, and I am here to protect you. I whispered, so that I wouldn’t wake my beloved Harry, and asked her what danger I could be in. She wept into her palms. Poor girl, she said, you never could have known. I was frightened, so I turned to Harry and buried myself in his arms. I’m not sure when she left, as my head was in my beloved Harry’s chest. I listened to his heart until he woke. When I lifted my head, she was gone.

7/30/1841

I see her in my sleep. The weeping woman dresses in white and veiled with sheer lace. Out of the corners of my eyes, hiding behind my Harry. She sits at my dinner table and weeps in my bed. She warns me against my marriage and I tell her I won’t leave. Harry exudes love and passion. He wraps his arms around my waist and leans his weary head against my shoulder while I cook. I sit in his lap as I read and she sits across the room from me. She can’t see our love, or she chooses to look through it. I assure her I’m safe. I am loved, but every time she takes to drying her cheeks and telling me, one day you’ll understand. One day you’ll know. But I know now the love I feel. The safety of Harry’s strong arms and will. He’ll let no harm come my way.

8/12/1841

I had an awful dream last night. It started at my wedding, though it wasn’t really my own. The man standing before me was not my Harry. He was a tough, rugged man with eyes of blue and hair of brown. It was curly and tousled. He smiled with his teeth bared and I woke as he slipped my ring onto his finger. As I look down at it now, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and the image of that man in my head. One look from my beloved Harry banishes any thought of him. However frightening that man was, my beloved is infinitely more comforting. He is safety and warmth personified.

8/20/1841

She comes to me daily with her eyes red from drying tears. He doesn’t love you, she says, but I know she’s lying. I argue with her in the dead of night when I’m able to slip from my bed and join her on the porch. I don’t want my voice to wake Harry. She stood by the steps as I sat in my rocking chair. I told her Harry loves me, that he means no harm, but she won’t be swayed. She shakes her blond head and insists, Time will tell. I sit with her on my loneliest of nights, when Harry’s too tired from work to keep his eyes open after dinner. She reveals nothing of her life, but asks me about mine. I readily tell her. I try to comfort her. I tell her how lovely Harry was during our courting, how patient and gentle and kind he was. She hears none of it.

8/26/1841

I’m teaching myself to ignore her, though I hear her heels on my wooden floor in the dead of night. Back and forth down the hall, always stalling by the bedroom door but never barging in. She seems to have learned to respect my boundaries. I contemplate taking the ring off, though I fear hurting my beloved Harry’s feelings. I shall keep it on, as a testament to my love and a promise to her that Harry can be trusted. She whispers to me that my mother thought the same thing as my father. That she saw the same light and felt the same comfort in her own husband. But those men are different from my beloved. I tell her she has no reason to doubt him, that it’s unfair to judge him for the acts of men that have come and gone. She won’t hear me.

8/27/1842

I had another horrible nightmare and woke to a cold, empty bed. The same man as before was in the dream. The same ring was on my finger. He took me by my hand and led me to bed. I refuses to lie with him and his face twisted with terrible anger. He took my hips in his wide hands and I relented. In spite of his anger, there was a warmth to him. A light that shines through his blackened soul and gave me hope that he might one day change. As my dress slipped from my shoulders, the dream ended. She was waiting for me by the door. Her cheeks were wet with tears. I was like you once, she said, men never change. I told her my Harry has nothing to change. He is pure and handsome and kind. She shook her head and left me.

9/10/1841

He plagues me nightly. Every time I lay my head down, he’s waiting for me. With every night, he looks more and more like my beloved. His hair straightened and turned black. He shouts with a voice like thunder and crashes glass against the wall when I try to comfort him. I tell him I love him. He takes the words out of my mouth. Every morning, she’s waiting for me. By the door, on the porch; an apparition following me every step of my life. That was my ring, she says, but I’d already guessed that. I asked her who she was, and she replied: It doesn't matter. I’m someone else now, and I can protect you. I need no protection, I tell her, but she doesn’t hear me.

9/14/1841

My paranoia controls me. I finally told Harry about the woman and the dreams. He wrapped me up in his arms and kissed my hair. It’s okay, he says I’ll protect you. I’ll love you in sanity and madness alike. I’ll chase the man from your dreams and the woman from your visions. I still dream of him. I still see her, but I am loved. That’s all that matters.

9/20/1841

My beloved Harry’s support is something I never could have imagined. When I tell him where I see the woman, he stands in front of her and blocks her from my vision. He saves me the grief of having to interact with her. She still plagues me, though she never speaks. She watches with worried eyes as Harry dips me to give me a kiss, as his beard tickles my neck with his kisses. He protects me from her, just like he said.

10/1/1841

I’m still shaken from last night’s dream. Never in my life have I seen something so horrid, a scene so disgusting. I never would have thought my mind capable of conjuring such offensive visions. I awoke with tears and my beloved was there to hold me, to whisper into my hair that he has me, that I’m okay. And I was okay, though my hands still tremble as I write before bed.

I dreamt of the same man. This time, though, there was something wrong with him. I was timid and small, made to feel smaller by his oppressive figure. I was backed against a wall. There were hands around my throat. My lungs burned. My lips were numb as I dug my nails into his arms. As my vision faded, I looked at him one last time to find that it was my beloved Harry. I woke to see his face on the pillow next to mine. He left a bitter taste in my mouth.

10/2/1841

I’ve had enough. I confronted the woman, cornered her in my own home as her ghostly figure passed through my walls. I asked her who she was and she burst into tears. I noticed the bruises on her neck for the first time and she admitted to me, I am the Angel of Death. I come to you as I came to your mother and your mother’s mother, to warn you of the evil that lurks in every man’s heart and carry you away from their cruelty. I shouted at her, My Harry has no blackness in his heart. He is the off-white pages of my girlhood diary where I lamented my lack of love, where I professed my jealousy for my friends as they found love I vyed for. She shook her head, but I made her listen. My beloved Harry is good and pure. He loves me as I love him. He protects me against my madness, about the madness she brought onto me. I cursed her for my undoing. For my nightmares. For the voices that live between my ears and steal my thoughts from my head. I cursed her for daring to put such a horrible image in my head and I cursed her because I’ll never forget it. Harry heard the commotion and came to collect me. Now he lays his head on my thighs as I write. I’m infinitely thankful for him.

10/21/1842

My nightly horrors have grown too much to bear. Every night, Harry strangles me. I wake gasping for breath with tears on my cheeks. Tears that he dutifully wipes away, though I’ve learned to flinch from his touch. He never raises a hand to me, never speaks a harsh word to me. He’s always worried, always kind. He is a light in my life, one threatened to be snuffed out by the Angel’s cruel visions of the past. I confronted her again, once again on the porch so that I might not disturb my love. I asked her why she tortures me, and she tells me again that she’s protecting me. From what? I asked. She shook her head. You still don’t see it, she said. I don’t. I never will, because my beloved is not her husband. He is not my father nor my grandfather. He is a good, patient man, and she has no right to punish me for having a love purer than hers. My love is right, I said, and yours was wrong. My heart aches for you, but I have a life to live. I have love to dive into and comfort to feel. I don’t deserve to be driven mad like my mother and my mother’s mother. She shakes her head. She doesn’t hear me.

12/1/1841

We thought the delusion was genetic. We thought the woman mom saw in her dreams and out of the corner of her eye was a symptom of living in such an old home. Ma grew up on stories about a fair-skinned woman roaming the halls lamenting for her short life. This was before mom ever saw her. When grandma was still alive and had the mind to tell stories of her youth. She said the woman first appeared before her on her wedding day. There was an unfamiliar face in the crowd. The woman with blond hair and white eyes was crying in a church pew next to my great-grandmother, who warned her nonbelieving child of what she called the wedding ghost. I thought she was lying or crazy. I should have known better than to doubt three generations of women seeing the same apparition. I’m killing myself tomorrow to rid myself of her. Her fear and delusions, her unending scare tactics and the wailing in the middle of the night. She hovers behind my husband, my beloved Harry, and whispers over his shoulder all the horrible things he might do to me. The horrible things he wants to do to me. She never lies, she says, she never will. She claims she knows what’s best for me, but I know best. I’ve lived in my head longer than she has. I’ll put an end to her torture. I’ll die with the ring on my finger and hide my body so that no one else should be hurt the way she hurt me. She tells me she’ll accompany me in death, that she’ll carry me to somewhere better.

I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her.

I curse her. I pray that my body is too heavy for her arms, that she might be tied down to my corpse, that my rotting face will torture her as she’s tortured me with Harry’s.

My love, I’m sorry. It’s too much to bear.

#scp #scp foundation #scp canon #chaos insurgency #fanmade scp #chaos insurgency item #scp fanfiction #?#i'm trying my best to post concistently #and get an actual following #it aint much #but it's hard work #mainly because i'm trying not to spam tags for attention #that shit's irritating #but boy is it tempting

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officially-a-bee · 3 years

Text

Amber rummages around, pulling her knives and her whetstone out of her bag. “So.”

“So.” Thom stared at her, dark eyes shining.

“What do you want from me? And stop staring, it’s creepy.”

“What do I want? Amber, I thought you would’ve figured it out by now. I’ve only been following you, trying to talk to you, for the past month.”

“Yes, I noticed and was thoroughly creeped out.” Amber scraped her stone against her blade, and an irritating scraping sound emanated through the room. “The only reason I let you talk to me right now is because I was bored of trying to lose you. Now stop with the guessing game and just tell me why you’re here.”

Thom threw his hands up exasperatedly. “I want your help! You’re one of the best fighters out there, and you have personal ties with Havoc themself. I need your help to save this country!”

“Oh?” Amber tilted her head slightly.

“I’m on an important quest to stop the Dark Army from taking complete control and reigning supreme over this country. They already control the West, the South, and the Northeast; the East Coast is really all that stands between them and total dictatorship. I believe I can stop them and keep the island free, but I can’t do it alone. Will you come with me? It’ll be a long and arduous journey, but you’ll be paid extremely well when the job is done, and then you can go right back to your own quest.”

“What else is in it for me?” Amber asked skeptically.

“What - what else? I just told you, you’d save the world, be known as a beloved hero across the land, and get paid for it, that’s what you get. What else could you want?”

“It’s just, I’m a little busy right now, you know? I’m not sure if this is worth my time.”

Thom looked bewildered. “Worth your time? The fate of the world is at stake! You don’t get to be busy, this is destiny at work!”

“Hmm. Fine.”

“You’ll help me?” Thom lit up.

“Ha. No.” She sat back and chuckled. “No, I don’t help creeps. I just thought it’d be amusing to lead you on.”

“No? Come on! You can’t say no, the world is at stake! What will it take to convince you? My mother’s a wealthy merchant, I’ll pay you handsomely.”

“Oooh, he’ll pay me handsomely, huh? Funny, I thought I was pretty handsome on my own.” Amber shrugged and continued idly sharpening.

“You - well, I wouldn’t call you ‘handsome’, but you are attractive, I have to agree-”

“I didn’t ask. Shut up.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” Thom said indignantly. “I am the hero of this realm, and I’m offering you the chance to become a hero too! You should be thanking me!”

“I’ll tell any asshole to shut up if they deserve it, I’ll thank you as soon as you’ve done me a favor, and you’re no hero of mine. No means no. I don’t need to be a hero. I have a job of my own to do.” Amber tested the edge of the blade with her thumb, apparently judged it sharp enough, and pulled out a different knife.

Visibly trying out a different tactic, Thom picked up the finished blade and tested it against his own thumb. “This is a good dagger. Did you choose it yourself? The craftsman must have been very good at his job.”

“No, I slayed a great spider-beast and upon slitting its throat, that knife dropped out into my open palm, which is how I knew I was blessed by the gods.” Amber deadpanned.

“Ah, yes, the trial of the spider beast!” Thom’s eyes lit up. “You are indeed blessed, I had no idea I was in the presence of such an accomplished warrior!”

“Don’t bullshit me. I was being sarcastic. My girlfriend made it for me. Give it back.” Amber didn’t wait for him to hand it over, electing to snatch it away instead.

“Oh! I didn’t realize you travelled with any friends. Where is she? I imagine any friend of yours must be just as lovely as you are.” Thom twisted around to look at the door, as if Keira was about to walk through at that second.

“You’re Western, aren’t you.”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Never mind.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, Amber casually carrying on with her sharpening, Thom looking around the room for another way to continue the conversation.

“So, what friends do you have, then? You must have allies. Tell me about Havoc!” Thom asked, sounding just a little bit desperate.

“My friends are none of your business. And I imagine what little you do know about Havoc is too much, in their opinion. They prefer the mystique, if you didn’t know.”

Thom blinked. “Well, I - I did know that, but -”

“But you thought I’d go behind their back and spill everything I know about them to you, a stranger I just met who’s been tracking me for the past two months? I think not. Obvious threat of them having me murdered in cold blood the instant I let a secret of theirs pass my lips aside, I don’t betray my friends. To anyone. But especially not to creepy strangers like you.”

Thom sat forward interestedly. “So you just go around with the possibility of them killing you whenever they feel like it hanging over your head? Seems like a pretty one-way friendship, if you ask me. If you came with me, you wouldn’t have to worry about it. I could protect you.”

Amber snorted. “You wish. They’d mow you down faster than you could yell my name in warning. Anyway, just because they’d kill me if I told someone else their personal details, doesn’t mean that they’re not incredibly helpful to me when I need it. We’re business partners, and it’s a hazard of the job.” Amber very pointedly did not include the more personal side of her friendship, and that Havoc was significantly more likely to kill the person who’d heard the detail, rather than she who told it. (At that, she wondered if she could get this asshole out of her hair by telling him some harmless secret. Havoc would have him dead within the week. . . but no, she didn’t want to inconvenience them. If Thom got too annoying, she’d just lead him into the forest and kill him herself.)

Thom did not know how to respond to that.

“So how long until you get out of my hair? My answer isn’t gonna change, you know.”

Thom, looking defeated, stood up slowly. “I hope you reconsider, milady. The world could use you as their hero.”

“I’m not your lady, or a hero. Get out.” Amber flipped the knife she was sharpening, and stared him down. Thom scrambled out the door, and slammed it firmly shut behind him.

***

The next day, Amber went down for breakfast, but Thom was still there, this time accompanied by a short-haired blond woman in leather armor. Unlike the previous night, when Thom had arrived unarmed, both warriors had swords strapped to their belts - Thom with a large double-handed thing, and the woman with a black shortsword so short it could have been mistaken as a large everyday butcher knife had the handle been crafted slightly different. Thom perked up when he saw Amber enter the room, and he said something to his companion; she scowled, but nodded, and he bounded across the room.

“Amber! Good morning! Have you thought about my offer any more, now you’ve slept on it a bit?” He smiled brightly, as if he was trying to radiate charm from his pores.

“I didn’t, because why would I when I already answered you and considered the matter ended,” Amber said flatly.

At that, the blond woman swished up behind Thom, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hello, Amber. My name’s Sam. I heard you were indecisive, and I hoped-”

“Not to be rude, but I’m just going to stop you there. I’m not indecisive. I don’t want to go with you at all. I have my own business to attend to.”

Sam deflated. “Are you sure? We could really use you, you know. I’ve heard so much about you and your accomplishments.”

Amber shrugged. “It wasn’t that great. I had a lot of help, from people who most definitely would not want to work with you.”

Sam stepped closer, and nudged Thom out of the way. He peeled away for the bar, interpreting that it might be easier to have someone else try to convince Amber. He was wrong, but Amber didn’t mind the alone time with the woman - she was pretty, and seemed nice.

“Do you mind me asking what you’re trying to do, Amber? What’s so important that the entire country can wait?”

“My girlfriend got kidnapped. I’m saving her,” Amber said simply.

“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe if you came with us, we could help you on the way to our own fight.” Sam sounded sympathetic.

“Look, I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I don’t work with people I don’t know, and I don’t need any more help. I’m good where I am. I appreciate the offer, though - your boy over there expected me to be on my knees thanking him for giving me a chance, after he offered me nothing but gold and renown.” Amber nodded towards the bar, where Thom had struck up a drinking competition with five other men, and a dozen other people had circled around them urging them to drink! drink! drink!

Sam rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he’s a little bit full of himself like that. But he’s got a great heart, I promise. He’d help you in an instant if you asked.”

“But only if it was convenient to him, right?”

“I don’t - well, probably, but what do you mean by convenient? We’ll go get your girlfriend, it wouldn’t be an issue -”

“I mean,” Amber said tiredly, “that I’ve been tracking this girl overseas for a year now. It’s not a matter of skipping over to the dragon’s lair, slaying it, and going home happily ever after. Pirates have her. It’s complicated.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Oh,” she said softly. “You’re right, then. Thom wouldn’t be too happy about having to deal with that. I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t think so.”

The two sat in silence, somewhat more companionably than the previous night with Thom, but it was awkward nonetheless. They turned their attention to the bar, where a short, rough, butch woman had shown up to challenge Thom and the other men. She was efficiently drinking them all under the table; a few people nearby whooped appreciatively.

Sam turned her bright, ice-blue eyes back to Amber. “I really am sorry about your girlfriend. I wish I could do more.”

Amber shrugged. “You could come with me.”

“Oh - you know I couldn’t. What we’re doing, it’s really important too, you know.”

“Worth a shot.”

“Is there anything else I can do?” Sam asked. “Resources, weapons. . . Thom knows a bladesmith in town, if there was anything you needed.”

“I have so many knives on me right now, you have no idea. I’m good. Thanks, though.” To demonstrate, Amber pulled three from the lining of her jacket, stabbing them into the table.

Sam nodded understandably. She stood up, bobbing her head respectfully at Amber. “I think, then, if your answer is definitely not going to change, I’m going to go get Thom and take my leave. We have other business to attend to in town.”

“Have fun.” Amber wiggled her fingers, somewhat dismissively, and focused on dislodging her knives from the bar table. One knife got its tip broken off, and she swore at it. Sam hurried away, retrieved Thom from his place among the drunken bar buddies, and went for the exit.

***

Later that day, Amber headed to the town’s market to restock on dry goods for her journey, and she ran into the pair a third time. Sam was doing business with the butcher, and Thom, still drunk, had been stationed on a crate some ways away and was trying to stop the sunlight from making it anywhere near his face. A crowd had gathered to laugh at him.

Sam finished whatever she was doing, turned around, and called out to Amber brightly. “I know you said you didn’t want help,” Sam said quickly, striding over, “but just a few minutes after we left, I remembered something that might be of some use to you.”

Amber arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Sam reached into her pack, and drew out a small throwing knife. “I want to give this to you.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I’m not really a throwing knife type of girl.”

“Listen. It’s an elven blade, enchanted to always stay sharp and always hit its target. It’s served me well in the past. I know it’s not your style, but it just might help in a pinch. It was a gift from a friend, who told me to pass it on when I no longer had need of it. I want you to have it.”

She pushed the knife and its accompanying tiny sheath into Amber’s hands, anxiously waiting for a response.

“. . . I’m sure I’ll find some way to use it,” Amber said begrudgingly. Sam’s face lit up, and she threw her arms around her.

“Make sure to pass it on when you don’t need it anymore! It’s tradition!”

Amber acknowledged that she would, and the two parted ways with amicable goodbyes.

***

In fact, Amber found a use for it that very same day. Luckily, the bladesmith in town knew the real value of elven blades. After buying herself some sturdy new travelling clothes with the money she got for it, she treated herself to a jar of honey and a jug of wine for the road, and still had coins to spare.

#my writing #fantasy #alcohol mention #tw alcohol

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classysassy9791 · 3 years

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When a job goes terribly wrong, the Fairy Tail guild is left to pick up the pieces. Mourning the deaths of their guildmates, Lucy can't seem to find the strength to move forward. But she comes to realize one person understands. His madness was her mercy, and she finally began to hope that maybe he could make her heart beat again.

Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Adventure/Tragedy Warning: Character Death(s) Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l

Chapter 3 Word Count: 3,100 Can also be found here

I give up on editing this anymore so here it is

The first thing Juvia noticed upon entering the guildhall that morning was that Gray was nowhere to be found. More often than not, he arrived earlier than she, prompting a touch of concern as to where the ice-make mage could be. He had taken a job the day before, so there was a chance he could be sleeping in after arriving home late.

The second thing she noticed was the hum of electricity among her fellow guildmates. They gathered at the tables closest to the stage, everyone murmuring amidst themselves. Knitting her brows with worry, the bluenette weaved her way over to where Wendy sat.

“Good morning, Wendy,” she greeted the young girl with a small smile. “Why is everyone so lively?”

With a drained look she offered, “Hello, Juvia,” before dropping her gaze to the floor. “I-I guess you haven’t heard yet.”

Blue eyes glanced between her and Charle, who perched beside her with a hollow expression. “Hear what?”

“Well, Team Natsu went on a mission yesterday and-”

Her heart missed a beat, terrifying worst-case scenarios coming to her mind with Gray’s absence. “Where’s Gray?” Juvia demanded anxiously. “Has he returned?”

Wendy quickly nodded, setting her panic at ease. “Yeah, he came home. He’s in the infirmary right now. I’m not sure what happened, but he and Lucy were hurt pretty bad.”

Her eyes shifted distractedly over to the hallway leading to their clinic. “Maybe Juvia should go check on him.”

“Absolutely not,” a woman interrupted before she could scamper off to his side. Porlyusica suddenly appeared with her ever present scowl. “He needs to rest. Leave him be.”

“O-Oh… Ah… right,” Juvia stammered, feeling a blush come to her cheeks. She still felt anxious, but knew better than to question the elder woman’s words. “Will he be all right?”

“He’ll be fine. He’s a stubborn fool.”

The water mage breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

“Hey, you guys!” Levy called as she bounced over, Team Shadowgear hot on her heels.

“Oh, good morning,” Wendy greeted.

“What happened last night?” the solid-script mage asked, concerned lines creasing her brow as she took note of their medicinal advisor. “Jet told me he had to fetch Porlyusica.”

“Gray and Lucy were badly injured,” Juvia explained. “What happened is still unclear.”

“Cana didn’t offer an explanation either when she came to get me,” Jet said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve never seen her so sober.”

Levy fiddled with the hem of her dress nervously, giving Wendy a questioning glance. “Is Lu okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” she affirmed with a small nod. “They both just need some rest for now.”

“What’s everyone buzzin’ about?” Gajeel questioned as he sauntered over, keeping his eyes peeled on the rest of the guildhall. “Ain’t like them this early in the morning.”

Panther Lily hopped onto the table next to Charle. “We’re usually never here this early,” he pointed out.

“Master wants to make an announcement.” Cana strolled over, her customary barrel of alcohol propped against her hip and a soft warmth blooming upon her cheeks. “It’s not good.”

“Why do you say that?” Levy asked.

“I saw Lucy and Gray come in last night. It was pretty bad.”

“You don’t think something terrible happened, do you?” Wendy fiddled with her hands anxiously.

Gajeel folded his arms over his chest. “Didn’t they go on a mission with Salamander?”

“Yeah, along with Erza and Happy.” Levy’s hazel eyes quickly scanned their gathered guildmates. “But I haven’t seen either of them all morning.”

“The Thunder Legion was sent out, too,” Cana mumbled. “This doesn’t sit well with me.”

The guildhall suddenly hushed as Makarov entered the room, climbing up onto the stage in order to be better seen and heard. Mirajane stood beside him, but her usual cheerful smile had been replaced by a deep frown. Her eyes were rimmed red and her cheeks were flushed, making it apparent to everyone that she had been crying. Levy exchanged an anxious glance with those beside her.

Their master cleared his throat, his eyes noticeably misty. “My heart is heavy today,” he began, his voice thick with tears. “I come to you not as your guild master, but as a member of the family we hold dear. Unfortunately, in this world, not everything can be fixed, no matter how much we wish it could.”

Dread had Levy’s stomach locked up tight and her teeth clenched together.

The room fell eerily silent. “Yesterday, our strongest team went on a mission to capture bandits in Freesia. But demons from the books of Zeref blindsided them.”

Levy swallowed against the hard lump in her throat. It became hard to breathe. Where was Erza, Natsu, and Happy? Why weren’t they there?

“It is with a broken heart that I tell you some of our family did not make it home alive.”

“N-No,” Levy whispered, her hands muffling the gasp that escaped as tears welled in her eyes. Loud murmurs of disbelief rang out across the guild, fear building in a frenzy as everyone turned wide eyes to their master.

He paused for a moment to reel in his emotions as Mirajane quietly broke down sobbing beside him. “Natsu, Erza, and Happy all died in battle. They were our beloved family and fought bravely to instill the protection of those we hold dear.”

The news passed through the guild like a hurricane. Levy’s mind was laid waste by it, the desolation she felt all consuming. She suddenly felt weak in the knees, falling backwards onto a bench. Cana dropped her alcohol, causing the contents to spill onto the floor. The room filled with hysterical crying, the screaming sobs molding together to form one.

“T-Tom Cat…?” she heard Charle whisper from beside her, a choked sob escaping Wendy’s lips.

Gajeel clenched his hands into fists, wide eyes staring as he tried to comprehend the master’s words. “S-Salamander? No way…”

Levy cried as if her brain was being shredded from the inside. From her mouth came a cry so raw that Gajeel bent down to pull her to his chest, running shaky fingers through her hair. She curled her hands around his shirt so she could find some gravity with her violent shaking. The whole world vanished for her. Now there was only pain enough to break her - to break them - pain enough to change them all beyond recognition.

“My children!” Makarov cried out above the noises of desolation.

The screams quieted to soft, choked sobs, as they all turned blurry vision toward him. Each of their expressions begged him to have the answers as to how this had happened… as to how they were supposed to endure such a loss.

He looked over each and every one of them, his own tears falling down his cheeks. “Y-You’re going to think that the pain will never end, but it will. That I can promise. But first, you have to let it all in. You can’t fight it; it’s bigger than you. You have to let yourself drown in it, but then, eventually, you’ll start to swim. And every single breath that you fight for will make you stronger. And I promise you, you’ll beat this! We all will!”

“How the hell did this happen?!” Macao called out angrily. “How?!”

Makarov shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have all the details. Thank Mavis that Gray and Lucy were both brought back home alive. They’re in the infirmary recovering thanks to Wendy and Porlyusica.”

Levy squeezed her eyes shut, listening as Gajeel mumbled incoherent phrases, as Juvia cried for a queen, and Wendy sobbed for a fellow dragon slayer. She took in everything, feeling as if a weight pressed on her chest, and she was drowning in her own tears.

Their master wiped his hand under his nose like a child. “I have postponed any job requests for the time being. With the jewels we received from the Games, I will cover all expenses until further notice. Do not break alone, my children. We are a family, and we will get through this together - as a family.”

Within the mess of emotions surrounding her, Levy repeated Makarov’s news over and over again in her mind.

Natsu… Erza… Happy… dead…

Lucy… Gray… alive…

And then her eyes opened wide.

Lucy…!

...

Lucy felt emotionally bankrupt. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that enveloped her mind in swirling blackness. She peeked out from beneath her covers and looked at Gray with eyes filled with anguish. He was sitting up, his gaze trained on the window, as he had been for the past two hours.

Reluctantly, once he had woken up and questioned what had happened, she had given him the news of their friends’ deaths. He had yelled out in denial, refusing to believe her, but as she replayed their final moments out on the battlefield as Virgo and Loke appeared, reality started to set in.

Since then, he had clammed up. He had sobbed - she had never seen him so vulnerable - and then he went silent. He now stared vacantly out at the sunrise, as if searching for something.

About an hour ago, she had heard all the commotion coming from the main hall and knew the rest of the guild had been told the news. The door creaked open, catching Lucy’s attention. She glanced over her covers to see a petite young woman with blue hair peek her head in.

“Lu…?” she whispered hesitantly.

The blonde debated if she wanted to see her friend, or if she would rather pretend to be asleep so she could be left alone. Thinking better of it, she pulled the blanket off of her face. “Hey, Levy,” she replied softly.

Levy stepped over, her hands clenched in front of her as if to keep them from trembling. Her cheeks were red and blotchy from crying. “Oh, Lucy…”

Her words were so tender and full of sympathy, that Lucy felt tears welling in her eyes all over again. “He-He’s gone,” she said, her voice cracking. “They’re all gone.”

Lucy’s body began to shake with her sobs, the sound breaking free from her throat, savage and raw. Levy pushed away the covers and slid into the bed next to her. She wrapped her arms around her friend, running her fingers through her golden-spun hair, and whispered soothing words to help calm her shattered heart.

Sometime during it all, Juvia came to Gray’s bedside, reaching out a trembling hand around his own. “Gray…?” she whispered.

His only response was to pull away, ignoring her presence completely. The desolation he felt consumed him, his mind became an icy wasteland; the wind howled in his soul and wrapped icy tentacles around his heart so tightly, it almost stopped beating.

And faintly, he realized, it had begun to rain.

...

Sitting alone at the Fairy Tail guildhall, Cana took a swig from her glass and waited for the effects to kick in. She waited. And waited. But the numb feeling inside her didn’t wane.

The quiet of the guildhall made her blood run as cold as Fiore’s winters. It was as if nature conspired against her in the dark, not daring to whisper the reassurance she craved. Echoes of boisterous voices spun through her mind, of a lively guild filled with fistfights and magic.

Now, there was only silence.

It gnawed at her insides, hanging in the air like the suspended moment before falling glass shattered on the ground. Like a gaping void. It needed to be filled with sounds, words, anything.

The main door creaked open and she heard soft footsteps echo in the empty guildhall. Mirajane walked over to Cana, giving her a weak smile, barely noticeable in the dim lighting. “I thought I’d find you here.” Her blue eyes, which were usually so bright and kind, had dulled to an opaque grey. They were puffy, but her tears had finally dried up.

The card mage tilted her head in acknowledgement, taking another long gulp. “Where else is there to be?”

Humming her agreement, the eldest Strauss sibling slipped behind the bar for a glass to fill from the tap, and joined Cana in a drink. Once the news of what had happened had sunk in, everyone had dispersed to find their own way of grieving.

“I used to complain about how loud the guild was. All the fighting and the music and the people non-stop talking,” Cana said, her voice brittle as if she were about to cry. “Now, it’s too quiet. I’d give my right arm to hear Natsu start a fight or for Erza to end it, or for Happy to make another of his snarky comments.”

Blue eyes peered wistfully over the darkened guildhall, memories of their childhood revolving through her mind. Over a decade had passed since the first of them had stumbled into Fairy Tail. Even after all they had been through at such a young age, they had still been so innocent as to what lay ahead. “It’s a frightening thought, that in one fraction of a moment, everything you hold dear can be altered forever.”

Cana gripped her glass tighter. “It all just feels like a bad joke.”

“I don’t think the universe is kidding this time.” She didn’t need to voice aloud the circumstances regarding Lisanna’s death. Her body had disappeared in a glitter of golden light. This time, there was no mistake that Natsu, Erza, and Happy were gone. Mirajane took a sip of her drink thoughtfully, swirling the alcohol around in her mouth, relishing in the burn before swallowing.

Cana raised a brow suspiciously. “Since when do you drink?”

“Since I woke up yesterday and never imagined the day would end this badly.” The barmaid shrugged, silver hair a mess and her eyes sad. “I always thought there were bad days, but not in the way most people think, you know? I think… I think really bad days happen when everything seems to be going wrong, and you just want to throw your hands up in the air and give up. Because clearly, the world is out to get you.”

Tears welling in her eyes, Cana held up her glass. “To really, really bad days, then.”

They drank quietly as the shadows grew darker and it wasn’t until after nightfall that they realized something.

As it turned out, a person couldn’t drink away the silence.

...

Every breath was an implosion.

Lucy sat on the edge of the bed with no strength to move. Her shaky fingers finally came to a stop after running restlessly through her messy hair. She bit down on her lip trying not to burst into tears. It wasn’t going to help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Night had fallen, causing everyone to leave the guild. Juvia had fallen asleep in a chair, her head resting on Gray’s bed, but Lucy had persuaded Levy to go home. Brown eyes lifted to look at her teammate, lip quivering.

“Gray…?” Her voice came out in a choked whisper.

“Don’t.” The word was deliberate, and sharper than knives. He didn’t even bother to face her, instead lying on his side with his back toward her.

Lucy glanced away, feeling as if she had been slapped. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, the events of the day leaving her feeling hollow. “You don’t get to do this,” she muttered, clenching her hands into fists.

“Don’t,” he repeated. “Just don’t. I don’t want to hear you say what I think you’re gonna say.”

Gray had woken up hours ago with the bitter taste of ash in his mouth and the grit of building caked into his skin. Somehow, before Lucy had replayed the events of the battle for him, he had known it was over. A part of him really knew. People always say they thought they would know if someone close to them had died. Maybe it was true. Because something inside him had broken on that day, and he knew it was over.

Grief felt like emptiness in his heart, a sheer of nothingness that somehow took over and held his soul, threatening to kill him entirely. It gave him this heavy feeling that was like the weight of the world sat on his chest.

He knew grief very well.

He felt it when Ur looked back at him, her body becoming the infamous iced-shell, as she gave her life for his. “I want Lyon to discover the world; Gray, you too, of course. You don’t have to be sad,” she had told him with a smile. “I’m alive. I’m eternally alive as ice. Step into the future. I’ll seal your darkness.”

He felt it when Ultear had given years of her life to give him one more minute of his, changing his fate entirely - her elderly face, tilted with lips pulled up, a shake of her head, wordlessly telling him it was okay.

And he felt it when Erza turned her back to him, scarlet hair shimmering in the fire’s glow; her armor cracked, her swords drawn. “I made a promise! I told Ultear I would look after you,” she had shouted back to him, facing the demon head-on as he lay bleeding. “And I never break a promise!” Even though by then she was already dying, she fought on. She was drenched to the core in blood and yet she fought on. She fought on until she collapsed and could fight no more. And then with the crack of bones, she was gone.

Why?!

Why did every woman he had ever learned to care for decide that his life was worth more than theirs? Why was he always the one left behind to mourn, to feel the guilt of their deaths?

It wasn’t fair, dammit!

“Please… Gray…”

Lucy’s voice drew him from his thoughts and he glanced down to see he had wrapped the sheets tight in his fist, turning his knuckles white. He closed his eyes, but she somehow knew he was listening.

“We-We have their blood on our hands… Tell me it’s going to be okay. Promise me it’s going to be alright,” she cried meekly. “Tell me we have a reason to be here when they aren’t.”

He was silent for a moment, turning his hardened gaze to the dark sky outside. “I can’t.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to come up with any response.

#fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #lucy heartfilia #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #erza scarlet #team natsu #sassy stays classy #my fanfiction #the last of us

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shapeshiftersandfire · 3 years

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You Have To Let Go

for @whumptober2021 day one prompt: “You have to let go.”

@whumpinggrounds @sie-werden-nie-vergessen and thanks to @four-foot-eleven for inspiring the ending :)

cw: mourning/grieving, mentions of death

this is one of the sadder pieces, if not the saddest, for this project. please take care of yourselves while reading this, it’s emotionally heavy.

She lost Verna somewhere along the way.

Stella doesn’t know when it was, somewhere in the turmoil with the Bellows, somewhere where Ephraim and Harold started having their spat in the hallway, giving her enough time to dart away to the basement room that used to be Sarah’s, but what she knows is she’s alone, her glasses have fallen off her head somewhere in the struggle with Ephraim, and Verna is nowhere to be found. She thinks she can hear faint footsteps echoing upstairs in the house—not rotting and covered in cobwebs, but lived in and in the prime of its life. Whether those footsteps are Verna’s or the Bellows’ or Ramon’s or that thing chasing after him, she doesn’t know, she can’t tell.

It’s too hard to hear down here in the basement, in this room that is hardly new but as equally lived in as the rest of the house.

It’s hard to see, too. Stella squints into the dark, at Sarah’s chair, trying to make out what she thinks is something slowly manifesting in the chair. There are shapes and spots and colors jumping around everywhere in front of her in her blurry vision; one spot forming a blob and moving off out of sight doesn’t mean Sarah Bellows herself is going to appear in the chair.

Mangled whispering fills the cracks in the walls. More shapes fill the room, something moves around the chair, something that looks like it could take the form of a person if given enough time.

Stella…

Sarah’s voice, thin and wiry and dripping with anger.

Stella scrambles backwards along the floor, until her back hits the bookshelf, until the books fall around her, narrowly missing her head. This isn’t the Sarah Bellows she had seen in Verna’s video, the one that’s happy and content and safe. This is the Sarah Bellows that’s been hunting her for days, filled with rage and ill-intent, the one that’s only going to stop when everyone who entered the house that night is dead.

One of the books that falls into her lap is one that looks eerily familiar—a seventy-year younger version of Sarah’s infamous ledger. Intact, with clean pages and not a mark on the cover. And the moment Stella has it in her hands, running her fingers over the felt cover, a soft tune echoes through the room, the one from the music boxes, the one Lou Lou had hummed the words to.

Don’t ever laugh as the hearse goes by, or you may be the next to die.

(Upstairs, the warmth of the Bellows house will fade before Verna’s eyes. Delanie’s hand will vanish from her own. The house will go dark, the cobwebs will hang from the ceiling, and that same tune will echo in her mind. Ramon will watch, from his hiding spot under the table, as the woman’s eyes glaze over in a trance, and she looks up, towards something only she can see or hear, entirely unaware of the Jangly Man lurking about the house, whispering, “Sarah?” And she’ll take off, running through the house, shouting Sarah’s name with increased fervor, until Ramon loses sight of her completely.)

When Stella looks again, there in the chair sits Sarah Bellows herself, pale hair draped over one shoulder, her ribcage visible through her tattered dress. She stares at Stella with dark, hollow eyes, head tilted to one side. There’s no emotion in her face, yet she emanates rage. Stella’s breath catches in her throat, her heart drops to her stomach, she scrambles back against the wall, as far as she can, but Sarah stands from her chair and comes toward her, slowly, one step at a time.

“I have another story,” Sarah hisses, every word dripping with venom, “just for you.”

Stella cowers against the wall, covering her head with her arms, as though she could protect herself from Sarah’s wrath.

Where’s Verna? If Verna hasn’t come now, she must be dead already. All of that, all the tears and mourning and pain and it’s all come to an end for the poor woman. After everything she’d done for Sarah…

Tell her the truth.

Stella wrestles with it, as Sarah comes closer and closer, the fear and her own anger, they hadn’t done anything wrong, yet Sarah was lashing out at them with blind fury. Sarah could kill her, but she didn’t have any right to, it wasn’t fair, they didn’t deserve this—the Bellows may have—all they’d done was go into the house—

Finally the anger wins out.

Stella turns and looks up at Sarah; she looks more solid than she had just a few seconds ago, more lifelike, more real. “No. It’s time that you hear a story, Sarah—”

Sarah shuffles closer, her rage melting into curiosity. Something that looks faintly like a frown crosses her face.

“Sarah!”

Their heads snap around to the hallway. They know that voice.

“Sarah!”

Stella’s heart leaps. Verna! She’s not dead after all, she’s still alive, she’s coming—

Sarah whimpers, her voice choked. “Aunt Verna?”

Heels bang on the old wood floor. The sound comes to a height as Verna stumbles toward the entrance to the underground room; Sarah steps closer to the doorway. The darkness fades from Sarah’s face. Stella sees her as she was in life: alabaster white skin, equally white hair thrown over one shoulder, pale blue eyes brimming with tears. She looks young again. Alive, even.

“Aunt Verna?”

“Sarah!” Verna’s heels thunder on the floor as she races down the stairs and into the room, sweeping Sarah into her arms, and immediately Verna is sobbing into her niece’s hair, “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, my little Sarah, my little Sarah, Sarah…”

“Aunt Verna…” Sarah whimpers into her aunt’s shoulder. “You came back…” Her voice is barely audible over the sound of Verna’s sobbing.

“I’m right here, Sarah, I’m right here,” Verna sobs in one breath, and in the next profusely apologizes for leaving her, for not being there, for not knowing she was hurting and alone and “Sarah I’m so, so sorry, baby girl, I’m so sorry, Sarah…” And Sarah cries to, softer, but no less hard; beneath her own tears, Stella can see Sarah’s shoulders shaking as she cries into her aunt’s shoulder. Somewhere in it all Stella hears Sarah whisper, “I didn’t think you’d come back…”

Verna inhales sharply, whimpering more apologies into Sarah’s hair. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here…”

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Verna,” Sarah whispers, “I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant to hurt you, Aunt Verna…”

“I’m okay, Sarah.”

Okay, Stella thinks, trying to ignore her own welling tears, for someone who spent two days in the hospital. It’s almost a miracle Verna is alive at all.

Sarah shakes her head. “I didn’t want you to have to hear…”

“I know,” Verna answers, drawing Sarah into a hug. “I’m okay, sweetheart, I promise.”

“I hurt them, Aunt Verna,” Sarah says softly. “I hurt people.”

All Verna does is nod.

Sarah takes a sharp breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, Aunt Verna, I never wanted to, but I’ve been so angry, I’m so damn angry, Aunt Verna. And this town, the things they’ve said about me, my own brother, they said I’m a monster, I’m so damn angry, Aunt Verna, I’m so damn angry…” Again and again and again— “Damn it, it’s not fair!” she shrieks finally, and sobs until she doesn’t have any breath left, all while Verna tries to console her, “I know, baby girl, I know, I’m so sorry…” and Stella doesn’t understand how Verna couldn’t be even the slightest bit angry with Sarah, after she’d taken the Bellows, after she’d taken Stella’s friends…After all that she still loves Sarah with all her heart

Maybe if Verna had been there then, Sarah wouldn’t have grown so furious. Now, Stella isn’t sure anything could stave off whatever rage Sarah has left, not even Verna.

But maybe…

“Sarah.”

Sarah raises her head from Verna’s shoulder, clinging to her aunt, shaking with tears and rage, and locks eyes with Stella.

“I’ll tell your story,” Stella promises, hoping with every word Sarah is going to concede, “the real story, but I—the rage has to stop, Sarah. It has to stop.” She shakes her head. “You can let it go.”

You can let it go.

Sarah still shakes. She leans harder into Verna, but something her face hints she’s considering Stella’s offer. She doesn’t say anything; the silence is filled with her sniffling and Verna’s, and Verna’s sounds like it gets worse as she slowly process what it might mean for Sarah to let go.

“You can let it go, Sarah,” Stella repeats when Sarah doesn’t move. There’s movement from upstairs, floor boards being slammed on, debris being flung across the room. The Jangly Man is still after Ramon, and he’s not going to stop unless Sarah tells him to. “Don’t take him from me, too!”

Sarah freezes, staring wide-eyed. After a moment, she pulls away from Verna—and is nearly stopped by the poor woman who’s so desperate to keep a hold on her beloved niece—and goes to crouch down in front of Stella.

Stella can’t help it, she recoils from Sarah. The girl is too close to her, her face is too close, she needs to back up—

But Sarah pulls something out of her sleeve, something long and thin and cylindrical, ornately decorated on the sides. A pen, Stella realizes breathlessly as Sarah offers it to her. Sarah’s pen. How many stories had been written with this pen? How much had Stella, whether she knew for certain or not, longed to hold the pen that belonged to the town’s most infamous writer? And there it is, inches from her.

She wraps her fingers around the top of the pen, but Sarah doesn’t relinquish her hold right away. She leans forward, and in a voice only Stella can hear, she whispers, “Use your blood.” Then she gets up, and returns to Verna.

“You told me once…you didn’t want me grow up to be like you,” Sarah whispers, taking her aunt’s hands. “So angry—”

Verna whines, coughs a sob. “Sarah—”

“I can let it go, Aunt Verna,” Sarah whispers. She swallows, glances at Stella, and amends, “I have to let it go.”

“No.” Verna grips her niece’s arm “No, no, no, Sarah, don’t, I can’t—I can’t lose you again. Sarah, please, I can’t—” Verna’s voice cracks with sobs. She pulls Sarah into another tight hug.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Verna,” Sarah whispers. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

Verna cries harder, a mixture of tears and Sarah, please, please don’t leave me, I can’t lose you again, I can’t.

“I love you so much, Aunt Verna.”

Verna wails.

Stella sniffs heavily. She can barely see Sarah and Verna behind the haze of her own tears. What Sarah is asking Verna to do…it’s going to break her heart all over again. The silence of the room is filled with the sound of Verna’s inconsolable sobbing.

“You have to let me go, Aunt Verna.” Sarah puts her hands on Verna’s arms, gently trying to push her away.

“No—” Verna grips the back of Sarah’s dress. “No, no, Sarah, please, I can’t—Don’t leave me.”

“You have to.” This time, she gently but firmly forces herself out of Verna’s arms, and steps back. “You have to let me go.”

“No—”

Sarah turns to Stella. “Promise me,” she whispers. “Promise me you’ll tell them.”

Stella wipes her cheeks again. The pen feels heavy in her hand, the book heavy in her lap. Breathlessly, she answers, “I promise.” I’ll make sure they know.

With that, Sarah Bellows stands back, and unleashes a howl that shakes the house to its foundation.

Verna dives for Stella, wrapping her in her arms. And in that moment, as she’s sure the house would fall down around them, Stella understands why Sarah felt so attached to Verna. Even if the house crumbles, Stella trusts that she’s going to be safe, she’s going to make it out alive. Verna shields her from the worst of it, from the dust and whatever debris might crumble from the ceiling. She hides herself in Verna’s arms until the shaking stops.

When the dust settles, the house is quiet. Stella stays hidden in Verna’s arms a moment longer before she finally dares to lift her head and look around the room. Nothing has changed much. The tree roots growing through the walls are back. The door is rusted again. Cobwebs hang from every corner. The only thing new is—

“Verna!”

Verna pulls away from her.

In the middle of the room, alive and breathing but unconscious, is Sarah Bellows.

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #you have to let go #fandom #writing #fic #scary stories to tell in the dark #ssttitd #begging #grieving #crying #mourning #death mention #sarah bellows #stella nicholls #verna russell #project verna #go tell aunt rhody #i was in TEARS writing this

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egelantier · 3 years

Text

Yuletide Recs

Having had two days of more or less nothing but reading fics, I come bearing recs!

First of all, my amazing gifts:

The Goblin Emperor

For Thy Principles

The nohecharei of Edrehasivar VII were unparalleled in their defense of his person, but there were limits to even their prowess. When Maia first developed the fever, Cala quickly determined that it was not the end result of a magically-based assassination attempt – and from there it had to be left to the court physicians.

Maia falls ill, and Csethiro protects him as best she can.

Beautifully gentle Maia sickfic, with Csethiro holding him together. For me all for meeee.

Benjamin January Mysteries

Dry as a Bone

“Oh. Well, I’ve been better, maestro, been a hell of a lot better to tell truth.” Shaw stared at him for a long moment, and he was stunned to see honest to God grief in his eyes. Even when Shaw had just lost his brother he had been so much more himself than this lost man currently standing before him. “Not that I mean to put anything extra on your shoulders, I’m sure you’ve got enough of your own shit going on at present moment, but it seems like I’ve just lost my job.”

Shaw loses his job, and finally confronts Ben about trust (and lack thereof) between them. It’s GREAT.

The Tarot Sequence - K.D. Edwards

A Distraction Worth Losing

They may never be together, but the gods would have to move heaven and earth to split Rune and Brand apart.

Brand, Rune and The Kiss incident. (Poor messed up babies, somebody save them.)

And fics of the collection:

17776, Astreiant, Raksura, Frederica, The Gentlemen, The Goblin Emperor, Hades, Innkeeper Chronicles, Jeeves, Kate Daniels, King Arthur the movie, My Next Life as a Villainess, Nirvana in Fire, No. 6, Psmith, The Secret Garden, The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty, Swordspoint, The Tarot Sequence, Teixcalaan Series, The Temple of the White Rat verse

17776: What Football Will Look Like in the Future

so far, so fast

When Manny gets a craving for some fancy meal he had once, over ten thousand years ago, Nick decides he’s gonna fulfill that craving, no matter how hard it is. Because real romance is about making the impossible happen for his husband.

Goddamn transcendental.

Go Get It

Sometimes you start out just planning to get some groceries with your husband, and next thing you know, you’re committing to join the most hopeless team in college football.

Nick and Manny decide to play. It’s perfect.

Afterlife

A young man dies six months before the end of human death; his loss saves five lives, which end up much longer than anyone expects. (A series of worldbuilding vignettes about original characters in the 17776 setting.)

Made me cry, in a very cathartic way.

Astreiant Series - Melissa Scott & Lisa A. Barnett

April dressed in all his trim

A quiet evening in spring.

Sweet little slice-of-life with lovely sensory details.

Books of the Raksura

The Second Consort

“When Glow arrives, be friendly and welcoming,” Ember said. “Not scary.”

“Why does everyone think I’m going to scare him?”

Chime said, “They can see your face when you look at him.” He paused, glancing over at Moon. “That face, that’s the one.”

Ember sighed. “I remember being in his position. It’s pretty nerve-wracking coming to a new court and not knowing what’s going to happen to you there - whether they’re going to welcome you or shun you, whether you’ll make new friends, whether a queen is going to claim you…” He came and put a sympathetic hand on Moon’s shoulder. “Glow is probably worried about all of those things, and missing his home and clutchmates, and it’s our job to try and help him relax.” For a moment Moon thought he was just being soft-hearted, until Ember added, “He won’t open up and tell us what’s really going on unless he’s relaxed.”

Jade takes in a new consort, on Moon’s permission, and everybody is delightfully adult about it.

Frederica

Lady Alverstoke

Frederica commences her first Season as a married woman by planning a ball, promising most straitly that her husband will have nothing whatsoever to do …

Sweet and funny slice-of-life post-happy-ending for canon.

**The Gentlemen (2019) **

Even

The week after he intercepts Fletcher, that squirrelly little cunt, outside the London Miramax office, Raymond reluctantly ventures down to Brixton.

Under normal circumstances, Raymond tends to give this part of Brixton a wide berth, but he has unfinished business that needs attending to. Of course, that doesn’t mean he has to like being accosted by the overwhelming smell of greasy fish and chips when he pushes the car door open, doesn’t mean he has to be pleased about stepping into a piece of chewed-up gum the moment he sets a foot on the kerb.

But then, he can always take a shower after an errand in Brixton. The deep-seated discomfort of unfinished business doesn’t wash off that easily.

Raymond tries to pay Coach back for saving his life, and it doesn’t quite go as planned :D

The Goblin Emperor

The Archduke’s Discovery

Prince Nemolis goes on a journey, and learns a bit more than he wanted to know.

Really great point of canon divergence, and true and precise character voices.

Hades

all the spaces between us

For a place full of the dead, crammed with ghostly shades and nothing but the endless lull of eternity unchanging, gossip sure travelled fast in the Underworld.

Or, Zagreus mulls over his relationship with Thanatos while the rest of the Underworld get overly invested.

Slow, slow, slowest of burns.

Innkeeper Chronicles - Ilona Andrews

A Quick Trip

“It’ll be a quick trip,” Maud said, more to herself than to Arland. “No one will even notice we’re gone.”

Pirates are plaguing an ally, just outside of vampire space. Maud and Arland don some aesthetically beat-up armor and try to get more information from the pirates themselves. Of course, plans only last until you meet your enemy. Or your enemy’s giant alien attack boar.

Excellent canon voice, action/adventure sprinkled with badassery and hilarity.

Jeeves & Wooster

August Thirteenth

Discovering that this is not the first August thirteenth that he’s lived through, that certainly was a head scratcher. Luckily Bertie has the stalwart presence of his man’s man, Jeeves.

Very, very great and satisfying use of the time loop.

Kate Daniels - Ilona Andrews

lookin’ like a snack (cake)

It took Barabas a while to figure it out, because he wasn’t used to not being taken seriously.

Barabas considered several ways to phrase it, and finally settled upon, “Do you have a thing for twinks?” Christopher knocked his head back against the headrest: once, then again. “Is that a yes?”

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)

When Goosefat Bill finds himself in a difficult situation, the last thing he wants is the King to show up and “help”, in his own unique and unexpected way.

Goosefat Bill does not need to be rescued by his King. But he might just enjoy it a little.

My Next Life as a Villainess (Anime)

All I Have To Bring Today

Catarina and Sophia had been discussing the latest in the Devilish Count series, and Sophia had mentioned how romantic the surprise picnic the count had planned for his lover was and how she wished for someone to surprise her like that.

“What about you, Catarina? Have you ever wished for someone to sweep you off your feet?” Sophia had asked.

Catarina makes a choice! As sweet and as hilarious as the canon.

Nirvana in Fire

Adverse Event

What a pitiful man must he have become, if the only thing he could provoke in bed was a monologue on his character flaws.

: or, the famous strategist mei changsu plays xanatos speed chess against truth serum: the fic.

Mei Changsu gets hit with an accidental truth serum; it doesn’t stop him from lying to himself, but it does buy Jingyan a clue.

Records of the Land of Xiang

There was something of Xiao Jingyan there, in the firmness of his jaw, the unforgiving slash of his brows, and most clearly in the eyes that neither saw nor conveyed deception. But Long Zhan was not Jingyan, could never be, no matter how much Changsu might wish otherwise, because Jingyan was dead.

In service to a very-much-alive Prince Qi, Jingyan dons a Jianghu-typical disguise and infiltrates the Jiangzuo Alliance to suss out this Mei Changsu fellow and see if he might be useful in helping them re-open the Chiyan conspiracy case. Basically, a slightly ridiculous premise where everyone is running around the Jianghu with masks, multiple identities, and secret agendas.

Fascinating and fun AU scenario that delves, among other things, into Mei Changsu the jianghu chef, not Sir Su the court schemer.

suffering as I suffer you

The first time Jingyan stays the night at Su Manor, he discovers an uncomfortable truth about Mei Changsu.

Excellent extrapolation of Mei Changsu’s illness into his nightly routine - with Jingyan watching…

Here, In Our Arms

With the world put to rights, however briefly, Xiao Jingyan and Mu Nihuang take the opportunity to make a fuss over their beloved Lin Shu, and will not take no for an answer.

Sweet moment of comfort.

Find the Coals Amid the Ashes

Despite Changsu’s assertions, Lin Chen is a well brought up person. He would never violate his host’s privacy during a social call. It would be inexcusable, for example, to break into a marquis’s private alchemy lab in the middle of said marquis’s birthday party, in order to search said alchemy lab for certain hard to find medicinal herbs, which one has reason to believe can be found therein. These would be the actions of a man without honour, of a man who has only desperation to his name.

Lin Chen crashes a party and makes a new friend.

The best team up ever :D

Dead Letters

Mei Changsu isn’t the only schemer in Da Liang.

Fei Liu fixes things, in the most Fei Liu way imaginable, and it’s great.

No. 6

All Good Things

In the midst of a crisis for No. 6, Nezumi returns to Shion’s side.

A reunion! And cuddling.

Psmith

The Psky Is The Limit

“As this ship’s Orator, my mission is still as it was in the beginning and shall ever be, world without end. It is to hail any message sent by comrades from outer space and pass it on to you verbatim. Well! The hour, I say, has come. The Word has come into being. Here comes Psmith, bearing news of great mirth: the intercom has spoken.”

(A Mike and Psmith Space AU)

Psmith in space! Hysterically funny Psmith in Pspace, at that.

Psmith Pops In

Psmith reached over and solicitously loosened Mike’s scarf, his fingers brushing the skin of Mike’s neck, and that young man, to his horror, felt heat creeping up from where gloved fingers brushed his bare skin. Really, this blushing nonsense was getting out of hand. Ever since Psmith had tried to take the blame in the case of the painted dog, Mike had developed an inexplicable habit of turning hot and cold around him, and these odd responses had become more and more frequent.

Very funny! And then very tragique! And then jussssst right.

The Secret Garden

The Space Garden

When Meri La Nix was sent from the Mars colony to live with her aunt at Missiles Wait Manor, nobody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. But some of them thought it.

Beautifully inventive space retelling - with gardens, still.

The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty

The sky spinning above him

In which there’s a jewellery thief on the loose, Tang Fan plays dress up, gets a mild concussion and also a boyfriend.

Frothy, sweet, well-grounded and hot. Also hilarious (check the end note!)

truth in fiction

Three days after Wang Zhi leaves the capital, bits and pieces of his extensive library begin arriving at Sui Zhou’s house.

Sui Zhou is really committed to research and accuracy in Tang Fan’s porn. It’s delightful.

Time don’t fool me no more

“The electrician is a Tang dynasty spy,” he says, dumping some of his eggs in Tang Fan’s bowl.

Tang Fan nods, shovels more food in his mouth, and starts talking again.

Past or future, Tang Fan has Priorities. And Sui Zhou is weak.

Meeting at the End

Sui Zhou knew he never should have let Tang Fan go alone. He knew he should have gone with him.

Really, really great and desperate whump. Super satisfying.

clever boy

Tang Fan never spares a smile for any of the girls at Wang Zhi’s establishment, he’s noticed. That’s alright, though. It means Wang Zhi gets his attention for himself.

Wang Zhi falling, falling hard; it’s delightful.

a bold and brilliant sun

“You’re sure you didn’t do something to it? They don’t usually stall out,” Sui Zhou says. He looks away from Tang Fan, out the windshield at the endless rust-red of the planet.

Tang Fan pouts at this, and slumps down on the edge of the console, feet propped up at an absurd angle against the pilot’s seat. “You think I’d fake a mechanical issue just so that they’d send a sexy Fleet crewman out here to rescue me?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he giggles. “Okay, I would do that, but I promise that this time the problem is real.”

Space AU! Most excellent space AU condensing all there is to love about the canon in one perfect package.

Blind Taste Test

Wang Zhi invites Tang Fan to evaluate Joyous Brothel’s chefs — but it’s Tang Fan and Sui Zhou who are really being tested.

Wang Zhi, ever helpful :)

Authorial Intent

Sui Zhou and Tang Fan end up in hot water yet again. Kinky sex ensues.

Hilarious, kinky, heartfelt, and in character.

Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner

Chrysopoeia

It struck Alec that this would have been much easier if their positions were reversed. Richard would have known what to do if he’d been dragged back here with a hole in his gut. He was quite simply not supposed to be the one on this end of the equation. In fact, it was possible he had done something very bad to deserve this.

Richard is wounded, and Alex is coping. Excellent h/c and excellent bloodplay and sharp, painful slice of Alex’ POV, excellently rendered.

At first — this was just like him — he thought he was hearing god. But it was only the man in the bed, whose face had turned toward him on the ragged pillow.

The Tarot Sequence - K.D. Edwards

Third’s a Charm

Addam asks a favor of Brand.

Addam asks Brand for help, which ends up being exactly what Brand and Rune need.

Pretty good

Five times Brand crawls into Rune’s bed and one time Rune crawls into Brand’s.

Brand and Rune, through the years.

Teixcalaan Series - Arkady Martine

Also in the Act of Reaching

When Three Seagrass arrived at Lsel Station, she was, officially at least, traveling as a private personage. She had missed Mahit and the possibilities they’d both chosen to turn away from. She also had– would always have– a gaping hole in her life where Petal had once stood.

It was simply that, left on her own, Three Seagrass wouldn’t have let either absence drag her to the ass-end of beyond.

Reunion, metaphors and realigment. Subtle and clever and just right.

The (concept of the) World Was Wide Enough

Yskandr Aghavn comes to the world like a drowning man comes to shore, but he is living on borrowed time. Teixcalaan has so many wonderful things to choke on.

Teixcalaan has had his heart for all of his life, has elevated him, corrupted him, and discarded him.

It is Lsel that he thinks of as he dies.

Temple of the White Rat Universe - T. Kingfisher

If Grace Is Too Much

Zale is given a case by Bishop Beartongue which turns out to be more complicated and personal than a holy advocate-priest would prefer.

Clever and sweet and carefully shocking, but in a very right way.

Outreach

“We don’t generally assess the… cursédness… of objects, trees or otherwise,” Beartongue said.

Utterly delightful.

#17776 #astreiant #books of the raksura #sleuth of the ming dynasty #nirvana in fire #white rat universe #telxcalaan series #the tarot sequence #swordspoint #the goblin emperor #psmith #the secret garden #benjamin january mysteries #yuletide recs

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

Photo

Hear It Again | Poe Dameron

Pairing — Poe Dameron x Plus Size Reader (she/her)

Word Count — 5.2k

Request — could I request a Poe Dameron x ps reader? The reader and Poe were raised together, they have always been inseparable. When both join the resistance the reader becomes a spy, whilst Poe becomes a pilot. Reader becomes missing in action. Years later on Jakku Rey/Finn/BB8 find the reader, she helps them escape (she has been stranded on Jakku and has been fixing the Falcon) She gets reunited with Poe, who confesses his love. Maybe she has apart of the map that leads to Luke. Thanks!

Warnings — angst, mentions of loss, war, and violence, Rey and Finn being their cute selves, BB-8 being a baby, reader cuts herself on purpose (not with the intention of self-harming), arguing, fluff, I feel like Poe being Poe should be a warning.

A/N — I enjoyed writing this soooooo much! I fell in love with Poe all over again, harder than ever.

Gif credit

☆︎・・・・・☆︎・・・・・☆︎・・・・・☆︎

A spy stranded on the planet they were supposed to infiltrate had to be the definition of ironic. Or moronic, if they asked you.

You had been sloppy, the plan failed too early on and instead of asking for help, you decided to keep going. Compromising the mission wasn’t worth it, you had been trained to do anything but.

The village had been too dangerous, staying there would mean falling into a trap — no one ever knew where people’s alliance rested, so you opted for staying as far away from it as you could. The junkyard wasn’t ideal, but nothing was in a sandy and hot planet.

As if things couldn’t be trickier, your only way out of there was in a ship that needed a lot of repairs. Not just a ship, The Ship. You were sure Han Solo would be close to a heart attack if he knew his beloved ship was abandoned in a junkyard planet.

The Falcon was famous for many reasons, your favorite was the fact that it had always looked like shit. It was silly, Poe would always say so. He liked it because the ship had made the Kessel run in fourteen parsecs — twelve according to Poe who took the difference very seriously.

Poe was your best friend. The two of you grew up together in Yavin 4 — the years you had spent apart while being trained hadn’t been easy so when you found your way back to him by joining The Resistance, you were more than thrilled.

He had laughed when you were done with your first meeting in General Organa’s presence. ”You know she knows the Millenium Falcon, right?”

You had giggled, shaking your head. When you were kids, you often came up with complicated plans to steal it, according to you it would be easy if you did it while everyone was sleeping. ”The hardest part will be finding it,” he would always say, swatting a hand to gesture for you not to worry.

It was easy for Poe to act in such nonchalance, he had always been graceful at many things. Back when things were easier and your only worry was not being caught sneaking out of your house to explore the depths of the forest with your friends, you believed him to be invincible.

You wished for that to be true, for him to be okay. You trusted in his abilities, you had re-trained him personally in case he was captured —not that he needed it, you just wanted to be sure— but you didn’t know what he was up to now.

Oh, how you wanted to be a child again, being teased by your best friend for your obsession with a ship you would never pilot because you didn’t care for piloting at all.

And you still didn’t, you knew the basics because it was part of your training but you didn’t care about becoming the best pilot of the galaxy. How could you when Poe carried that badge with so much pride?

Or at least you imagined he still did. It had been so long since you last saw him… you wondered how he was handling it, if he was still alive — he had to be.

When you weren’t groaning out of frustration or complaining out loud because of the heat, you wondered many things about him; mostly regarding his safety.

Distant sounds made you jump. “Kriff,” you whined, rubbing the top of your head as you ducked to not hit yourself again.

With your free hand, you withdrew your blaster off your belt. A screech filled your ears which prompted you to stand still. Someone was inside the ship, their approaching steps let you know two pairs of shoes were the source of the noise.

A whirring sound, soothing and somewhat familiar joined the steps. You carefully stepped closer to the cockpit with your blaster held up and ready to pull the trigger.

Something bumped your ankle. Your favorite beep greeted you. The young man and woman gushing about the ship a couple of meters ahead of you turned around.

Recognizing the jacket the guy had on, you gruffly asked, “Where did you get that jacket?”

“W—What?”

The girl stepped in front of him. She was protecting him with no hesitation. “Who are you?” she demanded to know.

“You first.” You nodded upward.

She studied you, lifting a hand when her companion started to speak. He clamped his mouth shut. “I’m Rey.”

“Pamaf,” you gave them the name you had been using throughout your latest mission.

“Where are you from?”

BB-8 beeped, demanding attention. You tensed, torn between acknowledging the droid and getting more answers.

“I’m Finn,” the guy said. “The jacket is mine.”

You stared at him, tenser now. He opened his eyes wide, drawing a thin line with his mouth. Oh, stars, this idiot was pretending to be part of The Resistance.

“Do you trust them, buddy?”

BB-8 happily beeped in an affirmative gesture.

“Where’s Poe?” If you knew something about Poe, and you knew everything about Poe, it was that he only left BB-8 behind when he didn’t have another option — no matter how reckless his last resort was. The droid was part of him, just like the jacket Finn was wearing.

Finn couldn’t help himself and explained, “we crashlanded. He didn’t make it.”

You took a deep breath in, barely nodding. Your only hope now was that it had been quick, that he hadn’t suffered.

“We need to get out of here,” Rey sighed exasperatedly, “you can question us throughout the journey. I suppose.”

“The ship isn’t in optimal conditions,” you croaked.

“None of us will be in optimal conditions if we don’t leave now,” she quipped.

Seeing you frown, Finn added, “They want the droid. And to kill us.”

You wished they would for a fleeting moment. What was life with no loved ones but a painstakingly slow crave for the relief of being lucky to see them again, surrounded by the force where bliss was the only thing that existed?

You merely nodded. Rey hurried to the pilot seat, beaming as she got comfortable. She looked adorable, you would’ve expressed it if you weren’t about to crumble.

Had he missed you like you missed him? You supposed he had. The two of you had been close for so long that it was safe to assume he would care about his friend.

Friend. Did friends laugh the way the two of you did? How could anyone be sure? Lines blurred all the time between childhood friends, and with the life you had in The Resistance it was common to grow closer to its members.

Even then, he probably had replaced you after all that time apart. And now it didn’t matter because he was…

Poe was dead.

You had been trained to endure many torture tactics and fight any creature or thing imaginable to human beings. You had been under a lot of pain, in the brink of death — nothing had hurt like the news Finn gave you, nothing had hurt like knowing you wouldn’t ever hear Poe’s laugh again.

You felt numb. Too many things were going through your head and your heart, so many you couldn’t feel anything at all. You knew the ship was rocking, you could hear Finn’s and Rey’s shouts, but you weren’t processing them.

Loss had never numbed you before. It had angered you, wrecked you, made you a tougher woman — a better spy.

Everything went by in blurs. You weren’t sure if you had imagined it or if someone else had entered the ship. It wasn’t like you cared either.

Even BB-8 was avoiding you now. You preferred it that way, you weren’t ready to be around something Poe had loved so deeply.

You were pushed by Rey into a hiding place. Finn handed you a mask and you robotically put it on, feeling the weight of BB-8 against your calf.

The rafter above you opened. Han Solo greeted you, “Hey, kid. What are you doing here? Who’s the pilot?”

Snatching the mask off, you motioned to Rey. “She is.”

You had met Han and Chewie by mistake in one of their smuggling adventures. Han hadn’t been happy when he found out you were part of The Resistance but you promised you wouldn’t say anything and miraculously, he believed you.

True to your word, you had never mentioned him in front of General Organa. It had been somewhat hard not to tell Poe about it, but a promise was a promise. Now you wished you had told him — you could only imagine how shiny his eyes would get as he giddily asked for more details and about The Falcon.

Finn, Rey, Han, and Chewie were speaking. You knew the topic was important but for the love of the stars, the majority of the words escaped you.

Map. Skywalker. Resistance base.

You glanced down at BB-8. The poor droid made a frail noise. Taking it as a sign that you should stay quiet, you announced you would make sure you had done the reparations correctly.

☆︎・・・・・☆︎・・・・・☆︎・・・・・☆︎

Visiting Maz Kanata didn’t excite you. Although Takodana looked the same it had the last time you visited, it felt more dangerous than ever.

You were sure Han, Chewie, and Rey could take care of themselves, but Finn worried you. He was jumpy, looking at everywhere as though he was waiting for someone to attack.

Elbowing him on the side, you handed him your blaster. He stared down at it, frowning. You just shook the weapon, gesturing for him to take it already.

His shakiness didn’t go unnoticed by you, and honestly as worried as you were, you couldn’t blame him.

Stars, you really needed to tell them the truth. Clearing your throat, you took in a deep breath. You should trust them, yes. “I know where to find a part of the map.”

“Where?” Finn asked in a hushed tone.

“What if I said my pocket? Kind of.”

“I would kiss you if I didn’t—“ he stopped himself.

You almost chuckled. “Piece of advice?” He nodded so you continued, “she won’t reciprocate if you continue lying to her.”

His face fell. “That obvious?”

You patted his upper back. “Yeah. Fix it before it’s too late.”

Han interrupted your conversation to hand Finn a weapon. “She’s right. Women always find the truth.”

Finn handed your blaster back, nodding downward in a thankful gesture to both you and Han. You put the weapon back in place.

After a few seconds of pondering, he asked you, “how do I tell her I want no part in this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like war. I’m running away from it.”

“Only mercenaries like war, Finn.” You placed your hand on his shoulder. “Some people don’t like it because of the destruction, others because of politics, and a few because it only takes and takes but never seems to give.”

His kind eyes told you he wanted to ask something. You hoped he wouldn’t because you were sure you would break down sobbing if you had to speak about Poe.

“Why are you still fighting?”

“There’s always something worth fighting for. Freedom, love, family…”

Finn and you shared a look as you entered Maz’s Castle, exchanging a nod to assure the other you had each other’s back.

A mess, that was what the situation you had found yourselves in was. Rey and Finn had each ran away at different times, leaving you and Han to deal with Maz, BB-8, Luke’s lightsaber, and the fact that neither of you had an interest in going back to The Resistance base.

You didn’t feel ready to see your old friends, to find out how many of them had died. You didn’t want to hear their condolences because whoever was still around must’ve known you and Poe were close. Facing Leia would be devastating when she saw Poe as another son, the son who had stayed.

Commotion surrounded you, screams and confused questions overwhelmed you as people ran out of the castle. Han and you followed them, making your way through the sea of people congregated at the front gates. Chewie was there too, with his bowcaster ready.

An incandescent red light shone brightly in the sky, no clouds nearby whatsoever. The ground trembled. Finn’s voice filled your ears, “it was The Republic. The first order, they’ve done it.” He then asked for Rey.

Looking down, you loudly blurted, “Where’s BB-8?”

It was too late. TIE-fighters invaded the planet, destroying everything they could aim at. Han, Chewie, and Finn followed Maz, you stayed outside, helping as many people as you were able to. If you were going to die that day, you would do it fighting like you were taught by the New Republic.

Your companions came out of the ruins, shooting at any stormtrooper that crossed their path. You hid behind a pillar, holding your blaster tightly. Thinking about Rey, how excited she had been to see so much green, you took a deep breath. Poe came to your mind, the fact that he had given Finn his name because he refused to call him by a demeaning code… Finn, his craving for a better life.

Suddenly it felt personal. It stopped being about the cause, it was about the people in and around it — the innocent who didn’t have any other choice. You finally understood, perhaps too late, that you could make a difference because you were on the side that didn’t like war when the other in fact did.

Finn ignited a blue lightsaber, you imagined it was Luke’s, and started fighting too. He was sloppy, but you knew his heart was in the place it should be. Seeing Han and Chewie approach him, you did so too, looking behind you from time to time.

Heavy steps started following you out of nowhere. Shaking them off was impossible, you tried it all with no success — there was only one you, a hungry, tired, dehydrated, and broken-hearted you and dozens of them.

The troopers disarmed you, pointing at the four of you with their own weapons. With your hands on the back of your head, a familiar whooshing brought your hopes up.

Han smirked, sharing a look with you. The troopers around you started dropping to the ground, along with pieces of TIE-fighters that had been hit by X-Wings. You hoped Jess was up there, it would be nice to see her if you made it out alive.

Running behind Chewie, you pried your blaster off the dead hands of the trooper that had taken it from you and followed Han, shooting at any white helmet you spotted.

In the air, the leader piloted like they owned the sky. Finn’s adrenaline was running high and he screamed in excitement.

“That’s one hell of a pilot!”

They were. But they weren’t Poe. Their maneuvers were similar enough for you to cling to the hope that it was him, but Finn had been clear when he said your beloved friend hadn’t made it.

☆︎・・・・・☆︎・・・・・☆︎・・・・・☆︎

D’Qar hadn’t changed much, it looked busier but with everything going around the galaxy you hadn’t expected anything different.

BB-8 beeped to gain your attention, rolling excitedly. You followed the droid with Finn close by. He was worried, panting as he ran behind the little droid. You saw a few new faces as you walked through the crowd of pilots.

The droid rolled fast toward an X-Wing and your heart skipped a beat. You stood frozen in place, only able to watch as Poe, yes, Poe, greeted the droid with the same joy he used to greet your mom whenever he saw her.

Finn ran towards him, and Poe ran to Finn. You saw them embrace, their words didn’t register as you could only stare. Warm eyes caught yours, and Finn moved out of the way.

You tried really hard to move forward but your legs weren’t capable of doing it. You felt arms around you, your face collided against a semi-hard surface.

“You’re alive,” he rasped.

His voice was everything you needed to feel like you could breathe again. Hugging him back, tightly, you mumbled a tired yes. Poe’s embrace tightened.

“Finn needs help,” you remembered, “and I, well, he. Both of us… Finn and I need to talk to The General—“

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he said calmly. Parting from you, lingering his eyes on your face — the one he thought he would never be able to see again, he took your hand and with his free one motioned for Finn to go with you.

Finn repeated what you had said. “I need your help.”

“We’re getting it, buddy,” Poe assured his new friend.

You were pried off Poe in order to be pulled into a tight hug. When the shock wore off, you hugged Jess back. Recognizing your body language, she reluctantly let go of you, staring at you with dampened eyes. Gripping her shoulder in the assurance that you were okay, you followed the path Poe and Finn had taken.

Finn looked at you, interrupting whatever he was telling the General. Nodding you lifted a hand for him to give you a moment.

Pulling your dagger out, you discarded your dirty plain jacket. Everyone’s eyes were on you. Stars, you hoped that dagger wasn’t too dirty.

Taking a deep breath, you held your forearm at a comfortable angle.

“Wait,” Poe yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Trust me.”

He fell silent. Even after all those years of thinking you were dead, he trusted you blindly. Fear didn’t spare him, he held his breath as he watched.

Hissing at the sting when you pierced your skin, you bit down your bottom lip. Dropping the dagger, you pulled the tiny card out of your arm. Unwrapping it from its plastic protection, you handed it to C3PO.

“Mission accomplished, General,” you breathed out. Three years later, but accomplished nonetheless.

General Organa nodded. “Go and get that cleaned.”

Ripping a piece of your sleeve, you shook your head and tied it around the wound. “I’m fine. Ready for duty.”

Leia opposed, Poe did too. You couldn’t understand where his attitude was coming from, but it didn’t matter — you couldn’t disobey your general.

The medical exam took a long time, you needed to be tested for everything as part of the protocol. The base had turned silent by the time you were told you were free to go back to your quarters and take a shower, everyone must’ve been attacking Starkiller Base under Poe’s command.

“My clothes are still there?” you incredulously asked.

Latia, the nurse, smiled warmly at you. “Of course, those are your personal quarters.”

“They are? After all this time?!”

Your incredulity broke her heart. Nodding, she placed a hand on your back and guided you toward the hallway.

“Has the code changed?”

“Commander Dameron made sure it didn’t.”

Your stomach flipped — Poe had counted on you coming back. The code, indeed, was the same. Your quarters were in the same state you remembered leaving them, too.

Showers were underrated, you decided under the water as you washed the grim off your hair. Sure, sonic showers were more efficient and quicker but nothing would ever beat hot showers after a long day — or excruciating years.

☆︎・・・・・☆︎・・・・・☆︎・・・・・☆︎

Poe could only imagine you were frustrated by not being granted permission to go with them. The fact that your part of the map hadn’t completed it was upsetting even to him.

He was informed you were healthy enough to be allowed to stay in your room when he followed the medical team to the infirmary as they carried Finn. Latia said you needed rest to which he agreed, but she also winked at him. He knew what he needed to do.

You hadn’t received any notification of the squadrons being back nor one for the need for evacuation. The knocking on the door startled you — aiming at it with your blaster, you opened it with your other hand.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Lowering the blaster upon finding it was only a very unfazed Poe, you shrugged. “How did you know I wasn’t asleep?”

Poe chuckled, nodding upward instead of answering the question. “Can I come in?”

You placed the blaster on your bedside table, waiting for him to get comfortable. To your surprise, instead of sitting down on the couch, he did so on the edge of the bed.

His eyes were startlingly heavy on you. He looked like he wasn’t even blinking. You rotated your body to examine him. Poe’s arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you flush to him.

You hugged him by the neck, trying to hide how shocked you were by the sudden show of affection. His shoulders started to shake. A sob escaped him and you could only tighten your arms around him.

His weeping wetted your top, but none of you cared. Poe was in so much distress and you couldn’t fathom why — he had always performed admirably under pressure.

You whispered his name, “What’s wrong?”

“I thought I lost you.” His comment was muffled by the material of your shirt and his clogged nose, but you understood his words perfectly.

You swallowed loudly. “I thought I had lost you, too. Finn said—“

Lifting his head off your stomach, he exploded at you. “Yes, but you didn’t spend an eternity thinking you would never see me again, that you would have to live the rest of your life incomplete… I did, it fucking sucked.”

“You don’t know what I went through! Or what I felt when I saw someone else wearing your jacket!”

His chiseled face turned red. “You made me watch you cut your flesh open earlier!”

It now sounded like he was just finding things to make you feel bad about. If that was what he wanted, he accomplished it. “It’s healed already, if it worries you that much.”

Poe couldn’t believe your words. Pushing you off him, he stood up. “If I worry that much? Have you not listened to what I’ve been telling you?”

“You’ve been yelling at me for something I didn’t have control of,” you said, hoping he would finally understand your perspective.

“You could be dead right now! I could be planning a funeral if I was lucky enough to…” Poe’s voice shattered. “I can’t lose you,” he rasped.

“And I can’t lose you either, but I can’t stop doing my job because you might worry.”

He nodded, letting more tears fall. It broke your heart seeing him like that, you wanted nothing more than to take every bad feeling out of his system — you needed him to be okay, to be the cocky Poe you had fallen in love with.

Offering him a tissue, you reminded him, “I’ll always try my best to come back home.”

He cleaned his face in silence, with a thought whirling inside his eyes.

“You don’t believe me?” You tried to guess.

“I believe you.” Poe gave you his back to discard the tissues. He gripped the edge of your desk, inhaling deeply.

You worriedly gazed at him, at his white knuckles and the heaving of his shoulders due to harsh breath. Approaching him, you placed a hand on his back.

“Breathe, Poe,” you reminded him, rubbing his upper back, “it’s okay.”

“I saw them kill everyone in that village… you could’ve been there.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t,” he affirmed, reminding himself that you hadn’t been in that village, that you were there behind him. You were there, rubbing soothing circles on his back and speaking softly to him.

You were there, actually in the room he had kept intact and immaculate awaiting for your comeback. In the room he had slept more times he was willing to accept because it still smelled like you, like home.

Poe wanted to turn around and face you, to tell you all those things filling his heart to the brim, but he decided to be selfish for a few lingering moments and enjoy the warmth of your hand on his tense back.

His breathing finally evened out, thankfully. You were on the verge of crying again, if it wasn’t because your head was about to explode you would’ve been a sobbing mess in front of him.

“Did you miss me?”

The question caught you off guard. You still answered, “I did. How could I not?”

He shrugged. Poe could think of a few reasons, of a handful of fears — things he had never told you, ashamed and scared you would think any less of him. He had insecurities like any other human being that very early he learned to mask and channel, not always successfully but well enough to not worry you.

It sounded silly, hiding things from someone whom he craved the attention of so they wouldn’t worry, but Poe was sure you would drop anything you could to aid him. He couldn’t allow it, no matter how desperately he wanted — you loved your job, and he feared you wouldn’t focus properly because of him like he sometimes couldn’t focus properly because of you. Ever since you became missing in action, it all took a giant toll on him.

A big part of piloting was from muscle memory, at least for him. The adrenaline helped him to focus, to enjoy the thrill running up his body. Poe never became distracted to the point of not being able to do his job thanks to the training you had reinforced him, he would sometimes catch himself slipping but he didn’t allow it to go that far — the moment the mission was done, though? He dreaded those.

He just said it. Hiding it now —in the current political climate, in the middle of a war that would end in so much loss and suffering whether the two of you made it out alive or not— would be a big mistake and a waste of time. “I’m in love with you.”

“Excuse me?”

He glared at you. “You heard me just fine.”

“Maybe I want to hear it again.”

“Well, just say so.” Before you could snappily say it, he repeated his confession, taking your hands in his. “I’m in love with you.”

Intertwining your fingers with his own, you gave him a tired smile, “I’m in love with you too.”

Poe tugged on your hands to bring you closer, letting them go once you were chest to chest. He wrapped both arms around your hips, resting his head on your shoulder. There was nothing more to it, just a tender embrace.

Your fingers tangled in his curls, the pads of your fingers massaged his scalp as he comfortably sighed. “I really missed you,” you told him, wrapping your free arm around his shoulders. “I thought you would have another best friend by the time I could come back, and then Finn appeared with your jacket and said you hadn’t made it and I just... stars, I could be planning a funeral right now.”

“Now you know what it feels like,” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose against your neck to then inhale your scent. “I missed your perfume.”

“I’ll buy you one.”

“It’s not the same.” Poe lifted his head, just enough to kiss your cheek. “It smells better on you.”

You turned to the side to be able to look at him. “Yeah?”

He smiled, gazing down at your lips. Humming, he planted his hands on your lower back. “May I?”

You kissed him first, pressing your chapped lips to his just as the question slid past them. Never had you shared a kiss so tender and full of emotion, one that said what words fell short at.

Losing that would mean losing the only real thing you had left — losing Poe, like you had thought you had, would mean losing yourself. And he felt the same.

Fingers still buried and tangled in his curls, you poured all your gratitude and love into the kiss. Poe did the same, not able to hide how giddy he felt and smiling against your mouth.

“Promise me you will be more careful next mission,” he told you between short kisses.

Humming, you dragged your lips to the side to pepper kisses on his stubbled jaw. “Only if you promise the same.”

“I’m always careful.”

He received a glare from you. You hoped he didn’t need a list of the reckless things he had done ever since you two joined The Resistance because not only were you extremely tired, you would rather have him cuddle you.

As if reading your mind, Poe slowly untangled from you. He started undoing the bed, folding the duvet onto itself. “Get in, sweetheart, you need some rest.”

Sitting down on the bed, you stared at him with your head tilted. “Will you cuddle me, Dameron?”

He was offended by the question, of course he would cuddle you. Your eyes followed his movements as he rounded the bed — Poe bent over, pulling a bag from under the base. Unzipping the bag, he took a pair of sweatpants out.

Feeling your stare, he said in nonchalance, “unless you want me to sleep in my underwear?”

You would never oppose to that, but you had a more important question. “Why was that bag under my bed?”

Scratching the back of his head, he smiled sheepishly. Poe told you the truth, though, you were a couple now. He supposed you were, at least. “I sleep better when I can smell your scent.”

With your heart beating faster, you nodded while telling him he could sleep however he wanted. Two minutes later, you were being spooned by your best friend —and boyfriend—, with his warm breath fanning on your neck and fingers trailing your plump belly.

“Can’t sleep yet?”

“It’s been like five minutes, Poe.” Placing your hand on top of his, you started playing with his fingers. “Where do you think we should look for the map next time?”

He couldn’t believe you were still worried about that. It was mostly his fault for not telling you. “We found it, you don’t have to think about that anymore.”

You rolled on the bed to face him, lightly slapping his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

It was his time to glare at you which brought him great satisfaction. Seeing you roll your eyes, he brought you closer. Poe laid on his back, making you rest your head on his sternum.

You changed the subject, then, “are you going to go get Luke Skywalker?”

“Rey’s on her way with Chewbacca.”

“Han let Chewbacca go without him?”

“General Solo is dead,” he sighed, a hint of sadness coating his tone. “Did you just call him Han? Since when do you call General Solo simply Han?”

Oh, boy. You hoped he wouldn’t break up with you for hiding your little adventure with Han Solo and Chewbacca for years.

Poe didn’t, he feigned offense and pouted but you kissed it better. You kissed it all better as he held you, close and tightly like he had fantasized for so long.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size fanfiction #poe dameron #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x plus size reader

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akizumy · 3 years

Text

Guilt

Sooo- I hadn’t planned to write anything for Halloween, but then I got this idea and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I know I’m a day late (typical me), but since it is done I might as well post it, right ? This One Shot is part of the Varitas AU (basically an evil Varian ahah), and I fear I got inspired by the rp blogs : @royal-engineer-of-corona and @v-a-r-i-t-a-s TW !! Amber, knife, death (there is no graphic description except a mention of blood)- if there is anything else that you think I should tag, don’t hesitate to yell at me in the comments. Takes place between Be very Afraid and Cassandra's revenge !

If most people had to describe Varian, they would use the word 'dangerous' because of what the kid could do, and what he had already done. Although the alchemist had saved Corona and been forgiven by the royal family, everyone still saw him as the criminal who kidnapped their queen, who attacked the kingdom with automatons and a mutant raccoon. Everyone still saw him as the threat he used to be and could still be, even Varian himself : if the alchemist couldn't forgive himself, why would others act any differently ? But Eugene saw things differently. Unlike the rest of the Coronans, the former thief spend most of his days with the young alchemist ever since the latter got out of jail; he had of course been wary of him at first, the memory of Varian attacking Rapunzel and the kingdom still painfully fresh in his memory like in everyone else's. But day after day, he had soon come to accept that the kid was very different from this idea that everyone had of him. Everything about him, whether it was his actions or his words, illustrated his regrets about his past actions; and Eugene could see how hard the kid was trying to make amends. That was why the word he associated with Varian was not 'dangerous', but 'guilt'. It was both an observation of the alchemist's behavior, his doubts and culpability, and also a protection against others' judgment. Varian had regrets. Varian had changed. Varian was no longer dangerous. He wanted nothing more than for everyone, the kid included, to see that and to be able to move on; for people to realize all the good Varian could make, and for Varian to see that as well- that it wasn't too late for him to be who he wanted to be. That he could still be happy. Such a shame that he had to be proved wrong. It had all happened really fast : the automatons, attacking the island one morning. They were numerous, and more just kept coming in an endless flow; even though they had no idea what was happening or why, Rapunzel had focused on going and protecting the Coronans first, getting answers after that. That was the plan. Pretty easy, hard to mess up- or, it should have been. Because now as the cold, metal hand of the automaton was firmly holding Eugene prisoner, the latter having no choice but to face the woman he loved encased in amber and surrounded by two other automatons, the former thief was left wondering how could things have possibly gone this wrong. "Well, it looks like Corona no longer has her beloved leader- if she could even be called that in the first place." And of course, how could he possibly forget the one whose satisfied tone was awakening in Eugene a deep hatred, one like he had never felt before. Varian was standing in front of the statue, looking absolutely triumphant, and how could he not be after taking over Corona and defeating their princess, their Sundrop ? The broken wall of the throne room, the latter being only a remnant of what it used to be, only added to his glorious victory, offering an heartbreaking view on the completely destroyed kingdom. His eyes were shining with an eerie joy, and a wide grin appeared on his lips as he admired the consequences of his actions; encased in amber, Rapunzel's painful and horrified expression was a terrible contrast with the alchemist's ominous one. "Don't worry, Eugene," the alchemist said after some time, finally looking away from the amber to the former thief, trapped in an other kind of prison, "She's not dead. She doesn't deserve such a fate." The alchemist confidently walked up to him, leaning against the metal hand. "No, she deserves a sentence far worse than that." The alchemist's voice was dangerously low as he stared at Eugene, watching his every reaction. The former thief didn't look away in return, instead glaring at the kid who had taken so much from him and went as far as to laugh about it too. He just- Eugene simply couldn't believe what he was hearing and seeing. Varian- Varian had made amends. He had apologized, and they'd forgiven him. He had been working ever since to help Corona, to fix his mistakes and stop Cassandra. Varian had changed- he had. Hadn't he ? But then, why would he go back on that ? Why did he all of a sudden attack Corona with these- these automatons, destroying the island, trapping Rapunzel in that same amber that destroyed his life once before ? Why would he do that to his friends, to Team Awesome ? Was it all just a wicked scheme to fool them ? Eugene stared at the kid in front of him. He was exactly like Varian- same outfit, same black hair with this odd blue stripe, same blue eyes. No, not the same. Varian's eyes weren't merciless, mocking and cold, so cold. Varian's eyes were warm, friendly and guilty. "Who..." Eugene hissed, glaring all the more. "Who are you ? What have you done to Varian ?" Varian wouldn't do something like that, Eugene was sure of it. The other half of Team Awesome, the kid who liked ham sandwiches and often forgot to take care of himself when working was not the same as the one who encased Rapunzel in amber. The alchemist who fought his fears in order to save Corona, that kid would never do something like that. Still, he didn't expect... him, to simply smirk, that same threatening smirk he thought -he hoped- he'd never see again on this face. "You know, I never thought you were right when you said that people don't give you enough credit. You are clever, aren't you ?" "What does that mean ?" He was just done talking when the door of the throne room opened with noise. Eugene tried to look behind him to see the source of the noise, in vain : the robot's grip was keeping him from making any movement. However, he had a really good view of Varian raising his head in surprise, before cautiously taking a few steps back, furious eyes staring at... whoever just came in, Eugene guessed. Said person walked closer, as Eugene could tell from the footsteps sounds, before stopping right beside him; turning his head to the side, Eugene saw... Varian. It took his mind a minute to process the information. "Wait wait wait," Eugene narrowed his eyes, "Am I seeing 2 Varians ? Is that- is that some sort of evil twin story, or...?" Varian number 2 didn't react, but Varian number 1's smirk only widened. "I guess you could say that." He did a mocking bow in front of the other two, "I am Varitas, 'the mean one'- because someone has to take the blame, and who's better to replace Varian at it than Varian himself ? You Coronians aren't really creative, you know : get yourself someone else to blame, or even better, an actual justice system." It took all of Eugene's might not to give in and harshly tell him that he was absolutely guilty for what he had done to everyone; he barely restrained himself from doing so, realization hitting him hard. That was what that Varitas guy wanted. He had been provoking him since the beginning, trying to push him to his limits; and although Eugene wasn't really one to give in to anger, what could that kind of behavior do to someone who would, someone whose guilt would make them an easy prey ? For example, someone who definitely would be the target of his own double... Oh no. "I'm so-sorry..." Varian whispered, his voice cracking. His glassy eyes were filled with tears that streamed down his cheeks, highlighting how unusually pale he was, or how dark and big the bags under his eyes were in contrast. "It's all my fault..." "Kid-no. This is not your fault, none of it is." Eugene insisted. Varian clearly seemed exhausted, on the verge of breaking down, and with all of that accumulated guilt ready to burst free, he was basically an emotional time bomb. A really, really unstable emotional time bomb that could possibly become a problem if nothing was done to calm him down before. When did that start ? Why hadn’t he noticed before, why hadn’t he done anything to protect Varian ? Varian didn’t react, clearly not believing him; it broke Eugene’s heart to see him in such a state. Of course, that's the moment Varitas chose to speak up. "You're right, Eugene : it's not his fault nor is it mine, but it is actually yours, it has always been. I know how talented you are all in the field of lies and deceit and breaking promises, but you have to be incredibly good to make him believe that you actually care about him and are his friends without him ever questioning it. Again." Varian shivered, looking down at the ground, and Eugene could only imagine the thoughts going through his head; anger and guilt and feeling of betrayal and self-loathing, all of them feeding a dangerous hatred that was definitely what Varitas was planning to use. Oh, how much Eugene hated that Varitas kid. He hated him for taking Rapunzel away, for torturing Varian; he hated how powerless he felt. "If you know us as well as you say you do, then you should also know these are not lies." Eugene growled, but Varian once again didn’t react. Varitas only rolled his eyes, fully aware that he was in control of the situation. "Oh, you are good- but thank you for proving my point." He then turned to Varian, and Eugene tensed up. Whatever he had planned, Eugene feared the kid wasn't in a good enough state to fight against. "I'm sorry I started without you," Varitas smiled, something almost warm, outstretching his hand towards Varian, "but you can still join me and serve justice, like we wanted to." Unlike his kind words, his tone was very clear : obey, or face the consequences. Varian stared at Varitas' hand for a moment, before his glassy eyes moved to the hole in the wall and the destruction beyond, then to the amber and finally, to Eugene. Eugene's heart ached as he met Varian's eyes. The raging storm of the kid's emotions was frightening, and Varian seemed completely lost. Eugene wanted to reassure him, to tell him that these were all lies, that none of it was true, that they did care about him- but he also wasn’t stupid. “Please, kid... Don’t...” Was all Eugene said, because he saw in these eyes that Varian... Varian would not believe him, or anything else he’d say. That Varitas's poisoned words, playing with Varian's deepest fears and guilt, had already had their effect on the kid. Where was he when Varian needed him ? Why was he stuck, unable to help when the kid needed him the most ? Varitas was right- just like before, he couldn't give Varian the help he so desperately needed. Varian stared at him for a while longer, before looking back at Varitas. Extending his hand, he took the other's in his own. Then, harshly pulling Varitas forward, he threw in the latter's face a green ball that exploded in a flash of blinding light. Varitas immediately shoved Varian away, rubbing his eyes with his hands; his hiss of pain morphed into a low chuckle. "Alright, looks like you've made your choice..." Eugene felt his heart drop as the two other automatons -the ones not currently holding Eugene- walked toward the alchemist, responding to Varitas's order. He knew his friend hardly stood a chance; above all, he knew Varian was fighting a losing battle, because he himself didn’t even know what he was fighting for, or if he wanted to. It was clear as day that Varian was fighting back like a wounded animal, with the energy of despair, and that this would end very badly. Eugene tried once again to free himself, even if he knew there was no way he could get out. Varian acted quickly, trapping the first automaton's feet in goo, effectively stopping him. Varitas threw at him a green ball that Varian barely managed to avoid; not fast enough to recover, the alchemist couldn't dodge a hit from the second automaton that made him fall to the ground. Not wasting any time, Varian sent a pink ball on the second automaton, trapping him the same way; he however didn't see the third ennemy attacking him from behind. "Watch out !!" Eugene stopped struggling a moment to yell in alarm. Varian startled and turned around just in time to catch Varitas's wrists, keeping him from using his knife- because yes, he had a knife, a real one. "Why are you fighting for them ?!" Varitas shouted, furious. "They are responsible for Dad being encased, for all of our woes- you should want to serve justice ! You used to want that, so why would you believe their lies again ?!" Varian didn't answer, simply staring at the knife held right between the two of them. "It was the price to pay to become their friend again, wasn't it ? Ha- you're pathetic. They will betray you just like they already did, and the worst of all is that they'll be right : you'll have no one to blame but yourself, for being stupid enough to trust them again." Varitas's eyes were filled with disgust, sadness. No answer. Varian's grip loosened a bit, his face reflecting some hesitation. “Varian, no- don’t listen to him ! He’s trying to get in your head !!” The alchemist no longer seemed to be able to hear him, his attention entirely focused on Varitas. Eugene’s voice was only a quiet noise, drowned out by Varitas’s own voice and Varian’s thoughts. "I hope you're happy. I hope you'll believe their lies that make you think that this is what's best for you, this is what you have always wanted. You won : enjoy your golden cage, Varian." "Kid !!" Eugene shouted, alarmed, and that finally snapped Varian out of it. Kicking his opponent, the alchemist made Varitas fall backwards; the latter harshly hit the ground, his grip loosening on the knife. Eugene watched with horror as the alchemist quickly took the knife from Varitas and held it at the other's throat. "Don’t do that Varian ! You are angry- we all are kid, but killing him isn't the solution !" "He's right," Varitas added, "You can go ahead and kill me, but that won't change anything. You know that I'm right, and getting rid of me won't change the truth." Varian gritted his teeth, his grip getting just the tiniest bit firmer on the knife, and Varitas let a vicious smile appear on his lips. "You and me, we're just good for destruction, hurting others, taking the blame. I know it, they know it : that's why they let you down, and will let you down again. There's no denying it anymore, Varian. If you don't kill me, I will just keep destroying everything, and you'll be to blame for not stopping me when you had the chance : but if you do stop me, that you dare kill me if you’re even able to, then you will become the villain, the murderer, the mean one, because neither of us are part of the people whose faults are all forgiven. No matter what you choose, you will lose, just like I kept telling you." Varian stared at Varitas as he was talking, unable to stop listening to him. He knew he shouldn't listen or even consider his words, but something in them struck a chord within him, reaching doubts he tried to muffle, thoughts he tried to get rid of and amplifying them to the point that he could no longer ignore them or bury them again; and even though he thought he could hear Eugene's voice, he couldn't actually hear his words. Varitas smirked, knowing that despite the appearances, he had the upper hand. Reaching in his pocket, he got out a purple ball. "It's over, Varian." The alchemist's eyes widened in realization as the ball hit the ground, exploding and covering the whole room in a cloud of purple smoke. Eugene felt his blood froze in his veins as he heard fighting noises, the sound of metal clashing against skin and a cry of pain, then a body hitting the ground; and after that, nothing. In the heavy silence that followed, the cloud slowly escaped the room through the hole in the wall, joining its peers in the sky. Eugene then saw with horror a body lying on the ground in a puddle of blood. Standing next to him, its double was panting, holding without trembling the knife stained with blood. At that single moment, a terrible truth dawned on Eugene who felt his heart come to a stop. Even if it was impossible to distinguish the twins, one thing remained certain : one of them was now dead, killed by the other. And therefore, it didn't matter which one came out a winner in this battle, because the result was the same either way. Varitas had won, and their Varian was gone.

#varian #eugene fitzherbert #varitas #tts #tangled the series #tw :blood #tw : death #happy halloween i guess #some Team Awesome ?#maybe ?#my writing

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lambourngb · 4 years

Note

How bout some Michael POV for your masterpiece?!!!

This takes place during chapter 2, Michael has just exited the mindspace and is waiting for the agents to question him.

“I take my last chance, to burn a bridge or two”

Michael had passed the point of exhaustion both two days and ten years ago.

The thin, plastic covered cushion in the holding cell at Chaves County Sheriff's Office had the same feel of familiar comfort as his camp bed mattress in the Airstream, both places adequately met his needs after a bender or a brawl. He was never one to shy away from dropping into oblivion, met in the bottom of the bottle or at the end of a long night of working on his ship, until today. Closing his eyes meant slipping into the almost hypnotic state of the mindspace, and then he would hear her voice again.

His mother. Golden and whole for a moment. She was the energy between his cells, the original instructor of his atoms, funneling life into him; to grow and be strong.

“Oh my beloved son, oh you’re here, you’re here already grown and bound, I’m here, but no time, not enough time, there’s so much you should know my beautiful boy, I love you, I love you so much, I will always love you, now go, run, run for me.”

His eyes snapped open as the burn of tears threatened again. Goddamn it, he didn’t have time for that. Taking a deep breath, he stared up at the unremarkable ceiling to force his mind to go quiet. It was an old building, but built soundly. Not a crack in the plaster, not a flaw to betray its age. It housed the broken, who knew where home was but stayed away in the arms of intoxication; the evil, who knew home as a place for violence or thievery, and the lost, who longed for a home but never found the way back. All those souls gathered under its roof, this solid roof that sheltered without wear or tear.

At one time Michael had been all of those; deep into the dark warmth of drunk, or full of crooked wagers from dice games, he had even been picked up on a cold night a time or two with nowhere to go. Marked by violence in a tool shed, the system shocked with such a hard shove on his orbit, that he was knocked forever from the path he once had as a teenager, left to wander in all of those grim directions.

Once upon a time his English teacher assigned to the class, near the end of term with graduation nipping at their heels, some busy work in the form of a ‘where do you see yourself in ten years’ thought experiment. His hand had sketched out a good job, college degree, and a house, while his mind traveled the fantasies of holding the small hands of a child, of helping pat dirt down over a buried seed in his garden, of Alex, always Alex, playing his guitar on the back porch-

Fuck. His bare left hand, now whole and hale, mocked him.

Michael wrenched his mind back to the present, and dug out a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket to wrap over his left hand. He tied a knot, pulling it tight with his teeth. A bitter smile crept over his mouth, using his teeth again for the grip he lost in his hand was familiar at least.

Hopefully whatever trouble that Max was in, was teaching him a lesson in meddling where he wasn’t wanted. High on power Max thought to heal his hand, but took no care to think about the damn consequences of everything, of Noah, of the things Noah was up to in Roswell. He flexed his hand again, the tight constriction of the fabric felt comfortably close to how the scar tissue pulled and tugged over his ruined knuckles. Already there were too many questions to answer, he didn’t need one more on his hand.

As angry as he was at Max, he couldn’t help but hope that the flash of pain/wrong/vacuum wasn’t so serious that he couldn’t be useful now. Ride into the Sheriff’s Office, explain away the questions to his boss about Noah and Racist Hank, so Michael could be released without need of Alex and Alex’s story.

Goddamn it Alex. Showing up at the Wild Pony, those hopeful dark eyes turning wounded and betrayed as he realized that just because he didn’t see Michael as suitable, someone else did. Like he had the right to protest Michael moving on from them. It wasn’t Michael saying that they couldn’t be together because of Michael’s record, and it certainly wasn’t Michael saying that their relationship wasn’t worthy of a pyrotechnic breakup.

And yet. When the pyrotechnics were happening, Alex was there. Immovable. Saying everything that Michael had longed to hear for ten long years.

“I love you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you and I would give anything to have this story be true, that you were mine all along.”

A tear slipped down his unshaven face as he blinked rapidly. Alex was so stupid, how could he miss the fact that Michael had been his? Across the years, through two different battlefields, and after Alex had finally come home, Michael had worn two concrete boots, Alex and Isobel. Each his own anchor to this planet, as he worked to complete his ship.

The door swung open, startling Michael off the bunk, as a tall, dark haired man was escorted into the room by Agent Ross, who shot Michael an annoyed look. “Just knock on the door when you’re ready.”

The imposing cut of the military uniform and densely packed square of ribbons on his chest sent a shivered down Michael’s spine. It was only just over two days since Michael had been involved in the destruction of a secret military operation.

“Michael Guerin?”

“Depends on who is asking.”

“I’m Major Mark Torres, attached to the JAG office at Kirtland Air Force Base.” The officer tucked his cover under his arm and held his hand out toward Michael.

None of what this Mark Torres said made any sense to him. Kirtland was three hours away, Holloman was the closest base to the Caulfield facility. Michael lifted his eyebrows mockingly, but made no move to step closer to the open cell door, “That’s nice and all, but I’ve got nothing to say to anyone until my lawyer shows up.”

An amused smirk flitted over his mouth, “I am your lawyer, Alex sent me.” Instead of waiting for a response, Mark entered the cell and took a seat on the bunk, turning to Michael with a patient expectation. He placed the brim of his cover next to Michael’s black cowboy hat and then pulled his slim briefcase into his lap. “I admit, this isn’t how I expected to meet you, the infamous Michael.”

“Alex got me an Air Force lawyer?” The rest of that implication, that Alex had spoken of them to anyone in the past, let alone someone in the service was too much to even think about.

“I’m a lawyer who’s in the Air Force, and I’m doing this in the civilian court system pro-bono,” Mark replied easily, and popped the fasteners of his briefcase open to pull out a yellow legal pad and a pen. “Now that we’ve covered why I’m here, let’s talk about why you’re here. Tell me everything you know about Noah Bracken, what your connection to him, why the police might think you’re involved with his disappearance, and why they found a body when they came to question you.”

Michael stared at Major Mark Torres for a long moment, weighing his extremely limited options. The distant place inside him, where his faint connection to Max lived, was still and empty. He rubbed his wrapped fist against his face before sighing as he took a seat next to him. Alex said to trust him that he would get Michael out of this, and whatever mess that lay between them after Caulfield and now Maria, Michael believed wholeheartedly that Alex didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

As a rule Alex Manes didn’t make promises at all, to anyone, least of all to Michael.

“I know Noah Bracken, I mean everyone does in this town and I have a record, petty shit obviously, but that’s enough I guess for them to suspect me. But I have an alibi, I was with my boyfriend all night- hell, I’m with him every night. We’re kinda makin’ up for lost time since he was in Iraq, until well-”

“You’re referring to Captain Alexander Manes, correct?” Mark asked, scratching notes down on his pad without looking up.

“No one calls him ‘Alexander’, but yeah. Alex.” Michael licked his lips almost nervously, before he took a deep breath. This was the easy part of the alibi. “Alex is everything to me. I fell in love with him when we were seventeen, and I never stopped fallin’.”

“He did mention you were a romantic.” Mark nodded in approval of Michael’s words and capped his pen, “let’s start with the last time people saw Bracken in public at that-, good God, this town has a museum dedicated to aliens? What a thing to celebrate. Anyway, Alex tells me you’re a mechanic, that you can fix anything you put your hands on, were you at the gala for business purposes?”

Michael stuttered a little, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. He wasn’t used to anyone singing his praises, let alone a complete stranger. What did Alex say to this guy? “Um I helped do the lighting and sound for the organizer, Isobel. Um, Isobel Evans-Bracken. I left Alex at home, err, my Airstream ‘cause he doesn’t really enjoy the dog-and-pony show even though there was free booze. I gave a friend a ride home, Maria Deluca, and then spent the rest of the evening with Alex. In bed.”

His pen never stopped moving, “and last night, when this Hank Gibbons ended up dead, you were with Alex again? At your Airstream again?”

“Yeah, um, Alex lives pretty far out of town, and I had work in town. Um, during the week he spends a couple nights at mine, on weekends we’re at his place. Compromise.”

Spinning this fairy tale of shared residences to Torres, of disappearing to Alex’s cabin on the weekends and splitting the time apart during the week renewed an ache inside Michael. The slow turn of a bolt, burrowing into his heart as the threads of the light caught on hope and corkscrewed deeper into place.

“No one can corroborate that, correct? Other than Alex?”

“We’ve been keeping our relationship quiet. For personal reasons.”

This time Mark’s pen came to a halt, and he looked over to Michael with a sad understanding smile, “I’ve met Alex’s dad. He’s a first class prick. I’ve never met anyone more different from Alex in my life.”

“That’s for sure. Niger can have him. In fact, I hope he gets Ebola over there.” His eyes glanced up to the video camera on the corner before dropping to Torres again. Michael paused, hedging the risk of this disclosure, before continuing, “I’m not a violent man, but if I were, I wouldn’t bother with the town lawyer or the local racist asshole, it would be to protect Alex from that guy.”

Mark followed his gaze to the camera and back, before nodding. “I think I know all I need to know about you, Michael. Let’s go clear this up with the locals and get you released.”

***

“You were with Captain Manes all night? You didn’t leave at all?” Agent Ross asked quietly, his thin face placid, while his partner, Agent Rollins barely held back the curl of disgust from his face.

“Have you seen Alex? Like dude, I know I’m punching way above my class with him, you would have to be crazy to leave a bed that had him in it.” Michael smirked, fiddling with his hat on the table. Next to him, Major Torres stayed quiet taking notes.

“And he can confirm that?”

“Yes. I know he didn’t let you have a good look, but my Airstream isn’t big enough for him to miss me leaving. Trust me. We were together all night.”

“Let’s go back to the fight you had with Mr. Bracken-”

“Man, that’s bullshit, okay?!” Michael cut him off, “I did not have a fight with Noah, and whoever says differently is lying.”

Mark set down his pen to touch Michael’s hand lightly, before looking at the two agents evenly, “one eyewitness, on a dark night, does not overturn the alibi provided by Captain Manes. Let’s move on, shall we?”

“This relationship you’re in with Captain Manes, he’s alluded to the fact that it was kept secret. I find that rather convenient, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to help out a friend. Maybe cover up the fact you were having an affair with the wife of our missing lawyer?” Rollins smirked, exchanging glances with his partner.

It took a moment before Michael could catch the inference, and then only Mark’s tight grip on his wrist kept him in his seat. “Wait?! You think I’m lying about Alex to cover up for an affair with Isobel? What the fuck, man? Number one, that’s gross on a number of levels, number two, Alex is the most stubborn man alive, but he’s also the most honorable. He wouldn’t do that for anyone, especially not about adultery. He could get court martialed for that shit.”

Ross picked up his turn to provoke, offering another even almost-bored question to Michael, “I see, you deny that an affair was going on with Ms. Bracken. So you’re not attracted to women then?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Torres protested.

“Mr. Guerin opened the door earlier, basing his alibi on how attractive a bed partner Captain Manes was.”

Michael took a deep breath again, pushing down the nettled feelings of exposure. Of all things he thought he would be discussing at the sheriff’s office, this wasn’t anywhere on the list. “Not that it’s relevant, but I’m bisexual, yes. I’m also monogamous. It’s not that difficult to understand. I love Alex, I wouldn’t cheat on him with anyone.”

“So on the night of the Gala, that was thrown by your platonic good friend Mrs. Bracken, you were there, without Captain Manes, but in the company of a Ms. Maria Deluca. Another platonic friend, I assume. Do you remember anyone bothering Mr. Bracken? Someone who might have wanted to harm him?”

***

Hours later, after they had combed through every minute of Michael’s time at the gala and the night before when Hank Gibbons was at the Wild Pony, the agents finally concluded their questions and granted his release from temporary custody. There was still an air of disbelief from both agents regarding his alibi being with Alex.

From the outside, Michael couldn’t blame them. Even setting aside his spotty employment record, rap sheet, and history of being in care of the state, anyone with eyes could see that Alex Manes was a man who could have his pick of partners. Why would he pick the outcast of Roswell? It didn’t make sense to Michael that was for sure, and that had been true almost from the beginning.

“This was fun, Agent Rollins. Let me know if you want me to go over my movements from the other night again, and Alex’s even better movements. I can really open up on that, if it helps,” Michael offered, stomping the blood back into his boots as he left the interview room eagerly.

There was some satisfaction in seeing out of the corner of his eye, Agent Rollins looking as if he had bit into a lemon.

Next to him, Torres grabbed Michael’s forearm with a warning squeeze and steered him down the hall where Alex was waiting with a worried expression. “What my client means is, you have my number if you wish to schedule a follow-up interview. We’re happy to cooperate in any investigation, especially if it leads to Mr Bracken returning safely home.”

Alex’s eyes flickered from Torres’s hand on his shoulder to the agents and back to Michael, but there was a hint of smug satisfaction in those dark eyes. Somehow Michael knew that Alex was holding back amusement over his graphic words to the bigoted agent. Well, there was no sense in not completing the performance.

He moved into Alex’s space comfortably, and brought his hands to Alex’s neck to draw him into a kiss. His last memory of kissing Alex, had been handled and revisited to the point of being thread-bare before being set aside as an old fantasy out of reach. Feeling Alex’s arms come up and hold him close, sent shocks down his fingertips as he cupped Alex’s chin to hide the chasteness of the kiss from view.

Alex wasn’t playing fair in return.

Those big, firm hands of his slid up Michael’s back, and threaded into the sweat-thick curls of his hair. Michael felt Alex’s lips part against his, that clever hot mouth opening to Michael, and nothing tempted Michael more in that moment, than following Alex’s lead.

That long bolt of the lie, turned deeper inside him, shredding the few safeguards he had in place. Alex loved him, Alex wanted to protect him, Alex had never stayed before- so many truths, so many reasons he wasn’t able to trust this especially now. Michael kept his mouth closed, and after a second, he felt Alex back away. They were good at that at least, retreating.

Alex’s cheeks were warm, probably from the public nature of the kiss, even as his face showed only the firm resolve of their shared story. His eyes drifted down, playing his role of a shy lover with Michael expertly. “You uh, ready to go home then?”

“Long past ready, darlin’.” Michael exhaled tiredly, already wondering how he was going to make it through this without losing more of his heart than he had to spare in the process. He reached for the familiar weight of his hat in his hand, and tipped it to the still watching agents.

#malex fic #fake dating your ex because of the feds #no beta here #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #missing scene #no excuses ask meme #hmd023

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rosaline-kei · 4 years

Note

Oh my god that yandere armin x mikasa fanfic was sooooo good. Reading that really brightened up my day thank you for taking my request! I realllyy can't wait for part 2!!!!!!!!!

Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan nor its characters.

Title: Yandere

parts: 2/2

Synopsis: Unknown to everyone but his victims, there’s a side to Armin that he dedicates to protecting his beloved.

Requested By: @bobfregmegler

If it's ok may i request a yandere!armin x mikasa fanfic set in the aot world? If that's comfortable for you of course.. I loved your fanfic, Bared and I am in desperate need of some arumika content.

Rated: T / M (I’m not that sure; but it’s a fanfic about yandere so there’s that. Read it at your own risk. I might finalize the overall rating depending on the second part.)

Pairings: Armin Arlert / Mikasa Ackerman

Read it also on / Please Leave a Review at: my Ao3 / FF net (might post there soon.)

A/N: Thank you for liking it! Here’s the second and final part. I hope you’ll enjoy it <3. There’s a slight twist at the end?? Sorta. It’s up to your personal interpretation.

Mikasa could handle her own, Armin knew. Alongside her striking beauty, was her prowess in pure, physical strength. But, that didn’t mean Armin should lower his guard.

It didn’t mean he shouldn’t protect her.

Scanning the crowded room, it didn’t take him long to spot them. Not when the herd of uncivilised barbarians stuck out like a sore thumb, with their yapping and hollering; their disruptive noises that dared ruin his serenity.

They were sitting together, and aside from all the chaos that erupted from their mouths, reverberating about, they were enjoying the sight of voluptuous women putting on a performance in front of them while wolfing down their bottles of beer. The next thing Armin knew, he was eavesdropping.

“What a show!” One of them exclaimed enthusiastically before clapping, “Too bad it wasn’t that oriental lady! Ahh! What a waste, I tell ya!” Armin tensed, his hand diving into the secret compartment of his jacket, searching impatiently for his dagger.

Wait, no… Control. He reminded, hand abruptly halting in its search. Upright killing them in this crowd is silly… and luring them out might take too long… I don’t want to keep Mikasa waiting. He considered. That only leaves one other option…

“Do yer’ think we can get a grab of her? I saw her enter that motel nearby…” His friend hiccupped, taking another swig of alcohol. Cheeks flustering; not because of the alcohol, though. Armin felt his stomach twist. “Her friend looks like a puny piece of shit anyway…” A smirk decorated the blonde’s expression.

“Ha! Why not?” He smirked deviously, “You don’t see Orientals these days… and can yer’ get us a little more alcohol pal? The encore’s gonna start! And then after… I’ll gather the boys and…” The revolting, impure look said it all, and that was enough eavesdropping for Armin, who felt his patience and control thinning; the taut thread waiting to just… snap!

I’ll kill you. He swallowed, eying his prey that departed from the pack, staggering towards the counter, bargaining with the bartender for another few bottles. He waited, as much as it pained him, he waited, for the right moment. To make the right move.

Luck seemed to be on his side, given how his doltish and stupid prey appeared to be distracted, his attention being directed towards a pig-tailed brunette who revealed a little too much. Watching his mouth water as he slid himself toward the brunette infuriated Armin; did he think about Mikasa like that, too? His Mikasa?

Control. Control. Armin, you can’t let loose, yet. He reprimanded himself, shaking his head, recalibrating himself. Before he knew it, the ugly drunkard and the lady got themselves entangled, swaying back into the crowd.

Perfect.

“OI!” The bartender yelled at the man, who clearly forgotten his order. “YOUR DRI—”

“I’ll deliver it to them!” Armin exclaimed in an awfully high-pitched tone, eyes fluttering as he emerged from the shadows, twirling his way in front of the bartender who looked at the blonde questioningly. “Oh, come on, I don’t wanna keep them waiting! I want to impress them!” He had his lips pouted out, arms crossed, internally praying he’d buy this gimmick. If he could pass off as Historia with a wig and a skirt, this shouldn’t be that much of an issue. Besides, based on his intuition and gut, this particular bartender didn’t seem like the sharpest man out there; he appeared to be more flippant and frivolous.

“Whatever… I’ve seen too much shit, and I’m not paid enough.” He waved his hand dismissively at Armin, evidently fed-up with whatever he had going on in his life. Not that Armin cared though. He was just grateful that his intuition was right.

“Thank youuuu!” He squeaked, smiling all too brightly, before carrying the tray of beers away.

To a secluded corner, where the edges of his smile sunk, grimly settling into a frown

Quietly, he removed a vial containing a form of floral poison he had extracted from a flower not too long ago. It was back when they resided in the woods with the rest of the squad, when he accompanied Mikasa one day to gather wood.

“Careful!” She warned when the blonde nearly trampled on a patch of violet blossoms. “Those are poisonous…” She explained, before rambling on about how her late mother once told her how these killer flowers were commonly mistaken for another more innocent breed, and how it would irritate your skin, possibly leaving long-lasting scars if you got too close to it. “Poisonous, huh?” Armin said, intrigued. How… useful. He didn’t say that out-loud. And it didn’t take Armin long to find out the effects of consuming such a deadly little thing. (How he found out, Armin didn’t have the time to recall his experimentation).

Cautiously, he dripped the deadly liquid into each of the beer mugs, letting it swim and camouflage in the yellow drink, staying hidden, awaiting to strike when indulged. Luckily I brought this along… You never know what trespassers you’ll meet. He noted to himself, eying the idiotic bunch.

Taking a deep breath, he continued with his performance.

“Heeeyyyy sirs!” Armin chirped as he skipped his way to the hooligans, wearing a cheeky smile as he set the venomous tray down.

He watched as their eyes watched him carefully, and as he had anticipated, they were too intoxicated to even remember who he was, or the fact that he wasn’t a woman. “Ehhh? What happened to t—”

“Ah, who cares? That bastard’s probably humped himself elsewhere. Tsk!” The man spat, unconcerned with the disappearance of his other friend. “Besidesss,” He droned out, shooting an inappropriate look towards Armin’s direction, licking his lips ravenously. “We got a flat babe here to fool with before we chase the Oriental… c’mon, join us—”

“You should drink first!” Armin insisted, arms and legs both crossed as he continued, “I wanna go wear my specciiaaalll bunny costume for you… delightful men…and maybe get a couple of my friend to join, after all, you guys seem like charming folk!” He persuaded, a slight whine echoing towards the end of his statement.

“Bunny costume eh?” He watched as their face twisted into something nauseating as they let their fantasies run wild.

Disgusting. Impure.—Those were words Armin associated with people like them; people that dared cross that line. Fortunately for him, they’d never have the chance to inflict those fantasies on Mikasa. Not after this.

“Be right back!” He giggled, stepping back into the crowd as they raised their jugs, exclaiming eagerly that they have scored one, before chugging all of it down.

“Drunkard fools.” He uttered under his breath, his giggling and cheerful appearance alike coming to a halt, replaced by a cruel yet excited look. Alas, Armin began the countdown.

10.

He watched as they continued chattering amongst themselves, full of corrupted exhilaration as they waited for Armin to supposedly return with toys and goods for them to exploit.

9, 8.

He watched them starting to shift uncomfortably, something itched.

7,6.

Something was set ablaze in their throats, they first shrugged it off as the burning aftermath of alcohol at 7, but at 6, they started to drown themselves with beer, then water in hopes of extinguishing whatever was burning.

5,4.

Then, the world spun before darkness enveloped some of them. The others who were still stubbornly fighting against the flame, refusing to surrender to their abrupt fate, dropped to the ground, one by one, choking. No one paid too much attention, having either assumed they drank one too many bottles or were too engrossed with the music; with their dance to debauchery.

They gasped for air. Pathetically, helplessly. Armin watched with elatedness, although he was a little disappointed with himself that he had given them a quick and easy death. If he hadn’t promised Mikasa that he was to be back within forty-five minutes, perhaps blood would’ve been spilled. Perhaps he’d have something else schemed, to drag out their death, to make it excruciating. Ahhh! What a missed opportunity! He couldn’t help but think as he bit his lip, watching their deaths unfold.

Everything became numb, from their flesh right to their bones. Everything became limp; everything, all their nerves started to relax itself—settling them down into an ugly afterlife or hell. That was what they deserve.

Death washed them over, stilling them completely. P-e-r-f-e-c-t. Armin hummed, pleased by the results. Turning away, he snuck his way to the back-exit before anyone could notice that they were, in all actuality, dead.

I can’t believe I had to use that high-pitched tone… ahhhh! How embarrassing! Not to mention, I still have to buy bread... what a troublesome day! He huffed calmly, taking a glance at his watch. I have eighteen minutes left… geez, time flies too fast…Ah! I should get some bread for Mikasa too! He smiled, rubbing the hand that Mikasa touched, feeling and embracing her lingering warmth. I should hurry…

He wanted to see her, quickly. To gaze at her undying beauty, inhale the sweet scene her entire being emanated, perhaps to even embrace her… to lay next to her—if Mikasa’s offer was still on the table; he wouldn’t force anything on her.

Never.

“Ah… I wonder if they have the bread Mikasa likes—”

Having been too engrossed in his thoughts about the raven, he had failed to pick-up the approaching, threatening steps that headed towards his direction; failed to be aware of his surroundings.

He had carelessly fallen prey, his words cut off when a bloody barbarian shoved him against the wall face-front, gripping both his hands.

“Y-YOU…! YOU MURDERED THEM RIGHT?!”

Ah, right. Him.

It wasn’t Armin’s intention to keep him alive out of his own good heart, he thought it’d be humorous to let him be the only one living while his other friends died. It was wicked, sure. But in his mind, it was his own fault for being so careless to leave the drinks right there, in his reach—and maybe Armin would’ve sincerely thanked him for that, if he hadn’t touched that hand.

“I…I saw you serving them that fucking shit!”

His grip was wavering, trembling. Armin couldn’t tell if it was due to some form of developing trauma eating him up, or the fact that he was still drunk. Either way, that wasn’t his primary concern at the moment.

“I…I will kill y—”

“…ouched…th… and…at…he…” Armin’s words were at first inarticulate, as he tried to comprehend the sin that this man had just commit.

How dare he.

“H-Huh?!—”

Interrupted by a successful kick to his groin thanks to his incompetency of securing his entire body properly, Armin threw him on the ground, his feet crushing his face. “How… dare… you…” His voice started out low as he squatted down, glaring daggers at him while his right hand searched for one of his own.

“W-W—”

“How…dare you touch this hand?” He lifted up his left hand, while his right snatched out a dagger that had been waiting in a hidden compartment of his attire. “You know…? Don’t you know…? I knew you barbarians were idiots but I didn’t expect you to be this stupid… This… This was the hand that she touched… and you—” He pointed the dagger right at his throat, tracing it round and round, finding some amusement as he watched his hunter-turn-prey’s eyes follow the knife, evidently terrified.

“…And you fucking contaminated it.” He cursed, head tilting in this flummoxing being right in front of him. He couldn’t understand nor comprehend how someone could be this impolite, this inconsiderate. Even Captain Levi—who had once lived in this place—never did something so offensive!

“I…I… Y…You’re a sick bastard!” The man choked out; and before he could even have the chance to struggle, the dagger pierced right through his throat.

Armin watched the life drain from his eyes. “Sick bastard…me? But what about you?” He said in an accusatory tone, dragging out the plunged dagger, trailing it around his eyeballs, paying no mind to the blood that spewed out. “I saw that look… you know? The look you and your low-lives gave her... and I heard… what you planned to do to her and oh… did that ticked me off.” He said, an eerie chuckle following after as he aimed the tip of the dagger at the lower end of his eye, tempted to dig it out, and perhaps hang it as ornaments somewhere far away; where that look wouldn’t reach Mikasa.

But alas, he didn’t have the time. There was still the bread.

“Ahhh, I’m going to be late!” He groaned as he stood up, patting off any dirt or dust that stained his clothes; he’d have to deal with the blood later. Albeit, he was careful enough not to let it stain too much on his clothes. “Maybe in your next life, you could be a little more considerate of wasting people’s time… honestly, was seeing your dead friends not enough? Ah! Or you could rot in hell! That way you won’t bother this ‘puny little shit’ anymore… right? Right? Hah!” Armin shook his head, taking one last laugh at his idiocy before strolling off, unbothered to clear the mess. It was the underground after all; decomposing bodies and murders weren’t a rarity. And right now, he doubted the military police would even bother with an investigation, given the corruptness of the system, and the trouble the corps were stirring up.

What a day.

“Hmm… I wonder if the bread shop has that bread she likes a lot…” He hummed.

Armin stood outside silently. He was a twist of the doorknob away from reuniting with his love.

It is unlikely Mikasa is asleep, no matter how exhausted she is. Armin calculated, and then took a glimpse at the edge of his sleeves where a faint crimson stain remained smudged. The room is dark, it has poor lighting… she won’t see this… then again, she has sharp eyes… ahh… Well, even if she does, I’ll think of a reason… I wouldn’t want to worry her. But if she’s asleep… I’ll just set the bread down and make a run to the washroom.

Taking a deep breath and grasping the packet of loaves, he entered the dimly lit room, closing the door after. “Mikasa… I got you some bread if you want to eat it, oh and it’s not that stale! Even if you’re not hungry, it could be tomorrow’s breakfast before we have to set out in search of those documents…” Armin spoke, settling the package down.

Albeit, before he could do a full scan of the room in search of the raven, he was met with a sharp pair of familiar obsidian orbs that never failed to steal his breathe away. “M-Mikas—”

“You’re… early.”

“I…I didn’t want to keep you waiting…” She’s close. Armin noted, feeling her breath brush the exposed surface of his neck; needless to say, it sent a thrill down his spine. It was difficult to contain, control. “I…Is something the matte—”

“No, No… I’m glad, you’re back safe—”

“Your wrist!” Armin gasped; withdrawing himself from his lovesickness the moment his eyes caught sight of a scar that stretched form the top of her wrist to god knows where. Did… someone come here? Did I miscount? Did I miss someone? I’m sure all of them drank the poison… and I even made sure to get rid of the last… who did it? I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have—… but… who did it? Who dared to touch h—

“I was… just checking if our gear was working, and I accidentally cut myself.” Mikasa assured, “Even in the dark…” She took a step closer. “Your eyes never miss a thing, do they?” Whether it was meant to be a praise or not, Armin took it as one.

“But don’t worry, I’m fine.” She smiled, hand reaching out for his. And Armin would’ve let her. Hell, did he desire her soothing touch. Words that she can’t say, she made it up for her actions. Armin loved that about her. Just a tight squeeze of her hand on his was already overwhelming, it was heaven and earth and all of serenity. He wanted to feel it, but then he remembered it.

Panicked and instinctively, he took a step back, his hands hidden behind his back.

He won’t let her hands be contaminated too, with that filth.

“A…Armin?”

“A-Ah! No… I’m just a little dirty, that—”

“Not that.” She said, a finger pointing towards the faint smudge on his sleeve. “…Is that…--”

“Jam.”

“Jam…?—”

“The bread shop owner spilled some on me when she was taking the bread. Ahhh, it doesn’t matter now! Geez Mikasa you don’t need to be so worried.” Armin quickly brushed it off. He looked at her worried eyes. “I’m fine, I promise.” Even in the dark… he thought, admiring her eyes as his hand reached out about to caress her cheek, your eyes are sharp too—

But froze when he recalled how filthy.

“A-Ah! Sorry… I—” And then, Mikasa nuzzled herself in his palm, Armin’s eyes widened in horror. “M-Mikasa! I’m dirt—”

“It’s fine.” Armin flinched. What? “Because it’s you, it’s fine. I couldn’t care less.”

Armin felt his heart skip, race, palpitate.

He wanted to hold her longer, closer, tighter. He was obsessed. But… he couldn’t risk her noticing that that red patch, wasn’t jam.

“I-I… I’m going to take a quick shower!” He coughed, before forcefully dismissing himself.

Once he closed the door, his back hit the wall and slid down. He held the hand that had the blessing of touching her cheeks. Were they… pink? Armin couldn’t tell due to the lighting. He bit his lip. I love her. He couldn’t help but think. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so filthy anymore.

Caressing the hand, he once again savoured the warmth that was there. Never again, was he going to be so careless to let anyone stain it with their own trace of impurity.

I love her. I love her. I love her, so much. He bit his lip. Nobody’s… I’ll make sure nobody will bother you.

Nobody.

Mikasa heaved a heavy sigh. I wonder if that was really Jam… I can’t tell anymore, not in this dark. Not when… Her eyes glimpsed at her fresh scar, and while Armin may not notice due to his little adventure that Mikasa was unaware of, there was a faint scent of blood in the air. Not Armin’s, not the man he killed, and not—

At least he looks fine… he’s… Her cheeks blush, as her hand reached out to touch the side that Armin touched. He’s safe…

She bit her lip. I’ll make sure he’s safe.

A/N: Is Mikasa a Yandere too, hm? Well. I left it ambiguous! So it’s up to your personal interpretation <3

#aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #arumika #armikasa #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin fanfic #attack on titan fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #my fanfic #my fanfiction

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raendown · 4 years

Link

At last I get around to writing the fourth installment of my Amends to the Dead series, even if it’s just a missing scene from the third part!

Pairing: None Word count: 3241 Rated: T+ Summary: When his first brother was born Hashirama held the tiny babe in his arms and promised to protect him always. How cruel that only now when all of his lifelong dreams have come true he should realize that Tobirama, precious Tobirama, has given his own away.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Dire Rise

Evening hangs like a dark and heavy blanket after Madara leaves, a weight on his chest that presses against his ribs to steal his breath away. Pretending has been difficult in the face of someone he so rarely needs to pretend for. His best friend has been a wonderful distraction, his efforts all too obvious as he tried to repair the mood ruined by their earlier conversation, and Hashirama feels no guilt for letting the man think himself successful. It isn’t his fault the most important part of Hashirama's life has been falling apart in front of his eyes without him even noticing.

There can be no one to blame for that but himself.

In the sudden quiet of solitude the house feels empty in a way it never has before. From childhood Hashirama has always enjoyed finding positivity in the smallest details of life, always happy to entertain himself with nothing but the world around him, never lonely even in the rare moments he finds himself alone. Now he stands in the genkan and folds his arms across his chest. If he holds tightly enough then perhaps this aching hole will fill itself, the tears still threatening to spill over will subside.

His efforts prove futile. Resisting the urge to open the door and call Madara back inside, he turns and makes his way to the living room with heavy, ponderous steps. The cabinet in the corner sings to him with sweet promises of ignorance. It would be all too easy to pick the lock and drown his shattered heart with sake or plum wine or whatever other blissful potions are hidden away therein. Mito holds the key but he would be a poor shinobi if he couldn’t find his way inside without it. Hashirama sinks down on to the couch and leans forward to stare at the cabinet as though it will give him a reason not to. What he wouldn’t give in this moment not to feel the sensation of falling, breaking, failing the one person in this world he had promised himself he would never fail again. Knowing that to give in to the drink would be little more than another failure is all that keeps him in place.

Waiting takes forever. Hashirama sits in his empty home and wonders if this is even a shadow of what his brother has been carrying alone for months now. How alone must he feel with no one to share his burdens? How deeply has Hashirama failed him if he feels he cannot ask for help? Questions without answers chase each other round and round in his mind until at last the front door opens and Hashirama lifts his head to look at the clock. A tentative stretch of his senses brings the warmth of Mito’s chakra reaching out to entwine with his own, salt water and a warm sea breeze, tempestuous yet tightly controlled.

For the first time since the day they met Hashirama is honestly disappointed to see her. He swallows the shame of this as she walks in to the room, pausing to take in his expression before hurrying across the floor to take his face between her hands.

“Tell me.” Her voice is quiet steel, strong and soft, every inch a queen ready to bow if only to bring a smile to his face. Oh how he loves her.

“I’m waiting for Tobi,” he tells her. “We…we need to talk.”

Mito studies his face through narrowed eyes. Then she bends forward to lay a kiss against his forehead so gentle he can feel it upon his very soul like a balm he doesn’t deserve. “Should I stay with you while you wait?”

“No. I need to think about what to say and I haven’t really been doing any thinking so far. It’s all so...I don’t know. He’s not okay. And how could I ever be okay if he isn’t? Except I didn’t notice.” His eyes fall closed almost as a barrier against the benediction of another gentle kiss.

“You can tell me as much or as little as you like when this is done - but it sounds like you’d like to speak with him first. Will you be alright alone?”

“I don’t know.”

Her smile is understanding in a way that pierces. “Then I won’t press you for answers. I’ll go to bed. You know that you can wake me if you need to.” Genteel fingers with hidden strength card through his hair. “Even if all you need is someone to hold you.”

The words sting where they hide behind his teeth; he doesn’t deserve comfort right now. Right now it is his duty to comfort another that he hadn’t even realized he’s been neglecting. Perhaps neglecting is not the right word, he has of course not forgotten his brother in any way, has in fact paid him as much loving attention as has been normal since they were young and clinging to each other, the last of their line. That does nothing to stop the guilt from rising up to whisper in his ear that he’s let his beloved Tobirama down in a way he vowed he never would. All this time the younger man has been suffering right before his very eyes and Hashirama has been blind to it. The last thing he deserves now is to be comforted for dishonoring the most precious of all his bonds.

As the hours pass Hashirama imagines himself spreading roots, anchoring his misery more and more with every minute until he isn’t sure he will be able to sit in this room again with a quiet cup of tea and not think back on this moment. He imagines that Tobirama must feel the same in his own way, unable to escape the darkness inside, unable to ask for a light to guide him out, washed in a loneliness that should have never been his and forced to walk through every day knowing the next would be just the same. That ends tonight. If he must crawl in to the darkness himself and find the path for them both he will.

When Tobirama comes home it is long past late and Hashirama's knees are stiff with inactivity but he rises from the cushions without remark for the way his muscles creak and strain in protest. He sees the caution in those eyes, the weariness, and bites viciously upon his own tongue to hold the tears at bay.

“I’m surprised you’re up.” Soft spoken, unassuming, but there are cracks in his voice now that Hashirama knows to look for them. He should have been looking long before now.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Ah.” Tobirama blinks slowly, the corners of his lips tightening with suspicion. “Is something wrong?”

Before he can push it back down a sob bubbles up and Hashirama snaps his teeth down halfway through the noise but the damage is done. “So, so much. I’m sorry, Otouto. I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

What hurts the most is the honest bafflement in his face. His brother has no idea at all why he needs to apologize and just seeing the curious tilt of his head brings the tears back, spilling down Hashirama's cheeks in an instant. It should have been obvious what was upsetting him. It should not be so far outside the realms of possibility for him to share his brother’s hurts that they do not even occur to the man.

Hashirama crosses the space between them with his hands outstretched and the surprise in the expression looking back nearly shatters his heart. It’s not as though a loving touch is uncommon between them. Perhaps it’s the way he falls to his knees and presses his brow to the floor at pale feet.

“Please forgive me. I will be better, I promise! You deserve more than a sibling who could ever let your pain go unnoticed but I swear I’ll be better!”

“What–?” Tobirama kneels and buries both hands in the back of his shirt to pull his face away from the ground. “Anija what the hell is going on? Stop that!”

“You’re hurting,” Hashirama cries.

His brother stills, several expressions flitting one after the other across his face. All of them are gone too quickly to identify but he settles quickly on the sort of blankness that showed itself most often when they were small things still new to the world, their emotions so easy to display and so quick to bruise. It’s something Hashirama realizes that he’s seen more often lately and oh he curses himself for not recognizing it sooner.

“I’m fine, Anija, there’s no reason to be throwing yourself at the floor like this.”

“You are not fine! You- Madara spoke to me today.”

He only catches the minute flinch because his eyes are wide and staring.

“Whatever that fool told you is an exaggeration I’m sure, he’s your friend not mine. Surely it can’t be worth staying up until the fool’s hour when you have plenty of work to do tomorrow.” Tobirama shakes his head as if to dismiss the issue but it cannot possibly be that simple. Not now that Hashirama knows what such dismissals are meant to distract him from. With desperation in his veins he takes his brother’s hands between his own and shakes his head.

“Don’t. Tobi, I know that you’ve been following Izuna.” The way red eyes fall away from his own are all the confirmation he didn’t need. “I thought that you were doing better. Why…why didn’t you tell me that this was still on your mind? I could have helped. I want to help! A-and even if I can’t I want to be there for you!”

“This isn’t something that I need help with.”

“But you’re not okay!”

Tobirama draws in a deep breath but it rattles like the death he so nearly escaped. “I’m truly fine. This is the best solution. You have your dream now and I will do what I must to protect it, is that so hard to understand?”

“You’re allowed to have your own dreams, Otouto.”

“I’ve never been much of a dreamer,” Tobirama responds blandly. His thoughts are hidden in the lack of proper inflection.

Heart shuddering in his chest, Hashirama reaches out to gently touch the side of his precious brother’s jaw, feeling the invisible scars left behind by a lifetime of war and hidden by the boon of naturally pale skin. “You’re allowed to build your own life, follow your own paths. I love you, you know that I appreciate everything you’ve done to support me, but I just...I don’t want you to build your entire self around me. You can be your own person separate from me.”

“How do I put this?” Tobirama asks the space between them, something faraway in his eyes. And yet underneath the aching sadness there is something like peace in his expression. An insidious sort of peace that doesn’t belong. “You’re like the sun, brother. And I’m the moon. The moon can’t make her own light, you know; all she’s ever done is reflect the sun. ”

“You are not the moon! You are a man! You’re my little brother and you’re sad and I hate it!” The emotions inside him rise up like such a wave it cripples him and Hashirama curls in to himself with a wretched sob.

“A little lost, maybe,” his precious sibling admits distantly. “I’m looking for answers like I always have, that’s in my nature, but I’m finding them. Everyone wants to have a purpose in life. I found mine in you. Why should that be something to make either of us sad?”

With his eyes shut tight Hashirama feels the touch of soft skin against his own. Fingers more gentle than many could ever believe stroke the side of his face until finally he relents. Looks up. He finds Tobirama looking down at him as though accepting the mantle of the elder sibling on to his own shoulders, brows drawn together with concern. And Hashirama wishes he knew how to turn the man’s concern back inside of himself to make him care for his own well being.

His knees creak with protest when he shifts his weight but he ignores the rough grain of wooden floors pressing in to his skin. Perhaps he should have worn something more than a short and well worn yukata. But then, perhaps he deserves a little suffering to make up for the fact that he has ignored Tobirama’s for so long.

“I’m sad,” he says, “because you’re not happy.”

“Says who?” Tobirama challenges him. Then he flinches when Hashirama returns his gentle touches with one of his own.

“Your eyes say so. Your actions say so. Would a happy man say the things that you did to Madara?”

“My conversations are my own business.”

Just like that the curtain falls between them and Hashirama can almost see physical barriers rising in those beloved red eyes. His brother pulls away his emotions even as he pulls his hands away too, standing to brush imaginary dust from his clothing. Looking at him has never been so painful before.

“Don’t go,” Hashirama pleads. “We need to talk about this!”

“No, we don’t.”

“Please! I just can’t stand watching you wrap yourself in my shadow like this!”

Tobirama blinks once and then turns, speaking over his shoulder without looking back. “Then don’t watch.”

With that he walks away in the long strides of a man firmly set upon his path. Only the years and the love between them give Hashirama the clarity to see the slightest of tremors and he knows - he knows - that Tobirama is more torn than he is willing to say. He is a man who has doomed himself to a fate that he does not want. And he is a man that will follow this path until the end, whatever that may be. It defies the laws of possibility that Hashirama’s heart could break any more than it already has.

For a very long time he sits upon the floor of the living room and stares at the walls as though they might come crumbling down between two brothers so close and yet so strangely far apart for the very first time. He can’t remember a time before when Tobirama kept him at arm’s length and that aches almost as much as knowing the depth of the pain his sibling carries inside. Now time passes him by unchecked while he curses the cruelty of the world, that he could be declared a god of the battlefield, a healer of unsurpassed skill, and he cannot heal the one hurt that matters most. He cannot heal a broken heart. And not even the Yamanaka can heal a broken mind.

Night lies heavy on the world like the burdens pulling his shoulders down as Hashirama realizes that he has been kneeling alone in the dark for too long. Strange, he thinks distantly, that neither of them thought to turn on the light. It makes him wonder how often his brother uses the environment as an excuse not to meet his eyes. Rising from the hardwood makes his knees creak again and his spine pop in several places. He’s getting older. And he feels every minute, every hour, every day upon him on the slow unsteady journey down the hall. Mito’s chakra calls to him like a beacon that he cannot decide if he wants or not, though his wishes are the last that he feels deserve to be taken in to account, and it doesn’t matter very much what he wants anyway. He is helpless to the siren call of the woman who loves him just as he has been since the day they were bound together.

At the door of their bedroom he pauses to lay his forehead against the frame and breathe deeply. Does he deserve to expel his own pain when Tobirama cannot? He doesn’t know. There’s so much he doesn’t know.

What he does know is the sweet scent of his wife’s hair when the door opens. She must have felt him. Even a child with little more than basic chakra manipulation training could probably feel his roiling chakra a mile away right now, the way it rolls and folds in to itself lie a boiling cloud of black smoke, choking everything around it. Mito’s hands frame his face like fragile glass and only then does he realize that his eyes are still closed. She pulls him in to the room. The door closes. And the damn breaks.

Tears flood his eyes and spills over his cheeks, rivers of salt and anguish pulling him under the way Mito pulls him in to her arms. Like the steadfast rock that she has always been for him he leans against her and lets his grief batter them both, trusting her not to let him wash away in the storm.

“I’m here,” she whispers against his temple. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

So he does. He tells her everything. Tells her of the conversation he had with Madara, tells her how badly it hurts to fail the last of his family, and he tells her that he does not know what to do now. Helping has always been his way and the inability to do so tears at the very fabric of who he is. Mito listens to his story with the patience of a saint until at last his words have run dry. Then she folds him to her breast and holds him tightly as though she too can feel that he is only a moment from flying apart.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” she tells him. “So, so sorry.”

There isn’t much else for her to say. He can hear in her voice that she has no more answers than him but he’s not sure he’s earned them anyway. What hurts he has wrought are up to him to fix; he won’t allow these burdens to rest on anyone else’s shoulders. This is his cross to bear and fixing it will be his task alone.

Or, it will be if he can figure out how.

For now he curls tightly against the warmth of his loving wife and whimpers as the tears begin anew. Perhaps it makes him a weak man to accept her comfort when he probably shouldn’t but this is a strength he has never pretended to have. To lean on those who offer support should be one of life’s greatest joys. How terrible that such offers are made only in times of despair. With a whimper building in his throat, scraping past his teeth as something of a muted howl, Hashirama lets his despair run freely and revels in the darkest hidden corners of his mind. For now he will grieve.

Tomorrow he will go to his brother again and bend words to scribe his thoughts as best he can. Tobirama always did hate when their conversations grew overly emotional. Approaching him from a more reasonable frame of mind will surely afford him an opening to talk about their situation at the very least. He prays so. Words are all he has to offer, words and a bleeding heart.

He would give his heart a thousand times if only doing so would bring joy to his last, most precious brother.

#rae writes #hashirama #tobirama #mito #fanfiction #me?? writing gen??#don't worry my plans for this universe end up with romance #because it's me

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song-of-kalinaw · 3 years

Text

BASIC INFORMATION

Human Host

Name: Lilith Selene Lair

DOB: October 16, 1996

Ethnicity: Korean-American

Eye color: Dark Brown

Hair: Black, waist length

Occupation: Socialite, Empire Heiress

Current Location: Seoul, South Korea

Demoness

Name: Lilith

DOB: [information redacted]

Origin: Garden of Eden

Entity type: Original Succubus

Eye Color: Black Onyx

Hair: Black, waist length; morphs to preference

Current Location: Seoul, South Korea; Interuniverse travel

PERSONALITY

Human Host

Lilith Selene Lair, the mute heiress to the Lair Group of Companies, has her life planned out for her even before she was conceived. But after being born with a heart problem and spending most of her childhood in the hospital with only her brother as company-- she was known in their circle as the quiet princess, not just because of her mysterious mutism but because of the timid personality she adapted after her stay in the hospital.

She can be seen mostly keeping to herself but come forums or parties organized by her family or their friends, Lilith can play quite the host with her handy tablet always ready with a funny retort or an interesting inquiry. The heiress is also fond of kids and pets, which is why on warm afternoons or in the early mornings, she'll visit the park in their gated community to watch the toddlers play or pet a dog or two.

In her free time, she mostly stays indoors in the estate library poring over books or in her sunroom, just painting landscapes or abstract art she wishes to share with her brother in the slim chance he'd remember her.

Demoness

Lilith, the mother of demons and Adam's first wife, has learned to love partying. She would internally roll her eyes and offer snide remarks at her human host whenever the latter would attend functions and formal dinners-- the elegance wasn't lost on her, but after centuries of holding court at Pandemonium, the formal parties has simply grown to bore her.

On the chance that her host would slip and unleash her, the demoness always finds her way to bars and clubs, just taking her fill of alcohol and sex; creating an underground image for the heiress. Reckless and determined to have her moments of fun, Lilith would sometimes even alter her host's appearance so she can disappear to some random country or hop in a lover's yacht and not show up for days or weeks at a time, feigning sickness with the help of her human doctor friend.

BACKSTORY

trigger warning: description of rape, cursing, violence, death disclaimer: this story was written in the point of view of lilith (the human host) and lilith (the first woman, mother of demons). God and adam was depicted here as what the writer assumes is how lilith (the first woman) saw them. please don't take offense in the story Her first memory came in a flash of light before her eyes, mere moments before she heard the beeping of machines and the antiseptic in the air fills her nostrils. She's back on her hospital bedㅡ and it feels wrong, like she shouldn't be there. Wearily, Lilith opened her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of her hospital room. The familiar surrounding easing her worries, which if she takes time to think about is actually sad on her part. She's spent more time in this ward than on her wing in their estate. A depressing thought considering it's not something any teenager can normally stay. Unfortunately for her, normal has never been part of her upbringing, which also could be the reason why its her brother, Lucien, standing by her bedside with... wait, is that blood? She reached out, earning herself a smile from her beloved brother, but when she tried to speakㅡ panic came over her body, her lips were forming words but only incoherent sounds seem to slip out. I can't speak. What's happening to me? Her panicked gaze find Lucien's, frantic tears already rolling down her cheeks. Brother, help! was what she wanted to scream but no words escaped her mouth. And amidst her confusion and panic, a voice at the back of her mind demands her to shut up. Whose subconscious tells them to shut up? Her confusion at this new development was enough to abate her tears and panic. But instead of getting an answer, not that she was expecting one, a wave of new memories washed over her. In quick succession, flashes of memories flooded her mind resulting to a terrible headache coupled with the erratic beeping of her heart monitor. It felt wrong, as if they are a memory of someone ancient and yet she's looking at them from their perspective. She saw a blazing warm light together with the sound of birds chirping and the smell of crisp summer air. There was a man with her, holding her a hand... and another, who felt like he could be their Father. Came the next memory, it was of her and their Father. Somehow they were talking about Adam and how he wanted to sleep with her. She came to their father because it felt wrong somehow. She was happy just helping around, caring for the animals and plants. But now... The memory faded into black but the unsettling feeling at the pit of her stomach remains. Who owns these memories? The next memory filled her with dread. It was her Adam on top of her, forcing her to submit, telling her it was their father's wishes. They needed to reproduce, he said. The Garden needs more caretakers and it is their duty to care for all that was created by the Father. Lilith was sobbing now, feeling her skull about to crack open from the sudden tsunami of memories. Is this a dream? She couldn't quite tell. Next came another memory, this time it was of her refusing Adam's advances. It felt as if some time has passed and she's now known how to stand for herself. And there on her periphery, children. The sight of them makes her heart full right before the memory fades. Lilith's feeling all the emotions associated with the memories even when they are not her own, but she somehow feels a connection with whoever is projecting them on her. Keep watching. You'll understand. Now she's hearing voices on top of the dreams but the sense of doom in the pit of her stomach and her growing hatred for the man she knows as Adam has kept her sobbing silently on her bed. She feels Lucien give her hand a squeeze, grounding her as another wave pulls her under. This time it was Adam pushing her down and forcing her legs open with his knees. She spat at him in disgust, mustering enough force to push him off their bed while she stands over him, foot pressing on the inside of the man's thighs. "Lilith,

you witch!", he grunted as she pressed the heel of her foot harder on his thighs. Who gave this man the idea that he can control everything? They were made from the same soil, the Father gave them life as equals and yet... Another memory surfaced, this one felt heavier than all the other that came before it. She's barely aware of Lucien shaking her awake, his voice laced with worry as her heart monitor gives a series of beeps. She heard a booming voice ordering the archangels after her as she fled through the dessert, towards the only salvation she's heard of: The Red Sea. No angel of the Father will dare cross the shallow waters without fear of falling from His grace. Adam has been using her children to keep her in The Garden and do his bidding, forcing himself upon her and expecting her to just bite her tongue and part her legs like a mindless whore. But she's grown tired of protecting his ego and the children she so dearly loved. Enough is enough. She'll come back for her children just as soon as she finds them a safe place to live, away from the judging eyes of the Father and the self-centered ways of Adam. But luck was really not on her side. As soon as her feet landed on the wet loam bordering her promised salvation, three archangels loomed over her-- all of them pointed spears of heavenly fire at her tired body, ordering her to go back and serve her husband. All will be forgiven, they said. But she's no fool to believe any of their words especially when its the Father that sent them after her. The same Father that she first ran to when Adam suggested they sleep together. The same Father she expected would protect her. No. She will not turn back now and have Adam control her life for the rest of their days in The Garden. She would rather die than serve an egomaniac who sees her not as an equal but as an object created for his own wanton needs. "We'll ask one last time. Come back with us to The Garden or the Father will kill a hundred of your children for each day you spend out of Adam's sights." At this, Lilith choked on a sob. She spent years taking all she could of Adam's and the Father's demands... would it be so wrong to choose herself this one time? With a heavy heart, she turned towards the cold and calculating gaze of the archangels. If she goes back, she will suffer by Adam's side and with him as role model, it won't be long until their children start to follow him by example- and that's the last thing Lilith would want for her children. "Tell your Father that I will never take a single step inside The Garden again, nor would I like to set my eyes on Adam. My children would be better off dead than be raised by someone more obnoxious than filth.", and with this, she felt her heart broke knowing the Father heard. The memory faded into darkness but the heaviness in Lilith's heart stayed, leaving her sobbing on the bed with that sense of impending doom. She knows that wasn't the end, for whoever was showing her the memories has only grown more aggrieved. Feel my pain, pet. That voice- filled with resentment and hate. She knows she should be familiar with the story unfolding in her head but somehow she can't recall who it was about. She finds herself gasping for air in between her sobs. Lucien cradling her in his arms. "You'll be okay, Lili." But somehow she can't find comfort in his words. Not this time. With these thoughts ringing in her mind, she was once again pulled under- a crushing feeling of hatred and need for revenge pressing in around her. She was standing on the same wet loam, The Read Sea a sprawling landscape before her. But this time no angels can be seen on the horizon. It has been years since her heart broke for her children, and she mourned their deaths. She still does. But no amount of mourning can ever get the pain of a mother losing her child off her chest. She will not rest until both Adam and the Father suffer from the things they've put her through. One thing she learned from denouncing the Father was that her original protection is gone. And that The Red Sea

is where all the lascivious beings gather- a vast majority of them giving her what she needs and satiating her hunger for the pleasures of the flesh. She'd have to thank the Father for her gift to procreate as more of her children grew from the seeds these monsters produce every time they bed her. It was on one of those nights, hundreds of her children sprung out from the seed her lovers released on the earth, that he came. She heard news of his fall- the brightest angel stripped of his rank: Lucifer Morningstar. Fate has brought them together, it seems. They spent nights creating more Children of the Lilim, hushed promises exchanged in the heat of passion. He promised her revenge and delivered, getting Adam and his new wife out of The Garden after one too many tricks to go against the Father. She enjoyed her time with him, even spent millennia ruling the pits by his side. But she got bored. Thinking of new ways to punish the damned has started to grow stale. And that's when Lucien has made a summoning. Her brother summoned a demon. But why? She felt chills run through her body. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear an answer. But of course, the entity responsible for the memories have other ideas. She's suddenly aware of herself instantly stopping from sobbing, an amused smile spreading over her lips as she pushes Lucien off her. She's aware of the motions but couldn't control any of them. Hush now, pet. I'll play nice with you, just don't do anything stupid. Without meaning to, she suddenly became aware that she's now a prisoner in her own mind. Or what used to be her mind. "Hello, Lucien." The voice that came out of her mouth was melodic, lilting in a way that makes it sound like she's about to sing a lullaby- and this made her brother smile. But I couldn't speak when I woke up. "That's right, pet. You can't. But I can." Her brother's eyes widened, "Lili... who are you talking to? Are you feeling alright?" He attempted to take her hand. "Should I call your doctor?" She wanted to scream yes- do anything to let him know of her presence. "Oh stop with your acting, boy. Don't pretend you're really concerned now when you've thought about her death countless times before." A childish giggle escapes her lips while she pulls his shirt open, displaying the pattern of blood on his pale skin. She finds his gaze then, understanding of the situation finally dawning on him. "What were you thinking summoning someone you have no idea of containing? Creative choice using your sister as host. I kind of like this youthful body." Lucien, what is she saying? You wouldn't... "Oh but he did, pet. That's why I'm here." Lucien's shoulders slumped, silent sobs wracking his body as the gravity of what he's done caught up to him. "Now, where were we? Oh right. The price for your stupidity." She claps her hands, like a child getting ready to unwrap her presents on Christmas morning. "First, your sister's voice. I'm not as heartless as you think so I'd let her play once in awhile but without her voice." She adjusts her body on the bed, mindlessly pulling at the tubes connecting her to the machines. "No soul shall hear her voice again, unless of course when it's my time to have fun with her body. A good deal, don't you think?" "Next Lucien, is the memory of something or someone you most treasure. We both know who that is." She means me. Lucien began to protest but was met with nothing bad a dismissive wave of her hand, "Now boy, who said this was a negotiation?" "You will lose her. But you will forever have the feeling of losing something you hold dear- that empty feeling in your chest that will only grow as time passes. It will consume you, dear boy. And the pits will be there once it does." And it was with these words and Lucien's pleading and guilt-stricken face, did her gaze start to darken- her consciousness getting lulled once again into slumber. You'll always look for him. And she knows she will. The worst kind of mourning after all, is when the one you lost is still alive but will never be back in your life again

no matter how much you wish for them to be.

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