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2manyfandoms2count · 3 years

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I love you (not) - Chapter 8

Somehow, this went over the 2k words mark. No wonder I'm running late on @marichatmay now. Oops? (I guess I just really like writing cooking scenes)

Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 8: In which the kids think about kissing each other a lot, but it's still too early

Chat Noir’s heart was heavy as he made his way towards Marinette’s place.

He knew that his decision to break up with her was the right one; he’d kept up the charade long enough, and he wasn’t comfortable with the fact that she was reaching out for him through Ladybug. They’d undeniably spent some nice moments together, the memory of which he cherished dearly, but he was afraid that Marinette was getting too confident about the strength of their relationship (and the fact that he found himself thinking about her a lot hadn’t been an argument in favour of not playing along a little longer).

His already cloudy mood had further been dampened by the really sucky day he’d had. His father had come up with yet another fashion shoot, which had prevented him from attending the Kitty Section rehearsal he’d been looking forward to all week. Then, Lila had managed to get them paired up for a History project, which he wouldn’t have minded too much had it not been for the fact that she’d bragged all morning about a trip to New York she’d be making the week they were supposed to work on the task, meaning that he’d have to do all the work himself. Finally, to top everything off, an Akuma had interrupted the only free period he had for the rest of the week; it had been nice to see Ladybug, but he wished he’d used the time to collect his thoughts and rehearse what he’d say to Marinette.

He landed on her balcony with a loud thump, and knocked on her skylight.

“Just a minute!” she called out, and he heard her rifle around her room before running up her ladder and opening her skylight.

“Hi,” she beamed, slightly flushed and breathless, as she ushered him in.

He felt his heart clench in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was better that she seemed in a great mood, but he didn’t have time to ponder on the topic too much; she tugged him down the stairs, and all but pushed him on her chaise, before reverently presenting him with a wrapped package.

“Happy birthday, kitty.” She bit her lip, anxiously waiting for him to open it.

Chat Noir toyed with it. He’d been so busy in the past week that his lie about his birthday had completely slipped his mind. He found himself in a difficult situation. Either he could come clean to her about his intentions, and apologise about everything he’d put her through, or… He could open Marinette’s present. Which, knowing her, would be very thoughtful and amazing. She looked very excited about it.

The temptation was too great.

“You remembered!” He gave her a small smile as his claws gently tore through the tape, and found himself with a neatly folded knitted, black product on his knees. He got up and held it out before him; he had to lift it for it not to drag on the floor, it was so long. She hadn’t just seen something that made her think about him. She must have spent ages working on it. For him .

The bright green paw in the middle, associated with the matching cotton sheet that lined the blanket left little doubt as to that fact.

Marinette’s smile falling and her rambling snapped him out from his silent admiration of the gift. He engulfed her in a hug, holding her close to compensate for his speechlessness.

“It’s purr-fect, Princess,” he croaked, letting go of her and clutching the blanket again. “I mean, look at this stitching; how did you manage to get it so regular? And this yarn…” He purred as he rubbed it against his cheek. “It’s so soft.”

“Well, you deserve something that isn’t scratchy,” Marinette giggled.

“But you didn’t have to go so hard on this! This could almost be… A cape!” He wrapped it around his shoulders, holding its two top corners with one hand, and bowed before her. “Your knight at your service, Princess.” He took her hand and kissed it with a wink, before immediately standing up and wrapping it around him differently, therefore missing Marinette’s tension and flush. “It works as a toga, too!”

“A very historically accurate one at that,” Marinette snorted.

“Hey, you don’t know what my predecessors wore.” He crossed his arms over his chest. The top of his makeshift toga fell over them. Marinette grabbed a couple of safety pins and moved closer to him to secure it back.

“Yes, you’re right. I’m utterly ignorant when it comes to past Miraculous wielders,” she said as she did so. “Mind teaching me about them?” She looked up at him. She was very close, for the second time in the evening, her eyes glinting mischievously in the almost half-light.

His breath hitched as the thought that he’d only have to lean in a tiny bit to kiss her curious smile off her lips crossed his mind.

His stomach rumbled, then, and he jumped back, feeling his cheeks redden. He was about to use it as an excuse to leave when he noticed the colours had drained from Marinette’s face.

“I’m so sorry Chat! I forgot to make you some macarons!” She gasped.

He almost laughed at how cute she was, but smiled tenderly instead, and held her shoulders. “Marinette, you made me a full blanket yourself in one week. I’m good without the macarons.”

“But you don’t have a birthday cake, and you’re hungry, and ugh, how could I forget...” She rubbed her eyes frustratedly.

His stomach manifested itself again, proving her point. With all his interruptions, he wasn’t sure he’d eaten more than an apple since breakfast. He really should be going to right that wrong.

“Okay, that settles it.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her trap door. He quickly stepped out of the blanket and tossed it back on her chaise; it wasn't very practical to walk in. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she started to open it. “My parents are sleeping, I think, so we’ll go down to the bakery kitchen. We’ll need to be quiet, though.”

“Okay,” he whispered back.

They cautiously sneaked down the stairs, stopping at any floorboard creak, hearts racing as they listened for any movement. They remained silent even after Marinette had carefully closed the front door of the apartment behind them, holding each other’s hand tightly, as if the stakes were much higher than Chat being sent home and Marinette to bed if they were discovered.

“It’s a bit late to make macarons, but how do you feel about chouquettes?” Marinette hid a sly grin as she turned the light on in the kitchen. She knew exactly what he thought about them.

“That seems like an excellent option.” Chat’s eyes lit up hungrily.

“Good. Could you turn on the oven? 250°C.” She indicated, while she took out the ingredients.

“Oui, Chef.” He executed. “What next?”

“If you could measure out 250mL of milk, then pour it in this saucepan,” she handed him a carton of milk and a measuring jug, before putting the saucepan on a hob and adding other ingredients to it. He followed her instructions, then, seeing as there was barely any left in the container, chugged the remainder, before sighing contently and throwing the carton over his shoulder, without looking. It landed straight in the dustbin.

Marinette paused in the middle of cutting the butter, baffled.

“What?” Chat asked when she’d stood there, blinking, for a couple of minutes.

“I’m sorry, what was that ?” She shook her head and waved her knife between him and the dustbin.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t ask if it was alright for me to finish it,” he said sheepishly. “I can buy you another-”

“I’m not talking about that, although maybe I should, because how stereotypical that you, a cat superhero, should drink milk,” she waved his apology away, raking the butter into the pan. “I’m talking about your aim. Do you play basketball?”

“Sometimes.” Chat scratched the back of his head. It wasn’t exactly true. He’d just perfected the art of landing baskets from any angle of his room out of boredom; it’d been his biggest challenge for a while.

“Maybe you should try out for a team or something.” She handed him four eggs, a bowl and a whisk. He started breaking them.

“If my schedule clears up, maybe.” He doubted his father would encourage the idea. He’d repeated that Agreste men were soloists enough times that Adrien sometimes heard it in his dreams; and unlike fencing, basketball was a team sport.

“Oh, right. Of course.” Marinette nodded. She hesitated to probe further; on the one hand, she was curious about what her partner was up to outside of their duties; it was difficult to probe how he was holding up, sometimes. On the other hand, she was afraid of learning too much about him. She decided to change the subject. “Could you gradually add the eggs to this while I mix?”

“Of course!” He cleared his throat. “These really aren’t hard to make, could you write the recipe down for me so I can make them again at home?” This was going to make great patrol snacks. He was sure Ladybug would appreciate them.

“Yep, no problem!” She finished stirring the ingredients together and pulled out a baking tray and two piping bags. She poked around for greaseproof paper while Chat filled the latter with the batter, before remembering that her parents had mentioned that they’d ran out over dinner.

“Hmm, this isn’t the most traditional way, but we’ll put some flour on the tray and then pipe the chouquettes directly on it. Would you mind taking care of that while I get the sugar?”

Chat nodded, grabbing the bag. He started sprinkling the surface, reaching in the packet every so often. It made the flour fly out a little, tickling his nose. He scrunched it, trying to get rid of the sensation, but it was no use.

He turned away from the tray and prepared to sneeze, instinctively putting the hand that still contained flour in front of his nose… Just as Marinette came back next to him.

“Achoo!” White powder flew everywhere, and Marinette jumped back.

“Ew, Chat!” She exclaimed, quickly dusting it off of her.

“I’m so sorry!” His eyes widened and he bit his lower lip, trying to contain his smile at her bewildered face. He had to admit, white hair looked nice on Marinette.

How cute , Marinette thought, before mentally slapping herself. No matter how true the statement was, it wasn’t helping at all. She reached for the packet and threw a fistful of flour at him to distract herself.

“Hey!”

“An eye for an eye!” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Is it really, though? I didn’t do it on purr-pose,” he said as his eyes landed on the flour packet.

Marinette started backing away, seeing exactly where he was going. “Now, now, no need to be rash about this, remember, we still have to cook the chou- eek!” She started running around the kitchen island as Chat sprung into a chase.

“Come back here, you little scoundrel!”

“Chat please! Think about your poor stomach!” She switched direction as Chat did the same.

“It can wait.” He grinned, gracefully leaping over the island.

Marinette squeaked again as she jumped out of his way, but found herself stuck between two shelving units. Chat approached her slowly, his devilish smile getting wider as the distance between them vanished. He pulled a fistful of flour out of the bag, and she felt her heart beat faster in her chest. Not just because of the imminent threat.

“I’m sorry Chat, I shouldn’t have done that…” She trailed off, backing herself further against the wall. “But this is going to make a mess, think about the clean up…” She pleaded.

Chat paused, his fist above her head losing a bit of its contents. She blinked slowly. Cat kisses, he thought. His eyes flickered to her lips. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss her, for real. He dared not go down that route.

“You’re right.” He shook his head, and brought his arm down, releasing the flour he’d been holding in the packet. “If I’m going to make a mess…” He paused, taking a small step back, and Marinette sighed in relief. “Better do it right.” He lifted the packet and emptied it all on her head.

“What the-” Marinette spluttered out, starting to get rid of it. She heard Chat laugh as he watched her, without so much as offering his help.

“Say cheese!” She was suddenly blinded by a flashing light, and her head shot up.

“Sorry, had to immortalise the moment.” Chat grinned, showing her the picture on his baton.

She glowered at him, and he moved out of her reach, just in case she decided to retaliate.

“You can’t be mad at me, I’m the birthday boy!”

She rolled her eyes, the hint of a smile forming on her lips as she finished dusting off most of the flour from her clothes and went to fetch the broom. Little did he know, she couldn’t be mad at him at all, since, A, she supposed that she’d been in the wrong in the first place, and B, it was him . Not that she’d admit it out loud, though. “I guess you’re right. You’d better hurry up making the chouquettes, then, else I’m putting you on broom duty.”

Chat happily complied.

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As he left Marinette’s house, a full packet of warm Chouquettes in hand (he’d made his choice between it and the blanket), he had to admit to himself that even though he hadn’t accomplished his goal, it didn’t really matter.

There’d be plenty of other opportunities to talk to her, and he couldn’t say no to the opportunity of having fun; they were too rare an occurrence to pass up on.

#flour scene sponsored by that fic i started writing years ago and never finished :')#marichatmay2021 #marichat may #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #ml #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #marichat #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #day 10: cooking together #elle writes #love you (too)

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 4 years

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Jersey on my mind (part 17)

The wind whips Daryl’s face as he passes the tarnished sign at such a high speed he’s sure he’s gonna drive the motorcycle to its breaking point. ‘Alexandria; a fresh start’ flies by like an arrow. Dammit, it’s not going fast enough. But it’s dark and he doesn’t want to risk colliding with any backliners from the herd.

As soon as they reached an intersection Daryl took off, leaving Sasha and Abraham to lead the herd the last couple of miles. He would never have left unless he was sure they would make it on their own.

He’s sure something happened back at Alexandria, just knows something has happened. Over the walkie talkie he could hear something was not right. He called out to Rick, without getting an answer. Then radio silence followed.

He increases speed, squeezes the throttle, pushes the bike to the limit. How long has he been driving? He had to take an unbearable detour to avoid the herd. A short distance he had to drive out into the terrain to get around a dozen cars, blocking the road. Just when Daryl thinks that he must be close, he pulls the brake and digs the heels of his boots down the tarmac. The tires squeaks and starts to smoke from the friction. Daryl stops with a thud and breathes frantically by the sight in front of him. It's the back of the herd, the one that broke off by the sound of the horn earlier. It must be at least twenty of them blocking the road to Alexandria. He can’t take them down on his own, not now.

He quickly gets off the motorcycle and pushes it down the ditch, further into the forest out of sight of the flock. He ducks behind some bushes and tries to gather his thoughts. Rick doesn’t respond to the walkie talkie. Walkers may have surrounded Alexandria. That’s all he knows at this time. He has to leave the motorcycle and continue on foot. He therefore begins to leap through the woods in the dark. Why doesn't he see anything? If everything were as usual, Daryl would've seen lights from Alexandria. But he sees nothing. With determined steps he moves rapidly through the forest.

His heart beats frantically in his chest and the sweat is running down his forehead as he starts to run, as the terrain gets more accessible. Not until he approaches the edge of the forest and sees the wall and the walkers, pressing up against it, desperately, or miraculously, trying to walk straight through it. In addition, it is completely silent, except for the growling, guttural sounds from the dead bastards. And, yeah, the truck, driven straight into the wall by the church. Something’s definitely happened. Daryl leans up against a tree branch, out of sight. He finds the button on the walkie talkie.

“Rick?”

No answer.

“Rick?”

It’s useless. Radio-silence has never been more clear. He looks out from behind the tree, knows what he has to do to get back inside. And it won’t be through the main gate, but over it. Daryl makes sure the crossbow is loaded, feels his heartbeat increase. With the crossbow raised in front of him, Daryl moves quickly and smoothly, towards the wall; looks to the right, to the left and back to the right…

Fifteen seconds. That’s how long it takes before he’s discovered. Fifteen seconds before a limping bastard attacks and Daryl puts an arrow straight between its cloudy eyes, before continuing making his way towards the wall. He’s scared of what's on the other side, scared of what he might see. Will there be a massive slaughter scene? Bodies scattered around the streets? He shakes off the thought, approaching the wall and the walkers, pressing themselves up towards it. He runs towards the truck, that's his only chance. To get up on top of it and over to the other side, into Alexandria. He starts to climb. The truck has driven straight into the corner of the church. He manages to get on top and runs over the trailer. He stops at the hood, holding his breath. The sight on the other side gets him off balance. No carnage. No dead bodies. It’s dark, silent and he doesn't see a single person. Except-

“Daryl!”

Spencer stares at him from the watchtower, as if he can’t believe his eyes. He looks fine. Unharmed.

“What happened?” Daryl says and climbs down the truck and makes his way over to the watchtower.

“Wolves.” Spencer replies in a lowered voice. “They attacked. But we made it. We got ‘em.”

From the main gate, Daryl sees both Aaron and Maggie approaching him. He directly sees in Maggie’s eyes that something is not right. Aaron looks relieved and worried, but unharmed as well. Where are the others? That’s what he asks when he embraces Maggie.

“They're not back.” she says stiffly.

“Have you seen them?” Aaron asks.

Daryl shakes his head, telling that he left Abraham and Sasha to lead the herd. They should be on their way back by now. Hopefully. They start to walk towards the house. On the way, they pass smeared blood on the ground, a tame attempt to clean up in the streets. People are starting to appear on their porches. The houses are darkened and there’s a generally subdued atmosphere over the Safe-Zone.

In the distance, Daryl sees Rick coming towards him, with Michonne by his side. Carl stands on the porch and out of the house comes Carol. Whatever happened here, they managed to turn the situation in their favor. Everything seems calm. Yet the mood is low.

“You came back?” Rick says when he stops in front of him.

“Yeah.”

“I had it under control.”

“Didn’t sound like that.” Daryl scoffs and nods at the walkie talkie. “What happened?”

“The Wolves attacked the RV.” Rick replies. “I asked you to stay.”

Daryl doesn't know what to say. On one hand he wants to yell that Rick could lift the damn walkie talkie and respond, but at the same time he’s ashamed; ashamed that he did the opposite of what he promised him. Just because he can’t control his emotions. The situation is saved by Carol, who hugs him.

“I'm happy you’re back.” she says softly and smiles. “We’re fine. All of us.”

Her way of emphasizing 'all of us' makes Daryl wonder if she can really read thoughts after all. Daryl’s eyes search for someone. Someone whom he doesn’t see at first, but who then hurries down the porch, seemingly well, but with a deadpan face. Mila walks, or rather strides towards him.

For a second Daryl’s sure that she’s gonna give him a punch right in the kisser. Unlike Carol's warm smile, Mila looks stern. Therefore, he’s both surprised and relieved when Mila strikes her arms around his neck, pulls him into a tight embrace and presses her body against his. Daryl thinks he’s going to break, or melt and turn into a puddle. It feels like a ton of bricks is lifted off his back, the belt around his chest is completely gone. He hasn’t thought about how short she is before. He inhales the scent of her, her hair. A cocktail of flowers, something warm and spicy, that makes him almost feverish, combined with vodka. Has she been drinking?

He wants to say something. Damn it, he wants to say a lot of things. But once again, his ability to speak has gone into hiding somewhere. Mila lets go of his neck and takes a step back. He lets go of her, but that embrace felt better than anything he’d ever felt before. It was real. Warm. Special.

“Sorry I was a jerk this morning.”

Really? That’s what he has to say to her? He has had plenty of time to figure out what to say to her during his ride back here. Dammit his heart is about to burst and all he has to say is… that?

“I-” it’s as if she doesn’t know what to say either. Instead she points her index finger at him. “I was worried!”

“Fine, stop.. pointing at me.”

“I point because I care!” Mila sputters and turns on the spot, her ponytail slaps him on the arm, and walks back towards the house.

Daryl finds Mila in the kitchen later, after being briefed by Rick and the others on the current situation. Mila’s standing at the kitchen island, looking at two white slices of bread lying on the counter in front of her. Next to them stands jars of pickles, peanut butter and jam, everything she managed to find in the kitchen cupboards. It’s the vodka bottle next to the strawberry jam that catches his attention. There’s a small amount left on the bottom of the big bottle. She has kept herself busy. It’s impressive she’s standing on her legs.

When he heard the others talk about what had happened, how the Wolves attacked the Safe-Zone and its residents, Daryl could hardly believe his ears. Not his eyes either probably, if he’d been there. Mila had given them a real rumble. Like a freight train she’d attacked the Wolves, wearing what sounded like jeans, bra, boots and the fedora hat. In addition, they had put the Wolf, who caused Mila her wound in the woods, in the makeshift cell. He was in poor condition. Partly because of Mila, who shot his kneecap to pieces and then tortured him, without so much as a wink. On the contrary. If Spencer told the truth, Mila smiled while she did it.

“She was completely… I mean-” Spencer grasped for words. “It didn’t bother her. At all.”

Daryl looks at the woman in the kitchen, who seems to consider whether she should open the jar with pickles or peanut butter first. Mila looks up and meets his gaze.

”You’ve washed up.” she says. ”Pigs are gonna start flying too?”

Again, his entire oral cavity is transformed into something similar to the driest desert. Soon I’ll start spitting sand, Daryl thinks and swallows. Mila doesn’t take notice however. She nods to the bottle with a led label.

“There's a sip left on the bottom.” she says. “If you want it.”

“Nah, I’m good.” he manages to utter. “More interested in something to eat.”

Mila holds out her hands.

“This is what the kitchen offers tonight. I'm no Carol in the kitchen but... there’s-” she holds up the jar with pickled cucumber. “Pickles. And peanuts butter. And boring, white, bread.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with this.” Daryl takes one of the bread slices in front of her and takes a bite.

“It's made of dust and air.” Mila notes and glares at him. “Why’d you come back?”

“Does it matter?”

Mila shrugs her shoulders, takes the jar of pickles and opens it. He wants to tell her. Tell her that he cares. Why does it have to be that difficult? While struggling with his inner thoughts, Mila takes a cucumber out of the jar, sticks it between her teeth and starts eating. She unscrews the cork on the vodka bottle and takes a small sip.

“How’s the scrapbooking?”

“I’ll be fine.” Mila replies. “You didn’t answer. Why did you come back?”

Daryl looks up at her through squinting eyes. On the inside he’s like a storm, and yet he manages to stay calm. She gives him a sense of peace of mind; yeah, besides himself pondering himself into madness over his own feelings. Daryl could accuse her of causing him to feel like that and withdraw and avoid her. But he doesn't want to. He likes her. He likes spending time with her.

He remembers the dinner the night before. All of a sudden, while the others, him included, talked over the table, he heard how Mila began to lull Juri to sleep. Very quietly she hummed a song to get him to fall asleep.

Daryl hesitates before he opens his mouth.

“You remember that song you hummed last night-” he starts to hum and Mila looks, with slight surprise, at him. A faint smile appears on her lips. She clearly didn’t know he heard. ”I thought about that.” Daryl’s gaze intensifies. ”I missed it- missed you.”

It took him all of his willpower, all of his courage and guts, to say it. His eyes flicker between her face and his own hands. Before Mila can reply from the other side of the counter, they are interrupted by the sound of small feet against stairs.

“Go back to bed, Malysh.” Mila says towards Juri, standing in the stairs, barefoot, in pajamas, grasping the ear of a stuffed toy rabbit in his hand. “I'll make you a sandwich. Let’s go.”

Juri doesn’t move. Instead he bursts into a big smile when he sees Daryl.

“Listen to her, kiddo.” Daryl says.

Juri nods and climbs back upstairs, holding the stuffed toy rabbit. Daryl turns his head back towards Mila. Did she even hear him pour out his heart, seconds ago? He doesn’t dare to find out.

“He seems okay?” he asks instead.

“If you mean about before-” Mila opens the jar with peanut butter. “He’s fine.”

“Heard ya’ saved the whole place?”

She chuckles.

“Which drunk did you talk to, if I may ask?” Mila meets his gaze while she spreads a layer of peanut butter over the bread. “I didn’t. I helped… a little. It’s a big difference.” She puts the lid back on the jar with peanut butter and opens the jar of jam. “If anything, I think I did a… not that charming first impression on the residents. Now, I’m known as the crazy Russian girl, torturing people in her underwear.”

“Thought they were joking ‘bout that part.” he says and feels a rush of heat run throughout his body.

“The torturing or the bra?” Mila smirks. “I’m afraid not. I’m damaged goods, Daryl. I’m ‘bra and torture’-crazy.” Mila takes a new slice of bread, presses it on top of the other and puts the sandwich on a plate. “More about that another time. Sorry, I have to... feed my offspring.” She nods to the plate. “I’m really glad you’re back.”

Mila gives him a tired, but warm, smile before she leaves the kitchen and hurries up the stairs, leaving Daryl more confused than before.

#daryl fanfiction #daryl x oc #daryl dixon #twd daryl #Jersey on my mind #Daryl Dixon Fanfic #The Walking Dead fanficition #The walking dead fanfic #fanfiction #twd fanfiction #fanfic #twd fanfic #the walking dead fandom

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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 4 years

Text

TEASER

Kim Namjoon/Reader [F]

Genre: fae au, fantasy/magic, oberon!namjoon, human!reader, rebellion, angst, romance,

Warning(s)!!: violence/injuries, pollution?, corrupt gov., cursing, vomiting blood, nudity

Words: tbd

Series | One-shot | Two-shot | Drabble [Rated: T]

a/n: i’ve been working on this story almost nonstop the past two days and it’s growing A LOT in length. If it get too long then I may divide it into two parts (unless you guys want a monster lol). along with i’m debating on adding a couple scenes I didn’t originally attend to that may raise the rating >>’’ bUT that is still up in the air. this story isn’t on a lot of people’s radar and ik that, but I’m so so so invest in this story rn it’s taken place as my main wip atm LOL. I also am putting a lot of effort into proper world building and even if it’s tedious, i’m happy so far uwu

summary: A world were oceans never existed, but in its place were large and vast forests. Covering 75% of the world’s surface, the seven deep forests were a mystery that no one could solve. Treading too far in was forbidden by law, the forest too dangerous with unknown entities inside. Y/n knew better than to do something like go inside, but after a heist to stop the government from polluting the forests, things turn grim. She finds herself waking up in a place she doesn’t know with things far less human and far more magical than the world she’s used to. She finds herself being cared for by someone who claimed he can help her back to her home. Along the way, however, she may just learn something magical about herself that not even a King could have predicted.

[TEASER W.COUNT: 1.4K]

You twitched as you sucked in a sharp breath. Your body shivered lightly as you peeled open your eyes. Your skin felt dry and patchy from the water that had dried onto your skin and the mud that dried into dirt and covered your exposed flesh. Looking up, you only saw the dark sky with patches. It looked cloudy as rays of faint light peeked through them.

Wincing, you curled your body inwards and lifted your arms to try and cross over your stomach. You moved just a moment before you were already exhausted and dropped your limbs back down. You squinted upwards as your body ached. The last thing you remembered was you had fallen into the river and slammed into a rock. It explained your aching head and sore back. Taking a breath, you moved to roll onto your side before you forced yourself to lever yourself onto your forearm.

Your legs twisted as you then took sharp bursts of breath before pulling your legs up towards your chest. Holding your body up with weak, shaking arms, you moved to your forearms and knees. Hunched over, you breathed heavy and winced in pain. Your head throbbed as you crawled forward and hooked your fingers onto a piece of a jutted out tree trunk.

You tried to hoist yourself up to your feet by purely your upper arm strength, but quickly gave up with a shake of your head and a pain laced whine.

Your bare toes scraped in the grass as dirt gathered under your toenails and your torn clothes threatened to snag in the tree trunk. Your hair matted on the back of your head as the water had weaved it into tangles that were begging to be brushed through.

You kept your head held down as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to gather every small piece of mental encouragement you could to get yourself up on your feet. Mind over matter seemed to be harder than it had been in the past. Biceps bulging and stomach tensing, you tried time after time to get your weak, shaking knees to hold up the rest of your body.

Falling back to the dirt and into the trunk for the fifth time, you sat full down, feet trapped under your rear as your hands reached above your head, cursing yourself for being weak. The wind picked up and the sounds it created made your skin prick with gooseflesh. The trees moaned as the wind whispered and cried.

For some reason, it was only when the wind spoke did you realize exactly where you were undoubtedly located. Your weak grip on the trunk weakened further as your fingers trembled and your lip was sucked between your teeth. Your body shook, but you couldn’t tell if it was due to the chilled air or the fear of being in a place you knew hardly anything of.

You were lost somewhere in one of the deep forests and you couldn’t be more afraid.

Hearing the crunching of leaves, you sucked in a breath and whipped your head up to look for danger around you and froze, seeing indeed something. Directly in front of you was pure white with a stripe of red staring dead at you. Gasping you pushing yourself off the tree trunk and back onto your ass as your body acted purely on fleeing, dragging yourself through dirt and grass trying to back away from whatever was in front of you.

A walking stick of wood at their side and a mask covering their face. No shirt and only fur coating his waist and legs as he walked barefoot. The grass beneath his feet seemed healthier and brighter than the rest around and you kept staring at the antlers branching out from the sides of his head.

“No!” You breathed in fear as your body collapsed backward and you could only wave your arms around in a pathetic display of defense. “No, go away! Go away!” Your eyes stung as your panic clenched painfully in your chest as you grew more and more breathless. Falling to your side, you curled up in terrified, painful trembles. Your eyes were frozen open as you covered your face with your arms as you heard whatever it was come close to you. You felt them at your back as they knelt. You whimpered when it was silent and jumped when they touched your back.

You gasped as you whipped your head to look back at them and you stilled. Their hand on your back was warm and somehow, your trembling stopped. They had set their walking stick aside on the ground as they traced their hand around the exposed skin of yours that your clothes showed.

You weren’t sure why their touch seemed to calm you. You felt like an animal being tamed as your body seemed to relax. They leaned over your body as they pulled you back on your back from your side and held your stomach down to keep you from acting up again.

“Be calm,” they spoke. A voice deep of a man that was smooth that made your cheeks redden. It was terribly seductive like nothing you've heard before. Raising one hand to their mask, they pushed it up their forehead to rest it on their head and reveal their faces. Your breath halted at this man’s beauty. Skin smooth and decorated in golden freckles. Eyes sparkling in a hue of the clearest blue and teeth white as snow with pointed canines. “I will not harm you unless you harm me.”

This man was nothing like you.

“I-I,” you couldn’t form words as you could only gaze at him. His brows arched as he saw something in your human eyes. He had been looking after your sleeping body for 2 days and he had plenty of time to inspect you. Humans were far different than him. Your eyes were astonishingly different from anything he’s ever seen, yet they were the most gorgeous. Something in them zapped with an energy he’d seen only once before in one other being.

“Can you stand?” He asked as you gasped again at your staring. You looked at your legs as they twitched and you steeled yourself into pulling them up towards your chest again. With the man’s help, you sat up and rubbed at your legs like they would help them hold your own weight. “Do you know how to walk, human?”

“Of course I do!” You screeched in an outburst that led to a coughing fit. “O-of course I do,” you repeated. “It’s just… difficult right now.”

“What about your arms?” He asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Your arms.” He repeated. “Are they strong enough to hold your body?”

“Well, I don’t know.” The man just remained silent as he moved in front of you. He grabbed your wrists and lifted your arms up. Pulling you closer to him, you squawked when he turned himself around and pulled your arms over his shoulders. Your chest pushed against his back before he put your palms together, encouraging you to clasp your hands. He moved to grab the walking stick at his side before he started standing up. “Woah, hey, hey!” You panicked, unsure if you would be able to hold onto him and not slide back down off this back in a pathetic heep.

You clutched your own hands at his chest, your arms looped around to his front tensing before he was standing tall. His stick was placed under your rear, supporting you as he held it up under you like a seat. Your weak legs dangling in front of him on either side of his naked waist.

He hiked you up further on his back so your chin rested on his shoulder by his neck. You could see the bone white antlers of his and see small engravings in them you didn’t notice before. His ears were slightly pointed and darkened at their point now that you saw them under his shaggy pitch-black hair. He turned to look at you, his freckled face closer to yours and electric blue eyes freezing your breath.

“I will take you someplace to recover. The Leaflets will tend to your injuries.” He knocked his head forward, his mask falling back over his eyes and covering the top half of his face. He then began to walk forward. You watched as he walked flawlessly over the grassy terrain and how grass would bloom under his steps only to wither the moment he lifts his foot up to step somewhere new.

-x-x-x-

a/n: was that good enough as a teaser? I had so many places and scenes I could tease but I went with this one towards the beginning alksdfjad lmk if you’re excited to read this fic! (pls it’ll boost my morale LOL)

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romanceismycallingcard · 4 years

Text

SaifahZon Fic: soft lemon

I wrote this based on the idea of SaifahZon’s love scene involving crying. So I wrote the softest, gentlest, sweetest love scene I could come up with.

It’s 4248 words.

Zon sighed as he relaxed into the pillows on Saifah’s bed. Tomorrow was the weekend, and he planned on spending the entirety of it with Saifah.

Their relationship was still relatively new - only a few weeks as official boyfriends. Their relationship was steadily growing deeper and more comfortable, and Zon constantly felt like he was dreaming. Saifah was a dream come true to him. There’s never been anyone he felt so safe with - or so loved by. And Zon returned that love in full. Every day, Zon only fell deeper for him. Today, they had barely been able to see each other while at school, but they were able to come home together. And both were looking forward to spending the weekend together. Saifah was finishing getting ready for bed and soon came over after turning off all the lights except for his bedside lamp. He plopped himself down on his side of the bed, pulled his book off his nightstand, and opened it up. Zon rolled onto his side and scooched himself closer to Saifah’s side so he could rest his head by Saifah’s bicep. Zon looked up at Saifah. “Read to me?” Saifah smiled and started reading from his book out loud. Zon felt so relaxed listening to his Sai’s deep steady voice. He curled into Saifah further and wrapped an arm around Sai’s waist, and his breath began to even out. After a while, Saifah put his book down and resituated himself to lie down next to Zon. Zon, in his sleepy half-awake state, merely refitted himself to Saifah’s new position and rested his head on Saifah’s chest. Saifah kissed Zon’s forehead and Zon returned the affection by nuzzling into Saifah’s neck and planting a soft sleepy kiss there. And then another one. And another one. And suddenly, neither of them felt very sleepy anymore. Zon’s kisses trailed up Saifah’s neck and across his jaw and over to his lips where they stayed for quite some time. The kisses were gentle and soft but steadily grew in desire. The need to have more of each other with each heavy breath taken. Saifah wrapped himself around Zon and rolled them so he could be above Zon for easier range of motion. Zon trailed his hands and arms over Saifah’s back and slowly slipped them under Saifah’s soft t-shirt. Everything was slow. And heady. Zon felt like he was floating in heavy water. They were experimenting, exploring, and going further than they had before. Everything was gentle, relaxed, testing, feeling. And they soon found that they both wanted more. Saifah wrenched his mouth away from Zon’s and tried to catch his breath so he could speak. Zon searched his eyes for a clue but patiently waited. Zon also appreciated the chance to breathe properly, but he hoped that what they were doing wasn’t over yet. “My Zon?” he panted. “Hmmm?” Zon pulled Saifah’s neck down so their noses could touch and caress each other’s. Saifah closed his eyes and worked to keep his mind. “Can I…?” Saifah couldn’t quite find the right words, and even if he did, he didn’t know if he was brave enough to speak them out loud. “Mmm…” Apparently they don’t need full sentences to communicate, and Saifah was never more grateful nor relieved. He buried himself into Zon’s neck and continued to softly press his lips to Zon’s freshly washed, smooth skin. Saifah couldn’t hold back the words that flowed from his mouth so easily. “I love you. I love you, My Zon.” His voice nearly cracked. He couldn’t believe he was finally holding his Zon like this, holding him so tightly, wrapped around him as much as he physically could. And Zon was holding him just as securely but with roaming hands. At Saifah’s words, his eyes became glassy. One of his hands found Saifah’s hair and gently pulled Saifah up so they could look at each other. “I love you too.” And they reconnected their lips in a passionate but slow kiss. Their lips gently slid against each other, broke apart, reattached, massaged, and rotated. They shared their breaths and the heat of each other’s bodies. Being able to feel the other person from head to toe made their minds cloudy, and every touch and movement felt both other worldly and the most real thing they had ever experienced. The overwhelming sensations, the intimacy, the dizzying slowness, the intense feeling of love – everything made Zon want to cry, and he did. The tears that had gathered at Saifah’s gentle words finally spilled over, and Zon couldn’t help but gasp his quiet sobs into Saifah’s mouth. Saifah pulled away from the tender kiss, cradled Zon’s head in his hands, and brushed away falling tears with his thumbs. He checked if Zon was okay, and all Zon could do was nod. After a minute and the tears never slowing, Zon whispered, “I love you.” Saifah searched his eyes for any sign of hesitation or fear, but Zon must’ve figured out what he was thinking. “Please,” his words were more a breath than a voice. “Don’t stop.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and stared up at Saifah with a pleading gaze, begging. Saifah’s heart, in every way but literal, melted. He wrapped him up in a tight hug, and they simply cuddled and listened to each other breathe – Zon’s still shaking. That is, until Zon started their movements once again himself. He began softly kissing Sai’s neck, buried his fingers in Sai’s hair, hooked a leg over Sai’s hip, and ground upwards. “Are you really sure, My Zon?” He had to ask, had to make sure. “We don’t have to do anything tonight if it’s too much.” Zon quickly shook his head. “No. I want this. I want you. Sai.” He finished with a sniff, still struggling to entirely calm down. “I love you, My Zon.” Zon smiled, so happy though tears were still falling, and nodded. “Me too.” Then he pulled Saifah down again for more soft kisses, however, significantly wetter than before. Saifah’s shirt finally came off after all of Zon’s determined efforts. And Zon’s t-shirt soon followed and was tossed to the floor. When Saifah again came back to Zon, they were now bare chest to bare chest, and Saifah was nestled directly between Zon’s legs. Saifah lifted Zon enough to wrap his arms around Zon’s back and regain the closeness they had. Saifah nuzzled Zon’s neck with his nose and let out a heavy sigh. Zon’s crying, the love they shared, the sensations, seeing how everything is affecting Zon, Saifah felt close to tears as well. He’s been doing so well so far holding back the tears. But now, as they’re continuing closer to the act of ultimate intimacy, he was struggling to keep the tears at bay. A few slipped out, and he quickly blinked to stop more from falling. His love for Zon felt like something inside him was growing too big to fit in his body and he might burst from it. It was overwhelming and heady and addicting. He couldn’t wait to be as close to Zon as he possibly could be, both physically and emotionally. Zon used the leg he had wrapped around Sai to pull him down into a slow, calculated grind, and Saifah snapped. A gross sob broke from his lips, and Zon held him close. Saifah rutted gently into Zon’s smaller body, the frottage only giving him the slightest bit of relief.

Had Saifah’s face not been buried in the curve of Zon’s neck and shoulder, he would have seen Zon also failing to hold back tears. Zon never stopped kissing what his lips could reach of Saifah’s face. Zon craned his neck to kiss Saifah’s ear, the tender spot below the ear, and worked his way down Saifah’s cheek and neck, everywhere he could reach and back again. Their pajama pants were the next thing to come off and soon their boxers with them. Both Zon and Saifah sighed and groaned at the sensation of feeling each other’s burning skin against their own. Every touch and caress was now against fully bared bodies. Hands glided across torsos, backs, stomaches, gently brushed across nipples, and memorized every curve and dip. The vulnerability was tangible, but so was the trust. Zon arched under Saifah and pleaded for more. More of what, he didn’t know; he just knew he wanted more. More of everything. More of Saifah. Saifah slid his hand down Zon’s chest and oh so slowly stroked Zon’s hardness. His touch was so gentle, it was painful. “Eh, ah! Saiii~! I-” He gasped at a sudden change in grip from Saifah. “I- sh! Sai~ more…” He whined, obviously past the ability of full thought. Saifah continued stroking. After only a couple minutes, Saifah paused his touching to reach over and grab a bottle out of his nightstand drawer, and while his hands were free, took the opportunity to wipe away his own tears. Zon groaned at the loss of touch but didn’t need to look or even think that hard to figure out what it was Saifah was reaching for. He breathed and mentally prepared himself for the touch he knew was coming. When Saifah’s fingers slid down Zon’s inner thigh, he gasped and felt a jolt of excitement run straight from those light finger touches to Zon’s heart and caused it to throb. Saifah’s fingers trailed down to their destination, and his slippery index finger circled Zon’s most private area, almost as if giving Zon a moment of warning of what he was about to do. Saifah looked up to Zon’s face and was slightly surprised to see Zon staring back at him, dried tear tracks marking his cheeks. Saifah maintained eye contact as he gently slipped his finger into Zon’s body. Zon jolted slightly and clamped his hands on Saifah’s biceps, but didn’t break eye contact. “Everything okay?” Zon nodded, but as Saifah began to push further in, Zon began wriggling in an effort to get used to the sensation of intrusion. “It… It just… feels strange.” He sighed and took a breath and let it out heavily, and suddenly Saifah felt Zon loosen and relax around his finger. Saifah nodded and started moving his finger and slowly thrusting in and out, never breaking eye contact with his dear Zon. This was something he wanted to make sure he did as carefully as possible. He was willing to put in as much time as needed or more to make sure Zon felt amazing through this. Saifah started thrusting a little deeper and a little deeper, and Zon began to pant more heavily and whine softly. Saifah bent down low to kiss Zon’s lips. After a loving, lingering kiss, Saifah sighed into Zon’s ear, “My Zon…,” And Zon moaned loudly and grabbed Sai tightly in a hug as he clenched around Saifah’s finger and bucked his hips. Saifah smiled to himself and rested his forehead on Zon’s shoulder. He’ll remember that trick for later. Saifah shifted his weight so he could utilize his other hand to stroke Zon once again. After a few slow, firm strokes, he decided it’s time to add a second finger to Zon’s opening. Zon arched and let out a moan that nearly sounded like a whine, and Saifah felt satisfied with himself. He smirked and continued to slowly – torturously slow – open Zon up, and as he did, he peppered small sweet kisses all across Zon’s beautiful chest with the occasional suck of one his nipples. Zon dug his fingers into Saifah’s back, specifically in the dips around his shoulder blades. He rubbed into the dips almost as if massaging them. But in reality, it was the release of the boiling energy bottling up inside him that found itself coursing down Zon’s straining, tensed arms holding onto Saifah and out through his fingertips. Zon was feeling too much and not enough and couldn’t decide if he wanted to writhe and grind and thrust and wiggle or to squirm away from the overwhelming stimulating touches. All his body could figure out to do was arch, clench and unclench around Saifah’s fingers, throw his head back, and moan Saifah’s name – which was the only word his mind could form. He was struggling to adjust to the overwhelming sensations of being penetrated, stroked, kissed, and held in Saifah’s arms all at once. He felt wrapped in an intoxicating veil of Saifah’s presence. Saifah’s natural body scent, the smell of the shampoo, and their sweat filled the air and assaulted Zon’s senses. The tears that subsided earlier due to the distraction and pleasure caused by Saifah now returned from the overwhelming feelings he was experiencing. He had forgotten he was crying not too long ago until his tears made themselves known again. He just barely felt and acknowledged them streaming down from his eyes to his temples and hair. Maybe his breathing changed, maybe he accidentally let out a sob instead of a moan, but Saifah looked up at him, and Sai gave him the most adoring smile Zon has ever witnessed. Zon gasped out a sob. He felt so precious, so sacred and treasured in that moment. Sai paused his ministrations at Zon’s back end and pulled his hand away from Zon’s front to wipe away the tears on Zon’s cheeks with the back of his fingers. “My Zon. Do you want me to continue? It’s okay if we stop here. I can help you finish, and we can be done if it’s too much.” Zon sniffed but didn’t answer. “Can you hold me?” Saifah smiled and bent over to wrap his one free arm around Zon. Zon wrapped his arms around Sai as tight as could muster, which wasn’t very tight. Sai kissed Zon tenderly on his lips. A soft, salty press of their lips. Sai caressed Zon’s waist and massaged his thumb into Zon’s tummy. “Zon, do you want to stop here?”

Zon shrugged.

“My Zon, that’s not an answer.”

Zon sniffed and adorably wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Sai smiled at his lover. “It’s just… a lot.”

“Is it too much?” They searched each other’s eyes. Saifah’s gaze was steady and patient as he waited for an answer, and Zon’s wet eyes flickered between Sai’s as he weighed what he wanted to do.

Zon sniffled. “I love you.” And Zon held Sai’s cheek and tenderly swiped his thumb across it. The corners of Sai’s lips turned up in a gentle smile.

Sai was about to take that as his answer and shift to remove his fingers when Zon stopped him short. “Let’s keep going,” he whispered, and his hand shifted from Sai’s cheek to his neck but continued to run his thumb soothingly. He needed Saifah to know he wasn’t afraid to do this with him.

Sai’s eyes snapped back to Zon’s. Zon’s eyes were still wet with unshed tears though he was smiling gently up at him. Sai searched his eyes as if that would make sense of what he heard. “Are you sure? We don’t have to.” Zon was quiet but his eyes were steady. “There’s no hurry, Zon. We have the rest of our lives together.”

Zon crooked a smile. “I know. I’m sure.”

He tightened his legs’ grip around Sai’s hips, and a tear slipped out as he closed his eyes and nearly moaned at how the tightened grip shifted his torso’s position around Sai’s fingers, which have not moved in too long. He was ready for that to change, but Sai needed more convincing.

He shifted his arms to wrap around Sai’s neck. “Sai, I want this.” He brought Sai’s head down to nuzzle his nose with his own. “Please.” He began to rock on the bed and down onto Sai’s fingers still nestled in him. Zon never broke eye contact and kept his gaze steady. Sai looked like his resolve was about to break, and Zon leaned up to kiss him. “Please, Sai. It’s okay. I’m okay. The pause was good; we can keep going now.”

Sai nodded and looked down at where Zon and Sai were connecting. Sai nodded more as he processed Zon’s words and actions. He kept nodding. His smile twitched down briefly, and then twitched again, and Zon wondered if he wouldn’t be the only one crying through this.

Zon smiled affectionately and pulled Saifah’s face down to him to kiss him lovingly. Saifah molded himself to Zon and melted into the kiss. The kiss was soft and wet and salty and full of so much love and care. Zon opened his mouth and gently prodded Saifah’s mouth with his tongue. Saifah eagerly responded in kind, and Zon let out a long quiet moan.

Saifah’s fingers resumed their thrusting, and Zon couldn’t help breaking away from Saifah’s kisses to tilt his head back and release a louder moan. Saifah happily took the opportunity to move on to kissing Zon’s neck, probably sucking a few marks as he went, though Zon could barely feel it. His brain was currently occupied by the sensations Saifah was creating in his lower half. He found a special spot and was repeatedly poking, stroking, and massaging it as he continued his fingering of Zon. Zon tried not to move too much but desperately wanted to buck and rock into it.

Saifah still only had two fingers inside him. He wanted to take his time and wait a while before adding the third. Zon still seemed a little overstimulated.

After several more minutes of scissoring Zon open and many more minutes of Zon adjusting, arching, and moaning, Sai thought it might be time to start adding the third finger. He grabbed the lube again to make the third finger easier on Zon, and began pressing the third finger into Zon. Zon jerked at first but then began the process of adjusting, squirming, arching, and moaning once again. Zon was still obviously recovering from crying before, so a few more tears managed to slip out. But he didn’t seem as overwhelmed now, and it didn’t take as long this time for Zon to get comfortable and relax. Saifah continued to kiss his chest, neck, and cheeks as time went on, making sure Zon was feeling cared for and relaxed.

“Sai, you can… you can… stop fingering me now. I’m ready.” Zon huffed out on heavy breaths. Saifah kissed him on the lips one last time and sat up on his knees. He rolled on a condom and doused himself with a healthy amount of lubricant.

He positioned Zon carefully, placed a pillow below Zon’s hips, and arranged themselves. He lined himself up and looked into Zon’s eyes, which were only a little glassy now. Zon was sprawled across the bed in front of Saifah, and Saifah thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight. He was practically presenting himself as a box of chocolates, ready to be devoured. Zon’s lips were kiss swollen. There were a few love marks trailing down Zon’s shoulder and pec. His arms were up by his head, and the look Zon was giving him will forever be imprinted in his brain. His gaze was steady and dark and anticipating. But it was also full of trust and patience and love.

This moment. This moment right now was them connecting in the most intimate and vulnerable of ways and coming together as one. This was the moment that would completely bring them together. They weren’t just two separate individuals after this but, as cheesy as it sounds, they were one and the same.

Saifah bent over Zon again, making sure to keep their lower halves positioned, and as softly as he could possibly be, he pressed a kiss to Zon’s waiting lips. He hovered above Zon and stared into his eyes as he slowly began to push into Zon. Zon immediately braced himself and took deep breaths. But his eyes never moved from Saifah’s.

Once Saifah had pushed all the way in, he shifted positions to rest his weight on his forearms framing Zon’s head. Zon stroked Sai’s back as Saifah began shallow thrusts, still holding eye contact. Zon swallowed. It felt so incredibly intimate. A trust, a bond, something important and priceless was forming between them in this moment.

Zon wrapped both his legs securely around Saifah’s hips and hooked his ankles together. The angle of penetration changed just ever so slightly, but it hit inside him just right. Saifah’s thrusts remained slow and torturous, but he increased the strength of them and began pulling out further before pushing back in. The effect was mind numbing, and Zon could barely form a coherent thought.

As Saifah heavily rocked into Zon, he groaned and lowered his head to Zon’s shoulder, and Zon moaned Sai’s name and arched his back once again and writhed underneath him. They could easily hear each other’s heavy breathing and deep moans, and it only amplified the pleasure coursing through them. Zon’s fingers dug into Sai’s hair and tugged without intention. Sai groaned into Zon’s ear and nipped at his ear lobe. Zon gasped a breath, and Sai decided now was a good time to try his learned trick.

“My Zon~” he breathed.

Zon’s entire body clenched, and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream. But he didn’t come.

Instead, he held Saifah tightly and rocked into Saifah’s thrusts while still clenching down on Baby Sai very tightly. Sai nearly came instead. That backfired.

Zon wrenched Saifah away from his ear and held his head above his own again so he could look into Saifah’s eyes once again. Zon continued to rock hard into Saifah’s movements while simultaneously using his legs to pull Saifah into him, increasing the speed and strength of the thrusts. Saifah could only go along with it. He had no strength to do otherwise. Zon’s intense gaze had completely destroyed his ability to think.

“Say it again.”

“My Zon~” he moaned.

“Ahh~ ah! Sai~” Despite briefly closing his eyes while moaning, Zon still held his head in place and continued his steady eye contact. His steadfast gaze was intense and focused.

Saifah could barely get the words out. “M-my Zon~ Ah, ahhh, ah!” He gasped and moaned and couldn’t stop himself from scrunching his eyes closed tightly as he continued to thrust deeply into Zon’s small body. Zon was entirely in control now, and he just hoped he could live to see the other side of their love making. He thrusted in harder and faster, losing his rhythm.

Zon arched into him, and Sai held him close. Zon yelled and shook as he came, and Saifah barely held on long enough to thrust into Zon through his climax. He let go not too much later, not being able to withstand Zon’s shaking and clenching around him.

Saifah collapsed onto Zon – his breaths coming out in huffs, and Zon dropped his legs from around Saifah but still held him carefully in his arms. They both held each other as they relaxed from their exertion. Zon’s arms barely had the strength to wrap around Sai, and they soon collapsed to his side. He didn’t mind the weight of Saifah on top of him. It made breathing more difficult, but the weight was comfortable and pushed him into the mattress. Baby Sai was still buried inside him, and he wished he could keep him there for a while – though he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it soon enough. Saifah seemed to desire the same thing, but Zon could already feel Saifah shifting, getting ready to move.

Before he could make the move, Zon grabbed ahold of Sai’s bicep with one hand, and with the other, he once again held Sai’s cheek. They stared into each other’s eyes again. Something felt different. Maybe they were a little shy right now, maybe a little more than euphoric, maybe a little sleepy, but they smiled at each other and leaned in to gently rub noses. They breathed together.

“I love you, Sai.”

“I love you, My Zon.”

They nuzzled their noses for a bit, broken up by a few soft pecks on the lips. Then Saifah reached up, kissed Zon’s forehead, and gently rolled off of Zon. He walked over to the bathroom and grabbed a towel to clean Zon up. He hoped Zon wasn’t too bad off. Maybe they can spend the weekend at home just snuggling and reading books together if he is. Saifah finally has a good excuse to pamper his Zon. He smiled to himself as he walked back over to where Zon was sprawled across his bed, utterly exhausted.

“Hmm?” Zon questioned. “What is it?”

“Mm? Nothing. I’m just looking forward to spending time with you this weekend. Can we just spend tomorrow in bed together? I’ll even make you breakfast in bed.” He grinned.

Zon smiled sleepily and hummed a contented sound and let Saifah wash him with the towel.

Not long after, they both curled up together and began to fall asleep. It wasn’t until Zon was already asleep and Sai was halfway there that he realized Zon came totally untouched.

It took a little longer for Saifah to fall asleep that night. Maybe Zon might be up for another round tomorrow…? Saifah inwardly groaned. Zon’s going to be his own personal heaven and hell.

#saifahzon #zon x saifah #saizon #saifahzon fic #lemon #soft lemon #soft #sweet #tenderness #i hope this isn't crap #i hope it seems natural and realistic to the characters #i've never written lemon before #i almost didn't post this #why r u #why r u fic #rommie writes

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

⁂ Trapped (China/Yao Wang)

Genre: Angst, Mystery, AU ☁

Word Count: 1,766 ☁

Pairing: Reader, China ☁

World: Axis Powers Hetalia ☁

Author’s Note: I wrote this a while ago and I honestly don’t know where I was going with this lol I think it was supposed to be a series? But now it’s a one shot. If enough people like it, I might make a part two.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

“A-A-Achoo!” you groaned in pain at the pressure in your nose and temples. Your head felt so fuzzy. You’re not sure when or how it started, you just happened to wake up feeling like death was creeping at your door. You tried to ignore it at first and just went about your day, but fifteen minutes later, you were crawling back into bed where you remained for the rest of the day.

Your stomach grumbled loudly and you groaned. ‘How the hell can I feel like I’m starving and want to throw up at the same time?’

Loud voices slipped past the paper-thin walls and you wondered if your neighbor was throwing a party. That seemed unlikely since the apartment opposite yours was owned by a retired older woman and the one beside you belonged to a couple with a one-year-old child. The apartment opposite them was vacant.

Knock, knock, knock.

Your brow furrowed. ‘Was that at my door?’ Your eyes slid to the digital clock on the bedside table – ten-thirty at night. The only people that visited you were your mom, younger brother, or your friend, Kyousuke, but why would they be visiting so late at night? There were no missed calls on your phone, either.

Bang, bang, bang!

‘What the hell…’ your heart picked up speed, but you didn’t freak out like you normally would and, instead of trying to figure out if it was an intruder or an emergency, you slowly pulled yourself out from under the covers. Your brain was far too cloudy to think clearly, your bare feet shuffling across the wooden floor because it was far too much effort to lift them.

Knock, bang, knock!

“Geez, keep your thong on,” you muttered under your breath, sniffling loudly as you reached for the doorknob. The second you turned it, the door swung open and two bodies rammed into you. Your back hit the floor and you wheezed as an elbow stabbed into your ribs, sending you into a coughing fit. You shoved the bodies off you with a strength you didn’t know you possessed so you could roll onto your side and cough up a lung.

A warm hand came to rest upon your back, followed by a male voice thick with an accent you couldn’t place at that moment. “Aiyah~ Are you okay?”

“Look what you did, idiot!”

“Hey, Italy fell on top of them, too, bro!”

“Ne, ne, do you think they have pasta?”

“This is very unpleasant.”

“Shut up, you nimrods!”

The hand on your back rubbed gentle circles against your shirt, while the other rested on your forehead. “They’re burning up, aru!”

You glanced over your shoulder as your coughing died down, your vision moving in and out of focus. Six men stood in your doorway, arguing amongst one another with accents you couldn’t place. ‘Mama, I think I might die tonight…’

And then your world went dark.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You woke with a start, shooting up in your bed, unsure of what had pulled you so violently from your sleep. The red digits of the clock showed two in the morning. ‘Damn it, I gotta pee but I don’t wanna get out of bed.’

You rubbed at your eyes with a groan before throwing the covers off and pulling yourself from the bed. The bathroom was directly across the hall from your bedroom and, in your half-asleep sick state, you failed to notice the steam coming up from the crack under the door. You turned the knob and stepped inside, only to freeze in terror as you came face to face with a tall, sandy-haired man standing stark naked in front of the shower.

He turned his head to look at you, eyes closed and lips tilted up in an amused smirk. As soon as his lips parted, you scrambled from the room, slamming the door shut and leaning against it as if that would somehow fix the problem. ‘I… I think I’m hallucinating… Maybe I should visit the doctor tomorrow.’

“You’re awake! How are you feeling, aru?”

Your head snapped to the end of the hall where another man stood. Shorter than the first, he had medium brown hair tied in a loose ponytail, his eyes a warm chocolate color. You swallowed hard as your heart picked up speed. ‘What the hell is happening?’

Pain shot through your skull and you slid down the door, groaning as you clutched at your head. The man was at your side in seconds, his arm around your shoulders and face filled with worry.

“Easy now,” he scolded softly, rubbing your upper arm. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,”

“Who the hell are you?” you muttered under your breath. “And what are you doing in my apartment?”

“My name is Chi -” He stopped abruptly, clearing his throat as he helped you back to your feet. “I’m Wang Yao. Now, you need to get back in bed, we can talk when you wake up, aru.”

You pushed him away with what little bit of strength you had left, only to stumble back into the naked man who now stood in the doorway. His arms wrapped around you tightly, binding your arms to your sides, and he easily lifted you off the ground, your back firmly against his toned, naked chest.

“Russia! Put them down this instant!” Yao demanded, putting his hand on his hips.

“Hm?” He tilted his head to the side, violet eyes shining. “They attacked you, da?”

“Of course, they’re scared.”

The door to the apartment suddenly opened and slammed closed after two more men entered the apartment, bickering loudly. When they noticed the scene in the hallway, they stopped abruptly.

“What’s going on, dudes?” asked the blue-eyed blonde.

“Bloody hell, why are you naked?” Demanded the green-eyed blonde with a disgusted expression.

The door to the spare bedroom popped open and yet another blonde entered the hallway. “Stop being so loud, you idiots! You’re going to wake up -” his words were cut short when his blue eyes landed on you.

As badly as you wanted to struggle in the man’s grip, you simply had no energy left and he was clearly stronger than you on a bad day.

“What are you doing? Put them down!”

The tall man frowned but finally released you. Your feet hit the ground and your legs gave way, body crumbling to the wooden floor. Yao reached out to you, hugging you gently to his chest as he rubbed the top of your head.

Tears filled your eyes as your body started to shake within his grasp, your voice hoarse. “Please… just kill me and get it over with!”

The third blonde frowned as he stepped forward. “We’re not going to harm you, dear.”

Yao helped you to your feet again, bringing you into the kitchen where he pulled out a chair for you to sit at the small, square table. “I will make you some tea,”

As he got to work, the third blonde settled into the wooden chair across from you. You glanced at him and his stern expression softened, bright blue eyes calm like the waves of the ocean.

“What is your name?” He questioned, words laced with a thick accent you recognized to be German.

You chewed on your lip for a moment, wondering if you should cooperate with them. Finally, you answered. “Y/N…”

“Y/N,” he repeated with a smile. “I am Ludwig,”

The rest of the men introduced themselves in turn. The green-eyed blonde called himself Arthur, while the blue-eyed blonde was called Alfred. Finally, the naked man, now dressed in a heavy tan coat, called himself Ivan.

You glanced at him with a frown, voice barely above a whisper. “Russia…” Low as it was, the man easily picked up the word, his violet eyes staring into your own. You swallowed your nerves, hand clenching around your cloth pants. “Why… did they call you Russia?”

The room tensed up, Yao pausing in the middle of pouring the tea into a cup. Ivan, however, just smiled brightly. “Because I am mother Russia, da.”

His answer unsettled you more than you already were. ‘He… thinks he’s a country?’

Arthur’s eye twitched in annoyance as he glared at the taller male. “We weren’t supposed to tell them that, you bloody buffoon!”

He only giggled in response, tilting his head to the side. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Who the hell are you people?” You demanded weakly. “Why are you in my apartment? You said… you said you weren’t going to hurt me so what do you want?” Tears threatened to build up again, but you did your best to hold them at bay, not wanting to show more weakness to these men than you already had.

“Please calm down,” Yao spoke softly as he set a cup of steaming tea on the table in front of you. He offered you a kind smile before addressing the other men. “I think we should tell them. We owe them that much, aru.”

“Are you crazy?” Arthur cried in disbelief. “They will never believe us!”

“You don’t know that!” Yao argued with a huff, his hand on his hip. “They deserve to know the truth!”

As they argued back and forth, voices raising in volume, you moaned in pain, taking your head between your hands. Was this what they called a fever dream? It felt like you were on drugs and you hated it.

Ludwig frowned as he leaned across the table, gently pulling your hands from your head, but he didn’t release them. His hands were large, easily engulfing your own. It was oddly comforting. “I am Germany,”

The arguing stopped dead, everyone snapping their attention to the German.

Yao sent you a warm smile as he placed his hand on your shoulder. “I’m China, aru~”

“I’m America, dude!” Alfred grinned proudly, puffing out his chest. “And I’m the hero of this story!”

Defeated, Arthur folded his arms across his chest and grumbled under his breath. “England,”

Your eyes darted between the men surrounding you. You wanted to call them nuts, to believe that this was just a dream concocted by your high temperature, but with Yao’s warm hand on your shoulder and Ludwig’s warm hands cradling your own, you knew deep down that it was not a dream. These men were real and, if their sincere faces were anything to go by, the story they told was very real.

‘Mom, I think I just found myself in a really weird situation…’ you groaned, letting your head drop to the table.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

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diedformyownsins · 5 years

Text

Settle For A Draw | Red Hood and Batman

Jason was atop a skyscraper in midtown, eyes set over the city. Patrol duty. Dick was at home, probably keeping himself entertained. He was good at that. The incessant rain was pounding down on the indifferent man, and he made no attempt to avoid it. A police broadcast played in his cowl. [Code 211S, silent alarm triggered at Gotham Museum of History. Officers unable to respond. Activating the Bat-signal.] Jason smirked. With a flying leap, he was off the rooftop, grapple gun in full form. Man, I really need a glider. Traveling above ground is getting old.

He arrived at the museum within five minutes, landing softly on the roof. He could see flashlights inside, a lot of them. Fifteen? Jesus, that’s ballsy. Still, better get going before Bruce shows up. Opening up a hatch, he slipped inside, noiselessly hitting the top floor. Creeping to the balcony, he began to assess the situation, judging the angles, the trajectory needed to begin his attack. He pulled a smoke pellet out of his belt, hefting it in his hand before tossing it to the ground level. He followed it down, landing invisibly. His infrared lenses activated, and he began his attack.

With a small grunt, the first man was out, his head bouncing off a marble pillar. Number two went down the same way, a silent takedown. No need to use a gun here. Drawing several shuriken, Jason hurled them at a cluster of the men, using the distraction to leap into the middle of them. A kick, a right hook, and an elbow handled them. He thought he heard a nose break. Spinning around, he found himself face to face with none other than the Batman, two unconscious men at his feet. "Nice of you to visit, Batman. Mind giving me a hand?“

As if on cue, the cargo door opened, and thirty more armed men swarmed the lobby. "No time to argue-go!” Jason was already rushing the group, determined not to use his pistols tonight. After all, he had to prove that he could beat Bats at his own game, right?

Since his return to the public eye only a short time ago, Bruce had seen a lot of action. Minor things - raiding drug dens and breaking up gang meetings - but enough to get him back in shape after his extended absence, and after Joker stuck him in the side with his knife. Again. He was in top form, now. Or at least very nearly. More importantly, however, his confidence had returned. Attitude was everything in a battle that was really based more on scaring the enemy than on overwhelming them.

He arrived at the museum perhaps seven minutes after the signal lit up Gotham’s cloudy sky, to find that the fight had already begun. All at once, Bruce was surprised and not surprised. He was getting the idea that people had emerged to take his place, in his absence. He couldn’t help being glad of that - Bruce wouldn’t always be young and strong.

It took nothing to slip silently into the depths of the museum. The enemy was distracted by whoever was fighting within the cloud of smoke that had expanded to fill the hall. Bruce’s infrared vision made short work of the cloud and it wasn’t long before he had floored several opponents.

It wasn’t long before he found himself face to face with another masked vigilante. If things hadn’t happened in such a rush, Bruce might have taken time to put this man together with the man who had challenged him at the cafe, but Bruce’s mind was in the game and the only identity that mattered just then was the red hood that covered the other man’s face. He didn’t have time to think about the meaning behind that snide remark.

Always the type to stalk from the shadows, Bruce left charging head-on into the crowd to the other man. He raised his grapple gun and hoisted himself off the floor, soaring nearly twenty feet over the heads of the mob of thieves. At the last minute, he loosed the tension on the line and plummeted down. It was a move he had practiced dozens of times. Against people like this, it was highly effective. As he reached their level, Bruce snagged his hands in the collars of two of his opponents and then grappled upwards again. The men screamed as they were hoisted off of their feet and brought helplessly into midair.

The screams and gurgling noise coming from the Batman’s wake of destruction only spurred Jason on.

Jason knew he was a better fighter than Bruce, he knew it. He had been raised as a warrior since childhood, he had been trained in every martial art known to man (and several that were curated from long dead civilizations, thanks to Ra’s and the League). He was 16 years younger than Bruce Wayne. He had to show that he could hang with the Batman.

And so, Jason tore his own swath of destruction thorough the mob, bones breaking and flesh giving way to fists, when he saw it-what the men were after. “The diamond. Bats, the diamond!” Without another word, Jason was airborne, grappler taking him to the mezzanine, pointed straight at massive red diamond that was surrounded by the thugs.

He landed silently, close enough to the men to touch. Reaching out, he disarmed the first, then knocking him out with a swift rabbit punch. Thug number two aimed his shotgun at Jason. A swift kick sent it careening to the ground level. Jason grabbed him by the collar, tossing him into the last man. They collapsed into a pile. Spinning around to check on Batman, Jason let his guard down, just for a split second.

The next thing he noticed was the hard steel of a gun barrel pressed against his back.

Shit.

Bruce did not make a practice of being where people expected him to be. He heard Red Hood’s warning well enough, but he trusted the younger man to deal with a small cluster of thugs on his own. Red Hood had already held his own with the others, after all.

Instead of following Red Hood immediately, Bruce took the time to down every last one of the thugs in the back of the room before they could following the younger vigilante to the diamond. It wasn’t a difficult job, even if he was just a little bit rusty. He smashed a couple of heads together, twisted a few arms the wrong way and slammed a man or two to the ground.

Still, by the time he had knocked the feet out from under the last man, he wasn’t surprised by silence from the direction of the diamond’s case. Looking up, he saw exactly what he expected - Red Hood standing among a series of fallen enemies. For a heartbeat it seemed that they had finished, but Bruce should have known that nothing was ever really that simple.

A movement in the shadows distracted Bruce, and he looked off into the corner. A man with a gun crept closer to Red Hood, who was working on the very last of the thieves and was apparently unaware.

Firing his grapple into the ceiling, Bruce was lifted into the air. He sailed across the room to the platform where the display case had been set up. Just as the man put his gun into Red Hood’s back, Bruce’s feet collided with his ribs. The impact carried both Bruce and the shooter over to collide with the diamond case, and the sound of gunfire echoed all around them. Landing, Bruce rolled to his feet and smacked his gauntlet into the side of the criminal’s head. He crumpled, senseless.

Only then did Bruce look up to see if the shot had hit or missed its target.

The bullet had missed Jason by inches. Mentally cursing himself for the slip, he began to fight back with a vengeance, no longer caring how injured the men he faced ended up. Several shoulders were rent beyond repair. Another man was elbowed in the nose so hard Jason thought he might have killed him. He didn’t allow himself time to consider checking for vitals. This was war, and Jason and the man who had killed his father were on the same side, against all odds.

Jason fell in seamlessly with Batman, each using the other man as both backup and cover, appearing to all the men as if they had been fighting side by side for years.

For the first time in Jason’s life, he felt drawn to Bruce. Jason cast a stark sense of fear into the men he faced, but the Batman was more than that-he was fear. Every inch of him, from his boots to the ears, exuded dread. Jason was a bit awestruck. Still, he fought on, not stopping until Bruce did. He would fight to the death, if just to prove he was better than Batman was.

Was there no end to these thugs? They crawled into the museum like grimy cockroaches, charging in without thought to their wellbeing. It made Bruce think that this was more than just a diamond heist. Something else was here, something he was missing. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance to dwell on that thought for much longer. The ten or so that were left in sight had frazzled nerves and wide, frightened eyes, bodies running on heightened adrenaline as they rushed forward to meet the two vigilantes.

Working with Red Hood was almost ideal. The other man held his own while still looking out for Batman’s back, and he was a near-flawless fighter. He was brutal and perhaps a tad excessively violent, but he knew what he was doing. His movements spoke of extensive training beyond what Bruce knew, but his actions were slowed by his anger. He lost his vision, saw red, as it were.

With precision, he disabled half the men and rendered them unconscious just as Red Hood was finishing up as well. Having recently returned to the vigilante scene, Batman was slightly out of breath, though he’d be hard-pressed to admit that. Still, the diamond and whatever else they were after was safe, they had come out of the fight relatively unharmed, and as always, he’d spoken too soon.

The shot went off before he was really able to process it.

Bruce hadn’t seen it.

Jason had.

The man was mere feet away from Batman, brandishing a 12 gauge Mossberg shotgun. Without a second thought, Jason dove off the balcony, tumbling after he hit the floor.

This is gonna hurt.

There was no time to warn him. Jason would took the shot, directly to the ribcage. His armor would absorb most of the blast, but it would probably break several ribs, if not more.

The gun fired, and the Red Hood crumpled. He felt his spleen rupture before the pain made him black out. His last conscious thought was “If anyone is going to kill Batman, it’s gonna be me...”

Red Hood had taken a near-fatal hit for him, pieces of his armor caved in where the shot had struck. Within seconds, the situation had been analyzed, processed, and the thug with the shotgun was down on the floor with a snapped arm and shattered knee, the firearm thrown yards away. No one was left standing but Bruce.

As he let his cape fall over his shoulders, Batman looked down at Red Hood, a pest and a very dangerous adversary, as he started to bleed out onto the floor. He could leave him there and it would be one less problem to worry about later on. The situation was reminiscent of Ra’s al Ghul’s final moments, something Batman regretted later on in only the smallest of ways. The strange kid who’d approached him in that cafe months ago and threatened him because he’d killed—not saved, not saved, not saved—his father came to his mind. He’d ruined people by letting Ra’s die, but he’d saved many others by not letting him live. He’d played God. It was wrong.

It begged the question then, or maybe it didn’t. Was it enough that this man was dear to other people that Batman would allow him to live? Did that matter? The streets he’d claimed as his own were lost already—others had risen to fill the gap he’d left behind, Hood being one of them. The red of the fake Bat on his chest then stood out more than the small pool of blood forming around him. If Batman was going to save him, he was going to have to trust him—and soon. He could hear the police sirens outside finally.

With a quick call to Alfred demanding both the Batmobile be sent to his location and the med bay be prepped, Batman squatted down beside the outlaw and quickly checked his vitals. “This will hurt,” he said under his breath, though he was sure Hood could not hear him. He looked thoroughly unconscious. Bruce was no medic, but he knew Red Hood had a very high pain tolerance and he should not be unconscious by a gun wound. He had internal bleeding, most likely, which raised the stakes considerably higher. As gently as he possibly could manage, Batman lifted Hood into his arms and fled the scene.

When they had arrived at the secondary cave under the Wayne Foundations Building, Blake had been there, a surprise in itself, and had asked questions. Bruce hadn’t cared to answer at the time, too focused on his task to spare much attention to his protege. As it turned out, Red Hood’s spleen had ruptured and several of his ribs were cracked, a few broken entirely. He spent an hour in private emergency surgery with Leslie Thompkins, Alfred having refused the daunting task. As per request, Leslie had left Hood’s helmet on to conserve his identity. The rest of his gear had been shed, however, and was currently sitting atop a lab table being holographically scanned by the Batcomputer for immediate analysis.

Bruce had taken to staring at it as Leslie finished up, having taken a bit of offense at the poor structural integrity of the armor. No wonder it had caved; it was considerably worn, outdated even. To keep his hands and mind busy, Bruce made several corrections and modifications to the chest guard while he waited. He hadn’t touched much besides a small receiver of some sort that kept beeping, a small red light flashing near the top of the device. For some reason, he kept it on hand when he went to talk to Red Hood minutes after Alfred informed him of the outlaw’s regained consciousness.

The younger man looked positively livid to have been forced to rely on his enemy for anything at all and was already trying to leave, despite Leslie’s constant insistence to stay put. “Do as she says and stay there,” he said once he walked in the med bay. The two stared at each other for some moments before Red Hood relented and sat back, still looking ready to jump up and dash away. His injuries must have had taken a lot out of him, for him to concede so quickly. Bruce hadn’t taken him to be the obedient type. The IV stand wobbled before settling still.

“Your armor is insufficient, yet you deliberately put yourself in harm’s way for me.” He didn’t ask why, though the question remained in the air. He remained silent for awhile, assessing. A muffled, urgent beeping could be heard, though it was very faint. It seemed to pique the Hood’s interest more-so than his current physical status. “This keeps going off.” Bruce dropped the receiver into Hood’s lap, expecting him to turn it off.

Instead, the IV stand crashed to the floor.

So this is what the Bat HQ looks like. Funny. I expected more doom and gloom. Shit, that hurts.

Jason realized he was still alive, and in a great deal less pain. Didn’t mean it felt good, though. Forcing his way through the fog and haze, he located the center of the pain-his side-and focused on minimizing it, bringing the pain down to a manageable level.

Finally able to respond to Batman, he spoke.

“My armor isn’t Wayne technology, sorry to disappoint. Some of us work on our own gear. Can I have it back?” Bruce didn’t respond, though, as Jason saw for the first time just how damaged it was. His heart sank, just a bit. That had been his oldest suit, his original prototype. He’d not planned on any actual firefights tonight, and had let sentiment get him nearly killed.

He turned his attention back to Bruce. “Why did you save me? You could have easily let me die there. What stopped you?” Before he could get a response, Batman tossed a beeping receiver into his lap. Jason blanched, jumping up faster than his broken body could allow.

With a practiced movement, he reached over his armor, drawing his .357 revolver, loaded with Kevlar coated, armor piercing rounds. It’d shred most bulletproof vests, and certainly put the hurt on the Batman. Pointing it at him, he gestured to the device.

“I need to find the source of that locator. Now. My gear is ruined, so I’ll need a batsuit. And transport."

Batman didn’t move. Jason was beginning to lose his temper.

"There’s a boy who I care deeply about at the other end, and he’s in trouble. That beacon is for emergencies only, he’d never activate it unless he was in grave danger. I need to find him.”

Bruce wasn’t reacting fast enough. Jason sucked in his breath before pulling a dangerous trump card.

“Bruce. It’s Dick Grayson we’re talking about.”

Even with a firearm pointed at him, Bruce’s only reaction was to tighten his fists. He knew Dick Grayson, alright. (How was Hood related? There were puzzle pieces he needed to put together, but he didn’t have the time right now.) The child was rambunctious, overly-talkative, and disturbingly lighthearted and cheerful 24/7. It was no wonder he’d managed to find himself in trouble. Bruce had had the joy of meeting the kid precisely three times—twice when the child had been residing in the manor as an orphan and once not too long ago, when he’d finagled his way into lunch with the billionaire while trying to hide in one of his cars.

Still, a (wounded) criminal was asking him to give him a suit and a means to get where a frightened (possibly wounded) child was. Already, he’d extended his hand in mercy; there was no reason for him to comply with Hood’s wishes other than the fact that someone so mind-numbingly innocent was in need of help. Already, he knew he couldn’t deny a man’s request to help a loved one, even if it meant giving up equipment that would further exacerbate Batman’s struggle in taking Red Hood down. The Batman fought for the safety of the innocent. He could, however, drug Hood and go himself. Before that thought could go any further, he swiftly turned on his heel and walked over to the western wall of the cave where the batsuits were kept.

“You can take an older model of one of my own suits.” The man placed his hand on the biometric recognition security panel burrowed into the wall and tried not to think about the fact that he was handing over more Wayne Technology to someone he didn’t trust. He was greatly regretting his decision to preserve Hood’s identity. “Security override,” he said into the system, “Master access authorization code TDK02.”

The wall opened up and Bruce stepped aside so Hood could put on the armor, busying himself with remotely starting up the newly re-made Batwing and opening up the outside access tunnels. Planning on going along, Bruce locked his cowl back into place just as Red Hood vaulted himself into the Batwing and took off.

He holstered the weapon after Bruce turned his back, not stupid enough to believe that he had intimidated him in the slightest. He spent the next few minutes removing the belt, holsters, sword and sheath, and several other tools that he could salvage off of the old suit, not wanting to waste any undue time. Satisfied, he swiveled around to see Bruce opening up the vault.

A set of eyes peering at him from a dark corner caught his attention, and Jason swiveled to meet them. They blinked at him, then met his gaze without fear. Curious, he knelt down, bringing his eyes to the height of the shadowed ones. Bruce muttered something about the suit’s security code. Jason looked back at him, and then again to the corner. The shadowy figure was gone.

Donning the suit that Bruce handed him, Jason quickly fit his gear over it, grinning as he felt the superior build quality. “Thanks, Bruce. I could get used to this.” Leaving the cape on the floor, he darted past Bruce and slid into the Batwing. The canopy closed, and Jason mock saluted before flying off. He gunned the machine towards the old circus grounds, following the steady beeping on the locator. He tried not to think about what had cause Dick to activate it.

He soon reached the source, landing (and locking) the Batwing on the dusty ground. He slung his sword over his back, making sure his gun was loaded. He heard a simpering voice, then a cry of pain. Sprinting as fast as his injured side allowed, he tore through a tent, finding it empty. He searched three more before coming out on the other side of the grounds, finding the Joker standing over Dick Grayson, who was bloodied and holding his stomach in pain.

With a roar of anger, Jason cleared the distance between them, his gloved fist striking the Joker in the mouth. A bloody molar spun through the air as the man stumbled, caught off guard. The pain that shot through Jason’s side sent him to his knees, clouding his vision red. He forced himself to his feet, drawing his sword and holding it at the clown’s neck.

“You’ll die for hurting him, you sadistic fuck." continued in Better Men

#p: settle for a draw #y: year two #c: the pretender #c: icarus #c: bad company #jason todd #bruce wayne #red hood #batman

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loveinpanem-blog · 7 years

Text

Queen of Hearts

Written by: @katnissdoesnotfollowback

Summary: We spend a couple of hours quizzing each other on military terms. I visit my mother and Prim for a while. When I’m back in my compartment, showered, staring into the darkness, I finally ask, “Johanna, could you really hear him screaming?”

“That was part of it,” she says. “Like the jabberjays in the arena. Only it was real. And it didn’t stop after an hour. Tick, tock.”

“Tick, tock,” I whisper back.

Roses. Wolf mutts. Tributes. Frosted dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me.

Everything screams in my dreams tonight.

– Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay, The Hunger Games Trilogy

An expanded series of scenes from Mockingjay. Text taken directly from the book in italics.

WARNING: RATED T+ for disturbing images, blood, mentions of torture. If you are expecting fluff or whimsy without some heartache first, this is not the fic you’re looking for.

Plutarch droning on about military history would be boring and awful under most circumstances, but having to listen to him during the late afternoon after several hours of running and push ups makes it unbearable. Johanna gave up on staying awake twenty minutes ago and my eyes are drooping. All of us are ready for dinner, a chorus of grumbling bellies rolling through the room periodically. The only excitement arrives when Plutarch uses a several terms that few of us recognize, not even the soldiers from Thirteen. Queen. King. Empire. Monarch. I only know the words from watching Peeta and Haymitch play chess. I didn’t realize they meant something in terms of our ancestors’ history.

A soldier with graying hair asks Plutarch to explain and I drift in and out of the discussion, my mind really focused on the food I should be eating soon. When he finally finishes droning on, York shouts at us to form back up. I jab Johanna with my elbow to wake her. She flops comically for a second before rising from her chair and joining the line of us making our way back up to the surface and the training field.

We push ourselves hard for the last bit of training, a few laps and then rifle assembly. Today, Johanna actually manages to assemble her rifle without help. The fresh air and exercise work wonders to reinvigorate us after the dull lectures. By the time we reach the cafeteria, we are famished.

“Johanna, could you really hear him screaming?”

“That was part of it,” she says. “Like the jabberjays in the arena. Only it was real. And it didn’t stop after an hour. Tick, tock.”

“Tick tock,” I whisper back.

We lay in silence, fearing the night and the visions it brings. I can’t find the line between sleeping and waking. “Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick. Tock.”

There are always sounds in Thirteen. The constant whir of the ventilation systems. Strange clicks as electrical systems cycle on and off. “Tick tock,” I whisper, and they fall silent. The entire world freezes and then the gears resume.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The beating sound echoes in my head and calls me forth. The air warms around me, thickens with humidity. Buttercup leaps onto my bed and cleans his paws, staring at me with shining yellow eyes. I try to shoo him and he jumps down. His paws leave glowing paw prints on the floor.

My footsteps follow him and the cadence of the clock. Reaching out, I touch the door and it dissolves beneath my hand, as do the walls. The jungle springs forth in their place. The awful buzzing of the insects creates a rumble, a prelude to the lightning that will soon strike the tree in the distance.

Peeta. I have to get to Peeta before the lightning starts.

Buttercup’s footsteps light the way, but as I get closer, the ground roils beneath me. A sea of litterfall that heaves and crests. Frosted dolphins breach the surface, screaming shrilly into the night before they once more disappear into the soil waves and are silenced. Over and over again.

“Tick tock. Tick tock.”

Still, the clock chimes on as I reach the beach and leave the dolphins behind, only here, the wolves prowl. Snarling with blood dripping from their fangs. Their human eyes watching me.

I cover my ears and break into a run, the screams of the dolphins growing more distant as I circle the Cornucopia. The wolves follow, their stinking breath washing down my spine, their greedy claws grabbing for vengeance. For me.

“Tick tock. Tick tock.”

They follow me as I crash into the jungle, still following Buttercup’s luminescent trail. As soon as the wolf mutts’ paws reach the dirt, their screaming intensifies. Grisly howls of pain and anguish. Then come the birds.

My legs ache with the effort of running. My chest with the pounding of my heart and the need to stop. To take deep gulps of air. But I keep going, ignoring the screams of friends as they swoop around me on dark wings. Gale, Madge, Prim, Rue, Cinna.

On and on I run until the charged air makes my hair stand on end and I skid to a halt in front of the great tree. Lightning splits the sky, cleaving the tree in two, revealing a pristine white throne, a man perched upon it dressed all in white. The remnants of the tree twist into bushes that sprout snow-white roses.

The screaming stops.

“Kneel,” a voice orders, and I have no choice, zapped into obedience by a current not unlike the one on the ladders of the hovercraft.

I cry out at the pain, and when I again lift my head, the jungle is gone. Replaced with a chessboard that stretches to the horizon and beyond, the sky above me crackles with lightning cavorting in storm clouds.

The man on the throne watches me, his face hidden behind a marble mask.

“Who’s been painting my roses red?” he asks. I command my limbs to move so I can kill him. The serpent voice behind the mask who will steal everyone I love from me. But I cannot move and shriek with rage.

“Who’s been painting my roses red?” he roars again. The wolves, dolphins, and birds resume their screams for a moment. Until he commands their silence. “You, Miss Everdeen, you dare to stain with blood and pain, my perfect flower bed?”

I open my mouth to deny it and choke on my words.

“She can’t speak, My King,” Plutarch informs him, sweeping into a grand bow before standing upright. “Allow me.”

He claps his hand, making thunder boom through the land. The screaming resumes until the King shouts for silence. Talons dig into my shoulder. A mockingjay perches there and begins to sing.

“Yes. Yes, go on,” Plutarch urges as the King leans forward in his throne.

“What does it say?” he demands.

“She did not act alone, your Grace,” Plutarch states. “She had help from the Ace.”

“The Ace, you say? Bring forth the prisoner!” the King bellows and the creatures of the night scream in answer. “Silence! Or someone shall lose their head!”

Plutarch claps his hands and two chess pawns drag a limp form across the board, his wrists in thick iron manacles. They drop him to kneel, facing me, in one of the black squares. His ash blonde waves are matted with blood, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Peeta!” The mockingjay on my shoulder screams with my voice the instant that I think his name.

A bird perches on his shoulder, a mockingjay��s direct negative. White with black underwing stripes.

“Katniss! Katniss!” the bird howls with his voice.

The king rises and walks to stand behind Peeta as the screams begin anew, a low hum that gradually grows to an unbearable lament. I cover my ears but am otherwise unable to move, forced to watch as Peeta lifts his head to look at me with pained blue eyes. The white bird flaps its wings and tries to lift him from the ground, but his knees are as useless as mine.

“No, not your head,” the king decrees. “Your heart.”

Peeta’s mouth falls open with shock, the white bird screams for him, an agonizing sound that goes on for hours. My black bird joins the chorus as my throat turns raw with the screams I can’t seem to get out, the bird releasing them for me. A red blossom forms on Peeta’s chest where I know his heart to be, growing in size apace with the agony of our screams. His eyes turn cloudy and angry and still our mingled screams fill the night, only his transform from pain and fear to a murderous rage. Blackness taints his eyes, erasing the blue. The white roses on the bushes bleed red from their centers and soon, the roses scream, too.

“Tick tock. Tick tock. Now die by the clock.”

Midnight chimes. And everything screams.

I wake thrashing in my sheets with Peeta’s name a soft wail on my lips. In the dark, I search for my pearl and hug my knees to my chest once I find it. Hold in my real screams as I press the pearl to my lips, biting the lower until I taste blood mingling with the salt of tears. And I promise myself again.

I will kill Snow for this. For taking him from me.

But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.”

Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Sleep does not come easy, and when it does, it brings no relief. There’s no clock here and still, I hear the ticking. Tick tock. Tick Tock.

Buttercup’s glowing paw prints lead me once more through city streets, littered with rubble and bodies. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Peeta’s memories are here somewhere and I must find them before midnight. Always midnight.

I get trapped, caught in tangles of wire that slither and writhe like snakes. I try to scream for help and can’t. They sprout legs, insects of great length crawling over me. My mockingjay lands nearby and pecks at them, but the insects overwhelm the creature and we are both swallowed, consumed in a black pit, falling for ages until the world flips upside down.

Lightning flashes and I land, poised on a throne overlooking the giant chess board. The bird perches on my shoulder as I survey my surroundings. Broken chess pieces cover the checkered surface. Great chasms split the squares. I glance down and find myself dressed in my Mockingjay uniform, only it’s made of blood red instead of black. When I look back at the chess board, Peeta’s there, kneeling once more, his eyes fierce black chasms of tracker-jacker rage. Hands bound, body neglected. Tortured. He looks the same as he did on the day they rescued him.

All around him, crushed white roses bleed crimson onto the marble ground. The white bird reposes on his shoulder, hissing angry words and accusations, all of them true. I left him. I left him in the arena and then I left him without a hope of recovery, leaving him in the hands of the questionable head doctors of Thirteen. With each accusation, the blood flower on his chest grows larger until he begins to fade away into it.

I will it to stop, but when I move to stand, I can’t use my hands. Glancing down, I scream at the beating mass in my palm. I try to run to him, to return what belongs to him, but I smash my toe on something solid and fall to the ground. Look back to find Snow’s visage captured in marble, severed from his marble body and seeping blood from his hideous, puffy lips.

“We painted his roses red,” Mutt Peeta’s voice snarls at me. “Tick tock.”

I scream and sit upright in my tent.

“It was the waste of a trip. She’s not here,” I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. “She’s not here. You can hiss all you like. You won’t find Prim.” At her name, he perks up. Raises his flattened ears. Begins to meow hopefully. “Get out!” He dodges the pillow I throw at him. “Go away! There’s nothing left for you here!” I start to shake, furious with him. “She’s not coming back! She’s never ever coming back here again!” I grab another pillow and get to my feet to improve my aim. Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. “She’s dead.” I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. “She’s dead, you stupid cat. She’s dead.” A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won’t go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious.

Buttercup limps along the forest path lined with primroses, leaving softly glowing prints for me to follow. We trek through gauzy violet clouds that swirl around me like silk when I wave my hand through their mist. I hear faint screams and wait for the horrors to descend. A silent Mockingjay lands on my shoulder and remains.

He’s waiting for me at the edge of the woods, where the trees open up upon a wide black and white chess board. A soft meow encourages me, and I walk alone across the squares until my feet ache and my throat is parched. I pass a crumbled throne set inside a split open and charred tree. There’s no sign of the carnage caused by the occupants of the throne. Because the monster is within.

I continue to walk. The throne is not my goal.

Eventually, trees rise up from the horizon and my pulse quickens. Smoke drifts across the edges of the board as I reach its end. I kneel in the dirt and stare at the burning rose bushes that block my path. Through the smoke and the flames, I see a figure in a red-stained shirt, kneeling in the dirt. His hands work with assurance, planting seedlings.

The bird on my shoulder takes flight, soars over the burning roses. It’s reverse leaves it’s perch on his shoulder and they cartwheel through the air for a moment before disappearing into the woods.

I want to touch him, to hold him and know that he’s alright. I call out his name. He stands and as he whispers my name, the blossom shaped sain begins to recede, leaving soft yellow in its place. The roses burn. And he waits with me.

My eyes flutter open to my room. Buttercup sits perched on the end of my bed, his tail swishing rhythmically. Tick tock. Tick tock. Eyes glowing yellow and alert in the moonlight. Guarding me until I can get past the burning rose bushes.

He’s still there in the morning. And eventually, after many lost days, both of them guard me in the night and wait for me to wake in the mornings. The yellow-eyed cat and the blue-eyed boy.

Author’s Notes:

My thanks to @titaniasfics for editing this odd little piece and making some wonderful suggestions to tie it all together. Thank you also to @peetabreadgirl for accidentally providing the inspiration for this rather last minute piece. And finally, thanks to @titaniasfics, @akai-echo, @louezem, and @thegirlfromoverthepond for running Love in Panem and this challenge. Keeping the love and the fandom alive, ladies! Thank you so much for your time and brainpower.

<3 KDNFB

#Love in Panem #march madness #mm2017 #tracydoesnotfollowback #Queen of Hearts #everlark #canon compliant #submission #everlark fanfiction #LIP #LIP drabbles

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leighnetwork · 5 years

Text

‘Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside'… of Blackpool.

Ever since I read about the elegant dances that took place in Blackpool Tower, I’ve wanted to go there. With its ornate ceiling and live music, the fresh sea air tinged with salt, the hustle and bustle of a seaside town in the height of its heyday of 1950’s Britain- and the fashions! I loved the descriptions of the frothy skirts that fluffed out as characters twirled, jumped and danced the night away. I’ve wanted to taste the air and hear the laughter of kids as the Irish sea tickles their feet for the first tine...

I’d imagined going up with cousins, but, of course, they grew too old for things like funfairs- preferring more exotic trips abroad. I’d envisioned a girly weekend with those friends who I’d known my whole life, who had stuck by me through moving across the country aged 11, had sent letters that kept me going when in hospital aged 12, who weren't ashamed to be seen out and about with me- a wheelchair user- as so many school friends were.

They stuck by me throughout the Leigh’s diagnosis, with only one drifting slightly. They supported Leigh Network with gusto! However, the test of friendship came when I lost my sight. In the blink of an eye, I lost what had, up to then, been a very good friend. I never thought she'd be the one to turn her back on 15+ years of friendship. But she was. Lol, it still niggles me that I never had a thank you text from her for the birthday gift I sent, nor a reply to my emails enquiring about how she was. Anyway, I hope she is well, and if she ever does want to nudge the door of friendship open, I will gladly welcome her back. I am, of course so, so grateful and thankful to those friends who have stuck by me as I face this new challenge of negotiating life blindly. I hope people see I am still the same funny, creative me I always was…

…Anyway! Wandered off on a tangent there, didn't I? Back to Blackpool!

When our Mito/ Leigh Network friends asked us to join them for dinner in Blackpool, how could we say no? When my mum and I began researching hotels in the area, we discovered a peculiarity on the internet.

A room is advertised at, say £45. But, when you phone up to check the access (we learned to do this as in the past, one B&B called itself ‘Accessible’ although it had 2 steps to get in!), when they hear the phrase 'accessible room', a £45 room becomes £70! I really do not know why businesses feel they can charge an extra £25, just because a person is V.I. and/ or a wheelchair user. Have they not heard of government cuts and the way the ill and disabled are being penalised for their health? We had no choice but to pay the additional charge for space to turn my wheelchair.

We arrived at the station on the hottest day of year: the sun was shining, and the temperature was rising, so we decided to stroll to The President Hotel.

The warm temperature dipped as we walked along the prom that stretched out across the Irish sea. Grey clouds tumbled across the sky turning the pristine blue sky dark, grey and foreboding as silvery clouds worked with charcoal ones to scrub the blue sky. As light rain speckles turned into pelting rain splodges, thunder growled angrily above us. We had found a shelter to huddle under, but as the rain got a bit lighter, we darted out to carry on our journey of finding the hotel. Racing along, I glanced up and saw it - a crackle of white lightening. 'Can you go any faster, Faye?' my mum called over the roaring thunder.

I picked up speed as the grey clouds cleared to white and the temperature rose again. What a beautiful storm.

The street access was very good, with dropped kerbs and beeping traffic lights aplenty. As I steered up the ramp of the hotel, an irony hit me - on the hottest day of the year, when London was bathing in 38 degrees, we were bathing in rain, being drenched in a storm, lol.

We checked in then squeezed into the small lift, but were glad for the lift, as so many places simply don't consider it. Our room was nice, despite being directly next to a staircase (with no signage to warn guests). The positives were: it had friendly staff, a turning space in both the room and bathroom and free WIFI. And the dining room overlooked the sea!

After relaxing with an audio book, we heard from our friends. They were on their way, so we headed out too. A warm breeze picked up, giving the grey-blue-golden sky a dusty glow. We were about halfway to the pub we were meeting in, when I felt little pricks on my bare arms and legs . ‘It’s raining!' I called to mum, as the little needle-like pricks turned into big, fat raindrops. My mum hurried to put up the umbrella. In the distance, I heard thunder rumble deeply. But, just as quickly as it had started, the sun came out and a warm calm returned.

We have met with Dave and Christine at the last few Newcastle Mito Patient Days. They are a lovely couple. We have known Cheryl, Gary and their 28-year-old daughter since they came and attended our Leigh Network meeting in Liverpool in 2014 and since then, our friendship has grown.

As we all caught up on each other’s news in the Weatherspoon’s seafront pub, or meals arrived. Alex's baby niece and young nephew provided us all with entertainment- bouncing and dancing round our table. Like a rocket, H zipped around and E had us all laughing with his boundless energy!

After finishing our meals, we strolled along to the funfair on the pier. The sun was out again now, and a warm breeze blew as we chatted on our way to the pier.

Shrieks of laughter and fear filled the air as fairground music sang. The colourful rides whooshed and bounced, swinging through the sea-salty, candyfloss sweetened air. Cheryl's husband took his thrill- seeking grandson on the rides, Dave, Cheryl, Alex, my mum and I cheering him on as he gleefully squealed, whilst the other kids cried to get off!

We slowly ambled back along the prom, our evening with friends coming to a close. As the temperature dropped slightly, we all hugged and said, ‘See you later’.

We picked up a portion of chips on our way back to the B&B and my Mum noticed the fairy lights along the prom that lit up, changing colour as night fell.

The following day, we explored the famous Blackpool Tower. Although the lift lacked an audio announcer, the general access was good- though staff could do with being aware of invisible illnesses- and an audio-described tour would be appreciated.

We went up to the very top. Out of the window, I could just see an expanse of beautiful blue sky. It seemed endless yet confining and imposing. At the very bottom of the window, I could just make out a strip of golden-brown colour, which I assumed to be sand. The tower has a skywalk- it’s a floor made of see-through glass- to give you a new perspective on the sea-view. Below, it just looked grey and cloudy to my V.I. eyes.

We then headed down to the well-renowned and internationally recognised Blackpool Tower Ballroom, where the Strictly Come Dancing Special takes place.

The cosy, warm, darkly lit ballroom felt like we had stepped back in time, with its ornate, intricately tiled ceiling and the pink and orange sign that adorned the wall behind the dancefloor to remind us of where we were. On the dancefloor, the atmosphere intensified as a couple of professional dancers tangoed and rhumba’d their way around in time to the organ being played- live- by the musician.

Whilst my mum watched and I listened, we were reminded of my Nan, who spent much of her youth and married life in dance halls.

When the professionals took a breather, audience members were invited onto the dancefloor. We were reminded of the past times and courtesy of my Nan’s generation, when an elderly gentleman asked my mum to dance the waltz. Unfortunately, due to my mum’s lack of dancing experience, she had to turn his kind offer down (she was also scared of standing on his toes).

After being unable to convince her, he walked off to ask another who did fulfil his dancing dream. We sipped the remainder of our drinks, watching/ listening to the scene. At the end, the organist thanked the dancers and audience, before, as if by magic, disappearing into the stage, as a pianist appeared. We enjoyed a few more performances then headed off to catch our train after popping to a few shops.

We really enjoyed our first trip to Blackpool and look forward to returning!

Since then, we at Leigh Network were delighted to hear Blackpool Tower took part in Global Mitochondrial Disease Awareness Week by glowing green for mito! Well done Blackpool Tower!

#greatbritishsummertime memories friends leighnetwork mitochondrialdisease blackpool blackpooltower disabledaccess lightupformito

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ratkingdnd · 5 years

Text

Chapter Forty Three - Drool into the void

Ned watches as the tentacles return back to the giant sack behind Ryland, he grabs his necklace, holding it tight in his hand as the gem in the centre blasts out small missiles of magical energy. The three dart like sparks of blue spin around each other as they travel through the air, hitting Ryland in the chest one after another and pushing him back a little. Ryland grabs his chest, staring at Ned and starts to walk over to him the giant oozing sack behind him dragging along. Dolgan holds up his amulet yelling "Telo Lumen", as a ball of white energy appears above his hand feeding into his amulet and shooting out directly into to Ryland in a perfectly straight line. Ryland pushes against the bolt hitting his chest, lifting his hand slowly into the air as Buffalo's lifeless body rises with it, Ryland then throws his hand forward and Buffalo's body is flung directly into Dolgan, knocking him back. "Iiiiiimmmm Ryyllaagrraah" the mouth of Ryland contorts as he attempts to speak, "ET CONLIDAM!" yells Scaly as what sounds like a bell rings out from above Ryland, the broken rocks on the floor rippling out in the soundwaves as the sack behind him starts to wobble. Ned uses the distraction and runs over to Buffalo, attempting to wake him up but Buffalo was out. "Dolgan, help!" Ned yells, as Dolgan runs over, skidding along the floor up to Buffalo. The two of them work in tandem for a couple of seconds, shaking and smacking Buffalo in the face until he comes to. "Eeeerggh" Buffalo groans as he gets up, grabbing his bow and crawling behind the closest column, putting his back up against it. Buffalo takes a second, sighing, taking a large breath in screaming "Aaaaarrgggh!" as he stands up, draws back on his bow string and releases a flurry of arrows at Ryland's back end.

Ryland's bulbous ooze takes multiple hits but pays no attention as Ryland's eyes hone in on Ned. A tentacle appears out from behind Ryland once more and travels across the room at break neck speed, stopping just before Ned's forehead. It lingers there for a second before stabbing into Ned's head once and then retracting back to Ryland in the same speed in which it came. The heroes look at Ned, expecting a wound where the tentacle had hit, but nothing was there, Ned's eyes though were different. He had a glazed over look about him, as he stared directly forward. "Ned!" Buffalo yells, but Ned doesn't answer, instead he starts running over to where Scaly is and launches up in the air before bringing down his axe into Scaly's shoulder. "What the fuck!" yells Scaly, the axe sinking deep, Scaly's natural scales all but holding his arm on. Scaly falls to the ground, unconscious from the pain. Dolgan runs to Buffalo and holds his hands over him, "Remedium" he says softly as a warm light emits from the palm of his hands and Buffalo immediately starts to feel better, "Go" says Buffalo, "Help Scaly, I'll try and distract it" as Buffalo pulls another 4 arrows from his endless quill and starts shooting them, one after another, straight at Ryland.

Ned stares down at Scaly, removing his axe from the shoulder as he turns towards Dolgan running over. He lifts his axe to attack Dolgan, but before he can swing down the cloudiness from his eyes disappear and suddenly his pupils grow in size, "Oh my god" he says to himself as he turns to look at Ryland. "You!" he says pointing at the huge sack of flesh as he starts to run, the small symbol of the stag on his axe lighting up. Buffalo looks from behind his column as spectral antlers appear on Ned's head before Ned swings directly into Ryland, the blade sinking deep into his chest as he flies backwards 20-30 feet, tumbling over the sack of meat behind him. Buffalo continues his flurry of arrows, one by one, not stopping. Ryland attempts to stand back up after being battered by Ned and the continuous arrows. He manages to get himself up to his knees, but his body had taken more damage than he could manage as he falls back down, onto the ground, the sack behind him deflating. "Stop!" yells Ned to Buffalo, "We need him alive". Buffalo lowers his bow and Dolgan holds his hands over Scaly, the wound in his shoulder slowly disappearing. Behind Ryland the heroes hear a small thud, Ned walks behind to see what it is and finds a wicker looking arm with a small glass ball of light at the end of it. Ned leans down and picks it up, noticing a staff next to it. It was swirling with purple shadows, much like his own shadow axe, he picks that up to and walks over to the rest of the heroes.

"He dropped this stuff" says Ned to the group. "Well, it looks like we have the light of the forest then" says Buffalo back, "And what's that?", "I don't know, it was next to the wicker arm" responds Ned. "Seems like something you would use Dolgan" says Ned, handing it over to Dolgan, "It looks like it's from the Shadowfell, it has the same kind of wispy shadows that surround my axe, so I assume it is". "Thanks" says Dolgan, looking over his new staff. "Are we going to talk about Ned attacking me?" asks Scaly seeming a little annoyed, "He was being controlled, you know that" says Buffalo lazily to Scaly, "Yeah, but...it hurt...". Ned laughs out loud, "Best we never fight then" he says, smacking Scaly on the back so hard he fals forward a little. "I had a voice inside of me, talking to me whilst I was possessed by Ryland, or whatever he is. It said a few things like 'attack the dragon' and whatnot, but one that struck me was 'You don't know what you're doing'. It's not that it was a terribly odd thing to say, but it was the voice that said it. The other things it said were in Ryland's voice, but that sentence was from a voice I've heard before, the last time I heard it was when I had the dog brain thing back at the bottom of the mausoleum, before the brain rats came and took it". The heroes look at Ned confused, he rolls his eyes "The whole reason we went to the mausoleum was to get whatever was in my head, out. When it was in my head, I heard voices and it was the same voice as when Ryland was controlling me, but I know it wasn't him". "It seems we may have someone else that's playing behind the scenes" says Buffalo as he walks over to Ryland's body, "Also.....what are these?" he says, squatting over Ryland not turning around and holding couple of pages in the air.

Buffalo starts to read the pages whilst the rest of the group walk over to him. "It's from 'The History of Wolfspine', but it looks like it's been torn out of the book", "How do you know it's from there?" asks Scaly, "Because it says so at the top" Buffalo points to the header with a slight smile on his face, "Oh..." responds Scaly. "A lot of this has been scratched out though, I mean this is the history we learn in school, but for some reason a lot of these pages have been scribbled on" says Buffalo, "I always thought the whole Aldrich thing was more of a tale mothers told their kids to make sure they treated people with respect, I never thought it was true until we found the boot on the Granny Hag from Tallow Swamp" says Dolgan, "Yeah..me too" says Buffalo. "It seems that Ryland didn't believe this, I wonder if he did any research?" Buffalo says to himself whilst everyone else starts to put Ryland and his sack like appendage into the chest. "We should go to see Hamelyn" says Ned, "At least speak to him about what Ryland is", "Yup, good idea, we can check for more info while we're there too, lets go" says Buffalo, packing the pages into his bag and helping the heroes with the chest.

Arriving shortly afterwards at the Kings Coin, they are greeted by Hamelyn's but he seemed with a little more spirit this time. He was still drawing on the magical parchment given to him by Ryland, but there was a spring in his step. "How'd it go?" he asks, looking up for a second from his writing, "I see you got Dolgan back, so it couldn't of been all bad. Where's Ryland?", Ned walks forward with the chest behind him, opens it and drags out Ryland's body along side the large deflated sack attached to the back of him. "What the fuck?!" says Hamelyn loudly and running over to Ryland's body. "He's not dead" says Hamelyn, "No, we didn't kill him" says Ned, "What the hell happened to him, what is this stuff coming out of the back", "We were going to ask you the same question" says Buffalo, "We take it, you didn't know this was what he was?". "No I just thought he was a regular old human...this...I don't even know what this is". "Capo basically mocked us then exploded Ryland's rucksack which seemed to be holding all of this mess. Ryland then started attacking us as soon as we saw what he really was", Hamelyn was really paying attention, he was mainly lifting up different parts of Ryland and attempting to work out exactly what he was looking at. "Did Ryland have a place he slept here" asks Buffalo, "Yeah just over there" Hamelyn points, without looking up.

Buffalo walks over to what looked like an old shabby bed and starts pulling behind the sheets, looking in and around the mattress. He finds a small book and opens it, thumbing through the pages quickly until he stops at one page near to the centre. "What's Clavus Clypeus?" says Buffalo aloud, the heroes don't answer, but Hamelyn looks up from examining Ryland. "I don't know, but he was obsessed with it. He was obsessed with the whole Aldrich myth to be honest, he was sure that it was all a lie, that Aldrich never received the artifact's from a djinni, that he never returned the artifact's but rather was killed and they were dispersed another way. I never really paid much attention to his ramblings as I had better things to do, plus I also believed it all to be just that...a myth. That wasn't until we met you guys, of which he was also obsessed with. We...well I guess he saw the boot and the face mask and then started getting excited of the light of the forest, then Capo came along with the Pale Hand and all of a sudden his stories didn't seem so far fetched anymore". The heroes listen as Hamelyn talks and Buffalo continues to thumb through the book, "It also says here The Great Beast Urlatore (Howler)" says Buff, "He could've mentioned it before, but as I said, most of the time I didn't really pay attention. It was something that he did himself and it kept him occupied at nights. So I had no problems with him delving into a little mystery". "He also has the 'Wanderer' part of Aldrich underlined multiple times all throughout this book" says Buffalo still not looking up from the diary. Dolgan leans down next to Hamelyn examining the large sack on the back of Ryland, "We've seen this before" says Dolgan. Buffalo looks up from Ryland's diary, 'Huh?", "We've seen this before, a few times actually. This is the same thing that was at the bottom of the tower in the keep outside of Wolfspine on the edge of the forest with Gurvassh. It's also the same thing as Onist Jon's snail just without the shell on top". "Ohhh yeaaah" says Scaly, "This one is clearly different though. For one, it can talk. It can copy Ryland to a tee, it also seems to understand things like conspiracies and general human life and activities" says Dolgan.

Buffalo closes up the book and looks at Hamelyn, "Ryland did have the light of the forest. It's actually why we came to find him, because we were told he would have it. We need to return it to the archfey at the living forest lest we be blamed guilty. We also need to take Ryland to them too. We hope you will be okay with this". Hamelyn looks at Buffalo for a few seconds and starts to talk "I....yes, I think it will be for the best. The Archfey are not known for being explicably cruel, if Ryland truly is this monster, then I want nothing to do with him, but if there's a Ryland stuck somewhere in there via magic or whatever - they'll be the right ones to fix it. Feel free to stay here tonight, you can travel in the morning". The heroes thank Hamelyn and rolls out their beds, it was already quite late and they were well worn out from the day and fight.

Waking up the next morning, the heroes pack their things and make start making their way towards the living forest. The guards were noticeably not paying attention to the heroes, which was odd considering how much flack they had gotten for the first few days since entering Wolfspine after the spell in the Shadowfell. They arrive at the old alchemists keep shortly before midday and can hear the sound of singing coming from the inside walls. They walk across the drawbridge and see Gurvassh swaying his branches around with a person sitting at the bottom around the roots poking out of the soil. Gurvassh notices the heroes before the person sitting at his roots does and says loudly "Someone here says they know youuuuu!" in a sing song voice. As the heroes get closer, they realise (Though it was hard to tell with the long hair and beard) it was Carver from the Red Coq! "Carver!" yells out Dolgan, "Heeeeeyyy" says Carver back, with a bottle of whisky in his hand. He was clearly, completely drunk. "Well look who it isss" says Carver, "Con Clavvvviiiiii" says Gurvassh in a sarcastic tone as Carver pretends to be scared "Ooooooooh". The heroes furrow their brows, "What are you guys doing?" asks Buffalo. "Well, I stumbled here because I had no place to live after YOU guys left. You had me up for the night at the Closed Eye, but they kicked me out after that. ME! I walked out of Wolfspine, thinking there might be some shelter in the living forest and I found this place, and THEN this giant sunovabitch started talking to me and we found out we had friends in common. So we got drunk". Buffalo looks on, a smile starting to spread on his face. "Well, I'm sure Gurvassh will be okay with you staying here then" says Ned, "STAY HERE?!" says Carver, "Gurvassh said I can open a new tavern here. For allllll walks of life, not just the types of creatures the Pale Hand deems okay". The heroes look at each other and nod in satisfaction, "I think that's a great idea" says Dolgan. "Yeah me too...that's why I said it" says Carver as he falls over slightly into Gurvassh roots. "Buuuut we need money, this place is a bit run down and people won't come if they can't even had a roof over their head" says Carver holding his hand out and motioning around to the walls of the castle and the undercover areas near Gurvassh. "We have money" says Buffalo, "How much do you need". "You have money?" says Carver, pointing at Buffalo with the bottle in his hand, "We have money" repeats Buffalo. "600 gold will get us a tavern, 1000 gold will get us an inn". Buffalo looks over to Scaly, the treasurer or sorts for their group. "We just ran into a bunch of gold right? I think we can spare some money for Carver", the rest of the heroes agree and they hand the gold over to Carver. "Thaaaank you" he says, stumbling over Gurvassh's roots. "You'll see, this will be *hiccup* better than the Red Coq even!".

The heroes continue on their journey to the forest courts, arriving shortly after noon. "How do we get them back here?" asks Ned. "I don't know, can we call out for them? What was the archfey's name?" says Buffalo. The heroes turn around to look at the part of the forest they had just traversed and hear from behind them, 'Okay, so what have we got here? Have you held up your end?", the heroes shocked, turn around seeing the flower with the glasses once more, holding his long scroll. "We have the Light of the Forest and the person...well thing who stole it" says Ned, reaching down into the chest and pulling out Ryland and his weird appendage, whilst Buffalo holds up the light arm. "Yes....yes yes yes, this all looks correct" says the Sunflower, as the archfey appears laying on her side, on the large tree stump again. "Good, well that matter is now settled. Please bring whatever that is to the stump along with the light of the forest and we will be on our way", she says and then looking behind the heroes says "Your job is done". The heroes turn around straight away, seeing nothing but feeling a slight whooshing blow past them and towards the archfey. "We're still in need of getting to the Feywild" says Buffalo, "Ah yes, I do remember you being concerned about that before. Fine. You have proven yourselves. Here" she says throwing two statues towards the group, they were the same statues as the ones Ned had collected a week or so before that they placed at the large Feywild statues west of where they were. Ned bent down and collected the statues "Thank yo-" but the sunflower and archfey were gone. "Huh" he says looking down at the statues, "They seem to be identical to the other ones". "Let's try and put them down, see if they do anything different" says Dolgan as Scaly starts to walk towards the Feywild statues that resided in the living forest.

They arrive at the statues about an hour later. They had not changed since the last time they were there, the vines had grown slightly more around the statues but that as about it. Ned places the original two statues at the offering plate in front of the large statues. The beams shoot out of the large statues as they had done before, hitting the stone plate's on the ground the heroes had unearthed last time. "Maybe put the other statues on the plates?" says Scaly, Ned shrugs and walks over to the stone plates, placing the two new statues down, one on each with the moon corresponding with the moon and the sun with the sun. Suddenly a bright light bursts out of where the two lines coalesce and knock the heroes back a little. "Woah!" yells Scaly as what looks like a portal starts opening up at the centre, starting at the size of thumb growing to the size of a small room within a couple of seconds. "I guess this is our entrance" says Ned, taking a step forward. He takes one step in the swirling portal and looks back at the heroes before stepping inside and entering the portal completely. The rest of the group follow suit, jumping into the hole and find themselves flying down a kaleidoscopic tunnel. Images around them, leftover from the living forest they just left start to distort, lengthening and widening till they were so stretch they were unrecognisable. A long, high pitched whooshing sound fills the air around them, so loud that they have to hold their hands up to their ears, the smell of the earthy living forest disappearing and changing into the smell of freshly cut grass as they hurtle down the tunnel to the Feywild.

"Doof, doof, doof, doof" the heroes fly out of the other side of the portal and land into soft grass followed by one louder "THUD" directly after them. Ned gets up quickly to see that his chest had come through too and had landed after them. It quickly gets up and clanks it's lid a couple of times in happiness. The rest of the heroes slowly stand up, Scaly rubbing his backside, Buffalo squinting and Dolgan cracking his back. Ned looks around and see's what looks like an endless field of grass, the grass is about two feet high and waves slowly in the wind. The smell of it permeating his nostrils. Ned immediately feels a sense of childlike wonder, waving his hands through the grass, feeling the tips of the blades tickle his palms. He starts feeling overwhelmed by emotion, happiness, love, laughter all flowing through him at the same time as he looks back towards the rest of the group, seeing their eyes widen in excitement as they look around themselves. "I don't know why but I feel amazing" says Buffalo kneeling down into the grass and rubbing his face and hands through it as if it were water from Elmdew Pond back at home. "Is this the Feywild?" asks Scaly, "I think it is" responds Dolgan, both of them smiling at each other in glee.

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