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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 28 days

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The Quiet Ones 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don’t ask me why I did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You watch as the man looks along the door frame; back and forth, up and down. He knocks again and you flinch. You back up as you push on the door, as if it can make the barrier thicker.

“Come on, baby cakes, I know you’re in there,” he says, “I just brought you a treat. It’s Wednesday... hump day, some call it.”

You step back and hit the table. You squeak and wince away from it, rubbing your forearm where it met the corner. This can’t be happening. He can’t be there. How did he find you?

“London fog, or whatever? It’s the one you like,” he calls, a taunting tinge in his voice.

“Go away,” you force out.

You hear a snort and a softer tap on the wood, “come on, jelly bean, I know you’re a sweet girl. Don’t be like that. It’s a nice gesture so don’t be rude.”

You shake your head and turn, rushing away to grab your phone from your desk. You fumble to unlock it and come back to hover, just a few feet from the door. You can see his shadow underneath, seeping in through the crack.

“I’m...” you gulp dryly, “I’ll call the police.”

“Go ahead,” he sneers as the door shifts. He must be leaning on it.

You don’t say anything else. There’s not point arguing with this man and no point calling the police. They don’t come when your neighbours scream all night long. You just go back to your desk and sit.

You look at the monitor and skim the document, trying to refocus. Where were you? You can’t remember.

“You’re really gonna hang me out to dry?” He raises his voice so you can hear.

You just shake your head and type. He’s not there. The door is locked and you’re all alone. This is your apartment. Your life. It’s Wednesday and you already have your tea. Your tea!

You get up and go to the kitchen to retrieve the lukewarm Earl Grey. Oh well. Just means you don’t need milk. You take it back to your desk.

“It’s the quiet ones you gotta look out for,” the man says as the floor creaks and betrays your movement, “not as nice as they look.”

You stop just at the end of the entryway and look over. His shadow shifts and retreats. You listen to his footsteps recede. You should go over and make sure he’s gone but you’re too afraid to go anywhere near the door. It’s like those recurring dreams where the door is always unlocked and you just can’t twist it back into place.

You stand there for a while before you can make yourself move again. You return to your desk again. You clasp your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking as the screen blurs in your vision.

Should you call the police anyway?

You grab the mouse and swirl it around. You open the notes app and type in last Wednesday’s date.

‘Man approached me at cafe. Grabbed my order. Followed me out and down the street.’

Your hands shake over the keys before you enter that day’s date.

‘Same man appeared at my apartment. Did not let him in. Left after several minutes.’

You check the autosave and click out. You watched too many shows with similar scenarios. There wasn’t much to do but to keep track. The police won’t listen if you have no record. Even then, it’s not likely. This is why you hide from the world. It’s too dangerous.

You bring your last task back up and squint at the handwritten notes scanned crookedly. It’s difficult to fall into your usual process. You’re typically a quick worker but you have to think of every word. You can’t focus past that man’s spectre.

Your nape itches as if he’s still looming right outside your door. As if you might look over and he’ll be standing right there. That thought has you sitting back, recoiling from the computer as you make yourself look at the doorway. Empty.

You get up and approach the entryway. You have to urge yourself forward, “it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay...” you whisper to yourself. You clutch the seams of your pants as you near the door. You turn and stand on your toe. You close one eye and press it to the hole. It's black. You can’t see a thing.

Oh no.

That’s not good.

You get down on your knees and hands and been to see beneath the door. You only see a narrow little shadow. It could be nothing at all.

You sit back on your heels and your heart pounds. You shouldn’t look but you have to. You can’t function no knowing for sure.

You stand and check that the chain is in place. You turn the lock back and slowly twist the handle. You inch it open, a hand flat on the wood, your shoulder braced, ready to push back against any force. You peer around and find the hallways empty.

All except the pink cup at the threshold. Just standing there. Taunting you.

You shut the door, nearly slamming it, and lock it once more. You turn and put your back to it. You exhale and shake out your fingers, the crescents of your nails imprinted in your palm.

He’s gone, but you’re not to certain he won’t be back.

👄

You submit your last task for the day, an hour later than usual. You shouldn’t be this far behind. You didn’t even go to the cafe. You should be sixty minutes in the other direction.

You shut off the computer and stand. The stiff wooden chair always leaves you numb but achy. The cushion you put on the seat doesn’t help very much either. What’s especially agitating is the tension locked between your vertebrae.

That man. You haven’t stopped thinking of him. Not just today, but really all week. Since that first time you saw him. He was easier to deny then, but now... he could just be waiting for you on the other side of those walls.

You shudder and carry your untouched tea into the kitchen and dump it. You hadn’t drank a single sip, you haven’t even eaten. You’re not hungry. Your sick to your stomach.

Restless, riled, and rigid. You don’t know what to do with yourself. Usually, you’d read for a while, or watch TV, those old forgotten 70s shows that other people call boring. Yet you know, you can’t find comfort in any of that.

Even behind closed doors and drawn curtains, you can’t feel safe. The thought of making the phone call flickers again but you know better than that. You’ve peeked through the windows as the sirens flash, watched as the police offered nothing more than dismissals and remonstrances not to waste their time to the woman with the bruised cheekbone. It’s just the same as it was when you were a kid. That makes you still feel like one.

Are you talking yourself out of it because you’re scared or stupid or because it’s the truth? It’s hard to know. You never go out of you way to talk to anyone if you can help it. It’s always of utmost necessity. This might be one of those moments but you’re embarrassed. You don’t want to let anyone into the life and if you call someone, you have to do just that. You have let them in. You can’t.

So you won’t.

You sit on the sofa and cross your arms. You won’t let anyone in and you won’t go out. You’ll stay here. Maybe he’ll think he got the wrong place. Maybe he’ll give up. You can outlast him, right?

👄

There’s a rattle in the window. It keeps you awake. You fixate on it. You blame the knot in your chest on it.

Not on the memory, the persistent chill rolling up and down your spine. It’s the window not him. Not that stranger. He’s gone so why are you still thinking of him.

You keep the lamp on. The darkness is too much. You lay staring at the the refraction circle interspliced with the metal frame on the ceiling. The curve is slightly skewed by the angle. The window rattles again.

You huff. You’ll put a book against it to hold it steady. You go to the shelf on the wall and take the heaviest hardcover you can find. You take it to the window and curl your fingers around the edge of the curtain. It feels like stone. You can’t make yourself move it.

You take a breath and pull it away from the frame but don’t look outside. You lean the book on the frame, pushing it snug until you’re sure. You pause, a glint gleaming off the pane. You let go of the book and stare at the brief spark of light, an odd glare.

You inch close to the frame and peek around. You search the sky, a few stars glimmering through the city haze, the moon in a crescent. You search the silhouette of the city and the flicker comes again, this time directly in your eye. You’re drawn to the movement.

You back up and look down at you rub your eyelid. What was that? The curtain fall back into place but the light pierces through. You follow the odd laserlike beam centered on your chest. You put your hand over the green dot there and it shines on your skin. What the hell?

You dodge out of the way in disbelief and stare at the laser at it hits the wall instead. It’s bold, even in the hue of the lamp. It moves up, then down, side to side, then stops. You hold your breath. This isn’t some strange phenomenon. There’s someone out there, doing this. You know who.

You watch the beam terrified. You’ve only ever seen something like that in movies. It’s more than those little red lights you buy for cats. It’s strong, thick. That’s a target and it had just been right on you.

You rub your chest subconsciously and suddenly, the lightly moves. You watch as it swerves around so fast to make a precise shape. A shape you can’t believe. A shape you must be imagining. It stops, centered again on the wall, then retraces the same figure.

A heart.

That can’t be. It’s not real. Your dreaming.

You close your eyes and cover your ears, bending your legs as your curl your shoulders over your knees. You fall onto your side, balled into a fetal position as you shake your head. It’s a dream! Wake up, wake up, wake up...

👄

The morning rises to a thumping in your temples. You don’t know if it’s the lack off food or sleep. You’re wrought and worn from a night spent hiding from reality.

Water. Your mouth is dry. You’re dehydrated. You haven’t been paying attention to the cues. You haven’t wanted to be in this body.

You unfold yourself and sit up. You stare at the wall. The dot is gone. Is he?

You hang one leg over the edge, then the other. You nearly retract them. Like a child, you could believe in a monster under the bed. You push yourself to your feet and stagger forward.

You nearly fall through the open door into the main room of your apartment. You shuffle forward, rubbing your forehead as a sandy fog clings to your lashes. You stumble into the kitchen and lean on the counter as you fill a glass with water. You gulp until you feel queasy.

You put the glass down and flinch at your own force. You back away and wipe the stray droplets from your fingertips. You turn and teeter back into the front room. You need to get your head on straight, you have a full day of work ahead of you still.

You look towards the front door. You cross your arms protectively. You inch forward and turn to face it. You bring yourself to your toes and lean in. You still can’t see through the peep hole. You stand flat again and frown.

You go back to the kitchen and turn the kettle on. You have instant coffee in the mornings. It’s fast and efficient. No clunky machine or ridiculous press. You just need the boost.

You open the cupboard and take down the box of single packets. You slip one out and count the rest. It’s a newer box. There’s ten left. You look up and consider the bag of minute-oats. If you parse back your typical serving, that can last a little longer. You don’t need sugar in it either, that you can spare. The pasta you can ration as well. The sauce has a shelf-life once open.

You put down the packet and set the box back on the shelf. You leave the cupboard door open and go to the fridge. The eggs won’t expire for two weeks but you only have half a dozen left. The milk will go quicker. The butter... that never runs out very quickly, it hardly matters.

Are you really meting out how to wait out this man? Are you really stooping to this? Your defense is no defense. You’re just going to hunk down and hope he goes away. What else can you do?

You can’t go anywhere. You can’t even see out to make sure he’s not waiting for you. You could order groceries but that means also opening the door. How would you know it wasn’t him knocking?

He’ll get bored. He has to. It’s your only hope.

#the quiet ones #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #the gray man

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ezelium · 27 days

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IF THIS IS WHAT YOU CALL DEPENDENCE : dazai o.

⟡ CONTENT : your lover who abandoned you in the PM and avoided you for 4 years finally finds you in a familiar back alley.

⟡ WARNINGS : gn!reader , dazai is kinda head over heels , unhealthy (past) relationship , unhappy ending , one sided pining , slight spoilers , open ending , slight ooc , implied major character death/major injury , i didn't keep track of the wc but it's probably around 2k , lowercase writing , probably light angst , not proofread , mentions of alcohol .

⟡ GENRE : gen → oneshot (?)

⟡ A/N : man i used to write good like 2 years ago what happened to that.. i think i need to practice more (。＿。")

also this is SHORT but who cares

you weren't exactly sure what you would do after you lover's disappearance, but it was too late when you were notified of the news anyway. dazai osamu had disappeared on a random day, with no warnings nor any goodbyes.

4 years later, you've been greatly promoted to one of the executives of the port mafia. all your hard work and efforts were paid off. it really wasn't the worst, but you really couldn't excuse yourself for the most crimes you've committed. why were you in the mafia? why did you abandon your past life at the ripe ages of teen years? you weren't exactly sure. the underground wasn't a horrible place for you though.

you've loved many people, you've loved many individuals. 'why was he any different?' you might ask, he wasn't. at the end of the day, he's just another person, another man, an "ordinary" man. the difference was that he held a place in your heart.

to be exact, used to. after his bestfriends death, you never found him again.

he left.

it felt somewhat empty. maybe it was your heart missing the way he held you so tightly, or perhaps it was you missing the way his lips brushed against yours. in the end, your heart still longed for him. or did it? or did it want to fill in the gap? whatever it was, it sure did feel miserable.

chuuya was there for you, yeah, but it's not like you liked him romantically. he's your friend, not lover. you couldn't just get with anyone like that now, could you? you were getting carried away with your thoughts as usual. how lovely, when you had pillars of paperwork to work on. he never left your mind. you didn't like the fact that this topic always made you drift away.

your hand lazily grabbed the pen sitting near your said hand, and grabbed another papersheet to sign, fullfill, or whatever. what was this anyway? 7 sent e-mails were still waiting to be replied from your subordinates, it was almost the deadline. you had a long night in for you. the mafia wasn't exactly all about killing or so, it also came with other "irrelevant" work. luckily for you, you could easily get them done quickly. if only your subordinates weren't lazy jackasses that couldn't get something done ...

needless to say, you were tired. exhausted, even. after hours of non-stop work, you got out of the building to visit a certain street. a street you and he used to go to. that was a long time ago of course. but nevertheless, it still brought you comfort. when it rained it didn't bother you, when it was windy, gloomy or foggy, it never bothered you. the missing piece in your heart couldn't be returned, but at least this odd and dark alleyway could make up for it.

dazai too, was missed you from time to time. you were one of the only people that brought some light to his miserable and pathetic life, it felt stupid to just disappear. he was happier in the armed detective agency than he was in the mafia, but he felt like he didn't belong. was he a burden to them? he didn't want to burden them.

they were better off without him, right? but he couldn't go back to the mafia, right? he should keep his promise, right? he will tire them out someday, right?

this is how he thought most of the time. he felt like an idiot to to leave a person that "actually" wanted him. his self confidence was at low levels today for sure. there was no use crying over spilt milk, either. was he to follow his guts or was he to follow his head? or even his heart, in that matter?

these thoughts repeated over and over and over. it was repetitive, and boring. he was sick of it, he felt sick to the stomach when he thought of you. not because of you being yourself, but because of his past self. he swears he changed though.

the way he used to use you for his gain and his own selfishness back in the old days, made him feel disgusted. how did he not see your worth? you made him eat his heart out. he loved you. he loved you and he didn't recognize your worth. was it too late to fix his mistakes? slacking off today wasn't a great idea perhaps, considering he had to face his thoughts like this.

the couch felt soft and warm as he laid on it with fewer bottles of heavy alcohol sitting next to him. it was nearing midnight, stars were shining the best they can. nights of yokohama were always unsettling and comforting in the best way possible, or maybe that was just the weight he had on his shoulders for years now.

finding a purpose wasn't easy. nothing was. this world was too complicated for a logical man like him. he didn't see the meaning, it was absurd, annoying, and whatever else. he tried to fit in.

no matter how bad he felt, you always found a way to make him feel better. oh, how he missed your soft hugs, your sweet words, your gentleness with him. you were patient and willing to go through all this with him, but that was not the case. he felt as if he was in a daze, and alcohol wasn't helping. if anything, it made him think of more absurd things, which I'm sure nobody would want.

again, he left because of oda's wishes, yes. he promised to change, to protect, to be better. however that meant leaving you in the dark. he didn't think twice before leaving, and remorse was all he felt. he could've thought about it a few times, but maybe in another universe you two are together..

now no need to go over the same thoughts and points over and over again, it makes the story boring doesn't it? — he wasn't sleepy at all, and he definitely wasn't in the mood to go out from some alcohol at all. whatever he could do, maybe he could calm his longing heart by going to that old passage.

you on the other hand, were already there while he was thinking of coming. what a coincidence; though you were unaware of that. your hair fluttered as the wind slowly picked up; black, dusty walls looking as grim as ever. nothing really had changed over the years. the same boxes, the same webs, the same rats never disappeared, it was a home to them as much as it was a home to you. that was lovely, at least it wasn't a bleak situation. you weren't alone.

your feet dangled slowly as you sat on one of the said boxes, not caring of the dust that'll catch on your clothes. who cared anyway at this point? you just needed comfort for once. at least this street was calmer than your workplace, nobody was here to disturb you.

or so you thought. after 20 minutes after you arrived, some light footsteps were alerting the presence of an "intruder". you were quick to catch on and put on your guard; silently getting behind those old pieces of wood. yes the mean the boxes.

and dazai, was quick to catch on that somebody was there. his footsteps faltered for the minute being, sensing and looking around before continuing walking. after he turned the corner, it was a surprise to see him all up in your face.

He. he was here. the shock on both of your faces were evident and you both saw each other's expression, there's no purpose to play around after that. he stopped in short surprise as he saw you, muscles tensing as he acknowledged that it was actually you.

"Ahh, ah. My sweet [name] is here?" he snickered, his words were nothing but meaningless. his voice was as sweet as sugar, but the depth was as hollow as ever. he didn't mean anything to you. no, he didn't, nope. no way. you can't forgive him after what he's done, can you.

he slowly moved his hand upwards; the slow movement indicating nothing but his hesitancy. but you weren't going to let him do whatever you want. just with the blink of an eye — a cold metal piece was against his chest. upon realisation, he took a very, very short step back. he still wasn't sure what to make of the situation at hand.

you got out of the shadow of those boxes, making a small wood bar fall in progress. it hit the ground, making a noise that's louder than it should make. he brought his hands to the silver plate of your gun, his smile not faltering as he looked at you. he was tipsy, but he was still aware of his surroundings. and he was going to work this out.

his eyes weren't giving away anything, no, far from that. he seemed.. happy. he opened his mouth to say something; but you swiftly cut him off. you had better stuff to do than get distracted by his sweet nothings. perhaps he really didn't change. perhaps it's futile.

"i won't hesitate to pull," you warned, pushing the muzzle harder into his chest and steadying your finger around the trigger. your expression was blank, your teeth were clenched. you were angry at him, and had every right to be angry at him. his teasing smile faded the moment your finger tightened around the trigger. a hint of alarm and wariness took over, briefly clouding his bravado.

he wasn't sure if he was facing the same old you. the same old you would be kinder, more softer to him, your older self would be more tolerant to him. he was expecting the same treatment out of his selfishness. yet he wasn't sure what to do after you didn't, so he asked: "what happened to you?"

"what happened to me?" you quickly repeated, not sure what to make of his question either. the question made no sense overall, you just had grown is all. how could he not expect a change after 4 years? at the end it's finally done. actually maybe even he was late; maybe you two just showered each other in lies.

dazai paused for a few seconds, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought of what to say. there was no smile, no nothing. "you weren't like this. this isn't the [name] I know." he said, features changing into dour ones. he thought this would be a more calm talk, a more civil one. yet there he was, with the muzzle of a gun against his heart, by his past lover.

you didn't even want to associate with him anymore, it felt oddly pointless. as if you wanred to give up on him. "i'd call that an achievement. yet you're the same osamu I know." ouch. that hit a little too close to home, didn't it? he was trying to change, but he wasn't sure himself if he was putting any effort. and that sentence you just uttered out of your mouth, reminded him of that.

he knew you wanted to give up on him. he knew it. he knew it. he knew it. despite this, he still loved you. he did. he knew. he did. he knew he did. he still screwed this up.

he felt miserable like this, he knew he fucked up. he knew he messed up real bad this time, and you weren't showing him mercy anymore. he wasn't deserving of another chance anyway. "just hear me out- please." he pleaded, his voice softening. he wanted to be close to you, a gentle expression was all he could make. his hand, ignoring the gun, tried touching yours for the briefest of moments.

you clenched your teeth even harder, just how desperate could he get? "there's no point, dazai." he hated it when you called him by his lastname. it felt as if you were getting further away from him. he didn't want that— the opposite. this really turned out bad. this isn't what he expected, at all. on situations like this, it usually would go like how he wanted it. but this wasn't it. nope, no way. that took a wrong turn, just because he was surprised for a minute.

now that just confirmed how hopeless of a situation it was. he just wanted you back, but you weren't even letting him explain. no, he didn't seem panicked. that's far from the truth. his words were straightforward as they can be, as if they were scripted to come out that way. his hand was on yours now, "you aren't even letting me make amends." his thumb brushed your hand, the bandages adding in extra texture. he wasn't in the mood to deal with this today.

you huffed in response. you were fed up. you were doubting if you actually loved him. you may need to think this over again, now was the time that you're sure you didn't miss him, but rather- your heart just wanted the missing piece inside of it filled. you were sure you weren't blind to love a bastard like this. "you could've at least said goodbye. i was miserable, and yet i still loved you. i knew you were using me. i honestly regret that i ever loved you. why would i let you make amends?"

as much as emotions clouded his judgement, your anger was clouding your own judgement too. the last thing you wanted for him to do now was to try and win you over again, which he was most likely about to do if you didn't intervene. but he was idiotic and selfish right? you couldn't trust him, you couldn't trust such a manipulator who used you in the past.

"[name], my love, it's—"

"don't call me that." you retorted, voice dropping. those words contained nothing but disdain at him.

he paused, "don't tell me things that you don't mean."

"i do mean them more than you think."

"oh really now?"

agghnttmh thank you for reading everyone! <3 i wrote this in 2 days, something i thought was impossible really.. im sorry if its shorter towards the end, i started with so much motivation but finished with so less. therefore, it's kinda short and messy :(

please do tell me if i should write a second part for this, im actually invested but this is all that was supposed to be in this part!

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malebreastmilk · 1 month

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jjk x reader imagines ♡ going to a haunted house attraction

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ฅ Featuring: Choso Kamo & Satoru Gojo ฅ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ฅ Contents: Choso x GN!Reader , general fluffiness, choso being a scary dog, protective!choso, choso is head over heels for you, KISSIES!!! and other silly antics ฅ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ฅ Notes: im trying out a new format!! please lmk if you preferred how I did it before to this :) gojo with the same prompt will be coming up next! ino and nanas aren't currently planned to be added but if requested ill gladly do my best to ฅ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

"Haunted house...? Are you sure? I don't want anyone scaring you..."

bf!choso observing as you turned in your tickets to yaga, the school was holding a haunted house attraction to celebrate halloween coming up and you had encouraged him to come try it so he could learn more about halloween traditions. who would really go anywhere if you were going even if it left him standing in front of a now unfamiliar school. who saw it was now cloaked in darkness and smoke distorting his known vision of the place with people bustling in and out all who were wearing different expressions from shock to relief. who can hear the screaming and yelling coming from within and instinctively takes your hand in his before the two of you could enter the now frightening entrance

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

bf!choso who keeps his fingers intertwined with yours as the two of you make your way through the fog filled corridors that had their familiarity hidden behind blood and cobwebs. who scowled when foreign things and people would jump out, causing him to slightly flinch back before he would find the entirety of his being focused on you, glaring down at whatever it may have been. who could barely stand seeing you get spooked even if your yelps were soon masked by the following gigglings and a familiar smile back at him. whos verbal checkups and comments with you begin to dwindle being replaced with a firmer grip upon your hand. who cant help but begin to tense and alert in the moment trying to detect anything before it had the chance to strike

“...”

bf!choso who is lost in his worries until a warm squeeze to his hand and the soft murmur of his name trails him back to you watching his spaced out expression with concern. who returns the gesture in full once he reels himself back in a bitter pang in his heart seeing your face so full of distress because of him. who shares his uncertainties of this whole pre-halloween activity haunted house school thing and having to see others frighten you without him being able to do anything but watch and worry. who is soon met with your reassurance as you lead him towards the end still with clasped hands. who follows with a heavy heart finding that he must’ve ruined the date as he was the reason you were rushing towards the distant exit with him in tow

“I just don’t understand this…and I don’t like seeing you so frightened.”

bf!choso who’s upset expression is obvious as the two of you make it out of the school and into the open where soft moonlight shined onto his contorted face. who struggled to look at you now wondering if you’d be upset with him for bringing an abrupt stop to your outting together as you stood along with others who had finished as well. who was once again so caught up in his own thoughts in the moment that he didnt notice you retrieve something from megumi who had handed you something for finishing the activity. who again is brought back by you calling his nickname once more, turning to face you only to be met by a sudden material being stuck to his face much to his surprise. finding that you had the same thing stuck to your cheek, a sticker as you had called it, depicting some of those halloween characters that you had described to him. who’s facial marking is almost hidden by the deep red that ingulfs his cheeks as you kiss his other cheek putting his worries to rest as you share your happiness with just being by his side. who is quick to soften up and lean into your touch and comfort, requesting more much-needed kisses

“M’ forehead too… and I am happy as long as you are there always…more please.”

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oumaheroes · 3 months

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My submission for the @hws-anthology! Thank you so much to all of the mods for making this possible

Characters/ Ships: England, France- FrUK (But gently… softly)

Summary: The rediscovery of lost relics has a habit of awakening unwelcomed feelings. The past overlaps with the present far more than France realises.

---------‐----------------

Sunken Nostalgia

‘There you are. Hiding as usual.’

England looked over his shoulder at the sound of France’s voice. He was leant against the railings of the walkway overlooking Portsmouth harbour, wearing a light coat and stood as far as he could get away from the main crowds without missing the view. It was a busy day, unsurprisingly given the circumstances, and even where he was on the waterfront people were thronged out all along the railings and in the nearby buildings to get the best look at the happenings out at sea. It was not every day that a ship this old- a rare find indeed for how intact it was rumoured to be- was raised back to the surface. Some more eager watchers had even gone out onto the water themselves; past England, France saw a small pleasure boat packed with onlookers come in closer to shore to avoid an official navy ship, bearing down imperiously on anything in its way.

Maybe sensing his wish to be alone from just his expression, or from whatever it was that connected their people to them as they so keenly were, the onlookers nearest to England had given him as wide of a berth as they possibly could. He stood there in the crowd out of place and alone, a lone island close pressed by a sea of mortal life that dare not come closer than the five feet he mentally permitted.

‘I wondered when you’d show up.’ Was all England said as France approached.

‘You thought that I would?’

‘No, that I’m still surprised by. But I felt you arrive a few hours ago.’

‘Ah.’

‘Boat? Plane?’

‘Plane, then train. You know as well as I do that those ferries are frightful things.’

‘That’s just your delicate constitution talking.’

France didn’t bother to reply. He joined England at the railing and handed him one of the takeaway cups that he was carrying, waggling it when he hesitated.

England took it gingerly, ‘You should have told me you were coming.’

‘What on earth for.’

‘Common courtesy. It is my land you are invading.’

‘I’m invading, am I? Today’s events affecting your terminology?’

England gave him a dry look and popped open the lid of his cup, ‘You brought me tea?’

‘You like tea.’

‘I do.’ England looked suspicious. ‘You never bring me tea.’

‘Hmm.’ France made sure the lid of his own cup of bitterly dark coffee was secure and leant his arms against the railing’s cool metal, ‘Well, your look of disgust will lose its charm if I see it too much.’

‘As long as you breathe I’ll wear it, so you don’t have to worry about it going anywhere.’ England took a tentative sip and turned back out to the water.

Portsmouth harbour spread out around them, deep docks and industrial ships on the murky grey sea. Beyond the harbour and out to the horizon were large, sturdy boats, supporting a large, odd looking white crane that rose impossibly high up into the sky. It looked something like a praying mantis, all arms and disproportionate length.

France ran a hand through his hair to tame it back, and wished that he’d remembered to bring a hairband with him. ‘Finally happening then, is it?’

‘Apparently so.’

‘It’s been talked about for long enough.’

‘They had to invent a way to raise her without damaging her.’

‘I’m still surprised there’s anything of the Mary Rose (1) left to raise. Or damage.’

England made a non-commital noise.

France gently swirled his coffee, trying to cool it. ‘You weren’t on her when she went down were you?’

England shot him a warning look, eyes going to the humans nearby. ‘No. I was moved to another one the day before. A change in gunners, or perhaps one of the captains was unwell; I can’t remember. But I should have been. He blamed me for her loss, though.’

‘Henry?’(2)

‘Hmm.’

‘I would have blamed you too. Poor thing was so heavy in the water, like a round, fat duck.’

England rolled his eyes, ‘You weren’t even there.’

‘I was on the shore.’

‘Exactly. No where near the actual danger.’

‘I’d had enough of fighting you at sea, thank you.’

‘You knew you’d lose, that’s why.’

‘My love, need I remind you whose sunken ship we are waiting to see dragged out of the mud?’

‘Which was sunk from an oversight-‘

‘Your navy’s oversight.’

‘And not from any effort on your part.’

France leant over and kissed England on the cheek, his cool skin growing warm as France stayed close to whisper in his ear, ‘Your misplaced insistence is scaring the children.'

To their left, a small child had wandered away from their family and now stood close enough to likely hear them. He stared up at them, wide-eyed and baffled until his mother clucked for him to come away.

England stepped rather rudely on France’s shoe, ‘If anyone’s scaring them, it’s you.’

They fell into silence, sinking under the general chatter of the people around them and the sound of the waves breaking against the concrete embankment below.

‘When do you leave for the Falklands?’(3) France asked after a while, risking a taste of his coffee. It was disappointingly English, ‘I assume you’re going, now that things have become serious.’

‘As soon as this is done.’

France nodded and nudged him gently with his shoulder. ‘How far you have fallen. Surely your navy isn’t quite so lacking that now they’re forced to recruit your long-fallen flagships.’

England smiled, safely hidden at the corner of France’s eye, ‘Depends on who you ask.’

‘Well, if you ask me-‘

‘I’m not.’

‘You should, you know. I’d give you the truth.’

England laughed, a sharp bark, ‘Why are you really here, Francis.’

France ignored England’s eyes on him and shrugged, ‘Just to watch.’

‘Just to watch. Why?’

‘Why not?’

England snorted, disappointment shown only in the downturn of his mouth, and turned away.

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

It didn’t happen.

Deteriorating weather, a problem with the crane, some drama between the Mary Rose Trust and the army personnel that were helping them- it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. What was one more day to her or to them, after so many centuries waiting.

That night, quiet and contemplative in England’s small hotel room, France closed his eyes to the memory of canon fire and felt for England’s familiar hand in the dark.

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

If England was still curious as to why France had stayed with him to watch the Mary Rose be raised, or why he was there in the first place, he didn’t let it show. He left for the harbour early the next morning, jangling the hotel room keys before France’s bleary eyes and placing them silently on the bedside table. France found him again later in the same spot as the day before, when the sun was actually up and thus made the goings on visible.

It was just as busy as the day before. Boats of all sizes bloomed like algae on the water and the crowds watching on the harbour grew larger every passing hour.

‘I wonder if they’ll find clothes,’ France mused before the worst of the onlookers had arrived. It was overcast and cool, the temperature made bitter by the morning, and France stood chilled next to England who was annoyingly content with it all.

‘I doubt it. Been down there for too long, most of it will have rotted away.’

‘I hope there’s still something caught up there. I like it when they find everyday items in these sorts of things: combs and clothes and such. Little reminders of what things were once like every day.’

‘They won’t find much. Far too old.’

‘It would be nice if they did. I don’t have anything from that far back. Nothing fabric, anyway.’

England watched a seagull pass overhead, screeching loudly, ‘What on earth would you do with it?’

‘Nothing.’ France shrugged, ‘Have them restored and put in a museum, most likely. Using them isn’t the point. Remembering and admiring them is, looking upon examples of who we were and how we lived.’

‘Is that why you’re really here? To steal any potential treasure they find?’

France scoffed. ‘Hardly. Damp and rotten English fabric has no value for me.’

‘Mock it, then.’

‘Far more likely.’

England shook his head and picked at his coat sleeve.

France leant his head on his elbow and watched England’s fingers, remembering fat gold rings with inlaid expensive stones which had once sat there. Smaller hands, a youth’s hands- skin stained black with gunpowder beneath torn lace. England had never been able to keep himself from ruining his clothes. He walked through delicate things like cobwebs, hardly seeing them at all, a magpie-like need for finery without understanding its function.

‘It’s strange to think about us doing that now, isn’t it?’ France mused.

England stopped and looked up, ‘Wearing those sorts of clothes?’

France nodded to the waves, ‘Us warring on the Channel. The Channel of all places. Odd, isn’t it, how that sort of thing feels like strangely like childhood.’

‘This isn’t the Channel, this is-’

‘Oh, stop it, you know that’s not what I meant.’

‘Either way, say the word,’ England’s face was serious but his eyes betrayed him, ‘It’s been far too long without practice in my opinion. You’re too close for comfort these days- quicker boats and planes and all that.’

‘There are talks of a tunnel, you know.’ (4)

‘God.’

‘One road to connect us.’

‘Abysmal.’

‘I can be here within an hour or two.’

France was surprised when all England did was give a short, quick laugh, ‘I suppose I’ll need to change my locks.’

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

Despite several signs to the contrary, eventually something notable did happen.

A rippling of the water, the line of the crane rising, and then the old wreckage of the Mary Rose slowly emerged to the modern day in her metal coffin. From the docks and the televisions, sixty million people watched the blackened ribs of her cracked belly emerge to a thunderous cheering and the cannon fire of reawakened city defences. The first breath of air she’d felt in nearly five hundred years, the old Tudor wood greeting a new Elizabethan age.

Watching her return on modern concrete embankments, her last living sailor smiled widely to see her. England’s expression softened to something younger and boyish as the old ship became visible, as if greeting an old friend after years apart.

France tried to see it through his eyes, past the dark remains and the sludge to find something beautiful or special. Something which matched the colours and the vibrancy of the period that he remembered, hopeful nostalgia given physical form.

It was a disappointment. Nothing remained of the old ship but fingers of dark wood, skeletal and misshapen. All else was lost: the once tall, straight mast, the billowing sails, and her black shiny cannons over a beautiful crafted wooden hull. She had been beautiful. What was left behind was nothing at all but a lump of something undefinable, impossible to see as a ship at all without being told so.

Yet England was still smiling, relaxed and loose as he took in the crowds and the scene on the water.

France shook his head and dug his cigarettes out of his pocket. ‘You look as if she has returned whole.’

To his regret, now aware that he was being watched, England’s easy openness vanished, face smoothing back under his usual control, ‘Shut up.’

France offered him a cigarette, ‘There is nothing wrong with that. Though I admit that I had hoped there would be more. From what the news had been saying-‘

‘This is more than they ever thought we’d get. And even fifty years ago, this wouldn’t have been possible. Humanity’s come a long way.’

‘Maybe too far.’ France cupped his hand around his lighter to protect it from the wind and held the cigarette in his lips. The smoke filled his lungs, sweet and safe. ‘I hoped to see something I recognised. All this fanfare and money and all you’ve got for your troubles is a few pieces of old wood.’

‘It’s more than I had before.’

‘But aren’t you unhappy with that? Didn’t you hope to find more; for her to be better preserved, at least?’

England thought for a moment, flicking the end of his cigarette with his thumb to scatter the ash in the breeze. ‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘I think no matter what she could have looked like, she wouldn’t live up to how I remember her.’

He paused. Then added, ‘Those ships were once everything. The fastest travel, the most powerful weapons, the only way to get safely off my land with any distance. I think that if she had come back perfectly whole, I would find her more disappointing; I’d only see how jarringly small she is against everything else.’

France considered this. ‘You are right in that this is an odd world she has come back to. Nothing is the same from when she sank, not the look of the shores nor even the language. Technology, ideas, religion-’

‘I’m still here,’ England said. A hint of his soft smile had returned, eyes back on the strange crane and its messy cargo. ‘It’s the same soil. Same air, same skies. That’s essentially what we are, isn’t it. The passing things no one thinks about which change on the surface but remain the same underneath.’

France didn’t reply and England coloured, seemingly only then aware of what he’d said. ‘Besides. Who else would know exactly what’s missing but us. I’d rather think about what’s still there.’

‘There I was, thinking you’d gone sweet.’ France flicked the end of his cigarette into the water below them and hooked one arm through England’s, ‘The Falklands ignored for this; I would never have guessed you’d favour sentimentality over current politics.’

‘I don’t.’

A lie, a lie. England young, his small hands smoothing mud over his old torc, hoping to keep it hidden and safe from harm. He could have instead given it to please Rome: new, hungry invader eager for twists of Celtic gold. A lie, a lie- England at his Plantagenet court, eyes on the windows to the sea and the unknown beyond whilst behind his back his monarchy and way of life tore itself apart, a dirty boy in fine clothes who’d have been just as happy in rags if they’d kept him warm.

A lie, a lie. Arthur after Alfred left, more heartbroken that he should have been for the loss of one colony among many.

France smiled, ‘Of course you don’t.’

They looked out to the boats and the crane in silence, listening to the crowds and the seagulls overhead. The unchanging sounds of millennia, birds and welcoming crowds watching as ships with their sailors returned to them.

Glancing down the seafront, to the people young and old clapping and shouting with the ancient city at their backs, England seemed to read France’s thoughts. He stepped closer, their arms still linked- a solid weight against France’s side. ‘It’s all the same thing, isn’t it. Just dressed differently.’

France thought of all the things he’d had and lost over the years, from delicate gold trinkets to wooden shoes, handmade woollen tunics to the finest silks. Different versions of his long life kept safe and lost somewhere in the soil. Whether they were whole or not didn’t bring the past any closer.

Maybe, merely closure was enough.

‘Yes. I suppose so.’

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

AN:

A huge thanks to the always wonderful TheDisappointedIdealist12 for kindly beta reading this more times than needed and being my creative sounding board. Thank you for your help, your friendship, and for everything else

Historical Notes:

The Mary Rose was, as touched on in this fic, an English battle ship which sailed from 1511- 1545 and was a key part of several major battles between England and France. She was sunk in July of 1545, theorised due to the reasons listed here- overfull with men and heavy, she keeled over in the water when she was turned to fire guns. Aside from this, the sinking could also have been due to gunports being left open (let all the water in as she turned), the wind hitting the sails at the wrong time, or age making her too heavy. Potentially, it was a combination of several reasons. She sank not far from the port of Portsmouth, in the Battle of the Solent. She was raised in 1982, when this fic is set. Learn more about the Mary Rose here! https://maryrose.org/about-the-mary-rose/

King Henry VIII was King of England from 22 April 1509 until his death in 1547. Henry is best known for running through wives like there was no tomorrow in a violent, unstoppable fashion, and spending lots of England’s gold. Much of this gold was stolen from looted monasteries he had decided weren’t very important any more, after he’d turned the Kingdom Protestant from the traditional Catholic just to marry his mistress (whom he later beheaded- yay!). The Mary Rose was said to be his favourite ship, and he tried to have her raised in his lifetime

Falklands War: The Falklands War, a not officially declared war between the United Kingdom and Argentina which lasted 10 weeks. It was fought over the British territory of The Falklands (Islas Malvinas) which lies off the coast of Argentina in 1982. The war spanned April to June, and the Mary Rose was raised in May with the British Army being heavily involved. As both were happening at once, many soldiers involved in the raising had friends or knew those in other units who were at that moment going off to fight. It made things somewhat tense and frustrating, according to some involved (This is the documentary I watched whilst researching this topic, I recommend giving it a watch! It has interviews with some soldiers who comment about this odd situation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAJgKunmGdk)

Channel tunnel: The Channel Tunnel, the underground route between the south of England and the north of France connecting Dover to Callais, was only built in 1994- 12 whole years after this fic is set. Arthur has a few years of peace left

#aph england #aph france #hws england #fruk #hws france #arthur kirkland #francis bonnefoy #hws #aph #hetalia #hetalia anthology #hws anthology #hws zine

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teyamsatan · 1 year

Text

lllicit Affairs | Chapter VI: Death by a Thousand Cuts

Pairing: Neteyam x Human/Avatar!Reader

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X

Synopsis: You and Neteyam both have a dark secret that would change everything between you - and neither of you are willing to share.

Warnings: angst, some fluff, Lo'ak x reader, jealous!Neteyam, both main characters thirsting for each other, mentions of lab work, disease, blood, cursing.

Word Count: 7,2k words

A/N: Chapter 6 is the chapter that sets EVERYTHING in motion for what's to come. There is a LOT to come, a lot of drama and angst, maybe some smut (? 😉) and this chapter is meant as a stepping stone to the beginning of the end. Also, realised I forgot to ever mention, that if the dialogue is ever italicised, that usually means the conversation is in Na'vi, I don't know how I have never made it clearer, but here we are.

Thank you so much for everyone who's been reading and asking to be tagged, I never expected this to gain any traction and I am so grateful for people enjoying it x

My heart, my hips, my body, my love Trying to find a part of me that you didn't touch Gave you too much but it wasn't enough But I'll be all right, it's just a thousand cuts

One second.

“Just one second, Neteyammm!”, you whined, as he was trying to remove the blanket from your currently very comfortable and very warm body.

“It’s late, come on! Early bird catches the worm, isn’t that what you people say?”

“Nobody says that, I don’t know who told you this lie.”

“It was you!!” he says, and he’s laughing at your whinging while trying to remove the blanket. He’s not trying that hard, considering he would make an easy job out of the task if he used a tenth of his actual force, but he couldn’t bear the thought of bringing you any unnecessary distress. You had enough of that in your life, and he wanted to be a source of comfort for you, a shelter in the storm.

You scooted on one side of the bed close to the edge, and left a big gap which you brought to his attention by patting it aggressively.

“Press the button on the audio player and lay with me, please? I don’t feel like going out today.”

He couldn’t say no to you, he realises. He would follow you anywhere in this world, do anything you asked of him, regardless how stupid or reckless or crazy it was. He would always follow you, for the rest of time, and he was happy about it.

A song he liked came on, one that he’s heard you play before and there was no doubt in his mind that he liked it better when you sang it. He circled the bed and lay in it, next to you, in the dark.

“Thank you, light of my life.” You attached yourself to him, arms sprawled across his bare chest and legs carelessly placed on top of abdomen and hips, and sighed contently. He could feel your warm breaths on his neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He turned his head to you and placed a small kiss on top of your head and listened to the soft tune filling up the room.

“Oh, goddamn, my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Taking mine, but it's been promised to another

Oh, I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows and now I'm covered in you”

“You’re annoying.”

“I know I am, but you love me anyway.”

I do, Neteyam thought. I really do…

Things happen in life sometimes, and it makes you lose your ability to react. There was no reaction, definitely no overreaction. You stared at the vial of blood that shattered all across the floor, all across you and your mind was blank. Almost robotically, you made your way to one of the benches and got some paper rolls and the IMS laying next to it. You carefully cleaned all of it, and spit whatever made its way to your mouth to the floor to be removed. When you were sure everything was gone, you went to the sink and removed your goggles and gloves, and scrubbed yourself clean. You felt yourself moving, picking up a bucket of water with some floor cleaner, felt yourself adding disinfectant to it and moping thoroughly, but it was like an out-of-body experience. Like you were merely a puppet executing orders from above. Cleaning everything took about an hour, after which you made your way back to your room slowly, deliberately.

You didn’t sleep. You spent the whole night looking over everything you and the rest of the scientists have ever found out about this virus. You didn’t know its way of transmission. Maybe you had nothing to worry about, maybe it’s not by blood. You knew it’s not by air, you’ve seen plenty of people infected whose family was fine. So even if you do get infected, the people at the lab should be fine. Your friends would be fine. He would be fine.

Next, incubation period. That’s a tough one, in-vitro studies show it takes the virus anywhere from 2 to 12 months to show symptoms. You don’t know how that changes in humans. You don’t know any of this shit for humans. You could be perfectly fine, you could die within the month. The thought made your blood run cold.

You sat in your chair for the remainder of the night. Unmoving, unthinking.

That’s how Norm found you.

“Hey, Ace. What are you doing up?”

You scrambled for a lie.

“Just woke up, actually. Listen, if you are going to check on the boy, can you please bring my supplies to the tent and tell the Sullys I won’t be in today? I was too exhausted to run any experiments yesterday so I will do it today.”

“Oh… is everything alright? You haven’t missed a day in the village since you got your Avatar.”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, just worried about the boy and want to get to the bottom of this sooner rather than later, if possible.”

“Alright, I can bring you back some of his blood to run as well?”

“NO!”

Norm’s eyes widened in shock at your response and you knew you fucked up, you knew you slipped up. Calm yourself…

“It’s just not necessary at the moment since I have other blood and I don’t want to overwhelm him, if it’s not imperative. I will retrieve some blood when I check on him tomorrow.”

Norm looked at you with a concerned look, but eventually relented.

“Ok, whatever you think, Ace.”

“Thanks, Norm.”

“Let me know what you find tonight. I’ll tell Jake, but they might not be happy with you.”

“You can explain it’s an emergency, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

You struggled to get up and get your legs to not want to collapse beneath you. Eventually, you made your way to the sink and washed, you scrubbed your face as hard as you could without removing a layer of skin, and your teeth until you felt the familiar taste of metal coat your teeth. You hoped that maybe you tried hard enough, the last 6 hours can just be erased from your life, from world. You hoped it could undo the damage that would plague you for the rest of your most likely very short life.

Luckily, most scientists seemed to be out. Claire was teaching Na’vi kids English at Grace’s old school that Jake deemed fit to be reopened, Max left with Norm to check on the situation of the village, and most of the Avatars would be out on missions or training with Jake. You made your way to the quiet halls to one of the labs, and prepared for your long day ahead. This will be hard to do by yourself, but not impossible.

First step, respiratory fluids. You remove a sterile cotton swab and swab your pharynx as thoroughly as possible and place it in a tube. That’s easy enough. Next comes the blood. Finding a vein has always been hard for people to do on you, and it’s not gotten any easier in time, so after poking yourself a few times in the wrong place, you manage to get enough blood to run experiments on.

Hours of sample preparation, incubation, pipetting and running went by at an excruciatingly slow pace, like the universe was revelling in making every second of torture last forever. You thanked your lucky stars of the progress made in lab equipment and that you didn’t have to spent days on one PCR, like your mum was saying it had to be done back on Earth about a century ago. Regardless, it took most of the day for you to do everything you needed, check for all the proteins and markers you knew were deregulated with this virus, and by the early hours of night, you were done.

Aș people were starting to return to the hub as another day was nearing its end, you retreated back to your bedroom to work on the data analysis. You did not want to see anyone, did not want to speak to anyone until you knew at least some things. The less you talked, the less lies that had to come out of your mouth, and that seemed ideal to you.

Inputting the data and having to wait on some software to give you your literal death sentence felt so tragic is was almost comical, and you had to stop and ask yourself if you were some serial killer in a past life to warrant all the pain and misery life seemed adamant to throw at you. For the first time in so long you couldn’t even remember, things were going… well. You were strong, and doing well, and lived outside of the walls of this lab. You had a chance at something more, you had a chance at maybe one day healing and working through your issues and maybe even coming out the other side a better, healthier version of yourself. You had a chance at love.

And there it was… positive. One second.

THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF STAGE I: DENIAL

Your blood became poison in the span of half a day, but at least you now knew it wasn’t transmitted through air. That means no one else would have to suffer because of you. The thought made you weirdly calm, and you realised you didn’t care about your own health all along. No, you weren’t sad anymore, just relieved. A wide smile appeared on your face at the results, and you jumped out of the chair with enthusiasm at the great news. Everybody would be ok. Norm, Max, they would all be ok. You will handle all the virus experiments and blood samples from now on. They wouldn’t have reason to doubt you or question you, not when it made most sense anyway, since you were always in the village and knew the protocols and techniques the best, anyway. You would go on the same way as you had, and no one had to know or suffer because of your mistakes.

With those thoughts still floating in your mind and a Xanax on your tongue, you made your way to the comfortable bed and crashed without a dream in sight.

You were up before dawn again, and ready to get started on your day at the village. You were looking forward to gun training with Jake, and finally putting those years of practice to good use. You found Norm deep in thought in the link room, and he didn’t register you walking in until you patted his shoulder and he jumped out of his skin.

“Jesus, Ace. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I noticed. Why so jumpy, Norm?”

He gave you the quickest look known to man then quickly busied himself with literally anything else. “No reason, just focused on the task at hand.”

“…turning on the linkpod?”

“No one likes a smartass, you know?”

“So how was the village yesterday? How is the boy?”

“He’s alright, still not great, but his vitals are stable for now.” You noticed he did not answer your question about the village, and found slight panic rising in your chest.

“Is everything okay? Did something happen in the village?”

“No, Ace, everything’s fine. You don’t have to worry about everything, you know. How did the experiments go yesterday?”

“The virus is not airborne, it seems to be transmitted by blood, so we need to be very careful handling samples.”

“We always are. But good work, good to have some concrete evidence finally. I’ll look over your analysis soon.”

“You know, I’m not quite done with it, so maybe wait and we can look over it together?”

“Sure, that makes sense.”

You didn’t buy Norm’s pathetic attempts at deflecting the subject of the village, but you did not want to fight him so early in the day, so you guess you had to find out what happened for yourself. You woke up in your Avatar body soon enough, and could already tell the village was already awake and buzzing with the perspective of a new day. The guitar sitting on the ground next to your sleeping mat caught your eye, and you smiled softly at the memory which now seems a life away. Your fingers lingered on the chords and you strummed it gently a few times, enjoying the sounds that seemed to settle in your heart. Adjusting your braids in the small mirror you brought with you a few weeks ago, you made your way out of your tent and straight into Neteyam’s chest with a loud thud.

“What the fuck?” You say, indignantly and then look up to find Neteyam watching you with an unreadable expression adorning his beautiful face.

“Hi.” He says, and tries to muster a small smile.

“Hi…? Is there any particular reason you have decided to attack me first thing in the morning?”

“I was just coming to get you, I heard the guitar playing. I didn’t think you would be running straight into me. Are you ready? We can spend the morning tracking a herd of Talioang that the hunter party spotted a few clicks south of the village. It will be good practice for you.”

“…alright? Can I get some food first? I’m famished.”

Neteyam shifted uncomfortably in front of you and looked… nervous, you realised. What the hell was going on with everyone?

“I have food that Ma packed for us, we can eat in the forest? I’d really rather get a move on as soon as possible, this will most likely take most of today, anyway.”

“Is there a particular reason you seem so eager for me to leave? You and Norm have both been acting weird today, and you are both terrible liars.”

Neteyam gave you a hard look. “Let’s go, Y/N. Unlike what you like to think, you don’t need to know everything, and not everything concerns you. Let’s go, now.” Nothing’s changed, you realised bitterly. Last night was just a fluke and you hated yourself in that moment for letting your guard down.

“You can be a real dick sometimes, Neteyam.” You said and took off without looking at him.

You ran for about 5 clicks without checking behind you, knowing full well he was following you, your hearing being one of the many senses that heightened in this body. You stopped suddenly at the sight of a huge footprint, one you could identify as the Sturmbeest, or a Talioang, like it was known to the Na’vi. Soon enough, you saw the ground littered with them, and began carefully tracking the beasts.

“Alright. How far would you say they are and which direction?” Neteyam asked, approaching you slowly. He was back to teaching mode, and you tried your best to learn, instead of recoiling and telling him to go to hell, which is what you really wanted to do.

You touched the ground and felt it with your fingers, trying to assess the moisture level and deepness of the mark. You thought about for a while.

“I’d say they’re quite fresh. Maybe this morning? Taloioang move slowly, about 1 click every hour or two, so I’d say we’ll find them about 2 clicks east?”

He didn’t even have to touch the ground to be able to assess it. He was impressive.

“Good. Let’s go. We shouldn’t run, they have good hearing and the wind is blowing east, which means they’ll be able to smell us if we’re not careful. We will take a roundabout way and approach them from the south.”

You both made your way through the forest and it was your turn to follow him, although you stayed close behind and tried to look around you and pick up on clues, tiny sounds and movements, trying to learn, trying to see. “Eyes on the tracks, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, but did as you were told. Eventually, Neteyam let you deem the appropriate time to stray from the tracks and move south to avoid being spotted. Soon enough, you saw the herd of prodigious beings, bathing in a shallow lake. You made your way slowly, sneaking on the ground, with Neteyam close to you, and you felt his arms grazing your sides every inch of the way.

The herd was protecting the calves, 5 in total, playing and splashing in the clear water. You watched in amazement, just enjoying the view of these seemingly ferocious beasts that in the moment, felt more like a family watching their children play at the local pool. You couldn’t believe the beauty and mild predisposition, the complex nature of these animals whose equivalents were long gone on Earth, long decimated by humans and their needless desire for wealth and acquisition, for mindless cruelty. You felt your stomach drop at the realisation that soon, this could be Pandora, if you didn’t fight will all your being in the upcoming war.

You felt a sudden gentle pressure on your lower back, a pressure you quickly identified as Neteyam’s hand and you shuddered at the touch. He neared his mouth to your ears, and you felt his warm breath tickling your neck, a sudden warmth pooling in your lower abdomen.

“You’re not allowed to kill anything yet, but I want you to show me how you would go about it. Show me your bow work, how would you aim from this position.”

You slowly removed your bow from from your person and sat up, in a now crouched stance, and loaded the arrow, doing your best to accommodate for the uncomfortable position you were in and the tight space you were sharing with another person. You held your breath, engaged your core, and aimed as if you were going to release your arrow on the target about 300m away. Neteyam’s large hand touched your upper thigh, by your left hip and squeezed gently. Your arm dropped suddenly and snapped your head in his direction. He didn’t react to your sudden snap, instead talking lowly, so as to not give your location away. “Your leg is not in a position by which you can maximise release. You will have more power in the shot if you place this knee on the ground and lean into it.”

You wanted to take that hand and either break it or redirect it on other parts of your body that felt like they would explode if they didn’t feel him, have his touch provide the relief that was desperately yearned for, needed. You wanted to scream at him or make him coax the screams out of you like a war-cry, wild and desperate. You wanted to kill him, you wanted him to kill you, slowly and painfully, taking his time on your body until you were falling apart at the seams around him. You hated him, you loved him. You hated him.

You gave him a hard look, an angry look directed at your thigh, and he removed his hand from you. You wondered if he knew, knew what he was doing, wondered if he felt the same way, if he too was struggling to catch his breath at the torture of knowing he can’t have you, claim you, right now, right in this second, right here. You hoped he did, hope it ate him alive, the yearning and the desire. Because that’s what it was doing to you, what he was doing to you. You turned your attention back to the herd and adjusted your position based on his advice. He was right, you could tell right away, as you felt a lot more power when aiming the arrow this time.

“Much better. We can go now, we will give the location to the hunting party and the will be able to secure us dinner for a couple of weeks from the back of a couple of Ikrans.”

You made your way out of their surroundings, and slowly started walking back to the village. After about half an hour, he stopped on a rock and removed the food he was carrying in a pouch. You didn’t join him, preferring to keep your distance and thus a clear mind, not being able to afford being weak around him anymore.

“I thought you were famished.” He says, with a slight smile. You shook your head and turned around, taking in the views of the forest, distracting yourself with the flowers reaching out their neon green tendrils towards you. You kneeled next to one, and touched them gently, enjoying the way they cupped around your hand and tugged, like they were urging you to come closer so they can spill their long-forgotten dreams to you. You heard him sigh loudly.

“Sorry for being a dick. Just had a fight with mum and dad, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have, and I am sorry. Come eat, please? I don’t want you passing out on me, you’re not as easy to carry as you used to be when you were human.”

You remained on your knees still, focused on only the plants and your gentle tug-of-war. You knew how much pressure Neteyam was under, has been for pretty much his entire life. A prodigy created… or made, no one could really know for sure, he began training when most babies learn to walk, and speak, and play. He has never had a childhood the way Lo’ak, or Kiri, or Tuk, or pretty much any other Na’vi children did, mostly fleeting moments of bliss in between a lot more moments of stress and struggle. He never complained, though. Not out loud, not to anyone else but you, once he realised you were a safe haven from the storm. You didn’t pass judgement, or make him feel bad for sharing his feelings, and he felt like he could tell you all the hardest truths his heart has always craved to speak out loud. You have always wanted to protect him from the world, a world that demanded so much of him, that asked for a sacrifice of which it was undeserving. Being Olo’yektan, leading the people, being the one person everyone relied on was a great honour, a great achievement - one you didn’t think he wanted, but was never given the chance to decline.

“What happened?”

You walked slowly towards the rock he was laying on, and sat at its foot, crossing your legs on the slightly damp grass. You grabbed a piece of jerky from the pile of food and slowly chewed through it, humming in appreciation at the smoky taste and rich flavour of the meat.

Neteyam grimaced and didn’t look at you, choosing to focus instead of his arm guards, picking at something that was clearly not there. “More sacrifices I need to make in the name of the future, of the people.”

“I see you still haven’t learnt to say no, even after all this time apart.”

Neteyam’s hand froze in midair, his eyes widening slightly - it was the first time you brought up the year apart. He braced himself for what he thought was the beginning of the end, of you finally demanding answers he didn’t think would ever satisfy you, but no other words left your lips.

“I can’t say no. I owe my parents everything I have, everything I am. This village, this life, is all I know. My dad gave up on everything he knew to stand up for our people, to make sure we’d get a future worth living, a family worth saving, a world still worth fighting for. He became Olo’yektan despite all that stood against him because he loved my mum, loved us, even then, even before we were born. My grandpa died defending this village, watching home tree get decimated in front of his eyes, with only the people’s safety on his mind and tongue. I see that bow that my mum cherishes like a gift from Eywa herself and I want to be worthy of it, someday. And if it means giving up some things, maybe that’s just how it’s meant to be.”

“Maybe whatever you’re giving up is making room for something ever better, Neteyam. Sometimes we want something so bad, we can’t see the forest for the trees.”

He looks at you confused for a second.

“That’s a saying. What I’m trying to say is maybe you are over focused on something you want right now, that you think is the best thing for you, but maybe you just are not focusing on the bigger picture. Maybe in the future, whatever you’re giving up now will make room for something that was much better for you all along.”

Disappointment filled his chest at your words. Neteyam looked at you with deep sadness marking his features, and he could see you were trying to think of things to say that could make him feel better. In all honesty, he wanted - needed - you to tell him to be selfish, and trust his gut, and follow what he knew was right in his heart, but he also knew that being selfish is not a trait that came naturally to you. You have always respected the deep bond Neteyam had to his family and his people and you always used to tell him how proud of him you were for how strong he was, for the lengths he was willing to go to to protect and nurture those bonds.

You felt an overwhelming sense of grief at the realisation that you will never get to see him become Olo’yektan, see him become the man everybody knew he was. He would never be yours, and although that painful conclusion had settled in your soul and had time to scar in all the time you knew him, a new wound, deeper, bloodier, deadlier, tore your heart apart at the thought you would not even be able to watch from afar. You would have been satisfied with scraps, just watching him rule, and be, and love someone else and imagining it was you. You never thought you’d get more than that anyway, never had any delusions for more. The scraps would have been enough, and now even those were brutally taken from you, like everything else in this life.

You needed to leave, now.

“Should we head back? It’s getting late.”

You walked back in deep, uncomfortable silence. Eclipse made the nature shine and glimmer with colours your sadness dulled to muted tones. There was light coming from the village and you realise how badly you wanted to be alone, in your tent and read, or watch a movie or a show, and ignore this world for a little while while you licked your newly-opened wounds. Tonight was a communal dinner around the big bonfire in the centre of the village, and you felt grateful your presence would not be missed in such a crowd. You’ve come to love these dinners, another one of the many ways the tribe connected to the village and to each other, but tonight you couldn’t entertain even the thought long enough to count.

“Can you please tell your family I am sorry, but I will probably head to bed early. I’ll be early for breakfast tomorrow, I promise.”

“I can do that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nodded absentmindedly and closed the flap of the tent shut.

Neteyam watched as you left him, still reeling from your conversation. Much like you, he just wished to hide in his family’s tent and pretend for a night things are different, that they are better. Actually, if we are talking about wishes, he wishes he could be in your tent. In all honestly, dealing with you on a day to day basis, seeing you, your body, touching it more and longer than he knew he reasonably had to, was making him think thoughts he knew he had no business thinking. In his wildest dreams, he’d be in your tent and making your eyes roll back in the way that drove him crazy. In his wildest dreams, he’d be coaxing sounds out of you that only he would ever hear. In his wildest dreams, your hands all over him would heal him and break him at the same time. He was desperately in need of some relief, and he loathed all decisions in his life that lead to you not being able to be the one to provide it for him.

He made his way to the bonfire, and greeted all of the Na’vi that respectfully bowed their heads at his arrival. He saw his family at the centre of the crowd, where they normally sat, and joined them silently. They all gave him uneasy looks - all but one. Lo’ak was blatantly glaring at the older Sully, a look of disappointment and disgust marring his normally kind face that reminded Neteyam so much of their dad.

“Did you tell her?”

Kiri elbowed Lo’ak in the abdomen, but he didn’t flinch. He did not even bother to acknowledge Kiri, or the low hiss escaping their mum’s lips - his eyes were still boring into Neteyam, unwavering.

“No.” Neteyam’s expression darkened and in a split second, he became the warrior his dad moulded him into. “And you will not, either, Lo’ak. Do you understand me?” Lo’ak had to look up to look at his brother who was now dangerously towering over him.

“Oh, the mighty warrior giving out orders, what else is new?”

“Lo’ak, that’s enough.” Neteyam heard Jake intervene, and he eventually had to physically put his body in between his two sons, who still refused to look away from each other.

“Fnawe’tu (coward).”

Neteyam watched his brother turn his back on his family and walk away from the feast, and although he wouldn’t admit it to himself, he knew deep down that Lo’ak was right.

You were almost robotically flipping through the directory of movies and tv shows on the laptop that you had with you in the village, not quite ready to go back to the lab and have to deal with the consequences of your newly acquired “condition”. You had all night to do experiments, and lie to yourself that you were fine until you eventually succumbed to a Xanax-induced blackout. You wanted to be in this body just a little while longer, because, in this body, it was easy to forget the realities of your actual life.

You saw a five-fingered hand emerge from the entrance to your tent, and you laughed incredulously at the clown you loved, who seemed to have a knack for improving your dour mood.

“I am here to bother you.” You got up and started making your way towards the entrance of your tent.

“Shouldn’t you be at dinner?” You say, laughing and pulling Lo’ak by the hand, so he stumbles unattractively into you.

You wrap your arms around him and hug him gently. “Skxawng.”

“I should, but I am here instead. We haven’t had movie night in so long.” He lay on your sleep mat and you hissed for him to move over. “You’re getting way too comfortable hissing at people.”

“Not people, Lo’ak, you!” You smiled saying that, knowing you were quoting Kiri, and he groaned exasperatedly.

A few more weeks passed, and you felt the discrepancy between your bodies become more pronounced than it had ever been. It turns out, the incubation period of a Na’vi virus in a human is not long at all, and roughly around last week, you began displaying symptoms. You were taking every drug under the sun to try to soften them, but you had seen one too many good Na’vi people die due to this to know what was lurking underneath the comfortable cushion of drug-induced health. Despite all that, you felt on top of the world in your avatar. You were continuously improving, and, with a little bit of luck, will be completing your first kill soon - the first stepping stone to becoming Taronyu, hunter. If you do that successfully, you will be taking your Iknimaya with other Na’vi apprentices, and finally get your own Ikran. You were buzzing at the thought, and the image of you flying in the sky was enough to push any other worries out of your mind.

After that weird day that ended with Lo’ak in your tent watching Friends together and teaching him the chords to a song you both loved, things went back to normal, sort of. You couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that the Sullys were hiding something from you. They exchanged looks, and avoided certain subjects, and you were starting to be worried they guessed you were ill, and were tiptoeing around the subject so as to not upset you. That was a good theory, although it could not explain the heavy tension between Neteyam and Lo’ak that also started that night.

You saw them bicker and fight your whole life: two opposing personalities, both of whom had misunderstandings about the other. Neteyam could never understand Lo’ak, understand that, despite being the chieftain’s son and the grandson of the Tsahik and former Olo’yektan, people still looked at him like he was not quite full Na’vi. His eyebrows and five fingers made his appearance uncanny enough to always attract whispers and looks, and despite Lo’ak’s apparent devil-may-care attitude, he cared. Neteyam could also not understand anyone who wished to live freely and discover themselves, make decisions and choices that would lead to a happy, fulfilled life, rather than a proud and accomplished one. Finally, Neteyam did not understand that skill and tenacity doesn’t come easy to everybody, and the weight of living in his shadow was bearing heavily on his baby brother’s back.

On the other hand, Lo’ak never tried to understand the burden Neteyam had to carry, because, in his desire to not appear weak, he took it in strides and never complained. Lo’ak never fully understood the downfalls of what being “the perfect son” brings: no freedom, no childhood, no time, no fun, no choice. He only ever focused on the positives: praise from his family and clan, skill and composure, the title of future Leader of the Omatikaya. He will also never be able to understand the depths of Neteyam’s love for him, who, despite all their differences, would be willing to sacrifice everything, even his own life, to make sure his baby brother would never having to experience these burdens.

This tension felt like more. More than you’ve ever seen, not mended in time, they were always glowering at each other and only speaking to each other if prompted or forced by their increasingly frustrated family. You tried to talk to both of them individually and ask, but you were promptly sent on your way each time. You could tell Lo’ak was itching to spit it out, but every time he got close, he flashed you a look of hurt and fear, and moved on.

Eventually, you stopped worrying about it. It will come out in time, and you had better things to worry about. Your training became brutal after that day tracking Sturmbeests. Neteyam would come to your tent before dawn, sometimes having to wait for you while you woke up in your Avatar body, and you were always gone past eclipse. You were tracking, joining hunting parties to learn, working on shooting arrows while on Pa’li or in nearly impossible positions (he made you shoot targets hanging upside down from the branches of trees, seriously) and working on guns and practicing with Jake and his soldiers. Jake made you his second-in-command during these sessions, and you enjoyed having the roles reversed and having to watch Neteyam squirm every time you touched his arm, or waist, or thighs, in order to adjust his shooting form. You also taught Lo’ak, sometimes late in the nights, where he would sneak into your tent and ask you questions about guns that he hoped would bring him in his father’s good graces for once in his life. You loved teaching them, and you felt powerful with all the eyes on you, trying to absorb every piece of information coming out of your mouth.

“In your hands, you are holding a sub machine-gun.” You said and you made your way through the 10 soldiers in your midst. “It can fire up 600 rounds per minute. You have a button on the side of the weapon, as you can see right there”, you stopped and show everyone on your own weapon, “that allows you to choose between semi automatic and fully automatic. What’s the difference, Lo’ak?”

“A semi-automatic guns fires one shot when you pull the trigger, a fully automatic gun fires continuously until you release the trigger.”

“Tsantu (good guy)!” you said with an intimate smile. Lo’ak was making amazing progress, and you were proud to be even a small reason why.

Neteyam gave Lo’ak a hard look as he answered your question. He was angry with his brother because of his recent attitude, he thought. That’s the reason. Not at all because you were smiling at him with that dazzling smile that used to be reserved for him years ago, definitely not because he knew Lo’ak was sneaking in your tent at night and doing Eywa-knows-what, a fact which kept Neteyam up nights with images he would do everything in his power to be able to erase from his brain. Neteyam was exhausted. He hasn’t slept since this thing started, not until Lo’ak returned to his tent after his meetings with you, and he was able to look at him in the dim light of the night and gauge for himself if his brother was flushed, or panting, or extra happy for one reason or another. Despite never seeing anything that he could deem suspicious, the images of his baby brother taking for himself what was his, what should be his, haunted him and made him sick to his stomach.

Coward. Lo’ak words rang in his ears incessantly throughout each day, never being able to fully block them out.

Neteyam saw you move from Lo’ak and towards him, and tried to remember what they were talking about. Sub-machine guns, right.

“Now, SMGs are best used in tighter quarters or close to mid-range. The spread will make it inefficient for long-range. If you find yourself on the back of your Ikran shooting at a plane or Valkyrie, make sure you close the gap between you or use your bow, instead.”

“An SMG will have a lot of recoil, making it harder to shoot accurately, but there are a few tips you can use to make to improve your aim and accuracy.”

“First. Always fire in short bursts, if you are firing on automatic mode. A few shots at a time will make sure the kick is not unmanageable. Two, account for the kick and adjust your aim to compensate. Think of shooting an arrow and how you always take the wind, its direction, speed and power in consideration before you actually release. It’s a similar principle. The recoil will make the gun kick upwards, so always aim slightly lower than what you want to hit. Three, don’t aim for the head. Leave that for a bow or an assault/sniper rifle with a scope. Aim for the abdomen and chest, since that is a wider target and more likely to hit. Everyone on the same page?”

Neteyam was forever in awe of you, but it was particularly impressive watching you now. You were confident and powerful and knowledgeable. Neteyam felt bad admitting it, but you were a much better teacher than their dad ever was. Toruk Makto had many incredible qualities, but his patience was definitely not amongst them, and his lessons tend to get a bit derailed by his inability to understand that Na’vi are not predisposed to guns or understanding Sky People technology. You were calm, and kind, and funny, and you made it easy for everyone to follow your instructions. In the span on a few weeks, all of the Na’vi and Avatar soldiers training for the upcoming war became better at pretty much every aspect that they were training in, and I think everyone felt just a bit more comfortable about the conflict that was soon to befall them, with you by their side.

After the lesson was complete, you left alongside Lo’ak, sparing one last look in Neteyam’s direction. He was already watching you, and you saw a fleeting angry look that was quickly replaced with an expressionless mask. He was getting good at that, you thought.

“Do you want to do anything? If I have to listen to Kiri talk about all the new types of flowers and plants and shit she keeps finding in the woods, I will lose my mind.”

“Be nice.”

Kiri has been particularly hyperfixated on her newfound discoveries recently, and you tried your best to pay attention to every time she was describing them, in detail, but in reality you were always so exhausted by the time dinner came around that you were only assimilating about a tenth of all the words coming out of her mouth. You felt bad, and made a mental note to dedicate a couple of days to your friend that you saw less and less each week.

“Your Iknimaya is getting closer and closer each day, how do you feel?”

“Honestly I haven’t thought about it that much, just taking it one day at a time.”

“I think you should start thinking about it, cause it’s going to happen. You’ve managed to blow everyone’s expectations out of the water. It barely been two months since you got your avatar body, not even my dad did this so fast. You were made for this, Angel.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You were grateful for Lo’ak’s faith in you, but with everything happening in your human body, it felt pointless looking towards the future.

“You will be one of us, soon. I’ve had dreams about this my whole life, you know? It’s like I manifested your Avatar, Norm should be thanking me.”

“Lo’ak…”

You didn’t like the turn this conversation took, and felt an uncomfortable twinge settle in your chest at his words.

“There are perks that come with being an Omatikaya, you know? You can make your bow out of the wood of the Home Tree… and you can choose a mate.”

Fuck.

Neteyam was making his way back to the village with the rest of the soldiers, casually chatting to one of the Avatars returning with them. He wasn’t paying attention to the way until his body knocked into one of the Na’vi walking in front of him. Utsou was staring intently at a scene unfolding in front of him, a scene that turned Neteyam’s blood to shards of glass, leaving cuts and bruises along his entire body. It was you, smiling, running your hand up and down Lo’ak’s arm whilst his hand was cupping your face and caressing your cheek. It was such an intimate interaction, it felt wrong to everyone there to even be able to witness it, and Neteyam felt himself becoming nauseous. With the image now seared into his memory and rage turning his breaths to pants, he turned around and left everything - everyone - behind.

Tag list: @nuhteyam @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @mashiromochi @puffb4ll @sassy-persona @simp4ff @mommyneytiri @hayhay9091

#neteyam #neteyam x human!reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfic #neteyam reader #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar twow #avatar fanfic #neteyam x avatar!reader #neteyam sully fanfiction #neteyam angst #awow #awow neteyam #loak reader #avatar loak

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mushroom-snake-coding · 11 days

Text

Does anyone ever wonder if Sophie had a friend in the human world? It never mentions anyone in the books… but I wrote something where she would meet a human friend.

The Human Friend: First Day At School

Part 1

(So, I got an idea and wanted to write something about KOTLC that is a bit like fan fiction (I think that’s the word I am supposed to use). It’s kind of stupid, but I wanted to write something instead of endlessly scrolling, to get some creative dopamine or whatever.

PLEASE NOTE: I am not the best at writing and I sometimes have trouble keeping flow and stuff. Also, I may not be the most accurate because the events of which this takes place is before I was born or when I was a toddler, so I don’t have first hand experiences. It probably won’t be perfect, but I just wanted to write something so keep scrolling if you are bored. Another thing, the new character’s name is my nickname on this site. It just made more sense to me because the new character will have a bunch of my characteristics and honestly is just me, just in KOTLC.)

It was “ugh” day at school. Even though she was the first day in, Sophie despised every second of it. Most of the students already hated her, giving her weird looks. Being the famous child prodigy, wasn’t all it was cut out to be. Even worse, though, was all the noisy thoughts she heard around her. The burden she felt since she was five, she could never escape.

Sophie’s first class was AP Environmental Science. Her counselor practically forced her into an advanced placement class, last year, because of her high grades and “brilliant mind.” But all this seemed to do was make her stand out more. She noticed the glances and whispers from the people around her, which was just fantastic.

Their teacher, Ms. Cobbler, was already planning something torturous… partner work. Usually, Sophie would avoid that and just do the task herself. However, when they everyone grouped into partners, Ms. Cobbler said the words that made her insides shrink.

“Anyone without a partner, please stand up.” Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to drown out the urge to pluck out her eyelashes (something she frequently did while nervous) and stood up, dying internally. Sophie felt her stomach squirm as she felt the stares around her.

Similarly, there was another girl at the front of the class, who was having the same sickening feeling. Though, her thoughts were a bit different. Instead of an internal voice saying Look at them all staring at you, like a freak, like Sophie’s, the girl’s mind immediately went to mental pictures of the rest of the students whispering and gossiping about anything that could be wrong with her: her clothes, her hair, her acne, her nose, and more insecurities.

“Great, that works out perfectly. You two, group together,” Ms. Cobbler’s voice rang out, bringing Sophie out of the girl’s thoughts. The girl brought her stuff over to the empty desk next to Sophie.

The girl looked of Indian descent: her warm medium-brown skin; her black wavy hair; her dark brown, almost black, eyes; and her long lashes giving it away. She seemed like a sophomore. The girl’s more personal features included slightly frizzy hair, chapped lips, little acne here and there, some headphones around her neck, and an Iron Man themed beaded bracelet.

“Now this will be your partner for the first quarter. It is crucial in science and discussion, that we learn to work together. Our first activity will be getting to know each other. Your first assignment will be an easy 100: get to know each other.”

The class erupted into conversation. The new louder thoughts gave Sophie a headache. Oddly, the girl seemed to also hate it. Her mind erupted in images of just putting her headphones over her ears and listening to some songs on her pink Mp3 player. Although, that followed with a mental image of the teacher yelling at her, so she decided against it.

“So… what’s your name?” the girl asked.

“I’m Sophie Foster.”

“Cool, cool, I’m Pri” the girl responded.

There was an awkward silence between them. Pri’s mind tried going to where she heard that name before. Eventually, her mind went to some conversation she overheard about an eleven-year old in high school. Sophie mentally prepared herself. This was usually the moment people loathe her, and Pri did…

Wow, she must be so lucky. Pri’s mind thought, in a bitter mental voice. But then her mind then flooded with her own experiences. She got higher grades, but she could never really socialize. And Sophie is with high-schoolers as an eleven-year old. Damn, that must be hard.

Pri’s earlier thoughts of her insecurities faded. Why would an eleven-year old talk badly about her to anyone? Sophie didn’t really know how to feel about that. It is annoying that she is treated differently because of her age, but this girl seems more comfortable because of it. That’s a first.

Suddenly Pri interrupts the silence between them.

“So, what is like to be an eleven year old in high school?”

Sophie never really got this question before, mainly since no one talks to her, but she immediately assumed Pri was just making small talk, so she used the default.

“It’s good.”

But Pri pressed on, actually curious.

“Are you sure? I was placed in a higher math last year, and if anyone found out I was a freshman, they acted weird. I’d imagine that’s like six times the amount for you.”

Sophie never knew of someone who actually cared about stuff like that. It felt like something clicked, and almost instantly, Sophie told Pri all about how skipping grades really impacted her.

“Not really, it was tough. People always felt jealous of me. And me being younger, there’s like a separation between me and the other students. It’s like they think I’m a baby or something.”

Pri’s thoughts flashed to something like Finally, someone gets it. She remembers how she tried socializing with people her age, even, and they always seemed to treat her condescendingly.

Pri blurts out, “And do all people think you’re so lucky and say you’re so smart, but they treat you the exact opposite?”

“EXACTLY!!!”

Sophie didn’t know how much more spot on Pri could get. Both of them talk about their experiences of how it felt like being outcasted. Pri rambles on about how she feels she can’t fit it with anyone even though she tries her best. Sophie continues and goes on a rant of how stupid some social rules people follow are. Finally, they reach the last five minutes of class. Pri checks the time.

“We’re about to leave. What class do you have next?” she asks.

“PE,” Sophie replied.

“Ah, I have Visual Art 2.” Pri pauses. “So, do you, have anyone to sit with, at lunch?”

“No, not really.” Sophie was embarrassed to admit.

“Well, meet me in the cafeteria, then. You can be with me, if you want.” Pri smiled.

This was a pleasant surprise. Sophie was thrilled and Pri’s thoughts were genuine.

“Yes! Sure. I will.”

———————————————————————

I hope you liked that. Being frankly honest, Pri in this is exactly like me irl. The details were spot on, and so was the conversation. (I also do have a small pink Mp3 player and headphones.) I always related to Sophie in a way, feeling outcasted like this and the overwhelming thoughts was really similar to the overwhelming sounds. I would have loved to befriend her if she were real and in my school.

I might write more because my original plan was to have a few scenes planned out, which are currently fun lil daydreams in my head. But I am studying for some tests rn, and this was mainly the result of a random creative spark. But if I write more, these will be the scenes:

Lunch in the Library (probably Sophie’s pov)

Sleepover: Breaking into on the Nosy Neighbor’s House (Pri’s Pov)

OMG Who is Mr. Teal Eyes? Wait… HOW TF DID THEY DISAPPEAR LIKE THAT (Pri’s pov)

Also again, reminder, THIS IS NOT THE BEST. I KNOW IT. I JUST WANTED TO SHARE MY DAYDREAMS WITH YOU GUYS.

And this is based on the Keeper of the Lost Cities Series by Shannon Messenger if you didn’t already know.

Have a lovely day!!! :)

#kotlc sophie #kotlc #sophie foster #fanfic #the human friend

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thekingofwinterblog · 5 months

Text

Hell If I Care! - Soul Eater's Original Message

One of the way i find both of the endings of Soul Eater facinating, is how they overlap in so many ways.

This is not surprising, given the fact that Ōkubo Atsushi had his hand in both of them, and so he effectively got to do a doo over when he himself had free reigns for the Manga, withouth having to worry about episode limits... Unfortunatly in many ways, He learned the wrong lessons from the mixed reaction the original anime ending got when first released.

Asura was innitially heavily critiqued by fans for how he was defeated, so Okubo made sure to mix his stupidly high powerlevel with pretty much being completely unflappable, when the entire point of his character was that for all his power, he was a massive coward.

Thus removing that genuine fear removed pretty much everything that made him stand out from other uber powerfull Shonen villains.

The lesson Okubo should have taken from this, was to make sure to emphasise the fact that just like Kid, Asura was a living embodiment of a very volatile force, and just like his brother could he brought to his knees with incorrect symmetry, Asura could and were in the end, defeated by his own opposite, bravery.

Instead we got the sealed moon. Yay.

There were a lot of bad lessons learned from the anime reception, and in many points the result was to rewrite the overall plans, rather than refining them now that he knew what did, and didnt work.

One of those things that was very obviously changed, that stuck out to me, is something Crona says at the end of the manga as justification for resorting to sealing Asura away, rather than fighting.

This is beat for beat the exact same thing Asura said at the end of the anime as he was going through his mental breakdown.

Ultimately, the Thing that turned Asura into the person he was, was the certainty that nothing was absolute in the world. There was no guarantees that he would be safe, and would remain safe. That madness would always exist, and with it, the knowledge that he would have to face it for the rest of his life.

That is what drove him to madness, and here at the end, He is screaming this line of thoughts to Maka.

Even if she defeats him, the madness of the world that made him wont go away, sooner or later there will rise another Kishin up to take his place, a successor(Any potential demon egg that is allowed to reach its full potential), a junior(kid falling to madness like Asura did), a newcomer(really anyone could do it with the right set of circumstances), or a hidden number 2(Asura doesnt have one, but the point here is that maka cannot for absolute certain refute that he might in this moment) or really whatever else will pop up to replace him.

That is the ultimate point of Soul Eater's villains.

There will always be darkness, always be madness, so long as humanity exists, something, somewhere, will always pop up as the next great evil.

In asura's case, that is specifically a new incarnation of the madness of fear, but it goes for anything really. If Soul Eater shows anything, its that evil didnt begin with asura, and it wont stop with him either.

So with that in mind, what is Maka's response?

Hell if I care!

This is the moment Soul Eater was building towards as it's climax, both the anime and manga. The culmination of the entire story, and it's themes is encapsulated in this moment.

Madness and Bravery are two sides of the same coin, but they are not opposites.

Fear and Bravery is.

The World is Terrifying, and anything can happen to you. You can die tomorrow, and you WILL die at some point. Everyone you know will die. Horrible, murderous people exists, and will be replaced by other, horrible, murderous people.

If you have a lover, they might break up with you tomorrow, or they might cheat on you. Your parents might break up. Your brother might turn out to be a deranged killer. you could be an orphan. Your Dad could be actively dying. Your mother might abandon you on the street. You might simply draw the genetic lottery and be doomed to subpar talent and always remain second rate in doing what you love. Dictators exists, and will continue to exist somewhere in the world. And there is nothing you can do about any of it.

This is truth. It is true for countless people around the world, and will remain so for as long as humanity exists.

It is fully logical to fear it.

Soul Eater's message is not to deny this truth, but instead say that it doesnt matter. Everything horrible can happen yes, but by that same token, EVERYTHING that makes life worth living is full of risks.

Loving someone means exposing your heart to betrayal, but it also means opening it up for warmth that can only be found in companionship, be that of a lover, a friend, family, or a even a pet.

only by taking risks, and falling on your face, will you ever be able to grow, while those who run away will never grow at all, and remain stagnant, or even atrophate.

Great things in life, only comes by being willing to take risks, take chances, and confront the fact that the world is terrifying head on.

The future is terrifying, but so what?

If you want to live a life worth living, you have to be willing to face the risks of life head on.

It's a great message, even if the anime could have handled it better. It's a shame though that the manga ultimately abandoned it.

#soul eater #maka albarn #asura #meta #episode 51 #chapter 112

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phxntomsdusk · 2 months

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Past life - Klepto!Wilbur x GN!Reader

note: it’s pre-death klepto!wilbur !! this is gonna def make someone sad so i apologize in advance- i can’t let my bursonas live in peace, they always gotta be traumatized. Also relationship between Wilbur and the reader could be platonic or romantic, whichever you want :)

summary: you finally figure out what had turned the poor boy into a soul snatcher.

warnings: hella angst, mentions of death, swearing, self hurting thoughts/actions, comfort at some parts, parents fighting, divorce, alcoholic father, details of death, you probably will cry if you love this character

tags: @ax-y10 , @joviepog , @pheliiaa , @idontreallyexistyet , @rqvii , @haunted-headset , @ivvees-blog , @average-vibe , @lillylvjy , @toastyliltoasts41 (ask to be added!)

word count: 3K

You never expected to get close to the very man who was meant to take your soul, but here you were, comforting him as he cried to you about everything that led up to his very passing. He never told you any of this before, let alone trusted you knowing any of it.

You had found out so much. About his sister, his parents, his death, his first love. It was so heartbreaking.

Him and Wilma barely got along. The two were polar opposites, with her having many friends and constantly at other people’s houses, and him only talking to one person and spending most time in his room. He had tried his best to get on her side, but they just never saw eye to eye.

His best friend was Ryan, also his first love. He always thought something was wrong with him for loving a boy, but couldn’t help it. He was beautiful, perfect, everything you would want in a partner.

His parents got divorced when he was young, his mother taking custody of Wilma while he got stuck with his dad. Him and his father had a rocky relationship, while his mom completely stopped visiting after so many weeks.

During the summer Wilbur always found himself sitting atop the hill behind his house, sitting under the old oak tree and reading books his mother had gifted him. He always loved dark themed stories, ones that left readers confused and disturbed. His sister never understood his liking for these books, always finding herself reading romance and cliche teen girl stories. She would sometimes join him under the tree, but their calm and peaceful moments never lasted long.

He could hear the crunching of branches behind him, glancing around the trunk to see Wilma approaching in her sundress. She awkwardly sat down next to him, leaning her head back against the tree and sighed. “They’re fighting again.” She mumbled quietly, moving her head against his shoulder. He quickly nodded and began to read his book aloud to her, making sure she could also follow along, he tilted the pages in her direction.

It was moments like these that made him grateful for his sister, a smile always stuck on his face as she embraced him, even if it was just for a source of comfort.

“I loved her for her silence. Or maybe I just understood it.” He read the words out loud, before being interrupted by Wilma. “Do you ever feel that way?” She raised a brow, sitting up straight and brought her knees up to her chest. “Feel like what?” He placed his bookmark on the page, putting the book down in his lap. “Silent.. just wanting to be quiet. Maybe it’ll fix whatever the hell is wrong with them.” She gestured towards the house, where you could see two arguing and yelling figures in the kitchen window, to which she frowned.

“I get what you mean. Don’t worry, they’ll stop.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, watching as she hesitantly nodded and sighed. “Hopefully. I honestly can’t wait for the day they divorce and send us off to Aunt Tiff’s.” She chuckled lightly, earning a laugh from Wilbur. “Doesn’t sound too bad, actually. Then we can visit the sea each morning and stare out at the horizon.” He smiled at the idea, to which she scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You and your bloody daydreams.” She laughed and nudged his arm, before their mother shouted for her to come back inside. “I’m, uh, gonna go. Bye, Wil.” She quickly stood up, dusting off her skirt and rushed down the small hill.

If only they had more time, Wilbur thought. More time to actually treat one another like a person. More time for him to finally feel loved by someone in that dreadful house.

He sighed and opened his book again, picking up where he had stopped with a sorrowful expression, trying to ignore the tears that welled up in his eyes the second she had walked away.

That following spring, just as Wilma predicted their parents filed for a divorce. But instead of being sent away to their aunt’s home, Wilbur was dragged away by their father and taken to a small shitty apartment downtown. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye to Wilma before he was on his way to a new home.

Of course he had her number, but he doubted she would even answer while with their mother. He simply stared out the window with a hurt expression, sniffling quietly but was told to shut up by his father.

Arriving at the apartment wasn’t any better. It had one bedroom, leaving him to sleep on the small futon placed in the living room that merged into the kitchen. His father didn’t seem to care and walked past him, heading into the bedroom with his bag and slammed the door shut.

“God damnit.” He groaned and grabbed the bag his dad packed for him off the ground, making his way to the futon and tossed it atop, before sitting down and frowned. He could feel each and every spring poking against his legs, causing him to quickly stand up and look for a blanket or pillow to lay down over it.

He knew his dad was a loser, but this was a new all time low. Leaving his only son with nothing but a small duffle bag with a few shirts and pants, no self care or anything. How would he manage to survive this?

“Wil! Get me a drink!” The shout from his dad made him internally cringe, clenching his jaw as he obeyed his words and walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, of course only filled with beer and water. He figured which one his dad wanted, grabbing the coldest one he could find before walking towards the bedroom.

He didn’t bother to question how his dad already had this place, stocked the fridge with only two types of drinks, and didn’t even bother to get proper furniture. He simply entered the room with a blank expression, putting the can on the bedside table before walking out, sighing quietly to himself.

“When will this shit get better?” He ran a hand over his face, before checking the time on his watch and saw he should at least try to sleep. Of course the futon was extremely uncomfortable, leaving him to use his bag as a pillow and he just slept in the clothes he wore all day.

As before he had mentioned Ryan, the very boy he had fallen in love with, the boy he hoped to confess to on this dreadful day. It was the first time in months that Wilbur had been back at his original home, mostly visiting his mom and Wilma, but when talk of Ryan coming over came up he couldn’t resist.

He was waiting at the hill, reading his book, but had himself facing the residence so he could see when his love would arrive. When the sudden sight of blonde hair and a red shirt appeared, he knew it had to be him.

“Ryan!” Wilbur shouted happily, rushing to stand up, leaving his book to sit wide open in the dirt. He rushed down the hill, stumbling slightly off the sidewalk and into the road, looking up to meet Ryan’s gaze. “Wow, Wilbur, be careful.” He chuckled lightly, glancing back and forth before he was about to cross.

But that’s when everything had changed.

Within only a few seconds a car horn could be heard, causing Wilbur’s gaze to divert to his right, seeing a white light nearing him. It was as if in the blink of an eye he was there, and then he was gone.

“Holy fuck! Wilbur!” Ryan quickly rushed over to him, holding up his head and placed a hand on the back of his neck, inspecting the wide gash he had just gained. The rushing footsteps of Wilma and his mother could be heard, a terrified shriek escaping his sister’s mouth as she knelt down next to him.

He could barely comprehend anything happening, he just felt so lightheaded and groggy, barely able to keep his eyes open as the taste of metal filled his mouth. He stared up at Ryan, tears filling his eyes as he weakly lifted a hand, only to be turned down and handed off to his mom, while he heard the tapping of a phone and soon the dialing of a call.

He didn’t understand what was happening. Was he dying? Was this really how his life was going to end? On the side of the road at 15 years old, just days before he was meant to turn 16. Just days before he could spend the day with his family again. Why did this have to happen to him?

Of course, that’s the last moment Wilbur remembered being alive. The next thing he knew he woke up in the hospital, his family crying around him as he stared in confusion, only to glance back and see his own lifeless body in the bed. A large gash across his neck, nearing his face.

The emotions he felt were difficult to explain, he was glad he didn’t have to deal with his father anymore, but seeing the pain he caused everyone hurt. Seeing his sister slowly spiral into a moment of depression and pain, his mother sobbing her eyes out to the point she couldn’t stand, and his father.. nowhere to be seen.

It was all so overwhelming, with him quickly leaving the hospital and rushed down the street. Though he didn’t notice the locket that somehow appeared around his neck, not until a sudden shadow seemed to be following him, reaching out for it and trying to drag him back to where his body lay.

All he could do was try his best to ignore this feeling, instead tearing the locket off himself and throwing it behind him. His biggest mistake ever.

He furrowed his brows as he slowly stopped in his tracks, watching as his surroundings only became darker and more grim, colder and more dull. “What the hell..” he mumbled under his breath, turning around and trying to walk, only to bump into something.

He didn’t even know what he was getting himself into, not until he felt the sudden paint returning to his neck, his surroundings becoming visible again, except there were so many more people. So many people he knew had passed in that town. He recognized an old shopkeeper who had lost his life during a fire, the burn marks still on his face and hands. He quickly walked over to the man, hoping he would have an answer.

“Mr. Williams?” He spoke in a quiet tone, watching the man turn to face him with a warm smile. “Wilbur? Is that you? My, you’ve gotten big.” His tone was welcoming, until he had taken notice of how young Wilbur was. “Aren't you quite young still? You shouldn’t be here.” He frowned and walked closer, taking note of the large gash on the side of Wilbur’s neck. “My, my. Such a shame.” Without another word he was gone, leaving Wil more confused than before.

Of course it didn’t stop here, how could it? He had become the Grim Reaper’s assistant after all.

It all started when he was simply walking past the hospital again, taking notice of a young boy outside the building, a locket around his neck as he stood there, always like he was waiting for someone.

“Hey, kid.” Wilbur approached him, raising a brow as he slightly bent down to meet his height. “Who are you waiting for?” His voice got quiet, watching the boy shrug and fiddle with the necklace around his neck. “I don’t know. I’m just here.” He pursed his lips, looking away from Wil.

He felt bad for the kid, he was dead and didn’t even know it. He quickly looked around the area, before crouching down and gestured towards the locket. “Let me see the locket.” He reached a hand out, watching as the boy hesitantly took it off and placed it in Wilbur’s hands. Engraved in the small emerald gem was an ‘H’. “What’s your name?” Wilbur looked back up at the kid, before standing up straight. “Henry.”

Before Wilbur could even speak again he was gone, causing him to state in confusion and disbelief. Where had the kid gone? He couldn’t easily disappear like that, could he? It was like Mr. Williams all over again.

He didn’t know what to do with the locket, and simply pocketed it, saying to himself mentally that he’d find a proper grave for it at some point.

But of course he didn’t. And he kept helping those lost souls finally rest in peace. It started with random people he found who looked lost, simply suggesting they give him their locket, to which they did. But once they got stubborn he took it upon himself to find their bodies and lead them to it, showing that they needed to hand over the locket so they could properly cross over.

He didn’t know he was truly helping someone this entire time, he simply thought he was doing the right thing. But with each locket he collected, he felt more power hungry for more. He wanted to fill his coat pockets, his drawers in the small house he claimed, the walls that had so many puncture holes from pins being pushed in and out.

Throughout this whole period of time, these months upon months, turned years of waiting for a change. He got one.

You watched as he got choked up on his words, causing you to hold his face in your hands and hold him close. “Wilbur, take your time. What changed?” You spoke softly, furrowing your brows at him.

“It.. it was Wilma. I found her.”

Just like he said. He found her. Wandering around the streets with a confused look on her face, her body hidden away in a baggy hoodie and sweatpants, her tear soaked cheeks shining in the dim moonlight.

“Wilma?” His voice called out, rushing over to her with a confused look. His eyes locked in on the locket she wore, trying to ignore the intense urge to snatch it from her. “How are you here?” He placed his hands on her shoulders, watching her look up and get choked up on speaking.

“I wanted to see my brother again, Wil. It’s been years.” She quickly pulled him into a hug, crying heavily into his shoulder, her arms wrapping tightly around his torso. He instantly hugged her back, a hand on the back of her head as he held her close. “How old are you, Wilm?” He spoke quietly, listening as she struggled to answer. “20. It’s been 5 years since you passed.”

He knew she couldn’t have passed from natural causes, suspecting one thing that he didn’t want to assume. “Did it hurt?” He spoke quietly, feeling her shake her head against him, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. “Thankfully no. I just.. it’s hard without you, y’know.” She pulled away from their hug, frowning slightly as she placed her hands on his face, smiling at the sight of him.

“Still young as ever. I’m jealous.” She chuckled softly, watching as he smiled at her words, nodding and nervously looked down. “Listen.. Wilma.” He sighed and gestured towards the locket she wore, biting the corner of his lip. “If you wanna fully pass over, you’re gonna need to hand over the locket.”

Her face somewhat dropped, clutching the green gem in her hands as she shook her head frantically. “What? No! I just got to see you again after 5 years, how could I leave so quickly?”

“Wilma, you have to. It’s not smart to stick around for so long without crossing over.” His tone became much more demanding, staring her down as he tried to get her to just agree with his words. “Do you do this to everyone you see? What the fuck has gotten into you?” She took a step back, glancing down at his coat pockets, seeing a shine through them. She was quick with her actions, reaching forward and snatching a few, before running off in the other direction. “Wilma! What the fuck?!” He quickly rushed after her, trying his best to catch her before she did the worst thing she could think of.

She had found her way to a graveyard, letting out a shaky breath as she thought quickly. She picked one of the lockets and dug a small hole in a grave, shoving the locket inside before packing the dirt down, watching as the green gem glowed through the brown muck. “Holy shit..” She muttered under her breath, before crawling towards another grave, doing the same thing as before, hearing as Wilbur’s footsteps got closer.

“Wilma, what are you doing?” He panicked as he saw the glows through the dirt, staring at her with a look of betrayal and hurt. “How.. how could you!” He rushed over to try and unbury one of them, but before he could, it was gone. “Wilma, what did you do?” He stared at her with confusion, watching as the glow of the other’s died down.

This was the moment he knew the two of them would probably never see eye to eye again. He had spent years collecting lost souls, and now all of sudden Wilma is back and somehow managed to return souls to earth. He didn’t understand, simply staring down at the empty dirt mound, feeling his stomach drop.

“So, that’s why you and her don’t talk anymore?” You quirked a brow up, watching him note and fiddle with the small locket he had in his pocket. “Yeah. Ever since then I haven't seen her again.” He sighed and looked over at you, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“It’s harder for lost souls to cross over now. She’s constantly searching for them.. burying the lockets in the graveyard. Before I can ever get them they’re back to earth.” He spoke quietly, an annoyed look forming on his face. “It doesn’t always work out sometimes..”

You looked down at him with a confused look, lightly wrapping an arm around him. “What do you mean?” You spoke quietly, leaning your head on his.

“Staying silent.”

#phxntomsdusk #phxntoms fics #klepto!wilbur #klepto!wilma #wilbur soot angst #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x reader

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vintagemulti · 2 years

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unbreakable

pairings: marc spector x reader , steven grant x reader

desc: there’s a reason wedding vows include “til death do us part”. want to find out why?

warnings: smoking, gun violence, swearing, harrow (hes a warning in himself), major character death, violence, injury, torture, reader is a killer

a/n: this one took a bit longer than the others but … you’ll see why. pls pls pls like and REBLOG!! reblogs do far more for writers than likes, so pls do it! also i should probably say i don’t normally proofread my fics, so if there’s any typos just use context clues or common sense lol. writers are human too🤷🏻‍♀️

series masterlist

masterlist

the air outside was far colder than indoors, but the heat of an egyptian evening was still much warmer than an average day in london.

you lit your cigarette, watching the people in front of you. they partied, not seeming to even notice the absence of their host. their host, who as you turned to look back inside the house, seemed to be speaking to your husband - the tension in marc’s jaw making it apparent that his temper was shortening.

blowing the smoke out of your mouth, you rolled your eyes. whatever anton was saying, marc would be angry about it for days. whatever peace you had created could be shattered if you didn’t stay on his good side.

you brought your hand to your temple, massaging the skin between your eyebrows. you could feel the heat of the lit cigarette on your forehead, but you didn’t even care if it began to burn you.

every part of you had known it would be a bad idea to come here. not wanting to admit it - prioritising layla’s safety (and your own, by extension) over some uncomfortable feelings - had most likely done more damage to the already strained marriage.

fuck, you thought. fuck anton, fuck his stupid face and fuck his massive house. you and marc had been on a good run, the possibility of a healed marriage actually being within reach for one.

but no. anton - ever the possessive one - just had to get a dig in there. you wished you could hear what he was saying, assess the damage before it was done. even from down here, you could see marc’s clenched fists - the few scratches that were still awkwardly placed on his knuckles reopening and springing red.

“those aren’t good for you, you know.” a voice spoke from behind you.

a voice you recognised. could it be? surely not. you spun on your heel, the red shirt catching your eye before anything else. it was him.

you swallowed. “what do you want?”

“i’m sorry,” harrow said. “this won’t be pleasant for you.”

a hand grabbed you from behind, forcing you backwards with so much force you dropped the cigarette that was between your fingers.

you were an idiot. you were unarmed, taken from behind, and a few glasses of champagne down. fuck, fuck, fuck. there was no was you could overpower the person behind you - they were strong, so strong you thought even their grip could break your bones.

so you did the only thing you though to do. scream. it was a technique taught to you by your old boss - that when in doubt and unable to fight back, scream as loud as you possible could.

the scream cut through the air, louder than the music from the party. you hoped and prayed it would be loud enough for marc to hear.

harrow didn’t seem to like the amount of noise you were making, scowling at you. his frown was the last thing you saw before he raised his cane, whacking you over the head with one of the crocodile busts.

the world went black.

your eyes took a few blinks to adjust to the darkness of the room, the space only being illuminated by a few candles in each corner. without having to ask, you knew where you were. well - not specifically, but you knew you were inside a pyramid.

the pouding in your head was disorientating, room spinning around you for a few seconds. a ringing formed in your ears, silencing the footsteps approaching.

against the duct tape over your mouth, your breathing was hot and erratic, coming out in short spurts rather than deep breaths.

“i do apologise for the pain,” harrow spoke. “but sometimes it in necessary.”

you glared up at him, writing against the restraints on your wrists and ankles. the wooden chair creaked and groaned, tipping slightly with every movement.

“i really wouldn’t.” he mumbled.

you tried to sneer a “why” at him, but it came out as more of a muffled groan - somehow, he still seemed to understand your question.

“because you will only hurt yourself more.” harrow waved his hand as if to dismiss you.

biting back a laugh, your eyes scanned over the man. he was wearing the same as before, red shirt and matching slacks. he balanced himself on his cane, one of the crocodile heads splattered with blood - your blood.

“but i suppose,” his eyes met yours. “a mercenary doesn’t care much for pain, not when they dish it out on a regular basis.”

you swallowed. something about his tone rang off the alarm bells in your gut, unsettling you and making the hair on the back of your neck rise.

it was only now that you thought of marc and steven and layla. would they be running around cairo, trying to find you? or would they be sat with mogart, oblivious that you were even gone? you prayed it would be the first option.

“do you know where we are?” harrow asked.

you shook your head.

“we are inside the resting place of one of ammit’s most famed avatars, can you guess who?”

mumbling a sarcastic comment against the duct tape, harrow seemed to remember the barrier was there. he walked over to you, ripping the tape off with such force you thought it might have taken the top layer of your skin off.

“go fuck yourself.” you spat at him.

harrow raised his hand to you, slapping your cheek. you didn’t flinch - his hit wasn’t particularly strong.

“you’d be smart to respect me, y/n spector. or should i say, y/n grant? which do you prefer.”

“it doesn’t matter, he’ll kill you either way.” the words came less of a threat and more of a promise.

it made him laugh, a devilish, soft chuckle. “if saying that makes you feel better, then be my guest.”

a beat of silence passed; “why am i here?” you asked.

“well,” harrow breathed. “you are the easiest way to get to marc spector, unfortunately for you. i believe you have information that could help the both of us.”

instead of biting back your scoff, you let it come this time. “you want me to sell out my fucking husband?”

harrow looked at you for a moment. “he isn’t much of a husband, is he?”

you bit the inside of your cheek. “the answer is no. no, i will not rat out marc for you.”

“so you do know something,” he raised an eyebrow. “see, you’re already telling me things.”

letting your head drop between your shoulders and feeling hot blood run down your face, you resigned to silence.

“what i need to know is simple,” harrow explained. “i need you to tell me where to find ammit’s ushabti.”

you felt a laugh crawl up your throat, pulling at your vocal chords and scratch past your lips. “go fuck yourself.”

he hit you again - harder this time. you were unlucky enough to accidentally bite down on your lip, teeth sinking into the skin as his palm hit your cheek.

the blood was hot and metallic in your mouth, the flavour dancing on your tongue and filling up your mouth. you felt the liquid run down your chin, dripping onto your cargos.

harrow lifted your head, his grip strong enough to bruise. “you cannot say i didn’t give you a chance. i amen’t able to promise you that my friends are so keen on talking.”

he let your head fall, another few sets of footsteps approaching. you didn’t even bother to look up, just squeezed your eyes closed until shapes formed behind your eyelids. if you looked hard enough you could see marc again, swirling in the darkness. there was steven, too, face appearing amidst the shapes and colours.

you hoped they’d find you. really - you did. over the last few years your pain tolerance had deteriorated, after all you hadn’t needed it. your work hadn’t got less dangerous, not really, but you’d gotten better. better aim, better stamina, better at getting out of situations before you were even in them.

but now there was no way out of the pain. you understood completely what harrow meant by ‘not too keen on talking’. unfortunately, marc’s version of not talking was far different from what you assumed these people had in mind.

the footsteps approached you, your head still hanging between your shoulders. one set came in front of you, another behind you. seconds passed.

a hand pulled your hair from behind, hoisting your head up with a burning in your scalp. opening your eyes, you saw a man in front of you - one you recognised from coming to steven’s flat a few weeks ago.

“you may not want to tell us,” his irish accent was thick, hanging in the air. “but you will.”

something punched you in the gut, completely taking the wind out of you. the stinging came quickly, leaving you unsure if a rib had been broken or not.

this was going to be a long night.

marc was just as frantic as you’d have expected, him and steven switching at least a few times a minute - something that only happened when both of them were extremely stressed.

it has taken them a few hours to work out where harrow had taken you, but during that time steven had proved that yes - he actually would move the heavens for you.

turning back the night sky by thousands of years was no easy feat, it turned out, steven collapsing as soon at the sky was in the right place. it came with sacrifices, too, the gods making good on their promise to turn khonshu to stone if he changed the sky once more.

but that didn’t matter, now now. layla’s foot almost hit the floor as she drove through the sand, pyramids only now coming into view.

“he better not have touched her,” marc grumbled. “i’ll kill him.”

“you’ll kill him?” steven asked. “i’ll bloody dissect him.”

“she’ll be fine, boys. y/n’s stronger than either of us know.” layla said in attempt to soothe them.

but even she wasn’t calm, fingers tapping against the wheel and her blinking becoming rapid. she could say all she wanted, but as time ticked on she couldn’t pretend that the chances of you remaining unharmed weren’t slimming.

“i know she’s strong, but he’s dangerous. and deranged.” marc snapped, electing to stare out of the window.

he couldn’t act like it wasn’t taking a toll on him, switching in and out of consciousness every few seconds. he was tired, stressed, angry, but above all terrified for you. much like layla, as much as he wanted to pretend that harrow wouldn’t have laid a finger on you, he knew deep down that using violence was the easiest way to get what you wanted.

now, he thought, they were truly fucked. not only did layla have people chasing her, but the entire concept of harrow had slipped his mind for a minute. he had forgotten how much of a threat you two had coming for you, that layla wasn’t the only person needing to look over her shoulder.

he was an idiot - he was sure of it. if he had went with you, not been so angry with mogart, if he hadn’t let you go by yourself - fuck, if he hadn’t dragged you into all this mess, forced you to stay home and let your injury heal. it was all his fault. you were gone, probably being tortured, and it was all his fault. all of this was his fault, his fault-

steven blinked. the landscape of the egyptian desert seeming strangely beautiful, even in the darkness - the sand rising up and down to form what looked like waves.

“how far away are we?” he asked, turning to look at layla.

“not far,” she said. “a few hours, at most. she’ll be ok.”

everything hurt. every part of your body was screaming in pain, crying out for a break.

you were sure you had at least three broken ribs now, along with a broken nose and new gashes to add to the collection of scars.

the black, long sleeve t-shirt you had been wearing was littered in holes, having either ripped from force or the edge of a blade. your skin was covered in cuts, blood feeling like it covered your entire body.

hours must have passed, you thought. almost the whole night, surely? if there was any windows, you’d have guaranteed that the sun would be rising.

what a funny thought right now. the sun, rising on you and your husband. you almost felt the head on your skin, and steven sitting next to you. why you imagined steven you weren’t sure, but even after being away from him for a few hours, the longing for him had settled into your stomach.

you missed his arms, his smell, his touch, his smile, his hair - everything. you would have done anything to feel steven’s soft, gentle touches right now.

soft, gentle touches that were greatly contrasted to the hits you were taking right now.

you felt another blow to your abdomen, this time being hardened by the toe of a boot. the pain didn’t even feel real anymore, just adding to the many bruises you could already feel developing.

“why are you so loyal to him?” a voice spoke from behind you for the first time.

if you had the strength to turn around, you would have.

“he’s hardly the worlds greatest husband.”

your eyelids felt heavy, head falling back, limp against your shoulders. the world turned upside down, but the space behind you was almost identical to the rest of the room.

“i mean,” the woman spoke. “he’s probably hurt you more than we have.”

using all your energy to scoff, you let your eyes close. maybe this was a new tactic to get you to speak.

“why does he do that?” she pushed herself off of the wall she was leaning against. “injure you, and leave the other one to clean you up?”

she walked round to in front of you, but you didn’t move - never mind acknowledge that she was speaking at all.

“your husband is sick, y/n.”

that made you move - pulling your head up to face her. “shut your mouth.”

“what? you know i’m right. he’s ill, his head is all messed up.”

you spat on the floor, seeing blood combined in the liquid. “you’re one to talk about messed up.”

“maybe,” she nodded. “but i don’t talk to myself in mirrors and speak in a random british accent when i feel like it.”

if you could have hit her, you would have. she was so painfully uneducated - as well as a bitch.

“you know it too, deep down.”

“know what?” you sneered.

“that you married a broken man - a broken man with a fractured mind.”

“my husband,” you pulled against the ropes again, pain of irritating the burn even further stinging in your wrists. “is not fucking broken, or sick, or fractured. he’s a human being.”

before she could retort, another set of footsteps approached, sound of crushing glass and tapping cane coming with them. you knew who it was before he walked through into the room.

“leave us,” harrow spoke, the two people instantly scurrying away. it made you laugh lightly - how completely devoted to him they were.

“i hear you still haven’t budged.”

“nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “i told you i wasn’t going to.”

harrow hummed, walking slowly around you. “you defend this information so much from us, it’s as if you don’t keep things from other people.”

“meaning?” you mumbled.

“does marc know why he almost died that night? the night he became a slave to khonshu.”

you swallowed, hot blood running down your throat. “he doesn’t need to know.”

“he doesn’t need to know?” harrow repeated. “or does he not deserve to know?”

“of course he does,” you snapped, hissing at a sudden pain in your chest. “but he doesn’t need to know.”

“no, i get it, i get it. what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

silence fell upon the two of you for a few seconds, before you spoke; “why did you come back?”

“i’ve realised you are of no help to us, y/n spector.”

“no help?” you raised an eyebrow, but relaxed it after feeling the stinging in your forehead. “did you seriously think i would tell you fucking anything?”

“perhaps not,” harrow sighed. “but i thought your husband would have took the bait.”

you already knew why harrow had brought you here, the intention of leading marc straight to you being as clear as day. there was nothing you could do to prevent him from coming, though, only hoping when he did arrive he would be prepared to fight.

a cold metal against your forehead made you open your eyes, being met with a gun straight between your eyebrows.

you let out a small laugh. “you’re seriously going to kill me?”

no part of you expected him to pull that trigger, why would he? you could have been killed a hundred times over by now, harrow could have allowed his men to beat you to death, but no. you had something he needed to know and you were convinced he would do anything to get you to tell him.

maybe it’s a good thing, that you didn’t expect to die. perhaps it’s nice that your last thoughts were not of fear or regret - but of calmness. sureness in yourself, that you were two steps ahead.

but no. despite everything you were so sure of - everything you would have bet your life’s savings on, arthur harrow pulled the trigger.

you didn’t even know you had died, it happened to quickly. you didn’t hear the bang, because by that time, your brain was in a million little pieces on the floor.

“this may persuade your husband to tell me himself.” harrow said to your corpse.

he walked away, crunching of glass following in his step, leaving you in the room. you had fallen back in the chair, body laying on the stone floor.

blood seeping into the stone, your lifeless eyes stared into nothing, smile still half etched onto your face.

strange. you were so utterly convinced he wasn’t going to kill you. oh well, now the real fun could start - afterlife, here you came. and the funniest part? regardless of what harrow thought, you had no fucking idea where ammits ushabti was - you just pretended you did in attempt to keep your life.

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ferni-mothofprophecy · 7 months

Text

Finished the first chapter of the AU I’ve been working on! :D

Ao3 Link

Character Designs

DISTORTED THREADS

Chapter 1

A rush of colours surrounded him. He couldn't move; couldn't breathe; couldn't anything.

And then it all lifted at once and Martin Blackwood was sitting at his old desk in the archives, as if nothing in the past few years had ever happened.

His first thought was that he was dreaming, or dead. However, his thoughts were dispelled when he caught sight of the calendar across the room. 2015. He blinked. The date remained the same.

Steps sounded and a man with deliberately messy brown hair and a pink Hawaiian shirt strutted into the room.

"Hello Martin," he said, his voice friendly, "excited for our first foray into the job of archiving?"

"Tim?" Martin squeaked. Tim couldn't be alive, unless he was actually back in 2015. His brain felt foggy and he tried to remember where he had been before this.

The panopticon. Jonas Magnus. Jon! Oh...Jon. Martin buried his face in his hands, trying to stifle sobs.

"Hey, are you alright?" Martin felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Martin lied, "Just had a rough few days."

Tim gave him a sympathetic look.

"I like what you've done with your hair, by the way. It suits you."

"Thank you," Martin said, as Tim wandered off and took his place at his own desk.

He wracked his brains to try to think what Tim might be talking about. He didn't recollect anything, but it was perfectly possible that he'd got a haircut before his first day working his new job (which he was now realising this was).

There was a mirror in the bathroom across the hall, Martin remembered, so he got up from his desk and made his way over to that.

His face stared back at him from the mirror, younger and less lined than he had seen it in ages. A dusting of freckles scattered across pale skin, ginger hair streaked with white flopping across his forehead-

Wait. White hair? That had only happened after the Lonely. Why was this happening now? Was it because Jon wasn't here? Did the Lonely now want to claim him again? Martin's throat was clogged with tears.

Jon wasn't here. Jon wouldn't be here either. There was no way whatever had brought him here would be kind enough to bring Jon as well. There would be a version of Jon here but it wouldn't be his Jon. He could stop Sasha and Tim from meeting the same fate as they had before though, that was some consolation. There must be a reason he had been forced back into here and saving the people he had once considered his best friends seemed like a good enough reason to him.

When he his face no longer showed the fact that he'd been crying, Martin returned to the archives. A woman he had never seen before was sitting at a desk, chatting to Tim. He knew she must be Sasha, although it broke his heart that not a spark of recognition passed through him at the sight of her. He stared at her, trying to memorise every detail that had been wiped from his memory. Not!Sasha's hair had been short, hanging down as far as her shoulders in lifeless strands. The woman in front of him, the real Sasha, had dark curls that tumbled to her lower back. A pair of round glasses with green tinted frames were perched on her face and two emerald eyes stared out from beneath them. She was wearing a yellow jumper and a necklace of chunky gemstones hung from her neck.

She looked up.

"Martin!" She said. She stared at him for a second.

"It's great to see you."

"Well I'd hardly be skiving off work on my first day," Martin cracked a smile. It felt a bit forced.

The three of them sat down at their desks. A light chatter filled the room but Martin's mind was too full of thoughts to contribute much. He would have to stock up on fire extinguishers. Oh and make sure Sasha never went to artefact storage. At all if he could help it.

His thoughts were cut off when a new face entered the room. Oh so familiar but oh so different than when he had last seen it. Gone were the scars that had pitted the face of the man he loved. His eyes were no longer that burning viridian but instead a deep black. His long hair was still streaked with grey, but there was less than before and it was tied back in a messy bun atop his head. Martin didn't remember Jon's hair being this long when he started working in the archives but he could have easily cut it a few weeks into his new job. It had been years and Martin's memory was hazy on the details.

Jon made his way to his office without saying a word and shut the door behind him. Martin sighed. He had forgotten how long it took for Jon to warm up to him. Jon’s door creaked open and he poked his head out.

“Um. There’s a spider in here,” he said, voice shaking a little. Martin grinned, this was still Jon.

“I’ll come and remove it,” he said.

Jon’s office was similar to how he remembered it, with the main difference being the messy piles of paperwork now littering the desk and floor. A large spider was squatting in the middle of Jon’s desk.

Martin scooped it up and turned to Jon.

“There you go,” he said, “feel free to call me any time you need a spider removed. I like the little guys.”

Martin could have sworn he had seen a trace of a blush darken Jon’s cheeks but he was probably just imagining it.

“Yes,” Jon said, a little awkwardly, “I will do that.”

Martin carried the spider outside and gently set it down. He muttered a few words about the Web and then made his way back indoors, to begin his first day as an archival assistant.

****

Martin’s first order of business after he got off work was a shopping expedition. The lady at the checkout had given him an odd look when he had purchased all the fire extinguishers the store had to offer but at least he hadn’t bumped into anyone from work whilst doing so. That would have been hard to explain.

He stashed most of the fire extinguishers in a cupboard near his front door for easy access but spread a few throughout the flat just in case.

Ideally, he would kill Jane Prentiss when Jon sent him to follow up on Timothy Hodge’s statement, but he knew things didn’t always go to plan. He would not be trapped in his flat again though. That he was sure of.

He missed Jon that night. He had grown used to the feel of Jon’s body pressed against him while he slept and the bed felt cold and empty without him. Tendrils of fog crept into the room and he shivered, then startled. No. The Lonely couldn’t claim him now. Sasha was here, and Tim. A version of Jon as well. He wasn’t alone and he wouldn’t abandon them. The fog retreated and Martin huddled in his blankets. This flat didn’t even feel like his anymore and the memories of Prentiss seemed to swirl around him, making it impossible to rest. After a while he gave up, dressed and exited the flat, hoping a walk outside would clear his mind.

He felt his feet take him to a park he had frequently been to before. A few trees lined a path down to where a shallow lake lay, twinkling in the moonlight.

A dark shape standing by the water’s edge caught his attention and he stopped cold. Waves of ominous energy seemed to radiate off of them. He couldn’t make out any details apart from the fact that they seemed to be humanoid in shape.

He waited a safe distance away and called out, “Hello?”

Maybe not the best idea to alert whoever it was to his presence but, in his defence, he was curious.

The figure turned round and Jon’s face came into view. All the ominous energy seemed to melt away and Martin started laughing.

“Martin?” Jon asked.

“I thought you were some kind of monster,” Martin wheezed.

“You’ve been reading too many statements,” Jon said, a smile turning up the corner of his lips.

“Perhaps,” Martin said, “What are you doing out here so late?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Jon observed dryly, “Sleep was evading me so I felt it necessary to take a walk to clear my head.”

“Pretty much the same reason I’m out here,” Martin sighed, flopping down onto a bench, “The new job is more stressful than I thought I guess.”

“You’re more than qualified enough to do a good job,” Jon said.

“I faked my CV,” Martin blurted without thinking. He blamed it on the late hour.

Jon blinked.

“Oh. I was referring to your ten years working in the library actually,” he said, “I haven’t seen anything significant of your archiving work so far but I am sure it will be excellent.”

2015 Jon complementing him? This was weird. Martin bit his lip.

“How are you finding the new job?”

“Not exactly what I’m used to,” Jon admitted, “but honestly I imagine anything would be better than the state the last archivist seems to have left the place in.”

“True,” Martin laughed.

Jon took a seat on the bench beside him and they sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes. Martin was glad of the company. Although this was not his Jon, he felt comforted by his presence.

“Your hair looks different,” Jon broke the silence

“In a good way.”

“You’ve only seen it once before,” Martin pointed out, “When the dog got into the archives on the day we went to check over them.”

Jon winced.

“Ah. Yes. I am sorry about how rude I was to you then. I was under the stress of the new position.”

“It’s fine,” Martin smiled, though a bitter note clung to it. How different would things have been if he had met up with Jon like this before. Would Jon have warmed up to him sooner? The answer was evidentially yes if the conversation he was having right now could be taken into account.

“I should get going,” Jon said, rising from the bench, “I should get at least some sleep to prepare me for tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Martin agreed, although he dreaded going back to his flat. He wondered if Jon would let him use the cot in the archives. He could just ask actually.

“Do you think I could use the cot in the archives?” He turned to Jon, “Just for a while. I’ve had a bad experience in my flat recently and I don’t think I’d be able to sleep there well.”

“I don’t have a problem with that, though you could always stay at mine?” Jon said, then his face flushed.

“Not like that.”

“Thank you for offering but you hardly know me,” Martin said, “the cot in the archives will be sufficient.”

“I suppose I don’t,” Jon sighed, then before Martin could ask him what he meant by that, he turned and left. Martin watched him until he passed out of sight then headed to his flat to retrieve some of his possessions (and a few of his collection of fire extinguishers), before turning in the direction of the archives, and, he hoped, a good night’s sleep.

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

#tma #ferni.scribbles #distorted threads au

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writtengalaxies · 1 year

Text

Ghosts of the Past

Lost Memory Files :: Part 1

Characters: GN!Reader as the DA, Dark

Word Count: 850

Spicy Rating: Nope! No spice!

The rumors about the old manor house being haunted are true. After all, you, dear District Attorney, are the ghost haunting the place. It had taken a few years of being alone and not really needing to sleep any more to find a way to project yourself from the mirror. No one ever thought the mirror was at fault for any spooky things, and some people even said that the broken mirror was the reason the manor was haunted in the first place.

They weren't wrong. Just...also not right.

The newest batch of amateur paranormal investigators were carefully stepping around the place, knowing they weren't officially supposed to be there. Really, the building had been condemned years ago, but people kept breaking in, hoping to score some views or a following, or even in some cases, proof of ghosts more than anything else.

You never interacted with them. It was kind of funny, actually, to watch them jump to assumptions with usually just phones in hand. It was never you, always kicked up dust that they never thought to disprove, a finger or a smudge on the camera lens. You were always in the mirror while they were inside, or on the rare occasions they had set up equipment while you were out inspecting the newest bit of structural damage, you always managed to avoid it. The house had started to bend to your intentions, keeping them always a little lost from where you were.

Today's group, however, knew their stuff. You had learned quite a bit just overhearing other groups from where they talked about something replicating something else. This group set down a device they were calling a REM pod on the upstairs landing, and were sweeping the area in front of your mirror with something they said could detect 'EMFs', whatever that was.

The device on the landing started to emit a high-pitched, sustained beep, making even you wince, despite the fact you weren't really effected by the sound. The two investigators turned to each other, then carefully approached the stairs, both of them startling and shouting something about a 'full-body apparition' or 'shadow figure', almost arguing with each other over what it was they were seeing. The noise from the machine was quickly drowned out by a higher tone that felt more familiar, and the faint creaking of wood. You watched the two collapse, and you pulled yourself out of the mirror to check on them. Even as you faintly hovered there, you could see them breathing. Just passed out, thankfully, and thus not other victims of the house.

Steps brought your attention up, and you found yourself struggling to form a response. You hadn't used your voice in too long, and it was different existing outside the mirror than inside, but you knew the man as he slowly made his way to you, his expression carefully blank.

"You...found a way out? No. This doesn't last long, does it?"

You shook your head, not sure if you should feel relieved that you're finally being seen by someone after nearly a century of avoidance...or angry that it's him. Few choices could be worse. But the feelings both subside as he looks away, guilt pulling that careful mask away.

"I...I should have come back to get you out. I just wanted you safe, and...and not a target of him while I sought vengeance. I...this house is being demolished in a few days. Soon it won't be here. I can...I can take you away with me. There's a household now, of...of others. I...might have a way to free you at last, but...for now, with your permission...can I take you, and the mirror, there?"

You knew what the offer really was, in a way. He was telling you that they weren't going to clear out the old building. They were going to destroy it, and everything inside. There was a chance that it would either spell freedom for you to move onto whatever else lay after death, with a real possibility that you would, instead, be stuck with no way out in that awful infinite dark...or you would have another chance of life.

You nodded, and a brief smile flashed on his face, one that reminded you of the man he once was so long ago. It was gone in an instant, hands tugging his suit jacket back in place. "You...might need to find whatever rest you can in there while I move us both. It...will not be pleasant, I expect...and...well. It's just best that you rest."

You nod again, slower this time, a little reluctant, but willing.

You settled into the fractured surface of the mirror, letting yourself sink further back than the wooden backing allowed, resting in the darkness.

When next you opened your eyes, you had no idea where you were, who you were, or who this monochromatic man reaching out to you was. But he smiled so softly, so sweetly, that part of you felt at peace. The memories could return in time, he promised you. But for now, you were safe, and you were home.

#tall dark and spooky #my writing #darkiplier x reader #darkiplier x da #dark x reader #darkiplier #markiplier egos #wkm #lost memory files

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slavonicrhapsody · 1 year

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someone brought up the idea that it might be marika there Post Placidusax (placidusax is called First Elden Lord whos god abandoned him) and not miquella and honestly. god. they fucking would

itd tie a lot together. a previous leak/comment about the dlc mentioning wed see hourah loux's badlands (marika meeting him pre godfrey), torrent (marika having torrent then leaving the spirit steed calling whistle for ranni or melina, linking to rannis dialogue where she hands over the bell and then wonders if wed grow tired of listening to the two fingers), cementing an appearance theme among her golden scions (the long golden hair and circle of braids that we see on miquella and the Possibly Godwyn statue in the haligtree), why shes seemingly in some version of limgrave (the tall grasses usually used to visually demonstrate the wind, which limgraves known for. the placement of the erdtree and the ruins which litter limgrave. limgrave being used as the poster child for ER adverts) as shed be ascending towards the soon to be erdtree

itd be easier to show the world Pre Golden Order than Post Your Playthru Ending, and its the exact bait and switch from loves to pull, knowing that people are pushing HARD for a miquella dlc. so to drop someone who looks almost identical to miquella in a dlc trailer, only to reveal its someone different is exactly their style. plus from looooves their time travel dlcs

hmmmm all of this sounds very compelling too… and I have also heard from elsewhere that it is very typical of From to pull a bait-and-switch with their DLC announcements…

My one thought is that the character in the art has the exact same hairstyle with the exact same braid pattern as Miquella does, a style which no other character wears. So either they’re very deliberately trying to trick us (still possible) or it’s supposed to be Miquella.

Looking at the trees, what I’m seeing is what looks to be the Erdtree in combat with another tree acting as a parasite.

It looks to be gnarled with small spindly growths, growing around the Erdtree and masking its golden light, and consuming its life essence. There’s also some kind of dark particle cloud hovering around it. If the figure is Marika, it’s possible we’re seeing whatever happened to the tree that existed before Marika’s Erdtree? My other thought is that if the figure is Miquella, this growth could be related to Godwyn’s spreading influence… the spindly growths on the parasite tree and the particle cloud remind me visually of deathroot. And we also know that before he was stolen, Miquella was trying to grant Godwyn a true death.

Great point though that the dlc taking place present-day creates some complications for the endings. I’m honestly not sure how that would play out!

#elden ring #elden ring dlc #asks #ok lol no more dlc asks pls unless it’s about ranni #feel free to reply tho if you have thoughts

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justsomerandomfanfic · 2 years

Text

We're All In This Together - Eddie Munson X Female Reader

Title: We're All In This Together

Eddie Munson X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's mom, Reader's dad (mentioned), and cops

Requested

WC: 1,746

Warnings: Reader had a mother and father, guns, mention of murder, slight mention of Chrissy's death, slight mention of bullying, insecurities, and cops

All you ever wanted was to just get some D&D advice. That was all you wanted. But, no, this had to go and happen.

It was pretty early, but you knew Eddie would be up. You had known him all through your time in Hawkins High, seeing him repeat Senior year over and over again. People thought he was weird, a freak. But, you thought he was just some guy who loved D&D and metal music. There was nothing wrong with his love for his likes and hobbies. You hadn't really spoken to him much before you joined, but Eddie was very nice, charming towards you really.

You started playing D&D when you were in Middle school. It started out as a small RPG in the basement with your dad, then it grew into something huge. You made friends with other kids like you, but it also brought some teasing from the other kids who didn't understand. Most called you a witch, but you didn't let it get to you.

Parking your Pontiac Firebird, which Eddie decided to go along and name Phoenix, you narrowed your eyes in confusion and suspicion when you spotted two cop cars, parked a little ways away. The cops looked like they were getting ready for something serious, and at Eddie's place for that matter. Did they figure out that he was selling drugs?

"Well, this is definitely not good," You said as you got out of your car and walked towards them.

"Excuse me," You called, as one cop popped out of Eddie's trailer.

The cop man at the front door was older, probably around forty. He wore a black suit with a white shirt underneath and a matching tie. His hair was short and combed back.

"Miss, this is a murder investigation, please leave the area." He said in a cold voice.

Your eyes widened, "Is Eddie alright?"

The cop man finally made eye contact with you, narrowing his eyebrows.

"You know the boy?" He asked and you nodded.

Taking out a pair of handcuffs, he walked towards you, "Then you're coming with me."

Furrowing your own eyebrows, you stepped back, whatever this was, it didn't feel right. Quickly, you turned and ran to your car, as the cop yelled and ran after you, but he was too late, you had already begun racing out of the trailer park. Breathing heavily, you slowed once you were far enough away. Pulling up to your house, you parked your car and quickly headed inside.

"Honey? Where have you bee-?" Your mother asked, but you ran straight up to your room, grabbing your backpack and dumping your school supplies out, before packing a couple of extra clothes, snacks from your secret snack box, and your dad's handgun that you stole a while back. The man had a couple, so you were glad he didn't really notice.

Grabbing your jacket, you ran back downstairs and began walking. Ignoring as your mother called out to you from the front door. You didn't have time to talk to her, you needed to find Eddie. If they were there, they were probably looking for him.

You were so scared. Everything was falling apart. You couldn't believe it, things were supposed to be better now. After the mall... You shook your head, finally traveling down to lover's lake, finding the old cabin. It was dark out, the moon had replaced the sun and you had checked for Eddie everywhere you possibly could without running into the cops.

Part of you cursed yourself for running away from the police, you could've stayed and not become a fugitive. But, finding Eddie, alive and safe, was all that mattered. You grabbed your gun, just in case. And headed into the cabin. Hoping that he was in there.

###

Stepping in carefully, you turned behind you, looking around, making sure you weren't being followed or spotted. Sighing, you walked in, rolling your eyes, you had forgotten to bring a flashlight. Looking around the dark boat house, you heard the crinkling of wrappers, turning around a corner, you spotted a figure. They were hunched over a small wooden table, eating whatever they were eating. Immediately, you knew who they were.

"Eddie?" You asked, softly, but startling the young man nonetheless.

He looked up, surprised, "What are you doing here?" Walking over quickly, closing the boat house's door behind you.

You frowned slightly, "I went to your place to ask you something, but the cops were there. They tried to arrest me but I had to find you." You told him, placing your gun back in your bag.

His eyes widened, "You came to find me?"

Nodding slowly, you looked up at him, "Why are they looking for you, Eddie? They said something about a murder investigation."

Eddie sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking off somewhere slightly behind you.

"They think I killed Chrissy... But, I didn't! It was nothing I'd ever seen before. She just started floating and then..." Eddie spoke, voice wet with his strangled emotions. His words confirmed your suspicions, the Upside Down was active again.

"Why was Chrissy there?" You asked, wanting to hold him, but you resisted.

He looked awful.

"I don't want to talk about it..." He whispered, looking down.

Reaching a hand out, you placed it on his arm, he flinched slightly but didn't pull away.

"I know you didn't do this, Eddie." You stated, gently.

Eddie said nothing, head down.

"Do you want a hug?" You asked, a little awkwardly, thinking about how awkward it might be.

Eddie looked up at you and nodded his head, walking forward and wrapping his arms around you. Smiling, you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him close to you.

"Thank god," Eddie murmured, burying his face in your shoulder. "I'm glad you came to find me. I thought I was going crazy for a bit."

Hugging him tightly, you let out a sigh of relief. It felt so good to hold someone, to feel their warmth and hear their heartbeat.

"Well, since we are both fugitives, let's go crazy together. Do you... Have a plan at all?" You asked, breaking the hug.

Eddie blinked and looked down at you, "A what?"

You smiled slightly, "I mean, you didn't kill Chrissy, and the cops are looking for you, where do you want to run? I mean... You're sort of stuck with me now." You laughed a little, trying to lighten the mood.

Eddie looked down, "Um... Well, you can come with me if you want. But, I don't have any plans or ideas at the moment."

Smiling, you shrugged, "Alright, well, we'll just go with the flow."

Sitting down on the bench seat of the boat house, Eddie sat next to you. You leaned against him and let out a long breath.

"So, why did you go to the trailer?" Eddie asked, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

You shrugged slightly, "About some D&D stuff... Nothing really important now."

Eddie shook his head, "Now, I'm curious, babe. What did you want to know?"

Shaking your head, you chuckled, "I was wondering if, in the next campaign, we could fight a Hydra? Boring, I know, but I just thought that would be a cool change... It sounds silly now when I think about it."

Eddie laughed a little, "It's not silly! Once we get out of this, we'll fight a Hydra. It's pretty metal that you're the type of person I can actually talk to. I'm glad you don't think I'm a freak." He paused, looking deep into your eyes.

"I'm not weird to you, right?"

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, "No way. Look, Eddie. You are not weird. You are just insanely unique. And that's what I love about you, you don't give a crap about what others think and you listen to what you want and do what you want. You're inspiring really."

Looking down, Eddie blushed slightly, "Thanks. That means a lot."

Smiling, you kissed his cheek, "There is no reason why anyone shouldn't like you. You're awesome. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life."

Eddie looked up at you, smiling softly, "Really?"

You nodded your head, "Yeah."

Eddie wiggled his eyebrows, a small smirk on his face, "You're lucky to have me in your life?"

You laughed and nudged him again, "Of course."

Eddie grinned and elbowed you back, "Oh yeah?"

You rolled your eyes playfully and shoved him gently back, "Shut up, idiot."

Eddie laughed and hugged you tighter, "Yep, you definitely got me. But... I'm also lucky to have you too." He barely whispered, making you blush.

"I know... I'm amazing." You agreed, sighing.

"I'm serious, Y/N, I can't see a life without you in it." Eddie told you, kissing your forehead.

You smiled, "I can't either. I wouldn't know what to do without you."

Eddie pulled away slightly, looking into your eyes, "I know I'm a mess, but I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you. Ever."

"Ever?" You asked, tilting your head.

"Ever." Eddie nodded.

"Promise?" You questioned, looking up at him.

He nodded, "I swear."

You hummed before raising your hand up, booping Eddie on the nose, "Alright, I'll believe you."

Eddie just smiled, looking down at you as if you hung the stars in the sky, bringing his hand up, he cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb gently caressing your skin. He licked his lips, eyes searching yours before he spoke.

"Hey," Eddie muttered, his voice soft.

"Yeah?" You asked, a smile playing on your lips.

Eddie leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, kissing you lightly, before pulling back and looking into your eyes.

"I love you, Y/N." Eddie murmured, his eyes shining with emotion.

You took his hand and laced your fingers through his, "I love you too, Eddie."

Leaning up, you closed the gap once more, kissing him deeply, never wanting to let go. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you held him tight, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer. Pulling away slowly, you both tried to regain your breath, eyes closed, foreheads together.

"We can do this together," Eddie murmured, leaning back, brushing a few stray hairs of yours behind your ear.

"Mhm, we will." you agreed, smiling happily.

Somehow, you thought, things were looking up.

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