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thewhizzyhead · 3 years

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a non-filipino's guide to trese: ep 1

So some of my mutuals decided to check out Trese aka the Netflix adaptation of the Filipino horror comic book series that I keep rambling about here and then since well um most of my mutuals aren’t from the Philippines fshfs I decided to make a long-ass post that basically consists of me rambling about the cultural context present in Trese with fun little tidbits about Filipino folklore. I’m not an expert on Filipino mythology so um I just typed out the stuff that I know and the stuff that I looked up on Wikipedia so um take this with a grain of salt aaaaa I’ll save the extensive google scholar research ramble on folklore present in Trese for another day.

I’ll try to find the sites where I got some of the information from cause um yea I kinda had a bit of a hard time finding the other shit so um once again, take the stuff here with a grain of salt. Also, feel free to add more info if you guys got any!

SO ANYWAYS ENJOY ME RAMBLING ABOUT EPISODE 1 OF TRESE WOO

+ MRT and LRT (Manila Metro Rail Transit and Light Rail Transit) are train systems in NCR (the capital region) and yea them suddenly stopping and malfunctioning in the middle of the goddamn rail is a daily occurrence and we have been trying to deal with this bullshit for years but alas, corruption and negligence are sweet sweet drugs.

+ When the MRT broke down, you'd see a red bee in the flashing billboard right? Well that's Jollibee and that's probably the most well-known fast food restaurant chain here heck there are even branches of it abroad!

+ According to many youtube comments along with other social media posts that I am way too tired to link here, the opening theme is an Ifugao ethnic song called Balluha'd Bayyauhen but with modern accompaniments and I think the song is about a fruit called a balluha that the character in the song tries to it but cannot swallow. (someone please correct me if I’m wrong here fjkfs)

+ The first um monster that we see Alexandra interact with is the White Lady of Balete Drive. White Ladies or “Kaperosa” are a type of female ghosts typically dressed in ghostly white dresses or similar garments. According to legend, she died in a car accident while driving along Balete Drive (a two lane street formerly lined with Balete Trees which are said to be a home for spirits and mysterious creatures) in Quezon City while other accounts say she died waiting for the arrival of her lover; others also say that she was a teenage girl who was run over and killed by a taxi driver at night and then buried around a Balete tree while another variation of the tale claims that a student from the University of the Philippines was sexually assaulted and killed by a taxi driver nearby and so said ghost haunts the street in search of her murderer. There are many other variations but according to local rumor, the legend was fabricated by a reporter in 1953 in order to make an interesting story. What remains consistent in many variations is that apparently taxi drivers would be stopped by a beautiful lady asking for a ride and if one would look at the rear window, they would see that the white lady in question is bruised and drenched in blood.

+ There are a lot of mentions about "lakans" and stuff in reference to Alex and her father right? In precolonial times, the term is used to refer to the paramount ruler or the highest-ranking political authorities in Tagalog communities (so um NCR and some parts of Region 4). In Muslim communities, they are called sultans while communities with strong trade connecitons with Indonesia or Malaysia called them Rajah. Datu is umm the more generalized term though when it comes to discussing the leaders of the precolonial Filipinos.

+ So, Alex’s mom is a babaylan and back in the pre-colonial period, each barangay (which a native filipino term for a village or a district; said term is still used today to describe um divisions in municipalities like) had them and these are basically Philippine shamans and they specialized in communicating with the spirits of the dead. To my knowledge, the role of babaylan went to women and yea people assigned male at birth but then identified as female were also allowed to become babaylans and they would be treated with the same respect given to any woman back then (honestly I dunno much about lgbtq+ stuff back in the precolonial times but all I know is that precolonial Filipinos were much a lot more welcoming towards trans identities bUT THEN THE SPANIARDS CAME AND UM ERR RUINED THAT); also the writing Alexandra's mom did in that one scene with the dagger is in Baybayin - preHispanic Filipino script. I dunno what she wrote down though. .

+ Also I kinda find it funny that the people here esp those who were at the White Lady scene are um,,, not at all surprised? Like yea quite a number of filipinos have their own superstitions and beliefs and all that but um yea the people in Trese seem very used to the bullshit,,,which in retrospect, isn't at all inaccurate fsdfd I MEAN WE DEAL WITH UNSURMOUNTABLE AMOUNTS OF BS ON A DAILY BASIS SO I DON’T THINK DEAD GHOSTS WOULD EVEN FAZE MANY FSKJDS

+ The one that appears right before Alexandra talks with the duwende (the one in the manhole) is called Laman Lupa (which i guess translates to um "What is in the earth"? just um YEA THEY ARE DIRT CREATURES). normally this is an umbrella term for duwendes and nunos but in Trese they are servants of these aforementioned creatures.

+ Duwende (which came from the Spanish phrase "dueno de case" which means "owner of the house") or dwarves in Filipino folklore are known to be mischievous and magical environmental guardians. They are believed to reside in trees or under earth mounds (those that live in the latter are called nuno sa pundo or old man of the mount) which is why quite a lot of Filipinos say "tabi tabi po" or “excuse me” when wandering around a forest or earth mounds as a sign of respect and in the hopes the duwende won't torment them. If the person is friendly, the duwende can also be friendly in return and will bring that person good lucl; otherwise, those who destroy their homes by stepping on them will face their wrath in form of heartless curse and predictions of ominous and disastrous fates. A duwende's color also depends on their budhi or conscience: to my knowledge, white duwendes are kind, red ones give protection amulets, green ones are firnedly with children and the black ones give nothing but trouble.

+ Chocnut aka the snack Alex bribes the nuno with is a very yummy chocolate snack made of coconut milk, crushed peanuts and cocoa powder. They are umm about an inch in length and maybe half an inch in width so it's fairly small; that being said I WANT THE CHOCNUT THAT ALEXANDRA HAS CAUSE HOT DAMN THAT'S A BIG CHOCNUT

+ In Trese, the creatures in the MRT scene and in the warehouse Alexandra visits after she talks with the duwende are called "aswang". In Philippine folklore, it is an umbrella term for any kind of monster so um an aswang in Luzon would be very different from the aswang in Mindanao. According to what I saw on wikipedia, they can be classified in 5 categories: the vampire (self-explanatory um they drink blood), the viscera sucker (the manananggal, i'll get to that next time), the weredog (cats and pigs are also possible but um yea they target pregnant women), the witch (self-explanatory boom curses and stuff) and the ghoul (they gather near trees in cemeteries to feast on human corpses). Aswangs are often described to have a long, hollow tongue, sharp claws and sharp teeth, although they do also have human forms.

+ To my knowledge, Ibwa, the leader of the aswangs in the warehouse, is a creature from Tinguian or Itneg mythology (they, like the Ifugao, are an indigenous ethnic group in northwestern Luzon) though I could be wrong about this dksfsf Ibwa seems like an ethnic filipino term tho wah I can't remember where I once read that. But anyways, Ibwa often stalk sthe house of a dying person to steal its body. In order for the ibwa to NOT succeed in that, some people burn holes in the garments of the dead and put a sharp iron object on top of the grave since those are most powerful weapons against aswangs which is what Alexandra uses to subdue the Ibwa and kill all the other aswangs (the knife alex uses is named Sinag which means "ray of light".)

+ ALSO I AM SO SO GLAD THEY KEPT THE FILIPINO SWEARS IN THE ENGLISH DUB YES YES THIS IS A VERY GOOD JOB so lemme discuss the versatility of tangina-

+ Also umm Bossing is a nickname of Vic Sotto - one of the three pioneer hosts of Eat Bulaga! which is the longest running Philippine noontime variety show. Over time, most probably due to the show's popularity, the term "bossing" then became um slang for "boss" or "chief"

+ Translation of what Alex says when she's stirring the eye inside the cup: “In the eyes of others, secrets will reveal themselves.”

+ Sidenote: The English dub's pronunciation of many of the tagalog lines are um yea they r pretty good but they could use a bit of work but then again I'm really not that good in speaking in Tagalog so who am I to judge gkdkf sorry po guys conyo po ako-

+ Maria Makiling is arguably the most famous of all the diwatas (ancestral spirits, nature spirits, or deities) in Philippine Mythology; she is associated with Mount Makiling in Laguna as the guardian spirit of the mountain. Mount Makiling is said to resemble a profile of a woman and people associate the profile with Maria herself. She is also known as a goddess by the name of Dayang Masalanta and people would pray to her for safety and to stop storms and earthquakes. That's the goddess Alexandra's mother mentions right when she tells Alex to hide. (Translation to what she said there: Maria Makiling, goddess of the mountain, bless us.)

+ ALSO YEA THAT MAYOR IN THE MRT STATION IS UMMM RATHER REMINISCENT OF MAAAANY POLITICIANS AND PUBLIC SERVANTS HERE LIKE BELIEVE ME I CAN THINK OF SO MANY NAMES RN. THEY WOULD FLAUNT THEIR MACHISMO AND PROMISE THAT THEY THEMSELVES SHALL PUNISH THE PERPETRATORS HARSHLY BUT IN THE END THEY DONT MEAN SHIT AND ARE IN OFFICE TO SERVE ONLY THEMSELVES AND TO SHIT ON THE REST ESP THOSE OF THE POORER SECTORS AND *NOTHING IS DONE ABOUT IT*. WE LIVE IN HELL OKAY. also hmm how the police are represented here is umm,,,interesting,,, like i know there are sOME good police officers like the ones alexandra assists but like,,,our current sociopolitical climate + the many cases showcasing the corruption in the police force + tHE SHEER AMOUNT OF POLICE BRUTALITY HERE would ummm beg to differ. but um anyways-

+ Also Mang Inasal posters can be seen in the MRT station backdrops and um it’s a very famous restaurant chain here and they serve lots of barbecue and other filipino stuffs and i miss them a lot God their halo halo is very yummy

+ Santelmo - oki so this is the fire face thingy that Alexandra summons inside the ruined train. This is the shortened version of the term "Apoy ni Santa Elmo" or "St. Elmo's Fire" - this is a weather phenomenon wherein plasma is created from an electrical discharge from a rod like object in an atmospheric electric field. This phenomenon was used to warn of imminent lightning strikes or storms (there is a chapter in Noli Me Tangere where Pilosopo Tasyo talks about that bUT I'LL SAVE THE NOLI ME TANGERE RAMBLES FOR ANOTHER DAY). But according to Philippine folklore, santelmos - which are said to be souls of people lost as sea - are balls of fire that appear where accidents or big arguments happen. In Trese, santelmos (alex's santelmo being "The Great Spirit of the Binondo Fire") can be called to assist in supernatural investigations

+ Translation of what Alex says when she draws the circles to meet with the purple ghosts: "Souls, where are you off to? I'll be entering too, so please open the door."

+ Remember the scene at the train with all the purple ghosts and the woman in a veil? Yea the woman is an emissary of a goddess named Ibu and she is the Manobo (again, another indigenous ethnic group but this time they're from Mindanao; fun fact we have around 134 ethnic groups) goddess of deceased mortals and the queen of the underworld; she also serves as a psychopomp and guides the newly deceased souls to the other side (having an MRT be the ride to the underworld isn’t in the legends tho so fkkjsf)

+ The aswang in the top hat is called Xa Mul and according to the Isneg/Apayao people (yay another ethnic group but this time in northern Luzon - the Cordillera regions to be specific), they are an evil spirit known to swallow people whole.

+ Alex has two henchmen right? Yea they are named Crispin and Basillio and No I still don’t know who’s who and I'm really sorry about that fsfjs so anyways the names Crispin and Basillio are actually those of two brothers featured in the Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo novels (Crispin is younger and Basilio is older) which are basically the national novels here cause um yea written by national hero Jose Rizal as sociopolitical commentary about the Spanish regime here. I don't know if I want to spoil this cause I kinda want other people to read the novel too fskfs BUT ALL IN ALL, ONE OF THEM DIES IN LIKE THE 10TH OR 11TH CHAPTER OF NOLI ME TANGERE (and the novel has 64 chapters btw) AND UM YEA-

+ OKI SO TO ADD MORE CONTEXT TO THE SQUATTER STUFFS MENTIONED IN TRESE (we r gonna use the tiny font here because holy shit this rant is long): So,in the Philippines, especially in the capital region, there are lots of slum areas called squatters. These are dense urban settlements made of compact makeshift housing units that aren't really officially recognized by the government. This is um very reflective of the poverty situation here and there are maaany factors that come into play here and if i were to go into depth about this topic, that rant would probably turn into an academic paper so for the sake of brevity, let's just say that Things Are Fucked Up Here. Oftentimes the poorer sectors are being ignored and left to their own devices despite tons of campaign promises to make things better and easier for them. The communities that live here are incredibly vulnerable to floods, fires, and the like and afaik no concrete solutions have been in effect to protect these people and their settlements. There have also been many times where squatter areas are dismantled or demolished despite protests of people living in those areas and yea I understand the need to make space and the need for renovation but the people should still be offered some sort of temporary settlement or financial compensation thingy that doESN'T fuck them over but alas, we have an anti-poor government. That being said, I really like Trese Ep 1's portrayal of governmental negligence, but I also have some thoughts, especially in regards to the mayor being arrested THAT FAST which um believe me, NEVER FUCKING HAPPENS BECAUSE MANY MAYORS AND A LOT OF POLITICIANS HAVE THE POLICE IN THEIR POCKETS SO UM ERR YEA JUSTICE IS RARELY A THING HERE BUT UM ANYWAYS YEA THE GOVERNMENT LIKES TO SHIT ON THE POOR WOO LET'S SAVE THE USE OF SOCIOLOGICAL LENS ON THIS MATTER FOR ANOTHER DAY

+ The news channel reporting the arrest of the mayor is ABC-ZNN WHICH IS AN OBVIOUS REFERENCE TO ABSCBN aka the top media conglomerate here (that has been fucked over by the government so many times to the point that they had to shut down operations last year which is all sorts of unfair so seeing them being referenced here kinda made me happy gksfks)

#HI PATROC I HAVE A GIFT #IT'S A VERY LONG AND CONVOLUTED GIFT #BUT IT'S A GIFT #I WISH YOU THE BEST OF LUCK IN TRYING TO UNDERSTAND THIS #this is literally 2813 words long AND IT TOOK ME 12 HOURS TO TYPE THIS OUT OH GOD #AND THIS IS JUST EP 1 #here's to hoping the following eps are gonna be much easier for me to like ramble about considering that i explained quite a lot here gfsfs #please do take this ramble with a grain of salt tho cause obviously I am not a mythology expert so um feel free to add more info!#i'd really love to see more info about trese so yay!#trese #trese netflix #alexandra trese #trese spoilers #ask to tag

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knifeewifee · 4 years

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Into the Dark Tamaki x Fem! Reader

A/N: WOW this took fucking FOREVER, But I’m super proud of it! I didn’t proof read the last bit cause I’m LAZY but I hope yall like it!

This is in a Apocalypse AU. There are no Quirks in this AU. Female Reader

TW: NSFW, Gore, Death, Violence, Some Blood, SelfHarm ish, Kinda Angsty

Tag list: @strawbirb @heroheads @caprisun-calories @hummusatune @honeytama @we-mentally-unstable @redflannel @engel-hageshii

Check out the others here!: https://lady-bakuhoe.tumblr.com/post/620733945423740928/here-is-another-nsfw-collaboration-for-the-bnharem

Word Count: 4.3 k ish

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The irony of the situation was not lost on you. It has been over a year since the mysterious disease that spread worldwide had first come around. There was no real name for this infection other than calling those who were infected ‘Vampires’ or ‘The Dead Ones’. There’s only one real way of being infected and that's to have one of the infected’s blood mix with your own in some way or another. They always show the same feature. Sharp teeth and claws, inhuman speed, strength and the most dangerous of them all, a never ending hunger for human blood. So strong that the ‘vampires’ become bloodthirsty and violent monsters who are more than willing to tear into the throats or limbs of their loved ones to quench an almost never ending need for the crimson liquid. Once infected there was no way of turning back. Mostly because you were, in fact dead as a doornail. You can’t reverse death.

When the disease first came around the only option was to kill them. Despite their strength and speed it wasn’t so hard. They were weak to the sun and always burned in a horrific way into ash. The smell of burning flesh was so strong around that time. Another way to kill them was to take off their heads. Which wasn’t as easy. They could heal their bodies quickly and if you miss it almost guaranteed your death by the monster.

Once they were changed they were no longer the one you loved or knew. Most aren’t even sure if they remember who they were before they were changed. They attack with no remorse. So they ended the same way.

Which is why you find your situation so.. Disheartening. You sat on the wooden crate staring at the dark haired man in front of you. Tamaki Amajiki was someone who you didn’t know well before this whole event happened. His anxiety was an ever flooding emotion that got in his way of making friends. He sat next to you in your animal science class and his shyness always made it difficult to start a conversation with the man. Despite this your heart would always flutter at the sound of his soft voice whenever he did speak. When he did speak his passion was conveyed in a way like no other. You could see it in his dark colored eyes. The sparkle in them when he talked about how he wanted to become a vet to help animals in need.

His kindness didn’t stop at animals though, he was also incredibly kind to people as well. More than willing to help others in need. Which is how you both ended up in this situation. Tamaki was chained to the brick wall. The gray metal shined dimly in the little candle light there was. You watched him softly as small whines of pain left his lips. You hated to see him this way.

While out gathering supplies you were attacked and Tamaki protected you. Unfortunately he was badly injured from it. You don’t know how but at some point the vampire must have bled onto Tamaki, because now he’s on the floor in front of you as one of the infected. You know that you’re supposed to get rid of them. To stop the spread of this, but over the year you have spent together you had fallen deeply in love with the timid dark haired man. You couldn’t bring yourself to hurt him. So instead you chained him up in the basement of a cabin that the two of you had found way out into the forest in the mountains away from the dangerous cities.

This was a stupid thing to do, this could get you killed but the fear of death didn’t scare you. Tamaki would never hurt you. He is far too kind and caring to do that. Not on purpose anyways.

When you first met him one year ago he was timid but had a kind heart that you found to be his best trait. Over the time that you had spent with him you learned more things about him. You learned he looked up to his best friend Mirio. You learned how hard Tamaki worked. You could see the passion in his eyes, you knew no matter how much anxiety he had that Tamaki would do his best no matter what.

You thought that he’d become a great vet. That was before everything went to hell. When this mysterious disease first appeared it spread fast and took down large cities, Like Tokyo, New York and Shanghai in only a matter of days. Law enforcement and medical workers were affected first since they came to the aid of those injured and infected. Without reinforcements and medical care many people died or were unprotected. The ‘vampires; were mindless and violent. No one was sure if they could even talk or communicate in any other way other than ungodly screaming. Like the hunger they suffered was so painful they could feel it in their very souls.. If they had one anymore that is. They attack any and all without prejudice. Blood covered the streets and the inside of homes. It was clear to most that leaving the city was the best option. If only it had been that easy.

You did what most people did and packed up your car to leave. You didn’t pack much, some clothes, pictures, food and water. You knew this would last a long time and packing light was your best option. It hurt to leave some of your things, to leave precious memories behind, but at this moment, survival was what was important. You didn’t have any family or much friends for that matter. Not anymore. All of the streets leading out of the city were packed with cars as far as you could see. It seems you weren’t the only one with common sense. After an hour night fell over the streets like a suffocating blanket, you felt uneasy. Nothing was moving.. Why weren’t the cars moving?

That's when you heard it. Screaming, it wasn’t just from one person. It was from many. Young and old, men and women. All their screams echoed down the packed streets. You panicked and slid into your back seat grabbing canned food, water, a shirt and pants into a backpack and slung it over your shoulder, there was no way in hell you were gonna sit here like a pig to the slaughter. You exited your car with a machete in hand and weaved and dodged around cars keeping low. How could you have been so stupid? You put yourself in a bad position. Surrounded by people in a place you couldn’t move, you needed to get out of here.

You didn’t want to die. Not yet, you wanted to do so much. You wanted to be so much. Though those plans are ruined now that you look back. You were disoriented by a scream. This scream wasn’t far away. In fact this scream was right behind you. You turned and saw it standing over the body of a young woman. You could hear her downing in her own blood as that thing tore into her throat with a god awful sound that you could never describe in a way that would truly express how horrid it was. No amount of horror movies could prepare you for a sound like that. One that made your stomach turn and your heart break. The glass of her car window laid on the ground, her hands gripping at it, like she was trying to look for some sort of weapon to protect herself. You could see the desperate fight in her eyes. One of someone, who wasn’t ready to die yet. Soon her body went limp. Her blood colored the street and her car like paint.

You slid behind a car and covered your mouth. You wanted to sob, scream or try to help her but you knew there was no helping her, she was gone. You steadied your breathing and looked around. Was that the only vampire here right now? Was there still hope of getting the fuck out of this situation? You couldn’t keep yourself still, you wanted to run. You wanted to get out of there. You didn’t want to be like her. Suddenly you felt something on your neck, something that both terrified you and sent your heart into despair. The smell of copper heavy on its rotting breath. You turned your head to see it staring at you with sharp golden eyes that practically glowed in the darkness that surrounds you.

It was mere inches from you, and yet your body wouldn’t move. Fear etched its way into your bones and muscles stiling you like a statue. Your eyes moved down to its fangs. It’s mouth twisted into some sort of sick grin as its clawed and disfigured hand reached out towards you. That's when the situation hit you. You need to fucking MOVE. NOW. It was like the cement in your bones disappeared as you bolted from your hiding place. You had never moved so fast in your life your legs and lungs burned as raced around cars and people.

Just as you thought you had gotten away you feel a sharp pain in your side and your legs turn to jelly under you. Your face hits the rough asphalt hard, bits of rock digging into your hands, knees and cheek. The matchette you once held thrown out of reach. You let out a whimper of pain. Not from the fall but the burning hot pain in your side. Like someone pushed hot steel through your skin. The taste of copper filled your mouth. A string of curses leaves your lips as you desperately try to crawl away. This wasn’t how you were going to die. Not by one of those things. You were NOT going to be an unsatisfying meal to one of those vampires.

You felt something grab your leg with sharp dagger like nails digging into your ankle. You kick at it with your other leg screaming as you desperately try to fight. ‘Is this karma?’ You thought. ‘ Am I being punished for standing by while others died in front of me?’ A sob wrecked through your body as you turned clawing at the ground trying to reach for your only weapon.

“L-LEAVE HER ALONE!” the familiar erupted through the night. It felt like everything was in slow motion as you turned to see the face of the timid man who used to sit next to you in your class and the now headless vampire who had your life in it’s hands.

Before you could even react to what had just happened you were wrapped into Tamaki’s arms and lifted up. Tamaki didn’t say a word. In fact he didn't even really look at you as he ran through the cars and into the grass that separated the road and the thick forest that leads to the mountains. His breathing was uneven and panicked as he bolted past the tree line and into the dark forest.

That was how the two of you ended up together in such a fucked up situation. The two of you wandered through the forest for days until the two of you found an abandoned cabin at the base of the mountains, the thickest part of what seemed like a never ending woodland. Your wounds weren’t too bad and with the little medical knowledge Tamaki had from class he was able to patch you up. As the weeks went by the two of you became closer.

The more you were with him the more you fell in love with him, and he also fell for you just as hard. On cold nights you’d sleep close to him with his arms wrapped around you. At the time. The small things you two did together made it seem like the world hasn’t fallen apart. Like Everything was okay.

But now. Your world was falling apart all over again. The one person you had, the last person you had in the fucked up world was now one of the vampires. The pain of this realization twisted in your chest. Being stabbed again would hurt less than to watch your love cry out and whimper on the floor, begging for something to eat. But you knew it wasn't food he wanted. Unfortunately the blood of animals didn’t work. Instead it only made him sick and hurt him more. You want to stop his pain. You want to ease his hunger. There was only one way to do that.

You pulled out a pocket knife from your jacket pocket. You pulled off your jacket and tossed it on the cold cement floor. Tamaki looked up at you from the floor, his reddened eyes scanning your form. “W- … What are you doing?” His vision is blurred from pain filled tears but he could clearly see the gleam of the pocket in the dim candle light. He knew exactly what you were going to do. He didn’t want that. Tamaki shifted from his laid down position and tried to move towards you. “S-Stop don’t do that!” The chains pull tightly, stopping him from moving closer.

“Tamaki.. You’re in so much pain. I just want to help you.” You look at him softly as you open the pocket knife and put the blade to your wrist. “I can give you some of my blood. Animal blood is only hurting you more, it makes you sick!”

Tamaki pulls at the metal confindments roughly. The thought of you hurting yourself for him made his chest burn in despair. This was his fault. He got infected and now you’re suffering for his mistakes. “I’m infected. I’m already sick. Don’t … Don’t hurt yourself for me, bunny” He looks at you with sadden eyes as he watches you intently. It made him feel sick that part of him wanted it, that he could smell your scent no matter how far away you were. A sickly sweet smell of burning sugar or incense. One that he craves to always have near him. It only made him hunger for your blood more. To be buried in your scent and devour you whole.

His heart sank as he saw beads of crimson blood slide down your perfect skin. You slowly make your way towards Tamaki with your arm outstretched. “Tamaki Please.” the crack in your voice spoke volumes about how you felt. This is your fault. You wanted to help him, he was in pain because you lost focus, because you didn’t check your surroundings. You had your head in the clouds and forgot what kind of world you live in now.

“Just drink it, Tama.” Tamaki looked away from you and moved back. “N-no. I can’t. I don't want this..” He swiftly turns away and leans his head on the wall behind him. He wraps his arms around himself like if he didn’t he’d fall apart right there. You wrap your arms around him and lean your head against his back. You felt his body tense under your arms. At this point it didn’t matter to you that he may be dangerous. This is Tamaki. A man you loved more than anything, whose kindness knew no boundaries. Nothing would change that, here he is, in an unbearable kind of pain you’d never understand. A never ending hunger you'll never feel, but he still refuses. He’s different. He isn’t like anyone else. He may be a ‘vampire’ now but he’s still the gentle man, with the same soft eyes and caring hands.

“I’m sorry, Tama. This is all my fault. You’re like this because of me.. I just wanted to help you.” Tamaki starts to shake a small groan escaping his lips. “I-I .. You need to move away from me...”

“No.” You rub your face into his shoulder, trying to fight off the tears. “I’m not going anywher-” your words are cut short by a sudden and swift movement from Tamaki pushing you into the freezing brick wall. You never saw Tamaki as being particularly big. He always slouched into himself making him seem much smaller than what he really was. But in this moment he loomed over you, his dark eyes almost shining red in the soft yellow light. You’d be lying if a small bit of fear didn’t grip you in its paralyzing claws.

Tamaki grabbed your hand, the blood from the cut you made earlier smeared across your arm and hand. His thumb moved carefully over the red and raised skin. He never breaks his gaze from your arm as he brings it closer to his trembling lips. Tamaki didn’t want this. He needed this. Overwhelming guilt flooded him as his pale lips pressed against the fresh cut. He couldn’t hold back any longer, the smell of copper and your overstimulating scent made his head spin.

You bring your other arm up and run your fingers gently through his indigo locks. Your face twists slightly with pain as Tamaki’s tongue runs across your self made injury. The crimson honey sliding along this tongue and down throat. It was almost intoxicating, it was addicting. He wanted more. The normally reserved man pressed into you his grip on your arm tightens as he locks his lips around the source of his pleasure. He slides his knee in between your legs, a soft groan radiating from deep in this throat.

“Tama-.. ki?” A heat rushes to your cheeks as soon as you see the look in his eyes. Not the same look he used to have. He has a much darker expression now as his lips release from your wrist and he pressed his forehead to yours. The smell of the rouge liquid heavy on his breath as he leans in closer to your lips. His hands move down to your hips and pulled you flush against his growing bludge. You gasp slightly as his lips lock with yours in a needy and sloppy kiss.

Tamaki bites your bottom lip asking for entrance that you gladly gave him. He slid his tongue into your mouth and the taste of your own blood filled your mouth. There were so many things running through your head at the moment. Should you even be doing this? Was this okay?

You grab onto Tamaki’s shirt to tug him closer to you. The heat of the kiss was leaving you breathless, your mind was reeling from lack of air and the pang of need that radiated from in between your legs. You’ve never done something like this with Tamaki. You’ve never really kissed him before, because he’s always become far too nervous and would hide away. Now here he is taking your breath away in a way you never thought he could. Or would do.

The way Tamaki’s scorching hot tongue explored your mouth made your heart feel like it was going to explode. You wanted to melt into his arms and stay like this for ever. But the moment was cut short when Tamaki pulled away heavily panting, a string of saliva connecting your lips. You almost forgot you hadn’t been breathing, “Tama..”

“I want more..” His lips brush across your neck making your heart leap into your throat. A small whine forms at the back of his throat as he nips gently at your neck. His hands slip under your shirt as he kisses and sucks on your neck leaving small hickies as he works his way to your collarbone.

“I… I want more of you” Tamaki lets out a shaky breath as his fingers make their way to your unprotected plush breasts. You let out a sigh as he pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it to the floor. The cold air of the stale room brushed over your now exposed skin. His sharp eyes trace over every line and curse of your body committing it to memory. A red blush dusted across his face and to his pointed ears as he looks up towards your equally flustered expression.

He looks back towards your breasts cupping one into his hand and taking your sensitive bud into his searing mouth. His sharp fangs drags gently over your skin as he sucks and licks your nipple. His fingertips run gently over your sides causing you to moan his name softly. The sound of your voice only makes his erection that much more unbearable for him. He bites down softly and a small sharp pain fills your breast. The metallic taste of blood ran over his tongue once more as he runs it across the newly made mark. A twinge of guilt setting in this stomach at the small whimper that radiates from your throat. He pulls away slightly, only to have your fingers run through his long soft locks.

“Tamaki.. Do whatever you want with me, I’m yours..” You lean down and place a gentle kiss on his lips, that quickly turns heated once again as his worry and guilt dissipates and is replaced with lust. His hand slides over your bare soft stomach towards the hem of your pants. He quickly unbuttons them and slides his fingers into your panties brushing his fingers against your silky wet folds.

A shiver runs up your spin as you feel Tamaki’s warm breath against your throat. “You're so wet and warm..” his words dance across your skin as he nips at your pulse point gently. A low grow reverberates from his chest as he slowly rubs circles with his calloused finger over your engorged clit. Your delicate hands quickly cling on to Tamaki’s shirt. A needy moan fills the room. You hips moved on their own begging for more stimulation against his hand. You almost felt embarrassed grinding against his finger like a bitch in heat, but you’ve wanted this for so long. You want Tamaki. You didn’t care about anything else at this moment.

“You’re so pretty like this.. You’re so beautiful. “ Tamaki begins to rub against your greedy clit faster. “Cum for me, bunny. Please” His lips latch into your collarbone kissing and suck eagerly leaving his mark. Your cries of pleasure become stuck in your throat and all you can let out are choked out whines and praise as the coil in your stomach begins to tighten rapidly. You pussy empty pussy clenching around nothing. You wanted him so badly. The feeling of euphoria washes over your quacking body as your orgasm washes over you. You bury your face into Tamaki unable to hold yourself up anymore as his fingers continue their assault against your now overstimulated clit.

“Tamaki, Please. I want you so bad.” With your words Tamaki helped you pull off your remaining clothes. He unbuckles his pants and pulls his cock out. It was much thicker than you thought it would be. A small bit of panic runs through you as you begin to wonder if that would fit in you. You push the thoughts to the side as you run your fingers over his hot shaft. He pushes you back into the wall pulling you around his hips, his hands cup around your ass holding you up. The cold metal of his chains press into your skin causing a chill to run through your body. You wrap your arms around his neck looking for any kind of support. The feeling of his precum covered tip running over your entrance set your body on fire.

His names fell from your lips to implore him to take you. To finally make you, his. His sensitive tip presses into your cut without much resistance, inch by inch his member stretches your wall. His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass as he bottoms out inside you. A loud moan rips through his throat as the taut ring of your entrance squeezes around him.

Before you could become used to the size of him inside you his hips began to move. Your legs wrap securely around his lower back as you cry his name with each needy thrust. His thrusts are irregular and fast slamming into you without thought. His lips find yours in a passionate and burning kiss. His moans fill your mouth as his hips snap into yours. The feeling of his cock rubbing against your tight walls made your head spin. You hadn’t noticed the look in his eyes as he kissed your jaw and down towards your throat once again.

A scorching pain fills your body as Tamaki’s fangs skin into the soft skin of your neck. A small string of sorrys leaves him as he laps up the small river of crimson honey. He sucks your blood desperately as his pace picks up and becomes much harder. The pain in your neck and pussy sends you over the edge again as your body is once again hit with another orgasm. Your nails dig into Tamaki’s shoulder as you press your head into the stone wall.

The head of his cock kisses the entrance of your cervix and his sloppy movements become slower. You could feel his cock twitch inside you. A loud groan radiates from the back of his throat as his cock spits ropes of cum into your pussy, filling you up. A hiss of release bruisers across your neck as he kisses the bite mark on your neck in apology.

“I’m sorry… Did I-I hurt you?” he slowly lets you down as his knees finally buckle underneath him. He wraps his sinewy arms around your waist and lays his head in your shoulder. Taking in your sweet scent. You shake your head and run your hands down his back.

“No.. You didn’t” The two of you stay like that on the floor for a while. You didn’t mind this.. You didn’t mind that he was no longer human. If this was the life you were meant to have them so be it. You’ll gladly go into the dark with him. Tamaki is different from the rest. You love him and he loves you.

#bnharem collab #bnharem #tamaki amakiji #tamaki amajiki x reader #bnha #n-s-f-w #apocalypse AU #amajiki #amajiki x reader #tamaki x reader #tamaki #knifeewifee art #knifeewifee fic

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dothwrites · 4 years

Text

@sextualfantasy requested destiel with Jealous!Dean, and the MotW being wildly flirtatious with Cas. <3

---

Dean grits his teeth as he stares down at the table, watching the couple--watching the two people across the table from him in the reflection of a spoon. He needs to relax. His jaw hurts from the force of his irritation, but every time he makes an effort to loosen his jaw, he hears the scraping, tinkling laugh of the kikimora. Worse yet are the cooed endearments, all dropped directly in Cas’ lap, for Cas to do whatever Cas does with compliments, but for Dean to obsess over, until he’s nothing more than a tightly wound ball of tension that’s three seconds away from exploding.

Definitely wasn’t supposed to go down like this.

It was supposed to be a fairly easy case--3 men, all in fairly good health, went to bed one night and never woke up the next morning. The perplexed medical examiner finally put the cause of death down to heart attack, in lieu of any other explanation. But the rictus expression of fear and the clawed hands, frozen in the act of clutching the blankets, had all spoken of something unnatural.

It had taken them a few tries before they landed on kikimora. They’re not common. To Dean’s knowledge, Dad had come across the hint of one once, and Bobby had killed one, once, about twenty years ago. Silver and salt, was all Bobby’s journal said, and Dad’s journal didn’t even say that much. Don’t look her in the eyes, was Bobby’s other piece of advice, along with the warning that kikimora usually fixated on young men, to drive them wild with desires, and young women, to drive them mad with jealousy. This one has deviated somewhat off script in that she’s literally terrifying men to death, which means that she has to be put down.

It had been a foolproof plan, or as close to foolproof as the Winchesters got. Find the kikimora--the instructions were a little vague there, since all the lore said was that she would be in the guise of a beautiful woman and possibly have chicken feet--but Dean had figured with Cas alongside them, there wasn’t much cause to worry. While his grace isn’t what it used to be, Cas can still venture into a bar or club and pick out any ten monsters, usually before both his feet are in the door. Plus, there was an added advantage to bringing him along.

“After all,” Dean had said, tucking his silver knife into the inner pocket of his suit, “you’ll be able to look her in the eyes, no problem.”

Dean should really know by now not to say shit like that.

Cas clocked the kikimora from the second they walked into the bar. He’d pointed her out to Dean, a waitress with long black hair and pale, porcelain skin. They’d gone over together, Dean carefully looking into the middle distance as Cas introduced them as agents and could they just have a word--The kikimora had glanced up, taken in the whole breadth of Cas’ face--the persistent stubble clinging to his jaw, the thick dark hair curling over his ears, the piercing blue eyes--and her smile had spread, predatory and pleased, across her face. Have more than one word sweetheart, she’d said, lilting voice reaching out to Cas. You can have all the words you like.

Cas had taken one look at her face and--

If Dean strains his ears, he can hear the low rumble and scrape of Cas’ voice. From the second that Cas looked into the kikimora’s eyes, he hasn’t looked away. And her...She must have her boss under some kind of spell; either that or she’s not a waitress at all, because this whole damn time, after the first Well hey there handsome, that she threw Cas’ way, she hasn’t shifted from Cas’ side.

Dean tries not to think about how the lore says that kikimora fixate on attractive men. About how they’ll drive them mad with desire.

He chances a look.

Cas doesn’t look driven mad with desire, but he doesn’t...not look driven mad with desire. Mostly, he’s wearing that Cas look that he gets when he’s listening intently to someone--the small line that knits between his eyebrows, the determined little purse of his lips, the laser-like focus of his eyes on another person. Dean’s used to that person being him.

An ugly emotion swirls in his gut and claws its way up his throat as he watches the kikimora laugh and reach out. Her hand rests on Cas’ wrist, fingertips daring to slip underneath the cuff of his shirt to flirt with the bare skin of his arm. Cas never shakes it off. No, Cas just leans in closer, tilting his head in the way that Dean had come to think possessively of as his. Dean watches him as he takes a sip of his drink. The beer leaves a remnant of foam shining on his upper lip. That’s when the kikimora reaches out and swipes her thumb over the curve of Cas’ upper lip, except it’s not a swipe, she’s just leaving her thumb there, resting on Cas’ lips like that’s her newfound property, and that--

Dean doesn’t register the low growl rumbling through his chest, or the fact that he’s already up on his feet, until he’s looming over the two of them.

“Agent,” he says. He tries to repress all of the writhing emotions in his chest and it leaves his voice rough. He rifles through his brain for Cas’ alias and comes up empty. “Can I speak to you?”

Finally, the kikimora’s thumb falls away from Cas’ lips as the angel turns to look at him. Dean keeps his eyes on Cas, ignoring the small huff of irritation from the kikimora.

“We’re actually in the middle of something, if you don’t mind,” she says, when neither Dean nor Cas move. Her hand lands on Cas’ jaw, turning his face back towards her. “Hey sexy, I know your friend is cute and all, but he’s just going to have to wait his turn, all right?”

For a moment, Dean forgets that they’re in a crowded bar. He forgets about all the bystanders and the need for subtlety. All he can see, through his red-tinted vision, is the kikimora, leaning in close to Cas, her hair cascading like a waterfall and hiding Cas’ face from view, as she calls him sexy.

That’s his fucking angel, thank you very much.

At the same time that Dean explodes out with Now look here skank, Cas leans in closer, tucks a bit of kikimora’s hair behind her ear and murmurs, “Come with me?”

The kikimora flashes a triumphant smile at Dean as she runs her fingers through Cas’ hair, down to scrape across his jaw. “Of course,” she croons, stroking over his cheeks. “Let’s go.”

Cas throws one impenetrable look over his shoulder towards Dean, before he’s up and walking away. Dean looks down to see that his fingers are laced with the kikimora’s. They disappear down the darkened hallway towards the bathrooms and, coincidentally enough, the back exit. The last thing Dean sees is the kikimora’s hand reaching up to twist a lock of Cas’ hair around her finger.

Something hot and ugly curls in his stomach and Dean is out the door after them, pushing his way through various bodies as he makes his way past the bathrooms and into the alley behind the bar. It stinks back here, the dumpsters only feet away and the hood vents belching out grease, but it’s dark and private.

His silver knife bumps against his hip and Dean draws it out, glad at least that bit of subterfuge is over with. Now there’s just the hunting things aspect of his job and he’s looking forward to that part more than usual.

His ears pick up the unmistakable sound of a scuffle, followed by a sharp cry and an even sharper, “What the hell do you--” By now Dean’s running, the sounds of a fight sending adrenaline and anger and all those other twisted things that he likes to pretend don’t writhe around in him swimming to the surface. He rounds the corner of the dumpster to find--

Castiel, wiping blood off his angel blade, looking calm and collected as if he’s asking Dean’s opinion on which avocado is the right type of firm, I can’t quite tell the difference, and Dean has the sinking suspicion suddenly, as Castiel looks at him, that he’s never been as clueless as he’s let on.

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, tossing the scrap of cloth onto the kikimora’s body with an almost imperceptible expression of distaste. His eyes flick to the blade in Dean’s hands. “I think you’ll find that unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary.” Dean’s palm is sweaty around his knife; he doesn’t let it go. He stares at Cas, who looks at him as calmly as if they ran into each other in the library, but there’s something smoldering behind Cas’ eyes. Eleven years have given Dean a pretty good basis of knowledge for when Cas is fucking with him, and Cas...

Cas is fucking with him.

“You let her put her hands on you,” Dean says. He can’t help how his walk changes--no longer the frantic, rush of worry and jealousy (all right, he can admit it, it was definitely jealousy twisting up his insides). Instead, now it’s the tight, coiled grace of a hunter.

From the barely-there smile that ghosts across Cas’ face, he notices the difference as well.

“She called you sexy and handsome, and she put her hands all over you.”

“She did,” Cas agrees, smooth and easy and too fucking smug for his own good.

Dean’s walking towards the edge of a precipice. He’s been crawling towards it for several years, but, it appears anyway, that Cas has gotten tired of waiting for him to get there on his own and has now taken the drastic step of simply drop-kicking him off the edge.

And Dean should probably be more irritated that he was fucking played like a two dollar harmonica this whole night, but Cas is in front of him, smug and celestial, and everything that Dean ever wanted, and his, his his--

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” Dean crowds against Cas, pushes him back against the wall. Hips, legs, shoulders, his hands cupping Cas’ face and tilting it up so that Cas’ eyes catch the sickly yellow gleam of the streetlight. Cas huffs out in silent laughter and the sound scours away any of the bitter jealousy clogging Dean’s veins until he’s just overwhelmed with Cas. “Fucking flirting right in front of me, what the hell?”

“It seemed the best way to get your attention,” Cas murmurs, which is all Dean allows him to say before he’s closed the scant inch of space between them, his mouth landing messily over Cas’.

The taste of Cas on his lips purges everything else from Dean’s memory and replaces it all with the exact sensation of how it feels to have Cas’ hands slipping underneath his suit jacket to land, scalding hot, on his waist. The kiss starts brutal but it softens after a second, Dean nipping at the swell of Cas’ lower lip, Cas tracing the seam of Dean’s lips until Dean opens to him.

Dean doesn’t know how they kiss, there in the alley behind a dive bar. It could be minutes, it could be years. All he knows, is that when he finally pulls away from Cas, just to catch his breath, Cas tries to follow, lips finally separating from Dean’s with a soft, wet smack. Dean keeps his hands cupped around Cas’ cheeks and presses his forehead to Cas’, unwilling to pull too far away. Their breath mingles together, close and humid, in the few inches separating them.

“We still have to take care of the body,” Cas finally says, ever the realist. Dean muffles his groan by pressing his mouth to the side of Cas’ jaw. He likes the rough scape of stubble against the tender flesh of his lips, does it again, just because. “And while I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to doing anything more, I’m quite opposed to continuing in our present location.”

His libido kicked into high gear, Dean pulls far enough away to get a glimpse of the wicked twinkle in Cas’ eyes. “You...” he says, overwhelmed by the sheer evil genius of Cas.

“Take care of the body Dean,” Cas tells him, with a gleam in his eye that Dean suspects has always been there. “And then we’ll...talk.”

Played like a two dollar banjo and all Dean can do is grin as he grabs the kikimora’s body and tries to figure out how he and Cas are going to handle this.

Damn angel.

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #jealous!dean #oblivious!cas #or is he??#dothwrites

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medeafive · 3 years

Text

Blood and Stone - 25

Masterpost

"Are you sure?" Clint asks as she makes her bed. "I can come with you."

Natasha snorts, fluffing up the pillow she won't sleep on soon, or ever. "No thanks. Don't need you fighting with Bobbi every day."

"I'm serious," Clint insists, playing with an arrow at his belt.

"So am I," Natasha replies, holding her belly. "Nothing you can do. It's gonna be fine, don't worry."

Clint pulls a face, clearly disagreeing but biting his tongue. "I'll pray for you. Seriously."

He hasn't prayed since he fled the war, as far as she knows, so she smiles at him sadly. "Thank you. Really."

There's nothing more to say after that. The room's largely empty. Not like she ever had much personal possessions anyway. She looks around, weird floating feeling. It's true, she's in between, removed from the world of hunting but not yet in… she doesn't know yet. Motherhood? A strange thought. She hasn't really thought about what this is going to be . If it's going to be at all.

Downstairs, everyone is waiting in the lobby, blinds pulled for James' sake. The bags are already in the car, as far as she knows. Pepper hugs her, a tear in the corner of her eye. “You’re going to be fine, Nat. We’re all going to be fine.”

Sharon hugs her next and by the time it’s Sam’s turn, Natasha herself is teary-eyed. She might just never see them again. “I’ll see you soon,” Sam mutters into her hair.

“I hope it’ll go well,” Bruce says. “Bobbi will look after you.”

“Oh, come on,” Tony says. “Like this would take you down. You, of all people.”

Clint is gritting his teeth, muscles of his jaw working. It looks aggressive but she knows he’s just trying not to show his emotions. “Stay strong. Don’t give up.”

“You’ll be back soon,” Fury says. “Can��t lose my best tracker.”

James is the last in line and she can’t really look at him, after the fight yesterday. It is what it is. As Bobbi said, the rest is between her and God, if that guy’s even out there somewhere. The only thing left to believe in is herself. James steps forward and kisses her forehead with his cold lips. It is what it is. She notices everyone else looking uncomfortable or looking away. “Good luck, Natalia. Good luck.”

That’s what it comes down to in the end, isn’t it? Sheer dumb luck. Life and death, happiness and misery, stability and societal collapse from a vampire epidemic. Nobody is ever really in control. Certainly not James and her. And she knows it's all downhill from here, whatever happens, James will always be a vampire, Schmidt will be out there until they kill him, she will always be on the run until she's dead or undead. It's all fleeting, unstoppable, out of control, and only getting worse. She smiles at him, thinking she might never see him again. "I'll be fine."

"Your stuff's in the truck," Bobbi remarks, staring at the claws against Natasha's red hair. "It's all ready to leave."

The silence is tense and uncomfortable. "We'll call you," Pepper hurries to say. "At least that much."

Natasha spots an unusually bulky figure in the background, hunching slightly, too heavy for his own liking. Looks like Steve's up. "Hey, you. I know you don't remember me but… You'll figure it out. I hope they take care of you."

"Sure will," Sharon mutters, blushing pink.

Natasha squeezes James' hand, still cold- well, that's just how it is, and it doesn't really matter. The baby kicks slightly and her mouth drops open but it's not that bad. She lets go, takes Bobbi's arm and lets herself be led outside.

It's really a small truck more than a car, plenty of space in the back, rusty but actually not in all that bad shape. Not like the Soviet car industry. Bobbi leads her to the passenger side.

"Morse?"

They both turn their heads. Fury is standing outside, beckoning. "Come over, I got something for you."

"Just a sec," Bobbi replies, helping Natasha up into the truck. "You okay?"

Natasha breathes heavily at the slight exertion, holding her belly. At least she didn't burn in the sunlight. "Yeah. It's fine."

"Just a second then, be right back." Bobbi walks to the back of the truck. Natasha closes her eyes, heart drumming in her ears. Oh, she's really not doing well. Stairs are hard, even when it's just one step. She hopes this is over soon. Little over a week now. Also, she hasn't been out in the daylight in what feels like years and it's awfully bright. Somebody opens the door at the back of the truck.

"Oh. Oh, I see."

"I think you're going to find that very useful."

"Sure thing. Where'd'ya get this beauty?"

"Had it for a while. Don't tell the others."

"Won't, boss."

"Well. Do your best."

The doors are slammed shut again. "Will do. Good luck with the vampires."

Bobbi comes around, climbing into the driver's seat. "What did he give you?" Natasha asks.

Bobbi grins, starting the car. "Oh, I'll tell you sometime later."

They drive for about an hour and a half, or maybe two. It's really been forever that Natasha was outside the city, in broad daylight no less. And she's so exhausted that she nods off several times, only to be rattled awake by a bump in the road.

It's quite deserted. The vampires may have hit the big cities the hardest but the countryside wasn't exactly spared. Most of all, people do not trust each other anymore and they avoid congregating, as if that would attract the monsters. In some ways, it does. Only about half of the fields are actually being farmed.

The house is half tucked away into a little forest, built out of broad wood planks, many gables. Bobbi tells her to wait, climbing out alone. Natasha leans forward, trying to get a better view. Not a person in sight, let alone another house. This is quite literally the end of the road.

However, before Bobbi reaches the house, a woman appears between the trees, rifle slung around her shoulder. She's rather tall, though not as tall as Bobbi, brown hair, and rather not up for a chat. Thick brown coat with what looks like fox fur around the neck. Bobbi raises her hands as she approaches her, though the woman shows no signs of reaching for a weapon.

The baby kicks hard and Natasha groans, slumping over, holding her belly for fear that it'll break. She wonders whether Tony meant that literally, with the baby breaking through her stomach and crawling out, or just- the tight skin holds for now and that’s all she’s going to think about.

The two women are still exchanging tense words. Natasha notices their host has binoculars around her neck, as if she just came back from the hunt. Animal hunt. Probably the only way to get food around here. Thinking about meat makes-

The baby kicks again, this time longer, even harder, and Natasha gasps and bends over, slumping onto the dashboard, moaning in pain as her belly's pushed out from inside repeatedly. She can almost feel the shape. The car door is being opened. "Hey, are you okay? Come on, let's get you inside so you can lay down."

She can't breathe. "Is she okay?" the other voice asks.

"Under the given circumstances," Bobbi replies, unfastening her seatbelt and reaching around. "But I'm gonna need a hand."

Natasha can't remember or imagine how they got from the car to her lying on a couch, under a blanket, with a hot bowl of soup. The kicking has subsided for now but she still feels the soreness from the last time.

The house is quite dark inside with all the wood and so few windows. There are antlers on the walls, stuffed pheasants, at least one set of vampire fangs. Trophies. A shudder goes down her spine, despite the warm blanket and the chimney fire. The cold winter wind rattles the tiny windows, cuts around the edges, trying to claw its way in. The room is lit solely with candles, probably no electricity in the house.

“Hey.”

The brown-haired woman is sitting behind a big wooden table, face bright against the wooden wall, candle light dancing over her skin. There’s meat on the table, cooked meat. Natasha’s belly contracts almost painfully. Bobbi is nowhere to be seen.

“You’re Russian, aren’t you,” the woman remarks.

Natasha snorts, staring at the ceiling that’s so dark she can’t really see it. “Is that the first thing you ask?”

The woman shrugs, opening a flask of liquor with a biting smell escaping immediately. “I don’t mind.”

She sounds Czech which means she most likely speaks Russian but, like Pepper, clearly does not want to. “Where’s Bobbi?”

“Toilet’s outside,” the woman replies briefly, taking a sip from the flask. “You hungry?”

The smell of the meat is overwhelming, to a degree it shouldn’t be. Natasha tucks the blanket up to her chin. “Yeah.”

The woman makes her way out from behind the table, bumping into it or the bench several times. The rifle is hanging on the wall behind the door, as Natasha notices. The vampire fangs are right over the fireplace. “You killed a vampire?”

The woman nods, grabbing the plate with the meat and sitting down on the couch table, also made of heavy wood, holding out the plate. “You mind?”

The meat is cooked but it still smells of blood. Natasha can’t resist grabbing a piece with her bare hands and stuffing it in her mouth, shaking her head. She’s a hunter. She’s always been a hunter. She- She needs to devour all of this bloody meat right now.

The woman merely raises an eyebrow as Natasha rips the plate from her hands and starts wolfing it down, barely taking the time to chew, tasting the flesh, the blood, the dead life of it. She inhales it so fast that she gags, coughs, spits it out and shoves it in her mouth again, unable to stop. When she’s done, the plate entirely empty, fingers greasy and dirty, she leans back, exhausted. The woman is still watching her quietly. Natasha clears her throat, uncomfortable. “Do you live here alone?”

The woman shrugs, not moving otherwise. “Less people to worry about.”

She feels that. “I’m Natasha.”

“Maria,” the woman replies. “Maria Kopecká.”

The door opens, cold rush of air, then closes quickly behind Bobbi who’s stamping her feet to get rid of the mud. “Phew. Gotta say, taking a dump outside in the dark is quite the adrenaline boost.”

The woman- Maria gets up and pours water from a bucket into a big bowl. “Here. To wash your hands.”

“Thanks.” Bobbi rolls her sleeves up, looking towards Natasha. “Hey. Feeling better?”

She must have grease around her mouth, probably, with how fast she was devouring the meat. Embarrassing. She wipes it with the back of her hand quickly, which is not exactly clean either. “Mhm. Yeah.”

Bobbi dips her hands in the water, then grabs the bar of soap. “I see you already got something to eat.”

Maria makes her way around to the back of the hut, opening a cupboard. “She’s quite hungry. I’ll open a can.”

Her stomach growls at the mention of more food. “She needs to eat a lot,” Bobbi remarks. drying her hands off. “I hope you’re stocked.”

Maria huffs, pulling a can opener from a drawer. “Always.”

Bobbi turns, crossing her arms. “So, how do you know Fury, if I may ask?”

The can opener cuts through the metal deftly. “Work,” Maria replies. “Before.”

“Oh, I see.” Bobbi’s eyes drift to the vampire fangs over the fireplace, placed prominently. “Do lots of vampires come by here?”

“Few,” Maria states, grabbing a pot and pouring the content of the can into it. “Last one I shot was two months ago.”

“Huh.” Bobbi walks over to the couch, making space for her to narrowly sit, reaching for Natasha’s wrist. “Let me take your pulse.”

It feels rather quick but she’ll let Bobbi decide. Maria hangs the pot over the fireplace. It smells of sour tomatoes. The fiery light accentuates the harsh lines of her face. Bobbi checks her watch. "Mhm. Better give you a dose. Have you tried getting up?"

Her fingers are really greasy. "No."

"How did you come to be with that vampire thing?" Maria asks, peering out through the window.

Well, that. "I'm going to inject another dose," Bobbi announces, letting go of her wrist and getting up.

Natasha clears her throat, tucking the greasy hands under the blanket. "Just… just how anyone else comes to be with child."

Maria turns around, seeming unconvinced. "Really."

It would be great if she could disappear into the couch never to be seen again. "Gimme your arm, darling," Bobbi asks, sitting down on the couch table.

"And what's that?" Maria asks, crossing her arms.

"Vampire blood," Bobbi replies, looking for a vein. "Not from that guy. It helps with cell regeneration, healing and strength and… I really don't know how it works, but it works."

"You're a weird bunch," Maria remarks, crouching down in front of the fireplace and stirring the pot.

Natasha gets the empty feeling in her arm as the vampire blood floods in. "Do we really have everything here? No offense, but Fury said it would have more… equipment."

Maria straightens, walking across the room and pulling open a floor hatch Natasha hadn't noticed. "Oh, don't worry, it's all downstairs."

"Electricity, too?" Bobbi asks.

"There's a generator outside," Maria explains, peering down. "I don't run it usually because it might attract vampires, but it should work."

"Let's hope it does," Bobbi says. "Not that I haven't worked under candlelight but it'd be better if I didn't have to."

"It'll work," Maria states.

Bobbi sighs. "Okay. So, Nat, I… we haven't talked about this yet but I would like to induce early."

Natasha is too tired for this. "What does that mean?"

"Induce birth," Bobbi adds. "Basically, you take a pill and then the contractions start. I'd check again that the baby is big enough but I think it already is."

"Why, though?" Natasha asks. "Why not wait?"

"Every day of pregnancy brings more risk," Bobbi replies. "And the birth will be easier if the baby is not that big yet, so less complications. And we might just not have the time, depending on whatever else happens."

"And you're sure that's not bad for the baby?" Natasha questions.

Bobbi snorts. "Trust me, that thing has the most solid vitals I've ever seen."

"I wouldn't worry about that thing ," Maria interjects, holding the hatch open. "So, do you want to go down or can I close it?"

"I'll check it out," Bobbi replies, standing. "Natasha, just stay here for now."

Maria holds the hatch open dutifully and hands her a candle. "You need my help down there?"

"Should be fine," Bobbi replies, carefully climbing down the creaking wood. "Is that- oh."

"The hatch opens from inside," Maria states and closes it promptly.

The food over the fireplace smells quite strongly, tomato and something like pasta. Maria crosses over and stirs it again. "So. You fucked a vampire."

When Natasha doesn't reply immediately, Maria adds: "Or did a vampire fuck you?"

Natasha sighs. Jesus Christ. Why is all of this so complicated? "No, no, I… I fucked a vampire."

"Huh." Maria pulls her sleeves over her hands and lifts the pot off the fire. "Why?"

"I liked him," Natasha replies, immediately worrying about the past tense that came out so naturally. Why does it matter to her so much? Maybe she's never going to see him again, and… she's already lost so much, and there's nothing he can do to really change her situation, and she's doing this for herself anyway, they're not going to be a family - but she hasn't worried about dying since she got to know him, knew he wouldn't let anything happen to her- at least until she turned out pregnant. Does she really love the monster because he's strong enough to protect her?

Maria is watching her attentively, not clear whether she said anything or not. Natasha rubs her eyes demonstratively. "Sorry. I'm very tired."

"You can sleep on the couch," Maria states. "I usually sleep on the bench. Or on the floor."

Natasha nods, closing her eyes and crawling further under the blanket until she's lying almost flat, pretending to be already out. Bobbi is doing something downstairs, though it's very hard to hear, and Maria starts eating out of the pot, by the sound of it. The wind is very loud once it's silent.

After some time, the hatch creaks open and Bobbi climbs up again. "Good equipment, I gotta say."

She walks right past Natasha, even stops to look. Maria is quiet. "I thought that was for her."

"She wanted to sleep."

"Oh well. Let's not let it go to waste, then."

Bobbi finally walks away and Natasha can breathe normally again. The floor creaks, and the bench creaks. Everything in this house is dead and alive at the same time.

"So, all this stuff… is that from when you worked with Fury? It's not exactly new."

"Yes."

"Huh. So you're a doctor?"

"No."

"There was someone else?"

"Not… everyone is still here."

"Oh, I see. Emigration or vampires?"

"Both."

"I actually immigrated pre-vampires. Because everyone else emigrated."

Maria laughs, barely distinguishable from the rattling wind. "Bad choice, if you ask me."

"Oh, well. It's certainly very folksy, with the antlers and all."

"Rusty beyond repair."

"You're quite pessimistic. I thought there was quite a spirit of… I mean, after the stagnation of the 70s and 80s, and with Havel… of course, that was before the vampires."

"I think you're the one with the rosy eyes."

"The rosy glasses, yeah! It's probably nostalgia on my part, really."

"Nostalgia is fair. We had barely gotten back to where we were… and now this, of course. Best to resign to it."

"You certainly seem to have adapted to it. In your own way."

Maria snorts. "I'm not going to run around trying to stop something that cannot be stopped, fix something that cannot be fixed. Get my hopes up and have them crushed."

"That's absolutely fine. I mean, you're still helping us."

"Ah, well. I owe someone a favor."

#blood and stone #buckynat #vampire au #natasha romanoff #black widow #bucky barnes #winter soldier #bobbi morse #mockingbird #maria hill #in case you didn't figure it out #my writing #fanfic

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razorblade180 · 3 years

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Shackles pt8: Everything

Part 7 <-

Black, pitch black. That’s all Blake could see around her as her body writhed on the coarse ground. What happened? Where was she? Those were the only major questions coming to the forefront of her pounding head until suddenly, her entire body jerked forward. Blake’s eyes opened as she gasped for air as if she was drowning. It was only at the sight of black smoke and blistering flames around her did the haze become clear. A bomb went off. A bomb near Yang and Jacquelyn.

Blake stumbled to her feet, dizzy from the blast. Somehow that was the only major impact. “Yang!!!?” She yelled painfully. “Jac- cough couch. Jacquelyn!!!?” Blake tried to take a step but her legs weren’t having it. They gave out immediately; it was only by the grace of familiar shrine garb that Black didn’t fall back to the ground. “Jacquelyn!?” Blake groaned. The maiden’s eyes glowed purple with magical power as she breathed heavily. She looked a little less worse than Blake. “How….”

“I...shot flames around us and the blast.” Jacquelyn huffed. Her body finally fell onto her knees with Blake leaning on her back. “It diverted the flames, but the impact was far too much. Especially how I am now.” Jacquelyn rubbed her stomach with concern. Hopefully the baby was just fine. Blake rolled off of her back and to the ground. If Jacquelyn hadn’t tried to protect her, Blake was positive that would’ve been the end. Yang however, she wasn’t near them. That alone made Blake feel dead inside.

She found the strength to get back on her hands and knees. The house was completely blown apart with rubble everywhere, but no sign of the blonde bruiser. “Yang…?” Blake said, her voice quivering in fear. That fear gave way when nobody responded. “YANG!!!!! WHERE ARE YOU!?”

The ground started to rumble before a pile of debris shot into the air. “Right...here!” Yang growled, climbing out of hole with Adam’s sword. Her hair blazed like an intense bonfire while her eyes raged red. She saw Blake struggling on the ground with Jacquelyn trying to stand. Yang stormed over to her and yanked her collar tightly. If it wasn’t for the smoke, Yang would’ve screamed until her lungs collapsed. “Care to explain why the fuck a bomb was in your house?”The anger came clearly through her teeth. Her grip immediately began to loosen by the pain of electricity. Yang wasn’t the only one in a fowl mood.

Jacquelyn grabbed the women’s wrist with charged hands. “If you’re delusional enough to still think this is some kinda trick then you got another thing-is...where did you get the sword?”

“Inside your house. Where else!?” Jacquelyn’s grip finally gave way and Yang backed off. “It’s the whole reason you don’t have a home now! It was sticking out behind a bed frame. I went to grab it and it had fucking trip wire on it! Didn’t you check his room!?”

A tint of red came over Jacquelyn. “That’s not his room. It was just a spare. We...we don’t sleep separately.” The look of judgement on her wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. Divulging that information didn’t exactly help her case in trying to be an unbiased member of this group. Jacquelyn reached for the blade but Yang pulled it away. “Ugh, listen, do you really think if I knew something about this then I’d willing be in the explosion and let someone else trip the bomb? Blake’s friends-” both frustrated women turned to look at the girl in question. They had been so busy being angry that they ignored the fact Blake was still trying to recover. Jacquelyn tried making the first move but Yang stepped ahead and carefully hit Blake on her feet, supporting her weight.

“You hurt?”

“Just winded. Jacquelyn bailed me out.” Blake was quick to add. No need for the situation to get any worse. “Like it or not, she’s with us Yang. As for who rigged that bomb, Adam didn’t do it.” Her claim was met with skepticism from her partner and shock from Jacquelyn. Blake grabbed Adam’s sword and held it close. Despite the smoke and ashes, a scent is a scent; nothing changed that. Especially one reeking of dust and blood, lots of blood. “This sword, the entire house itself smelled different from how it looked.”

“And….what would that be?” Jacquelyn asked. She watched Blake’s hand tremble as her claws dug a little the sheath.

“A slaughter house…” The explosion did more damage than Blake realized. Her body betrayed her will to go. As much as she wanted to continue, the only place she was going right now was back on the ground; the sound of her friends calling her name became muffled until silence. Blake felt all tension in her fade away, blacking out on the on the spot.

xxxx

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! The continuous sound of faunus falling to ground as their wrecked bodies gave into fatigue echoed through the cavern walls. The only thing louder was the guards frustration towards Adam’s reluctance to break. Jasmine hobbled down below, her eyes fixated on the man gritting his teeth as a whip cracked against his back and a blade glided along the flesh of his abdomen. Even from here, Jasmine could see Adam’s nails scratch his chains to stave off the urge to lash out.

They’re still at it…” Her brother lightly pushed her to keep moving. Too much slacking wouldn’t be good for them, yet she still couldn’t help but watch as she walked. “He’s really something else huh?”

“Yeah, a real fool.” Rajah said, his tone bitter and angry. “Maybe if he yelled then we’d get shown a little mercy.”

“Why would you want him to yell?”

“He’s the reason we’re here in the first place. If he didn’t fill mom and dad’s head with fighting then we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Jasmine slowed her walking. Her ears folded down and thought about her brother’s words. “Yeah...I guess you’re right.” Her gaze went back to Adam, the source of everything. It was a strange thing, her feelings. Anytime Jasmine looked at the guards, the tired prisoners, her frightened brother, the bodies; anger swelled deep inside her like an inferno. Not with Adam though. Despite the blame being on him, she just sorta felt...indifferent. Was it their conversation, or the fact Sobek personally hated him that made Jasmine like him on some surface level? She couldn’t tell the difference. All she could tell was the man named Adam Taurus was being beaten like the rest. Like herself. What good did that do?

Adam coughed up blood and wheezed heavily. How long was his session this time? Maybe an hour? Counting stopped numbing the pain at least three sessions ago. The guards finally gave him some space again. “Break time already?” He groaned with his head held down. A piece of him wanted to thank his past for giving him the experience to endure this. Then again, it was the same past that put him in the predicament. That’s what he wanted to believe anyways. Jackie would hit him on the head and go off on a tangent about choosing your actions. A tiny smile snook onto his face. He liked her over the top speeches.

A hand slowly appeared under his chin and lifted his head. “What are you so happy about?” Said Sobek.

The feel of his calloused hands against normal skin unnerved Adam, and that’s saying something. Ripping off scales couldn’t be healthy in any way, but nothing Sobek did suggested a healthy state of being. “If you think this is a smile then you’re sicker than I thought.” Adam retorted.

“Predictable response.”

“And yet you still asked. Cut to the chase already. Is this another attempt at a speech or a display of power?”

Sobek smirked, “nothing so repetitive. I just thought the monster would like to know the den we found you in is gone. Our spring trap was sprung. How unfortunate for you.”

Adam couldn’t hide his look of concern. Sobek paced around. “Care to tell me who in their right mind would be in that house? They must’ve showed up looking for you.”

“Your dead family.” Adam didn’t even get the chance to blink before Sobek backhanded him for that answer.

“I should just cut you into pieces and be done with it!” Sobek’s grip on Adam’s lower jaw tightened.

The taste of iron became heavier in his mouth. A look at bloodshot eyes and a nasty snarl proved that Sobek was still a faunus no matter his delusional claims. “Tsk, and I’m the monster?”

“Like you have any ground to stand on. You and I are not the same.”

“Oh I know, and so do they.” Adam nudged his head toward the people below. There wasn’t an eye that wasn’t on the vicious doctor and terrorist. Those who looked at Adam weren’t thinking of the man himself, but staring at the injuries. The same couldn’t be said for Sobek. Looks of fear, anger, shock, judgement; it was aimed right at him. Even his men were put off a little.

“WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT!?” Snarled, not helping his case. “Do you feel sympathy towards this...thing; this good for nothing animal!? He is nothing to shed pity over and certainly nothing close to anything that resembles a leader that you all so blindly followed!!!” Sobek huffed. He couldn’t believe how stubborn Adam was to break. It had been days since he'd arrived. Nonstop torture, day in and day out. It was beginning to be a problem. If Adam stayed stubborn, then they all might. It was for that reason why Sobek had a backup plan.

The crocodile man slicked back his hair, regaining composure, then walked off the platform and up to awning shielded by class. It was where old SDC guards watched over the miners. It was still plenty sturdy, and fully equipped. Minutes went by before Sobek descended from it with a devious smirk. For the first time since arriving, Adam actually felt his blood run cold. In Sobek’s right hand...was a branding iron. The infamous three letters glowing red hot.

“Remember this?” Sobek asked sarcastically. He slowly started to approach Adam, enjoying the sight of him attempting to break his shackles by tugging and jerking the chain link. “Come now, you know that won’t work. You know I think I’ll test a new experiment today. What will hurt more? Branding your good eye, or placing this perfectly over the first scar? Only one way to find out!” Sobek laughed.

Terror and pent up wrath filled Adam to the point guards tried to hold him down, but were met with horns bashing their faces and screams. “I swear, I fucking swear Sobek, death will be the only thing you want after this! P-Monsters like us, we get what we deserve a hundred times over! You and your crew-” a guard finally grabbed him by the hair and slammed his to the ground and held it there.

Was this irony, karma? It had to be. The excessive breathing, crowd, the complete lack of compassion as Adam found himself screaming while men held him down in order to make an example. How could so many years pass by and he still be in the exact same situation? Once again, Adam felt powerless. Deep down a feeling tugged inside of him that was different from last time. Jacquelyn, a person who was no doubt worrying about him. A person he wanted to see. A person he wanted to call out for. However, he did not. Under no circumstances was he gonna give Sobek any information about her. This was his problem, and yet…

“H-elp…” he said, barely above a whisper. Sobek’s boots stopped right in front of him. Adam’s good eye can only see the man towering above him with the brand at the ready. And just like those many years ago, Adam shed tears of fear while letting out a plea into a frightened crowd.

“Somebody, anybody, HEEEEELLLLLP!”

For the first time...a cry was shouted back.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!” Cried the voice of the only one who would dare move, Jasmine. Nobody realized she had climbed the platform. She wasted no time ramming all the strength she could muster into Sobek’s stomach. Her claws dug into his flesh, teeth clamped down. Two things were made clear in that moment to Jasmine. Her animal intensity was a gift, not a disease like Sobek tried to brainwash into people. The other thing she already knew from the start. There’s no way any justice could exist in a place like this. Only one thing makes a place like this. Hate, and she had plenty of that to give. Her claws slashed at Sobek’s fleshy arms and made him drop the branding iron down below to the crowd.

People stepped back as the tool made a loud bang against the ground. Several guards scrambled to retrieve it, but so did one prisoner. Rajah, armed with his pickaxe. His legs had moved on their own and fear ran deep into his heart as he saw his little sister get slammed to the ground. He told her to behave. To keep her calm. Why couldn’t she listen? Why couldn’t he stop running? Had she inspired him to act? No. Deep down he knew exactly why he moved. If that thing reached Sobek again, Adam wouldn’t be the only one branded. His sister, everyone might be. Rajah raised his pickaxe for all to see, then smashed the weapon of their torture.

A deathly echo resonated from the impact into utter silence. Rajah looked up to see the soulless eyes of his captor burrow into his very being, paralyzing his body from pure terror. Not even the force of guards pinning him to the ground snapped him back to reality. What had he done?

Sobek’s teeth snarled like a pure beast. He wrapped his hand around Jasmine’s neck and squeezed. “Clearly I’ve been far too lenient with you. I thought I told you what to expect if you couldn’t behave like a good little girl.” He looked at his men. “Get the boy ready for his correction.”

Rajah felt his heart stop. He frantically tried to escape the grasps of the guards but to know gain. “Hellllp! Let me go!”

“Raja-ahh!” Jasmine could barely cough let alone speak. Her eyes glared immensely at Sobek’s in fury that refused to die.

“This time, I’ll make sure you stay broken.” He slammed her against the ground, knocking her out briefly. He wasted no time dragging her through the doors back to the torture rooms.

Adam pulled at his chains. He had shown fear and it cost him. “Sobek! Leave them out of this!”

“Beat him within an inch of death!” Sobek demanded. “Just an inch.” Sobek’s men didn’t hesitate to start kicking and beating Adam’s body like a drum while their master went to make an example of defiant animals.He looked at the bleeding child in his hand💀 “All you had to do was learn. Now pain will be your teacher.

Adam could only grunt as the mysterious door closed once again.“SOBEK!!!!”

xxxx

Black. Once again, Blake found herself waking up to blinding light. Thankfully, it wasn’t the scorching sun. It was her lamp. Blake laid in her bed, bandaged up. “I’m home? How did-” the door opened and it was Ilia who entered, surprised by her friend’s state.

“You’re awake!”

“And you’re here?” What is- agh!” The side of her ribs ached as Blake tried to sit up. “How’d you get here so fast?”

“I didn’t. Blake you’ve been asleep for a little over a day.” Ilia sat at the edge of the bed. “Sun and I have been here for a couple hours now. Had to make a few stops.”

“Stops? Wait, how are Yang and Jacquelyn!?” Blake’s voice trembled. “Did any grimm attack on the way back? How-”

Ilia covered the girl’s mouth. “Take a breath, they’re okay.” She watched how Blake slowly lost tension in her body from her words. Ilia regretted covering her face though. Blake looked down at her red stained fingers. Knowing Blake, she probably could smell her too. Ilia removed her hand quickly. To know shock, Blake looked concerned.

“Ilia…”

“It’s fine okay? You told me what was happening and I had the means to get answers.” She justified, mainly to herself. “Those thugs were gonna kill me or worse anyways. I won’t lose sleep over it, much.”

Blake took Ilia’s hands and held them close.“Did Sun see?”

Ilia shook her head. “No, not entirely. I kept him out of the room but at the end I… well, disposing them was too much for me alone. His team did it without my input. I’d feel worse about it if I didn’t gain anything of value from it all.” Ilia got off the bed and walked towards a wall. A heavy and irritated sigh came from deep down. “Given what I’ve learned from you and Jacquelyn was it? If our incidents are related, then Adam is actually in Vacou. Underground, in a very old, very unsafe abandoned dust mine.”

Blake hung on every word said. Her gut twisted into knots from this new information and what she had smelled in Jacquelyn’s home. “How many White Fang members are in there?”

Ilia tossed her scroll at Blake. She watched as her face turned pale by what was on it. Dozens of pictures and videos in inferred signatures rising, then falling. Some got added, while others went dark fast. “Sun and I stopped to confirm the location we were told. It took everything I had not run into that place immediately. Blake, they’re just killing us. Regardless of if Adam’s alive or not, we need to-”

“Does Jacquelyn know?” Blake said, finding her voice again. Guilt spread across Ilia’s face. Suddenly, Blake feared the worst. “Where is she?”

“I couldn’t stop her.”

“You let her go!?”

Ilia threw her arms up, equally upset. “Like I had a choice!? You haven’t exactly told me important things, like knowing the winter maiden; Adam being alive and then being connected is another thing! Of all people not to tell, me? You watched me bury an empty casket out of respect for that guy. That shit gets to me!” Ilia began to pace around the room. “You fully know Adam is not this exclusive entity that’s only shaped your life. I had a right to know!”

“I know! I know…” Blake felt her blood rush and nails dig into her sheets. “You do have a right. I just… it was so confusing and I didn’t know things would… ugh, I’m not trying to make excuses okay? Listen, I swear I’ll come clean with everything but now is not the time. We need to catch up to Jacquelyn.”

“Stop deflecting! You’re in no shape to move anyways. Why would a maiden need help, and why does she care about-”

“Damnit Ilia, she’s pregnant with his kid!” Blake shouted. Her words had frozen Ilia in her tracks. Time was a thing Blake refused to waste. Even if the worst had already come to pass, Blake could at least save two lives; as well as any others that still suffered. Blake forced herself out of bed and passed Ilia, heading down stairs.

Her sense of urgency only got her as far as the living room before she saw Yang and Sun standing up, both alarmed by her swift actions. Yang quickly took hold of her by the wrist. “Let me go!”

“Hold on a second! Where are you going?”

Blake locked eyes with Yang. “Where did you think?” her arm tensed and tugged but couldn’t escape. “Did you even try to stop her, Jacquelyn?”

“You know damn well nothing I could say would’ve helped. Not like it matters. I doubt A-”

“SHUT UP!” Blake screamed as loud as she could. Anger and anxiety manifested as tears that threatened to run down her face. “As if you cared about what actually happened to him.”

Yang felt her hand trembling. Blake’s judgements gaze turned her own gaze to scarlet. Was coming here a mistake? Did this one man’s existence truly mean the death of one of Yang’s greatest relationships? The one she wanted to restore so badly? “You’re right… there hasn’t been a day I didn’t wish that stab killed him instantly, but what does that have to do with what’s right here, right now? You know as well as I do Blake that running off now means nothing without a plan or rest. You’re racing to a dead man.”

The tears finally fell, and they fell full with a silent wrath that Blake had never felt, or has been seen. “So what? Then I’ll save the body.” A burst of strength freed her arm and Blake didn’t look back. She ran, ran far and fast. Disappearances, murders, torture, how could this have all swept by her? Blake promised them peace. Blake hoped for peace, believed things were changing. Nothing had changed. Nothing, but the one person she never believed could. Blake was no High Leader of peace. Merely a leader of the blind.

Yang could only watch her partner race of, her final words still echoing clear. Saving the body, Jacquelyn had said the same thing. Yang looked at the hand that failed to reach her friend. “Why…” she clenched her fist tightly and began to cry. “Why can’t I hold onto you?”

Ilia had finally come down the stairs to see the end result of further friction. Sun pointed in Blake’s direction and Ilia took off running. “I’ll keep her safe. Call Ghira and Kali!” She didn’t stop to get a confirmation. She didn’t need it. “I’ll keep her safe Sun. For everyone’s sake.”

Ilia might not have been looking back but Sun nodded anyways. “Good luck.”

“Good luck? How could you say that right now?” Yang said trembling. “I’ll keep her safe?” Yang had reached her limit. Her head snapped towards him and grabbed his shirt. “HOW COULD THE BOTH OF YOU SAY THAT SO CASUALLY!?” She cried, shaking him. “HOW CAN YOU KEEP UP WITH HER WHEN I...I” Yang fell to her knees in defeat. It’s always been this way. Even from the very start. No matter how close Blake had gotten, Yang always felt like she was out of reach; while others, while Sun never failed to keep his stride. All that Yang was, could never take all who Blake is. It’s why their love broke down. It’s why Yang broke down. “How are you okay with this?”

Sun wasn’t sure what to think of all of this. He’s seen Yang upset, but never so...in pain. He knelt down and reached slowly for her hand, until she actively grabbed him tightly. “Yang, who says I’m okay?” Her body jolted. Yang’s head rose up to look at him. Sun could only offer a small smile and a hand to wipe her tears. “I’m scared out of mind. There’s so much I didn’t know like Ilia and things I wanted to say to Blake before she left, but didn’t. Not right now anyways. Ilia is the same, I'm sure.”

“Yet you stay here without question and Ilia follows her into a living nightmare without question!? How could-”

“Because at the end of it all, agreeing or not, comprehending or confused, I’ll stand by Blake to help anyway I can. You know as well as I do Blake follows the beat of her own drum, and she doesn’t know how it’ll turn out. People like you, Ilia, and I, we’re encouraged to, well, free to join in and add to the crazy beat. What we can’t do, is stop it. Blake will do it anyways. It’s why I love her so much. Easily her best, and most dangerous quality. That’s why she’s always telling people they’re free to leave. Blake’s never gonna ask someone to take part in her risks. Yeah, this situation is nuts; I’m definitely gonna chew her ear off by the end of whatever happens. Until then, nothing matters but making sure the end isn’t the worst it could be.”

Was that really his entire reasoning? She’ll do it anyways so might as well help. It was so reckless, dangerously simple, it was..Sun. It was Sun, and it used to be her too. Yang couldn’t count how many times she did something and Blake ran with it, or at least stuck around in case she needed help. Has that attitude changed? Yang didn’t think so. This situation though, it was… “You can willingly help Adam without a second thought?”

“Hmm? Of course not. I can help Blake without a second thought. If that leads to Adam, then fine. I’ll take him if I have to and be glad if there’s no need. Though, I know why that’s harder for you to do than me.” He squeezed her prosthetic. “Blake actually called me about you visiting. She was so happy to finally see you again. Even if things fell apart, Blake liked that you wanted to try. I’m pretty sure it’s the same with Adam. All Blake wants is a chance to have everything she dreams about. Pretty greedy, I think I’m a bad influence hehe.” He stood up and faced the open door. The light of the sunset had finally begun to fade. “Yang, is Blake in your dream ending?”

“What kind of question is that?” Yang held her head down. “You know she is. Honestly, Blake’s the last piece. I even have my mom back for crying out loud.”

“Ha, if that’s the case…” Sun reached for hand again and got Yang on her feet. “Dance to the end.”

A fire inside Yang felt ready to burn her up. It felt terrifying, yet nostalgic. How long had it been since she felt so exhilarated? Still Yang knew the price to pay for wanting everything. If she were to do this, she’d risk the future Jaune and her were going to have. Yang’s hand rubbed her stomach. No one would judge her for stopping now. Sun might’ve spoken differently if he knew, or maybe not? He’d probably tell her ‘everything’ would mean not losing Blake and the baby. Weirdly enough, there was beauty in that mindset.

“Sun?”

“Yeah?”

Yang smiled at him,then ran out the door. “I’ll keep those idiots safe!”

Sun could only cuff his hands around his mouth and scream with all of his heart.

“GOOD LUCK!” He pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened it to rub a ring inside. “Good luck...”

#rwby #rwby au #yang xiao long #rwby shackles #blake belladonna #sun wukong #rwby blacksun #ilia amitola #adam taurus #jacquelyn frost

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lumiereswig · 4 years

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this is a very old fic of mine—i must have written it right after the movie came out. i’m not good at writing horror but this comes pretty close. trigger warnings for intense transformation stuff.

The rain hits the windows, full and hard, but no one in the palace notices. The music is far too loud—the ballgowns too glittering—the ball too white and bright to think of the rain and the roses and the village outside. Lumiere, in shadow against the light of the ball, lets his mind wander elsewhere.

After this party, he and Plumette would be free to dance on their own, in the rooms at the top of the palace. A stolen croquembouche, a little wine, paid for by the villagers; a charming mélange of sex and laughter. A night like a thousand others. Lumiere doesn’t treasure it, much; his life has looked like this for years, and it will look like it for many more. He is happy, yes, but also a shade bored as he checks his reflection against the shine of the candelabras.

By the mantel, Cogsworth notes his watch. The time ticks on. This ball goes on forever. He would give anything to skip to the bit after. Cogsworth finds himself checking his watch often, nowadays, waiting endlessly for time to get to the good part. The good part doesn’t really come, ever, and he doesn’t know why. He just doesn’t enjoy life, very much. So he keeps scheduling it and regulating it and hoping that will force life, somehow, to find some lick of relish that he can’t be bothered to supply.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Potts makes tea.

“Mama,” says Chip, “why does the Prince hold these big parties?”

“I really don’t know, love,” says Mrs. Potts. She used to wonder this herself, but as the Prince grew more into the likeness of his father, she has become used to closing off that side of her heart. No good throwing your love down a well, as her husband says; throwing good crockery after bad, just wasting your time. Nothing I can do, anyway, thinks Mrs. Potts, shutting her heart just a little further as she smiles at her son.

Chip, careless, drops his tea cup on the floor, shattering it. “Be careful, now!”

Chapeau circles the ballroom carefully. He chooses to remain out of sight. Oh, yes, the ladies are very beautiful, and the prince very glamorous; but besides his duties, he makes no effort to help when he sees a young woman run off the ballroom floor, crying because the hell of her shoe snapped off. Chapeau stands still in the dark, his hands quiet, his eyes gliding past the pain.

Cadenza and Garderobe are oblivious as they get caught up in their song; they have been so long in beautiful palaces with beautiful people that they don’t stop to consider what beggars might creep outside the doors, what cold winds might blow past those beautiful cut-glass windows. Why should they care? All of life is cake and splendor and full-frothed gowns. They picked this song tonight because it makes them sound magnificent. And they are: magnificent, remarkable, confident and unconquerable.

Plumette, circling the dusty corners of the ballroom, preens to herself and knows how pretty she is. Soft, elegant, the most beautiful of any girl in the room—how jealous they must all be of her! She cannot wait to grab Lumiere and run upstairs and be showered with a thousand careless kisses. She dances a feather against her lips and laughs at the dark night.

The feather blows away. The doors have been slammed open by a hag, sending a footman sprawling; the hag looks a witch, so disgusting is her disarray. Hideous, thinks Plumette, tucking one arm into Lumiere’s.

“We should welcome her!” Lumiere starts to say, but then he sees the prince and retreats back to his shadows.

Adam has noticed the hag. (it would be hard not to, with all the candles gone out and the chilly north wind blowing through the halls.) He turns to her with a cold face, cold as the wind, and fury lights in his eyes. A long time ago, he might have offered her shelter—though it was never his to give, when he was eight and open and liked people and hags equally—but now his father’s pride in him is strong, like silver, and it drowns out his heart with a bright, cold shine. In his head are women’s flat praises and heavy, cloying scent, and a thin hatred for anyone who makes his heart beat fast.

His heart is beating fast, now. “What do you want?! How dare you come through these gates? Who let you in?!”

Her face ducks beneath the hood; she is quiet as she proffers a rose. One of his roses! His roses. Expensive roses, the pride of his kingdom. He never cared much for the flowers themselves, but they are his, to have and to hate. They are not there for ugly old women, drenched by a summer storm.

“For a night’s shelter,” whispers the hag. “A rose may only buy one night—or many.”

“They buy you nothing,” snarls Adam. “Can you not see yourself? Why, look at us!” He gestures, laughing, to the pretty things around him. Behind him, his ladies titter. “We shine like diamonds, gold. You—”

“Fool’s gold,” whispers the woman. “Do not be deceived by appearances—”

“Do not address your betters so!”

“—for beauty...is found within.”

He throws the rose onto the floor in disgust. “Ugly hag! Get her out, at once. Beastly hag!”

His heart is beating fast. But as the woman rises from the robe, shining like gold and as beautiful as a dying star, his heart beats faster.

He is stunned by her transformation. He does not feel compassion, still: but fear, yes, he feels fear. Suddenly, he is not her better. Suddenly....he is very much worse.

He does not catch her words, just then; he only remembers the form of the spell afterward, as he sits in darkness in the West Wing. But now—with the screams of his guests ringing harsh in his ears as they flee from him—he only sees the way the witch looks: just, and angry, and all her eyes on him.

He does not hear the spell. But the crack of his bones: yes, that he hears. And feels. And suddenly he can’t see, as the pain catches in front of his eyes like hard and heavy silver.

There is no blood. But there is a snap, and a crack, and Adam can’t think for pain as his muscles swell and his eyes contract and his fingers curl against his own force. His skin is rough, then crackling, and with a cry he feels his jawbone shift and grow and his own teeth tear his lips. He is big, now, too big—a hulking mass—silk rip against his claws, and all he is aware of, now, is skin and fur and horns and teeth. He knows, without seeing, what he is. He can see and hear and feel the way he looks: a monster who has eaten the prince. Plumette is yelling—out of fright, probably. And Adam roars in pain—and tries to cry—and roars again. Help! he tries to cry, and all that comes back is the screams of the women as they run: beast! beast!

Hidden in the shadows, Cogsworth’s hand clutches Plumette. Chapeau slips further back. The servants draw back into the shadows; they do not run from the prince, but they make no move to help him. He is a monster! A tragedy! Save your own skin, quick—

She is looking at them, next. Lumiere, his fingers nearly to Plumette’s but not quite there, lets out a heavy, hot breath and doesn’t reach her. The witch is whispering enchantment, and each servant catches different words: forget and alone and useless. She does not tell them it is their fault—for that she looks to Adam—but she condemns them for standing by, for staying silent.

“You stay silent now. Your hands are empty at your sides. Not one of you moved to help a hag—and none would move to help a monster. As you wish it, so it is. Stay here, with nothing to do as nothing has been done, until he learns to love. I see each one. Stay still your hearts. I say it so.”

The curse hits fast, painfully fast. There isn’t time to run.

Lumiere is in the front; he can’t turn fast enough. The golden glow hits him first, sends him nearly sprawling, but his legs can’t quite catch up beneath him—they can’t catch at all—they bond and rock and he hears Plumette screaming, and he would scream too but he is burning up, his heart itself is burning bright. The others are screaming. His heart is snapping and burning and going still, still, still—

Plumette tied her stays tight, tonight, to make her waist the smallest at the ball. But the stays tighten by themselves, now; they have come so tight her waist cannot be there. Her legs dissolve, turn soft and useless beneath her with unbearable pain, and her lungs (even as she breathes, even as she yells) grow solid in her, grow close against the other, and her skin is cold and gritty like cheap porcelain, and she can feel her face shifting and the pain is delicate and real and tight as a smile.

Cadenza seems to rip straight open. But where his blood should be, there are only strings; and he cries as his jaw tears—he can hear his wife screaming beside him—and the pain where his teeth was is so intense that for a moment he cannot hear any music at all: just a horrible, rushing silence as his jaw shudders and his legs swell out and his bones creak and crack like old, old wood. Garderobe is cracking open, her dress tearing into long, colorful shreds as her eyes become heavy and clouded. Mrs. Potts’ face is flattening, as she shrinks down to a stand. Chapeau’s muscles are clutching at nothing; he tries to ease them, but they crack and still, and he is left itching with the need to relax one limb—an itch that cannot be satisfied, that he cannot ease for anything. They are taut as knotted wood.

Cogsworth feels a shift inside him. He feels his heart change places—he feels everything grow spiked and locked, and metal and wooden, and he would bend over and hold his knees except his back has gone stiff as a board. His heart—which gear was his heart?—creaks and slows and then he hears it: tic-tic. tic-tic. tic-tic. And he prays, as he tries to swallow and finds nothing there to swallow with, that the sound will stop.

Lumiere sees. Lumiere sees Plumette turn soft and horrible, Cogsworth distort into a walking gear. And he turns, ready to risk the Enchantress, if only his legs would move—and then his hands are burning, really burning, and then he is screaming because his round face is being cast into gold, hot molten metal choking at his throat and lips. There is even a shine of gold crossing his eyes—and he is terrified, as metal crosses his face and burns with heavy heat, that he will never see Plumette again.

Wood, ivory, porcelain: if anyone could look beyond their own pain, they would see bones turned into gold and faces growing still and strange. It lasts only for minutes, as Adam rears—at least ten feet tall—and flees the room, tearing a portrait as he goes. The Enchantress snuffs out, as quick as a falling petal. And each servant—crying, swearing, screaming—grows silent, one by one, as the enchantment grows so great and the night so dark.

The last thing Lumiere sees is a feather. She is alive, he thinks, and faints still standing up.

#eek idk what i think of this???#ngl its very bad #beauty and the beast #batb 2017 #batb fanfic #lumiere #batb #cogsworth #chapeau #plumette #adam #the enchantress #agathe #garderobe #cadenza #mrs. potts #plumiere #garderenza #transformation

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years

Text

ATDT!AU Post-Escape Halloween thing 1-5 (or more)

The little town at the base of Mt. Ebott was practically buzzing with excitement. Normally, due to restrictions put on by an H.O.A that feared and hated Halloween as “The Devil’s Birthday”, Halloween parties were rarely held unless they were in secret and at home. A lot of normal people in town were delightfully surprised that the power-tripping harpies in charge didn’t try to ban trick-or-treating or house decorating altogether but the townsfolk were often muffed at the strict rules surrounding it: “Trick-or-treating starts at 6:30 and ends at 7:00″, “Any house that puts up decorations before Oct. 28th and or leaves its decorations up after Nov. 3rd will receive a fine”, “All Outdoor Halloween decorations must be 5′ tall or shorter”. And other such ridiculous rules were put in place to shackle Halloween to the ground.

But what made this year so different? This year, Mettaton and Sammy Lawrence were holding what could only be described as the BIGGEST Halloween party/Haunted mansion romp in the history of humans, monsters, and toons. And thanks to the co-stars’ charisma, Mettaton hiring a really good lawyer, and the currently dominant half of Sammy being too darn spiteful to be contained by mortal means, the H.O.A. was completely powerless to stop them.

However, it didn’t stop them from trying anyway. This week, Linda Simmons (Not to be confused with Linda Stein, who is a lovely lady and an excellent member of society but is not human in the slightest.) Was the one to march up to the monstrosity of a haunted mansion in progress to demand to speak to the pair.

She clutched the cross on her necklace tightly in her hands as she saw the mansion in all its ‘unholy’ glory. As per Mettaton’s usual ‘go big or go home’ approach to his work, the damned thing looked like something out of someone’s nightmares! The mansion itself looked like an old-fashioned but normal one but the “Decorations”? Large patches of fleshy growths scattered all over and presumably within the mansion, giant human-like bones and organs growing in and around the area, thick black fluid being pumped into the monstrosity, and god knows what else!

Linda felt sick to her stomach when she walked up the thing, almost swearing that she saw the flesh patches writhing, as well as the bloodshot eyes embedded into the outside walls staring directly at her. In her other hand, she held a copy of the H.O.A.’s very strict rule book, clutching onto it as if it were a bible. She took a deep breath in, and pounded on the door.

“Just give me five minutes Darling!✨”

The mechanical menace whom she once adored on television before meeting him face-to-face oh too cheerfully responded over the sound of a roaring chainsaw and nails being pounded into wood on the other side of the door. After an exact five minutes had passed (she checked her watch between impatiently knocking on the door and tapping her foot on the ground), she was greeted with a giant calculator-like robot wearing a spiffy Halloween-themed suit complete with a tie with a bat pattern on it.

“Why Linda, how nice of you to drop by!”

She frowned at the superstar machine.

“Mettaton, are you aware that you’re violating the H.O.A. rules regarding Halloween decorations?! And what on earth are you two thinking holding a Halloween party here?! Do you have any idea how many noise complaints you’ll get?! The fine you’ll get is-”

“SShhhhhh”

Mettaton put his finger against her lips and Linda crossed her arms in frustration as he continued to draw out that ‘shush’ noise. His other arm extended into the room behind him and retracted with a large pile of papers in hand. He stopped shushing when the papers where in her face. She internally groaned at the sight of them, she hated it when people found loopholes.

“As you can see here, here, here, here, here, here, and here... Everything we’re going is completely within the H.O.A. rules and regulations.”

“What the?!” Her eye twitched, her face turned red, and after skimming through Mettaton’s papers, she spoke through gritted teeth “Okay, so your decorations are Technically allowed... But only because nobody would ever think that we’d have to make a rule against animating MEAT with black magic to make Halloween decorations... But what about the party itself?! And the noise?!”

While Mettaton did not have eyes at the moment, Linda could feel him rolling them at her.

“The ‘Party’ you claim we’re throwing is actually a charity ball that happens to have a Halloween theme to it, which as you can see under this section right here, IS allowed.”

She raised an eyebrow at the robot.

“What type of charity?”

The lights cut out, all replaced with a single spotlight on Mettaton, who was now dramatically draped over a piano while a sad melody on a violin began to play and white rose petals started to fall on him.

“A great tragedy had fallen on thousands upon thousands of innocent lives... Men, women, and even small children stripped from their homes, from their friends and families and all brutally slaughtered! And after death? Their souls broken, and forcefully fused together within a prison of vile ink made by a cruel man who cared not that he was turning nightmares into reality, as long as it meant his dreams come true... These restless souls have finally been freed from their devilish tormentor, and had grown attached to this world, no longer humans, but not quite monsters either. These people are lonely, confused and scared in a new modern world that while offers them new chances and opportunities, is a strange and foreign place that overwhelms them to the point where they want to go back. As having a familiar yet horrible home can be more welcoming than an unknown yet kind home at times. We’re raising money and awareness to help these poor people get back on their feet.”

Linda bit her lip and rolled her eyes at Mettaton’s overly sappy and over-dramatic speech, she knew that the “people” he was referring to were most likely those strange, hyper, 2-D creatures and or those disgusting, smelly, ink things that took up residence inside Mt. Ebott after all of the regular monsters came up here.

“And what about noise complaints?”

The lights flicked back on and Mettaton threw himself off the piano in annoyance.

“Well, Sammy and I are constructing sound proof walls as we speak, so when the building is properly complete, there wont be a thing to worry about.”

Linda threw her head back laughing.

“Sammy is helping build them? Sammy Lawrence? That weird giant slug thing with the creepy mask? What does he do? Ooze on the wood that needs to be nailed up?”

“You can always ask him what he does yourself, Darling!” He pushed her down the hall and into the next room before slamming the door behind him while she stayed on the other side. “He loves to answer questions!”

“Hey! Don’t just shove me in here with that disgusting mass of slime! I don’t care if you’re a celebrity or not, I can have you arrested and- Oh sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph...”

“Have a Banana, Hannah, Try the salami, Tommy, Get with the gravy, Davey, Everybody eats when they come to my house.”

While she was pounding on the door, she looked back just to make sure that the creature Mettaton often worked with wasn’t about to pounce on her and gnaw her limbs off, but instead of a giant black slug that had arms and reeked of spoiled meat and moldy art supplies, she was starring at a human being. And he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in person.

“Try a tomato, Plato, Here’s cacciatore, Dorie, Taste the baloney, Tony, Everybody eats when they come to my house!”

The man was tall and broad, his skin was clean-shaven, on the paler side and had healed claw marks all over it, he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all (A fact which Linda was very thankful for.) which revealed that he had a large, strange tattoo on his back, and he had dirty-blond hair that was so long that it was only stopped from dragging on the floor thanks to the braid it was in.

“I fix your favorite dishes, Hopin’ this good food fills ya! Work my hands to the bone in the kitchen alone, You better eat if it kills ya!”

He had his back turned to her, singing to himself and clearly very focused on the task in front of him, but she happily watched his every move in awed silence. In addition to his body, the man also had a lovely singing voice.

“Pass me a winda, Linda,” he gestured behind him. “In all seriousness, if you could pass me that window pane behind you, that would be great.”

“Oh!”

Linda snapped up and instantly scrambled for the window he had gestured to.

“Thank you, that’ll do.”

The head of the PTA and member of the H.O.A. stared intensely at him, taking in every single detail of his front. From his black pants to his washboard abs- until he gently tilted her head up so that she was looking at the man’s face.

“You know,” He said teasingly with a wink. “My eyes are up here.”

His sharp-featured face that only had one long claw mark on it as opposed to the rest of his body, his bright white smile that she couldn’t find a single flaw in, and his eyes, his deep, dark brown eyes that just made her melt by looking at them. Oh sweet lord, this man was so far out of her league that she honest to god thought he was blind to be flirting with her.

“I’m so sorry sir!”

Linda blushed redder than a jar of tomato sauce and looked away altogether, trying to fruitlessly cobble together an explanation.

“MettatonpushedmeinheretospeakwithSammyLawrencebutyouwerehereinsteadandyouhaveareallyprettyvoiceandimsosorry-”

“Wait, Mettaton sent you in?”

“Y-yes..?”

“And you’re looking for Sammy?”

“Yes?”

“Well why didn’t you say so sooner? What do you want to speak with me about?”

She went from bright red to white as a sheet as soon as that sentence left his mouth. Now that she thought about it, didn’t the local news channel say that the ink creatures could shape-shift? Oh god, this man was that gross slimy creature... The gross slimy creature that she kicked in the face with her high heels the second she saw it in person...

“N-nothing!”

She then ran out of the house as fast as her legs could carry her, jumped into her car, slammed down the breaks and sped as far away as she could. Once she was possibly miles away from everyone, she buried her face into the car horn and screamed.

Back at the haunted mansion, Sammy let out a long held sigh of relief.

“Thank fucking God she’s finally gone, just listening to that harpy’s voice makes me want to bash my head in against a wall.”

“Oh my...” The robot star half-dejectedly mused. “And here I thought the winds of romance would turn her cold, dead heart.”

“Mettaton, my standards might be rock bottom, but they’re not in the mariana trench.”

#ATDT AU #bendy and the ink machine #undertale #deltarune #mettaton #pta linda #sammy lawrence #fanfic #edited

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating. ... 18+?

word count. ~7600

chapter 8.

You're reminded of how hard things like this are for you, anxiety digging its dull claws into the pit of your stomach and making the slow crawl up your sternum. It's not painful, per se, but the ache is there, evident with each swipe of your tongue, each persistent checking of your phone. You thrive on your own - much prefer it to the demand that sits heavy on your shoulders, working to coax you from your shell.

It's not that the people weren't nice. No, everyone was perfectly lovely.

Taehyung's friends had gone out of their way to chat with you. That is, except for Yoongi, who'd sat in silence next to you for the duration of time it took to eat his slice of cake - strawberry, you noted with deep satisfaction. He'd simply nodded when he'd finished, plate spotless, and walked off, back in the direction of the kitchen.

Even all of Gahyeon's friends were charming, the kind of people you'd want to grow up with. Beautiful women with the same sweet smile and flirtation on their fingertips; appealing men that had laughter rolling off them in tremendous waves as they shared inside jokes. They'd been incredibly kind, involving you as often as they could, asking about your life and interests and hobbies.

No, you didn't have a problem with anyone there. Well, maybe that wasn't true.

Perhaps you were a little frustrated, coloured a muddy green by the monster that lurked behind your uncomfortable smile. You shouldn't have been, though, and that was what drove you mad, pink swiping over your bottom lip in repetitive motions. Not even your Dior Lip Glow - brought out for special occasions and a far cry from your bubble gum balm - could save you.

Because he was right there. So close you could've closed the distance with an outstretched arm, curled your fingers around the turn of his silver-linked wrist and distracted him. Not that you would. Of course not.

You were here with someone else and well, he could do what he wanted.

The knowledge does little to quell the ache in your chest, though.

You'd always known Jungkook's effect on people - had felt it firsthand. The way he could make you feel like you were the only person in the world, as if every thought you had was worthy of his time. You knew the way he laughed, that godforsaken witch's cackle somehow endlessly endearing. Even those two larger-than-usual front teeth of his could be considered positive traits. They all amounted to more than you could ever begin to put into words.

So you try to ignore the way the sound nearly smothers you now, pervades your senses and beats against your eardrums. You turn your focus on something else - anything else - to forget the pealing bells of the girl he's speaking with and how, together, it sounds like music. You bite at nothing, gnashing your molars into oblivion when her voice joins the fray, velveteen and promising. You can imagine the way she looks at him - the same way you had, maybe still did - and how he'd be honey in her hands, seeping between her fingers.

"Actually, I know Jiyeon, too."

Your name tears you from your thoughts, snaps you into reality with a harsh tug. The same feeling comes physically, but far gentler. It's a hand on the back of your arm, just above your elbow. You almost flinch - almost - turning with what you hope is surprise and nonchalance on your face.

"Pardon?" The single word is laced with enough emotion to explode on impact, breaking across the dusty line of your obliterated enamel and slipping into the sharp evening breeze. Whether Dahye - you think that's her name - notices, you're not sure. She simply meets your stare with a pretty smile, delicate chin canted in curiosity.

It's Jungkook that has you reeling back, working desperately to rearrange your emotions, because whatever he'd expected to find in the shape of your mouth, the depth of your eyes - it isn't this.

The second feels like an eternity before it's swept up in the turn of his lips and his lovable laugh.

"I was just telling Jihye—" Dammit, wrong name. "—that we know each other." Something sweeps along the undercurrent of his response, tickling at the ends of syllables without overwhelming. Your eyes narrow, trying to read the answer he offers and everything in between.

Once upon a time, you'd thought you could read him like a book. Now, you're not so sure. The invisible ink disappears into his skin, the spaces between his teeth. They're not shades of gold, gleaming bright for your eyes only.

"What a small world," Jihye chirps, ever the benign figure. "Did you go to school together?"

He answers before you can, nodding in affirmation. "We were both doing art degrees. We got paired up for a few projects and helped each other out of tight spots." It shouldn't hurt, the way he speaks so nonchalantly. You should be bobbing along, offering casual anecdotes that give truth to his words. Instead, you feel as if you're six feet under and clawing at your own grave, sealed there by a one Jeon Jungkook.

Opening your mouth feels like a colossal chore and you're worried you won't be able to speak around the dirt that bites into your lungs. It tastes bitter and angry - gasoline and saltwater.

Neither of them notice, though, Jihye already somehow - no, you knew exactly how - enthralled in some story he's telling. He was an expert at that, after all, weaving colourful pictures with all the practice of Shakespeare. He'd done it for four years straight, dragging you through the fables that littered his brain.

"I'm going to get another drink," you announce, out of the blue, in the middle of their stupid mellifluous laughter.

Jihye waves as you leave. Jungkook would do the same, if he didn't feel locked in place by the sight of your retreating figure.

You make your way through dispersed throngs of people, greeting familiar faces when you pass them. There's Hoseok and Gahyeon standing together by the main entryway, the leading roles in a romance as they duck their heads and giggle together. Jin's booming voice can be heard from the kitchen, somewhere behind the state-of-the-art appliances because you can't see him. The familiar lilac of Namjoon's crown catches your eye exiting what you assume is the washroom, his beer held loosely between two fingers.

"Kim seongsangnim!" The title has him turning his head slowly, as if surprised. You know he isn't, spy it in the flat line of his smile. Still, he puts on a show, glancing this way and that to figure out who has called out to him.

It isn't until you're right in front of him, head barely clearing the slope of his jaw, that he exclaims. "Oh, Jiyeon-ah."

"Do you know where Taehyung went?" The question doesn't surprise him as he cocks his head toward what you assume is the rear of the home. "He, Jimin, and Yoongi-hyung are all downstairs. I was just heading back." Without missing a beat, you follow after him, trading your now-empty champagne flute for another on the kitchen island when you pass.

"Gahyeon's really nice," you muse, trailing after the other. You know you don't need to fill the silence, but you try anyway.

The producer hums in agreement. "Yeah, she is. I think she's good for Hope." You're not sure what that means but you're glad, all things considered. The two were like sunflowers, craning for warmer weather and rays; it made you happy they'd found each other.

"And what about everyone else?" It's a question that comes after a moment's hesitation. Your relationship with he and Yoongi had changed over the weeks, morphed into something more relaxed, but you still wondered where that invisible line sat. You worried, briefly, that you'd thrown yourself across it when Namjoon tosses a look over his shoulder.

"What do you mean?" There's no disapproval in his tone, only careful curiosity.

"Do any of you have someone special in your lives?" Another pause, tasting the inquiry before it can get you in trouble. "Or is anyone catching your eye here?"

You're treated with a laugh and that relieves the tension you're carrying, dragging it off your shoulders with the sound.

"It's not my place to say," Namjoon answers, unflappable. The respect he has for his friends is unparalleled. You like that about him. You feel silly for asking, though he continues speaking, voice softly amused. "I don't think any of us are going to find our next true loves here, though."

Your head cocks. He sounds so sure. "Why not?"

"Didn't you notice that's what most of these girls are looking for? It's hardest to find something when you're actively seeking it out."

Now that he mentioned it, you had noticed the way the other guests had seemed to make a beeline for the six - no, five - men who were otherwise strangers. You'd thought it was a little odd but had chalked it up to their good looks and whatever Gahyeon had shared about them. It clicks into place more slowly than it should. "Oh."

Namjoon chuckles but the sound is friendly, strings of mockery few and far between. "Exactly."

"Jiyeon-ah! You've come to join us!" The sandy strands catch the light before you see the rest of him, Jimin's head popping up over the back of some very comfortable looking chairs. He's half-turned to face you, beaming brightly as another head ascends into view beside him.

"She has a viewing room?" You can't help the way you sound, incredulous and envious all at once. Maybe you'd have to offer to be her live-in maid.

"Isn't it great?" Taehyung's at your side in an instant, brushing past Namjoon who settles into a seat a few feet away. You wave at Yoongi who's sequestered in a corner, playing with his phone and nursing a sizable glass of red wine, before meeting your boyfriend's stare. "I wasn't sure where you went but we got distracted in here." He sounds a little guilty, his lips soft against your cheek.

Your hand finds a home against his chest and you apply minimal pressure - the laziest rebuff you can possibly offer and one he ignores, arms looping comfortably around your waist. "You left me with the wolves." There's absolutely no malice in your words.

"They're not wolves! Everyone's really nice!" Jimin's not wrong.

"I'm kidding," you tease. "Though, Hoseok oppa might disagree." The sound of your snicker is amplified by the others' amusement, even Yoongi who looks up from his phone with a smug gummy smile.

"Did I hear my name?" The devil has materialized seemingly out of thin air, hip cocked as he descends the stairs. Luckily, he's alone.

"No!" You and Jimin chorus in near unison, sharing a conspiratorial grin before laying the rest of your charm - which you possessed nearly nothing of, in comparison to Jimin - on the suspicious brunet.

"Where's Gahyeon?" Taehyung verbalizes the question you're all thinking.

"Upstairs. She sent me to come get you." The answer is followed by a sniff, a wave of his hand as if he's indignant about whatever's been said. You know he isn't - and so does everyone else - but you play along like good sports, hmm-ing thoughtfully and expressing your thanks. "They want to play some get-to-know-you games. One of her friends is a teacher so she thought it was a good idea."

You meet Yoongi's stare over Taehyung's shoulder and you're pleasantly surprised he looks just as unimpressed as you feel. It makes you chuckle, stifling the sound into the collar of Taehyung's shirt.

"What are we, in sixth grade?" Despite the roll of feline eyes, Yoongi has risen from his seat and stepped closer to the stairs.

"Yes, you are." Hoseok's response is emphatic, as if he's talking to children. Then he's grinning, turning on his heel, and disappearing back the way he came. "Come on, kids!"

That garners a response, the remaining five of you shouting after him but doing as you're told, nonetheless, filing back up to the main floor.

"Jiyeon-ah, come sit!" Gahyeon's beckoning you from her seat, cross-legged and comfortable. There are open seats to both sides, and you sink into the one on her right, offering a grateful smile that she returns with ease. "Everyone, sit beside someone you don't know."

The look on Taehyung's face is that of a kicked puppy as she pointedly meets his gaze, gesturing for him to take up root elsewhere. You can't help but laugh, waving apologetically at your boyfriend's back as he drops into a spot across the loose circle, flanked by two girls that greet him warmly.

It surprises you how little it bothers you.

"I guess I'm here."

The last person you want beside you is joining you on the couch, Jihye nowhere in sight. He's got his hood up around his head, pulled forward like some kind of Sith Lord, and you can't ignore such a golden opportunity for mockery.

"Sorry - I'm not the droid you're looking for, Darth Vader." God, you're proud of that one, amusement twinkling in your eyes.

"Oh, right."

He makes a movement as if he's about to move but then whips around just as quickly, hand out, palm facing you. You take the bait, fingers flying to your throat in a dramatic re-enactment of the famous scene. You sputter around an obnoxious gasp, eyes rolling back as he laughs, the sound purposefully - and truthfully, very poorly - rasped out.

It's only when Gahyeon speaks that you're reminded of where you are and who you're with. You're immediately sober, straightening up at the same time Jungkook does.

"So, we're going to play some games to get to know everyone." No one dares scoff at the proposed activity. At least, not to her face. No one wants to see her angelic smile drop - or deal with whatever eccentric wrath Hoseok might unleash. "First, we'll do two truths and a lie. Pretty self-explanatory, right?" A single hand rises now, delicately presenting her generous glass of Riesling. Mischief dances across her expression. "Everyone will say which they think is the lie. For those that get it right, you don't have to drink. For those that do, a sip of your drink!"

"And no baby sips, either!" Her partner-in-crime choruses, raising his shot glass.

You study the near-full flute in your hand. Should you grab another?

"I've got you covered," comes the soft voice from your right and you follow the path of his fingers to the assorted soju bottles by his feet. A brow quirks in silent question and you meet his stare like a concerned mother. "Hobi-hyung told me to stock up before he went to get the rest of you."

You snort. "Well, you definitely did."

"Keep it up and you won't get any." His threat is rounded edges and hardly a threat at all.

It's so easy to get lost in a world with him, one miles away from this one. You have to bite back your response, instead returning your attention to the blonde on your left.

"I'll go first," she chirps, all sunshine and smiles. "I'm twenty-seven, I model, and I'm related to Shin Kwangho." The conspiratorial smile you receive is well-intended, but you're still dumbfounded for the right answer. You hadn't thought to ask how old she was or what she did and neither she nor Hoseok had offered anything up over the course of the evening.

Could you see him dating an older woman? Well, yes. But was she also beautiful enough to be featured on the cover of magazines? Also, yes.

Your brow furrows, fraught with confusion, and you barely hear the whisper above your right shoulder. "She's older than Hobi-hyung."

"Okay, at the count of three, please indicate with your fingers which you think is a lie." You think she'd be a wonderful MC or variety show hostess by the way she patiently studies the room, making sure each other person is ready. She's very much in her element now, surrounded by people she (mostly) intimately knows. "One, two— three!"

Your hand flies up, two fingers held up. Beside you, and along the circle, the same is reflected by most people.

"I'm not a model. I'm an art dealer." It's only Jin that's gotten the answer wrong.

He takes a swig from his bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a flourish before bowing to the winners. "I won't lose again," he promises. Yoongi laughs at that - a sound you hardly catch from where you sit, but that you can read in the way his lips pull back and his eyes crinkle.

"Your turn, Jiyeon-ah!"

Shit. You hadn't expected it to go counterclockwise. You scramble for facts and settle for stealing one of Gahyeon's. "I'm twenty-two, I have a cat, and um—" You're trying to think of a last one, your cheeks filling with air as you inhale deeply, seeking an epiphany in the breath. "—I play the piano."

You're not sure who will get it right. Jungkook, maybe. Taehyung, too. You're not sure how much you've revealed to Namjoon and Yoongi but you know they have a better chance.

"One, two— three!" Gahyeon's quick this time. She can read the room.

The results are varied, with most people holding two fingers aloft. As predicted, Jungkook's got his pointer finger in the air, pride stretching his smile and revealing adorable bunny teeth; Yoongi joins him in the realms of success and so do a handful of others who'd simply hazarded guesses. "I'm twenty-three. Sorry, everyone."

"But you’re twenty-two." The confusion reads like playful belligerence, filling the otherwise quiet circle as people take their requisite drinks. Taehyung's brow is knit, mouth drawn into a flat pout. He looks so cute, you almost want to give him a pity point.

Jungkook answers for you, shaking his head as his hand drops into his lap. "No, she's twenty-three."

The older of the two ignores the correction. "You said you were twenty-two."

"It was my birthday after we met."

"You didn't tell me?" Now that stirs the group, unease drawing forth conversation as it that might stifle the sudden discomfort. Even Gahyeon looks like she's at a loss for words, turning to Hoseok with a look of alarm in her eyes.

You're locked in a staring match with your boyfriend, unable to read the emotion that flickers across his face.

"Okay, let's keep moving!" It's Hoseok to the rescue, clapping his hands to gather everyone's attention once again. Taehyung breaks before you do, swivelling his stare to his friend as you heave a sigh. You'll deal with this later. "Jungkookie, it's your turn."

You feel him stir beside you, sitting up ever so slightly straighter as he speaks. "I have less than ten tattoos, I'm lactose intolerant, and I've been to Disneyland." You don't even have to think about your answer. He drank banana milk like he was made of it and he'd taken you to the happiest place on Earth for your birthday two years ago.

"One, two— three!"

Your pointer finger shoots up, as does Namjoon's, Yoongi's, and Jimin's. Jin's does, too, after a moment of hesitation. He seems eager not to lose again - at least, not so soon. Almost everyone else seems to have gone with the lactose intolerance lie.

"I've got more than ten tattoos." As if to prove it, Jungkook waves his hand around, showing off the ink that litters his otherwise unblemished skin.

People take their losses easily and the game continues, rolling to the girl next to Jungkook. She's beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way, with pretty eyes and thin petal pink lips. She lists her facts: half Japanese, born in America, and a former idol trainee. Everything seems about as preposterous as the next, so you don't think too hard, instead taking the time to rib your seatmate.

"The tattoo thing wasn't fair. You shouldn't get to use absolutes." You don't really mind - you hadn't lost, after all, but you like giving him a hard time.

He accepts it easily, allows it to slip off his broad back like a duck in water. "And you should've told TaeTae it was your birthday."

You’re not sure what you’d expected. He wasn’t wrong. No, not even a little bit. But you’re immediately on the offensive, mouth drawing into a flat line, sharp as the blade that seeks to slot between your ribs and remind you of your failures.

“I know.” You're begrudging, words barely audible behind your cage of teeth. They're coloured black and blue from an internal assault that drips saltwater into your lungs and has emotion sloshing over the edges like a too-full cup.

He should let it go. Your relationship isn’t the kind where he can ask these sort of things still - and yet he does. Wants to know for reasons he’s not quite ready to face. “Why didn’t you?”

Your answer comes slowly, following a sip of your champagne. Like a good third of the room, you’d guessed wrong.

“We’d just met. I didn’t want to bring it up and make it seem like I expected anything.”

Jungkook has to bite back a laugh because your reasoning is so very you it hurts. “Telling someone it’s your birthday isn’t a bad thing, Jiyeon-ah.” The shrug that rolls over your shoulders and tucks your chin against your chest would indicate otherwise.

He can’t help but sigh and turn his gaze to the next person, carefully choosing his words as he does his next answer.

(It was definitely three. There was no way she’d never had a boyfriend.)

“Imagine if you were in his shoes,” he reasons, finally allowing his eyes to flit back to your face. You’re focused on some point at your feet, not meeting his stare. “Honestly, neither of you are in the wrong. The fact that it’s coming out here, among a bunch of strangers, probably sucks, though.”

You won’t look at him but he can tell you’re listening, sees it in the telltale flex of your jaw and pursing of your mouth.

“Anyway, you should talk to him later. Explain yourself. He’ll appreciate that.”

“I know,” you say in a small voice that tugs at his heartstrings.

Right then and there, he wants to tell you everything you want to hear – lace together stories of happier days and stronger bonds. But it hurts a little, too, so he doesn’t.

He might want those things for you but he wants them with him.

“You got that wrong.” You choose to break the silence with a teasing prod, single digit digging into the taut line of his side. He blinks at you, surprised by the abrupt change in your mood. He knows it’s a façade – can practically see the mask lining your skin and fading into the strands at your temple. You’re holding yourself a little too tightly, the jab a touch too hard to be relaxed.

He takes the shot-sized swig without complaint, all the while meeting your eyes over the mouth of the green glass bottle.

“Careful.” It’s less of a reprimand than a gentle reminder, uttered quietly into the shell of your ear. Even at such a close proximity, it feels far away, shrouded in cotton balls and sugar dust.

You take a second to collect your thoughts, momentarily surprised by the weight of your tongue. You mull over this newfound sensation as it drags in your mouth, swipes lewdly over your bottom lip. “’m fine.” It comes out sounding anything but, vaguely slurred and off-kilter. Still, you push yourself straight – hands steadied against warmth that sears into your palms and flexes with the movement.

That’s not right.

You blink owlishly, eyes tracking movement much slower than you’d intended, and you find yourself drawn into the blinding glory of a smile. It’s amused, lips drawn wide around laughter that sinks into your eardrums and settles like feathers, further buffering the words that slip out in between each breath.

“You’re drunk.” Jungkook sounds terribly entertained when you settle back down, temporarily forgetting your earlier decision to stand up. You were too comfortable, caught between his solid form and the seat cushions.

“I’m not drunk!” And you’re not. A bit tipsy, perhaps. There’s a pleasant glow at the edges of your vision, heat warming you from the inside out as if there’s fire and brimstone in your chest. Sure, things might be moving a bit too slowly – or too quickly, depending on the moment – for your liking but it’s not enough to make you feel sick. It’s just vertigo when you move. You’d be fine.

Another laugh, softer this time, for your sake. He can see the petulance in your stare, the way you huff dramatically as you all but toss yourself against the back of the couch. It’s so dangerous when you’re this close and so beguiling. “Fine, you’re not drunk,” he agrees in a voice that isn’t very believable. “But you are something.”

“Yeah, she is.” A new voice – a familiar voice, you think. Your head swivels, searching for the sound, and lands with a dull thud on the man towering over your shoulder, handsome face scrutinising your own.

“Kim Taehyung!” The excitement forces its way out, spreading like honey over your lips and teeth and coating the words. You’re vibrating with delight, entire body shifting to hold yourself over the back of the couch. The movements aren’t nearly as smooth as you’d hoped, your knee knocking harshly into Jungkook’s hip, but you find your way there. “Where’ve you been?”

If he’s annoyed, he doesn’t show it, boxy smile tugging his mouth into the shape with ease. He’s got a hand on the side of your face, fingers threading into the downy softness at your nape. “You fell asleep on poor Jungkookie.”

The realization is unpleasant, shame climbing the column of your spine and settling comfortably into the hollow of your throat.

“I did what?” You think you might’ve screeched the words if you weren’t on the edge of inebriation, embarrassment painting your face in shades of scarlet and roses. It blooms beneath your cheeks and sinks into every other visible part of you, tipping your ears and nose brightly.

“Yeah, you’re really bad at calling people on their bullshit.” The broad figure beside you has the smuggest expression on his face. If you hadn’t just used him as your own personal pillow, you might’ve smacked it off.

As it stands, that’s probably not the best way to say thank you.

“I thought I was doing fine.” There’s that competitive edge, mirrored between your brows and in your words.

“You were,” your boyfriend reassures, quick to placate you. “But you don’t know many people so I think halfway through the first round, it kind of just went downhill.” You appreciate that he’s trying to make you feel better, softening the blow with his sweet smile and sweeter words.

“Then how come you’re fine?” You demand like it’s a personal affront.

“I don’t drink, remember?”

Okay, fair. “And what about you?” You’ve rounded on Jungkook, finger pressed into the centre of his chest, right over his solar plex.

“I’m not a lightweight.” He’s the opposite of Taehyung – completely okay with obliterating your ego, if only because you’re not not-drunk and anything he says won’t be remembered anyway. That, and it’s just too funny to see you all riled up, inhaling sharply as if to rebuff his words.

You look comical as your hands fly to your hips. It’s less so when you teeter in your half-reclined position, feet unsteady beneath your folded weight as you dare to tip back an inch too far.

Jungkook’s immediately reaching out, palm pressed to the small of your back to prevent you from toppling over, and Taehyung’s hand on your shoulder is gripping you tightly.

“Watch it!” Spoken in unison and shared with a look.

If you weren’t so grateful, you’d groan and tell them to get a room. “Okay, okay!” With their respective touches anchoring you in place, your hands fly up in surrender, held aloft in front of your face like some sort of white flag. “I’ll take it easy.”

“We should actually probably head home.” The words have you focusing hard, fuzzy attention turning to take stock of your surroundings. Most people – though there seem to be far less of them than when you’d less counted - seem to be edging toward the main foyer, ushered into the night by the gracious goodbyes of the hosts.

“What time is it?” You ask in the same instance you’re rising, feet landing on solid ground unsteadily. You wave off the hands that dart towards you, a bashful frown stirring across our chapped lips.

“Just after midnight.” Taehyung as he rounds the couch to you, fingers finding yours with ease before he tugs you close against his side. You’re not sure whether it’s for your benefit or his but you sink easily into him, head settling against his shoulder.

You try to ignore the way the third in your party turns away, hands jamming into the pouch of his hooded sweatshirt. He remains steadfastly removed when he speaks, though he’s soft, polite. “I’m going to see if I can help clean up.”

If his change of demeanour is evident at all, Taehyung gives no indication, simply reaching out to clap his friend on the shoulder. “We’ll see you, then.”

“Get home safely, Kook.” The words are barely out before you’re being led away.

You don’t miss how he turns at the last second, the same wistfulness you feel reflected in the quiet of his eyes.

You could very easily fall asleep like this, coaxed into dreamland by his touch. It feels so good, so soothing, traced into the length of your side and over any exposed skin he can find. You think he’s depositing sleeping powder with his lazy scrawl, inscribing everything left unspoken in the circular movements and sloping edges.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he hums happily into your neck, ignoring the way the hair there tickles his nose and gets into his eyes. He doesn’t mind these little things when he’s locked up in this piece of paradise.

“Thank you for inviting me.” You’re just as earnest, filled with all the eagerness of a budding relationship and untarnished by time.

Still, there are things you have to say. Things you want to apologize for, even if they seem miles away now.

“I’m sorry about the…” Careful, you think. You want to express yourself clearly, paint a picture that makes sense for both of you. Something real and true, despite your love for the abstract. You begin again. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my birthday and I’m sorry if that made it seem like I didn’t want to celebrate with you.” The usual rushed nature of your speech is decidedly lacking, instead lulled into a prudently composed apology. “We’d only known each other for a few days, and I didn’t want it to feel like an obligation.”

You don’t mention how the day had still felt been a dream because you’d spent it with him and that was all you could’ve asked for.

Against your shoulder, you feel his chin and the clear movement of his nod.

“I wasn’t mad,” he reassures with a sweep of his lips, meagre over cotton. “I felt silly—” You don’t deserve him and his honesty, how he bares himself up to you as if it’s the easiest task in the world. “—but I wasn’t angry and I didn’t mean to make it seem like it was.”

Your heart sings in your chest, a robin’s song that has you turning in his arms. It’s a little awkward, first untangling your legs and then hooking your knee over his hip, but it feels necessary. A physical token of how much you want him as you breathe life into the same verbal reminder.

“You know you’re too good at this.” Not that you’re complaining – not that you don’t love the openness with which he holds himself to you, laid plain for your prying eyes.

“Too good at what?” The question comes with a gift in the form of his signature smile. It follows with a suggestive roll of his hips.

You can’t help but laugh, depositing the sound against his bare chest. “Communicating, you animal!” The insult is anything but reproachful, instead dangling smugly over an almost wanton intonation. “You’re never afraid to say what’s on your mind.”

He’s got you held against him like he might swallow you whole and you don’t mind, finding peace in his warmth and softness.

“I just think if you never express how you feel, you’re never going to be able to get past it.” You want to liken him to some sage philosopher, the comparison growing stronger when he hums thoughtfully, gaze lost somewhere above your heads. “And I owe it to you to try, so it’s easier. I want this to work.”

Staring up into his face, memorizing the way his cheeks swell with his smile and his dark lashes frame eyes that crescent into pretty little moons, you understand.

“Me too,” you breathe, pressing a sugar sweet kiss to his bared throat.

You don’t miss the way he tenses around you before relaxing all at once, enveloping you with every part of him. His breath is hot in your hair, his hands familiar around your waist. You’re not sure whether you feel it in your lips or toes when he kisses you but you know it runs through every inch of you like a sugar rush.

It’s him that’s prompting you to drag yourself closer – if that’s even possible – and it’s him that’s got you seeking his taste, dragging your tongue over his bottom lip in some sort of bid for entry.

“Who’s the animal now?” Despite the playfulness in his tone, you can hear the creep of something else. Hunger, need – all the same things painting your breaths.

“Still you.” You murmur in between kisses that edge on sloppy, overly eager as they are. “But I can be, too.” A sharp tug at his bottom lip, edge of teeth sharp around the soft petal. “Not mutually exclusive, you know?” You don’t know how you’re finding words when all you want is him. It’s hard to be coherent around the Taehyung-shaped distraction your mouth is roaming across.

“You’re feisty when you’re drunk,” he quips, breathless against your crown when you descend further than the tantalizing slope of his neck, mouthing over the bare expanse of his honeyed chest.

The comment has you nipping gently, just enough to bloom crimson where your teeth have left little indents. “I’m not drunk.” Three words spoken more concisely than you have all night, driven to enunciation by sheer unabashed need.

“I’m kidding.” It’s less of an apology and more of a purr, stoking the coals that burn heavily in the pit of your stomach.

You’re tempted to remind him of his hubris once again but are rudely stopped by firm hands that rearrange you onto your back like you’re nothing but a ragdoll. By the way you huff, he knows you’re more than that – a girl with a beating heart and needs.

Forearms form a cage on either side of your head, and he lingers for but a moment, only long enough to catch you in a sweet, all-encompassing kiss that has your head spinning. You’re gasping when he withdraws, pitifully inclined to chase him when he slides further down your prone form, settling on his knees between your legs.

It’s a beautiful sight – better than the Mona Lisa or David or any of the greats.

His palm is soft on the swell of your hip, fingers tucking beneath the flimsy lace that nestles against your skin. He continues to feel the patterns that run through the material, smoothing it once, twice, before dragging it lower and lower in marginal increments. You feel like you might explode when it’s caught halfway down your thighs, stuck between his knee and complete freedom.

“Raise your legs, jagi.” The request shoots electricity up your spine. You don’t even have to think twice, doing exactly as you’re told, ankles brought parallel with your hips.

The scrap of fabric is gone then, loftily tossed across the room without a second thought.

You almost laugh, the sound bubbling forth but replaced by a keening moan when he sinks two fingers into you. Without time to adjust to the sudden intrusion, the burn is incredible, softened only by the slick that coats your thighs and drips over his fingers. He stretches you lazily, with slow measured pumps of his wrist; somehow, you’re already standing on the edge of a precipice, bliss calling your name from the abyss below.

He must see it in your face, framed between your pretty thighs that spread for him, calves resting heavily on his broad shoulders. “You’re so wet.” You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on by his voice, the way the velvet depths fill your ears with a melody. They play over the chords of your heart like practiced hands. “So ready and beautiful.”

The realization is fully formed with his words. You are ready.

It’s an epiphany and Taehyung – darling Taehyung – gives you exactly what you want. He adds a third finger with the utmost care, angled in such a way that he can brush the pad of his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. He ghosts a kiss over your calf, words disappearing against your skin. “Where are the condoms?”

You can’t even bring yourself to feel shame as you gesture wildly toward your side table. It’s just out of range for you but he closes the distance easily, his much longer reach allowing him to dip into the confines of the drawer.

Seeing the packet in his slender, capable fingers has your pulse speeding up, a nervous flush colouring your entire body. You know it isn’t unease that has you quivering, a bow strung too tightly beneath him.

“Please, Tae,” you can’t help the way you sound when he withdraws his fingers and - god have mercy on your poor soul - sucks the digits into his mouth. Glistening with your arousal, they disappear between pouting lips and return pristinely clean.

“Yes, jagi?”

He’s teasing you, taking his time in tugging his boxers off. You think you’d be mad if he weren’t so flawless, golden perfection sat bare before you. When you don’t respond, he takes his time in tearing the corner of the package and discarding same off the side of the bed. His movements are excruciating as he pinches the tip and rolls the condom over the leaking swollen head of his cock.

“What do you need?” The way he winds you up should be illegal, as should his expression when he drops back onto the bed, settling between your bent knees. There’s only darkness in his eyes, the entire ring of hazel engulfed by pupils that threaten to devour you.

You reach for him, a child seeking the thing they love most. You half expect him to draw away and giddily coo when he leans into your hands, allows his angelic face to be cradled between your palms.

“You. I want you.” No, that’s not quite right. “I need you.”

You think you might’ve given him the great gift in the world when he beams, shattering every wall of yours and sweeping shadows from your insides. He’s glorious sunshine, consuming warmth that pervades every inch. Sliding forward, his arm falls into place at the side of your face, delicate touch drifting through the silk of your hair. “Tell me how badly.” He asks so sweetly, you can’t deny him.

“So badly. Like I haven’t needed anything before.” Perhaps loose lips could sink ships, but you think they might also find buried treasure. You’re certain of it when you pull him to you, his frame fitting snugly against yours - a missing puzzle piece.

You feel him, heavy and hot between your legs. The way he rocks against you has you pawing at his chest, hands falling from his cherubic face. He rocks himself forward experimentally, enticed by the ease with which his straining cock glides through your folds, never delivering in the promise you so terribly need fulfilled.

“Tae,” you whine, features twisted into a picture of anguish as he catches your clit and then disappears. He doesn’t move again, instead studying your face as if he might find the answers to all of life’s questions buried in your smile, the lashes that flutter up at him.

“I’ve got you.” He does – hook, line, and sinker.

And then he pushes into you with one fluid flex of his hips. He fits into you like you were made for him, your aching walls drawing him deeper and deeper until he’s bottomed out and snuggled between your legs. You immediately lock your ankles around him, heels digging into his back in a bid to bring him closer.

It takes herculean effort to not fuck you until you’re seeing stars but Taehyung’s reward is the way you look.

He wants to imprint it into his memory forever. The way your mouth falls open, lips parted around his name like a prayer. How your back arches and he wants to bury his face into your cleavage.

“So beautiful, Jiyeon.” He finds you somehow, driven by the insatiable need to swallow your moans off your tongue. He sets a leisurely pace that has him drawing out slowly to admire every drag of you around his cock and you whine each time he nearly fully withdraws before thrusting back into you with a heart-wrenching smile. He loves the way you sound, all needy and breathless. “You feel so good,” he murmurs against your mouth, tongue dragging lasciviously over the corner where your own lolls. “Taste so good, too.”

In true fashion, you’re filled with delight at the praise, raising your hips to meet each measured, tantalizing roll of his. “Please, Tae. Please.” You’re not sure what you’re asking for, only that you need more. There’s a molten lava burning through you, swallowing everything in its sight, but it isn’t enough.

“Please what?” He’s straightening above you and reclining, dragging your legs from around him until they’re resting in the crook of each elbow. It’s a powerful position that has him admiring every curve of your body, his cock twitching as he smoothly pushes into you again. He can feel your need like an onerous wave but he’s feeling playful.

“Fuck me!” It explodes out of your mouth, wrenched forth by the teasing he’s been doling out.

“But I am,” he sounds almost dejected when he says that and your eyes snap open only to be greeted by his too-smug grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Two can play that game. “Well, then do better.”

That’s what pushes him to your figurative level, dragging him to hell. He grips your hips in his hands and tugs you forward with little care, burying himself to the hilt with a sharp breath. You quake with the sudden aggression and mewl with delight when he begins ramming into you with purpose, meeting his each and every thrust eagerly.

This is what you needed – to be consumed wholly, in no half measures.

“Oh, Tae.” His name barely makes it into the air when it’s snapped back with a gasp. The pad of his thumb is sweeping over your clit in time with each of his thrusts. It’s insistent, near punishing, as he pistons into you.

He's no longer Cupid playing a harp, drawing you slowly but surely to the edge; he's Lucifer in a mad descent toward Earth and you're caught in his wings. The knowledge that he's there at the edge with you, fingers laced with yours as he dives toward release, has you clenching around him. Fingers seek purchase anywhere you can find it. First down his back, carving mountain ranges over muscle, and then into his inky strands, tugging with abandon. You're so close you can feel it, a sob wrenched forth when he shifts and the new angle has him dragging over your g-spot with each thrust.

Between the pitching moans and your fluttering walls, he's free-falling, entire body vibrating with tension. He snaps forward with a wrecked grunt, signalling his impending doom. "Come with me, jagi. Please." His hips stutter, his motions uncoordinated and sloppy as he chases his end.

When Taehyung's lips find yours once again, your own name returned to you with aching adoration, you join him.

White paints your vision and the inside of latex and you're unravelling, held only to the physical plane by arms that soothe over every part they can touch. Over your thighs, across your hips, up and back over the swell of your heaving chest. Even half-wrecked and fumbling, he's an angel, taking care of you like it's his job. He guides sweet nothings into the shell of your ear, his tongue laving hotly over your neck, as he slows his thrusts, finally coming to a sated standstill.

"Are you okay?" With the fucked out look in his eyes and the way he gingerly extracts himself from your arms, pressing kisses to every salt-sweet part of you as he goes, he's divine. Even the very mundane task of knotting the condom and tossing it into the trashcan beside your bed is somehow ethereal. You don't think you'll get over it.

"One hundred percent."

notes. a small part of me was like, "why is there so much debauchery?" but then i thought, "why not."

anyway, the next chapter will explore her and jungkook's relationship through flashbacks, as well as some good ol' bro bonding and other goodness.

thank you for reading, as always! xo

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 14

Moon on the Water

The first thing Sōsuke Aizen has memory of is hunger. A dull ache in his stomach that grows to pain the longer it goes unsated.

(He will learn, decades later, that only those with high reiryoku are able to feel hunger)

He doesn’t remember, he’s never known, if he was born in Soul Society or if he’d merely died young. He doesn’t recall if he had parents at some point, or if he’d been a hollow once. It doesn’t matter, for he doubts very much that he will ever know the answer to these things. There are some things that are simply impossible to find the answers to.

All he knows for certain is the hunger that he had become aware of.

Then the dust on his skin. Grit in his eyes. Dead grass beneath his hands.

The trees that stand as witness to his beginning are bare of greenery. They are nothing more than skeletons and dead wood, pressed in close and strangling each others roots.

There are no other humans around, only empty clothes laying on the earth around him.

He doesn’t know his name. He doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening.

Hunger gets his legs up under him.

Hunger drives him, stumbling and new, into the dull light.

It’s barely a town where he spends the next two decades. It’s all adult men and women covered in bruises or scars that grip knives with white knuckles. He is the only child among them, and he keeps that title with bloodied fists and teeth.

His ribs hurt and his stomach aches fiercely. Food is in scarce supply, whether people feel the same hunger as he does or not. What little there is is jealously guarded, and nothing is taken without a price paid for it. Gold and silver are worth nothing here. Only steel and bone make a difference.

There is something inside of him that tells him he could be stronger.

It’s a whisper in the night, a breeze on a pond in his dreams.

Grow, says the moon in the water. Grow stronger. Grow smarter. Grow.

It’s something in the way he walks. To tall, too confident.

The men find him when the moon is gone from the sky and can’t float on the water any longer.

“You think you’re better than us, just because you’ve got a little bit of reitsu?” he reeks of sake and years gone unwashed. He’s flanked by three others, all of them red faced and unstable.

That doesn’t stop the hits from hurting.

“You’re no better than we are!”

“You’re just a brat no one wanted, that’s why you’re here.”

“Where’d your whore mother leave you anyway huh? In the woods? Fucking bush runt.”

When he lifts his head to spit on one of them he’s slammed down again so hard he sees stars. Blood roars in his ears and pours down his face with the tears and snot. His lips split. He screams.

It’s over.

When he looks up there’s only clothes on the ground, and he learns how to keep his head bowed and mild. Even still, people start avoiding him. Fear leads to isolation.

* *

He is only just an adolescent when people begin to vanish. They leave blood stains on the ground and screams in the night. There have been other children in the years. None of them last long. Even the ones that he tries to protect can’t take as many hits as he can, or go as long without. The latest dies not a month after he meets them. Adults have stopped speaking to him entirely. He is too smart, to vicious, to strong.

It takes four months for the shinigami to arrive.

One woman faints at the sight of them, the pressure of their souls so intense she can’t take it. He scoffs quietly. He is just as strong, and they don’t drop to their knees for him.

He watches them with solemn eyes. They wander like sparrows, with no direction and hardly any drive. Merely being in their village is a chore for these people, never mind the dead.

They are only people in the outer districts, he hears them whisper. Unmanageable and unwashed. They don’t even have shoes.

Sosuke bites his lip so hard it bleeds. That is not enough for him. He will no be contented to this life and fade away or be torn apart by monsters, those with and those without masks.

He walks up to one shinigami and points him to the hunting ground. The place by the river, where everyone must go eventually. That’s where they will find the monster that they barely bothered to look for.

Someone calls him clever. Someone else notes his energy levels.

None of them look back when they leave again.

He looks at the stick and stone huts that make up his village for a long time before he follows their foot prints. He is worth more than dirt and dead grass and bloody teeth. Regardless of what they tell him. He will find people who recognize that he is a person, that he deserves to be seen, that he deserves to eat and wash and live.

* * *

The first time he sets sight on the seireitei the only thing that over rides his anger is his hunger.

He wants it. He wants that place. He wants his place in its wall and all that it entails. Shoes, soap, food.

He wants all of it. And he hates these people for hoarding it. He’d worked his way through the rukongai, and he’d made his way to the first districts with calloused hands and a mild smile. He’d seen people throw food away. He’d seen them discard perfectly good clothes and tools simply because they were old.

All of this waste, and yet he’d gone hungry for so long. For what reason?

He’d learned to read in return for months of hard labor, and he’d gotten himself accepted into the academy on work alone.

By then he was still young for the academy, but not the youngest. He had learned to be mild and polite. He’d learned to hide the blood in his teeth and wear his sleeves long enough to hide calloused palms and scarred knuckles.

He’d even started to wear glasses, to give the impression that he was smarter than people thought. And he was. Smarter. Smart enough and savvy enough that he lost his accent and polished his edges so swiftly that anyone who didn’t know before hand where he’d come from never would. Kido came to him as easy as breathing. All of his classes did. It just made sense, like fitting together pieces of puzzles. History and law, mathematics and management.

Poetry especially became a passion of his. It was elegant and beautiful, it opened a window to the soul of the writer.

The stroke of the brush and the stroke of the sword was the same. Once made it could never be undone. There the true intentions were laid bare to the world.

He chose a poetic name for himself. One that was just as unassuming at his smile and his eyes.

Sosuke Aizen. ‘Clever’ and ‘mediator’, and ‘love’ and ‘peace’. Something that he was and something that he wasn’t. Truth and lies.

He had barely graduated when the moon finally spoke to him a name on the water.

Kyoka Suigetsu.

“ You have grown, my Sosuke.”

She is lovely and insubstantial. She ripples at the edges and her long white hair flows like water around them. Her blue eyes are so dark they’re nearly black, and her kimono swims with black and white koi.

She is like him, everything seemingly dripped in finery and hiding the callouses beneath. She is as beautiful as the truth is ugly. Sosuke loves her, suddenly and fiercely. He always has. She is the changing moon that has always watched over him.

She is alone in that.

Even in the academy, surrounded by others, he realizes quickly that he is cut from a different cloth.

He is smarter, stronger, he adapts faster. It leaves him standing above students, a pedestal they cannot reach, but below shinigami who are even weaker than he by the simple merrit of he has not yet graduated.

He asks one of those shinigami one day, when they are visiting to scout new recruits for their squads, why no one has ever tried to make things better for the outer districts.

(why no one ever tried to make it better for him)

They laughed at him, and the notion that anyone would care for mere rukongai trash. Someone all the way from Akaiha was worth less than the dirt on the shoes of someone like a Kuchiki. One person from Junrinan was worth more than eighty people from the eightieth districts. Why bother with people like that?

If they really hated it there so much they should have worked harder to get out.

If their lives were so terrible they should just hurry up and die and move on.

Another answer comes, years later. It’s given to him by Shinji Hirako, his new captain, but the words aren’t really aimed at him. They stand on a balcony above the graduation class after him. He’s a fourth seat, fresh himself, and prepared to claw his way higher with grace and smiles.

The difference between the people below them is stark. The rukon seeds, the nobility, and the mercantile. It’s in the slope of shoulders, the set of jaws, and the dark eyes. Even their uniforms bear the marks of their origins. Some are new, even in the last days of class. Others are threadbare, grown out of and patched messily in places.

“It’s the same every year,” Hirako says to Rose. The two blonds are shoulder to shoulder, flanked by their underlings. Hirako has no lieutenant, so his entourage is larger.

“A shame,” Rose’s usual smile is faded into a pensive frown.

“Don’t look like that. There’s nothing you can do and you know it. They keep the rukon full so when the Soul King needs to lighten the weight no one with any power does anything about it. That’s how it’s always been.”

“I know that.” Rose’s frown deepens. “That doesn’t mean I like it.”

“No. None of us do.”

Sosuke thinks of cruel smiles and sabotages. Finery hides the sickest hearts. He’s not sure that Hirako is right. Plenty of people like the system just fine. All the ones with power do. The nobility does nothing because it keeps them safe and it keeps them living in luxury. They like living above the common riff raff.

Sosuke starts looking more into history. There have been attempts at change in the past. Rebellions and insurgencies, all crushed. Each time things got worse for the citizens of the Rukongai. More resources were taken, trade was restricted, business taxes increased until the squalor of the outer districts encroached until it reached all the way to the fifty first. The nobles owned the Central 46, who all Shinigami would obey without question. They cut down citizens they should have protected.

After that it stopped. Fear held them in place. They were no more than sheep.

Sosuke would not be a sheep. He refused.

* * * *

Isolation was a deadly thing.

To be alone, even when surrounded by other people, was the worst sort of torture. He may not have shown it, but he struggled to resign himself to the world as it was. Why should he? He had been born strong. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but the empty clothes around where he woke up were people crushed by his mere presence. He had learned, quickly, to hide himself inside his own skin.

No one saw him. No one saw what he saw. A king that never knew his subjects, a ruling class that revelled in the suffering of those beneath them. There was a king with no face, no name, no influence. No king at all.

The throne in the sky was empty and Sousuke still knew the hunger. It still clawed at his chest and stomach.

Hirako was suspicious of him. He’d never done anything to warrant it, but the captain watched him like he was waiting for an explosion.

He was the last of his graduating class to be sent to the human world. The senkaimon was acting strangely, and they were going to put it off a few more months, but the head captain insisted, over Hirako’s protests. He said Sosuke needed to get his feet wet.

So he went.

He stepped out of the gate and onto a beach, where western troops marched in the dying red light.

This was not right. It wasn’t right at all.

Where were the thick wooden walls and tiled roofs of Kyoto? Surely it couldn't have changed so much since the last paintings were brought back from the human world! There really must have been something wrong with the Senkaimon. It dropped him somewhere he was certainly not meant to be.

There was something weird here too. The air was dense, like the atmosphere had suddenly compressed without room to expand. And the soldiers. Most of them weren’t just in identical uniforms. Some of them had the same face!

They were all alive, that much he could tell, and none of them paid any mind to him.

He touched the hilt of his zanpakutou, a curl of worry and a thrill of excitement coursing through him before he brushed them underneath reasoning and logic.

Is it an illusion?

He knows she is the best when it comes to such things. No one else could compare, and once he has someone snared there’s nothing else. The game is over and he has won.

She thrums under his fingers a small denial.

No. It’s real. Everything is real, but everything is also...

Wrong. He can feel it. There’s something very, very wrong in the air. A thickness, a blanket over the land. The edges of the horizon somehow seem more like a cage than an invitation to find where they lead. As if they lead nowhere.

What is this?!

Sosuke forces himself to calm down. He’s never understood people who let their anger cloud their judgement, or fear decide their actions. Nothing good ever comes of that.

He needs information.

He tries, first, to open the senkaimon again, but to no avail. He stabs the air at least five times before he gives up on that option. Panic thrums under his skin. He sets it aside yet.

An investigation begins.

He follows troops and listens to orders. People are fighting, a war between americans and the clan Connacht.

Soldiers for it march to a prison, where a high profile captive it being held under a general. Seeking information he follows after.

Inside, he finds a tragedy and a miracle all in one.

* * * *

A human who can see him. A man who travels through time in a desperate attempt to save the world he lives in. A boy who has no power on his own but can empower into other people.

He’s an interest ( amazing ) human.

At first glance he’s just a moody teenager. All scowls and harsh edges. Sosuke gets to watch them soften around his people. Mash, a girl of tremendous resilience and knowledge. Cu Cullain, a magician who is two people at once, gentle and fierce in equal turns. Medusa is a vicious contender, with sharp teeth and serpents in her hair. The only smiles she has are reserved for pretty girls, and Ichigo himself.

It’s not his intention, but Sosuke starts to get attached.

It’s not his intention, but Sosuke starts to trust them.

Ichigo feels like his first and final chance. He sees the same injustices, he encourages Sosuke’s anger.

He tells him to change the world.

For the first time in his life Sosuke blossoms. He doesn’t need to hold himself back, or pretend to be anything other than what he is. Ichigo sees through his facade anyways. Ichigo keeps up with the twisting paths and whip quick leaps Sosuke’s mind makes. He’s a match for him. Never has Sosuke felt anything like what he felt when Ichigo placed his hand on his shoulder and shoved his very soul inside his skin.

Fire and moonlight, an ocean of power rushing into Sosuke’s swollen lake of reiryoku.

For the first time in his life Sosuke begs. When Ichigo tells him that he’ll forget him, forget them, he tells him secrets. He lets him touch Kyoka Suigetsu and offers him only truth. He will never be able to hide from Ichigo again, and he will give up every mask and tempered smile he has if it means Ichigo will restore him to how he is in America.

Free.

The empty throne in the sky doesn’t exist anymore. There are only stars and the sun.

It’s a war. Bloody and desperate. Every hollow in hueco mundo has brought themselves to the feast, or to run from the end of their home.

It’s still precious to him. Ichigo’s roughness manages to sand away his edges and hard corners, in the best ways.

It can’t stay. He clings to Ichigo when the battles are over and the light starts to shimmer around him. If he could he would follow him all the way to Chaldeas, no matter the consequences. If he could.

He can’t.

He loses everything, and he can’t even mourn it.

* * * * *

He stepped out of the gate and onto a beach, where western troops marched in the dying red light.

Onto a beach-

Onto a-

Into carefully planned out streets lined with high wooden walls and roofs tiled in blue. Souls wander, forlorn and clinking with the chains of fate. Somewhere off to the east there’s a hollow hunting for dinner. The living are just as down trod as the dead, trudging through their daily toil.

Sosuke stumbles forwards. He blinks several times. He had just been reaching for something, hadn’t he? He’d been trying to hold something in his hands…

Something in his hands.

He looks down at his clenched fist. There is something cool and powerful held in his hand.

The one constant in Sosuke Aizen's life is hunger.

* * * * * *

#sosuke aizen #Ichigo Kurosaki #bleach fanfiction #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru

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tonyspep · 5 years

Text

a home sweet home (with a couple kids running in the yard)

a/n: soooooooo like this is all @rocketrhap4229's fault lol. she is just as in love with dad!richard as i am, so she wasn't going to tell me no even though i have like a million other things i want to write right now. i added dad!kit for me because i can't resist him and i love the idea of him as a dad as much as i love dad!richard. this came from listening to the beatles song “ob-la-di, ob-la-da.”

~*~a home sweet home~*~

(with a couple kids running in the yard)

pairing: richard madden/you and kit harington/you

summary: just a day in the life of dads richard madden and kit harington

rating: k+

being a great father is like shaving. no matter how good you shaved today, you have to do it again tomorrow.

reed markham -

You bite down on your lip, twisting the flesh between your teeth, staring at the text Sadie – Kit's fiancee` - sent you, yoga in twenty. kit and jax will be @ your door. don't you dare say no this time. we need this. one of them definitely remembers how to change nappies like rich's sister beth taught them. and the other can warm up a bubba right quick. they'll be fine. braaaaaaaandy. c'mooooooooooon.

You can hear her voice – that thick Yorkshire accent, so different than your Midwest twang (as Richard calls it) – in the text, how she elongates the one 'a' in your name to eight whenever she's trying to get her way. The two of you became fast friends as soon as the boys introduced you on a double date nearly three years ago, but you swear you've known the brunette your whole life, that she's the sister you never had but always longed for as a little girl who had to deal with three older brothers growing up.

You sigh, fingers threading through your shoulder length strawberry blonde hair, knowing ultimately that she's right.

You need (desperately) to get out of the house, to converse with an actual adult again, to feel – your heart clenches briefly, a pang of guilt rushing through – like a woman, not just a mother. Buuuuuuut... the familiar tingle of what if creeps up your spine and your ready to back out because what if Ruby does need you? What if – god forbid – something happens to her? You'd never forgive yourself.

She won't be so tiny and breakable forever, you reason, but right now she is... Having just learned how to walk on her oh-so-adorably tubby legs, still crying when she falls on her bum even on the carpet, still needing you in the most wonderful way, and you just can't take any chances. Not right now.

Before you can send your usual i'm sorry, there's Richard's familiar burr coming from the doorway to your room, “Ye better not be doin' what I think you are,” He warns, eyes narrowing sharply.

He's in front of you in three easy strides of his lean legs, large hand cupping your cheek so gently and you can feel the cool silver of his wedding ring against your skin. His crystal eyes bore into yours and his perfectly plush mouth twists wryly as he laughs, low and warm, “Do ya really think so little of me? That I can't be left alone with Ruby for – what – two hours tops? And I won't be alone, anyway. My best mates Kit and Jax will be here, too.”

You laugh at the way he considers Kit and Sadie's two and a half year old little boy one of his mates. As if he and the mini-Kit (that little boy really is the spitting image of his father, right down to the unruly mop of deep black velvet curls they share) would be going down to the pub for a pint.

“Eventually,” He murmurs, leaning in close so his lips are mere centimeters away from that spot below your ear, the one that will always drive you mad. “You'll have to leave me and Ruby alone. You can't stay cooped up in this house forever. Go, you know want to. You don't always have to be Mummy,” His words are so delicious against your skin, the heat of his breath making your knees weak. “You're still Brandy, y'know. The funny, smart and utterly gorgeous woman with the most perfect mouth made for the most sinful of things that has got me just as head over feet now as I was the day I saw you for the first time strutting up and down that runway.”

You don't know when you reached out for him, but you realize your hand is gripping at the front of his t-shirt, and you're basically anchoring yourself, your fingers clutching at the soft fabric so your weak knees don't completely give out. A shudder rolls through your body, a gasp leaving your lips as he bends to slant his lips along yours. Instantly, his lips move hungrily with your own, your mouth easily acquiescing to his insistent tongue, opening with no resistance at all to allow his to tangle with yours.

You're practically panting when you two finally pull apart, air being a nasty necessity and all of that, and you wonder how after having a one year old and being married for two years, he still makes you feel knock-kneed and light-headed like he did when you were jet-setting here and there without a care in the world? Your only true concern at that time being whether you had packed enough underwear as he had this terrible habit of ripping them clean off you, having no patience when it came to getting his mouth and hands on every inch of you, inside and out.

No one told you it would still be like that years later, and everyone you knew seemed to say all the heat and sparks dimmed significantly after a baby was put in the mix.

But Richard seemed determined not to let that happen.

Before you could suggest Kit and Sadie taking Ruby and Jax to baby yoga so you could have your husband all to yourself – the heat pulsing low in your stomach was definitely getting to you – a tiny voice you'd never mind hearing came from the doorway, “Bubba,”

You couldn't stop the smile that spread across your lips at the sight of your little girl. Ruby Jaymes wasn't quite two yet, still having nearly six months to go for that milestone, but she was walking (stumbling, mostly) and talking (babbling, mostly) and while limited in both skills, you couldn't stop the pride welling inside at seeing her stand on her own, not at all wobbly.

“Bubba,” The word both she and Jax used instead of bottle, the little girl clearly having picked up the vernacular from the slightly older boy, was said louder this time and with a demanding edge. Though she inherited your strawberry blonde hair and green eyes, her pout was all Richard, especially when she thrust her larger bottom lip forward.

Before you could move, she was a giggling mess, having been swept into her father's strong arms as he tickled her softly round tummy and nuzzled her nose. “C'mon, sweet girl,” Gentle and light as he brushed her sleep-matted hair away from her vibrant green eyes. “Let's get you a bubba. Mummy has to get ready for yoga. She's having a play date with Auntie Sadie and you'll have one with me and Uncle Kit and Jax.”

“Jax? Play?” Her tiny voice was so hopeful and the happy squeal she let out when Richard told her yes, their voices fading as he continued down the hallway, made your heart flip.

~*~*~

“Yes!” You couldn't help the triumphant holler when Brandy finally texted you back that she would be ready in fifteen for yoga. It felt like a life time since the two of you had done anything together without Jax and Ruby tagging a long. Not that you didn't love your son and your god-daughter – you loved both so much sometimes it scared you, honestly – but the two of you needed to have time just to yourselves, you couldn't lose yourselves in the joy of being mothers. You were still women and even if you had to drag Brandy kicking and screaming, you would remind her.

“Yes!” You heard the familiar trill of your son's voice as he sat in his high chair, fingers dipping into his cinnamon flavored oatmeal. You couldn't help but laugh as he tried to stick his entire goop-covered fist into his mouth, slurping at the fingers that managed to fit. “Noooooooo,” You murmured, the word over-shadowed by your laughter at the oatmeal smeared across his chubby cheeks.

“Jax,” You scolded but there were the baby blues peering from the same ridiculously long lashes he inherited from Kit and you melted. He had your eyes and the dimple in your left cheek but everything else was all Christopher Catesby Harington, which made you think you'd let him get away with murder as long as he looked at you, all bashful and sheepish, the same way Kit would when he did something wrong.

“Mess,” He gigled slapping his hands together and just before he could reach out and touch your face, like he was want to do, you quickly plucked him out of his high chair and brought him to the kitchen sink. “Yes, you made a mess, but you won't turn Mummy into a mess.”

As you turned the faucet to lukewarm – so as not to scald his tiny hands – you felt the familiar rasp of a beard against your cheek along with the heady scent of spice and citrus invading your nose as a wall of nothing but warm, firm muscle became pressed against your back.

“No,” You heard, low and sensual in your ear. “It's Daddy's job to make a mess of Mummy,” and you swore your knees buckled as you jostled Jax in your arms, your hold suddenly not as secure as it was nearly a few moments before.

“Christopher,” You hissed, your cheeks flaring with heat that was quickly spreading throughout your entire body. Before he could continue, there was Jax's delighted yelp of, “Daddy,” and then there was a theatrical growl from Kit and you knew his hands were scrunched into 'claws' as he made his voice comically low while he grabbed for Jax saying, “No Daddies here only Jax eating monsters and this monster is very hungry, you see.”

“Daaaaaaddddddy,” A wail before howls of laughter break through as Kit savagely tickles him.

Briefly, as you watch your fiancee` and your son, you wonder if it's too late for you to cancel on Brandy. You know she'd be all too happy to say with Richard and Ruby just as you'd be about staying with Kit and Jax. You twist your lip between your teeth, huffing at how just seeing your boys together makes you turn to goo and you're about to reach for your phone when a large hand stops you.

“Don't,” Kit's voice is bordering on the kind of stern he only uses when his head's between your legs and his mouth is bringing you to the most blissful oblivion. “You've been trying to get Brandy to do something without Jax and Ruby for months. You'll have plenty of time for the three of us to lay about together. Soon they'll be in school and being chauferred by all of us around town for this practice and that recital and to go to so and so's house and birthday parties and the lot. You can't forget to be Sadie just because you're Jax's Mummy.”

There's a protest on your lips, so close to being let out when he bends to silence it in the most effective of ways, drawing your mouth into his. Even with your son in his arms – or maybe because your son is in his arms – the kiss grows heady and passionate as if a match was struck to an already smoldering ember.

You pull away first, panting, as you stare into his familiar deep eyes. His voice is low and rough, heat pinging all along your skin as he murmurs, “I quite like Sadie,” and there he goes humming the infamous Beatles tune your parents named you after.

He breathes the title, “sexy sadie,” against the glide of your neck and you don't know how you're standing, but you know he's right. You can't back out of your yoga session with Brandy. You're not just a Mom, but a woman as well. And thank God you've got a fiancee` who's all too happy to remind you.

~*~*~

“Are you sure you've...” Richard quickly cuts you off, laughing low under his breath while Ruby happily sucks on her binky in his arms, “I know all the emergency numbers, including your Mum's and yes I know how early it is in Davenport right now just like I know she'll pick up, anyway. You're going to yoga, not war, darling.”

Your eyes narrow into slits, your lips settling into a thin line, which he quickly kisses away. His forehead is pressed against yours as he tells you, softly, “Everything's going to be fine. This is isn't the first time you've been gone for an hour or two. Our little gem will be just as perfect when you come back.”

Before you can quiz him on what to do if she gets fussy before her nap, the doorbell rings and then rings again and again and both of you can hear a scolding hiss from Sadie on the other side, “Jax, stop it.”

Then there's Kit's easy laughter, “I think Uncle Rich and Auntie Brandy know we're here buddy.”

“Ruby!” You hear the toddler yelp and you can't stop the red velvet kind of warmth spreading through you. You forget about your irrational fears about leaving your daughter alone with her father and as soon as you open the door, you and Sadie fling yourselves at each other, hugging tightly. Yes, you did need this girl time, together, without the kids tagging along.

“We'll be back later,” She trills over her shoulder after both of you had said goodbye to Jax and Ruby, instructing them to be good and before you can change your mind, she's grabbed your hand and is dragging you out your front door. As you slide into the passenger side, you can't stop from giggling, “Were we telling Jax and Ruby to be good or the boys to be good?”

She giggles as well and both of you at the same time say, “The boys,” before she pulls away from the curb and begins the short drive to your favorite yoga studio.

~*~*~

“Alone at last,” Richard's tone is teasing but Kit knows he got the same lecture from Brandy that he got from Sadie. “They act as though we've never been alone with them before,” He shakes his head as he sets a squirming Jax on his feet who immediately makes a beeline for Ruby who is sitting on her play mat in the middle of the living room, touching her blocks. “I know we're not doing the day to day that they are, but we're not completely clueless.”

“Exactly.” The Scotsman agrees. “It's not as if we're dealing with two complete terrors, either. I was infinitly worse at this age than Ruby is. Sarah says she's just like Brandy was; quiet, easy. Cautiously curious I believe was the phrase.”

“Jax can be a little difficult,” Kit admits, fingers scrubbing through his curls. “But none of this terrible twos business your mates try to scare you about. Don't know why he's not a fan of naps, though. I couldn't get enough of those. Wish it was acceptable to nap about now,” He laughs, setting the houndstooth baby bag that accompanies the little rascal whenever he and Mum are out and about near the couch.

“We're going to be fine,” Richard states. “They'll play a little, soon it'll be nap time and they'll be rested for when the girls come home so they can relax.”

“Too right.”

Their plan of play a little and soon it will be nap time wasn't as full proof as they thought it was. It was a gorgeous day outside and Jax and Ruby began to get restless. “Ducks,” The little boy announced, climbing up his father's right leg. Ruby parroted the word, “Ducks,” and mimicked the little boy's movements as best she could with Richard's leg, though she fell back down quickly and that's when the floodgates opened.

Before Richard could even take a breath, her gem-toned eyes that matched her mother's began to water and then her mouth opened. The wail she let out was deafening to say the least. As if Jax could sense his playmate's distress, his own lip began to wobble and just as he began to sniffle, Kit scooped him up into his arms and began to rock him back and forth, hoping to quell the impending cry.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Richard cooed, cuddling Ruby close as she whimpered, her face buried in his neck. “It's all right. You're okay,” He assured, peppering her curls with kisses before he moved onto her red face that was wet with rolling tears. “You're okay.” He repeated again, until her tiny body finally stopped shaking.

“Peppa,” She whimpered, referring to her favorite stuffed animal. It was really the original way Piglet had been drawn by AA Milne, the whole set a gift from Emilia, but she insisted on calling the pig “Peppa,” for some reason. Lifting himself from the couch, Richard brought Ruby into her nursery to collect the animal, hoping just having the plush in her arms would calm her.

~*~*~

While Richard got Peppa for Ruby, Kit had pulled the stuffed Toothless out of Jax's baby bag. Though, Emilia would always tell Jax to say 'Rhaegal' whenever she came to visit her god-son, the little boy would just laugh and say, 'no, toothless, millie.’ The animal seemed to calm him, staving off the cries that would always make Kit fearful that he was bloody awful at fatherhood.

“Ducks,” The toddler stated, his chubby finger pointing at the bay window in the Madden's living room. Kit sighed, not sure he and Richard were at all prepared for what he knew Jax wanted. Though, they lived in the city, Sadie was determined their son was going to have a relationship with nature, as she had grown up on a farm that had been in her family for generations.

She loved London, but was a country girl at heart. Hence why Jax was asking for ducks. Kit knew as long as it wasn't rainy and wet, she took him to the park nearly every day and would pack a quick lunch and bring along lettuce and corn along with birdseed for the ducks at the pond.

“Ducks,” Ruby repeated the word as she and Richard emerged from her nursery and Kit knew he and Richard were sunk.

~*~*~

Getting the little girl ready was more of a challenge than either Kit or Richard would have thought. Normally she was as mild mannered as Richard had described earlier, but she seemed to fight her father at every turn. She insisted on not wanting to be dressed, squirming and slipping from his grasp, running as fast as her tubby legs could carry her, no longer seemingly distressed by stumbling and falling.

And when Kit would try himself, she would tug and pull at his curls, nearly tearing hairs out by the roots while Jax would laugh and she'd blink innocently up at her Uncle.

Nearly a half an hour later, she was ready. Not quite dressed in the way Richard knew Brandy would prefer her to be, but she wasn't in her pajamas anymore... Sort of. She was in a different pair and over the bottoms she had insisted on wearing the little pale pink tutu that had been one of the many gifts Richard's Mum had given her while she wore her brown Uggs on her feet, not wanting to wear sneakers or her the little flats she so adored whenever Brandy dressed her.

The Burberry baby bag that came with her everywhere was bursting, not as neatly packed like it always was when she and Mummy took trips around town, but Richard wasn't taking any chances. After the way she wailed and was almost inconsolable about falling earlier, he made sure to be prepared for any scenario that could arise. Nothing tore him up inside like seeing his little gem in such distress.

How long they had been tearing off pieces of lettuce from the head they grabbed from Richard's fridge, they didn't know, but the rain came fast and sudden. “Bloody hell,” Kit cursed, grabbing for Jax while Richard muttered several curses under his breath, scooping Ruby up quickly along with her baby bag. Neither child seemed to mind the sudden spring storm, happily squealing and opening their mouths to catch rain drops.

~*~*~

Not wanting them to end up sick, a warm bath was next on the agenda, which turned into a whole different adventure. Richard knew with how small Ruby still was, Brandy – for fun – would sometimes, especially in an instance like this (those spring storms that came out of nowhere that London was prone to), bathe her in the kitchen sink. He had come home plenty of times to find them – only the hair on his little gem's head being visible through the mountain of lavender scented bubbles – in the kitchen, sometimes the bubbles spilling onto the counter or even the floor.

Jax was all too happy to climb into the sink as well, except he did so before Kit could undress him, which made Ruby laugh and grab for her tutu that Richard had left on the counter.

“You two never do stuff like this for your Mummys do you?” Kit questioned, his eyes narrowing at the pair who were soaking in the sink. “No.” Jax chirped, shaking his head, his curls slinging water in every direction. “Mumma?” Ruby asked, her eyes darting all around the kitchen.

“No, Mumma,” Richard sighed, fingers carding through his hair. “Just Daddy and Uncle Kit.”

Kit had never been more thankful that Sadie had been the one to pack Jax's bag, instead of listening to him when he insisted that he could have, thank you very much. He never would have thought to put a change of clothes inside. After drying them off and nearly becoming soaked themselves, he and Richard sliced up a banana for Ruby who was just starting to have her baby teeth come in and an apple for Jax. They happily munched, feeding pieces to each other and them as well before their eyes began to droop.

~*~*~

And that's how you and Sadie found the four of them when they came home. It was later than they had expected, the yoga class having ended two hours before, but they couldn't resist getting a pedicure at the salon across the way from the studio.

“Sorry, we're...” Your voice trailed away at the sight that greeted you in the living room. Sadie nearly stumbled into your back because you had stopped walking so abruptly. “Oh my,” She whispered, light giggle underneath her voice.

Wearing her unicorn bathrobe and laying across your husband's chest was Ruby, both of them snoring softly, without a care in the world. Next to them were Kit and Jax. Kit was sprawled across the couch, his arm that did not have Jax secure against his chest, in Richard's face while the little boy was wearing his favorite pair of blue and white striped pajamas.

“Looks like they had a big day,” You murmured, unable to hide the snicker in your voice. “They sure did,” Sadie murmured back, struggling not to outright laugh. Both of you knew you didn't mean Ruby and Jax, like before you were definitely talking about Richard and Kit.

#richard madden x you #richard madden x reader #dad!richard madden #kit harington x you #kit harington x reader #dad!kit harington #fluff #richard madden fanfiction #kit harington fanfiction

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juneiswriting · 4 years

Text

The Collision Chap. 1

Author’s note: Trying my hands on writing fiction! Hope you enjoy it!

Genre: Fantasy

Summary: A monster appeared, what will Lia do with her magic? What is life without challenges and mysteries?

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One evening, after dinner, Lia was taking a stroll in the park as she did every day. A cool breeze rushing by her long brown hair, tucking back a few stray strands, birds were singing. Some leaves falling from trees nearby, one landed itself on Lia’s hair, slowly sliding down to the grass under her feet. A few passersby were jogging, a few were walking their dogs.

Everything was peaceful, as good as a normal day could be. Lia sat on a wooden bench by the road, leaning back, she closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the tranquility.

The music stopped abruptly, with the rustling sound of branches and leaves, the birds were gone within seconds.

Not a good sign.

Lia furrowed her brows slightly, she looked around, stood, continuing down her path.

“Arr!”

She flinched at a scream from the right. She ran to the source. A middle-aged woman was on the ground, badly injured in the chest and abdomen, blood slowly oozing from her wounds. At the scene, nothing was there. Lia kneeled, laying her fingers on the woman’s neck, while a few passerby hovered around out of curiosity.

“You! Dial for the paramedics!” Lia looked up, pointing to a man closest to her. He scrambled, pulling out his phone.

There was still a pulse in the woman, but having no first aid material, there was nothing Lia could do to help at the spot. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tight, looking around for the attacker, Lia caught a glimpse of a shadow escaping in the far side of the park, jumping through the bushes, she turned and chased after the shadow.

Whoever you are, you aren’t getting away!

Lia dashed towards the shadow. Trailing behind it, it was taller than her, with something like a tail. Running across the road, down the street, she arrived at a turnaround, the shadow made a sharp turn into an alley, Lia went after it.

“Whoa!” A large garbage bin flew in Lia’s face!

“Hurk!” Lia raised her hands in front of her, focused her mind, just in time to summon an ice shield in front of her face, blocking the bin. After a loud bang, the bin rolled off to the side, its content spilled all over the ground. Lia winced at the rotten smell of the garbage.

The alley fell back into silence. For a few seconds, all she heard was her racing heartbeat. Everything was motionless, as if nothing was around. Lia ducked into the shade of the alley, hiding herself, slowly made her way deeper into it. Still, nothing could be found.

She held her breath and waited patiently, closing her eyes briefly, paying attention to the smallest sound. There were only drops of leaked water from pipes, hitting the ground.

Had that thing escaped?

Lia looked around for the last time, giving up her search, She turned back to the main street. If the thing went somewhere else, she got to find it. Just then, a barely audible footstep sounded behind her, Lia turned sharply, a giant beast was right above her, diving down, it’s claw inches from her head. Time was too short for Lia to cast a spell, she raised her hands, shielding her head, closing her eyes. Maybe she would survive a blow and fight back.

Seconds went by, the blow Lia was expecting didn’t land, some warm and sticky liquid fell on Lia’s hands. She opened her eyes, looking through her hands, she saw the beast weirdly hanging mid-air, its jaw almost got her hands, its tongue sticking out. Lia jumped back, flinged off the beast’s saliva. The beast is still stuck mid-air, its body still. Its yellow eyes rolling around in the skinless skull, as if it was struggling within its own body.

“What the he-” Lia tried to throw a can at the monster, curious about what would happen. Before the can hit, the beast was flung to the wall of the alley. With a loud crash, the beast dropped motionless on the ground, it’s eyes closed. Lia stood there, her eyes wide opened, jaw dropping.

“Your first day around?” A low and commanding sound came from deep inside the alley.

“Sorry William, I…” Looking up from the monster into the alley, a foreign silhouette was standing in the shadowy corner.

“Wait! You aren’t him! Who are you?” Lia dropped into a defensive pose, ready to strike.

“Shouldn’t you take care of that thing first?” The stranger approached Lia slowly, gesturing the beast on the floor. He was in a black hoodie, his hand pulling the hood down, covering his features. Lia squinted into the dim alley, the man was a head taller than Lia, with broad shoulders.

“Are you also coming after me?!” Keeping her guard, Lia tensed more as the stranger came near.

“Rookie. I could have stood around and you would have already died. And you didn’t even care to thank me.” He smirked, turned sideways, leaning on the wall. Lia snapped her head back to the beast.

“I guess... thanks…” Taking in what the stranger said, Lia lowered her arms. She turned to the beast, casting a frost ray, turning the beast into a giant ice cube. Lia turned back to the stranger, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Hm? Am I imagining things?

Confused, Lia pinched her hand, it hurt, not a dream. Lia ran her hand through her messy long hair, getting them tidy behind her ears. She kicked the iced beast, making sure it really existed. Staring at the beast, what happened with the women in the park began to sink in.

“Hey Lia, everything alright here?”

“Helen! I guess so. How’s the woman?” Lia turned at the sound. Helen was running to her, she gave her a big hug.

“She should be in the emergency room by now, hopefully the doctors could save her.” With a slight frown, Helen pulled away from the hug, noticing the beast.

“So this is it.” Helen kneeled next to the beast, observing it. They both took a closer look at the beast. It got a lizard-like tail, covered in scales, while the rest of its body was covered with fur, like a wolf, with those pointy ears.

“I’ve never seen something like this! Look at those fangs and claws, they look really deadly! Glad you managed it.” Helen took a step in front of Lia, she leaned closer to the block of ice, investigating the monster, she missed a glimpse of worry on Lia’s face.

“Yeah…, I’ve never seen this too. Creation of the meteoroid?”

“It could be, maybe this was a cute puppy dog!” Helen straightened, kicking the ice.

“One that wanted to tear me into pieces…” Remembering how badly this would have gone if not for the mysterious stranger, a chill ran down Lia’s spine. Lia leaned against the wall on her side to hide her shakiness, trying to slow her breath, her heartbeat deafening to herself.

“Are you fine?” Helen saw Lia leaning, she hurried to Lia’s side, rubbing her shoulder.

Lia shook her head, “Nothing, I'm fine”

“C'mon, you aren’t a good liar at all. What happened?”

“Well, I guess I was shocked, I was hoping for a peaceful stroll, then this happened, and the woman…” Closing her eyes, wincing.

Hopefully she will be fine.

“At least the monster can’t hurt others anymore.” Helen stroked Lia’s arm in small circles, looking at her with concern.

A siren was approaching from afar, breaking the silence between the two. Helen gently nudged Lia to the main street, before they were spotted.

Finally Lia got home, after cleaning up the mess bought by her stroll, she fell onto the couch. She planned on spending the rest of the night relaxing, enjoying a cup of tea, but her mind kept wandering to what happened earlier. Slightly frustrated, she pulled out her phone, scrolling through news headlines, wanting to know whether the woman survived.

Dammit! Probably they got her filed under another cause of casualty to mask the monster, and I wouldn’t know until tomorrow…

Lia threw her phone to the side, a deep frown formed on her face. Rethinking the incident, something didn’t feel right. Lia always stayed true to her gut feeling, and this didn’t feel like a single incident. If the meteorite was the cause, could there be more monsters lurking around, preying on innocents? Lia shook her head, as if that would clear up the confusion, she decided to call it a day, a stressful day that was.

Lia went into her room, turning the lights on, she walked over to her bed. Wanting nothing more than her pillow and blankets, Lia fell in the bed, lying face up like a starfish. She spent minutes staring at the ceiling, she caught herself drowsing off. Lia slowly moved towards her pillow. She reached out to it, and jerked up.

“What is this!” On her pillow she found a card, which she had no idea leaving there, she lived alone. The card was a typical card, nothing suspicious if it didn’t materialize on Lia’s pillow. On one side of the card, with hand-written words, it read: Hello, rookie. Lia jumped out of the bed, now wide awake, she looked around her room, ran over to every part of her house, found nothing. She went back to her bedroom, checked the window and its lock, perfectly locked, as she did that morning.

Nobody in her life called her a rookie, not even WIlliam, her mentor.

This must be the stranger earlier! Who the heck is he?

Lia gritted her teeth, her eyes narrowed, she flipped the card over, also in hand-written words, it read: Join me for burgers? The one over the block.

Who in the world does he think he is?! I got to chew him out! Nothing too bad can happen in a burger place anyways… I guess.

She placed the card on her desk next to the bed and went to sleep, after making sure her apartment was safely locked up.

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #fiction #fantasy book

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xiolaperry · 5 years

Text

Of Dogs and Cats

Summary:

Rumplestiltskin, the spinner, was a dog person. The Dark One admired cats. And Mr. Gold was someone else entirely.

(My first fic EVER. Yikes!)

Inspired by the episode "The Cricket Game" and Robert Carlyle's interview for Johnnie Walker's "Walk with Giants" series.

Rated G

Rumplestiltskin, the spinner, was a dog person. He had been ever since his aunties had presented him with a sheepdog when he was 12 years old.

“You've been doing so well,” Aunt Chloris began.

“And working so hard,” Aunt Matilda continued.

“That we've decided to keep more sheep.”

“You're going to need some help taking care of them,” finished Aunt Matilda, as Aunt Chloris rose and stepped outside. Rumplestiltskin was mystified for a moment when she returned with a wriggling sack. Then a small shaggy head poked out of it.

“Is it mine?” he asked, hoping he had not misunderstood, and the puppy was for him to keep.

“Who else is going to help you with the sheep? They're not going to herd themselves!”

“Thanks, Aunties! Does he have a name?”

“No, it's up to you to choose a good name. Names are important,” said Aunt Matilda. “Now run along, take him outside and make friends with him.”

Friends. What Rumplestiltskin wanted more than anything. But who wanted to be friends with the son of the village con-artist? The son he hadn't loved enough to keep. Who would be friends with a boy abandoned with “those two odd women”? Two women, unrelated, living together without need or desire for a man, were regarded with suspicion by the village. Rumplestiltskin never complained. Not when he wasn't invited to join in the other children's games, not when he was ignored on the road.

But now he would have a friend of his own.

“Friend,” he whispered. “That's what your name is. Friend.”

And that is exactly what he became.

Friend lived a good long life, helping with the sheep and being his closest companion. Milah had scoffed at his tears when the sheepdog died. There had been other sheepdogs, of course, but he didn't have the same special connection with them as with Friend. He had a wife to take care of (and try to make friends with), and later on, he had Bae. And Bae was everything.

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Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, no longer enjoyed the company of dogs. They cowered before him, frightened, sensing the Darkness within him. He had tolerated the last sheepdog until Bae left (lost him, he's gone and its YOUR FAULT, his mind always added) and after that, he had sold it along with the remaining sheep. He had a Curse to craft and realms to cross and no desire to care for anything or anyone until he was reunited with Bae.

Rumplestiltskin never used to like cats. He didn't care for their aloof manner. But now as the Dark One, he found himself admiring their sensual grace and glittering eyes. How they could spend hours motionless, waiting for their prey to emerge from a hole. He could see a bit of himself in the cat playing with the mouse, letting it escape only to catch it again before finishing it off with sharp claws and gleaming teeth.

And now his maid, who had turned his world upside down, had brought a cat into the castle. Not just a cat, but a mother cat with kittens. Belle had found them nearly frozen to death, caught in an unseasonably late blizzard. He had his suspicions as to the cause of this spring storm. He had been tinkering with a particularly fiddly potion, and as he liked to remind everyone, all magic comes with a price.

Belle had set them up in the kitchen with a basket and blanket around the corner of the hearth, hidden from view. As if he wouldn't notice. What kind of wizard would not be aware of new creatures entering his home? He waited two days, until Belle started to relax, thinking her small charges might escape his notice. Then he pounced.

“Decided to make some new friends, dearie?” he asked dramatically, appearing directly in front of her in the kitchen. Rumplestiltskin regretted his choice of words the moment they left his mouth, reminding him of the words his aunts used countless years before. He covered his discomfort with a quip: “Or are we low on fresh meat?”

“Rumplestiltskin, please don't make me put them out in the cold,” she said, ignoring his sarcastic comments. “The kittens are so small, and they'd never survive this unnatural storm.”

He affected a disdainful air as he leaned forward to get a better look at them. The mother cat growled and hissed as she hunched over her kittens protectively.

“Please don't be angry,” Belle began to plead.

“I would never be angry with a mother protecting her babies from a monster.”

“You are NOT a monster.”

“No need for flattery, they can stay. We have too many rodents anyway.”

She moved close to him and took his hand the way she had when he had gifted her the library. He felt that fluttery feeling inside and his black heart flipped in his chest. If he didn't know better, he'd think there was something like affection in her gaze. Time to remind her who he was.

“Belle,” he said in a low tone, looking into her eyes.

“Yes, Rumplestiltskin?” she answered breathlessly.

“I'd better not find any cat shit in my castle or they WILL be dinner.” And with that, he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

And then the terrible day came when Belle was gone (DEAD and YOUR FAULT), and all he was left with was a chipped cup, a broken heart and a family of cats in the kitchen.

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Mr. Gold had an iron-clad clause in his rental agreements- no pets. No dog nails scratching hardwood floors. No cats pissing in corners when some lazy tenant forgot to clean its overflowing litter box. No rodents escaping and chewing holes in the wall. No ferrets stinking up the place. No pets. Period. Full stop.

Of course, everyone thought their pet was special.

“Precious never barks!”

“Ollie always uses the litter box!”

“You'll never even know they're here!”

“How could you be so heartless as to make a child give up his beloved hamster?!”

Sweet talking, groveling, tears. It didn't matter, the end was always the same. He'd produce a copy of the standard rental agreement from his suit pocket as if by magic, and he'd threaten eviction. And then David Nolan would have a new resident at the animal shelter.

He knew they said he was heartless. A monster. They conveniently forgot that they signed an agreement, and he was only enforcing his right to protect his property from damage.

If Mr. Gold had a close friend (which he did not), he might have told them that there was one pet for which he might be tempted to make an exception: a chameleon.

His childhood in Glasgow had been dark, poor. His father had neither the time nor the inclination to indulge his son. Not with sweets, not with toys, not with affection, not even with his time. His mother was gone and he had no memories of her. He was mostly left to look after himself.

When he was about eight, he made friends with a neighbor in the apartment building. And the neighbor had a chameleon. He would sit enthralled for hours, watching it change to blend into the wallpaper, floor, or upholstery. Gold began to take responsibility for its care. He cleaned its cage every day and gave it fresh water. Looked for crickets and other bugs to give to it. He would hold the lizard in his hand, stroking it gently with one finger as he told it his secrets. He poured all his love that had nowhere else to go into the chameleon. His friend.

And then Malcolm came home one evening and announced that there had been some trouble, and it was time to move on. Immediately. In an hour they and their meager belongings were gone. He shed tears thinking of the chameleon, and his father hit him and told him to stop being a baby. And that was that.

Gold thought of that chameleon often over the years. Thought of it as he blended into his surroundings, unnoticed, amassing money and power. He occasionally thought of himself as a chameleon, adapting and changing to any situation to achieve his goals, first in Glasgow and then the States. Sometimes in a rare flight of fancy, he would wonder what happened to the chameleon. Had it ever escaped? Had it met up with another lizard and set up a wee family?

And now he was in Storybrooke with wealth and power and no need to blend in (unless he wanted to).

The chameleon popped in his mind when he saw the blonde. She caught his eye, vibrant. A bit flashy for his tastes, no fading into the wallpaper for her.

“Swan. Emma Swan,” he heard her say as she signed the register.

It was a punch to the gut. It took everything in him not to reel from the blow. Everything not to crumble under the flood of memory. The trinity of Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, and Mr. Gold ached with loss. Two thoughts rose like large silver bubbles in the flood of his drowning mind.

Bae.

Belle.

He forced words from his mouth, “Emma. What a lovely name.”

As he turned, another thought came to him. It was nothing when compared to his initial agony of remembrance, but it was painful none the less.

The chameleon had never existed.

#rumplestiltskin #belle #ouat fanfiction #my first fanfic #terrified #rumbelle #but more rumple than belle

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mathiaskillmaster · 5 years

Text

Rebirth of the Dragon (After GOT / Daenerys Targaryen) Part 9

In spite of the voices of her friends screaming to make her come back, Daenerys continued to run without stopping. She thought of only one thing: saving her last son, Drogon, who was being killed before her eyes. Indeed, the dragon of the shadows had put Drogon down, completely at his mercy, and hammered him with claws and fangs. With his talons, the dragon of the shadows scratched Drogon deeply in the abdomen, causing him to bleed profusely. Despite fierce resistance, Drogon barely reacted, growling heavily and barely moving, his body and head covered with bleeding wounds. The white-eyed dragon, also wounded, blocked Drogon's head with one of his paws to keep him from moving, and was about to finish him off by tearing the throat with his jaws. Seeing him do it, Daenerys stopped right behind him, her expression shifting from fear and sadness to fierce anger. _ "DO NOT TOUCH MY SON!!" she yelled with all her anger, clenching her fists and teeth, tears of rage streaming down her cheeks. Alerted by this cry, the dragon of the shadows stopped his action and turned his attention to this little human woman who stood about ten meters behind him, and who defied him with her eyes. The dragon emitted a scowl, saliva and Drogon's blood flowing from his jaw. Further on, the others had stayed away from the dragon fight, but watched, horrified, their queen facing this soulless monster. Kinvara had entrusted the eggs to Shen, and had run alongside Daenerys, the two women now facing the dragon. The latter grunted and opened his gaping jaw, whose interior began to glow with a reddish glow. Daenerys and Kinvara swallowed. He was about to spit his fire on them. Fortunately, Drogon, like a devil, jumped up, roaring with rage and closing his jaws on the dragon's throat, brutally crushing him against the wall of the cliff. Stunned by the brutal shock, the white-eyed dragon fell to the ground. Drogon did not give him time to recover, and unleashed his fiery breath on the shadow dragon's head, covering it with a coat of infernal flames. The smell of burnt flesh was felt as the dragon of the shadows roared with abominable pain, seeing his head burnt and his scales and flesh falling off his skull. Drogon stopped his blast, but did not stop there. Biting his enemy's throat again, he tore off the head, throwing it further and seeing it rolled to the ground in the dust. Immediately, ghouls came out of their hiding places and began to devour the still smoking flesh of that dead dragon's head. Daenerys, like Kinvara and the rest of the survivors, were relieved to see the fight finally over. Unfortunately, Daenerys quickly lost his smile, noting with horror that Drogon had not escaped unscathed from this terrible confrontation. The young black dragon limped a little, his body covered with bloody gashes and fang marks. But what shocked Daenerys most was to see that the left side of Drogon's head had been deeply scratched, the flesh being visible, and his eye had become veiled, blind. Drogon was breathing heavily, visibly exhausted, moaning, and seemed to be suffering from this deep wound. The dragons could survive wounds that would kill most other creatures, but Drogon really seemed to be in pain, so much so that he could not stand and fell heavily to the ground. Pouring a tear, Daenerys hurried to him, and the dragon moaned, reassured to see her alive. _ "My poor baby ... you risked your life again for me ... I'm so sorry for what happened to you ..." Daenerys sighed, snuggling against Drogon's snout, caressing him with love while avoiding touching the wound to avoid hurting him. The dragon closed his only valid eye, moaning under the caresses of his mother. Daenerys was looking at Drogon's blind eye, feeling so sorry for him. He would see only with one eye now, which could seriously pose a handicap. Standing behind, the others watched, letting the queen comfort her son after this hard fight. While caressing him, Daenerys could feel Drogon's slow, weak breathing. _ "Drogon, I beg you, you have to get up ..... I can not lose you too ... not you ...." Daenerys groaned in tears, praying in her mind so that the red god, in his mercy, does not let the young dragon die. Seeing her crying, Drogon was imbued with a new strength and a desire to live. He could not abandon his mother. He would never do it, no matter what would cost him. He had saved her from death, and now, in her turn, she was ready to do anything to save him. Dropping in his last strength, Drogon leaned on his wings and hind legs, lifting his massive body from the dusty ground. Seeing him do so, Daenerys resumed an ounce of hope, encouraging him to continue. It is not today that he would die. ********* Westeros, King's Landing Night had fallen for several hours on the southern royal capital. However, Bran was not sleeping. Standing in front of his desk lit by a lantern, he was focused on writing something on a parchment, and seemed in a hurry to finish it. But as he wrote, his hand holding the quill was seized with an uncontrolled tremor, which Bran managed to stop with his other hand. On his wrist, the mark of the King of the Night seemed to have grown larger, having spread a little more on his skin. He had noticed it for a while, and knew what it meant. Keeping a semblance of reason as much as he could, feeling that he was losing control of himself more and more, he finished writing the parchment, sealed it, and prepared it. _ "It's started ..... I could not hold it back any longer ...... It's going to depend on them now ..." he said still very calmly, casting his neutral gaze in the direction of balcony of his room, and the sky sprinkled with stars. ********* Westeros, Beyond the wall Although he tried to forget it, to think of other things and to accept the facts, his mind persisted in showing him every night the same vision of the past, as an eternal punishment for the crime he had committed. ... Jon never stopped seeing her again and again ... He and Dany, in the devastated room of the throne covered with ashes, himself promising that they would always be together, just before stabbing her in the heart, and seeing her face freeze in front of his .... Dany falling to the ground, life leaving her gradually, and he, powerless and annihilated of the gesture he had just committed, looking at her with nothing to do but accompany her in her last moments .... He expected Drogon to kill him on the spot for what he had done, but instead, the dragon was getting into a monstrous rage towards the iron throne and had it reduced to a melted heap melting with his fiery breath, before taking his mother's body with great precaution and disappear with her in the air, among the sea of opaque clouds, under the look of Jon, destroyed. Jon opened his eyes, panting softly with the umpteenth and even nightmare he had just relived. Lying on the fur mattress, he straightened slowly, blowing and running his hand over his face and taking a few seconds to wake up well. He looked inside his little tent in animal skins and leather. The remains of the small fire in the center continuing to smoke and letting die the last embers. Ghost, his white direwolf, was still sleeping, curled up beside his master. Jon gave him a small caress without waking him. He almost envied him to be able to sleep so peacefully. Jon sat thoughtfully, unable to detach that vision from his head. He still blamed himself, and would no doubt do so for the rest of his life as an exile. He who was not so long ago had turned out to be Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna and heir to the iron throne. Knowing that he would not be able to go back to sleep, he got up, dressed in his outfit made of animal leather and furs to protect him from the cold. Even in summer, the lands beyond the wall remained perpetually frozen. Jon came out of his tent, greeted by the cool morning air that rubbed his face. The first sounds of animals came from the snow-covered pine forest below the valley. The sun had risen recently on this new day, and already, in the wildlings camp, a few early men were already up and dressed, lighting new fires to prepare meals for their families. Among them was Tormund, who, seeing his friend Jon awake, came to greet him. But the wildling quickly divined the morose and withdrawn look of his friend. _ "You still dreamed of her, is that it?" said Tormund, who, though being a wildling, was far from being a fool. Jon nodded nonchalantly, feeling his throat tighten every time he thought about it but was trying to stay strong anyway. Tormund invited him to sit with him around one of the campfires and the two men sat down. The comforting warmth of the flames brought a little comfort to the broken man that Jon was trying to bury in himself. _ "Well, listen ..." Tormund told him while preparing a piece of meat to cook "... You did not have a choice, it was you who told me. She had begun to destroy everything and you had to do it to stop the massacre once and for all. Now that this bloody throne has been destroyed, it's settled." _ "I know ...." Jon answered with a sigh "... but it's not that easy. Put yourself in my place for two seconds. Forced to kill the woman I loved, the blood of my blood.... A part of me tells me that I made the right choice, but the other tells me that I was wrong .... I don't know who I am anymore." Tormund did not like to see his friend whining like that, gave him a big friendly pat on the back and handed him the first piece of meat that had been cooked in the fire. The pleasant smell was felt and Jon politely accepted it. He was hungry, he had to admit it. _ "Try to think about other things, Jon ... with time, it will pass." Tormund told him. _ "Thanks Tormund, it's nice to worry about it." _ "Oh I don't, my little moron ...." Tormund replied with a mocking wink "... it's just that I want you to stay focused ... today, we're of hunting chores you and me." Jon guessed that Tormund was trying to make him laugh a little with this deliberately misplaced remark. He appreciated the gesture but just smiled, so Tormund laughed heartily, proud of him. But Jon, again, looking towards the flames of the little campfire, thought of a rather disturbing detail he had heard in his nightmare after stabbing Daenerys .... a sound that disturbed him and echoed in his head ..... cries...the cries of a baby ... *********** Essos, off Asshai Came back on the ironborn ship that this time left Asshai and slid back into the dark, silent waters of the end of the world, Daenerys had isolated herself in her cabin. Sitting on the bed, she held in her hands one of the two dragon eggs, putting it in the candlelight to better contemplate it in every detail. She had finally succeeded in finding them, but now she has to make them born. This is where Kinvara intervened and her analysis of the visions that her god sent her in the flames. Daenerys had told her about her strange dream, in those dark ruins, that runic circle and that sword that had appeared in the middle of the fire ... Kinvara had seen her too, and had revealed to the mother of the dragons that it could only exist a place similar to the one she described: the forgotten ruins of Ulos, a mysterious island located in the Saffron Straits, off the coast of the shadow lands. It was towards the island that was now heading the expedition. Drogon, although very wounded, had kept his strength and was flying through the air above the ship, although more slowly than before, having not recovered all his strength despite the extra two days spent at Asshai to allow the dragon to recover to be able to fly. On the deck of the ship, Grey Worm and the rest of the crew were preparing to prepare the ship for the arrival on the coast of the island of Ulos. In the hold of the ship, lit by a single candle, Shen and Yara were sitting face to face on wooden crates. Yara had been slightly injured on the wrist during the fight against the ghouls, and Shen-zoan had been shown to have some medical skills. Yi Ti's man placed a bandage of linen around her wrist with a shallow scratch, but still hurting Yara. Shen had impregnated the bandage with a lotion created by himself, from medicinal plants from the lands of Yi Ti, which Shen had learned the curative use from his master during his training. A good fighter, as he said, had to master the art of healing like fighting. Although Yara moaned in pain with the product coming into contact with her wound, she trusted her friend to treat her. In her cabin, Daenerys continued to carefully examine the two dragon eggs, checking that they were in good condition. Strangely, every time she put her hands in contact with the stone surface of the eggs, she felt like a comforting warmth in her belly. It was as if her future child, in that barely rounded belly, was also feeling the unique warmth of these stone eggs. Daenerys could not help smiling, and finding hope. This child growing in her belly would be a real Targaryen, the one who would save the lineage and prevent it from disappearing. Unfortunately, the threat of the Faceless men made her quickly return to reality and fear for the future. No, they will never have her life, nor that of her baby. She would never allow it, just like Drogon. After several hours of travel on the water, the ship had finally arrived in sight of the island, very large and also covered with this eternal worrying fog. Drogon arrived there first, landing heavily on the land, sniffing and looking around carefully and waiting for the arrival of the boat and his mother. Once the anchor was thrown, a rowboat brought Daenerys and her group of allies to the black sand beach, while the rest of the crew would remain on the ship and wait for them. Carrying her satchel with the two dragon eggs, Daenerys silently watched the landscape of the island that stood in front of her. She almost felt like she had been here before, even if it was only in a dream. The atmosphere of this island did not differ from the shadow lands, which did not really reassure the crew. But Daenerys, despite her mistrust and fear of these cursed lands, knew that she could not back down. Her destiny stood there, calling her and waiting only to see if she would be able to show herself worthy. _ "For my child ..... I have to do it for my child ...." she whispered softly to herself to give herself the courage to take the first step. Escorted by Kinvara, Yara Greyjoy, Shen-zoan, Grey Worm, as well as the two Fiery Hand warriors and the group of unsullied, Daenerys began her march and the group left the beach towards the interior of the island. Drogon would follow them as well, but went off to explore the other corners of the island, feeling the unhealthy and negative waves that permeated the ground. After a walk of several minutes on this island devoid of any sign of life, the group finally arrived in sight of the dark and very old ruins of a city that seemed to have almost merged with the rock of the island, the gnarled roots and thick of some black trees present having disemboweled the ground in slabs of stone. Daenerys recognized exactly what she had seen in her dream. Everything was in its place and as it was in the dream. The ark delimiting the entrance of the city .... the two statues of dragons guarding this entrance .... each ruin was in its precise place, in the state where it was to be. Arriving in front of the remains of the old temple, also being identical to the vision in the dream, Daenerys had a lump in her throat, apprehension growing in her. _ "There is no time to retreat, my queen ...... you must enter alone, and face the judgment of the angels of cinder and accept your destiny ..... especially, do not let them to guess your deepest fears .... they would use them against you." Kinvara warns in front of the old stone steps leading to the top of the entrance. Daenerys swallowed again. Were these angels of cinder the nameless entities she had seen in her dream? She should face them alone? The idea itself froze her blood, but this ultimate test of the master of light would allow her to be worthy once and for all. Yara, Shen, and Grey Worm did not show much comfort in letting their queen alone in such a sordid place. Just like Drogon, who kept on grumbling furiously against these ruins with the evil appearance. Strongly clinging to the idea that she was doing it for her future child, Daenerys climbed one by one, slowly but cautiously up the steps of the big abandoned temple, holding the two dragon eggs in her arms. The rest of the group remained at the bottom of the steps, watching her in a tension to cut with a knife. _ "At the slightest scream I hear, we run to help her, no matter what's in there." Yara warned Kinvara, who had no objection, too focused on watching the Queen Targaryen climb the steps of her destiny. Shen seemed to approve the idea of the ironborn queen, just like Grey Worm. And it was in utter anguish that they saw Daenerys pass the dusty pillars of the temple and disappear little by little into the opaque darkness of the ruins. The biting cold and abnormal was back, coming encircling Daenerys from all sides and caressing her skin bare in an unpleasant sensation as invisible frozen fingers coming to palpate. She entered and took her first steps in an immense space which she also recognized as the main place of her dream. Indeed, the runic circle was in the center, painted on the stone, and in the middle, was dancing this mysterious flame. As she walked, Daenerys felt a slight crackling noise beneath his boots, and noticed that the entire floor of the room was covered with a carpet of ash of several inches thick. As she advanced on the carpet of ashes, Daenerys saw, with anguish, the same entities, seven in number, with skull masks and white bottomless eyes, draped with her tattered shadow togas and covered with ashes, their hoods hiding their heads. The angels of cinder, turning on her their inhuman glances and letting her come to them. Arrived near the runes circle, she stopped with a slight surge of surprise, an entity appeared in front of her from the darkness and barring the path. From the back of the shadow were spread dark shapes like black angel wings of a wingspan of three meters. Although impressed by the appearance of the creature, Daenerys did everything to stay calm, head held up and looking at the entity in the eyes. _ "Daenerys, of the house Targaryen .... you come here, facing those whose name was forgotten since the dawn of time, to revive the flesh that was changed into stone ..... however, fear that we perceive in you leads us to believe that you are not worthy to be granted the right to contemplate the sword that will be born from fire and ashes." Without being able to say a word in order to defend herself, Daenerys was again assaulted by painful visions hammering her mind relentlessly. Obviously, she had let this entity access her fears and her most intimate pain, and the latter had not hesitated for a second to use it for the test. She saw them again, all those she had lost in her life .... Drogo, Jorah, Missandei, Viserion and Rhaegal, all turning to her, their faces deformed by the pain and death that had carried them away of her arms. She saw their dead, one after the other, again and again .... Jon Snow also appeared, stabbing her in the heart and watching her die under the rain of ashes .... She saw herself, screaming at death in a most intense suffering, while his future child cried with all his strength, but made his last breath just born .... _ "We are dead ..... we are all dead for following you .... You killed us!!" the voices of Drogo, Jorah and Missandei were screaming in unison, with murderous contempt for her. A tear in their eyes, Daenerys heard them accusing her. _ "NO! NOOOO!" Daenerys screamed, falling to her knees in the ashes, under the eyes of the angel of cinder who did nothing to help her, just lowering his impassive eyes to her. Daenerys was shaking, a prey to her fears materialized by the will of this entity coming to put her to the test. Clenching her teeth, sadness and grief turned into anger, the young woman straightened her head, her cheeks bursting with tears and glared at the angel of cinder. _ "I am Daenerys stomrborn, of house Targaryen! The unburnt,breaker of chains and mother of dragons! I am from the blood of old Valyria and the fire of the dragon flows in my veins!! I am here in order to fulfill my destiny, and hear me that I will not let anything or anyone stop me!" she proclaimed with determination to the entities of darkness, who, neutral, arms crossed, listened attentively. After these words filled with a real strength, the angel of cinder standing in front of her stepped forward, handing her something he made appear one of his shady sleeves ... a dagger with a slightly curved black blade and a skull-shaped pommel. _ "In this case, prove it ...." said the entity in his unhealthy voice "... only the blood of the real dragon can revive the fire and reveal to the eyes of men and gods the one who was promised. ... if it turns out that you are not, then the punishment will fall on you ..... it's up to you now." Daenerys understood with horror what he expected of her. Taking the weapon that was stretched out to her, she hesitated a few seconds, her hand shaking slightly around the handle. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing, she cutted the palm of her hand deeply with the sharp blade, emitting a whine of intolerable pain as the red blood ran down her skin and fell in several drops on the carpet of ashes. Stunned, she saw a reaction from the flame in the circle who gradually spread. At her feet, where the drops of blood had fallen, Dany saw the ashes incandescent, gradually giving birth to new flames. The angels of cinder had vanished, leaving the young woman alone with her two dragon eggs, while the carpet of ashes that covered the entire floor of the room flared up in walls thick with red flames. Panting, her hand aching and looking all around her with no way to escape, Daenerys squeezed the two eggs against her, hoping the master of the light had agreed to give her a chance. In the din of the flames, she thought she heard the tears of the baby dragons again, very close, while the heat was increasing on the eggs. Kneeling on the floor and seeing the walls of flames closing on her, Dany agreed to put his fate in the hands of the gods. And in the fire, she saw it too, appearing like a ghost between the flames, this shining sword of a thousand fires, flamboyant ruby encrusted in the pommel..... ********* Outside the temple, the group and the dragon watched in amazement as the whole temple burst into flames. _ "DAENERYS!!" Yara yelled as she rushed to her aid, but Shen and Grey Worm held her back, not knowing what to do. Kinvara remained very focused, not moving an inch. Drogon, strangely, also remained very calm. And it was there, that all saw her, in the greatest silence .... at the top of the steps, slowly advanced a feminine and human figure, appearing from the wall of roaring flames and crossing it without any difficulty. All at the foot of the steps remained frozen, dumb and stupefied. Her clothes burned in the fire, Daenerys stood there, completely naked but alive and unscathed, her face high and reinforced. On her shoulder stood a small winged, reptilian shape, with metallic-blue colored scales and yellow eyes, which gave a shrill roar. In her arms, a second baby dragon, with beige and light brown scales, and orange eyes, snuggling against her belly. In her right hand she held a sword, whose blade covered with runes almost gave the illusion of being covered with flames licking its surface. Behind her, the fire continued without her being affected by the infernal heat that reigned. _"It's unbelievable ...." Yara stammered under the effect of fascination. _"Oh blood of my blood ...." sighed Kinvara, amazed, while kneeling with respect, just as the two soldiers of the Fiery Hand did. Yara, Grey Worm, Shen-zoan, and the group of unsullied also bowed, while Drogon, more than satisfied, uttered a loud roar and spewed a torrent of flames to the sky. Daenerys contemplated all this from the top of the steps, without saying a word, more determined than ever, having proved to all who she really was now.

#daenerys targaryen #queen daenerys #daenerys deserved better #game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #drogon #yara greyjoy #shen-zoan #kinvara #jon snow #bran stark #resurrection #rhllor

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storiesofwildfire · 5 years

Text

It’s Tough to Be a God

{ plotted starter for @likesbeingbad }

♔—- Everything had been painstakingly meticulous. From the very beginning, Loki knew what they set out to do would not be an easy task to accomplish, but one that needed to be done. After the years of abuse by the hands of their father, that same cruelty lashed out across Loki’s children tenfold. Any good mother would have given up everything to protect them, it just took Loki a great deal of patience, time, and energy to plan, form alliances with those they trusted, slip away from Odin, rescue their children from their individual prisons, and disappear off every foreseeable path.

Loki managed to hide from Odin numerous times in the past, but it had always been weeks, maybe a few months, or a year or two if really pressing boundaries, but to disappear? Seemingly forever? That proved to be a more difficult feat, but one Loki knew they had to excel at.

They hadn’t managed it alone, of course. Convincing those they cared about to essentially help them commit treason seemed cruel, but Loki only approached those they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt would do what was right. Heimdall. Fandral. Sigurd. Asmund. There were, of course, others that Loki trusted and cared for, but given the sensitivity of their goals, they needed to keep their circle as tight as inhumanly possible. The more people who knew, the more likely the plan would fall apart and the more people Loki would be putting in danger.

It broke their heart to abandon Asgard, strange as that sounded. While Odin had never been good to them and Asgard had always treated their second prince as an outsider, Loki’s whole life sat upon that realm. Friends, family, old and new love interests alike, the source of so much of Loki’s happiness despite all of the misery that they faced on a day-to-day basis. Asgard may not have been their home, but it was the closest thing Loki ever had to one and to leave, knowing very well that they may never be able to come back...

That had been harder than they expected and when they left, it had been with a heavy heart.

But Asgard was not more important than their children and with not only the desire and determination but the need to reunite their family and protect their offspring from the cruelty of Odin’s hands, Loki left without looking back and without regret. Saga and Sleipnir disappeared with their mother, as they were the only two Asgardbound. Loki debated whether they should come and how safe it would be for them, but in the end, if Loki disappeared and saved their off-realm children, the ones closest to Odin would suffer greatly in their place. It wasn’t worth the risk and Loki wanted all of their children together.

Liberating Hel from Helheim and Fenrir from his prison had been... daunting, to say the very least, and even more difficult than Loki originally anticipated, but they managed it. It took nearly everything they had, but they’d done it. That only left Jörmungandr but he was an easy find and he also happened to be located on the realm they were destined for anyway.

Midgard.

No one expected Gods to make a living as a mortal. Sure, visiting Midgard was one thing, to see how the ignorant realm worked and how so many people could go about their daily lives with so little information about the rest of the Universe. Most Asgardians didn’t believe it was worth the time, but some found interest in it even enjoyed mingling with and often forming short-term relationships with the mortals they came across. Loki was no stranger to that mentality.

Once they arrived and collected Jörmungandr, the rather large family headed to London. Loki already had an elaborate scheme prepared for the persona they would inevitably take up.

Fandral and Sigurd helped with the preparations of Loki’s new life, as they both had access to non-Aesir agents who held no loyalty to Odin. These on-world spies went to work securing the proper location, supplies, and ties for Loki’s gang before they ever arrived, making it more than simply enough to slip into the roles already decided for them.

Loki went by the name Bella Charming, a young woman who ran a joint called The Empire. She took in both young women and men on the side, training them in what most would call criminal activity but it was a way to make a living, get people in need off the streets, and it formed some fiercely strong loyalties. Loki’s children took up various personas as Bella’s first girls (and in the case of Fenrir and Sleipnir, boys).

Keeping in contact with only a few individuals on Asgard, Loki was able to monitor their moves from afar and with Heimdall in their court, Loki knew if Odin ever caught onto their position or lifestyle, Loki would be the first to know about it.

For years, they went undetected, living their seemingly mortal lives without much in the way of disturbance. Asgard never seemed to catch onto them, but it turned out that Asgard wasn’t the only threat they faced. What humans were referring to as “monsters” popped up more frequently and with these supernatural creatures came organizations in pursuit--people like the Invisible Men who wished to eradicate the monsters to keep the world safe from them, and people like Tenebrae, who wished to harness their power to enhance their own agendas.

Due to just how much magic Loki and her family produced, they had a bad tendency of drawing unwanted attention to their area, though they were always careful not to give their true selves away, it certainly didn’t make for an easy ride. Loki thought about relocating, to get as far away from both the Invisible Men and Tenebrae as they could, but there were no reassurances that no one would follow or turn up in the new location of wherever they settled.

Besides, Loki and the kids were happy in London, had grown attached to their new home and the people they let in along the way. Bella’s girls became an extension of Loki’s family and it seemed too cruel to rip that away from them after all of the trauma they’d been subjected to.

Falling in love though... that hadn’t been part of the plan.

Well, love was, perhaps, a strong word. Loki’s attraction to Hyde was obvious from the very beginning. Her willingness not to bend to his will or influence was just as strong, but she allowed herself moments of weakness with him. At first, she wasn’t entirely sure why she found herself captivated by him. He was obviously more than human, but that didn’t mean much to her. She could have cursed her own self out the first time she’d fallen into bed with him.

Inviting Hyde in, though... meant putting herself and her lifestyle at risk. For the most part, they’d been able to lie low, take care of creatures that threatened to out them if need be, but mostly go unnoticed by those too stupid to realize they were anything but human. Getting close to Hyde, though, meant Tenebrae and the Invisible Men would follow.

Hyde--and the man he lived inside of, Jekyll--both seemed young and inexperienced, unprepared for the challenges that they would face. Hiding definitely hadn’t been much of an option for them and they lost friends along the way. Gods, they nearly lost their little brother, Ravi, in all the chaos.

It would have been wise to distance herself, Loki knew that. Even her children knew that and yet, they could not bring themselves to scold her for indulging in a touch of desire and romance. By the Nine, they all seemed to take well to Hyde despite his... issues. Simply tossing him aside quickly became something that none of them were willing to do, especially Loki. Knowing what the Invisible Men or Tenebrae would do to or with him, Loki tried to protect him, attempted to warn him in subtle enough ways that would not put her family in direct danger.

That final showdown, though... Gods, that had been the undoing of everything.

Loki and her children were used to traveling via magic, but willingly participating in portals or teleportation or even something like the Bifrost was insanely different from being ripped through space against your will, vacuumed up like a few dust bunnies and tossed into the void. It had been some intense power to pull them all through with such force. Even Loki’s magic couldn’t combat it, not that she really had the time to try anything.

The stress of being forced out of the form she’d taken for years proved... far more painful than she could have expected. Shape-shifting had always come naturally to her, something easy and painless that allowed her to be whoever and whatever she wanted in the matter of a few seconds. Reverting back to her more normal appearances was usually just as seamlessly easy, but when something else’s power forced her against her will to shift, it felt like molten liquid coursing through her veins, likely due to her own magic attempting to combat the foreign energy source and remain in Loki’s chosen form.

She staggered as they came out the other side of...? Wherever it was that they ended up, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clamped tightly to keep from screaming as, momentarily, it felt like she could have been ripped apart from the inside out. Of course, she knew better, truly she did, but the sensation was no less horrible because of is and as she fell to the ground, her teeth grinding together with enough force to cause some noticeable concern in her jaw, her hands came up to grip at the collar of her jacket. Pulling it open, she nearly clawed her own skin as emerald magic danced angrily beneath her flesh, attempting to keep her visage as Bella Charming intact, but it quickly fell apart, revealing paler, porcelain-like flesh, much more angular features as far as the face was concerned, and vividly green eyes.

Loki’s hair was still quite dark, perhaps even darker than Bella’s had been, and it cascaded over their shoulders in thick waves, unkempt and in desperate need of a proper brush and a few sturdy hair ties. The clothing Bella wore hadn’t been nearly long enough for Loki’s normal stature, making it look a bit out of place, though no less flattering. Even with a flat chest and harsher bone structure, it was difficult to place Loki into a specific gender and while still glad in Bella’s garments, mistaking them for a female would have been easy.

“Mum!” they could hear someone shout, Saga, they thought, though their ears were ringing so loudly that it was difficult to make out which of their girls it actually was. "Mum, are you all right?” Footsteps hurried towards the crumpled figure and the young woman hit her knees beside Loki, both of her hands outstretching to place on her mother. That touch helped ground Loki, helped rouse them out of their momentary lapse in presentness, and slowly, the no longer disguised God finally opened their eyes.

“Oh thank Gods,” Saga murmured, tossing her arms securely around her mother. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think so...” Though Loki’s head pounded ferociously, they could at least see straight as the pain eased out of their system.

Behind Saga, Loki could see their children going through similar system shocks. Hel’s form had only been what her Aesir form would appear like without the half-dead portion of her body. She phased in and out of the projection of half-decay several times in the course of a few short moments but eventually managed to stabilize her visage the quickest.

Jörmungandr, while hidden in the guise of a beautiful young woman with red hair and bright green eyes, demonstrated a surprising amount of restraint considering the natural size of the World Serpent’s true form. Rather than shift completely into a massive snake, Jor managed to force a shift back to what he would call his natural Aesir visage, a rather feminine male who looked remarkably like his mother in just about every way, though he did stand a bit taller than Loki. The transition wasn’t seamless, though, as Jor developed several serpent-like traits in his attempts to remain humanoid, the most obvious being the snake-skin that cropped up in patches across his pale flesh and the inconsistency of actually having a proper nose.

Fenrir and Sleipnir, the poor dears, were forced right into their most natural forms, though. Sleipnir had never been very strong with magic and when it came to shape-shifting, he always needed a bit of help for the initial shift. Fenrir was far more powerful in magic, but far behind his siblings in his studies due to how long he’d been imprisoned before their time on Midgard and while both brothers were massive in size, they were at least smaller than Jörmungandr’s true mass.

Hel was already at Sleipnir’s side, knowing out of all of her siblings that he would need the most hope in shifting back into an Aesir form, but Fenrir lowered himself down close to the ground, looking as if he were prepared to pounce on someone. His muzzle pulled back in a snarl, growling at anyone who dared to get close to him and even snapping his jaws at one of the Tenebrae nearest him.

“We need to help them,” Saga murmured. “Do you think you can stand?” Loki nodded and Saga took that as an invitation to get back to her feet, both of her hands grasping onto her mother’s hand and arm so she could help hoist Loki up.

As Loki got to their feet, a bit of magic swept over their clothes, shifting Bella’s typical style for something much more practical for moving about. Slim-fit black pants tucked into calf-high boots, a simple tunic tucked under a light jacket, and their hair twisted into a long, sturdy braid draped over their left shoulder just to get it out of the way.

It took them a moment to feel sturdy on their feet as whatever so violently forced them out of the only form they’d known for years had really thrown them through the wringer, but as soon as Loki could confidently step forward without falling back to the ground, they quickly made their way to Fenrir. A gentle hand fell on Fenrir’s muzzle, the other lifting as high as Loki could manage to scritch behind Fenrir’s ear.

“It’s all right, love, it’s all right,” they murmured. “You’re safe with me.”

Fenrir’s growls quieted and he relaxed, his massive head gently nudging against Loki’s chest so he could press as close to his mother as his oversized form would allow unless he literally knocked Loki off their feet and laid on them. It wouldn’t have been the first time but that seemed impractical now.

“What happened?” the wolf asked and while he still sounded like himself, his voice was rougher, more jagged, almost as if he’d growled the words out rather than spoke.

“I’m not... really sure,” Loki admitted. “But we will figure it out. Just breathe and relax a moment. I’ve got you,” they added, placing a gentle kiss atop Fenrir’s head.

Thankfully, Hel managed to help Sleipnir shift back to their Aesir form without much of a problem and while Jor still had slitted snake eyes rather than average, human-looking eyes, the rest of his appearance stabilized without a problem. His eyes immediately looked around for Ravi, as he’d found himself growing fond of the little human. It should have worried him that Ravi would be terrified or, at the very least, confused, but that didn’t even occur to the serpent, as he was more concerned about ensuring he was all right than anything else.

#likesbeingbad #c; hyde #c; robert jekyll #c; ravi #( private verse ; likesbeingbad ) around every corner you may find us #( thread ) it's tough to be a god #( side muse ) fenrir #( side muse ) hel #( side muse ) jormungandr #( side muse ) saga #( side muse ) sleipnir #( long response ) if it were easy everyone would do it #( ship ; likesbeingbad ) in this kaleidoscope of chaos we sink or we swim together #( ship ) loki x jekyll x hyde #closed starter

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