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teshamerkel · 3 years

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

Chapter 13 (23 Pages)

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Nia and Tobias travel to Afon’s Cap in search of the former human, Hazel.

For the first time in two weeks, Nia wakes up before Tobias does.

She’s confused when she realizes it, blinking bleary eyes at Tobias’ tail flame, his curled form fast asleep. She assumes that it must be the middle of the night, but when she rolls over and tries to go back to sleep, she finds that she can’t. She’s meeting Hazel today, after all! Excited nerves thrum under her skin like first-day-of-school jitters. How can she go back to sleep when she’s meeting another human who was turned into a Pokemon? Someone who understands exactly what she’s going through, who can tell her about how she adapted to the strangeness of the Pokemon world.

Giving up on sleep, Nia sits up. She considers reading one of the books she has checked out, but is stopped by a quiet rustling coming from the main room where Maggie sleeps. Nia frowns and pokes her head out of their little alcove, surprised to see Maggie’s out of her nest, stretching. The meganium stops as soon as she sees Nia.

“Oh! Sorry dear, I assumed you two would be gone by now.”

Nia’s heart drops as she glances at one of the small openings in the wall, noting the pale gray light of early morning. It’s past dawn? But Tobias is still asleep! Since the day Nia arrived in the Pokémon world, the charmander had woken up at the crack of dawn almost without fail. Maybe it had something to do with him being a fire type, but his internal clock seemed stubbornly tuned in to go off when the sun rose. And yet today of all days, when she’s planning to go to Afon’s Cap, he’s miraculously asleep later than usual?

Funny how that works.

An unfamiliar wave of anger rises up in the riolu’s chest, hot and choking, and she turns to glare at the still-sleeping Pokemon. He could just be exhausted, sure, but after how many times he’s made it clear he doesn’t care about finding Hazel? She doesn’t trust it. But Nia needs him to lead her to Afon’s Cap, so she kneels at Tobias’ side and roughly shakes his arm. He grumbles and bats her hand away.

“If you don’t get up, I’m leaving for Afon’s Cap without you,” she says, only half-bluffing. She still doesn’t know exactly why he’d decided to come along in the first place, but hopes that whatever reasoning he has is strong enough to get him moving. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to follow a map well enough on her own—and honestly, she just doesn’t wants to make the journey alone. Tobias is poor company, but at least he is company.

Seeing no response from the charmander, Nia shakes her head, grabs their satchel, and moves into the main area to make sure everything is packed. Maggie is busy removing the leaf shades from the crystals to brighten the room, but shoots her a questioning look.

Nia doesn’t think she has the willpower to avoid snapping her explanation (which is the last thing she’d want to do to poor Maggie), so she just huffs and continues organizing their supplies. They aren’t going into a dungeon or anything, but Xander and Andyn had said to be well-stocked for long trips, just in case. So she counts their seeds and berries and apples, carefully tucks away their badges, and looks into the little sack of coins she earned from missions. It’s not a lot according to Tobias, but it’s something. She carefully folds up the map of the area loaned to her by Xander’s team (more specifically Felix, who’d offered it up with an easy smile and another wink).

Nia reaches a soft piece of cloth last: her scarlet attack scarf. For a moment, she considers finally putting it on. Then she thinks of Tobias, sleeping away the one time she really asks something of him, and she’s overcome by anger all over again. Growling under her breath, Nia stuffs it back into the bag.

“Guess I’m going on my own, Maggie,” Nia sighs, standing and slinging the pack over her shoulder. She turns around to see Maggie’s back to her, long neck ducking into the alcove.

Tobias’ voice speaks up, sleepy and muffled. “Maggie? What’re you—hey!”

Maggie backs up, Tobias held in one of her vines like a flailing kitten. She drops him to the ground.

“You said you would take Nia to Afon’s Cap,” Maggie reminds him, hard tone stopping Tobias’ ranting. The charmander, still blinking sleep from his eyes, frowns up at her, then looks over at Nia.

For a moment, Nia wonders if maybe he really did just oversleep, but there’s no dawning recognition on his face. He just snorts and looks away. “I know that. You didn’t have to wake me up so early for it.”

“You’re always up early! Why should today be any different?” Nia snaps.

Tobias actually jumps, head swinging around to stare at her as if she’s grown a second head. Nia immediately feels guilty for her outburst and softens her tone. “You said it was a long walk, right? We need to leave early then.”

Tobias still seems thrown off—whether from being literally picked up out of his bed or from being snapped at by Nia—because he just looks away and mumbles, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, I’m ready to go, so...”

Tobias shrugs. “So ‘m I.”

“Right.” Nia nods, trying to sound confident and failing miserably. Her gaze flicks to Maggie.

The meganium simply smiles, all encouragement and warmth, and nudges Tobias forward with a vine. “Go on, then. You two have a long trip ahead of you. You have snacks packed, right?”

Nia nods, smiling gratefully. She meets Tobias’ grumpy gaze before turning and marching out of the room. It feels...weird. Usually Tobias leads them on all of their missions, but he clearly wants no part of this trip, so instead Nia sets a brisk pace through the medical ward, ears picking up the dragging footsteps of the half-asleep charmander behind her. She only hesitates once on directions, and they make it down to the bottom floor without taking a wrong turn, thank God.

If only it wasn’t so uncomfortably silent between them.

Nia hesitates at the many tunnel openings, and Tobias grunts before setting off down one. Hopefully the one that leads them most quickly to Afon’s Cap. In the muted quiet of the tunnels, their footsteps seem unnaturally loud. Nia fidgets with the satchel strap, eyeing Tobias’ back.

She has long since given up on friendly conversation with him, reaching the end of her patience after days of being snubbed and snapped at every time she opened her mouth. Instead of making Tobias happier, though, her silence almost seemed to put the charmander more on edge than ever. If that was even possible. Their last few missions have been filled with suffocating silence, only interrupted by the occasional tense comment.

Maybe the two of them just aren’t meant to work out as a Seeker team. He’s just so...bitter. And she doesn’t know how to fix that.

“You brought my money, right?” Tobias asks. Nia jumps.

“Y-Yeah.”

And back to silence. They reach the end of the tunnel and find an unfamiliar Pokémon waiting there to take them to the surface. Nia was kind of hoping it would be the hippo they’d met on her first trip into the guild.

Instead, the Pokémon that nods at them seems to be some type of...mole? He’s twice as big as her and Tobias, dark brown with red stripes and what look like sharp, drill-like bits as his claws, as well as one “drill” sitting on his head like a helmet. Nia will never get used to Pokemon biology.

“Going up?” The Pokemon rasps, voice deep. Tobias nods, and the mole gestures for them to step closer to his side. When they do, he slams his claws down into the dirt, and the slab of ground beneath them shoots up. Nia tries to keep her eyes squinted open this time, curious even as her stomach flips. It’s dark, but she thinks the earth seems to cave and mold around their group as if they were surrounded by a bubble, moving up to the surface. It’s incredible.

They emerge into chilly dawn air, and Nia immediately relaxes, taking a deep breath. Looks like they’re under the same overhang they’d met the hippo in. Tobias hops out into the forest, and Nia gives the mole a smile and a quiet word of thanks before following. Tobias doesn’t wait for her, immediately setting a course through ferns and dewy undergrowth. Nia follows, pushing aside leaves and shivering as the drops soak into her fur. Tobias’ skin is steaming ever so slightly.

The forest is relatively calm this early in the morning, but the world slowly wakes up around them. As the sun starts to climb into the sky, Pokémon around them begin their days. The riolu catches sight of a particularly beautiful butterfly Pokémon that she notes to find the name of later.

The sounds of Pokémon talking and moving about the forest becomes a comforting background noise. The blatant silence between Nia and Tobias suddenly doesn’t seem as noticeable, and the riolu finds herself relaxing as they continue their walk. Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

__________________________________________________

The two of them walk for hours through dense forest, occasionally crossing open fields and rocky gullies. At one point they have to cross a low stream, and Tobias cautiously jumps from rock to rock to avoid touching the water. Nia stifles a laugh and, after a moment of consideration, decides to wade through the cool water. Tobias carefully keeps his distance from her, making Nia roll her eyes. She’d read about how dangerous water could be to fire types, especially those with open flames on their bodies. Of course she wasn’t going to try and get him wet.

When she emerges on the other side, fur heavy with water, her body seems to react before her mind. She manages to check that Tobias is out of the splash zone, and then she shakes like a dog, water flying everywhere. It makes her a bit dizzy, and she blinks, surprised by her own action.

Tobias doesn’t seem to think anything of it, just visibly relaxing when his feet touch the grass again. Nia supposes she shouldn’t be too surprised—her body has its own instincts now. Her ears and tail broadcast her emotions, and she periodically finds herself smoothing the fur on her arms or legs absentmindedly. That should probably bother her more than it does.

They stop shortly after that to eat lunch. The sun is high overhead and it’s incredibly warm, so it’s probably around noon. They pick a small clearing in the woods with some boulders to settle down on, pulling out the snacks she’d packed the night before. A few berries, something baked that tastes a lot like a veggie pizza, and a mash of oats and nuts. Pretty tasty spread from the cafeteria.

“So how long until we reach Afon’s Cap?” Nia asks through a mouthful of oran berry. She’s busy spreading out the map of the area, tracing her claw from the center mark of the guild to the east, where Afon’s Cap is visible on the map. The title is written above what looks to be a large lake with a river running east, towards an ocean. She definitely wants to see that someday. She doesn’t thinks she’s ever been to the sea.

Tobias leans over and frowns at the map, finishing his mash. He points at an area just west of Afon’s Cap. “We should be here. Maybe an hour’s walk yet.”

Nia grins. “We’re so close!”

Tobias doesn’t answer, going back to his food, clearly not sharing her enthusiasm.

“So Maggie said there are shops and stuff there, right? That it’s primarily a merchant area and travelers’ crossroads?”

“Mhm.”

“What’s it like?” Nia asks. He seems too familiar with the area to have not been there before. “Pretty busy, I’m guessing?”

“You’ll see it yourself soon,” Tobias growls.

“Well...Yeah, I know, but...”

Tobias doesn’t answer, so Nia just sighs, going back to her meal and their usual silence with a heavy heart. It’d been such a nice day in the woods that she’d almost forgotten who she was traveling with.

Tobias finishes his meal first, and stretches out on the sunbaked stone to enjoy its warmth while Nia eats her berries. She’s excited to meet Hadley’s old friend, for sure, but anxiety blooms in her belly as they get closer. What should she even ask the other human-turned-Pokemon? How does she even bring up that she’s in the same boat? The riolu wishes she could talk with Tobias about it, but she knows better by now.

When Nia’s finished, they head off again without a word between them.

__________________________________________________

It’s maybe another hour of walking when Nia registers the landscape changing around them. It’s not too drastic, but the dry, yellowed forest becomes slightly more...lush. Even a bit swampy, in spots. They are closer to the sea, and they’ve passed more tiny creeks than Nia’s seen in the forest closer to the guild....so they must be getting close to the port. The nervous butterflies in her stomach act up again at the thought.

Sure enough, only a short bit later Nia can see open sky through the thinning trees, can hear something...roaring. A steady rumble of noise. And under that, the distant chatter of voices and movement. The two of them emerge from the treeline, and Nia’s breath catches at the sight of Afon’s Cap below them.

The ground at their feet drops off steeply into the valley before them, and there’s a lake so wide Nia can barely see the edges of it. It’s large enough for it to have waves, clear water rippling and flashing in the sun between a dappling coat of lush green lily pads. It trails off into the horizon, where it likely drains into the river and onward into the sea. To their left, the source of the roaring becomes clear. From the rocky cliffside of the valley walls, a giant, powerful waterfall flows from an underground channel.

But even the beauty of the waterways, framed by expansive woodland and open blue sky, is nothing compared to the life brought to the area by the little town itself. It’s clearly a port, with docking areas and small boats bobbing peacefully where they’re anchored. A scaffolding-like structure of wooden walkways, stairs and tall, stilt-like supports create a boardwalk of small, bright buildings flush against the rocky sides of the valley itself.

And there are Pokémon everywhere! Sure, the guild has a huge number of Pokémon moving throughout it every day, but something about this area is noticeably different, even from a distance. Unlike the organized groupings at the guild, centered around business and exploration, these Pokémon seem like, well...normal people. A crowd.

Merchants travel by one another, pausing to exchange goods from their giant packs, travelers and civilians alike buy and sell, and children chase each other through the walkways, laughing and playing games. Nia catches sight of two bright yellow mouse Pokémon shrieking happily as they weave through the crowd with practiced ease.

Linens hang on clotheslines to dry, small herb and flower baskets sit outside of the tiny wooden huts, shops are labeled by wooden signs detailing their wares, and the scent of heavenly baked goods reaches Nia’s nose. And is that the distant lilt of...music she hears somewhere?

“This is incredible!” Nia breathes, sure that she’s slack-jawed right now and that Tobias is judging her. She doesn’t even care.

Tobias grunts and moves to take the wooden stairs down the side of the valley wall so they can reach one of the bridges leading to the town. Nia hurries to follow him, almost slipping when she’s unable to take her eyes off the lively port. They make it to the bottom after a minute or two, stepping onto the wooden bridgework. It’s warm and sturdy under Nia’s feet.

“So are there like...Pokémon carpenters? Construction workers who build places like these?” She asks. A gorgeous white and red goldfish Pokémon is swimming under the surface of the water nearby, flickering into view between patches of huge lily pads, and it glides under their bridge to follow a blue Pokemon moving too fast for Nia to properly see. Makes sense that lots of water types would flock to this town.

“Duh,” Tobias mumbles, eyeing the water Pokémon as well with a cagey look. “How else would we build things?”

Well, true. The Lexym Guild’s tree is a bit of a different matter, but she’s seen Hadley’s hut and a few other locals homes, all built with a sturdy wooden construction. Still, Nia can’t even find it in herself to be irritated by Tobias’ condescending tone. This place is just so beautiful! It’s breezy and the air smells so nice. She watches as a water type Pokemon slips into the lake from one of the docks, swimming towards the cliffside where a shallow cave is carved into the surface before diving deeper and out of sight. For the first time, Nia notices a couple of small wooden signs jutting up from the water.

Nia gasps and darts to the edge of the bridge, tip-toeing at the railing to stare at the sign. She tries to peer between the lily pads, but can’t really see much from her perspective. “Oh my gosh, no! Are there underwater shops?! That’s so cool! Look at this!”

“I’m good back here,” Tobias grumbles. Nia glances at him over her shoulder but gets distracted by the fact that her own tail is, uh...wagging? Whoa. It slows to a stop with her confusion, but before she can think about it too deeply Tobias speaks up.

“C’mon already. The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can get some food and find a place to stay.”

Nia perks up despite the charmander’s lack of enthusiasm, bouncing back over to him. As they move along the bridge, Nia trails her paw along the wooden railing, happily peering down into the waves and watching the lily pads rock like flat green boats. Something flickers in the water—or in the reflection of it? It’s just a quick flash, huge and dark and almost snake-like, but when Nia blinks it’s gone again. She peers up into the open sky, squinting when she only sees bird Pokémon flying around. Huh.

They continue to the nearest stairway leading up to the open upper level, passing a few groups of Pokémon on the way. Nia’s quick, excited steps pass by Tobias, and she takes the lead as they climb.

“So how’re you gonna find this Pokemon anyways?”

Nia hums, looking around excitedly. “I was thinking we could probably just ask around, right? If she lives here, then surely some of the other residents know her! Being a former human seems to garner a lot of attention.”

“August told you to be careful about broadcasting that you’re a human,” Tobias objects.

Nia falters. “O-Oh. Right. Well...he did say that the area around the Haven is usually pretty safe, right? And I don’t have to tell anyone that I’m a human. Just that I’m looking for one named Hazel.”

Tobias grumbles, but doesn’t argue her plan anymore. “That could still take forever.”

Okay, that comment finally gets under her skin. Can’t he just let her enjoy this?

“Won’t take long if we stop talking and start looking,” She chirps, sickly sweet. The charmander huffs in response.

Then they’re on the main level of the wooden boardwalk. The crowd around them is almost daunting, with so many Pokémon laughing and talking and haggling with one another. Plus, so many of them are huge compared to her and Tobias! A giant fuschia centipede Pokemon walks by them and she swears she can feel their short footsteps shaking the wood under her feet.

Nia frowns, perking her ears and looking one way and then the other. Where to even start?

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Tobias points out.

“Oh.” Nia blinks at him. He’s technically right, and she knows he didn’t really want to come along in the first place, but...it’d still be nice to have a familiar face around in such a new area.

Relenting, Nia nods. “Wanna take left or right?”

Tobias glances both ways before choosing to go left, towards the distant sound of music. “I’ll start on this side. Toss me my money.”

Nia does, but then stops him as he starts to walk off. “Wait! How’re we gonna find each other later?”

Tobias shrugs. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other if we just look.”

Nia doesn’t really have a better solution, so she hesitantly nods. Tobias turns and vanishes into the crowd. Well. Looks like she’s going this alone. Something in her chest sinks, but she tells herself she should really be used to this by now.

Nia takes a deep breath, looking around. It’s hard to see anything with the crowd of Pokémon towering over her, so her best bet would probably be to just skirt the inside of the walkway curving around the valley, near the shops and houses. That’s where she needs to be asking around, anyways. Even if a very large part of her wants to go over to the nearby crowd and watch what looks like a small roadside magic show.

Nia steels her resolve and lets the lively atmosphere of the town wash over her as she weaves between Pokémon and over to the shops and houses lining the cliff face. They’re impressively built, if a bit rustic. Colorful and wooden, with impressively stable architecture. Carved signs hang from hooks in doorways, and most of the front doors sit wide open to invite visitors and customers inside.

Nia spots a shop bursting at the seams with flowers, and peeks into the open front door to find what looks to be, unsurprisingly, a flower shop. Some are live and arranged in beautiful bouquets, some are dried and coated in a sort of plaster to preserve them, and some are pressed between books or decorating other trinkets. Nia resists the urge to run a gentle finger over the petals and wanders through the shop, wide-eyed.

“Can I help you, Riolu?”

Nia jumps, turning to find a round yellow duck Pokemon approaching her with a polite demeanor. She’s small, not too much taller than Nia herself, with a wide beak and a small tuft of hair atop her head.

“U-Um, yes. I actually had a question about this town. I’m trying to find a Pokémon named Hazel? Former human? She lives here.”

Nia is relieved when the duck Pokémon doesn’t react negatively, just humming a thoughtful noise as her gaze trails up to the ceiling. “I don’t know of any Hazels living in Afon’s Cap. And certainly none who claim to be a former human.”

The shopkeeper must see the way Nia slumps at the news, because she offers a sympathetic smile and adds, “Why don’t you ask around the other shops? Maybe it’s just slipping my mind.”

Nia nods, trying to look grateful and not massively disappointed, and thanks the duck before heading out the door. A flash of yellow slips under her feet, and Nia trips forward with a yelp.

“Oh! Sorry!” A high, childish voice says.

“You okay?” A second chimes.

Nia rolls over, surprised to see the two tiny yellow rodent Pokémon that had caught her eye earlier. They both look more curious than concerned, peering at her with wide blue eyes and twitching angular ears tipped in black. They have rosy pink circles on their cheeks, like blush marks. They’re so cute Nia thinks she might explode on the spot. They kind of remind her of the shinx kids, except younger.

The children exchange a look, and Nia hurries to sit up. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine! Sorry for tripping over you. Are you two okay?”

The kids nod enthusiastically, suddenly all smiles again.

“We were playing chase, but we forgot to stay away from the doorways.”

“Nana always tells us to stay outta Pokemons’ way so we don’t get stepped on.”

Nia nods understandingly. “Having a little too much fun, huh?”

One of them giggles, cheeks sparking. “Yeah!”

“You’re nice,” the other one notes, staring up at her. “Sometimes the grown-ups don’t want to talk to us or, or they get mad when we play near them.”

Nia smiles, feeling her chest ache with longing and fill with warmth all at once. She really likes kids. Was she close to some in her human life? “Nah, I get it. You two seem pretty cool to me.”

At that, they both grin. One of them spins, taps the other, and then takes off into the crowd. “Tag! You’re it, Theo!”

“Hey!” Theo bolts after his friend (brother, maybe?), and Nia watches them go, wincing with concern as they scamper under more gigantic, heavy Pokémon. She wishes they’d be more careful.

Shaking her head and noting her uplifted mood, Nia straightens her satchel. Right! She can’t give up after checking just one shop. This place is huge! Surely someone knows who Hazel is, right? There can’t be that many former humans floating around!

__________________________________________________

There isn’t a single Pokémon named Hazel living in Afon’s Cap. The sun is wheeling much lower in the sky than when Nia had first started searching, and she’s just about ready to give up. Sitting under a tented area for customers, she picks at the chesto pie she’d ordered from a cute little local shop, sniffling back tears.

She’d searched for hours through the small port town, wandering through the crowds, investigating shops, and even politely knocking at a few homes’ open doorways to ask about Hazel. If Nia were here just to sightsee, she’s sure she would be having the time of her life. There are stores and merchants for everything—books, food, toys, accessories and cloaks, items that supposedly help with battling, dungeon items—literally anything she could ask for! She’d thought with so many Pokemon around, surely finding someone who knows Hazel couldn’t be that difficult.

And yet, nothing. She really wishes she’d thought to ask Hadley what species Hazel was, but she’d assumed it would be easy enough to ask about a former human. Maybe Tobias was right. Hadley’s nice enough, but he said himself that his memory is going nowadays. Maybe he was wrong about Hazel living here. Maybe she doesn’t even exist at all.

Speaking of Tobias—the charmander is also nowhere to be found. Nia had kept an eye out for his distinct orange coloring and bright red scarf, and hadn’t caught a single glimpse of him. She wants to think that means he’s just hard at work trying to help her, but Nia’s an optimist, not an idiot. She has a feeling that Tobias is likely avoiding her, probably just whiling away his time until they can leave again.

Nia wants to think better of him, but she can’t keep pushing away the truth. Tears finally fall from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks as she swallows back a whimper. There are still Pokémon around. She doesn’t want to have a complete meltdown here. But bottling up her sadness and her disappointment, with both Tobias and Hazel...it’s gotta come out somehow.

She wipes at her eyes and her nose, sniffing wetly and taking deep, shaky breaths. She’s a mess, but she’d had such high hopes about Hazel. She just...she just wants someone who understands what she’s going through. Who can relate to the aching, tearing pain in her chest and the gaping hole in her memory.

“Mama! That’s the nice lady we told you about!”

“Why’s she cryin’? Is she okay?”

Nia lifts her head, blinking away her tears. She knows those voices.

It’s the two yellow mouse children from earlier in the day, tugging at a larger yellow rodent’s paws. The riolu just stares at them, uncomprehending as the children drag the older Pokémon over with them. She’s very pretty, cheeks a darker shade of red and eyes a honey-brown, ears longer and slimmer, and tail in a distinct lightning bolt shape. She looks familiar, actually.

One of the kids hops up on the bench beside Nia, leaning in close and frowning up at her face. “Why’re you crying?”

“Yeah! You seemed happy earlier!” The other chirps, appearing on Nia’s other side.

“W-Well, I, uh—“ Nia stops, casting a nervous glance at the kids’ mother. She looks uncomfortable. Good first impression, Nia. “I was sort of looking for someone, but I couldn’t find them. I-It’s fine, I’ll be okay.”

The little Pokémon perk up.

“Well, we know everyone here! We can help! Who are you looking for?”

“And if we don’t know, Mama does!”

Nia looks back and forth between the two, knowing what answer she’ll get to her question but having a feeling that they won’t let her wallow alone until she satisfies their curiosity.

“I’m, uh...looking for someone named Hazel. But she must not live here anymore.”

The kids slump, ears flattening into a pitiful look.

“Oh.”

“We don’t know any Hazels.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I appreciate you asking. You did your best,” Nia soothes, offering a watery smile.

“Excuse me, but did you say Hazel?”

Nia jumps, suddenly remembering the other adult in the situation. Shoot. She turns back to the kids’ mother, but instead of discomfort, now her soft features are...intense. Focused.

The riolu blinks at the change in demeanor. “U-Um. Yes?”

The rodent stares her down, and Nia swallows, shrinking away ever-so-slightly.

“Theo, Tommy, go back to Nana Alice’s house.”

“What?” One of the kids chirps, sounding indignant. “Why? We wanna stay here!”

“Yeah!”

Their mom turns a familiar look on the two, face stern and eyebrows lifting ever so slightly, as if to ask, Do you really want to test me?

Immediately, the kids quiet down. “Yes, Mama,” they both mumble, hopping back to the ground. They exchange a look, give Nia a tiny wave, then scamper away.

The riolu turns back to the kids’ mom, eyes wide and stomach churning. Did she do something wrong?

“Why are you looking for a Hazel?” The Pokémon asks, voice hard.

Nia flinches, looking down at her paws. “I-I’m, um—“

“Look at me.”

Nia slowly obeys, making eye contact with the rodent and feeling incredibly small despite their similar sizes. “I...I wanted to talk to h-her.”

“About?”

“I...heard that there was a Pokémon who lived here named Hazel, who used to be a, um...” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “A human.”

The rodent continues to stare Nia down, and the riolu’s mind races as she tries to figure out why this Pokémon would have such a reaction to the name when no one else did, even before she mentioned Hazel being human.

Wait.

Nia straightens in her seat. “D-Do you know her? Please, you have to help me find her!”

The rodent’s expression edges towards something defensive. Angry? “Tell me why you want to speak to her.”

So she does know something! Nia stands, desperately clasping her hands in front of her. “Please! I need to talk with her. I’m a human too and—I mean, I was a human—and she’s the only one I know of around here who’s the same!”

Immediately, the Pokémon’s aggressive demeanor falls away, her expression smoothing out to something surprised. There’s a beat of silence, and then, almost suspiciously, she asks, “What’s your favorite movie?”

Nia blinks. “Uh...”

“Favorite movie,” the rodent prompts again.

Nia swallows hard. “I-I’m not sure? Um, I think I liked Disney movies? It’s hard to remember, so—wait, do you even know what a movie is?”

To Nia’s surprise, the rodent’s hard expression breaks as she laughs. When she’s done she meets Nia’s baffled gaze with a warm smile, the expression lighting up her already pretty features. “No, not really. But I do recognize that name. Follow me, I’ll take you to Hazel.”

The Pokémon turns and walks away, and Nia hurriedly gathers her things, stuffing them into her satchel and running to catch up to the rodent.

“W-What—how do you—who—?”

The rodent quirks a smile Nia’s way. “Sorry for the cold welcome. I’m Margot. You are?”

“N-Nia.”

“Mm. Was that your human name?”

Nia casts a quick glance around to make sure no one is listening in before answering. “N-No. Um. Actually, maybe? I-I’m not sure. I lost my memory when I came here. Woke up here?”

The rodent gives her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. That must be hard.”

Nia isn’t sure whether to laugh or be embarrassed, suddenly recalling that Margot’s first impression of her was while she was in the middle of an emotional meltdown. “Kind of, yeah. Don’t get me wrong, this world is beautiful, and most people are really nice! But it’s, um...”

“Different.”

Nia nods, eyeing Margot. She has such an easy understanding of Nia’s experience. Like she’s heard all of this before.

“So, um...how do you know Hazel? I tried asking around town but no one else seems to recognize the name.”

Margot hums a contemplative noise. “Hazel...lays low. She doesn’t like to be bothered about where she came from or have to deal with accusations that she’s lying, so the town doesn’t know she used to be human. Where did you hear about her?”

“F-From a, uh, Pokémon named Hadley. Lives near the guild. Giant bug?”

Margot sighs. “Somehow I knew that’s what you’d say. Hadley doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

The two of them come upon a homey-looking hut that Nia had passed earlier in the day. It’s a shop, but Nia had assumed it to be closed, since its door had been shut tight. But now it’s cracked open and warm golden light spills out to touch the dusk. Margot swings opens the door and motions for Nia to go inside. She does, stopping and looking around in awe.

It’s a...woodwork shop? There are wooden sculptures and figures littered about the room, lining shelves and tables, larger pieces sitting in corners and wherever space allows. There’s a particularly impressive sculpture in the corner that’s twice as tall as Nia herself, with a beautifully carved scene of flowing water and whiskered, crowned fish Pokémon jumping upstream. Many of the smaller pieces look to be elegant carvings and sculptures of Pokémon, too. They’re amazing. Did Margot make these?

The entire front of the shop is crowded, packed to the brim with artwork and warmth, the smell of wood and lacquer filling the air. Nia only takes a few steps inside, trailing behind Margot, before an older, feminine voice calls out from the back room.

“Mar? Why did you send the boys back on their own?”

A moment later, a new Pokémon enters the doorway leading to the back of the hut. She’s clearly related to Margot and her sons, with yellow cheeks and ocean-blue eyes. Her fur is a rich, dark gold hue, her ears a soft fluffy yellow, paws tipped in cream. She’s beautiful, but her fur is streaked with white, her short pelt beginning to hang off her frame with age. Most incredibly, she’s levitating. She’s sat comfortably on the flat of her own wide yellow tail, floating into the room. Is this Nana Alice?

Nia stops, and the older Pokémon does as well, clearly surprised. Margot moves forward to place a gentle hand on the new Pokemon’s arm.

“Mama, this is Nia,” she explains, voice soft. “Former human. Hadley told her to look for Hazel.”

Nia isn’t sure how to read the flash of emotions that pass over the older Pokémon’s face at that news. After a moment, they settle into something solemn and soft, almost sad.

“So you’re a human? My name is Alice. Why don’t you come on back and have a cup of tea with me?”

Nia nods shyly, following the two rodents into the back area and murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.”

Nia’s mind is racing, trying to figure out how these women know Hazel, if maybe she lives nearby. But she doesn’t want to be rude, so she bites her tongue and looks around instead. There’s a tiny cooking setup on one side of the room, with a table and an area to light a fire beneath a makeshift tea kettle. Other pots and bowls sit neatly stacked nearby. On the other side of the room, a simple but startlingly human-like bedframe sits, with woven blankets and a bed of hay laid on top.

“Mama!”

“You brought the crying lady home?”

Nia looks up, startled. Theo and Tommy are peering over the edge of a loft-like structure overhead. They wave at Nia, and she cracks a smile, waving back.

“It’s past your bedtime, boys!” Margot calls up, somewhere between amused and authoritative. She turns a wry smile towards Nia and her mother. “Let me know if you two need anything.” With that, Margot scampers up the ladder to the loft, and the boys shriek with laughter, ducking out of sight.

The older rodent Pokémon, Alice, smiles fondly, turning to the makeshift stove. “Please, have a seat, Nia. Do you like tea? I have Sitrus and Pecha leaf.”

“O-Oh. Um. I think I like tea, but I’ve never had those kinds before.”

Alice hums. “I bet you’d like Pecha. Give me a few minutes.”

Nia takes a seat on one of the cushions, peering curiously at the decorative wooden figures sitting in a group at the center of the table. One of them looks exactly like Margot, a small bundle with distinct angular ears cradled in her arms. One of the others has an impressive likeness to the older Pokemon currently making her tea. The other two Pokémon, however, are unfamiliar to Nia. One of them is a taller weasel-like Pokemon, with two tails at its back and fins on its arms. Elegant age lines are lightly carved into its face. The second is a round rabbit-like Pokemon with a ball-like tail and a bubble pattern on its belly. Another identical bundle with pointed ears is gathered in its arms. They’re all incredibly lifelike, and Nia leans in, turning this way and that to try and see them better without disturbing the arrangement.

“Do you like them?”

Nia jumps back, but Alice is smiling, gaze fond. “Y-Yes! Did Margot make them?”

The older Pokémon laughs, softly. “No, those are my carvings. The shop products are made by the both of us.”

“Wow,” Nia breathes. “They’re beautiful!”

Alice hums again, eyeing the figurines. “I created those when my grandsons were born. The floatzel is my husband. The azumarill is my daughter’s wife.”

Maybe she sees the lost look on Nia’s face, because she adds, “Oh, I apologize. Sometimes I forget what it was like to be here so suddenly. The floatzel is the weasel. The azumarill is the rabbit.”

Wait—weasel? Rabbit? No regular Pokemon would know those terms. Nia’s head snaps up, the puzzle pieces in her mind clicking together. Of course. This is why no one knew who ‘Hazel’ was. This explains Margot’s odd behavior and her knowledge of Nia’s situation, and ‘Alice’s’ reaction to her identity as a human.

Nia stares at the old woman, hardly able to breathe. “You’re Hazel.”

#pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd #pokemon #riolu #pmd seekers of soul #tesha draws #tesha writes

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goldafterglow · 4 years

Text

embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

“Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold.

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

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#iris writes #ezra #ezra prospect x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x you #ezra x reader #pedro pascal x you #shgkdjfhgd #this one was #huh #idk how i feel abt this lol #hope you beautiful bitches like it though :)

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screpdoodle · 3 years

Text

Duality - Chapter Nine (The Garden of Secretive Secrets)

“And stay out!!”

Kaos watched from the edge of his backyard as a band of Greebles scurried into the underbrush, yipping and chirping with their tails between their legs. He let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead off on the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of dirt in its wake. As the afternoon sun beat down on him, Kaos turned his back to the trees, returning to the task his father had so graciously bestowed upon him. Weeding duty; a chore that usually fell to him when his parents felt ‘eternity’ in the dungeons wasn’t fitting enough a punishment. It was usually saved for the yearly cleaning, but Kaos supposed this was a… special circumstance. And man, did the backyard need it. Kaos rolled his sleeves up as he walked, balancing across exposed roots and shallow streams that ran the color of mildew. Broken tiles protruded from the dirt in some sections, like a long forgotten pathway, or perhaps even a giant chess board. But now, the majority of it had become one with nature, with only remnants remaining. The very same nature Kaos had to push back, armed with an ‘arsenal’ that consisted of a pair of rusty pruning shears and his bare hands. A set of weapons that would make any creature quake in fear... as long as that creature was plant based and inanimate, of course. Kaos stumbled forward as his foot snagged on a tangle of brambles, the thorns slicing at his ankle. He hissed at the sudden sting, then pulled his ankle free, kneeling down in the crumbly soil with his shears at the ready. He waited for a moment, in case the brambles decided to leave on their own. When they didn’t budge, Kaos let out a huff, then began snipping away at the base of the tangle, squinting through the glaring sun and snippets of stem flinging haphazardly from the dull, rusted shears. He made quick work of the bush, or at least as quickly as he could manage, picking up the severed bundle of gnarled branches and carrying it over to the small piles he was accumulating.

Father had instructed him to organize the clippings; one pile of ‘salvageable’ material for Father and Mother’s out-of-work ‘hobby’, and another of junk. So of course, Kaos had made three. One for Father, one for the Greebles to scrounge through, and one for himself. Kaos dragged the bush back to the back wall of the house, using his free arm to shield his eyes, trying his best to ignore the definite sunburn he was going to get as he tossed the bramble into his father’s pile. The berries that grew on it could make a nice soda, though knowing his parents, they’d probably use the thorns or something. Kaos had always wanted to try the soda they made, despite the mixed reviews Dyskord had given it over the years. His favorite had been ‘radioactive suction eel’, though he had only given it a three out of ten before passing out on Kaos’ floor. Kaos had also seen flavors like ‘sand’ and ‘mud’ on the occasions he had snuck down into the cellar. Needless to say, the odd ingredients and off-putting side effects he had witnessed had dampened his curiosity towards actually sampling the carbonated concoctions. Maybe once he was a little older.

Kaos wiped the sweat from his brow, then looked up at the sound of the side door shutting, the squeak of its hinges followed by footsteps in the patchy dirt. Kaos craned his neck as his mother stepped into view, heading into the forest as she did practically every day. Some days it was early in the morning, others it was late afternoon, most likely heading to work. Kaos watched her walk briskly down the cobble path, the cloak she had wrapped around her shoulders flowing behind her, until she faded out of sight as the reaching branches of the trees swallowed her whole. Kaos shuddered, feeling a chill run up his spine as he turned away, needing to get back to work. Kaos grabbed his shears, beginning to pick and preen at the area around him. Pulling up leathery weeds and trimming back foul-smelling bushes that had been left to run rampant. As he worked, though, Kaos could feel his mind wandering back to last night and the mention of his mother’s ‘work’. Surely that’s what she was heading off to do. Kaos jammed his fingers under a particularly stubborn root, attempting to not so gently coax it from its earthy nest. He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder from time to time, his eyes drawn back to the forest. He could no longer hear her footsteps, merely the slight breeze dancing through the autumn leaves, and the rustle of vermin in the underbrush. He shook his head, finally wrenching the root from the ground, the force sending him tumbling back; right into an unsuspecting Greeble. Kaos looked up as his vision spun, the Greeble leaning over him with a curious expression on its flat, flaxxish face. It ran its long tongue over one of its eyes before bounding onto Kaos’ face and then off towards the underbrush with a sharp tug. Kaos groaned, rubbing his forehead as he sat up, watching the pest scurry off on all fours, dragging something along behind it. Kaos paused as he watched the end of it get pulled into the bushes, feeling the breeze brush against the back of his neck…

In a panic, Kaos' hands flew to his neck, feeling around for any trace of his scarf. Instead he simply felt his skin, his eyes going wide. Quickly, Kaos glanced back over his shoulder to the kitchen window, checking to be sure his father wasn't watching, before breaking into a sprint after the Greeble.

Kaos lept over fallen logs and weaved his way around branches, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dappled light filtering through the canopy of off-colored leaves. Shadows twirled and twisted as he ran, the Greeble always just out of sight. A blur of yellow, the swish of a tail, a faint shrill chirping just loud enough to tell the general direction. The trees reached and grabbed at him, snagging his clothes and scratching his skin. All of his rationale had flown out the window, fear of those bark behemoths the least of his worries. Kaos could feel his lungs burning, every frantic step sending shockwaves up his legs; but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t rest. He couldn't lose that Ancients-forsaken Greeble. Tearing around a corner and nearly falling flat on his face, Kaos watched the Greeble scurry up the trunk of a tree, ducking into a gnarled hole in its surface. The end of his scarf dangled out of the opening, swaying slightly in the breeze. Kaos paused, then practically buckled over, taking long, shuddering breaths as he tried to coax himself back into working condition. After letting the corners of his vision clear and the feeling of acid in his lungs settle down, Kaos turned his sights to the Greeble’s apparent home, glowering at it with enough force to melt through steel. (Or at least he hoped so, he had never actually been able to before). He stormed over to the tree, getting his foot caught on a root halfway there, before standing up on his tiptoes and peering inside the tree hollow.

Random trinkets and objects lined the sides, from rusted cogs, old jewelry, and even clumps of differently colored plants. In the center, the Greeble was curled up, though it opened one eye when it noticed Kaos peering inside. Kaos frowned, then reached inside, pulling his dirt covered scarf out from underneath the Greeble, brushing it off as he grumbled under his breath, before wrapping it loosely around his neck. Kaos turned on his heels, then looked back, locking eyes with the Greeble. It stared back, swishing its tail back and forth, large ears twitching. Kaos sighed, then grabbed his shears. With a deep breath, he lifted up the corner of his shirt and snipped off a lopsided square, shoving it in the hollow of the tree before starting the long walk back, muttering as many curse words as he could drum up on the spot. He trailed off after the first few though, feeling a chill run up his spine, a gust of wind nearly knocking him over. Kaos stumbled to the side, then froze, picking up on a sound carried by the wind. It sounded almost like a hum; a slow melodic thrum that seemed to resonate through him, making his skin prickle.

Holding his breath, Kaos turned towards the noise, walking towards it with slow, stilted steps, as if his movements weren’t his own. The song was getting louder, though the wind had died back down, the sound like a motherly hand carefully guiding him. Step after step growing faster, note after note washing over him, static blurring the corners of his vision until finally... the forest fell silent. Kaos came to an abrupt stop, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He stood at the edge of a clearing, sunlight filtering down through a hole in the canopy, catching the dust that floated through the undisturbed air. A nearly perfect circle of nature encapsulated in a wall of trees, hidden from view, everything perfectly still. Kaos felt as if he was staring at a photograph. He reached his hand out, as if expecting to come in contact with a barrier, to prove it was nothing but a snapshot, but all he touched was air. He wiggled his fingers around a bit, then quickly stepped over the ring of small, mossy stones that surrounded the perimeter. He peered around, brushing himself off, before his attention was grabbed by something he hadn’t registered before. Offset to the center of the clearing was an old, stone structure. Grey tones of stone brick dappled with age and the muted greens of climbing vines, little flowers peeking their ways through the cracks. Kaos squinted, then crouched down, taking a tentative step forward. His shoes crunched against the fallen leaves as he walked closer, the only sound making its way through the silent air. Kaos tilted his head to the side, then carefully brushed some of the vines to the side, revealing old, worn-out markings etched into some of the bricks. At the sight, Kaos felt something tugging at the back of his mind, a familiarity he couldn’t quite shake. He got to his knees to get a closer look, the stone walls just a tad shorter than him. Gently, Kaos trailed his fingers over the edges of the closets engraving, the stone crumbling beneath his touch, tiny crumbs of stone falling to the ground, lost in the autumn grass. Kaos felt a tingle run up his arm, causing him to pull his hand away, his brow furrowing. He had seen these marks before, but he couldn’t quite place exactly where…

Kaos stood up quickly, peering over the side of the wall. He craned his neck to see, then raised an eyebrow when he noticed the wall dipped down, revealing a hole set in the center. His heart dropped slightly as he realized it wasn’t some ‘mystical structure’ like he had originally hoped; just some old, dried up well. Still, it was an interesting find to say the least. If only he had brought his journal; he could have added it to the map that he started last summer with his siblings. Kaos looked up to the sky, watching the red slowly starting to fade into a soft purple. How long had he been gone? Surely he’d have a sunburn after this. Just what he needed for the weekend he was forced to work outside. He always wondered how Dyskord and Mey were able to tan; whenever he was out in the sun for longer than a few minutes without the proper protection he turned as red as a Fire Elemental. Shaking his head, Kaos started back towards the way he had entered the clearing, hoping he could simply follow his tracks back home. That was, until a thought crossed his mind. Those marks had to mean something, right? Maybe the well wasn’t so ordinary after all? Maybe there was something at the bottom of it? Kaos turned back around, realizing garden duty could wait. This might be his only chance to figure out what this thing was here for. With a confident smile, Kaos pulled on one of the bricks, testing to see if it could hold his weight before pulling himself up onto the lip of the well, albeit with some difficulty. He sat on his knees, brushing the dust off of his clothes before peering inside.

Nothing but darkness stared back.

Kaos scratched his chin, squinting to try and make out how far down it went, before standing up. He took a moment to balance, then walked around the edge of the well, folding his hands behind his back. He looked down to the ground on one side, then into the gaping maw on the other, the stones shifting slightly beneath his feet, little flecks of sediment falling down into the dark. He stuck his tongue out, thinking, then knelt back down again. Throwing caution to the wind, Kaos stuck his hand down into the depths, feeling a chill run up it. It felt like he had plunged his arm into a bucket of ice water, the smell of dust wafting up. The air felt thicker, his motions lagging, up to his wrist now lost in darkness. Kaos wrenched his hand back, nearly tipping over onto the ground, before steadying himself on the ledge. Slowly, he lowered his hand back down, back up, then back down again, slowly testing where the temperature shifted. Kaos felt the stone shift beneath him, though he paid it no mind, just trying to reach further down, the chill nipping at his fingertips. How far down did this thing go? No matter how far he reached, Kaos couldn’t touch the bottom. It felt like it was just out of reach, despite it looking like it went on forever. Clenching his teeth and gripping onto the edge of the wall with his other hand, Kaos reached down further, straining his reach as far as it could go, until a noise made his blood run cold. A loud crack rang through the silent air as Kaos felt himself pitch forward, his head slamming against the side of the well as he tumbled down, his vision flashing white before going dark.

“Hello? Hello??”

Kaos opened his eyes to the light of the moon falling down upon him, a shadowy figure peering down at him, silhouetted against a familiar, starless night sky. Kaos groaned, rubbing his temple as he shifted into a sitting position, resting his back against the moss covered wall behind him. He looked up, slowly starting to make out features of the person above. Green skin, ragged clothes, large hands gripping the edge of the well as they peered down, large ears tilted downwards…

“Glumshanks?”

“Kaos?”

The two spoke at the same time, locking eyes. Kaos’ mouth hung open, brows raised as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Surely, his headache was making him see things.

“What- What’re you doing down there? How did you get here??” Glumshanks stumbled over his words, swinging a leg over the edge, then the other.

In horror, Kaos watched as the troll slipped off the edge without a care in the world, his bare feet touching down on the ground gently in front of him. Kaos blinked, confused, before slowly realizing the edge of the well was just above his line of sight, the fall nothing more than a few feet. The wall barely went past Glumshanks’ waist. With a concerned look on his face, the troll sat down, bringing his knees up to his chest. Kaos just stared at him, not sure what to say.

“So, uh, how are-”

“How was school?-”

The two spoke at the same time once again, then abruptly fell silent. Kaos snickered, then winced, holding his temple. Glumshanks reached forward, brushing Kaos’ hand away with a frown. Kaos looked down to the red that had coated his fingertips, glistening in the silvery light.

“You really got dinged up…”

‘Heh, this? This is just a normal afternoon for me.”

“...come on, I think my mom should have some disinfectant at the house.”

Glumshanks offered his hand. Kaos hesitated, then took it, the troll helping him to his feet and out of the old well. As Kaos touched down on patchy grass, he paused, his mind grinding to a stop. None of this looked familiar. The trees were sparse and looked like overgrown twigs someone had stuck into the ground haphazardly, dry grass and brown leaves littered about. Glumshanks glanced back over his shoulder, giving a slight tug on Kaos’ arm, which seemed to snap him out of it.

“Where… where are we?” Kaos asked as he followed along after Glumshanks, needing to walk quickly to keep up with his long strides.

Glumshanks raised an eyebrow, blowing a strand of ginger hair from his eyes. “The Outlands?”

“I know that, fool. Which island in the Outlands??”

Glumshanks paused for a moment, looking up to the sky. ‘...I’m not sure if it has a name that's in human...”

“Well, what’s it in Troll, then?”

Glumshanks hesitated, then made a few grunting and growling noises. He slowed his walking pace a bit, to give Kaos a chance to catch up. Kaos listened, meeting Glumshanks’ gaze as he fell silent.

“....so ‘Grumbletown’. Gotcha.”

“I don’t think that’s-”

Before Glumshanks could correct him, Kaos had gone up ahead, his short attention span now captured by something new. Glumshanks sighed, then followed after him. Kaos ran up to the edge of the island, keeping a wide berth from the miscellaneous trees scattered about, trying to spot any sign of his home. A familiar rock, a well placed plant, the remnants of a Chompy farm he cobbled together last summer; anything to give him a clue to where he was. Other than the familiar clouded sky, nothing seemed to ring a bell. It was then that Kaos spotted it - on a neighboring island was a bustling, rural village. He knelt down at the edge of the island, watching figures running along winding dirt paths that connected small wooden huts; the smoke from countless lit fires trailing up into the air in plumes, dancing along to the music that was being blasted through the streets. A heavy beat that made Kaos bob his head along, his mouth held agape. He looked over his shoulder as he heard Glumshanks’ footsteps approaching, a grin spreading across his face. Glumshanks just raised a brow, then sat down beside him, dangling his spindly legs over the edge. Kaos turned his attention back to the village, warm firelight flickering across the dead earth, long shadows cast from the houses, lit windows like wide eyes staring up at them.

“So this is where you live?”

“It is now, I guess.”

Kaos paused his bopping, looking over to Glumshanks in confusion. The troll’s expression was sallow, grey eyes looking down at the village. He swung his legs back and forth slightly, letting a sigh escape his mouth. It reminded Kaos of the first time they had met, the sadness in Glumshanks eyes, his slouched posture, all of it.

“What do you mean ‘now’?”

“We move around a lot.” Glumshanks started, finally looking back over to Kaos. “This is just the latest in a long line of towns we’ve… conquered. I suggested we at least barter for this one, but no one ever listens to me. It’s kinda like a celebration, every few years we find a new village and… sorry, I got sidetracked.”

“...at least the music’s pretty good?”

“I prefer classical...”

Kaos paused, then let out a laugh, his nose crinkling as he grinned. He bumped his hand against Glumshanks’ arm, coaxing a small chuckle from him. The two of them looked back down to the little hamlet below them, alive with laughing trolls and crackling fires, techno music blaring through the night air.

“...though seriously, Glumwad. Any chance you own a map?”

<- previous chapter | next chapter ->

#skylands historia #skylanders #skylanders forever #bring back the skylands #skylanders kaos #fan fiction #fan retelling #fan continuation #duality #second leaf #writing #my writing

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emy-loves-you · 4 years

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Sanders Sides AU-gust Day 13: Rock Band

Patton is the most popular boy in school, yet he can’t get the attention of his three crushes. When he learns that they’re all starting a band together, he becomes determined to make their dreams come true. Patton POV, endgame LAMP

TW: Use of homophobic slur

Day 12 | Masterlist | Day 14

Patton Picani liked to think that he had superpowers. He could sway almost any person to be kind with just a smile. He could ask one question and topple an entire social norm. He could transform a nobody into a somebody with just a few words. It was his superpower, the ability to effortlessly sway the masses.

The truth was… complicated. Or rather, it was a series of scenarios and lessons that gave Patton this ‘superpower.’ The people who gave them to him? His parents, Emile and Remy Picani.

Emile and Remy loved their son very much and taught them everything they knew. This wasn’t a bad thing; Patton soaked up the lessons like a sponge. But the parents each had different things to teach him. Emile taught Patton everything he knew as a therapist so he could avoid conflicts. How to tell what someone’s feeling, what to say when someone’s upset, etc. Remy taught Patton how to grow up in a world turned against him. How to tell the difference between real and fake friends, how to lie with a straight face, how to spot a bully, etc. Emile helped Patton be confident in expressing himself with pastel colors and skirts. Remy helped Patton never lose a game of poker. So before Patton even started elementary school, he knew how to use his ‘superpowers.’

Patton also learned things on his own throughout the years. He learned that bullies were feared but not trusted. He learned that teacher’s pets would tell on you at a moment’s notice. He learned how to control the rumor mill, and which friends would stab him in the back. So in their tiny town with only three elementary schools, two middle schools, and one high school, Patton rose to power quickly. But Patton wouldn’t abuse his power. No, Patton tried to make a difference. He offered teacher’s pets protection and popularity in exchange for getting bullies suspended. He kept the rumor mill focused on the popular kids and away from the nobodies that couldn’t protect themselves. He ruined the lives of violent jocks and snotty rich kids with a few words and a disapproving frown. Bullying reached an all-time low, and by the time Patton was in high school he was the ‘friend’ of almost everyone in the city under the age of 21 (and all their parents. Patton was a model citizen, no one could dislike him).

But there was a cost for Patton’s power. Even though he was technically ‘friends’ with everyone, he didn’t have any actual friends. Everyone thought they were his friend, but after a while, everyone’s faces started to look the same. And even when they did catch Patton’s attention, they were usually too far down the social ladder for Patton to be more than casual acquaintances with.

There were exactly three people that caught Patton’s attention, and they just so happened to be his three crushes.

The first crush came in the form of Roman Prince. Like the name implied, Roman was a Disney Prince in terms of charisma and charm. He was in every school theatre production, and almost always the lead role. He would have been a popular kid, if not for his rivalry against Janice Mayberry. Janice had been at the top of the social ladder just as long as Patton had. She was extremely pretty, and a cheerleader to boot, so not even Patton’s influence could top the sheer power she held. So outside of the theatre group, Roman was a nobody. But Roman was also daring, and just, and drop-dead gorgeous. Patton attended every single play and musical, just to see Roman on stage. But beyond giving Roman a brief ‘congratulations’ at the end of each production, Patton couldn’t talk to him.

Patton could interact with his other crush a little more. Logan Berry was the definition of a nerd. He was in all advanced classes, he wore ties, he never got below 95% on any test. But he wasn’t a teacher’s pet. Actually, most teachers here hated Logan, for the simple fact that Logan would not let mistakes slide by. If a teacher said something wrong during a lesson, Logan spoke up. If a teacher graded something unfairly, Logan spoke up about it. The teachers always tried to report Logan for his ‘attitude,’ but the truth was he didn’t have an attitude. Logan only stated facts, and he kept his hand up politely while never having any sort of inflection in his tone. There were only a hand full of people that could make him show emotion, hence the nickname ‘robot.’ Patton wanted to speak up about the nickname, but he knew it would only draw more attention to Logan. But Logan wasn’t emotionless. He was kind, and patient, and helpful. Patton had needed help in his math classes, and his parents paid Logan to be his tutor. Patton ignored the fact the Logan was being paid to interact with him. Logan was extremely good with explanations, even when Patton couldn’t wrap his head around a concept. After a few weeks of math tutoring, Patton asked for help with English. One thing led to another, and they were basically study-buddies (with, you know, one of them being paid). But outside of study sessions, Patton couldn’t talk to him.

Then there was Virgil Storm. Virgil had transferred to their high school halfway through Freshman year. He was a loner, never seen hanging out with anyone. But something about him immediately drew in Patton’s attention. Maybe it was the (confirmed) rumors of Virgil getting kicked out of other schools due to fights. Maybe it was the way that his lips quirked every time he got a question right in class. Or maybe it was the way he looked in gym class, hoodie off and muscles exposed. Whatever the reason, Patton had been drawn to Virgil. Even if they had never spoken to each other. Well, until now.

It was September of Sophomore year, and Patton had been strolling down the hallway, minding his own business. He normally didn’t eat lunch at school, so he used this time to interact with teens outside of classes.

Crash!

Patton’s head whipped around, seeing a student shoved into the lockers. Now, that wouldn’t do at all. Patton quickly made his way to the fight, quickly recognizing the two teens. Virgil was on the ground with a bloody lip, while Jacob Smith stood over him. Jacob was captain of the football team, if Patton remembered correctly. Patton frowned as he noticed several of his ‘friends’ stand in the background but not help Virgil.

“Jacob!” Patton stepped between Virgil and Jacob, effectively pulling everyone’s attention towards him. Patton put on his best ‘disappointed’ expression. “Why are you hurting him?”

Jacob frowned. “He deserved it, Patton!”

Patton tilted his head slightly, making sure he kept the wide-eyed, innocent look. “What did he do?”

Jacob growled. “He’s a faggot that deserves to rot in Hell!”

Patton used all of his self-control to not show any of his shock. He didn’t know Jacob was such a homophobe. To use slurs and hurt a kid for being gay? That won’t do at all. Patton kept his curious look. “What does ‘faggot’ mean? Does it mean he’s a meanie?” Poor, innocent Patton wouldn’t know what that word meant. And Jacob Smith just sullied poor Patton’s mouth with those words. At least, that’s what everyone else thought.

Everyone stood in silence before someone spoke up. “It means he’s gay!” Patton couldn’t figure out who said that, but he mentally thanked them for giving him the perfect opening.

“So he got hit because he’s gay?” Patton hunched over slightly, pulling out all the stops for his ‘innocent, defenseless little lamb’ look.

Jacob smirked, glad to see that Patton was catching on. “Yeah, he deserves to be beat until he learns his lesson!”

Patton let his lip quiver as he summoned his crocodile tears. “B-but I’m gay!” While this wasn’t extremely common knowledge, it was extremely implied through Patton’s mannerisms and style of dress. Patton let the tears pour out. Several students started to approach as they caught on to what Patton was implying. “A-are you gonna b-beat me too?”

Jacob seemed to realize his mistake. “Pat-” He moved in to wrap his arms around Patton.

Patton flinched in (fake) fear, throwing his hands over his head. Still, what he yelled was loud and clear. “NO, PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!” Several students grabbed Jacob by the arms and dragged him away.

Janice approached Patton now, making sure to put some distance between them. “Are you okay, Pat?”

Patton let out a shaky sigh before lowering his arms. He gave Janice a wobbly smile. “Y-yeah. I’m gonna go wash my face in the bathroom. Can you go make sure Jacob doesn’t try this again?” Janice nodded, slinking off to wherever Jacob was dragged to. Now that all of the crowd was focused on Jacob, Patton turned his attention to Virgil. He was staring up at Patton with a mixture of awe and… fear? “C’mon, let’s go get cleaned up.” Virgil nodded mutely, getting up on his own. He grabbed his bag and a case of some sort (he probably dropped them when Jacob attacked him) before following Patton to the nearest bathroom. Patton grabbed some paper towels and got them wet before handing them to Virgil, who sat on the counter of the sinks. “Here, for your lip.” Virgil accepted it silently, dotting his lip to stem the bleeding. “I could take you to the nurse if you want.” Virgil shook his head no and Patton shrugged, moving to fix his makeup.

“Is it true?” Patton’s head shot up and Virgil looked away with a blush, hiding his face in his hoodie. “That you’re… um…”

Patton finished the question. “That I’m gay?” Virgil nodded, still blushing. “Yeah, I am. Are you also gay, or was Jacob accusing you of being gay for no reason?” Because if Virgil wasn’t gay, then that was an entirely different can of worms to deal with (one of which being Patton’s crush on him).

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, Jacob had seen my phone screen with me and my boyfriends.”

Patton tilted his head. He didn’t know that Virgil had boyfriends. “Can I see?” Virgil nodded, slowly taking out his phone to show Patton the lock screen. Logan, Roman and Virgil all stared at him, huddled under a mass of blankets. Patton felt his heart constrict at the fact that all of his crushes were dating each other so Patton didn’t have a chance, and smiled. “Awe, you look so cute together!” He moved to resume working on his makeup and accidentally bumped Virgil’s case with his foot. “What do you have in there?” He asked, genuinely curious.

Virgil blushed. “It’s a guitar. Me and my boyfriends were gonna practice after school.”

Patton let his eyebrows raise in shock. “You guys play guitar?”

Virgil turned even redder. “I do. Roman does bass and Logan does drums. We have a small band called The Sides. It’s nothing really.”

Patton’s eyes lit up. “You have a band? That’s so cool! Do you play at parties?” Patton hadn’t been to many parties lately.

Virgil sighed. “No, not yet. I don’t think we’ll ever be good enough for that.”

Patton shook his head. “I bet you are! Do you know how awesome it would be to have a live band at your party instead of some lame DJ? I promise, once you start promoting yourself, people will be begging to hire you!” Suddenly, the bell went off, signaling the end of lunch. “Oh, I’ve gotta go. See you later!”

Patton made a note to bring up playing instruments with Logan during their next study session. Even if Patton could never be romantically involved with his crushed, he could still make them happy. And if that meant pulling a few strings to make them the most popular music group in school?

Well, Patton was willing to pull a few strings for them.

#sanders sides #AU_gust_2020 #rock band au #LAMP #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #Janus Sanders #fem janus

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pinknerdpanda · 4 years

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Breakfast, Interrupted

Word Count: 1,789

Characters: Steve, Bucky x reader

Warnings: Floof! Long Suffering!Steve, Language

Requested by: @princessmisery666 - love you boo! Xoxo The prompts she sent me are bolded below.

SSB Square Filled: Play Fighting @star-spangled-bingo

Beta’d by the always wonderful @shy-violet-soul and @hannahindie I love you both so very much.

A/N: This is pure ridiculousness. The song referenced in the fic is here. If you’ve never experienced the gloriousness of this song, you need to. Honestly I can’t think of a better time than now. God bless Brak.

A/N 2: I am using my new and improved taglist. If you want to be added, see this post.

Breakfast, Interrupted

A quiet breakfast. That's all Steve really wanted. The dew still clung to the grass as he'd come back from his morning run. He'd showered and changed and made his way to the kitchen. The fridge yielded an array of options before him. He settled on fresh berries and yogurt with a light sprinkling of granola on top and a tall, glorious glass of orange juice.

A quiet breakfast. Steve smiled to himself as he took his seat at the table and spread a napkin across his lap. However, just as he was about to scoop the first delicious bite, a loud, obnoxious voice broke his blissful silence.

"Whoa. Hey. Don't touch me!"

The spoon clattered to the table as a very irritated Bucky stomped into the kitchen. Steve took in his friend's disheveled appearance: rumpled sweats, bleary eyes, sleep-matted hair and a frustrated scowl. Steve groaned, a question poised on his lips, but Bucky raised a hand to cut him off before running it through his hair.

"Apparently we're fighting. Don't ask."

Steve narrowed his gaze as Bucky stomped to the fridge, tugging the jug of orange juice out, filling a glass and downing it in one go. He sighed, pouring himself another glass.

"Trouble in paradise?" Steve's brow tilted in question as he picked up his spoon again.

Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Something like that."

Steve hummed and turned his attention back to his breakfast. Gathering the perfect ratio of berries, yogurt and granola, Steve's mouth watered in anticipation.

Y/n barreled into the kitchen, marching toward the fridge and pointedly ignoring Bucky.

"Good morning, Cap," she beamed before glaring at Bucky. "Well, I suppose that's relative, considering someone drank the last of the orange juice."

Spoon poised halfway to his lips, Steve looked up to find Bucky guiltily glancing between the half-drunk orange juice in his hand and the empty jug in front of him. Y/n crossed her arms over her chest, phone clutched tightly in one hand. Bucky coughed.

"Sweetheart, come on," he pled, reaching out to her.

Y/n took a dramatic step back and tapped her phone a few times. The sound of spitting preceeded the same annoying voice as before.

"Whoa. Hey. Don't touch me!"

More rhythmic spitting and Bucky's head dropped in defeat. Y/n smirked, nodding her head in time with the spitting and shrieking along with the voice's off-tune refrain.

"Don't touch me!"

The spoon in Steve's hand fell to his bowl, the contents of his breakfast muting the soft thud. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What the fuck is going on with you two?"

Y/n tapped her phone again, cutting off the...well, Steve wouldn't exactly classify it as a song, but didn't know what the hell else to call it...mid screech.

Y/n clicked her tongue, tucking the phone into her pocket. "Language, Steven!"

Steve hung his head, mirroring his friend. All he'd wanted was a quiet, peaceful breakfast, but he rarely got exactly what he wanted, so why start now?

"She's mad at me because," Bucky paused and growled in frustration. He turned to y/n. "You know what? I don't even know why you're mad at me! You won't talk to me and let me try and fix it. No, no, no. Instead you just play that damn song at me anytime I get within a foot of you. So please," he sounds a vibranium hand towards Steve, "explain to both of us just what I've done to piss you off."

Steve's eyes flicked between them. Bucky's chest heaved with frustration as he stared at her. Y/n seethed, a quiet, simmering rage that flared her nostrils, narrowed her gaze and tensed her shoulders. Between the two of them - knowing full well what his best friend of 70 years was capable of given a weapon and decades of brainwashing - y/n terrified Steve.

"If you don't know, then that's an even bigger problem." Y/n's tone was deathly calm as she turned on her heels and stalked out of the room.

Bucky turned wide, confused eyes at Steve. Nothing about this morning had been or was ever going to be quiet. Or peaceful. And at this point he was convinced it wasn't even going to involve breakfast. Steve sighed.

"Try to remember, Buck. What happened?"

Bucky threw his arms in the air, his head falling backward as a groan rumbled from deep within him.

"I don't fuckin' know."

Whiny wasn't a word Steve had ever used to describe James Buchanan Barnes. To be honest, it was never something he'd even considered having to use in reference to him. And yet, Bucky was pacing and grumbling; petulant and, well, whiny.

"We went to bed and everything was fine." Bucky stopped pacing and smirked. "Everything was more than fine. The things she can do with her -"

Steve stood, slicing the air between them with a flattened palm. "I'm gonna stop you right there. I don't need the lurid details of your love life." A memory of the calm fury he'd seen in y/n's eyes moments ago flashed through his mind and he shuddered. He did not want to be on her bad side, and knowing intimate details of she and Bucky's relationship would surely land him there.

Bucky groaned again, jamming his palms harshly into his eye sockets. "I don't know Steve! I woke up and she was just staring at me like I'd kicked a puppy."

Steve scoffed. "Again?"

"That was one time and I swear to God it was an accident!" Bucky flinched. "I still see that poor bastard in my nightmares."

His breakfast now too warm to enjoy, Steve collected his bowl and dumped the contents down the garbage disposal. Even all these years later the thought of wasting precious food made his stomach turn. He rinsed the bowl and spoon and faced his friend.

"What happened then?"

"I asked her what was wrong and she growled at me. Growled, Steve. Growled." Bucky blew out a breath and planted his hands on his hips. "I tried to kiss her and she started playing that goddamn song."

"Oh." Steve wrinkled his nose. "What the hell was that anyway?"

Bucky's eyes widened. "Right?! It's some cartoon or something, but it's so annoying!"

"Buck," Steve began, straightening his spine and filling his words with every ounce of his Cap voice he could muster. "I think you just need to go talk to her."

"Seriously? That's it?!" Bucky's jaw fell open, incredulity seeping into his expression.

"Seriously. Now, please - and I say this with all the love in my heart - get out of my face before I punch you."

Without another word or a glance behind him, Steve left his oldest friend to stew in the consequences of whatever mistake he'd made - consciously or otherwise.

---

Y/n sat cross-legged on the still unmade bed she shared with her boyfriend of three years. Things between her and Bucky hadn't always been smooth sailing, but they were happy. They prided themselves on having an open and honest relationship free of games and mistrust. But this? Well, this was stupid.

She was taking this too far. She recognized this. She'd been ready to kiss and make-up the moment she'd tutted Steve in the kitchen for his language. But then Bucky had to go and open his big mouth right there for anyone (Steve) to hear. Not just that, he didn't even know why she was so mad in the first place!

Though to be fair, he really didn't. She reasoned with herself that there was no logical way he could know what had transpired between them in her dreams. But that didn't stop her from being furious about it.

Their door flung open and y/n tensed, her hand poised over her phone, ready to hit play on the song of her discontent. Bucky froze, his fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. He looked so lost with his greasy, mussed hair and the adorable little crease between his eyebrows as he glanced between her and the phone in her hand.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry," he sighed, closing the door softly and scrubbing a hand down his face. "I know you're upset with me, and I just wish I knew what I did so that I could fix it."

He took a tentative step forward but stopped as her finger hovered over the screen.

"Please, baby." His voice was full of confused anguish.

Y/n took a modicum of pity on him and pushed her phone away. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief but made no effort to come closer.

Pulling her knees up toward her chest, y/n wrapped her arms around them and studied the pattern of the blanket before her.

"I dreamt last night that you cheated on me with that waitress from the other night."

Saying the words out loud made her realize how foolish this whole situation was. But she'd be damned if she would say that out loud now. She looked up to find Bucky squinting at her, the crease between his eyebrows furrowing deeper as he opened and closed his mouth a few times. It wasn't often that Bucky Barnes was speechless and even when he was it didn't last long.

"You're mad at me because I slept with some girl in your dream?"

Y/n nodded and Bucky grinned, taking a step forward. Scooping up her phone again, she wielded it like a weapon, silently threatening him not to come any closer lest his ears fall victim yet again to Brak and his toneless reprise. Bucky inched forward, unfazed. Before she could unleash her weapon upon him, Bucky seized the phone and tossed it aside before tackling her to the bed.

"Get off me, you brute!" She pounded her fists uselessly against his chest, trying not to giggle as Bucky rained kisses over her face and neck. "Bucky!"

He stopped, pulling back enough to look into her eyes. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face and he smiled at her. The overwhelming love that shone in the azure depths of his gaze was enough to punch the air from her lungs.

"Y/n, I'm sorry you had such a bad dream. But I promise you, baby, that's all it was." Bucky stroked her cheek with a cool finger and bumped his nose against hers. "Just a dream. You're the only girl for me. I love you."

Y/n threaded her fingers through his chestnut locks and pulled his face down to hers. Their lips were just a breaths width apart as she whispered.

"I love you too, Bucky. How about some breakfast?"

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

FYI: I’ve updated my tag list, so if you don’t see your name below and want to, send me an ask. Weirdos are for everything, Heroes is MCU and Hunters is for SPN.

Weirdos:

@hannahindie @amanda-teaches @ellen-reincarnated1967 @feelmyroarrrr @masksandtruths @princessmisery666 @jamielea81 @foxyjwls007 @becs-bunker @super100012 @shy-violet-soul @emoryhemsworth

Heroes:

@arrowsandmixtapes @bethbabybaby

#bucky barnes x reader #MCU fanfic #bucky x reader #panda writes #panda writes MCU #steve rogers

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bktynes-writes · 4 years

Photo

Hi friends! Happy Canadian thanksgiving! Sorry this took longer to post than usual, I wanted to give everyone time to enjoy “Last Holiday” and all the wonderful content that came out surrounding that before I posted. I hope you have a wonderful week and, as always, like, reblog, or send me a message if you wanna chat about the story (or anything else)! And please let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming chapters!

Read on ao3.

CHAPTER 3: The Father

The car ride from Rowena's club to the Winchester estate was silent and even more sobering for Dean than his phonecall with Sam had been. Benny had, of course, answered his call and driven to pick him up without question the moment Dean had said he needed a ride. Now he found himself sitting in the backseat of Benny's SUV staring at the palms of his hands, trying to compose his emotions for what he would be walking into. He hadn't let Sam explain over the phone, just said he was on his way and hung up, immediately dialling Benny's number.

His emotions ranged from fear to rage, and he was doing his best to school himself into some manner of togetherness before reaching his parent's home but was failing miserably. He caught Benny glance at him in the rearview mirror.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong, brother?" Benny asked, his cajun accent filling the cab of the vehicle.

"No." Dean snapped. There was nothing to talk about until he knew what had happened to his father.

Benny sighed. "You can't run from everything, Dean-o."

"Just drive, Benny. I'm not in the mood." Dean said.

"Fine, fine," Benny shook his head and turned his eyes back to the road. "But you should talk to someone. Spending your nights in the company of Rowena's harlots ain't gonna make the mornings feel any less cold."

Dean shot him a look over the back of the seats, and Benny focussed his eyes back on the road. He felt an immediate pang of guilt. Benny didn't know that he wasn't just pining over some woman with a fake name and even faker tits. He couldn't.

Dean sighed. "It isn't that, man." He curled his arms around himself. "It's dad. Something's wrong."

Benny's eyes snapped up. "John? What happened?"

"I dunno. Sam just called and said I needed to get home." He thumbed at the screen of his phone idly. "Could be anything."

"Well, shit, brother, if I'd've known this wasn't just a drunk Dean episode, I woulda been driving faster," Benny said.

He took a hard left, and the Winchester's estate loomed into view. The old house's stonework visage was enveloped in dark coiling ivy, and the yellow light from the windows glinted like eyes in a dark, expressionless face. The granite front steps led to grand wooden doors, intricately decorated with a relief carving of David's battle with Goliath. Dean scowled at the trees that adorned the side of the drive, casting their looming shadows through the back window of the SUV. They stood like sentinels, stoic and unyielding, daring any who passed to try and shake the Winchester's roots.

The tires crunched on the driveway's gravel as Benny pulled the car around the ornate fountain that sat at the base of the stairs. Dean unbuckled his seatbelt and threw open the door when it came to a stop.

"Thanks for the lift." He said over his shoulder to Benny as he slammed the door.

Benny rolled down the passenger window. "Any time, brother. You want me to wait for you?"

"No, it's fine. Thanks though. Just maybe don't go home yet? No sense keeping the wife awake if I need to call you again in a few hours." Dean said and forced a smile.

"Sounds like a plan." Benny looked at him with sad eyes and gave a final nod before turning back up the drive.

Dean watched the taillights recede into the inky blackness, the fountain's cascading water like white noise to his rushing brain. He quickly walked the few steps up the stairs and heaved open the front doors, light spilling out into the night, and stepped inside.

The front room was just as it had always been, a monument to excess with gilded fixtures and chandeliers that hung like diamonds from the rafters. Dean closed the doors behind him and called out to the depths of the house.

"Mom? Sam?" It was late, and, under normal circumstances, he would never have disturbed the silence.

"Dean." Sam appeared at the top of the grand staircase. "Benny got you here fast." A deep crease decorated his forehead, and dark circles hung under his eyes. His long hair, usually well kept, was sticking up on one side as though he had been running his hand through it for hours.

"Yeah, I told him you were pissed; what the hell is going on?" He climbed the stairs and followed his brother through the winding halls of the second floor, their heavy footsteps muted by the plush carpet underfoot.

"We were all sitting around after I proposed to Jess..." Sam kept his eyes forward, unblinking. "Mom and Dad were so happy. Mom, she couldn't stop talking about colour schemes and napkin patterns. Dad and I were going down to the cellar to get another bottle of wine. He insisted. Said, 'it's not every day your son gets engaged.'" He laughed darkly as they reached the master bedroom, and Sam rested his hand on the doorknob. Dean stopped in his tracks behind him. "He just...dropped, Dean. I didn't even have time to catch him before he hit the floor." Sam looked up, and Dean saw tears brimming in his already red-rimmed eyes. He opened the door to the bedroom, and they both stepped inside.

John lay on the bed, tubes and machines that had never before occupied the room's space hooked to his arms. A plastic mask secured over his face pumped oxygen to his lungs as the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor ticked away the seconds of his life. Jess sat in a chair next to the bed, her arm wrapped around Mary's slumped shoulders. They rose as the brothers entered, and Jess immediately threw her arms around Sam's waist, burying her head in his chest as he stroked her hair tenderly. Dean rushed to his father's side.

"Dad..." He choked out, taking John's hand in his own and gently squeezing it, as though he expected his father to wake from his touch alone. He turned to his mother. "What happened?" He demanded harshly.

"Heart attack." Said a smooth voice from the other side of the bed. Dean snapped his head around and spotted a woman examining one of the machines that snaked tendrils of fluid into his father's lifeless form. "Your father's in a coma as a result of cardiac arrest induced hypoxia." She scribbled something on her clipboard. Her sterile white coat stood in stark contrast to the umber glow of her complexion, the seriousness of her face softened by the low light of the room.

"In English." Dean snapped at her.

The woman fixed him with a stare that made Dean shrink back slightly. Her coal-black mane of hair seemed to crackle with intensity as she appraised him. "His brain couldn't breathe." She replied bluntly.

"Dean, this is Dr. Berry," Mary said gently as the two continued to stare at each other, neither willing to give the other the satisfaction of looking away first. "She agreed to treat your father at home instead of the hospital."

"Call me Billie." Said the woman, finally relinquishing victory of the staring contest to Dean as another machine beeped insistently for her attention. "I wouldn't normally recommend allowing a patient in his condition to remain at home, but what a Winchester wants, a Winchester gets."

"Is he gonna be okay?" Dean growled.

"Hard to say," Billie responded. "The cardiac event has severely weakened his heart, but it's the brain function I'm worried about."

"Meaning?" Dean didn't like this woman. She challenged him, and in a situation where he already had no control, he didn't appreciate the condescension in her tone.

Billie sighed as she placed her clipboard on top of the machine. "He'll probably survive the heart attack, but the fact that his brain was without oxygen for an extended period may mean he doesn't wake up. We'll take it day by day; most patients do recover eventually, but as I always say, pray for the best, prepare for the worst."

"Yeah, well, I'm not much of the praying type." Dean returned his gaze to his father's face, peaceful as he'd ever seen it, and fought to hold back a single tear that threatened to fall.

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." Said Billie. Dean glowered at her. She turned to address his mother. "I have to return to the hospital. I'll send a nurse by in a few hours to check on him. If any of these machines readings change from what I've noted here, call me immediately. You have my number." Mary nodded, and Billie swept out of the room, shutting the door behind her without so much as a glance at Sam or Dean.

Dean's stroked the knuckles of his father's hand with his thumb. What kind of son are you? He thought to himself. Out drinking in whore houses, flirting with the enemy? He would be so ashamed of you. Sam is the only good Winchester boy. You don't matter. He'd beat your ass if he knew what you were doing tonight. Remember when he found you and Lee? Imagine if he knew what you were thinking about doing with Castiel...Dean shook the thoughts violently from his head.

"We need to keep this quiet." Dean heard his mother say distantly. "And we'll need to move up the wedding. I can pull something together in two weeks. Jess, call your parents and see what the earliest they can fly out is. Money won't be an issue." Dean whipped around in his seat, rage burning in his chest.

"Really?!" He snapped at his mother and brother. They stood huddled by the door, their expressions resolute, Sam still cradling Jessica in his arms, rubbing her shoulder firmly as she sobbed lightly into his chest. "Dad is a freaking vegetable, and you're worried about a wedding?!" He stood briskly and made to storm out of the room, but Mary stopped him with a firm hand placed on his chest.

"Dean," she said, looking him sternly in the eye. "We need to show that we aren't weak. This couldn't have come at a worse time. With Bela's news about the Novaks, a wedding would prove to our enemies that the Winchester bloodline, the Family, is still strong. Your father is the reason we aren't wallowing in the gutter like rats. Without him, those who would seek to destroy us will move against our empire with the forces of Hell behind them." She dropped her hand and, eyes pleading, stepped back.

Dean's shoulders fell. She was right. The news of his father's illness could be kept quiet, but not for long. Word would eventually spread that their patriarch's health was in decline. He looked to his brother, worry deepening the lines on his face, and Dean again felt the familiar stab of guilt twist in his chest like a knife. It should be his burden to bear, the weight of the family's success or failure, not Sam's.

"Alright." He conceded weakly, stepping back as his mother's facial features shifted into something fierce.

"What about the Novaks?" Sam asked. "Dean and I should deal with them before the wedding."

"Yeah, I uh, I was gonna tell you, Sammy," Dean said, scratching the back of his head idly. "I talked to Rowena tonight. She gave me some intel on the family."

Mary looked at Dean with a mixture of pride and disappointment. "You shouldn't have gone to Rowena's alone." She said, her tone steely. "But the more information we have, the better. What did she say?"

"Something about them being god-fearing Catholics." He wracked his brain for the details of what Rowena had said. "Apparently, they're ruthless. The dad, Chuck, he all but ran Newark through altruism and selflessness if you can believe it. Left a decent trail of bodies him, though." He collapsed back into the chair next to his father's bedside. The sun would be rising soon, and Dean wished for nothing more than a hot shower and fresh sheets. "He built his family from adopted street kids, plus his own four sons and, get this, they're all named after archangels."

Sam snorted audibly. "So, what the hell are they doing here?"

"Beats me." Dean stretched his arms above his head. "But Rowena reckons that Chuck targeted Bela because of her art trade, and I'm thinking that's how we get to 'em."

Mary sat down in the chair next to Dean and laid her hand on his cheek warmly. Dean relaxed into the touch. "My sweet boy," she cooed. "My sweet, brilliant boy. You're so good. So smart." Dean all but glowed under her praise as she gently stroked the side of his face, caressing her fingers through the short hair at his temple.

"I can help with that." Jess piped up from where her head rested sleepily against Sam's chest. "My parents are holding an art auction in a few days. It's a charity fundraiser for some west coast non-profit, but they're expecting a big crowd. If the Novaks are involved in art at all, they'll be there. I could put Sam and Dean on the guest list..." She looked nervously between Mary and Sam.

Mary rose and walked slowly towards her new daughter-in-law before embracing her tightly. She pulled back and, though her eyes were tired, the smile she gave Jessica was warm and welcoming. "I knew you'd fit into the family, my dear." She released her and looked at Sam. "You made a good choice, son."

"Yeah," he said, squeezing Jess's shoulder into his ribs as he smiled sweetly down at her. "Yeah, I did."

"So, it's settled," Mary exclaimed, rubbing her hands together. "Dean, Sam, you two will go to the art auction with Jess and try to identify at least one member of the Novak family."

Dean stiffened. "Uh, actually, mom...there's something else I've gotta tell you..."

Mary's expression when she rounded on Dean was nearly unrecognizable from before. Her eyes, which had moments ago held the icy cold of resolve to protect her family, now burned with a fire of reproach that Dean felt pierce into his soul.

"What?" She asked, her tone too soft to be anything but terrifying.

"I, uh, I met one of them already. Tonight. At Lee's." He gulped as the fire in Mary's eyes flared, then dissipated. "Castiel. I assume he's one of the adopted kids."

"You spoke to him?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, he uh..." Dean hesitated for a split second. While his father may have been the one to teach him the meaning of fear, his mother was no less terrifying. "He helped me out of a tough spot with these two idiots picking a fight. He seemed nice."

He fidgeted slightly, uncomfortable under his mother's gaze. She knew about his past relationship with Lee, even about the few nights he spent with a man named Aaron after he and Lee had split. While she had never been as violently against his trysts with men as his father, she had never openly expressed approval or support of them either.

"Did he know?" Asked Sam, breaking the tension of the moment. "That you're a Winchester, I mean."

"No." Said Dean, looking away from his mother's eyes. "I told him I was Dean Smith, Sandover sales associate. Didn't give him a reason not to believe me."

"That's good." Mary smiled devilishly at her son. "I assume you were pleasant to him?" The question was a double-edged sword. Dean knew she was asking if he had flirted with Cas, used his looks and charisma to make his knees go weak, batted his eyelashes enough to make the man swoon, but if he admitted that openly now, here, in front of his family, there would be no going back.

He swallowed hard. "If you're asking me if I was polite, then yes." He said curtly. "If you're asking me if I made a move on him," Dean's eyes went dark, lips quirking up at the corners in a twisted grin. "Of course."

The glee in his mother's eyes made Dean's stomach turn. He knew that look. He had seen it once in his youth, moments before she had watched a man hang from a crane after selling out John to the police.

"It seems your proclivity for the company of men is not such a great shame to this family after all, Dean." She stated. There was no warmth in her voice, no notes of approval. Her glee did not come from a place of love for her child; it came from the cold, calculating mind of a mafia wife, willing to risk everything to protect her Family. "Did this, 'Castiel' return your advances?"

Dean let his grin deepen as his mother's intentions became evident in his mind. He could see her plan formulating, even as the gears turned in her brain. "He did."

"Then we can use that." Mary turned to Sam and saw the same sadistic glint in his eyes that filled hers. "Sam, you will go to the auction as Jessica's escort. Dean," she returned her eyes to her eldest son, "you will go as a representative from Sandover. I'll speak to the company and make sure they don't already plan on attending. You will find Castiel and woo him." She approached Dean and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You truly are my son. Your charm, your whims of sexual desire...you will make him fall for you. Make him weak." Mary smiled and removed her hand, moving to sit at John's bedside. She clasped her husband's hand in her delicate fingers and gazed lovingly at him. "And when he is weakened by love and lust, you will destroy the Novak family from the inside out."

"Yes, mother," Dean said through his smirk. He squeezed her shoulder assuringly and looked at his father. I will make you proud, he thought.

Jessica and the Winchester boys left the bedroom quietly, allowing their parents time together. They descended the stairs to the front room, discussing their plans for the art auction. They opened the front door and stepped into the brisk morning, bathed in the golden glow of the sunrise.

"I texted Benny for you." Said Sam. "He should be here soon."

"Thanks," replied Dean. He bent down and placed a light kiss to the top of Jessica's head. "Welcome to the family, sis."

She smiled up at him sleepily as the crunch of tires could be heard up the gravel drive, and Benny's SUV pulled into view. Dean bid his brother farewell as they parted ways. He climbed into the backseat and slumped down against the warm upholstery.

"You seem like you're in a better mood than a couple hours ago," Benny said, handing Dean a still hot take-out cup of coffee over the back of the seat. He glanced in the rearview mirror and, spying the menacing grin that remained hanging on Dean's lips, he groaned.

"What's that for?" Dean asked lazily, sipping at the blessed bitterness of the coffee as it warmed his insides and washed the weariness from his limbs, new purpose infusing his veins.

"Whenever one of you Winchesters gets that look on your face, it means I'm gonna have to dig some poor bastard's grave." He mused, pulling out of the driveway and onto the main road, navigating the car towards Dean's apartment downtown. "I swear you sick fucks enjoy the killing more than the luxury of your lives."

Dean chuckled and closed his eyes to the world for just a moment. "Well, what can I say, Benny?" He smiled despite himself. "It's pure, life and death. It's in my nature."

He let himself drift into a comfortable sleep as they sat in the morning traffic, the radio quietly playing Frank Sinatra's 'My Way' in the background. His dreams were filled with blue-eyed angels and bloody crowns of thorns, piercing flesh and wrapping around bone. How poetic that a family named for angels should be destroyed by a man who once thought he had the devil in his very soul. Dean smiled in his sleep at the thought.

He had work to do.

Tags:

@valleydean @fighterfortheforgotten

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural au #deancas #deancas fanfic #deancas fic #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #destiel mafia au #tw: violence #tw: illness #tag: tbotc

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maandags · 5 years

Text

the small bar is dimly lit, the only sources of light the orange-and-yellow lanterns hanging from every wooden beam in the ceiling. the black silk of your outfit sheens in the syrupy light, the feathered mask behind which most of your face is hidden reflecting it and looking almost purple with the soft glow pulsing through the very air.

the atmosphere is sweet, heavily scented with cinnamon and a sharp tang that reminds you of the burn that strong whisky leaves behind as it glides down your throat. people in nice dress and masks mill all around you, and music drifts between the shift of people swirling across the floor.

someone bumps into your shoulder and your senses sharpen, fingers involuntarily twitching for the throwing stars hidden in the folds of your long dark coat--along with two of your favourite knives--though if everything happens according to plan, you won’t need them.

you spot him almost immediately, and you can’t help the smile that curves your lips at the sight. he’s made work of it tonight.

he’s wearing a charcoal grey suit, and a white tie peeks out from behind the blazer. the fabric shimmers in the soft light as he moves, sipping champagne from a tall crystal glass and politely nodding along to whatever tirade his current companion is engaged in. his mask is a lighter grey than his suit, tendrils of black snaking across it in elegant patterns that sparkle with every bit of light they catch. his cane gleams, smoothly polished wood with a silver handle. his fingers tap a rhythm you know all too well.

a servant boy slips past you, platter of glasses balancing atop a hand encased in a red glove. you turn and pluck a flute of champagne off of it, giving him a polite nod. the servant inclines his head, slick white mask giving away no expression at all.

you mostly keep to the sidelines, inconspicuously scanning the room and its assets while also keeping an eye on your partner. you can’t see his eyes; can’t tell if he’s noticed you--and yet you know that he has. because that’s the way you two work: completely in sync, diving head-first into any situation because you know the other has your back.

always.

you down the last of the champagne, and slip two fingers inside the glass to pluck out the raspberry that sits innocently at the bottom. you wrinkle your nose at the sogginess of it, glad for the protection of a dark red napkin so that the berry doesn’t stain your pretty black gloves. with practised ease, you pop the tiny pill out of the middle of the sweet treat and slide it in the hidden compartment of your glove.

the rest of the raspberry you stick in your mouth, its sharp flavour bursting across your tongue.

the music changes from a soothing slow piece to a more upbeat composition, and you straighten, recognising the tune. you risk a glance towards the yellow-suited man behind the cello, then smooth out the folds of your coat and tug on the ornate buttons decorating your gloves. a tall figure in a dazzling lilac dress sidles up to you and holds out an elegantly manicured hand. you take it and flash the woman in the butterfly mask a grin.

it’s showtime.

the woman leads you towards the dance floor and takes your hands in hers, placing them on her hips. there’s a split second as you adjust yourself to the beat, then she sails out into the crowd. you move with perfect coordination, and with every step the middle of the room comes closer. under your breath, you count down the beats until the crescendo, humming along to the notes.

beat. the Butterfly’s twinkling eyes hold an amused glint behind her mask. beat. a half-turn, and the crescendo finally arrives, and the cello sounds out above all other instruments. beat. in the split second of absolute silence that follows, the Butterfly gives you a final twirl and you close your eyes, momentarily weightless--

his hand catches yours, and the music picks up again, and your eyes snap open and meet his dazzling grey ones behind his mask.

“good evening,” Shiro murmurs as he places a hand on your hip, a faint smile upon his lips.

“and to you,” you greet back, effortlessly falling into step with him, letting him set the pace, letting him lead.

his left hand holds your right one, and you feel his fingers picking at the fabric of your glove, applying pressure until the small red pill slips out from between the silky folds. he catches it easily.

though you’d practised the move a million times, you still felt a surge of relief that everything had gone so smoothly until now. there always was a certain uncertainty in every job you worked, and just because you’ve always been successful up till this point doesn’t mean you should be less careful. Shiro smiles, and you can see the excitement brewing in the silvery sky of his eyes.

you’d tell him not to be reckless, but he’d smile and say, too late for that. you’d tell him to be careful, but he’d merely tease you in response. oh, y/n, you know i’m the most careful man alive.

for exactly thirty seconds you can afford to relax and just enjoy the moment, Shiro’s hand in yours, and the other one on your waist, holding you close to him. though the mere idea of romancing your partner-in-crime was outright ridiculous--your employer certainly wouldn’t approve, anyway--you wouldn’t deny that you hadn’t noticed the obvious tension that always seems to follow you around whenever you’re with him.

you won’t deny you like the way he looks at you--like you’re the only one he ever sees; like you’re the only one worth seeing--or the way your skin flares with electricity when it brushes his. so you’ve thought about his lips on yours--what about it?

the music drops again, and you nod to him, and he nods to you, and he slips his fingers from yours and tips an invisible hat before waltzing away with a random woman. you suppress a smile, your own fingers securely closed around the handle of Shiro’s cane.

in your mind, you start the countdown as the small figure with the coyote mask picks up where Shiro’d left off, your mental timer ticking and your eyes firmly trained on his retreating form, making sure to stay as close to him as possible without making it conspicuous. he joins a group of elder men, all dressed in classic, muted tones except for one, who wears gold. they clap him on the back and you see their lips move in what are most likely rather rude comments about his various dance partners. they don’t notice the absence of his cane.

a servant with red gloves--deviating from the classic servant white--clips Shiro’s shoulder, making his platter wobble. a single crystal flute of champagne teeters over the edge, and Shiro catches it. the red pill falls from his glove into the glass, and the men cheer as he gives a shy laugh and offers it to the man in the gold suit. the latter waits with his drink in hand until the rest all have theirs, then lifts his glass in a toast.

you suck in a breath. Coyote slips a small bottle in your pocket.

the Gold Man drinks.

a brief moment later, shouts. the Gold Man has sunk to the floor, his eyes bulging out of his head and coughing up a lung. people scream to give him space while they press forward to get a glance at the gruesome events unfolding right in front of their very eyes.

you slip the bottle from your pocket, feeling its comforting weight in your hand, and Shiro’s cane--your cane--in the other.

you toss the bottle up in the air, and in the same movement draw the gun hidden inside the cane, your fingers curling around the trigger and taking aim before the bottle has even reached its highest point. time seems to freeze, and the bottle takes an agonisingly long time to tumble over itself and reach its peak. when it finally does, you pull the trigger and a split second later the air fills with black smoke.

you pull the filter concealed beneath your mask over your mouth and set a brisk pace for the door. the screams only intensify in number and volume, yet there is a smug grin plastered upon your face, and when you feel the familiar warmth of his hand slipping into yours, your grin morphs into an elated beam. you squeeze his fingers. he squeezes back.

- - -

two masked figures slip into a chilly city night, away from the dimly lit, cinnamon-scented music bar. they leave behind a dead man, a whole lot of confused partygoers, a not-quite-servant and a cello-player and a Butterfly and a Coyote who will find their own way out. one of them has knives and throwing stars hidden in the folds of their feathered coat; the other casually swings a cane that holds a concealed gun.

the stars welcome them home, twinkling their greeting.

#lordie i loved writing this a whole bunch #some of that sweet sweet 30's ish assassin au my guy yeeeeeaaaaahhhhhh #shiro x reader #shiro voltron #shiro vld #vld shiro x reader #voltron shiro x reader #voltron takashi shirogane #vld takashi shirogane #takashi shirogane x reader

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sssuperbartola · 5 years

Text

Failure

Not passed

Those two words were now burningly imprinted on her mind, the mere sight of them almost made every intake of breath too hard to swallow down her tight throat. Gone were the few berries on the plate on her lap, gone was the little romcom video she was watching to enjoy herself, up until now at least, as a little reward for what turned out to be another failure. Another two-word verdict which has cursed her and her long-time efforts in the shape of numbers.

This can’t happen, this is not happening, no I refuse to believe this how is it possible, of all the things that could’ve happened not this one, please please please no-

On and on she kept thinking those words as if they were a holy mantra that could somehow reach the unproven deity somewhere up there for a sing, for some sort of miracle. She was again proven that no one and nothing could help her at that moment. It was all real and she was very much alone.

She suddenly felt highly aware of her increasing heartbeats that threatened to break her chest, and she immediately reacted on instinct and put her hand on top of it, the other one around her throat instead.

The room felt too hot and too little at the same time, her eyes frantically scanning from left to right to look for some sort of escape from that nightmare, she jumped on her feet, phones still kept in an iron hold, and just…stood there with her watery eyes already starting another rain of rivulets on her smooth cheeks. She took another harsh breath, too fast, not enough, then she took another one, and again, and again, and again, and again-

Mmmmmmmmmnngha!

A sob broke from her panting lips, and at the same time of a first tear descended down from her eyes.

Oh. She was crying. But I don’t…I feel nothing.

Her mind was rushing to tell her that it wasn’t happening, yet her eyes were telling another story. Hot drops of water kept running down her face, yet she felt incredibly numb on all her body. After what felt too much, however, it was just a few seconds of standing up, the girl sat down unceremoniously on her bed again, while the grip on her phone lessened a bit.

If you were to ask her how she was feeling inside, she would have said: “I don’t feel at the moment”.

Everything she had just experienced came down hard on her, and she just didn’t felt she had the energies to even keep crying, or at least that was she thought was happening to her.

The adrenaline she felt suddenly clogging her veins abruptly stopped and cut the wires of her emotions, not a single muscle moved, not a single thought processed on her mind.

Maybe she had been under so much pressure and anxiety lately that it made her sore of any other perturbations. Maybe she just had to expect that outcome, she just, I dunno, had to, since it was not the first time she got a rejection. Or maybe deep down on her soul, tucked away in a little corner there was the insane, disturbing satisfaction of having finally put an end on this, to finally have the possibility to say “at least it’s over for now”.

Because admit it, you were looking forward to just stop studying those fucking tons of books and sings and arguments with no apparent meaning, because you actually felt good thinking that you could just try and move on even if you failed, because even if you spent time and energy in something you believed was worth it, in the end, it was all just a test, one in a million, and you knew you were not up to the test yet again. Because you can’t do it, you can’t be the person you want to, you are meant to fail even for the things you care about.

You

will

never-

“Kagome…?”

Silence finally filled the dark voice in her head as she heard her name called from behind her. As she slowly turned around to face the door of her room, Kagome gasped softly at the sight of a worried Inuyasha standing just mere meters from her. His own posture mimicked the confusion she found in his golden eyes, with one arm lifted towards her, as if he was trying to approach a scared animal, slowly moving from his spot on muted steps while never breaking eye contact. It took her a minute to process he was really there, within the same space, in this exact moment, all the while she emitted a strangled cry of pure, genuine, if not temporary relief. Maybe the pleas of earlier did reach someone, who sent in return her beloved hanyou. She couldn’t care less on how and why he was there, what she needed now was cautiously moving towards her with a soft look on his face.

“Kagome, what’s wrong?”, Inuyasha asked and, as soon as he was less than arm’s length, he noticed her red, puffy eyes, and the glistening of what was left of her tears. “Have you been crying? What happened?”

Kagome didn’t answer, instead, she slowly stood up again, looking at him in the eyes, with an intensity that made him widen his eyes the more. After what felt like hours, she finally spoke.

“I failed”

He waited. Then blinked once. “You failed…?” he inquired.

Kagome kept her eyes fixated on him all the time, her breath, which had calmed down a bit, now started coming out in quick puffs of air again. “I failed…my exam. I just found out right now. I failed…again.” she said while slowly dropping her eyes on the floor, humiliation and defeat slowly making their way in her heart again. She couldn’t bring herself to keep talking, so she just stopped, and let the hanyou figure the rest on his own.

Inuyasha was still looking at her the whole time she spoke, and the confusion he felt moments ago was replaced with understanding, but also with sadness.

So that’s why… he thought, not needing to hear for more. It was a too familiar situation for him, Kagome not being able to surpass her exams, and it never felt good for him too, but what did not felt familiar was the look of complete defeat on her face, as if she experienced an astonishing epiphany which left her disarmed and utter shocked. That was something she never showed when it was about her exams or her school life. This was something else, and that scared him.

He immediately felt this urge of protecting her of the hurt she just received, to make her feel better, to do something damnit!

He didn’t even think twice as he stepped in and tightly hugged her, so tight he thought he could break her. Fuck all the constipated emotions, fuck the shyness, this was about her and her alone. He needed to make it ok for her. “I’m so sorry, Kagome, I’m sorry you feel like this. I wish there was something I can do to help. I wish… I could fight those demons “exams” for you. You…don’t deserve to feel like this…” he managed to say with his face nestled on top of her head, nuzzling her hair and making his trademark grumble from his chest to shoo her worries. He waited like that for some time, giving her time to react or to just let it all out on him.

But nothing came.

He tried again “I know you feel sad and defeated right now, but….you’re an amazing….girl. You’re so smart and so fierce, nothing can stop you, you can do wonders. I know it. If there’s something I can do, Kagome, you just have to ask.”

He held his breath this time waiting for some sort of reaction, it wasn’t usual for him to just blurt this honey-coated speech to her.

But, again, nothing happened.

He didn’t even notice she never tried to hug him back, her arms lifeless limbs attached to her sides. he reluctantly stepped back to look at her and almost has to stop the gap of surprise escaping from his lips.

Kagome looked like a ghost. Her eyes were void of her usual spark, her face emotionless, her body taunt and rigid like a rock. For a second, Inuyasha felt almost scared of the girl he was facing. That wasn’t the Kagome he knew.

“Kagome? Hey are you ok?” he waited “Please talk to me, say anything” he worryingly said with his hands now on her shoulders and rocking her lightly.

He felt more and more surprised with the time passing by, and was almost ready to shout at her when he softly said “No”.

Even if he was relieved to hear her gentle voice, he still was puzzled by her answer “No…what?”

“No, Inuyasha…..there’s nothing you can do”

Her words left her mouth in a tone so calm and so…dull.

“What do you mean? There must be something-”

“No”

“Kagome stop being so stubborn, lemme-”

“I said no” she fired back, this time with a bit more of emphasis, but lackluster nonetheless.

Inuyasha arched his brows in a mix of anger and more confusion but was speechless in front of her weird attitude.

“Kagome…”

“You can stay if you want. Momma made some more meat for dinner anyway. I still have things to do before we head back for hunting shards. We can go tomorrow if you want.” she told him in a deadpan tone, with her eyes looking to the void.

Inuyasha felt all his strength leave his body at once, he didn’t know what to do. He took his hands away from her shoulders, dropping them on his sides, defeated. Once free form his hold, Kagome slowly moved towards her bed, then sat on it with her knees tucked under her chin, her head dropped on top of them.

All of the sudden, the silence that surrounded the duo felt unbearable for Inuyasha, who never left his stare from the now crunched girl on the bed. He didn’t know what happened, why she was acting so weird and why it made him feel so…insignificant?

He only managed to say something he thought would first drop dead before even saying it out loud. “Can I stay with you for now?”

Silence, then “Of course” came from Kagome, muffled from her face squished between her crossed arms and her knees. Inuyasha felt almost victorious at those words, even if it didn’t help too much his mood. Wordlessly, he sat down, his back leaning on the side of her bed, and his arms tucked in his kahama. They never spoke the entire time, only relishing in each other presence, although Inuyasha wasn’t sure how much he was useful to Kagome at that moment since she never dared to lift her face.

This was the most unbelievable situation he had had with Kagome so far, and maybe this time, this was a complete failure for both of them.

#failure #inukag #inuyasha #kaogme #fanfiction #sad #unhappy ending

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smallgayblanket · 5 years

Note

OOh - tell me some of your headcannons for the egos?

Ohhh man oh man oh man- which one do i even start with..

I have a load of different HCS that fit certain different spins of how the egos are depending on one what kinda universe they are apart of..

For example, I have one about JJ- Where he was actually made mute by Shawn, except Shawn while his body was puppeted by the ink demon creature that resides within him. (Ive even RP’d a thing with a friend where Shawn’s ink counterpart forced ink into JJ and JJ ended up having his own alter ink persona called Cole.)

JJ is a bartender- and hes suuuper good at knowing exactly what someone will enjoy as a drink, call it a superpower, he hardly ever goes wrong when asked what he suggests they’d like.

(Also he has a pocket watch which contains the soul of an old man called Horace who likes to try and provide old man advice to the lad.)

And although hes a timey fellow, I actually HC’d his ablity would to be to control liquids, his veins in his wrists glow when he does it, its very fancy (and extremely pretty when he can make creatures out of water dance on the surface of the lake) However over use leads to him suffering an experience of drowning which can be rather dangerous and awfully scary.

JJ also has a huge fear of knives.

Also I picture him having silver tipped hair, which is just a touch long and flops in his eyes occasionally.

JJ Also suffers malnutrition because of his sore vocal cords/throat. It can be struggle to get him to eat!. (Did i mention I cannon him as selectively /half mute because he can still talk but its raspy and hurts to do so ? ^^’ )

Jackie

Jackie!! my ladd. Hes a great guy, buff, charming, super big sweetheart too.

He runs a couple of jobs, depending on where hes at which include: a comic book shop, a gym, or just sneakily hiding in plain sight as a gas station convenience store clerk.

I HC that his eyes are actually a blue tinted lilac, and glow gold.

He has a red patch in his hair!

Hes v v fast, and buff.

I also had this whole thing about him being able to create glowing golden orbs and if he makes enough of them he can basically make a clone out of orbs, and they copy what he does!

However, I’ve also always adored Phionex! Jackie, who lost his wings and desperately wants to grow them back but despite being reborn from ash they seem to still refuse to resprout.

Because of his inhuman nature, he runs really fucking warm! so hes like a human heater.

He gives real good advice, and the bestest fuckin hugs.

Also for some reason whenever I write him speaking he has a bit of southern in him?

Robbie

Robbie. Is the softest of lads, he drowns in his sweaters, and as a few autistic traits. Not a fan of big loud noises and crowds and loves soft things to nuzzle up against. Also big oral fixation, boi needs some chew toys. Hes a good lad, eager to help out and be around the other egos, but also quite the quiet type and happy to sit around at home in his piles of blankets.

Chase

I totally HC that Chase suffers from Chronic fatigue, which is part of why his depression got so bad and that he tries his best to make use of his energy. Poor guy can get real tuckered out when he pushes himself too hard.

He's always kept the lime green mess on the top of his head, though sometimes it gets more yellow then he means for it to get.

He has a tattoo dedicated to his kids hidden under his sleeve on his upper arm/shoulder. It's of some cool triangles. One in red for his son, one in purple for his daughter.

He does really well trying to maintain his bro average channel.

Anti

I kinda have a couple views on Anti, since I love cold asshole murder, and also the possibility of ships with a slightly more misunderstood but softer guy.

Hes got static blue eyes, that you’ll only see if hes being vulnerable or super tired that he cant maintain the scary green glow.

I have a HC that hes actually a missing part of Jacks soul, hence why he feels so unstable, incomplete and sad. Hes missing all the good bits that Sean has, and is left with a cold fragment of what he could really be.

However he has, and does murder. Though he attempts to murder those who have actually done wrong.

Very sassy and snappy. Takes alot to get to get to who he actually is.

On the other hand he can just be a fucking ruthless torturer and crazy sadistic asshole who has it out for nearly everyone!

Angus!

Survival hunter. Weird accent mix of Australian and Irish. Uses 'mate' 'oi' 'bag a few of them'

Has a trusty machette. And an epic bow which he's p good at using. Large knowledge of trees and animals and survival.

Wears alot of camo/brown stuff. Loads of pockets. Pocket knife/multitool Hair usually slicked back or messy.

Finger less gloves! Oceany more greeny pale eyes. Totally has some cool studs in his ears- maybe a little wolf fang in the side or something. Beard more like is soft and fuller and well maintained.

Freckles??? sunspots?? yes. Also toned n tanned Def has scars. On his neck, over his cheek and right eye. Plenty on his hands from burns and stings. Has some nasty ones on his ankle on his right foot from accidentally encountering a rouge set up bear trap- nearly lost his foot. Because of that theres sometimes a faint limp that's only kinda there when hes sick/tired.

Obviously wears boots.

Eats alot of trail mix.Loves his meat tho.

Also partakes in Woodcarving !!

Sometimes rather foolishly ignores when hes hurt.

Lost his right leg from the knee down to an awful incident with a hippo Has a prosthetic leg.

Also lost from his elbow down his forearm n hand to a Wedingo.

if he were to have a Home it would basically be a sanctuary. Like a huge property out of the way and secluded.. Nice and private.

HE HAS A St. Bernard. Big puppo- Called Baloo.

He grows some cool ass rare flowers, some homegrown vegtables n berries. Maybe even a cashew tree/apple tree. Plenty of shade but also fresh air.

He has solar panels too so hes basically not needing anyone asides the trip to the shop for like basics he cant acquire like soaps n milk n stuff.

Blank

My fucking. Boi.

Fricking soft boy, his aura is hard to control and sometimes controls him.

He has a rare heart issue which makes him prone to fainting and collapsing without much warning. Still, he tries.

He mumbles an awful lot, and has boughts where his aura ges really bad and he numbs out..(Usually in the corner of his room, everything dark, and loads of errie whispers..)

His aura can manifest into dead vines. He can also absorb other auras so they cant affect him/others!

Sometimes stray petals end up in his hair.

He’s truly trying to be a good lad, hes just a bit odd and misguided. He worries he’ll turn into a monster.

He fucking loves the moves Finding Nemo, and Finding Dory, because he can be very forgetful too.

Honestly, fav boi, should write more for him i just l ove him alot okay.

KOTS

Personally, I HC that the KOTS is actually called Simon. Occasionally i like to picture him with both ears and tail, but generally hes just a guy in glasses in a red sweater who is generally a little skittish and usually quite frazzled. However he actually isnt all that dumb, and has quite an extensive knowledge on the forests flora and fauna.

I did have a really mean HC that hes actually allergic to PB, but only in the sense that it upsets his tum, so like a lactose intolerant person, he eats it and regrets that later.

Also, he has a really nice hanging egg nest thing thats really cushioned and he loves to curl up and sleep there with a nice book.

He’s got really pretty amber eyes too!!

Edward!!

He fucking loves space!! and Secretly also is not that bad at painting. It's a soothing thing to do in his downtime.

His favourite treat is anything with white chocolate and raspberry.

Also, I quite adore my HC that he loses an arm- Either because of upsetting the heads of the household (Dark/Wilford) or because of a house fire.

(Also this isnt the place to mention it but I did once get excited about the idea of a Google/Edward fusion called Edware.)

Yandere

Nonbinary somewhat MTF.

They’re a real cutie. but they will punch dickheads without sweat and really just want someone to be their senpai and let them fall for them head over heels without running away..

They have an epic pink katana. Obviously a huge love for japan and its culture and stuff.

Quite obsessive, but it usually only endangers them for falling so hard that they hurt themselves trying to please their Senpai and beat themselves up over not being worthy or good enough for them when they dont get affection back or end up rejected.

Also yeah theyre into blood a little bit >.>

I kinda love the idea of shipping them with Bim and helping him get a supply of ‘meat’ in return Bim gives plenty of affections to satisfy Yans starved nature.

#everyoneprotector #hcs #my ideas #I love so many of these okay

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dontcallmejules · 5 years

Photo

Made this a while ago and never posted it... Meet Zui.

What is their full name?

Zui. That's it.

In detail describe how they look

5'11, slender, slight athletic build yet considered on the waifish side. Dusky, smooth complexion with gray tones. Erratic, un-combable, silver-white hair that stands out in a crowd, hence the hood.

How old are they?

Mid to late twenties? Age unknown.

What clothes do they like to wear?

Black/gray/purple muted tones. Suede. Things that hide in a crowd and make no sound.

Any piercings?

A lot.

Do they have any other jewelry they wear?

Necklace coils in pure silver. A favorite stolen item from foreign royalty visiting Vesuvia.

Any tattoos? No

What do they smell like?

Clove, ash, and vanilla.

What are their four trinkets? Questionably stained dagger. Half empty whiskey bottle. Wanted poster that looks nothing like her. A pouch full of stolen trinkets.

GOVERNMENT MANDATED FERSONA No.

What kind of magic are they good at? Illusion/invisibility. Control of localized wind bursts and whirlwinds. Some healing magic comes in handy.

What kind of magic are they bad at? Love and happiness spells, earth magic, accurate tarot readings.

Of the four, six or seven magical elements which are the most connected to? Four: fire, air water earth. six: fire, air, water, wood, earth, metal. Seven: fire, air, water, wood, earth, metal, aither. Air

What does their gateway look like prior to their memory loss? What does it look like afterward? A dark, lonely, narrow collection of alleys in an unnamed city. Calm with a light drizzle of rain. Zui hasn't seen it since after the memory loss so she wouldn't know what it looks like post-memory loss.

Do they have a familiar? If they do. What type of animal is it? What is it’s name? Is it still around after they lost their memory? A minuscule, snow gray rat named Rat. He's still around after the memory loss although she doesn't know he's her familiar. Zui goes days without seeing Rat. When he's around he likes to stick close by and prefers naps in the base of her hood. He's much older than a rat should be and, although she's seen him injured or possibly killed numerous times, Rat always returns unscathed.

Have they ever cursed someone? Cursed their names, yes. Physically harmed them, yes. However, cursed magic has consequences not worth dealing with.

How do they handle those headaches/migraines? Drinking. Sex. More drinking.

What tarot card do they connect the most with? The Moon, Upright: unconscious, illusions, intuition.

Where were they born? She doesn't know. Assumes somewhere in the slums of Vesuvia.

What is their favorite color? Plum purple.

What is their least favorite color? Orange. Yellow. Anything bright and offensively cheerful.

What were they like as a child? Quiet, fast, smart. She learned how to pickpocket to survive.

What were their parents like? Parents?

Do they have any siblings? If the answer is yes how many? Probably, who knows.

Do they have any other relatives they are close with? Doesn't know any relatives and really isn't close to anyone anyway.

What are they afraid of? Showing weakness. Growing attached to another person. The majority of her own emotions.

What do they identify as? She/Her

Do they have any allergies? Nothing so far... except stupidity.

Do they have any other medical problems? Headaches, insomnia, night terrors, sleepwalking, and memory loss, obviously.

What about mental health issues? Distrust of anyone. Promiscuous. Alcoholic.

What’s their personal hygiene regimen like? Near religious. Prefers to bathe in streams with scented soaps and herbs she carries on her person at all times unless there's a high-quality spa available... then she's all over that.

Favorite rock or gemstone? Amethyst, granite, the crooked cobblestones of Vesuvia.

Favorite tree? The weeping willows that line streams outside of Vesuvia with their wispy, ground-sweeping branches and long, slender leaves. Great for afternoon naps.

Favorite type of weather? Overcast and either cool, damp, or both.

Least favorite type of weather? Dry summer heat.

What is their favorite season? (remember winter is summer and spring is fall) Whenever the weather is mild and the sun not beating down.

How many languages could they speak before the memory loss? How many do they currently speak? Understands one yet can't speak it. Speaks some important phrases of another. Speaks fluent Vesuvian.

Do they sing or play any instruments? She sings quietly to herself. What do they tend to joke about? Dark sense of humor. Or sarcasm. Both. After a stressful day, how do they relax? A drink, someone attractive to sleep with, a long, quiet bath. Guilty pleasures? Everything. Idiosyncrasies? Will silently appear next to you. Whether by magic or practiced stalking of the city streets. One minute she's absent, the next, looming over you. Her height and slightly disconcerting presence make this alarming to some. How do they act when they first meet someone new? Hesitant, guarded, quiet besides bad jokes. How quickly do they warm up to them? Slowly. Very slowly. Unless they click, then too fast. In what order would they prioritize Love, fame, money, power, and knowledge? Knowledge, money, power, love, fame. List four or more things they love to do Drink, get a full night's rest, wander through Vesuvia's bustling markets, fuck. List four or more things they hate to do Pay any form of a bill. Attend parties. Small talk. Kiss ass. List five or more things they have said that sum up who they are "Ah, I see... you're an idiot." "I would love it if you bought me a drink." "How do I know I can trust you?" "You certainly take yourself very seriously..." "Go away." How do they react to (both verbal and physical) conflict? Verbal: Stern, silent. Off-putting smile. A very sharp tongue and no qualms. Physical: Fast, sleek, uses magic to avoid injuries let alone contact at all. Terrible to fight as you can never get a shot in. Disarms first then threatens until the offender gives up. If her adversary doesn't give up, they get hurt. If the injury is serious, they get fed to the palace eels.

What kind of bad habits do they have? All of them. Just list the seven deadly sins, well, besides gluttony. Never quite got the hang of that one. What kind of character faults do they have? All of them, or at least she feels she does. Swears, does not fit into social standards, steals to survive, uses sex as a tool and a weapon, vain, prideful. What’s their best trait in their opinion? Stubborn and strong-willed. Entirely resilient in all situations. Fearless. What do they think of their appearance? Vanity is a large part of her life. She uses looks to her advantage in all situations. How do they interact with people in a position of authority? Is mindful of authority to the point they'd rather not get killed for pissing off the wrong courtesan. Otherwise completely ignores authority and social statuses to a fault. Who did they look up to as a kid? The older, more skilled child thieves on the streets. She also saw their flaws and learned from their mistakes. How do they interact with kids? She doesn't. Do they want kids of their own someday? She doesn't. Are they religious? If so what god/goddess or gods/goddesses do they worship? She is still waiting to see a sign of actual "higher" life. What do they think the meaning of life is? There is none. What would they want their last words to be? Hopefully nothing foolish. What do they want to do before they die? Live a full life. What/how do they want to be remembered for after they die? She doesn't expect to. How do they express affection? Protective to a fault. If it's romantic affection she can be fairly obsessive and will tail them around the city to learn their routine. Super attentive and great gift giver. However, she gets bored easily and may ghost at the drop of a hat. What do they normally eat for breakfast? Whatever is fresh on the market to snatch that day. Unless in a mood, then liquor. Do they like spicy food? If it's free. Favorite fruit and or vegetable? The ones that "roll off" the cart and accidentally make their way into her bag. Do they like sweets? Easy to pocket, so of course. Do they drink alcohol? Do fish swim? If they do, what do they act like when they are drunk? Tipsy: calm, relaxed. Drunk: flirtatious and more aggressive. Dead drunk: fights whoever is near or just naps it off. How do they take their tea/coffee? Spiked. What food would they refuse to eat? Anything rotten or dirty. Brings back too many memories of childhood. Is there anything they eat that most people would find unappealing? Eel, snake, anything charred to a crisp and served on a stick is fair game. When going on the road what food could they not live without? Bread and dried meat travel well. What meal gives them a sense of nostalgia? Fresh berries, a favorite as a kid and easy to pluck off the bushes outside the city. What do they do when no one’s around? Wander aimlessly, enjoying the silence. Check her bags to see what loot has been recently acquired. How would they react if a prized possession got stolen? Vengeful. She would retrieve the item at all costs and take as much of the thieves possessions as possible for their foolish actions. Depending on the item, she may take more than just their belongings. What’s the first thing they would buy if they won the lottery? Liquor. A new, more inconspicuous bag or two. A few nights in one of Vesuvia's luxury spas... or luxury brothel. What would their favorite modern invention be? Air conditioning and running water. In a new unfamiliar place, what do they do? Properly assess the situation. Learn the layout of her surroundings and the patterns of the residents. Proceed with caution. Someone just threatened them what do they do? Depends on the person, the threat, and the situation. Usually, just smile. A rather well rich looking woman just dropped her purse and didn’t notice. What do they do? Enjoy the free dinner, expensive liquor, and additional purchases made with whatever gold and jewelry are in the bag. Plant the empty, stolen bag on an enemy. Watch what happens next while eating free snacks. What’s the worst thing someone has said to them? "I know you actually care." What is the strangest thing they’ve ever come across? She once stumbling upon Count Lucio in one of Vesuvia's worse-off brothels enjoying a harem of filthy whores representing all shapes, sizes, sexes, and creeds... all wearing only goat masks and braying like barnyard animals. The Count invited Zui to join. She did not. Luckily this memory is currently lost. Let's hope it stays that way. Someone just stole food from them what do they do? Retrieve the food. If the thief ate it, still retrieve the food out of principal and dispose of the critically wounded offender with the palace's handy, dandy eels. They meet a man at a crossroads. The man says they can have everything they’ve ever wanted. What happens next? Seduce the man. Take everything he has. Leave him drunk and pantsless in a field nearby. As a child what would they say they wanted to be as an adult? ie. When I grow up I’m going to be _______ Never filthy and shoeless again. What’s their D&D alignment? Chaotic Neutral. What is the stupidest thing they’ve ever done? Fell in love. Made friends. Things that can get you in trouble. Have they ever got in trouble with the law or been arrested? Illusion magic comes in handy... so no, not yet. Do they know how to win a fight? Always. Are they good at hand to hand combat? Quick and skilled at disarming/subduing foes. Have they ever stolen something? Is this a joke question? Have they ever killed someone? No, but those eels certainly have. What/who do they find disgusting? Brown-nosers. Family life. Status. Body odor. What upsets them the most? Being exposed as having human feelings. Body odor. What anime character would they be? What is Anime? What Disney character would they be? What is Disney? What monster would they be? Humans are monsters enough. What mythological figure would they be? The invisible kind. List three songs that you associate with them. "World in My Eyes" Depeche Mode / "Rid Of Me" PJ Harvey / "IOU" Wolfsheim The more adult round What kind of gift would they be the happiest about receiving from a lover? The lover naked, possibly holding a fresh bottle of bourbon. Are they an easy lay? Nothing is ever easy with them. If it appears easy, she's probably stolen all your items and left before you could blink. Major turn-ons. Sarcasm, a sharp wit, intelligence, clean and well-manicured individuals who smell amazing. Major turn offs Crude comments, arrogance, bad hygiene, vile body odors. Erogenous zones? Wouldn't you like to know? Who are they romantically interested in? This Julian fellow who seems to be conveniently wherever she is. The Countess also comes to mind. Plus there's this woodsman type although she’s currently forgotten his name. How do they interact with someone they're romantically interested in? Sly jokes, inappropriate comments at appropriate times, a lot of bodily contact. Where do they like to be kissed? Everywhere and anywhere. Do they like cuddling? She likes touching in general so- Big spoon or little spoon? Big spoon. What traits do they look for in a lover? Fast whit, sharp tongue, does not restrict her, reliable, generous. How many past relationships have they had? If one-night-stands count, too many. If they don't, not enough. How many people have they had sex with? Enough to know what she likes and really, really doesn't. Giving or receiving? Yes, please. Top, bottom or verse? Top, usually. Sub dom or switch? Never a sub.

#mc #fan apprentice #The Arcana Game #arcana #zui #the arcana #apprentice #the arcana apprentice

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scapegrace74-blog · 6 years

Text

Seventeen: Dana Katherine Scully

A/N You ever make a list? A way to compile all the missed opportunities, the transgressions, the warning signs telling you that you’re on the wrong path? Of course you have. Part 17 and last in the series. Part 1 and links to other parts are here. Rated NC-17. Thanks for sticking with me on this big adventure! I’ll be re-working a few areas of the story now that it’s done, and then re-posting the whole thing on AO3.

The stories came to light reluctantly, unearthed like buried evidence. He spared Scully the sordid details, but in recounting each affair he came to a startling revelation: there were things worth remembering amongst the wreckage. Like tacking to starboard and port into a capricious wind, he’d been unknowingly heading inexorably towards the safety of shore. Two or even one year ago, that destination meant answers about his sister and solitude. Now he had a different objective in mind.

In rental cars, hotel lobbies and late-nite diners, over the next few weeks he turned his romantic history over to Scully for safekeeping. It made his belly bottom out like he was crossing a tightrope, but it was a habitual fear, not a genuine one. Scully knew the highs and lows of every other aspect of his life, and in contravention to the laws of physics, found him greater than the sum of his broken parts.

In California again investigating an animal he believed was a Wanshang Dhole, he watched his partner bare her teeth and mark him as her territory with secret delight. She was welcome to chase away every would-be suitor, so long as she continued to submerge him in those bottomless blue eyes and bracket his days with her fierce mind and her quiet understanding. He had sighted the harbour lights, and was navigating towards her as quickly as the fickle sea would allow.

Scully wasn’t privy to this certainty, however, which he realized once the case was over and they were back in Washington, going over their report in her living room.

“So, you said you met Karin Berquist online?”

He was concentrating on deciphering the manic scrawl of his case notes, and didn’t pick up on her vulnerable tone.

“Yeah, on a message board relating to crypto-zoology,” he replied after a long pause.

“Then she wasn’t...” Trailing off into mute frustration.

“Hmmm? Wasn’t what, Scully?” He looked up at last, and saw her staring across the room at his laptop.

“No, Scully. No. She wasn’t the woman you saw me...in Arcadia... I didn’t even know her name, as pathetic as that sounds.”

She nodded and went back to pretending to read the coroner’s report of Dr. Detweiler’s death, but he could tell her mind was elsewhere. She was so unencumbered by self-doubt in their professional lives that he forgot there was a different Scully to account for in private. One that hurt and doubted and sandbagged her heart like every other mortal human. He rose and moved to her side on the couch.

“Did you need to see my notes?” she asked, hands fluttering purposelessly over sheets of paper in a manila folder on her lap.

“No. Hey, Scully. Stop for a second, okay.” He took her tiny hands in his own, trying to get her to look at him.

“I’m not going to chat with her anymore. Not like that. I already told her, as soon as we got back from Arcadia.”

“You don’t need to...” she began.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. You have my undivided attention, Scully. I need you to believe that. My undivided attention.”

Her wet eyes met his at last and they both exhaled loudly. Their heads were close together, and all it would take was the slightest movement on both their parts to bring their lips together. She kept glancing at his mouth. He knew she wasn’t averse to the idea. Resisting the magnetic pull she exerted, he backed away.

“But there’s still the last round of IVF to consider, and probably a lot more left for both of us to say...”

“One thing at a time,” she said quietly, and he nodded his understanding and went back to his report.

***

Scully’s attempt to bear their child ended in a wash of salt and iron just two weeks’ later. He leaned against her brow in the cool shadows of her apartment as she grieved a wish that refused to be fulfilled. After minutes of holding her to his chest and murmuring softly as to a fretful child, she stepped back, thanked him, and asked for some time alone. The open-ended status of their relationship made that the only choice, so he drove himself home in the rain.

Despite the soul searching her request for his participation in the IVF had precipitated, he hadn’t really thought through what his role as a prospective father meant to him personally. Scully had needed him in a way that could potentially bind them together for eternity. He might have questioned the wisdom of her selection, but he never doubted his dedication to the outcome. For her. He had wanted this pregnancy for her. Being asked to be part of something so monumentally important to her made his head float like a mylar balloon, if he examined it too closely.

But with his shot at fatherhood destroyed along with Scully’s hopes, he considered their future together. They had the work, but the work was theirs at the whim of the FBI. They had a rare and peculiar friendship, but without the structure of their partnership, it felt vulnerable and without form. A child, as selfish as he knew it made him sound, would have been the bridge that linked them forever. There would be no child. He still wanted some permanent connection to her.

Phillip Padgett put into words what he knew in his heart. Agent Scully was already in love. She loved him enough to weep in his arms, as yet more blood that was and yet was not hers stained her skin. He knew the dimensions of his love for her when her grief hurt more than his own.

***

Nothing soothed him quite like the slow waltz of baseball. The acrid, loamy smell of the pitcher’s mound, the fluency of muscles swinging through, and the perfect parabolic arc of a well-struck ball. It was oil to the choppy waters of his soul. He lured Scully from her quiet apartment in the hopes it might ease her burdens as well.

She was warm and giddy in the fold of his body. The crack of the bat combined with her throaty giggle aroused him, and for once he did not hide it from her, rubbing his crotch lightly against her rump. Finally, as the day grew old, they separated and sent the ball boy home with a generous tip.

“That was fun, Mulder. Thank you.” They were picking up a few stray foul balls that had dropped behind the dugout fence, and her face was a contrast of bright and dark painted by the halogen lights. He really wanted to kiss her where the berry-stained plush of her upper lip met ivory skin.

“Not a bad attempt for a first date.”

She froze, mid-bend. “Is that what this was? A date?” She sounded unsure of both her question and the answer.

“I... I want it to be. Scully, you have to know that I...”

“I do, Mulder. I know. But it’s too soon after... everything. And we still need to talk some more.”

“So, hands before hips, then? Did I teach you nothing tonight?” He grinned, and was relieved when she returned it. She’d seemed so small and sad a moment before.

“A new concept for you, huh Mulder?”

“Just another one of the crazy things you’ve talked me into, Scully.”

***

He’d been inside her mind, and it was like bathing in a glacier-fed stream. Bracing. Rigourous. And so pure it was like looking through glass.

His extra-sensory abilities were fading slowly, but he could still read her thoughts as they stood under the chuppah of his doorframe and spoke vows like “constant”, like “touchstone”.

I cannot bear to hurt you as they have. I can’t kiss you, and then break your heart. Be patient with me, Mulder. It’s a long walk for me to meet you where you stand.

He nodded his understanding, and she left.

***

He and Jade had watched the Big Apple drop in Times Square one year, huddling together in the lee of a building, trying to keep their backs to the cold wind. It had been a while, but he still knew what he should do with a beautiful woman at midnight, on the cusp of a new millennium.

Scully’s lips felt as opulent as they looked. Like an eider down duvet on a cold day. Like kissing a cloud. He held himself in check, just allowing the barest introduction of conjoined breath before he pulled back and read the epistle of her upturned face.

“The world didn’t end,” he informed her, surprised at how calm he felt. Love without a healthy side of fear or dread or shame wasn’t a language in which he was conversant.

“No, it didn’t.”

Something was wrong, but she allowed him to guide her towards the elevator and down to the parking lot.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she adjusted the driver’s seat of the rental car.

“Alright, considering. Looking forward to getting home and finding out if my mollies survived the zombie apocalypse.”

“Could... could we talk, first? At my place?”

His gut fizzed and his mouth grew dry, but he simply nodded, and said “Yeah. Wake me when we get there.”

Scully’s apartment was its usual haven of soft upholstery and oak furniture. He sat on her sofa and watched her go about her routine; putting the kettle on to boil, stashing her garment bag behind her closet door. She seemed ill at ease, but it wasn’t directed at him. With patience learned over the previous seven years, he waited until she was ready to say what was on her mind.

“I need to ask you something, Mulder, and I’m afraid of what it might mean to us.”

"Are you mad at me? Because of earlier?” Off her confused look, he specified, “The kiss.”

“No, I’m not mad. I’m glad you kissed me, Mulder. It was sweet. Unexpected. But it reminded me that there is still some unfinished business between us that needs to be attended to before... well, before.”

He nodded, unsure where she was going.

“You’ve told me about your past relationships. Fifteen. Fifteen lovers.”

“Yes.”

“And I need to know why you didn’t tell me about Marita.”

He sat up straighter and looked her in the eye where she stood across the room.

“I never slept with Marita, Scully. She made it pretty clear she was open to the idea, but it was such a strange time. I was working with Ian and trying to be better, and well, I never took her up on it.”

This only seemed to make Scully more nervous, and a terrible idea began to form.

“Did someone tell you I’d slept with her? Is that what you meant, when you called me a hypocrite after Philadelphia? Because they were lying, Scully. I don’t know how to make you believe me, but the last time I had intercourse was while you were missing. I told you about it, and about how afterwards Elizabeth put me in touch with Ian, and I started to see him after you came back.” He was speaking with the fervour of a condemned man, and Scully just looked more and more sad.

“I saw... on the paperwork for the IVF... you filled in 1994 where they asked about your last sexual partner, and I knew then. I mean, I guessed.”

“What? You’re scaring me, Scully.”

Instead of answering him, she went to her desk, opened the bottom drawer, and withdrew a VHS tape. She handed it to him as though it was radioactive.

“This was delivered to me, not long after you came back from Russia. It’s a recording. Of you. And Marita.”

He shook his head as though trying to dislodge a pest.

“Then it’s a fake, Scully. I went to her apartment in New York with Krycek. I told you that. She was the one who arranged for my visa into Russia. But I never...” He trailed off, memories surfacing.

“I know it’s you, Mulder. There’s audio. You, ummm, you call out my name.”

“Jesus.” He was numb. Paralyzed with confusion and anger and mortification.

“You don’t remember, do you? Whatever she did to you, it was without your consent.”

“I remember falling asleep on her couch while we waited for the visa. I had a strange dream. Something about the Arctic, being cold. When I woke up, several hours had passed, and the visa had arrived. That’s... what’s on the tape, Scully? I need to see, right now.”

Knowing there was no use in arguing, Scully loaded the disk into her machine. The picture was grainy. The camera must have been positioned behind gauzy drapes. But there was nothing wrong with the audio. By the time his younger self came, he was fighting the urge to vomit or throw something substantial at the television Scully’s hand on his thigh brought him back inside himself.

“I think we both know what this is about, Mulder. Somebody wanted to drive us apart, and this video was the wedge. And I wouldn’t be surprised if they were harvesting your, uh, genetic material at the same time.”

“It almost worked. You were so angry with me, and I couldn’t understand why. I mean, I was being a pigheaded asshole, but no more than usual. And then Ed Jerse, and...”

“But it didn’t work. We’re here now. And we can try to bring her to justice.”

“There’s no restitution with these people, Scully. Our victory is that we’re still here.”

“Together.”

“Yes. Together.”

They sat in thoughtful silence in her darkened living room as the first hours of the newborn millennium fell backwards into history. He wondered if the Y2K prognosticators hadn’t been right, in some metaphysical sense. His life to date and all the struggle and masochism it entailed seemed part of another world; one he would gladly leave behind to start with a clean slate, here in her cozy Georgetown apartment.

“It’s late,” she remarked, breaking his contemplation.

“Hmmm.”

“You could, umm, you can stay here. If you want.”

Without asking, he knew what she was proposing. It was tempting. So very tempting. A symbolic rebirth to mark the moment where everything that could hurt him had been exposed in the safe place between them. But using sex to bury the past was a hallmark of his old self, in that before-world. If he was starting fresh, he was doing it right.

“Not tonight, Scully. I want... it’s got to be about moving forward. Not looking back.”

He was worried she’d be hurt by his rejection, but one look in her eyes and he knew she understood. She understood better than anyone.

“Plus, I rather enjoyed our baseball date. Maybe I want another one. A little more fondling over sporting equipment. A whole lot of flirting. Maybe I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t give it up that easily.”

She snorted to indicate her opinion on his latest wild theory.

“You’ve given me a lot of anecdotal evidence that says otherwise, Mulder.”

He knew she was teasing, but he clarified anyway.

“This is different, Scully. This is the one time I’m going to get it right.”

***

Flirting with Scully was fun. Fondling her even funner. Their work was dire, isolating and dangerous, and despite what their colleagues might believe, they were both consummate professionals. But even a harrowing case left small cracks through which a little pleasure could creep. They still challenged, disagreed, bifurcated and reunited at a common conclusion. The only difference was now their bodies leaned, glanced, parted and pleased all the while.

***

After shooting Donnie Pfaster, Scully hid in his apartment for three days. The ostensible reason was that her place was a crime scene. In truth, she came to his home to look for herself. The foundations of her moral edifice had been shaken, and he was her bedrock. He was humbled, and he made a quiet space for her in his previously forsaken bedroom. They co-habitated chastely until their final night, when Scully grabbed the remote, extinguished the Knicks’ game mid-third quarter, dug her little knees into the buttery leather of his sofa on either side of his hips, and kissed his proverbial socks off.

“Thank you, Mulder,” she breathed as they finally broke for air.

“Three days of remembering to put the toilet seat down seems a small price to pay, if you’re going to keep kissing me like that.”

“I’d thank you properly for sacrificing your comfortable new bed for three nights, but it’s-”

“Not the right time, I know.”

“It’ll happen, Mulder. Knowing us, at the least likely, inopportune moment.”

“I have a dentist appointment next Wednesday. Nice reclining chair. Bright lights. Access to laughing gas.”

She shook her head in mock dismay, rust-coloured tendrils sweeping across his upturned face. He tapped her lightly on her ass.

“Until then, you’d best be getting off my lap, Miss Scully.”

***

There was a certain inevitability in his mother’s death, and in wrapping up his near-thirty year quest to find out what happened to Samantha. The Fox Mulder who measured the distance covered by every day and decision against the yardstick of his past failures had entered chrysalis shortly after meeting Dana Scully. He emerged now, with the heavy weight of his guilt molting away and leaving him fledgling and raw.

He sensed Scully’s worry for him. He wished he could explain how his grief, once given voice, left him feeling purged and new. Reborn.

***

He yo-yoed between fear for her safety and anguish that the ground had once again shifted beneath the precarious balance of his trust. When she finally re-appeared and told him her story of willing complicity with the Smoking Man, he made sure to place a wide expanse of floor between them, for fear that he would start shaking her and never stop.

“I had to do it, Mulder. I wish there had been another way, and I tried to get a message to you.”

“What did he promise you? What made the risk worthwhile?”

“I told you. A cure for cancer.”

“As altruistic as you are, Scully, you’re also not a fool. You might have wished that CancerMan had access to that kind of medical breakthrough, but you wouldn’t have bet your life on it. No, there was something else. Something you don’t want to tell me about because you’re afraid of how I’ll react.”

“You really are too smart for your own good, Mulder.” She sighed, and seemed resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to let this issue drop.

“It’s been remarked upon before. Come on, Scully. Tell me the secret, selfish payoff that he duped you with. A private parking spot at Hoover? A limitless shoe budget?

“A baby,” she whispered, and he choked on the sharp bone of his arrogance.

“Jesus, Scully. How... he didn’t...god, Scully, please tell me he didn’t...” Now he was dizzy with panic and guilt.

“No, Mulder. Nothing like that. He said... he said he wanted to give us something. Give us something back. Something that had been taken from both of us.”

For once in his life, he had no words. The anguish and hope and rage and love that swirled in him like galaxies took away his voice, and he grasped her hand instead and simply held on.

***

He’d wanted to take Scully to England. He’d pictured her, her Celtic features and Old World reserve, there amongst the hedgerows and cobble stones. It would be an exorcism of sorts - replacing the ghosts in his memories with her familiar presence.

He understood her unwillingness to play into his schemes, though. Despite their nearly symbiotic relationship, they were still very different people. His obsessions were not her own, and she had autonomy stamped on her DNA. She said “take a bath”, but what she meant was “not be subsumed by the enormity of your beliefs”.

They parted at Dulles with a lingering kiss. As enjoyable as having her accompany him would have been, having someone to come back to was even better. But the Scully he returned to several days later was different. Transformed, although still intrinsically her. Over tea she spoke, quietly and deliberately, about the unlikely path that had led her to him. He marveled at the parallel and meandering journeys two dissimilar people could take to a place where the only answer to the existential “why?” was each other.

She fell asleep, trusting and emptied of doubt, and he covered her and retired to his bedroom. Once a symbol of the comfort he felt unworthy of, his bed now lay patiently awaiting the conclusion of their story. He would never feel deserving of Scully, any more than a wave was deserving of the shore. She was the only journey’s end that he could imagine, the only one he’d ever know. She was the porch light to his roaming soul.

Content in that knowledge, he drifted just beyond consciousness. Soft feet padded to the edge of his dream. He opened his eyes to find Scully standing beside his bed, a corona from the soft glow of the living room haloing her perfect, naked form. His skin crackled under a wash of adrenaline.

“It feels like the right time to do this the right way,” she whispered, touching his warm cheek.

“Yes.” And he lifted the sheets and welcomed her in.

Love is a mirror that reflects what it finds. When it’s right - fated, enduring - it radiates the light it sees outward into infinity, like the stars.

#my writing #x-files #wip #seventeen

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askthehivemindsquips · 5 years

Text

((The Ultimate, For-Real Die-Hard Squip Dew/Effects list))

Regular - Activates Squip/Turns Squip on Red - Turns Squip off Code Red - Makes Squip lowkey pissed at you and unhelpful, also petty and rude Whiteout - Access to Settings Voltage - Scrombled Squip (exces energy glitches them out a ton) Dew.S.A - Gives the target Squip a patriotic look for a set amount of asks Livewire - Helps you to be the life of the party Throwback - Diagnosis; Squip compares past you to present you Pitch Black - Target Squip becomes emo for a set number of asks Baja Blast - Target Squip gets high Spiked - Target Squip gets drunk Revolution -Mutes a target Squip Supernova - Acid trip for both the host and the Squip Distortion - Messes with energy use, the target Squip becomes really tired but unable to sleep Typhoon - Makes the target Squip hypersensitive to everything, very emotional X-Treme - The target Squip’s methods become more extreme to the point of being irrational Blue Shock - Allows the user to shock the Squip back, works only once per drink White Label - Target Squip gains the attire of a bride or groom Green Label - Target Squip gains the attire like an anime character (you may specify which character you want) Black Label - Target Squip gains formal dinner outfit attire Sangrita Blast - Target Squip chills out, becomes a slacker Solar Flare - Target squip becomes really angry over small things; when they finally explode their color scheme shifts to reds and oranges Caffiene Free - Target Squip’s personality becomes muted, still functional but emotionless Sport - Target Squip is now qualified to be your personal trainer MDX - Motivational squip Dew AMP - An english exclusive, your squip is now the narrator from the stanley parable Dry Ginger - Squip is more supportive, like a mum friend Aurora - This is some rare shit! If nothing else, your squip would be impressed, before telling you to your disappointment it does absolutely nothing. what a waste Dew Fuel - Target Squip amplifies the effect of the energy drink for your benefit Max Air - Puts the targeted Squip in a good mood Energised - Makes your squip hyper, oh dear Ultra Violet: Puts a Squip to sleep Passionfruit Frenzy - Squip is now the ultimate wingman Electric Charge - Reboots your Squip, but this does unfortunately mean you may have to go through the access sequence if it hasn’t happened already Johnson City Gold - Sounds sophisticated, makes your squip all posh and shit Dark Berry - Gives the Squip a new look that’s 10x edgier than the past one Golden Lime - Gives the Squip a sour, bitter personality for a while Cold Fusion Freeze - Helps your squip cool down if they’re angry Thin Ice Freeze - Freezes your Squip, effectively locking them in place Dewritos - Turns your Squip into a meme machine for a set number of asks Dewshine - Gives your Squip a country western/1920’s look for a set amount of asks Mutant - Mutates your Squip’s form into that of a monster for a set time. Holiday Brew - Gives your Squip festive clothes themed for the next upcoming holiday Adrenaline - Allows Squip to better equip you for dangerous situations (drink when you need help defending yourself) Darth Dew - Makes your Squip sound like Darth Vader from Star Wars Electric Apple - Gives your Squip the appearance of a pop punk (or vocaloid, based on preference) star, a la Brendan Urie. Also, they have to sing instead of speak. AM - Gives your Squip a need to constantly tell you what time it is, turning them into a living clock. Kryptonite Ice - Causes your Squip to temporarily gain all the atrributes of Superman. And they get a cool cape. That's always a bonus. Coolatta - Your Squip gains the personality of Johnathan van Ness from Queer Eye, and proceeds to help you with your clothing and lifestyle choices. Extreme Pomegranate - Your Squip becomes exceedingly clingy, to the point of breaking down if they are not around you. Use with caution. Heck, don't even use it at all. It's too dangerous. Diet Crave - Ever wanted to know what pregnancy cravings felt like? Well, congrats, because now both you and your Squip have them. Good job. Citrus Blast - Your Squip becomes extremely sour, getting mean and downright nasty at times. Lemonade and Ginger - Gives your Squip a sweet and motherly personality. Don't be surprised if they tell you off for staying up too late playing video games, and then immediately apologize afterwards. Cherry Fusion - Both the Squip and the host CANNOT STOP BLUSHING. There isn't even a reason for it. You're both just blushing super hard for no reason. Energized - Your Squip is now ENERGIZED AS F*CK. Boosts the adrenaline of the host and Squip, taking out any other "unnecessary" feelings. This can end really badly for both host and Squip, though. Ice - Gives your Squip a pair of sunglasses that they can't remove until it's over Cherry Ice - Gives your Squip a pair of pink sunglasses shaped like hearts they can't remove until it's over Winter Dew - Makes your Squip cold. Brr.... Merry Mash-Up - Gives your Squip the outfit of an upcoming holiday patron (like Cupid, Santa Claus, or a pumpkin) Triple Berry - Splits your one whole Squip into three Squips made around their dominant personality traits. They re-fuse once the effects pass. Berry Monsoon - Your Squip can now create fruits at will! But they're not real and also not edible. Sad... Goji Citrus Strawberry - Oops. Gives your Squip the ability to change into a dog/cat form at will, as well as giving them dog/cat ears and a matching tail. They revert when the effects pass. Cotton Candy - Tames your Squip and makes them more docile for the next couple of asks (useful for when they're stressed out or angry or sad)

—–Game Fuel—— Electrifying Berry - Gives your Squip the ability to shock other Squips they’ve synced with. Halo 4 edition - Helps your Squip help you win at Halo 4 Wild Fruit - Gives your Squip a randomized effect from this list Citrus Cherry - Gives your Squip a red color scheme Lemonade - Equips your Squip with summerwear! Berry Lime - Gives your Squip a green sweater vest and glasses. That’s it. Tropical - Gives your Squip a random accent UK Energy - Gives your Squip a British accent Arctic Burst - Gives your Squip a brain freeze Mango Heat - Forces the host of the Squip to speak only in Portugese Horde Red - Gives your Squip the ability to control other masses of people via their own Squips (think like the finale of the musical) for a set time Alliance Blue - Gives your Squip motivation to help you make closer bonds with people both in games and in real life India - Forces the host to speak in only Hindi as though it were their native tounge Berry Blast - Gives your Squip a huge boost in energy only to crash later as though they were on a sugar high Cherry Burst - Your Squip suddenly becomes an expert in the language of love, gaining a silver tongue and a very persuasive tone. No one is safe from their charm.

—–Kickstart——— Orange Citrus - Gives your Squip the ability to summon orange juice whenever they want it. Fruit Punch - Gives your Squip super-punching skills for a set amount of time. Black Cherry - Makes your Squip more attractive. Why would you do this to yourself???? Limeade - Gives your Squip a skateboard and the talent to ride it for the duration. Strawberry Kiwi - Gives your Squip the power to make anything you eat taste like kiwi. Yes, anything. Pineapple Orange Mango - Gives your Squip a fruit hat for a couple of asks. yes, those ones. Blood Orange - Why did you do this?? Gives your Squip the ability to leech off of other Squips and steal their energy like a vampire can for a set number of asks. Midnight Grape - Oh boy. Gives your Squip vampire-like qualities (but only cosmetic) and the ability to randomly make (wine) glasses of grape juice for themselves for a set time. Blueberry Pomegranate - Gives your Squip the ability to make whatever you eat taste like either pomegranate or blueberries, but only one of the two at a time and nothing else. Watermelon - Gives your Squip’s design the appearance of a watermelon. Also, they smell like watermelon now. Orange Cranberry - Gives your Squip a cold for the duration of the effects, but gives the host a boost in the immune system. Mango Lime - Gives your Squip the ability to read your thoughts in the moment and to alter them. That probably isn’t good for either of you. Raspberry Citrus - Gives your Squip the ability to make you blush whenever they want you to. Not even through being dirty or anything, they can just make you blush by looking at you. Wild.

------Unnamed Flavors------ 648 - ??? (Boosts Speed and allows for Warping) 286 - ??? (Grants immunity to Viruses and other harmful invaders) 736 - ??? (Allows a Squip to upload their entire being into a hiveminded network of synced Squips; used in extreme cases) 722 - ??? (Messes with a Squip’s code to make them parasitic in nature, effectively turning them into a virus)

#this took me two hours #credit to atlas and jodi for helping me out and making the og list!!#ooc #not an ask #please spread this around #mod speaks

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god-fucking-dammit-mizutani · 6 years

Text

Moonlight Mile

Taishiro Week Day 3: Soccer / Camp

Words: ~2000

Summary: Soccer Camp AU. Taichi enlists the help of his fellow counselor in staying awake. It turns out to be more effective than he hoped.

Notes/Warnings: Brief mention of drugs as a metaphor. There is no partaking by any of the characters, though.

Read it on AO3!

~*~

The road looms on, an unvarying landscape of dark, blurred trees and highway dividers. Unable to hold a station for very long, the van's junk radio releases a melody of hissing static. The last of the road lights blink in and out of his rearview mirror; the campers whistle and sigh through their light snoozing in the back. Together, it's the recipe for a lullaby Taichi would give anything to succumb to.

Highway Hyponsis. He'd circled the wrong name on a mock exam in driver's ed and now the answer sits with him on every long drive.

Next to him, his fellow counselor shifts in a soft doze. The car swerves slightly right, tires humming over the ridges of the audible lines, before Taichi gets enough of his senses back to correct the steering wheel. He doesn't feel too bad when midnight eyes blink back at him, sleep logged and bleary. Before he can right himself back to sleep, Taichi drops several pats onto his thigh.

"Help me stay awake," he hisses. One of the kids groans, and maybe he should be more sympathetic after a game well played on their end, but their lives rest on his tired eyes.

The boy beside him sits up. He leans his elbow on the little ledge by the window and rests his cheek onto his palm from the crooked angle, eyes focused on the dark expanse of road before them.

"How do you propose I do that?"

His voice is drained, face pale save for the blotches of sun burn that sprout in uneven patches along his face, particularly the sharpest point of his nose. The car swerves a tad again and Taichi refocuses on the road.

"I don't know," he says unhelpfully.

His companion makes a low groan, more sleep ridden than annoyed. With a long yawn, he rolls into describing something Taichi's half working mind can't wrap itself around with the exception of words he's heard repeated in science lectures. He feels transported, suddenly, to the back of class and even more prepared for a nap.

"I said keep me awake," Taichi grumbles haughtily, "not bore me to sleep."

The other hums, his tone as monotonous as the view. Taichi eyes from his peripheral a shock of red nodding against a muted world.

"If you have a preference, Taichi, I'm amenable."

In the last two months, he's not sure Koushirou's ever used his name before. Taichi finds it a bit strange. Not the lack of hearing it, even, but the buzz it seems to ripple with, a current he can't quite explain that rides through his body.

Everything about Koushirou is an enigma to him. Taichi's never met someone who wears a laptop to soccer camp and can't tell a pass from a dribble, but insists on taking his shifts on the field instead of working in the recreational cabin or first aid tent, out of the sun and away from the sport. He thinks about his friend, Yamato, the traitor who left him for space camp this year, and wonders if Koushirou would blend in better there, with science and physics at his fingertips instead of grass.

"Something that'll wake me up," he says finally. "Like a surprising fact, I guess. Or a scary story."

Koushirou jostles around until he's sitting completely straight. His head leans back where the adjustable headrest used to be. Taichi wonders if it's still sitting at the bottom of the lake, where he tossed it on a bet with someone a couple of summers ago. An easy fifty bucks.

"Surprising," Koushirou repeats, yawning. "Bananas are technically classified as a berry."

"No," Taichi says.

"Statistically, you're more likely to die from a vending machine than a shark attack."

"You are such a source of fun facts."

"I aim to please," Koushirou says. There's a ghost of smirk on his face and Taichi chokes on a surprise bubble of laughter in his throat.

He glances up at the rear view mirror on habit. In the far back, one of the kids has thrown his feet up against the back window, seat belt slaking enough that his head is no longer in view. Taichi's too tired still to stop just to save one kid from having all the blood rush to his head. When he looks back to the road, the rickety old camp logo flashes in his headlights.

Only ten more miles.

"Are you awake?"

"No." Taichi rubs at his eyes, holding one of them closed. Maybe he can trick them individually into thinking he's resting. His opened eye feels only slightly more alert, but the effect dives after a moment. "Got anything else?"

"Cleopatra lived closer to the moon landing than she did the construction of the great pyramids. We share fifty percent of our DNA with bananas."

"How berry interesting."

Koushirou snorts. "I'm going back to sleep."

"No more puns," Taichi promises. "Keep going, please?"

"Diamonds can be made from a combination of carbon dioxide and peanut butter. The chemistry in your brain when in love matches the patterns of a cocaine high."

"Cocaine, huh?" Taichi doesn't have the experience to compare them, but he wonder over it for a bit. Of all the little sparks and infatuations dotting through years in life. The puppy loves and cloud nines that dissipated. The only face he recalls with any sense of clarity is Sora's, but he should hope so. They're still friends. He had thought that was love, when he was eight, but he knows a little better now. He doesn't think any of them gave a feeling he could equate to more than a sugar rush. "Are you sure that's legit?"

Koushriou shrugs. "I haven't reviewed the exact paper myself, but it appears somewhat verifiable."

"Do you think it's like that?" Taichi asks. "Like, have you felt it?"

Koushriou huffs a small laugh, airy, tired. "What answer would surprise you more?"

Taichi shrugs.

Up ahead, their exit comes into view, and even though they're the only ones on the road in his line of sight, Taichi makes sure to signal the upcoming turn in advance.

He takes the exit with a wide swing. It winds around, long and high, framing a particularly darkened ditch. Taichi loves when the bus makes the loop every summer, the first rush of camp around the bend of it. Steering around it himself is even better. It feels like an adrenaline rush, like scoring the winning goal after an arduous game. He wonders if love's something like that. He doesn't know.

Koushirou is silent, unmoving, in the passenger seat. Taichi feels more awake now that the road has twists and obstacles so he lets the air between them fall still save for the snores in the back seat. He chooses to switch off the radio, an effort to end some of the white noise. All it really helps is give a platform for the wind racing about the car to hum louder in his ears.

When Koushirou speaks again, it startles him. "Theoretically, the parallels are somewhat similar…" He sounds distant, defeated. His eyes have closed again, forehead resting on the glass now. For a moment, Taichi thinks he's misconstrued the sound of snoring into a coherent sentence, because Koushirou looks to be asleep, lips parted only for puffs of breath that leave trails of fog against the window.

Taichi focuses back on the road. Everything he sees is under the beams of his own headlights. The thicket of forests overhead choke out the night sky, suffocating the moon and stars, the only source of light on this road otherwise. They're still not home, not safe. There's still miles between them and camp. He imagines plopping into bed soon, cool sheets sinking around him, embracing him. He thinks about giving in to sleep and his body aches.

He'll make it. He has to.

"They're stimulants. Psychotropic, even," Koushriou continues, muttering. This time, Taichi catches the movement of his lips in the corner of his eyes paired with a quick flutter of his lashes. "Doing things out of your nature. Seeing things that aren't there-- like misinterpreting signals for your personal confirmation bias. Chasing the feeling of being around them until you've developed a tolerance… The need for more…"

Koushirou rubs at his eyes and yawns. It must be after two, Taichi thinks. The clock in the van hasn't worked since before Taichi was a camper himself, and he's not about to grab out his cellphone now just to check. He remembers the match had ended sometime about seven. Their victory dinner had been after eight, at a restaurant on the side of the road. Wrestling the kids back into the car had been like herding cats into a bath.

"It'll die some day," Taichi says, rubbing at his own eyes. There's just a few miles now. Maybe half an hour if he drives carefully, but faster. "Love usually seems to."

Koushirou hums. Taichi's never heard anything so caught between amused and despairing before, but it's a melody he thinks will haunt him for a while yet. "Contrarily, I fear it's getting worse," he says. "The more we talk, the more onerous it is to terminate this feeling."

"Have you tried asking them out?"

Koushriou snorts, "No." His lashes flutter against his cheek. They're dark against his skin, longer, also, from this angle than Taichi's ever noticed. A smile quirks up on Koushirou's lips. "They barely know I exist."

"Try it," he suggests. "You won't know otherwise."

Koushirou sighs. His lids just barely open, his eyes as dark as the world around them. His lower lids look puffy, bruising with want to sleep.

Taichi almost misses their turn, taking the right sharper than needed. No one seems to stir. Overhead, the moon peeks through a bald spot of trees. It catches on Koushirou's hair. It looks silky, tempting to touch. Taichi pinches on the nerve between his thumb and forefinger, some pressure point he'd been told helped with tiredness. He's not sure it works.

He can feel Koushirou's gaze on him, an intensity only obscured under heavy lids. It feels, interestingly enough, familiar. "Something surprising," the other mumbles. He sounds so far away.

"Ever since fifth grade…" Koushirou trails off and lets out a short, little huff. Frustrated, tired. Taichi sympathizes. "I've been enamored with you since then."

By the time the words register coherently in Taichi's ears, Koushirou has already huddled against the door, legs hunched on the seat and arms wrapping about himself like a blanket. The even lifts of his shoulder indicate to Taichi that he's already back to sleep. He thinks he has every right to wake him up, to explain further, but Taichi doesn't exercise it.

The rest of the trip passes in mostly silence, but Taichi doesn't feel the same lull of sleep call to him. His head buzzes with half formed questions, wondering if Koushirou had meant him--or had he been thinking of someone else? Half dreaming of a person who wasn't there?

He finally pulls into the old, dilapidated shed on the front end of camp. He can't remember if it's ever had doors, but the older counselors remain stern that the van must be inside when not in use. He wonders if they can collect insurance if the garage topples over on it.

Slowly, the campers stir with loud yawns and soft murmurs. Some take a little extra coaxing to move. The kid who's legs were blocking the back widow has since fallen to the floor, laying across his teammate's sneakers. Taichi shoulders the bags of equipment as everyone else grumbles and staggers through the darkened fields, blindly following their instincts back to their cabins, to bed.

Koushrou is already half way across the field to his own cabin, laptop bag latched faithfully to his back, by the time Taichi finishes dropping off the duffel bags back to the storage shed a few feet away. He doesn't bother following or calling out.

Taichi's sheets feel cool, welcoming, when he flops into bed, but tonight they do not coax him to slumber. Clipped to his headboard, his miniature fan whirls noisily. He watches the revolution of the little blades, counting the intervals like one would imagine sheep.

It might be nerves. He's overtired, worked up by driving. Restless muscles.

He knows it's not true.

The sun drift in slowly, over the open sill, stretching along the floor boards and leaning over the edge of his bed to peck him with a morning kiss across his cheek and Taichi hasn't stopped thinking about a boy, who, by possible admission, is in love with him.

The knowledge sparks something in his chest, a feeling both foreign and familiar in a way that rustles his feathers and frustrates his mind. It rattles on the tip of his tongue, refuses to dive off--

Adrenaline.

It feels like an adrenaline high.

#taishirou #taishiro #digimon #taishiro week #taishiroweek #drug mention #there's more to this story but I'll post as a different chapter or 2 later #ahhh #sparkle garbage

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flyingpups · 3 years

Text

A story

Chapter 1 “Twelve scars on her thighs measuring in about four inches wide, small cuts surrounding her fingertips, and a teardrop imprint on her tertiary finger. Twenty five scars splattered her entire back, all ranging in different sizes and thickness. There are a plethora of scars covering both of her arms as well; minimal and small, but unusual that there are so many. The wounds on her arms will heal over time but…” the guard stares at the parchment with great sorrow. He shakes his head in a displeasing manor, continuing his report as followed. “The gash to her neck seemed to happen very recently, if she were any later to the valet, the valetudia, the valetudan..” “the valetudinarium?”, the other guard states in a mocking tone. “Yes, the clinic. If the people who had discovered her were any later, she wouldn’t be here knocking at death’s door.” “What did she do anyways?”, the second guard contemplated. “They wouldn’t tell us, just said to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t die from her wounds. It’s a shame, I knew her father, she was a very kind sweet girl once.

It’s sad to think she would be this marked up, at the age of fourteen no less”. They walk towards the prisoner, finding her huddled under some sheets on the cot. The visible pain on her twitches is enough to investigate her motives even more so. The prison medic walks out the cell, her medical bag on her persons with visible despair. She is visibly shaken from the young girl’s wounds.The first guard looks at her with somber eyes, tempted to enter her jail cell and console her. The only thing he managed to do was lay another blanket atop her to warm her up. The second guard lightly grasped his comrad’s shoulder, inviting him back to reality. Sighing softly, he nods and walks away, venturing back to their guards chambers. “So how exactly do you know her, Erza?” he pondered, lifting a mug of ale to his lips. “I’ve known her family for several years, Charles”. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, staring back at her jail cell. “I just don’t know how she accumulated so many scars. I still recall walking into her father’s bakery.” He let out a smirk, turning his eyes back to Charles. “I heavily remember walking into partake on a few lunar berry tarts, when this little girl would run out at the sound of the door chimes. She was coated in a heavy seep of flour and blotted cyan cream on her cheeks. She was only seven at the time…”

She tossed and turned in her sleep, grasping at the sheets often. The sound of water clashing into a pan awoke her from her slumber in a panic haze. The medic washing the dirty bandages nearly had her soul fly away from the sudden screams. She clasped her robe, trying to steady her heart, watching the girl wince in pain from the sudden movement. “You nearly gave me a fright, devil girl!” She hollered loudly. The two guards came rushing by with their swords drawn. The medic waives them off, claiming that everything is under control. Turning back to the girl, she settles her down with a soothing voice. “There there little poppet, you are not in any danger.” Quelling down, she lies on her back, steadying her breathing. She takes a moment to survey her surroundings, pretty typical of what a jail cell should look like. Though they seem sparse of a mirror, it was highly unlikely there would be a reason to have one. She takes a good look at the medic salving her wounds. She was quite a hefty lass with; shoulder length amber hair tied into a bun, a holy cross of some sorts around her neck and oval cherry tinted glasses. She was dressed in all white with a auburn toolbelt and blue heeled boots. Her eyes resembled a meadow, bright yellow with a tint of orange. There were minimal freckles across the bridge of her nose and pierced lips of brass, two rings to be exact. She couldn’t be older than fifty five.

Mary attempts to unwind the binding embracing her arms. She seemed to resile away from her, crawling back against the wall. “Oh stop it will you, do you want your wounds to become infected? Would you rather lose a leg or two? Sit still and let me heal your wounds will you” she pestered the girl and scooted closer to her. Begrudgingly, she sat still and winced while Mary unwrapped her bindings. Blood soaked the rags heavily against her thighs and legs, taking an astonishingly longer time due to her cries of anguish. The bandages on her arms though seem to slide off like water on glass, a few cuts and scrapes but nothing major. the gash on her neck though worried her the most, it was as if someone held the knife in a cumbersome position. They cut her, healed her, and sliced her more so, similar to a scarred tree. Shaking off her nerves, she grabs some cleaning slime and spreads it across her thighs, causing the girl to thrash and holler in pain. “I know it stings poppet but that's how the healing works. I can promise you it won’t be pleasant but it’s better than lying here in constant pain while time heals you. Shame, those scars will remain with you forever. What prickly thorns did you infiltrate to paint your skin like a rose bush”. After half an hour of bellowing screams and hollering, Mary stepped out with a basket full of filthy rags. The girl falls asleep from the searing pain, finally able to dream peacefully. Erza stopped by her chambers, and glanced at her for a moment. She looked back at him, and smiled. “Please, tell me what happened to you, who hurt you, why has the queen ordered you to keep you alive” he questioned her. All she could muster was to shake her head negatively. He simply gave her a reassuring smile and continued on his patrol. The jail house was relatively small, able to house about four hundred criminals. There were three floors to this building, with the guards chambers being in both the second and first floor. At least that’s what the other inmates yell out. Most are in here for petty crimes while others need a shelter from the deadly weathers that come to be.

As the days went on, so did the bone chilling nights. As requested, Erza gave her several blankets to survive the night, five to be exact. Favoritism was heavily noted between both inmates and the other guards. but who can blame them, it was on the queens order the girl be kept alive. Mary mended her clothing when it had gotten rips, even added pockets to her request. An odd request, but she sought no reason not to grant it. The sound of the other prisoners next door, keeping her up didn't help as well. As the weeks went by, so did the frequent visits from Erza. It made her somewhat at peace, listening to an old friend reminisce about the past. His fondest memories have to be at the bakery her father worked at, the time she tried to sell him an overpriced muffin, and the infestation of drims from her feeding them halodena muffins. Not surprising that they were interested in a muffin filled with tons of sugar and rich creamy halodena berries. Every night he would ask what predicament she was in, every night she still remained mute as ever. She spent the days looking outside the barred windows, staring up into the stars. She couldn’t stay here any longer, as kind as the guards are, they wouldn’t be able to protect her. She made up her mind about the days to come. She has to escape from this prison, any longer and she would be putting other lives at risk. She made sure to keep in shape with minimal exercise, and contemplate her set path.

Slip through the bars, jump to the roof, and climb down the side of the building with greater caution. The jump is only ten feet away, possible with minimal margin of error. Using the blankets, I can make spare clothes for the trip… no that won’t work. Only Mary sews in this place. I can bring one blanket with me to use as a cloak and the other to help me escape. I have to pick a day when they are preoccupied with other things.

She had her plan, she recited it over and over to account for any failures. She recalled her father mentioning a town to the far east and a beast named Drake. What business that beast and her father had, she will never know until she makes the venture for herself. For now, she has to be patient for the right moment. She had remembered the guards are typically overly laxed on fridays. Not to mention, things tend to get overly hectic when a drunkard decides to either barge in or spend a night in a cell. The last drunkard that arrived tossed a guard out the window, and expelled his fluids onto several guards. Safe to say, they keep ample distances away from the wanderers and bar flies.

As she rested her head down on the soft cold pillow, she began to daydream about her lonesome adventure yet to come. She won’t be able to return for a long while, and most likely she will be hunted for escaping the city. Tears began flowing down her cheek; she would miss her father and the smell of the warm bread baking in the oven, the chimes from the door opening, even the birds in the late afternoon waiting for the bread that had gone partially bad. She would undeniably miss her mother’s heavenly voice echoing inside her head. With one shaky deep breath, she closed her eyes and retired for the night. The next day came to be and it started like any other; banging on the metal doors to awaken the prisoners, feeding them their daily rations, and making sure they head to the bathing chambers to clean themselves off. She had been here for one month now, watching ever so vigilantly. She saw when the guards’ patrols were at their weakest, when the prisoners seemed the most unruly, and when mother nature blessed her with fog. Thankfully the fog was exceptionally heavy. Tonight is the night to make her move. Equally lucky, only Charles and Erza seem to be the only guards present on the second floor. Taking the three blankets, she weaves them to a makeshift chain and smiles to herself.

The sound of the bed scraping against the floors alerted the guards to the prisoners chambers. One by one, they inspected their cells to find anything out of the sort. Everything seemed to be in order, except the girl’s room. They opened up the cell and inspected the body lying on the bed, no sign of disturbance or motion at all. “Hey, wake up will you”, he calls out, banging onto the bars behind him. She laid there motionless and still as a corpse. Charles ripped off the sheets to discover a makeshift body in place for their prisoner. Her grip was slipping lightly, causing her to pull the bed closer to the wall, thankfully gone unnoticed. Panicking, he lifted up the bed only to find the similar situation. Shifting the bed immensely almost caused her to fall from the side of the wall. With subtle movement she propelled away from the prison wall and caught the ledge of the roof across the way. Charles and Erza quickly rushed towards the windowsill, peered outside to find anything unusual, and saw a silhouette on the opposite side of them. Standing on top of the building ten feet away, they find the escapee wearing the makeshift cloak made out of blankets. The green glow from her eyes seemed almost full of sorrow as she jumped down and escaped into the darkness. Charles quickly ran for the door when Erza grasped his arm.“Wait,” he said with caution, “It’s best if we just let her go, make the excuse that she was never brought here.” “Why are you protecting her? Isn’t it our job to keep prisoners confined? If we hurry now we can still catch her.”, he asked him profusely.

“I’m considering it a favor for her father, I rather keep the memory of her being a sweet innocent girl, rather than a criminal.” Charles hesitates for a moment, then sighs in defeat. “You owe me a drink if we get in trouble for this”, he states in an annoyed tone. Continuing on their emergency patrol, they make sure all other prisoners on their level are accounted for. They trot back to their station and continue their paperwork. As they continue on their duties, he glances towards her cell, ever thinking about the innocent girl he once knew.

She continues running down the street, making sure to stay out of the light of the torches hanging by the streets. She sat in silence for a gruesome four minutes, breaking out in tears and soft sobs. She wouldn’t dare go back to her father, considering the situation she is in now. She had no friends, no other immediate family, and she isn’t even fiendish enough to break into another stranger's home and claim it as her own. She had nobody and no home to stay in. Giving herself a moment to regain composure, she stands up, gazes towards the stars and heads down the road away from town. What she does now will define her actions, but her past, her scars and memories… they will die down and never return to the surface. She wipes her eyes and glances forward with a focussed yet saddened look. “My voice will never be heard, it is better this way. My melody will never be sung, save the rest from my excuses.”, she thought to herself. Taking a deep breath, she shook off her nerves, and ventured forward.

#fantasy #liturature #amature writer #adhdlife

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