#here we go chapter two! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redux-iterum · 9 months

Text

Burning Hearts: Chapter Twenty-Two

(AO3 counterpart here.)

A couple nights passed, each one nicer than the last. Fireheart was once awoken by loud, dragged-out meows that were strained with effort and pain. In the evening, it was Frostfur sitting outside of the nursery, not Goldenflower.

“Brindleface had her kittens,” the white molly explained when Fireheart approached. “Goldenflower’s keeping an eye on her while she rests.”

Fireheart’s tail stood straight before curling over his back. “That’s wonderful! Are they healthy?”

“All three of them are plump and eating fine,” Frostfur replied, her eyes shining. “Our nursery is going to be quite full once Goldenflower has her kittens, too.”

Fireheart nodded enthusiastically, then deflated as his mind drew a conclusion. “I’m not going to be able to visit Goldenflower, am I?”

“I’m afraid not,” Frostfur said sympathetically. “Mates and mollies only.”

Fireheart sighed and rolled a shoulder. “Well, maybe you and Tigerclaw can tell me about them when they’re born.”

Frostfur tilted her head, thoughtful. “I don’t even know if Tigerclaw would be allowed in if Brindleface is here. He makes a lot of queens nervous.”

“Oh.” Fireheart blinked.

“I can at least tell you,” Frostfur said. “When they come around, of course. In the meantime…” She twisted her front half around and called into the nursery, “Kits! Come play outside!”

A unanimous, squeaky cheer echoed from inside the den. Fireheart and Frostfur stepped out of the way just in time for a cloud of white and gold to stampede into the open—and to Fireheart’s surprise, Snowkit wasn’t the last one out. In fact, he beat Thornkit and Brackenkit easily. The kits spread their chaos out, with the golden brothers running to the just-waking elders and Brightkit plunging into the admittedly small prey-pile, pawing at a squirrel about her size. Snowkit stopped in the center of camp, looking around with his big blue eyes before sniffing the air and crouching clumsily, fluffy little tail thrashing about.

“Wonder what he’s up to,” Fireheart said to Frostfur.

Frostfur purred. “He’s been trying to sneak up on his siblings for the past two days.” She paused, then spoke with more confusion than affection. “It’s odd. He used to try and speak, but suddenly he’s not making a single sound.”

“Oh!” Fireheart perked up more. “I’ve seen him; he mimicked Ravenwing when he was telling that story the other night - moving his mouth to Ravenwing’s words. I mean, he didn’t talk, but…”

Frostfur looked at him, eyes wide. “Did he… do you think he understood what Ravenwing was saying?”

Fireheart’s mouth twitched in consideration. “Well, I don’t know, but he looked like he was trying. But—” he hastened to add “—I think he’ll get it down pretty quick. He seems smart.”

“He is smart,” Frostfur said, the tiniest edge in her voice and iciness in her expression. “All of them are.”

“Of course,” Fireheart said quickly. “I just mean– well– you know– I think you don’t have anything to worry about. I think he’ll be just fine.”

The cold edge left Frostfur entirely. She sighed and nodded. “I hope so.”

Fireheart opened his mouth to unnecessarily add more, but he was saved by a high-pitched roar and then a grunt. When he looked to the source, the entrance, Brightkit had just tried to tackle Bluestar, Brackenkit helping on the leader’s other side.

Frostfur shouted in wordless outrage and trotted forward. “Brightkit! Brackenkit! Apologize right now!”

Bluestar didn’t seem bothered. She just gazed down at the unaware kits and gently tousled the top of their heads, one at a time.

“Bluestar, I’m so sorry, they don’t know who you are yet, I—” Frostfur met her and glared at the kits. “You do not attack our leader! Tell her ‘sorry’.”

“It’s fine,” Bluestar said, quiet and calm. “They’re just having fun.” She looked down at the kits again. “But I do need to eat, little ones.”

Bluestar’s request, followed up with Frostfur’s glare, seemed to be enough to convince the kits to back away and mumble nonsense that was probably supposed to be an apology of some kind. Bluestar flicked her tail in acknowledgement and walked slowly to the prey-pile. She sniffed the available prey with some disinterest before taking the squirrel at the top and moving at that same slow pace across camp, reclining where it was quietest. She observed camp without a word, not touching her prey.

Driven by a spark of concern in his heart, Fireheart made his way up to her, briefly trying to look casual by glancing around aimlessly. The hollow look in his mentor’s eyes made him give up on that and trot to her directly.

“It’s a good night, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully, coming around to her side and sitting down.

Bluestar, thankfully, did not seem offended or awkward about this intrusion. She simply looked up at him (only shorter now that she was halfway on her side) and flicked an ear.

Fireheart waited a moment for her to respond. When she didn’t, he tried again. “It’s just nice! New kits in the nursery—Frostfur said they’re healthy—and her kits, they’re all strong and happy, running around and enjoying life. And Cinderpaw’s finally resting, which…” He nodded at the crashed-out apprentice lying in a bundle of messy dark fur with her bad leg kicked out. “Took her long enough, right?”

Bluestar hummed in acknowledgement, looking at her apprentice fondly, even if that fondness was dampened with melancholy.

“And then Goldenflower, she’s pregnant!” Fireheart’s chest buzzed happily. “She’ll have kits, too.”

Bluestar finally spoke, quiet and reflective. “She’s been wanting kittens for a very long time.” Her eyes ever-so-slightly crinkled. “Small wonder she took to you so quickly.”

“Small indeed,” Fireheart muttered without any bite in his voice. His left ear turned sideways. “How come she hasn’t had kittens already? Was she just busy as the matriarch?”

Bluestar’s eyes drifted to the nursery. “As far as I’ve known, it was Tigerclaw who wanted to wait. I never pried into it. That’s just what I’ve heard.”

Fireheart pondered that for a moment. “…That’d make sense, I think. Nice of Goldenflower to give him time, then.”

Bluestar didn’t respond. When Fireheart looked at her, her eyes were distant and unfocused, the claws of the paw on her squirrel ever-so-slightly unsheathed, grazing the fur.

Fireheart very gently tapped her with his tail, asking in a murmur, “What’s bothering you?”

He expected her to get snippy with him prying, or even just not respond. She instead looked up at him, meeting his eyes for a moment, before sighing and turning back to watch Snowkit wrestle soundlessly with a yowling Brightkit.

“We’re going to need as many kits as we can get,” she said. “Winter isn’t a kind thing to the Clans. We’re bound to lose a couple as they grow.”

It took Fireheart a moment to realize what she meant. He stiffened. “…‘Lose’ as in die?”

Bluestar nodded morosely.

“But—” Fireheart almost started looking around for someone to refute her words. “But how? Aren’t they all safe in the nursery? Nothing can get them, right?”

“Anything can,” Bluestar said quietly. “Sickness, the cold, weak hearts… we can’t keep everything out of the nursery, as much as we’d like to. Fighting off a stoat or eagle is easy—it’s when a kitten just stops eating or freezes to death overnight that we can do nothing about.”

Fireheart stared at her silently, mouth slightly agape. His mind flew all over the place in its newfound fear: to his sister in the Houses, to Goldenflower in the nursery, to Silverstream in RiverClan, all with a bundle of kits that were ready to die off, one by one. It was a fear he could do anything about as much as he could hold back a storm.

“It happens all the time,” Bluestar said, watching the kits roll around, oblivious to the dangers of the world. “Sometimes… sometimes entire litters are lost.”

Fireheart did not miss her claws sinking into the squirrel’s hide, gripping it like a rogue’s pelt. He leaned forward a little to look into her eyes - pale and foggy like a sun on an overcast winter day, her face the frozen earth.

Fireheart didn’t dare to press, but he saw something unidentifiable in her expression. If he could just thaw it out—

Bluestar sat up and pushed the squirrel in his direction, her claws leaving puncture holes in its side. “Have this. I need to speak with Tigerclaw.”

“Bluestar—” Fireheart started, almost wanting to apologize for a reason he couldn’t name.

“You should eat.” She walked past him with speed, leaving camp before he could even respond, several cats watching her go with confusion.

“I’m not really hungry anymore, either,” Fireheart said to the empty air she left behind.

---

“Yeesh.”

“Yeah.” Fireheart rolled a loose pebble under his paw. “I upset her on accident.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Greystripe said after swallowing his mouthful of squirrel. “The loss of kittens gets to everyone. She was already thinking about it before you said anything, it sounds like.”

Fireheart sighed. “Still…”

“‘Still’ nothing. Just get some food in you, buddy.” Greystripe stretched out a huge paw and pushed at the mole between Fireheart’s feet.

Fireheart twitched his whiskers weakly and looked down at his mole. It was a very fresh one, almost warm still, and fat with rare autumn’s bounty, but his stomach was stiff and icy. Chewing alone seemed a monumental task.

“Maybe I should give this to someone else,” he said.

Greystripe shook his head. “You’d tell me to eat if I was feeling bad, right? Even if I didn’t want to?” At Fireheart’s sheepish nod, he returned with a sharper nod of his own. “Go on, then.”

Fireheart’s stomach stayed chilled, but he bent his head and pulled off a piece of his prey—more like he was pulling a tick off of Halftail than chomping on fresh meat. He chewed without tasting and swallowed. To his relief, his stomach lost its cold just a bit, enough to alert him to how hungry he really was.

Greystripe purred as Fireheart went for more. “Better?”

Fireheart nodded more enthusiastically, his tongue waking up to the taste of mole.

“Awesome.” Greystripe creased his eyes in self-satisfaction before he continued on with the last half of the squirrel.

They ate in silence, occasionally glancing up to watch Swiftpaw try to get Cinderpaw to lay back down or Teaselfoot make some quiet joke that Mousefur swatted him for. The kits were back in the nursery, having lost their energy after bouncing around for quite a while and then staggering into the den. Not a sound came out from under the roots that served as its architecture. Every conversation around them was quiet but cheerful, and as Fireheart half-listened, munching away, his anxiety and guilt gradually subsided.

“Oh, hey—” Greystripe looked to the shifting entrance. “Ravenwing’s patrol might be back.”

Fireheart perked up and waited until Willowpelt and Whitecloud passed through to call a greeting to Ravenwing as he followed behind. Ravenwing turned his head to his friends, who both waved their tails, and trotted over to them, his own tail stiff and slightly puffed out.

“Oh, there you are,” he said, only stopping when he was almost touching Fireheart, and bent his head down, speaking almost under his breath. “Are you two done eating? Can we go out and talk?”

Greystripe and Fireheart looked at each other with mild puzzlement, but nodded. They chomped down the last bits of meat before standing and following Ravenwing back to the entrance.

“Already leaving again?” Willowpelt asked, head tilted.

“Still got some energy,” Ravenwing said quickly. “I just want to hunt a bit.”

Unusually, Greystripe seemed to catch something Fireheart didn’t and added, “Yeah, there’s nothing left for anyone else,” and jerked his chin at the single, pathetic mouse lying in what used to be the prey-pile.

“That’s kind of you.” Willowpelt glanced at her kits by the stump before adding, “Do you think you could find a pigeon for Cinderpaw? I know they might not be out right now, but…”

“We’ll try to find one,” Fireheart said brightly. “What about Swiftpaw? Anything for him?”

“Oh, he likes pigeon too,” Willowpelt replied. “If you only find one, they can share.”

Fireheart dipped his head and followed his friends out of camp.

“So—” started Greystripe, but Ravenwing held up his tail for silence. Greystripe glanced back curiously at Fireheart, who tilted his head with the same unspoken question. The pair continued on after Ravenwing until the scents and sounds of camp were far behind them. Abruptly, Ravenwing stopped and turned around, his eyes wide and nervous.

“Do you know where Tigerclaw is?” he asked quietly.

Fireheart frowned, confused. “The last I heard, Bluestar went to talk with him. Why?”

Uttering a tiny, low groan, Ravenwing looked around, ears swiveling before they flattened against his head. “Okay. Um. This is going to sound crazy, but please hear me out.”

Fireheart blinked. “Of course we’ll hear you out.”

“Something wrong?” Greystripe asked, his casual tone ever-so-slightly leaning into wariness.

“Okay. Okay.” Ravenwing swallowed. “So…I think– I think– well– you know how Tigerclaw called Bluestar to the border and a car hit Cinderpaw because she went instead?”

“Yeah?” Fireheart said slowly.

“And then Tigerclaw called Bluestar to the border again, and you went instead, Fireheart? And you said some black-and-white rogues were coming right for you, but then Tigerclaw showed up and they went away?”

For a reason Fireheart didn’t want to understand, his chest tightened. “…Yeah?”

“And before all of that…” Ravenwing looked around again, much more conspiratorially. “Lionface disappeared, and all we heard about were the sight of two black-and-white rogues? And then Tigerclaw got promoted to deputy?”

Fireheart glanced at Greystripe; his face was weirdly unreadable, like he couldn’t decide what emotion he was feeling. To Ravenwing, Fireheart said uneasily, “What about it?”

“It’s just… weird, you know?” Ravenwing’s teeth clicked a few times. “Why are those two rogues showing up so often? Why does something bad happen, or nearly happen, when there’s some business at the border?” He shivered. “And why do our deputies keep disappearing?”

“Lionface was probably taken away by humans,” Greystripe said, but his eyes were intensely focused now. “And… are you talking about—”

“Redtail,” Ravenwing said. “He fell into the Gorge and we never found a body.” His feet shuffled, pacing in place. “And yeah, okay, that’s the Gorge. We never get anything back from there. But I’ve been thinking about this for a few nights now, and…” He swallowed again. “You know, only Tigerclaw saw what happened to him.”

Ravenwing’s words made the fur on Fireheart’s spine prickle. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not– I’m not sure exactly what I’m saying yet.” Ravenwing heaved a shaky breath, visibly forced his paws to stop moving, and looked between his friends, eyes now alert and face setting into something like determination. “But I want your help in whatever this is. Something’s going on and I want to find out what. Maybe I’m just making things up, I don’t know—but it’s weird. It’s really weird, and I need to at least get some information before I pass it off.”

“We can help,” Greystripe said, his voice low. “Fireheart?”

Fireheart opened his mouth, shut it when he realized he didn’t know what he wanted to say, and then nodded. “…Yeah. What’s the first thing you want to do?”

Ravenwing sighed with relief, then refocused. “First things first… I want to find out exactly what happened with Lionface.”

#here we go #warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #chapter #chapter twenty two #book two #arc one #burning hearts

28 notes · View notes

cave-monkey · 2 months

Text

It dawns on me that the journey to the west took 5,040 days exactly, right, and while the book goes from tribulation to tribulation, there were still only 81 of those. And they were missing one when they got there. And some of the tribulations Tripitaka went through happened before the journey even started.

So, even being generous and saying that most of the tribulations that occurred during the actual journey could be said to have taken a few days to handle each, that's still only about 10% of the journey. A tribulation was anything that happened that put Tripitaka in danger or presented any sort of obstacle to him. Anything even remotely exciting would have fallen into that ~10%, and nothing else could have happened, because otherwise they wouldn't have gotten west one moderate inconvenience and/or major trauma short of the prize. (I mean, unless the thing that happened managed to not involve Tripitaka at all in any way, but that's very hard to do when you are all attached at the hip.)

Holy cow they really were just walking. ALL THAT TIME. No wonder Zhu Bajie was stirring the pot at any given opportunity. It was literally the only thing to do.

#jttw personal #how did they not kill each other #I was thinking about this while still picking at chapter 27 #tripitaka was super gullible in that chapter in a sort of inexcusable way but also #it sooooort of makes sense when you think like #statistically #across the whole journey they could have gone moooonths between demons #years even #and suddenly sun wukong's claiming to have killed 3 (they didn't know it was the same demon) in a row in one morning?#even if tripitaka HAD believed him (or just harbored doubts) after the first one how likely was it the second was the case? or the THIRD?#obviously the evidence was in his face but couple the idea that their encounters with demons were actually SUPER rare #with the fact that tripitaka still had major trust issues with sun wukong from the fact he HAD trusted sun wukong previously #only to have that trust pretty solidly broken #and tripitaka's probably operating on a level of 'fool me once' hyper-vigilance against him that actually makes zhu bajie seem reasonable #I mean who are you going to trust? you and your own shitty judgement when you've already been wrong about the guy once before?#or the DEMON who probably knows more about DEMON MAGIC than you?#tripitaka's got TWO expert consults telling him two wildly opposing things but only ONE of them's seriously burned him in the past #(while the third expert consult and tie-breaker is notably abstaining. gdit sha wujing.)#anyway the characterization here is actually really good #tripitaka doesn't know the story framing - WE know something's up because otherwise we wouldn't have a story about it -#but tripitaka doesn't realize he's in a book #and I'm just saying tripitaka is being less foolish than the meta knowledge of being The Reader makes him seem #still a total brat though #he's definitely letting his own pride and hurt (and like...trauma) bias him against sun wukong unfairly #which is something he needs to work on and IS something that he pays for #(even with the bandits: expecting sun wukong to behave to tripitaka's standards of morality prior to TEACHING him those standards)#(wasn't fair. but also when he *tried* to address it sun wukong got angry and took off. and then tried to kill him. so.)#it's just interesting and whoever told this story originally was clearly putting a lot of thought into what it would be like #to actually be in these guys' shoes. Like ugh. HOW is this book so good?

10 notes · View notes

july-19th-club · 2 months

Text

baru is so good (three chapters in) and it's everything i can do not to spoil myself for large portions of the story just trying to cram more worldbuilding into me by any means possible

#i love the linguistic stuff going on here the vocab . some of it is entirely made up and some of it is familiar #and sometimes these things exist in the same context like 'tribadist' (lesbian derogatory) and sodomite (gay derogatory but we know that)#i have got to know more about word origins so i can figure out how we got to incrasticism #however i will also say that for like two and a half chapters i was waiting for like. the spaceships to show up because somehow #i had thought it was a political space scifi and not political fantasy #baru cormorant

7 notes · View notes

usareiis · 3 months

Text

Like. Gay people no surprise in this series. But I love this panel bc there are a million different ways that this scenario could have been framed and Yana went with the gayest.

#i did think even with that corset tying chapter cover that these two would be getting to act more girlfriendish in this arc #and ran mao has been unconscious for a lot of it um :(#also well now i am here nitpicking the whole thing fell apart really fast. the figuring out if the people are stealing blood thing. bc...#...like two seconds into the arc it's like omg yeah what you guys thought was happening IS happening exactly like you thought #silly undertaker etc. and like. it's fine it's whatever even if they have been going on a looong time i like these little solo missions #and getting to know the backstories of everyone in the house better i think that's really crucial bc this story is about all of them too #the undertaker situation is really repetitive though and it is a long time to have your mc vanish from the page #even though he has to be back super soon i am assuming idk how much longer the current scenario could go #again not terrible but we have gotten in a weird patch here #anyway i love yuri #my kuro posts #kuroshitsuji

17 notes · View notes

astranauticus · 2 months

Text

todays orv mood: standing at the water dispenser under my dorm building waiting for my instant noodles to cook just pacing in circles and swearing

#orv liveblog #should i tag spoilers for like. ramble in tags??#ok i'll do it just to be safe #orv spoilers #idk in case my webtoon only irl friend suddenly decides to log back into her tumblr after 3 years #context chapter 311/46th scenario #ok theres a lot going on here #first off 1863th round yjh is a character made to haunt me specifically so when the name hell of eternity came up wow i was feeling like #500 emotions at once and none of them were good #second i saw someone on lofter say today that most of the talking kdj and yjh do in this book is through fights and just #LIKE I JUST. cannot get over how our perspective of their relationship is just always being filtered through these two people #who are just fuckin INCAPABLE of TALKING ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS like NORMAL PEOPLE #like it drives me so insane that this book is so show dont tell by necessity bc kdj is a fucking moron so we just get these #insanity inducing details like yjh paying to extend his midday rendezvous with kdj for 3 years and just using it as a personal journal #and then you get past all the fuckin. the two of them beating the shit out of each other by way of communicating and its like #'i want to lock you up so you'll stop dying because im scared im not strong enough to be able to stop you and we cant lose you again' LIKE?#SIR WHAT??????? HELLO??????????????#also the line that made me start pacing in circles around the water cooler while swearing in mandarin was specifically #'i couldn't be the protagonist. i couldn't save someone else'#says the DEMON KING OF SALVATION. like damn its 'sacrifice's will is a stigma that didn't really suit me' all over again #like i love that kdj has the nerve to be like 'of course i dont want to die' and yjh just absolutely does not buy it for a second #god. i want to hit him on the head with a brick.

7 notes · View notes

tortoisebore · 9 months

Note

Glad you’re enjoying writing the fic again now! Will personally love the added fluff

eeeeee any excuse to add about 60k more words of fluff 🤩🫶💓💞🤭💖🤲

here’s a bit of the first draft of the new & improved chapter 8 to hold us over 🤲

#u ask tortoise answers #anon #hey sharpshooter #now we just get an extra two whole chapters of them being gross & in love #i love it here #also chapter 10 was going to be like…..#horrifically long with the old plan so now i can spread it out more & not drop a 50k chapter on u all at once fhfhfhfhfhffh

24 notes · View notes

celemee · 5 months

Text

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: The Dark Urge/Enver Gortash Characters: The Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), Enver Gortash Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, First Meetings, Crimes & Criminals, Evil characters - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Present Tense, Named Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), Drow Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate) Summary: Every leader knows that choosing the right allies can be instrumental in their rise to power. For one aspiring tyrant, Enver Gortash, an alliance with the son of Bhaal would bring about many opportunities. Now, if only he could convince his counterpart of its value — and be satisfied with a mere alliance.

#baldur's gate #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #enver gortash #durgetash #the dark urge #goretash #the dark urge x enver gortash #lord gortash #tw blood #(because of the gif)#here we go #next chapter in two weeks time!#i hope you'll enjoy <3 #oc: ravendras #my writing #sanguine addiction

12 notes · View notes

fleetsonourgecentral · 6 months

Note

Imagine If Fleetway Super Sonic and Sonic were actually very friendly with each other.

Now imagine Scourge getting jealous or be shocked by it

I think Scourge would be too busy being shocked to be jealous by it lmao. I headcanon he's surprisingly not as jealous a person as people expect him to be, and even if he was, he'd be too busy going "who are you and what have you done with my Sonic" to be jealous. In an extreme case, where the change of heart seemed to be sudden, he'd be worried about mind fuckery going on, maybe concerned Super or someone else has some mind altering power or device that's fucked with Sonic's head to make him be friendly with Super

Fortunately for Scourge, it's doubtful that will happen (unless someone really did pull some mind fuckery on Sonic, which would be a pretty cool storyline ngl) because I don't think Sonic will ever be friendly with Super - or at least it would take a very long time and a lot of work (and maybe some forced proximity). I think Sonic is still hung up on that one time he thought he - as Super - murdered his friends, and doesn't really believe Super can ever be truly good also his whole issue with Kintobor/Robotnik. He probably thinks there's no justice in Super getting a happy ending and being good despite being made out of chaos energy when Kintobor couldn't. Maybe that would calm down after Kintobor's return but who knows. He's not against second chances, but I don't think he'd be particularly willing to give one to Super, partly because he sees Super as more a manifestation of chaos energy and the evil within it than a person. As for Super, I think he's (understandably) nervous about being around Sonic. His ire would be hurtful, considering Super is trying so hard to be good and Sonic just will not believe it. Sonic's fear of Super undermine's Super's efforts to be a good person, and Super is worried, deep down, that Sonic is right. He was right before, after all

I think the relationship between them could certainly improve, albeit most likely with outside influences - Sonic could certainly stand to learn Super is a person and not just an evil manifestation of chaos energy that wants to destroy everything he loves, and therefore see him as a person who is not only capable of being good, but who wants to be good - but it's very difficult to envision them as ever being friendly with each other. The tension between them can be minimised, but it would be incredibly difficult to eradicate it enough to be friendly. I actually got a comment on one of my previous fics, that described them as "working towards chill civility" which I think sums it up perfectly! They can absolutely learn to co-exist in chill civility, accepting one another's presence in the world, but just... preferring the presence to be at a distance as much as possible. Anything more than that would take a lot more effort than I imagine either of them are willing to give lol

#sonic the hedgehog #scourge the hedgehog #fleetway sonic #stc sonic #fleet!sonourge #asks #headcanon #fleetway super sonic #sonic and super's relationship and their feelings about one another are so messyyyyyy i love it so much #HAHAHA HI HELLO MY BAD I. DID NOT MEAN TO DISAPPEAR. JUST BEEN BUSY AND ALSO TRYING TO WORK ON FICS #'did you finish that chapter you said you were gonna focus on' i hear you ask. the answer is no x #but I'm currently in new zealand and had a moment to go through my inbox and answer your asks real quick so! here we are!#i haven't forgotten your request btw don't worry lol #i will get to it eventually i promise #in the meantime thank u for your patience #i always love getting asks about these two losers

18 notes · View notes

peachcitt · 11 months

Text

it’s about to be june everybody :)

#ladrien #ladrienjune #ladrien june #wip wednesday #well. here we are again. i think im going to let the plot of this one be a surprise simply because i have no idea how to describe it #and i haven’t even thought of a title yet. june is (technically - it’s one in the morning here) TOMORROW😭😭😭#ive only prewritten two chapters and i have a vague outline of an incredibly complex plot. a typical peachcitt ladrien june ig #anyway. get ready for the vibe of a lifetime #been really into the idea of just writing a fuck all whatever vibe for fun lately. just really being confusing with it #and i think this fic will be a hard launch into my new era of self indulgence #also so far both prewritten chapters are around 1000 words which.#maybe they partly needed to be because of how i need to do setting building as fuck while also sticking with the prompts #but i think a big thing is i cannot physically shut the fuck up and i am worried about how that bodes for the rest of the month #but it’s been a couple years of this. the only way to survive a ladrien june is c’est la vie it the whole time and then it’s fine #im gonna post a bigger sneak peek to my kofi tomorrow (may 31) so keep an eye out if interested!!#okay anyway that’s enough rambling. goodnight everybody happy ladrien june eve eve

41 notes · View notes

froggyworlds · 11 months

Text

listen listen ok I was going to put something menacing or lyric-y but every lyric I looked at fits every voice belongs to you and I can't put them all so just take this before I explode

@mustangsart here's one of the fics I promised/alluded to I can't remember which

tw for minor self-harm, guns, and a moment of contemplated/mentioned suicide. plus other typical htb-related content warnings (ask if you want smth tagged tell me and I'll add it!)

If Mark had been holding anything a few moments ago, it would've dropped to the floor by now. His hands shook at his sides, and the trembling spread up his arms to his chest and his legs and for a few moments he was certain he was going to fall over.

He didn't, though he did stumble back a step. Somehow he even found it in himself to remember to breathe in a wheezy, gasping inhale that made his lungs ache and his throat go dry. The man's hands flew almost subconsciously to his waistband, and he watched as a pair of eyes followed them with a spark of- no. Stop it. Don't do that.

¬ Don't shoot me, Mark. ¬

Mark's fingers twitched, an itchy, clawing feeling tugging on the threads in the back of his mind like a kitten kneading a wool blanket. His hand froze, but didn't fall back into place at his side.

Standing across from him, within arm's reach, as far away as anything had ever been, was-

It was-

God, it was-

"F-fuck," Mark stammered, and took another step back.

The thing that looked like Cesar didn't move in kind. Besides the flicker of its eyes, it didn't even seem like it was breathing. As much as Mark was trying to avoid looking at its eyes, the two kept locking gazes.

He- it. It wasn't Cesar. It wasn't Cesar. It's not him. It's not him. Stop thinking it is. It's not what you think-

It looked exactly the same as it had last time Mark had seen it, and the last time Mark had seen it was three years ago. Phantom pain echoed across his scars, and the man winced at the memory of a halo of glass. But everything was the same- the Cesar standing before him was as frozen in time as the one in the photograph weighing heavy in his left breast pocket.

For the first time since its appearance, the alternate moved. It reached up and, in a gesture that seemed all-too-painfully human, drew its hand back in again hesitatingly. Its brow furrowed in what could almost be mistaken for worry.

"Mark, you- you're crying."

As they say, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."

Mark felt his legs buckle anyways. Call him a fool.

The man let out a sob and bit down on his left forefinger- hard. It didn't do much to stifle the sound, and something tasted like crimson now, but it gave him something to focus on besides-

"Mark! Are you okay?"

I think I'm going to throw up, was going to be his response, but unfortunately all Mark could muster in response was another half-choked sob, and he jerked away from the hand that reached out for him even when every part of him wanted nothing more than to cry into his friend's arms until his sleeves were soaked and for them to go home and pretend like nothing bad had ever happened in their lives, even if only for a few hours.

After a second, a word escaped his throat: "No." It evidently stung, because Cesar the alternate recoiled and a pang of something heavy struck through Mark's heart that he immediately grabbed and tossed away. This wasn't Cesar.

"You're a monster - a fucking thing. My best friend is dead and you fucking killed him!"

Sweat-slick hands gripping the handle of a gun. The click a millisecond before the bang.

“You’re not him. You’re not Cesar. You aren’t- I didn’t shoot- You’re not him.”

No matter how broken its expression looked. No matter how tired and terrified Mark was.

"I'm sorry. Mark, I'm so, so sorry."

¬ I'm sorry. It's complicated. ¬

Memories rang like church bells in his ears. Half-human shrieks. Half-human.

"It hurts, Mark. It hurts."

Mark couldn't fucking do this.

He pulled out his gun before he could think and for a second the world teetered. Overwhelming déjà-vu coursed through him as he gripped the weapon, sweaty palms and safety off and maybe it would be so, so easy to turn it around and forget all of this ever-

Mark dropped the gun. Clicked the safety back on and nudged it away. He could feel Cesar's eyes on him the whole time, noticed the way he inched away slightly and still hadn't come back yet.

"Fuck." Mark looked up, expression pulled tight and the shakiness of earlier suddenly gone in favor of an all-consuming exhaustion. Cesar still looked like he was eighteen. He still looked exactly as he had the day at the church. Mark dragged a hand down the side of his face. "Fucking Hell, Cesar."

The alternate's expression brightened, a glimmer of hope-but-not-daring-to-hope in his eyes. Mark stopped him with a slightly stiff wave and brought his hands in front of him to pick at his cuticles. The sidewalk was cold and slightly damp from the rain, and Mark pushed himself to his feet, brushing himself off and watching as Cesar did the same.

"I can't-" He sucked in a breath. The air reeked of petrichor. "I don't... know. How or why you're here." He motioned to the alternate and something zipped up his spine. The man shivered and adjusted his jacket, doing his best to ignore the dry, hollow coldness that momentarily jabbed his thoughts. "And I can't just- forgive what happened."

Three years since then. That's a fucking lifetime. It feels like yesterday.

Cesar thought for a beat, and Mark did his best not to do a double-take on how much it really did look like him.

¬ I was alone. That whole time. I missed you. ¬

And in words: "I understand."

Mark bit his lower lip, but not enough that he could taste blood. "We'll work on it, okay?" He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. "We should go home. I'm exhausted." The man paused for any sign of a change, a sudden dark smile or something or anything one would usually expect from an alternate. He wasn't sure how to feel about the pang of hope in his chest when there was none, just an almost vaguely relieved look from the other.

Mark let out a yelp, suddenly finding himself wrapped in a pair of arms that ended in hands that held onto the fabric of his jacket like a lifeline. It was a hug.

Oh, it was a hug.

Mark held on in return, almost instinctively. Cesar felt oddly small now, but still familiar enough to imagine just for a second that things were normal. He wasn't sure if either of them would be able to let go.

#this is a first draft like everything else and listen I was half-possessed writing this probably #also I totallywasn't projecting how shaky I am rn onto mark that's ridiculous lol why would you suggest such a thing #this has been floating in my brain since the end of chapter six so uh. here's me finally getting the courage to just write it already #also thank you to everyone who contributed to the poll lol #I refuse to apologize for any damage this caused. I hope the ending made up for it at least somewhat. I guess it's hurt/comfort tonight #mark refuses to go through all of that again I think. and can we blame him #hail true body au #mark heathcliff #cesar torres #the mandela catalogue au #the mandela catalogue fic #the mandela catalogue #mythic's drabbles #tmc au #tw suicide mention #tw guns #tw self harm #¬ Two have become one. ¬#¬ You won't leave me again. Right? ¬#:)

29 notes · View notes

sparrowmoth · 1 year

Text

Written in the Scars • [AO3]

Teen | 3.2K+ | Marlos-centric/OT4 | Heavy Angst, Devotion, Whump

A/N: More detailed notes on AO3, if you're interested, but here, I will just say thank you to my lovely friend Blake (@finitevoid) for talking through this fic with me and inspiring me to push the plot further, plus impressing upon me the image of an insanely tall Maleficent, which has now become secret canon in my mind dajkgsjdkg <3

CW: Heavy angst, verbal and physical child abuse, emotional manipulation, non-graphic usage of medieval torture implements, threat of self-harm, a lot of swearing, and a hurt/no comfort kinda cliffhanger in this first chapter (sorry).

Chapter One: Birdcage Religion

The knife isn’t dropped with a clatter to the stone floor. It is thrown at the feet of the Mistress of All Evil—Mal’s mother, her queen and, at a whim, her executioner. She’ll be that today, from the look on her face—the way her eyes flick to the knife and she tells Mal to repeat that.

“You heard me,” says Mal, stepping out in front of Carlos.

He doesn’t try to pull her back, though from the corner of her eye, she can see his hands twitch, like he’s thinking about it. His face has gone blank, but she reads fear in his quiet, the way he stands like a ghost, trying not to be seen. He thinks he’s caused enough trouble.

That makes Mal want to cause more.

She doesn’t shrink when her mother stands slowly from her throne, rising to her full height of seven feet and then some. Her horns add another foot and she’s standing on the dais. The candlelight behind her casts a shadow that much longer—a monstrous form, in all—

“So disappointing,” says Maleficent, voice dripping sickly sweetness. She takes her staff from where it’s leaning and takes a slow stride off the dais, almost gliding toward her daughter. “It seems your heart’s grown like a tumour in that precious little chest of yours.” Her words warp to a snarl as she lifts her staff up, spearing it forward, striking Mal hard in the sternum, sending her stumbling back into Carlos.

Mal grabs the end of the staff to keep from losing her balance, eyes flashing green as she glares at her mother, whose own burning gaze comes down the length of the staff. Only hatred there. No, intent—

“PROVE YOURSELF, GIRL,” roars Maleficent, wielding the staff in an arc as she kicks at Mal’s shin, sending her down and out of the way, leaving a path to Carlos. “THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE.”

Carlos, in a slight daze from having hit the stone floor—hard—recovers quickly at the sight of Maleficent encroaching, her staff poised to strike, coming down like a falcon, everything a blur—

Mal throws herself in front of him just in time to take the blow.

In some far part of his mind, still dazed, Carlos hears her ribs crack like a shot. He feels the part of a rabbit having watched the hound dog take a bullet for its prey, right from its master’s rifle—

Then, Mal is slumping across him, wheezing for breath, and he’s trying not to panic as he tries to sit up, tries to drag Mal away, tries to think through the thought stream of stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid—because he’s scared and he’s angry and he doesn’t understand. Why didn’t she just do it? Why didn’t she just hurt him? Why didn’t she…

“Ah, so it is a cancer,” says Maleficent, practically in a purr. She’s put the end of her staff under Carlos’ chin now, forcing his gaze up. She smirks when his open, vulnerable face turns quickly to something vicious. “You don’t fool me, boy. I can see your weakness…”

Mal’s arm shoots up and she grips the staff hard, pushing it away.

“Leave him alone,” she grits out, struggling up while half in Carlos’ lap still. “This is…” She coughs, blood speckling her lips. “Between you and me…” she manages, craning her neck to meet Maleficent’s eyes, high as a god’s above hers, staring ever down, down, down.

Maleficent smiles, something sinister, and she yanks her staff back easily out of Mal’s fist. “Do you know what I think?�� she asks, the point of her staff hovering just above the stones. “I think… what’s between us are three little problems… and he happens to be one.”

With that, her staff comes down in an almighty bang, cracking open the stones and ushering in the guards—a group of boar-headed men with wide-set, matte black eyes set in wiry, mud-brown fur. They are dressed in leather armour with a dragon scale design, and various weapons hang from their belts or are carried in their hands—

They need no instruction beyond the simplest nod.

Carlos bites down on the first hand that reaches past him, trying for a fistful of Mal’s hair to drag her up. He draws a crude noise from the guard he’s wounded, but another moves in quick enough—

Mal is grabbed tight around the waist, weakening her kicks as she gasps for breath. Carlos is hoisted by the scruff of his jacket, but he writhes so much that he slips out from it easily, landing light on his feet, where he would normally make a break for it, except—

“Carlos,” Mal chokes out, a note of pleading in her voice.

He knows what she wants, what she’s trying to tell him.

He knows, if she could manage, she would say it’s an order.

But he doesn’t try to run.

Mal’s desperate eyes are the last he sees before a guard comes up behind him, pulling a sack down over his head and drawing the string tight, making him reach for his neck before his hands are roughly yanked away and burly arms lift him off his feet again.

Thick as the bag is over his head, the noises around him are slightly muffled, but loud as his breathing now sounds in his own ears, he hears Maleficent sigh, like this is all some inconvenience—

“Prepare the birdcage,” she addresses the guards, “and some chains for the mutt. No food, no water.” She pauses, then adds with a dark sense of promise, “If even one escapes, there will be pork roast for dinner, do you quite understand? Good. Now, to the dungeon.”

Maleficent’s dungeon is not unfamiliar.

Mal, Carlos, Jay, and Evie had plumbed the depths of the castle when they were all children. That was different than this, being carried down blind, hearing the echoes deepen, feeling the damp press in, a chill like death’s hands, goosebumps spreading—

There is sobbing, screaming, quiet moaning, and pleas behind the first door that opens at the bottom of the stairwell. They pass on through without a word from the guards or Maleficent herself.

Several more doors open and all sense of presence in the cells fades away to nothing. Now, there is only the footsteps, the rattle of chains and the clank of metal, words exchanged between the boar men in a guttural language, and underneath it all, the faintest of whimpers—

“You see now,” says Maleficent, “what your defiance will cost you, so I wonder…” She trails off and Carlos hears some shuffling, feels the bodies shift around him, and a hand pressing down on his head—

He’s forced onto his knees.

The bag is ripped away to reveal Mal, standing in front of him, with her mother behind her, one clawed hand on her shoulder—the other holding a knife, offering it for Mal to take—

But Mal’s just looking at Carlos.

“Slit his throat,” Maleficent whispers into her trembling daughter’s ear, lips close enough that she must tickle the flesh, “and I may just reconsider your punishment.” She trails her hand down from Mal’s shoulder, grabbing her wrist and guiding her puppet-like to grasp the knife. “Go on,” she urges. “His life is yours. He belongs to you. That’s what you’ve told me. Now, I’m telling you… to prove it…”

“Mal,” says Carlos, barely audible. I’ll come back goes unsaid.

She knows that. She knows that. Why won’t she just kill him?

This is the closest to mercy she will get from her mother.

Mal’s fingers twitch and Carlos holds his breath. He watches, heart pounding, as she slowly takes the knife, and then—much quicker than he can process such a stupid fucking decision—she’s whirling around, poised to stab her mother’s chest, no hesitation at all—

But Maleficent reacts, too fast for Mal to land the blade.

Her wrist is ensnared. Her mother’s face is stony.

This time, the knife is dropped.

It clatters to Mal’s feet and lays there, abandoned.

The silence that follows seems almost unnatural, as thick as it is—like a spell that can be broken by only Maleficent. And she does, but at her leisure, first gripping Mal’s chin with a punishing pressure—

“Do you want so much to die?” she asks, voice low and predatory.

Mal just stares at her, breathing hard and ragged, a soft-edged anger in her eyes, like fear is threatening to resurface—

She has no time to react before Maleficent withdraws her hand and brings it back with a hard slap that echoes off the stone walls and almost seems to make the torches flicker. The force of the blow should send Mal to her knees, but Maleficent grabs her, fisting her jacket, yanking her up. She takes a fistful of Mal’s hair and whips her head toward Carlos, forcing her to meet his eyes again—

“ANSWER ME, GIRL. WOULD YOU DIE FOR THIS DOG?”

Carlos, holding Mal’s gaze, almost imperceptibly shakes his head.

Mal stares at him for a moment, eyes bright with unshed tears, then her expression hardens and she spits blood at the ground, a trickle of red spit dribbling down her chin as she strains to tilt her head back and look at her mother, saying everything with her silence—

Maleficent’s lip curls. Her knuckles whiten, paler than pale—as though her skin is translucent, showing the bones. “Very well.”

She stoops, bending down to Mal’s ear—

“But know that, this time, you will not be buried.”

Maleficent straightens to her full, monstrous height, shoving Mal to her knees before she commands her, voice thunderous, to surrender her weapons, her jewelry, her outer clothing and her boots—

Pridefully, Mal looks back up at her mother as she moves to comply, slipping out of her jacket to show the knives strapped to her arms.

She removes them, one by one, and simply tosses them aside.

Carlos watches, breathing ragged, red creeping in at the edges of his vision. She’s giving up—and for what? “FUCK YOU, MAL!” he bursts out, startling the guards on either side of him; their grip on him had slackened, so he slides easily to the ground. “I’m not fucking worth it,” he growls, staring dead into Mal’s eyes. She looks stunned, on the verge of anger; then, the knife’s pulled from his boot, and—

“NO!” She’s up on her feet, lunging for Carlos before a pale, clawed hand hooks her upper arm, dragging her back with an effortless tug.

Carlos’ knife is at his own throat, and the guards who, at first, had moved to disarm him, are melting slowly back away. Their eyes are ever on their mistress, who has one hand raised—a silent command.

“Carlos,” Mal gasps softly, straining hard against her mother’s hold.

His eyes are raised above her head.

Maleficent is smirking.

She… wants him to…

Carlos falters, lowering the point of the knife from his throat to his collarbone. He looks at Mal, takes a breath, makes his decision—

And plunges the knife into the nearest boar man’s knee.

They squeal and the sound of it, so piercingly loud, rings in Carlos’ ears as the guards bear down. He thinks, for a second, somewhere through the din, that he hears Mal laugh—in spite of everything—

The thought is interrupted by a boot to his gut, leaving him winded. No time to catch his breath before he’s dragged up by his arms—and Mal is screaming now. He’s sure of that. He can’t focus on the words because there’s too much stimulation—the rattling of chains, the icy bite of metal, the hot breath on his face. He tenses under large hands checking over him for weapons, taking each as they’re discovered—

Carlos’ too-small boots are yanked off and he briefly feels the stone floor, burning cold beneath his bare feet; then, the chains hooked to his wrists are pulled up sharply toward the ceiling. The ground goes out from under him and he struggles not to flail, feeling panic swell up in him. He strains to touch the ground, but only manages on his tiptoes—and that’s only for a moment before a hard shove sends him swinging, shooting pain down through his shoulders—

The boar men snort with laughter as Carlos struggles, seemingly in vain. He gets a grip on the chains attached to his shackles and, with all the upper body strength he can muster, swings himself with legs outstretched—just when the guards have turned their backs to him.

He catches the nearest one around the neck, legs quickly constricting until the boar man starts to choke, clawing at Carlos’ skinny ankles as two of his fellows rush to assist him—

One grabs hold of Carlos’ leg and tries to pry it back, even almost succeeding—until his sweaty hands slip and Carlos’ leg snaps back with force, catching the choking man right in the snout. His tusks dig in to Carlos’ flesh, but the pain is distant from Carlos’ fury—

Until the weight of a spiked club connects with his hip.

He bites down on a cry as his legs come loose from around the boar men’s neck and heavily succumb to gravity. His shoulders ache and his hip throbs and he feels numbness in his fingertips.

Still, when a guard stoops to seize his good leg, Carlos spits down at their head and meets a snarl with a snarl. His ankle is shackled to a short length of chain, attached to an iron ball that’s set a little away.

His toes can touch it if he stretches, but it’s too heavy to drag nearer in any hope that he could stand on it, so he just glowers at the boar men as their numbers start to dissipate—

And Mal comes sharply back into focus.

She looks beaten down, quite literally, on her knees in front of her mother, wearing nothing but her thin, black underwear. There’s an open cage behind her, in the shape of a person much taller than her, albeit nowhere as tall as Maleficent, with her horns that scrape the ceiling. She is a god here on the Isle and she carries herself as one.

Huge, even at a distance, Maleficent’s stare turning suddenly on Carlos makes him feel like a lame deer in a grizzly’s line of sight.

“Still alive, I see,” Maleficent remarks.

Mal’s head jerks up and she meets Carlos’ eyes.

“There’s cruelty in you yet, child, to not have spared him this torture when I gave you the chance.” Maleficent smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “His pain will be immeasurable, and all because…” She tips forward, bending at the waist, one hand slowly extending until she cups Mal’s stubborn chin and forces it upward. “You are a sadistic, selfish little girl,” Maleficent coos, her voice like poisoned honey.

Mal tries to shake her head, but her mother holds her chin tight.

“He begged for a quick death, but you denied him…”

“SHUT UP!” Carlos bellows, writhing in his chains despite the pain that lances through him. He can’t listen anymore. He can’t just feel this helpless. “YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW?” He glares at Maleficent, all fear in him burnt up.

The air seems almost to coagulate, growing thick with a tension that holds the guards in their places, their eyes on their mistress as she rises to her full height, reaches out to take her staff, and—

“DON’T HURT HIM!” Mal bursts out, struggling up to her feet. She puts her arms out like a pair of spread wings—a feeble sort of shield.

Maleficent simply takes her staff in hand, face plain and unmoved.

“Speak again,” she says, addressing Carlos, “and I will cut out your tongue.” She looks at Mal, eyes dead of emotion, then lifts her staff and slams it down against the stone. “Enough of my time has been wasted on you.” She circles behind Mal, who turns to face her, wary as a mouse in the presence of Bastet. “Had I only known you’d be so human, so stupid and WEAK…” She takes a menacing step forward, backing Mal up to the birdcage. “This would have been your cradle.”

Maleficent shoves Mal and she goes stumbling backwards, right into the cage. Her head slams against the iron bars and she sinks dazedly down onto what feels like a stove with the switch just flicked on—

Her mother steps back and gestures for a boar man—one who shuts the iron cage, turns the key in the padlock, then—throwing his head back, jaws open to the ceiling—drops the key right down his throat and forces a swallow. He suppresses a cough before opening up his mouth again, presenting his throat for Maleficent’s inspection—

She perks an eyebrow, leaning over him, then gives a curt nod of approval. “Finish it,” she says with a snap of her fingers, and two boar men rush to operate a pulley made stubborn with rust—

Maleficent watches as the birdcage is raised several feet in the air—then higher still at her direction. Only when it is hanging out of the reach of any normal person does she utter, “There. Now secure it.”

Mal chokes down a whimper, just now starting to squirm.

Her mother regards her without any emotion, and somehow, that’s worse—worse than laughter or gloating or even… disappointment, because if Mal’s blood were pure, she would already be screaming.

“Mom.” The word escapes Mal as Maleficent turns her back—

She stops—and from his vantage point, Carlos sees her teeth flash.

It’s a moment, only, and then she’s icily calm. “Guards,” she says, and they come quickly to attention, awaiting her orders. She holds the room in silence uncomfortably long, slowly tapping her fingers against her staff. “You will inform Jafar and Evil Queen that I have withdrawn protection of their wretched whelps. Furthermore, that I will not tolerate any sight of the two in the shadow of my castle—and should they appear to darken my doorstep… I expect you will report to me with a body to be buried. Do you quite understand?”

She glances over her shoulder, then starts toward the door.

Mal stares after her wide-eyed, fists clenched tight around the iron bars. Her knuckles are bloodless, but her palms are reddening.

Her lips are parted, but she doesn’t speak.

Carlos is quiet, too—teeth grit so hard, his jaw aches. He’s breathing hard through his nose, glowering at Maleficent as she glides through the door, and all the boar men with her. The door slams shut and the jail keys jingle, locking up this cell that will, in days, become a tomb.

When all the footsteps have faded, Carlos finally screams—

Pure fury. Unspent anger. Hatred. Bloodlust. Wrath.

He’s not afraid. He will come back. He will come back. He’s not afraid. Death is familiar. He will come back. He’s not afraid. It isn’t that. It’s not the dying. Not the torture. Death’s familiar. So is pain.

It’s just that—if he hadn’t kissed her—

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are always appreciated. And feel free to subscribe on AO3 if you want to be alerted when the next chapter comes out. Kudos and comments are lovely, as well! ♥

#descendants #marlos #rotten OT4 #descendants fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #descendants fandom #man it took me like a week to get this chapter out of my brain #it kept making me sad so I had to stop writing ajkgjsdkg #but it's finally here #and chapter two is vivid in my mind #so I will start writing that soon #though I might finish evil puppy carlos's adventures first #we shall see we shall see #I am really on a marlos kick #but I promise Jay and Evie are coming next chapter #and they have a huge role to play #plus they are going to commit crimes!#nothing like a murderous jayvie <3

29 notes · View notes

dmclemblems · 2 years

Photo

listen i am losing it over this

claude via feh literally confirming my headcanon that he knows medicine

and him and dimitri just hang out together regularly in feh verse

enough that dimitri can say “we’ve been away from the castle for quite some time” and they’re alone together

the headcanon gods smile upon me yet again with these two as do the dmcl gods and i am living peak dmcl life

#Heroes #Dimitri #Claude #DimiClaude #i literally have a commission i'm finishing up where i planned it with the person who asked for it #and we agreed to include my claude knowing medicine headcanon in it and how he makes medicine for dimitri #which is ALSO being put in another fic of mine that's a second chapter wip atm of a former oneshot #and feh out here telling me that claude hangs out with dimitri and knows medicine like y'all rly just did that #HOW LONG Y'ALL BEEN OUT HERE ALONE TOGETHER FOR i think this is a romantic rendezvous #they are literally alone together and have been for quite some time GOOD FOR THEM GOOD FOR THEM...#also it's funny how the first ppl hubert and monica ask abt the charm is those two #they rly went hey let's ask edelgard's worst enemies if they know anything abt this kufgyhsagfdh #y'all come on if it was them do you rly think they'd admit it at that point #but also thank you hubert and monica for looking for them bc now you've exposed them for running off together #for long periods of time to the point they have no fucking idea what's going on at the castle #thank you hubert i rly appreciate your efforts for the dmcl fandom #DCE Comments

97 notes · View notes

willowser · 1 year

Note

hi willow i was just perusing ur fic rec you just posted when i saw you mention if he’s a serial killer and of course I decided to re read it for the millionth time and now I wanted to say how much I absolutely adore it so much. The characterization of touya and his development of romantic feelings is just so, so wonderfully well done. I think about those two all the time— it’s just: what are they up to these days? has touya throttled kinjo yet? have they progressed to sleeping in the bed together rather than one on the couch? because they are just so special to me and I want to swaddle your touya in a heated blanket and make him a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream.

oh, oh !! 🥺✨️ thank you so much for sending this in !! i'm so glad you enjoy his characterization !! 🤗💐💕

what are these two up to these days !! let's see !!

warning for just dabi in general, as usual LOL also this got so fucking angsty and a bit sad ?? my b !!

dabi is — sitting in the dark of your room.

on the bed, looking at the window he's just come through, how the night has followed him in. the clothes he's wearing smell like people, weird as that is to say; not at all like the passion-blah-blah-blah detergent he's become spoiled on.

and you're — not home. before he clambered in, he knew that already, but even a shell of you is better than nothing. preferable, almost, or at least that's what he tells himself.

couple weeks ago, you mentioned seeing a movie together, asked if you should take the night off before your work schedule came out, but dabi thinks that's all a little juvenile, doesn't he? whaddya wanna do? tongue each other in the back row? as if he gives a damn what's popular these days, what everyone's watching or why. not like he's got a ton of time to consume the general media.

but he's still here now. in the absence of you and your passion-blah-blah-blah, picking the lint off your comforter. there's no telling how to work the fucking washing machine; it sings and has a lot of buttons and he's never really watched you put the soap in it, and all he needs is for you to come home and know he's been here 'cause he flooded the place.

still hasn't decided if he's gonna stay the night.

(well, he has, because he always does, but he's at least trying to entertain the prospect of skipping out. for the sake of his ego.)

a huff of laughter slips through his mouth and all his gaps, watching his mirrored image in your vanity. "fucking pussy-whipped, dude."

"oh, touya, don't say that," he raises his voice several octaves, eyes falling closed as he lays back on your bed. sinks into it, really, as if it's trying to swallow him whole. as if he wants it to. "watch your mouth, hm, hm, hm."

and then he laughs for real, because he's fucking stupid.

what do you look like right now, he wonders. how'd you do your makeup today, and if you wore your favorite scrubs or settled for the ones that are a little too big. who've you spoken to. who had the gall to make you laugh. after knowing your nearly every goddamn move for half his life, being in the dark — fucking literally — has him distracted. side-tracked, for the past two days since he's seen you.

you're asking a lot of questions lately. ones he can't answer. things are — moving into place, changing, and they're all preparing for the grand finale.

touya is supposed to be preparing for the end, and instead he has his face pressed into your pillow, trying to scent himself in you so that he'll go unnoticed, just for a little while. really shouldn't even be here because he's got real important lieutenant shit to do, but —

no. because he's fucking pussy-whipped. and he ain't even gotten any yet.

touya wonders if you'll take the night off, when he kills endeavor. if you'll take the week off, when he's killed in turn.

touya wonders who is gonna walk you home that late at night.

fight-or-flight kicks in when the keys sound in the lock, but dabi's preparing for the end, anyway, so he just lays there. watches the amber glow of your living room lamp as it's twisted on, listens to the soft sound of your footfalls and maybe a plastic bag or two. you mutter something to yourself and his lips twitch, and when you stroll into your room, your eyes are on your phone.

when the light flips on, he groans and buries his face, muffled. blinded. "ah, fuck!"

the wavering breath you gasp in has him snorting, and then the knock against the wall has him peeking at you, squinting. you've got a hand over your chest and your phone is face down on the carpet and you look like you've seen a ghost.

right now that metaphor sucks, with everything on his mind.

"touya," you exhale, and his toes curl in his holey socks like a little fucking schoolgirl. "god, you scared me half to death!"

right now that metaphor sucks.

"turn the damn light off," he groans again, "some of us are trying to get some shut eye."

your expression melts down into one he's used to; yeah, it's been two days since he's been around, but he's answered when you called — "just to check" — so you shouldn't be all pissy. a little upset, because that ain't hard to do, but this is the best he can give you, with the time he has left.

even after you flick the light off, he can make out the soft curve of your cheek and it releases him from some shitty, unnamed thing; he wouldn't call it fear or panic or anxiety, but maybe something like it, if he wanted to be honest. and he doesn't.

a little flicker of want comes to life in the pit of his stomach, at the sight of you kneeling on the bed to lay beside him. he's not gonna die without fucking the life out of you, but your touch is making him too jittery tonight. has him on edge, and not the sexy kind.

"well hello stranger," you muse, tucking hair behind his ear before fiddling with one of his hoops. tense as he is, he should probably tell you to cut it out, but — fuck it.

"i'm here to rob you. gimme all your valuables and i'll let you live."

and because you're a fucking — little weirdo, you just tilt your head and crinkle your nose, already grinning. "what if you are my valuable?"

"shut the fuck up," he gripes, back curling like a cat as he faces away from you. the lilt of your laughter drags across his spine like a fine point, making him shiver and itch. "though we were s'pposed to see a movie, or something? not kiss each other's ass."

despite the curtain he's closed in your face, you still scoot closer to him, press your face against his back. "well, i'm sure it's too late now, all the last showings have probably started." you take his silence for disappointment, and are quick to appease. "we can watch something here though, if you'd like."

"i was expecting popcorn."

you snort, "that'll probably hurt your stomach, but i can make some." silence unnerves you again and you poke at his hips. "do you mind facing me?"

dabi does mind — but moments like this are what he'll want to remember. you're so close that his nose bumps yours, but you just smile at him, a little shy, like he hasn't known you your whole goddamn life.

"missed you." gently, your eyes close, like you're so fucking content that you could fall asleep just like this. "i know you can't tell me, but...i hope everything's okay."

and — touya has to fist a hand in your hair and knock his forehead with yours — softly; he's not trying to have any repeat incidents.

"i said i'm here to rob you, now tell me where the money is," he grits, "and maybe i'll even keep you for myself. like a little housepet."

"my wallet's out in the kitchen," you hum, wrapping your hand over his own until his grip loosens. "you can have it, just don't hurt the guy here in my bedroom."

"fuck him," dabi rasps, and you gasp, all dramatics. "i'll torch the idiot."

"then i'll fight you." again with your grinning; you hitch a leg over his waist, like you'll straddle him any moment and — whew. okay, your touch isn't making him that jittery. "you'll have to go through me first."

it's fucking bullshit, how true that is; preparing for the end means letting go, unfurling the hand he's had on you for so long. the very idea has him rolling the two of you over, pressing you firmly into your passion-blah-blah-blah sheets so that you're stuck, with no means to escape. some feral voice inside touya's head reminds him that you're his, because he's fucking earned you. all the waiting and watching he did, how hard he's worked to get you like this; beneath him and laughing and unbothered by the macabre of his hands and lips.

preparing for the end: yeah, he's working on it, but it ain't something he's got time for tonight.

too bad, so sad, but — he's got a movie date.

#aw — miss these two !!#did not realize it until just now !!#someone once asked me on ao3 if reader-chan ever asks about what dabi does #where he goes and what her thoughts are on it #and i have a chapter scripted out for a decently large argument LOL around this topic #but it just always has me thinking a little more !!#i originally just wanted to write endlessly about their relationship but — idk !#with all of touya's plot in the manga i'm tempted to — cover some of it #especially since we wont go here directly in ptmy #just thoughts !!#[ ☆ if he's a serial killer: dabi ]#✿ willow writes #✿ ask willow

62 notes · View notes