#is hitting the horizon and the sky is going gradually dark and i should go inside. bc i have many things to do in the morning. so that's

[opens-up-4-nobody]

The way that the sun hits leaves and clouds. I feel like I could watch the colors change forever. If I could slow down for that long.

#i keep forgetting a have a deck now. i can go outside and sit there #im doing that now. sitting in the corner of a deck full of empty chairs. staring up at a big pine tree where the sun is striking it gold #at the top. i like how thr light hits the needles. if the sky was black it would look like its on fire #theres a tree outside my bedroom window too. in the morning. after the sunrises it catches thr light and refelcts the most perfect shade #of green. the kind of green that flutters translucent like youre looking up from the bottom of a pool. the light the light its all about #the sun. everything everything is about the sun. when i start my project I'll be focused on understanding how organisms catch the light bc #its so incredible and complicated it would make my chest swell to bursting if there wasnt an empty bleeding wound in my gut. a #metaphorical wound of course. i dunno. its just difficult bc right now my mood is inflated by hormones. not even that much i think I'm #just at what shoulf be a normal level of happiness so i can be slow for a minute. but just a minute bc i kno it won't last long #sorry i cant shut the fuck up when im like this but i dunno i just feel like i havr to document these ephemeral moments before they're gone #its just difficult when you kno the world is so full of beautiful things but 95% of the time your eyes are too clouded to see it #everyone tells me i work too much but i feel like im just staring off into space being miserable 60% of the time. ive just done so much #damage over the past few years im coming into a new lab as damaged goods. ive got an albatross around my neck in thr form of data i #collected so self destructively that the idea of having anything to do with its publication makes me hate myself. everytime someone tells #me good job on collecting so so so much data it feels like they're congratulating me for breaking something within myself. like i slit my #wrists and bled out on a lab bench and theyre saying good job and theyre excited for me and i have to grin and bear it and pretend im #excited too. but im not bc ive burned everything inside me to ash. so when im elevated enough to be distracted by the clouds and trees it #feels like healing. like seeing angels. beautiful ephemeral beams of light. i wish i could slow down enough to watch them. but now thr sun #is hitting the horizon and the sky is going gradually dark and i should go inside. bc i have many things to do in the morning. so that's #what ill do. and ill try to get more thsn 6hrs of sleep but its hard when your body is vibrating over with energy #but at least i dont feel tired in the morning. something in my head must be on fire #unrelated #hm i should maybe add a tw to this #tw self injury #but its the kind thst makes u good at ur Job. its the kind ppl reward. so they don't understand when u say its destroying ur life #but im trying to get better. i say as i gear up for an insane semester lol but i do mean it

[deva-26]

The Clouds Over a Street Like Venice

It starts out in the middle of a street, and it’s sunny. Looking very similar to one like Venice, with about three or four lanes on each side. A wide enough center divider for people to walk on and a sprinkle of palm trees disappear into the horizon on its spine. Surprisingly, there’s barely any traffic. In fact, I don’t even remember seeing a car. They might have all been used to evacuate.

We’re watching some sort of press conference being held, my older sister and I. Both Trump and Biden are side by side answering questions being asked by the small group of people around. They’re not making much sense, but their supporters try to convince everyone that they’re right. Something about some food having 10000% fat so the people couldn’t eat it. The small crowd voices their disbelief with boos, but they saunter off with a victory they think they’ve earned. They turn to talk to some people sagging at a bus stop. They might have been drunk. I mutter to my sister that no food has that much fat, except for maybe a whale. She voices her agreement. Then the sky catches my eye.

I notice a trail of several white clouds against the blue sky, and they’re moving, very fast. The clouds are separate from each other, shaped like that spinning object from Inception, only no point at the bottom. They glide soundlessly through the sky, but as rapid as any fighter jet, and make a show to curve closer to us as they pass. My eyes follow them back up into the atmosphere over my right shoulder, moving to hide in the rays of the sun. Im only disappointed about not being able to get a picture or video of them. My sister is barely interested and I follow her down the center divider.

Im looking down the center divider away from the sun, and i see it happen. A large fire ember spike is pushing its way out of the the street, and now the people take notice. You can feel the confusion and concern in the air. I want a closer look and make my way toward the ember spike laying on the floor. It’s a completely burned up palm tree trunk.

I look up again and the sky is turning dark with smoke from fires and the Sun beginning to go down. The separate clouds that passed earlier are now hanging in the sky with flashes of light shots randomly hitting the ground. I’m kind of in awe. I turn to my sister and pull her sway from a hole in the street, point at it and tell her to be careful. I glance at the surroundings again and it’s gotten darker. A long line of people are gradually filling up a liquor store that somehow still has electricity.

I glance to an overpass nearby with smoke billowing out from it, and a man appears with a white shirt, dark jeans, dark curly, oily hair to his shoulders and black spectacle glasses. I’ve never seen him before. I vaguely think that we should get a hold of mom and turn to my sister. The instant i see her face it starts.

She’s nothing but pleasant but I can feel my pulse quicken. She’s wearing similar clothes to the guy, I notice just now. And for some reason, she’s wearing glasses. I step closer to her and notice her eyes. I can feel the panic rush in. Her eyes say “don’t follow me”.

“Oh” I think and the anxiety reaches across my skin. As i step backwards from her, that man gets closer and she gets happier.

I turn away and I could feel the presence of my sister slowly fade away.

I turn to my left and see more people somehow still making their way into the liquor store, and it’s filled to the brim. I wrap my arms around myself. I make no move toward it.

I turn to the right and people are running, screaming, escaping together or just huddled together amidst the end of the world. I stay put, not wanting to interfere.

Im having a panic attack and can’t move. And I don’t want to be seen. My eyes move to the overpass and suddenly the clouds of smoke flowing out look so inviting.

The thought blaring in my head finally makes it out my mouth,

“I just didn’t want to be alone”

I say it again and my legs start to move.

I say it again and I’m closer to the flames.

Next thing I know im screaming it, running and crying toward the overpass, closer to the black clouds. I reach the fire but it doesn’t burn, if anything I feel cold. I smile, let the clouds envelope me and disappear in the smoke.

I blink my eyes open and feel a shade of my anxiety still bubbling in my torso. Tears are welled up in the corners of my eyes. I glance up at the ceiling and notice only one of my dreamcatchers is moving, ever so slightly.

Could be from a breeze, or my distressed breath. Or maybe this dream was so strong, it fought its way through the dream catcher to reach me.

It’s still moving so maybe a breeze.

This isn’t the first time I’ve woken up like this, panicky, sad, lost in my loneliness. But that’s the first time I’ve had that dream. The details were strong and vivid like a movie. I wish there was a way to record them so I could see it again.

My sister is fine and as far as i know, single. Not part of some oily haired cult. She moved out a couple of years ago.

I seek out solitude no matter any occasion or event. Flirting with songs in my phone. My subconscious is weird.

But there is this one theory that i like, from a movie of course. That dreams are connected to your other selves across a multiverse. And dreams show us the lives of those in the multiverse.

I’ve seen myself die so many times this way. Through dreams.

But ive no more time to dwell on this. I promised myself to get a burger and fries from a street that looks like Venice.

Hopefully, the clouds won’t move that fast in the sky.

#dreams #nightmare #my photos #palm trees #street #underpass #vivid dreams #anxiety #anxiety attack #panic #panic attack #dream death #lonely #self sabotage #dreamcatcher #seriously brain wtf #dreamcatcher…you had one job #luckily i got my burger and fries #daytime outing #dream log #the movie with the dream theory is Dr. Strange and the Multiverse of Madness #personal

[keepingupwithpotters]

goddess on a mountain top

Week 5 on @efkgirldetective 's Summer of Jily (technically not set in summer but in may?? surely that's forgivable)💫💫💫

stargazing + I've got plenty of affection / I'd be glad to show you some time

on ao3

It turned out there weren’t that many people who took Divination in her Astronomy class.

She was, somewhere deep in her mind, aware of this fact but the implications of it didn’t hit her until she was paired with her partner for this joint project. All that was left for Lily now was to scowl deep as she craned her neck, eyes crinkling with the effort.

There were many reasons Lily Evans wished she was anywhere but the Astronomy Tower tonight, number one being the late hour. Last she checked, it was very close to curfew, and sure they got permission from both of their professors for this, but that didn’t stop a gnawing worry growing inside her belly. And as a prefect –she still loved reminding herself that– wasn’t she supposed to be a little alert now anyway? Surely, these nerves were normal.

The warm May night was doing nothing to quell these concerns either, just serving as a mocking reminder of how close they were to the OWLs. She tried to console herself by seeing this as an exam prep too, empty star charts laying at the ground, but she would really prefer it if this certain homework was done solo at least.

And that brought her to the heart of the issue: the boy next to him. She had to admit, more than half of her anxieties right now were caused by him, a confession he would never hear from her lips though. An indignant huff escaped her with the thought.

“Stop hogging the telescope, Evans. Do you see Venus or not?”

She let go of James’ telescope with a sigh. They had decided bringing only one would be enough earlier, a decision she highly regretted now.

“No Venus. I think we’re looking in the wrong direction. We shouldn’t even need a telescope to see Venus, it’s supposed to be the brightest in the sky.”

“Umm, you’re wrong, Evans. Sirius is the brightest star in the sky.”

The last part was said with a practiced boredom, a phrase probably drilled into his head – and everybody else who was in the same Astronomy class with Sirius Black too, honestly. She would’ve found it amusing if it wasn’t for her cranky mood.

A saccharin smile. “Good thing Venus is not a star then, right, Potter?”

She decided to continue her search for Venus on the other side, hoping to find Jupiter as well before they lost their chance to see both. Their mission was supposed to be one of the easy ones, with the two brightest planets and all. She had a suspicion that wasn’t why Professor Dowson had given it to them though, remembering her wink as she remarked that maybe this Venus-Jupiter conjunction would do them some good too. Hah. Not bloody likely.

Her decision to leave his side certainly had nothing to do with her clammy hands holding the telescope, slipping further with his proximity. She tried to bring Sev’s face forth in her mind, guilt churning inside her stomach instantly. Better guilt than these weird flutters in her heart.

Venus winked at her from afar, seemingly mocking her thoughts. She didn’t have time to take offense before she turned her head to alert James too, relieved to finally do something besides bickering back and forth about planets and stars.

“Oi, Potter, come over here. I found it.”

He shuffled over reluctantly, probably due to not wanting to admit defeat. He barely even glanced at the sky before opening his mouth.

“Are you sure? I can’t see anything.”

“Well, some of us can see without needing a bloody gold telescope.”

She repositioned him correctly, turning his head to the right direction while grumbling under her breath. Her annoyance prevented her from realizing how close they’d gotten in the process, a fact that instantly took her breath away with the awareness. She waited a while before speaking again.

“Do you see it now?”

He choked out a “Yes.”, managing to stumble over one syllable. She didn’t let herself think why that was the case, too busy stressing over whispering the question at the first place.

Needing some distance in between, she took a shaky step back, trying to regain her composure. “And the dimmer one next to it should be Jupiter. We located the conjunction now, let’s fill the charts before we waste more time.”

“Relax, Evans.” He rolled his eyes. “We’re doing homework, and we have permission. This must be the most boring curfew breaking I have ever been involved in.”

“Sorry it’s not up to your standards, Potter. Next time I’ll bring Peeves with me.”

“I was hoping we would be alone next time we were in the Astronomy Tower together actually, Evans.”

A flush rose to her face with his cheeky smile, hopefully not too visible in the dark. She wanted to storm away under the guise of bringing their empty charts from the other side, but saw he already brought them with him in disappointment. She settled for a really loud exhale instead.

They were sitting on the ground, filling their charts in silence when they were interrupted for the first time that night. A couple barged into the tower in a flurry, limbs tangled, and eyes not seeing anything but each other. They didn’t seem to anticipate anyone else being there at this hour, not bothering to check their surroundings. An amused cough came from James as a warning while she was too shocked to say anything.

The couple finally broke apart, looking at them like they were the ones not supposed to be here.

“Oh, it’s already occupied,” the girl breathed out at last, looking sheepish and apologetic. “Sorry, didn’t see you. We’ll find another place.”

The guy gave them a funny look before leaving as he eyed their position and the charts laying before them, questioning their purpose in the Astronomy Tower most likely. The frantic couple left as quickly as they came in, leaving James and Lily gaping behind them.

The silence was broken by her laugh at last.

“Oh, no. Did she say they will find another place?” It seemed once the dam was broken, there was no stopping it. “I should’ve stopped that as a prefect, shouldn’t I?”

He joined in her laugh after a while too, shock wearing off from both of them gradually. “Nah, Evans. Reckon you deserve a day off. Leave it to the ones patrolling today, it’s their problem.”

The tense mood from earlier was dissipated, just a faint memory behind now that they wouldn’t touch upon. She felt like she owed the couple for that, at least.

“I am done with the star chart. We only have the astrological interpretation left now, right?”

“Yeah.” He went through the notes in front of him rapidly, looking for the correct glyphs. “Okay, so we got Jupiter touching Venus. And Jupiter amplifies everything it comes into contact with. Let’s just list everything Venus does with ‘more’ before it and call it a day.”

She couldn’t argue with that logic. She started to rattle on as she wrote in the margins of her chart. “Alright, then more love, more beauty, more creativity… More art maybe, for the creativity and aesthetic side? And more affection for love and pleasure.”

“Yeah, good, but we’re supposed to write them as the effects of the transit so something like ‘I will show more affection’ is—”

She couldn’t stop the snort that left her mouth.

“What?”, he gave an offended cry. “I’ve got plenty of affection. I am oozing with affection.”

Images of Severus and all the other poor First Years filled her mind. “Yeah, for like three other people.”

“It doesn’t have to be only three people,” he mumbled. She couldn’t hear him without straining her ears.

“Ah, I won’t believe you finally broadened your horizons till I witness it with my own eyes, Potter.”

“Yeah?” There was a challenging glint in his eyes. “Well, I’d be glad to show you sometime,” he bit out.

She tried to stop her mind from wandering. “Can’t wait.”

Lily Evans was no fool, she knew exactly what these innuendos were, and what her body’s extreme reactions to them meant. But Lily Evans was also a good friend. So, she would wait, maybe even talk with Severus in the meanwhile about it. The exam period was plenty stressful anyway, it only made sense for her to be cautious about this.

She would bid her time, stay put until the OWLs were over. Her rising hopes were hushed immediately with the thought, not allowing her mind to dream that far. But for right now, Lily Evans would enjoy some time with James Potter under the stars. After all, she was no saint, and Venus herself shined her approval from above.

#summerofjily #jily #jily fic #jily canon #james potter #lily evans #james x lily #senem writes #jily fanfiction #i promised an astrology flex but this is not it #you would know when that comes

[nomsugayoongi]

Recurring

Pairing: Jungkook X OC female

Warnings: None yet.

Synopsis: Jungkook meets the girl of his dreams...but the problem is exactly that. She's in his dreams.

Note: So I had this really bizarre idea for a fluff fest (and eventual smut fest because it's JK and I can't help myself) It's written and edited on a phone so forgive any mistakes and don't be afraid to let me know what you think.

"Huh?"

Jungkook looked around. He didn't know this street. Nothing looked familiar. Not the tall, grey buildings, not the neon lights casting colourful shadows on the dark pavement, nothing. He frowned, eyes scanning the signs on the building right beside him. It was one of those 24 hour convenience stores. The lights were on but he couldn't see anybody inside. No cashier behind the counter. No customers. He had no idea what time it was. Come to think of it, he didn't actually have any idea about anything. He felt a splash of water hit his face and glanced up at the dark sky. No stars. No moon. Just....black. The glow from the street lights cast faint beams and highlighted the beginning drops of rain. He looked down at the pavement. He didn't have shoes on. His bare feet looked strange against the concrete but he couldn't feel the cold ground. His frown deepened as he scraped his foot lightly against the path, expecting to feel the rough texture but feeling nothing. The rain started coming faster, droplets hitting the back of his neck as he stared down at his feet. He wasn't afraid. Even in this strange situation, with not a soul in sight, there was no fear. Just curiosity. He looked either side of him then down the dark street ahead. There was something glowing at the end of the street that piqued his interest. A soft, warm ball of light that flickered slightly even though there was no wind.

He started walking, the rain coming down harder, huge splotches soaking through his t shirt yet he didn't feel particularly cold. He looked in the windows of the closed shops as he walked past, the silhoutte of the items in the window seeming even darker against the faint light bouncing off the glass. It was so quiet. No traffic sounds, no voices. Just the sound of the rain hammering against the pavement. As he approached the end of the street, he squinted at where the light now seemed bigger and brighter. Pure darkness spanned out in front of him, but it was moving, shimmering and rippling as the rain hit the surface. Water. A lake or something. He couldn't tell how big it was. The darkness of the water sort of blending into the darkness of the night and made one big horizon of black. As he approached the edge of the water, he noticed that the ball of light that had caught his attention was a gently swinging lamp hung inside a gazebo. A rickety looking wooden Jetty connected the floating gazebo to the embankment and he quickened his pace to get to it, mainly because the rain was now hammering down so hard that he was drenched from head to toe but also because the soft glow of light against the stark backdrop of darkness was very inviting. He made his way up the jetty, hearing the wooden slats creak and groan under his feet then smiling as he reached the gazebo. It was cute. It seemed....out of place. An octagonal, wooden structure with a slate roof and half open sides. Benches ran around each edge, padded with thick, comfy looking cushions. A lantern hung from the center of the roof, swaying slightly above a small table. It really was out of place. It looked brand new, like something you'd see in the garden section of an IKEA catalogue. He wondered whether he was ok to sit since he was wet through but it was literally the middle of the night and there wasnt a soul around, so he sat, picking the edge closest to the open water and facing out so he could watch the rain bounce off the water's surface. He liked the overlapping circular ripples it created, like an intricate pattern on the glassy surface. It was nice. Absolute silence apart from the rain and the sound of his own steady breathing. He felt calm. Peaceful. Content even. Happy to just sit in the darkness and listen to the rain. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, the smell of the water and fresh rain causing a small smile to play around his lips.

"Hey. Soggy boy. What you doing in my dream?"

His eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly. "What the hell?" He muttered, confused. Stood at the entrance to the gazebo was a girl, her arms folded across her chest as she surveyed him. There was no way she could have snuck up. He would have heard her footsteps on the crappy old jetty. "Where did you come from?" He frowned, looking around with bemusement. "What do you mean where did I come from? It's my dream. Where did you come from?" She retorted. He looked back towards the street where everything was still exactly the same. No people. No sound. "I was over there." He muttered, pointing. "Wait...dream?" He questioned, completely confused. She nodded. "Yeah. This is my dream spot. I've been here loads of times. Want to tell me why you're crashing my dream? And why you're dripping on my cushions?" She said, arms still folded expectantly. "It's raining." He said stupidly. "I got caught in it. Wait...why aren't you wet?" He asked, suddenly noticing that she was stood among the falling rain but was bone dry. "It's my dream." She repeated slower, as though he was kind of dumb. "I decide what happens. I didn't decide on you though. Why are you here?" She asked, a frown creeping between her brow. He shrugged, still looking around curiously. "Dunno. Are you sure it's your dream? I think it might be mine." He reasoned. That would make sense. Not knowing where he was, the bare feet, the body temperature rain, the entire lack of life signs. "It's definitely mine." He muttered, more to himself than to her. "Yeah, cause I went to bed after practise and woke up here...except I didn't wake up. I must still be asleep. Huh! That's pretty cool." He said, a slow grin spreading across his face at the idea of being aware of his own dream. "Excuse me. Soggy boy. If it's your dream then why am I in it and why are you having it in my dream space?" She asked. He shrugged again, finally looking at her. She had long dark hair that was poker straight and impossibly shiny, it fell around a cute face, huge, sparkly eyes, button nose, pouty lips. Good cheekbones. She was short but curvy. Her expression displaying her curiosity. Definitely his dream. She looked like a strange Mish mash of all the things he liked in a girl. She was cute. Very cute. "Does it matter if it's your dream or my dream? Either way, it isn't real. Whoever is dreaming will wake up at some point and it'll end anyway. Why waste it trying to figure out whose head were in?" He reasoned. She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Yeah I guess. I'm just...not used to anyone being here." She shrugged. "Well I'm not here technically." He mused. "Neither are you." She hummed, studying him curiously. She'd dropped her folded arms and had taken a seat on the bench opposite his. She was staring at him intently. "You got a name or should I just keep calling you soggy boy?" She asked. "Jungkook" he smiled. "Huh?" She said, eyebrow raised. "Jungkook" he repeated. "Why the face?" She shook her head, still looking a little bemused. "That's not an English name." She muttered. He chuckled, now also looking bemused. "Why would it be? I'm not English." He replied. "But you've lived here a while? Your accent." She muttered. "Lived where? What accent?" He frowned. "In England." She stated. He chuckled again. "What are you talking about? I don't live in England. I've never lived in England. I barely know how to speak English although I've been learning for years. English is hard." He mused. "But you're speaking English now." She exclaimed. He frowned, laughing. "No. I'm speaking Korean." He said slowly. She looked like her head was about to explode. "No. You're definitely speaking English. I understand you. How would I understand you if you were speaking Korean?" She said, puzzled. "YOU'RE speaking Korean." He frowned. "EH? I'm speaking English. I wouldn't be able to speak Korean if my life depended on it, let alone carry out a whole ass conversation with some soaked stranger in my dream gazebo." She said defensively. He couldn't help but laugh. As far as dreams went, this was by far one of his most

interesting. "Ok. So you're speaking English. I'm speaking Korean...yet we understand each other. Cool." He smiled. She continued to look confused. "Ok so....Jungkook right?" She asked. He nodded. "Are you from Korea?" Again he nodded. "And to you it sounds like I'm speaking Korean?" Another nod. "Hmmphhh. I've had some pretty weird dreams before but this one takes the cake."

It felt like hours passed as they talked. He found out her name, that she was 2 years older than him and English. She worked in a hospital during the night and slept during the day. He told her about himself, the band, his band mates, he touched on what his life was like but didn't go into it much. It was nice to just talk to someone, even if he had to dream them up to do it. Without him even realising, the darkness surrounding them had begun to melt away, the sky lightening into colourful purples and eventually soft pinks as the sun came up. He didn't notice when the rain stopped or the silence gradually giving way to the sound of chirping birds. He was too engrossed in conversation to pay attention to his surroundings. He'd liked the sense of solitude when he first got here but quickly preferred having someone to talk to. She was attentive and interested, listening and asking questions, laughing when he made a joke. He felt...normal, which was nice. He was almost disappointed when she pointed out that time was almost up. He looked around, surprised. "When did daytime happen?" He frowned. She chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Somewhere between your pressures as an idol and my frustrations at work." She shrugged. He gazed at the water, now noticing the lush green trees that surrounded the embankment, the colour of the sky, the sparkly surface of the water. "Wow. This place is beautiful." He muttered, eyes skimming his surroundings in awe. She smiled, nodding slowly. "It's my favourite place." She said softly. "Where is it? Is it real?" He questioned. Nothing about it was familiar to him. "I don't know. I've never actually been. I just...dreamed it once and liked it so I kept coming back. A lot of my dreams happen here." She sighed. He nodded thoughtfully. "I hope I come back." He whispered. "Yeah, you didn't get to try any of the cool dream stuff." She chuckled. He raised an eyebrow, pulling his eyes from the beautiful scenery to look at her. "What cool dream stuff?" She rolled her eyes again, making him feel like a rookie. "Y'know. The stuff you can't do when you're awake. Flying, floating, changing stuff, making yourself different. It's your head. Your dream. You control it. Once you realise you're dreaming, the laws of the universe become more flexible. Dreams don't care about gravity or continuity. Your head. Your rules." She explained. He looked at her wide eyed. "Really?" He muttered. She laughed, her laugh was musical and made him feel warm. "Mmm hmm. The trick is to realise you're dreaming quickly, gives you more time to play." Her smile was childlike, eyes twinkling with excitement. It was infectious, provoking his own giddy smile. "Is there time now? Quickly?" He asked. She hummed, looking at the sky. "Don't think so. Look." She pointed upward, his eyes followed. The sky seemed to be fading. He blinked a couple of times, trying to focus but everything was blurring. "No. I'm not ready yet." He frowned. He gripped the cushion in his fists, trying to hold on. "I want to stay." He heard her light, musical laughter but it sounded further away. "I hope you're here next time. See you, soggy boy."

Jungkook awoke, blinking rapidly as he looked around. He was in his bedroom. He sat up, frowning, his stomach still churning. He rubbed his eyes with a sigh. Of course he was in his bedroom. Where else would he be. Still, that was some dream. He looked at the familiar surroundings feeling almost a pang of sadness. "That was a good dream." He whispered to himself, feeling almost silly that a small part of him was already hoping to go back.

#bts fanfic #jungkook #jjk fluff #jungkook x oc #jungkook story #jungkook smut

[akitokihojo]

Monster - Chapter 15

chapter index

..... sorry guys

She’d been having strange, ominous dreams for days now. Dreams that were so vague, Kagome could barely describe them to Inuyasha once she’d come out of it. He’d said she seemed uncomfortable in her sleep, woke her up once or twice to see if she was having a nightmare, but the moment Kagome roused, it was like the pressing vision faded. She recalled bits and pieces, but she couldn’t remember the emotion present, she couldn’t remember what was happening, and she wasn’t even sure if she knew what was going on while in the dream to begin with.

All she could remember was red.

Everything was in red.

Her hands were red.

The sky was red.

The world was red.

And, waking up to see natural colors, to see the light shade of Inuyasha’s tied back hair, to see his golden eyes reflected with the humble flames of their midnight fire was almost like a shock.

She’d blink, she’d take deep breaths that she wasn’t able to while captured by the vivid nightmare, and after just a few moments, Kagome would come down and forget anything that wasn’t red. She was fine. She’d fall back asleep just fine, and unless she was dragged right back into the vision - which had only occurred once - she’d rest well, thereafter.

Kagome had reduced it to nothing more than an odd string of subconscious play. They were dreams without a meaning. Only a couple of times had they really stolen any energy from her, but other than that, Kagome dismissed what she couldn’t remember and apologized for worrying Inuyasha.

The hanyou chose a high tree branch to perch in one night. Something was off, he could physically feel it, but there was nothing in the air that could guide him to what stung at his instincts. He’d covered Kagome in his crimson robe, and she’d been curled up on her bag as a makeshift pillow, undisturbed and about as comfortable as she could get. Not a single line creased her brow, and her lips were relaxed as she slept through the night, the hoot of owls, the chirp of crickets, and the crack of burning logs the only sounds that stood the potential of waking her. But still, Inuyasha couldn’t shake this feeling. Something was wrong.

There was a sharp twinge of dread hitting his chest, so he stood from his seat, trying to get a better eye over the tops of trees to hopefully spot something. Nothing. There was a scent, but he couldn’t place it. There wasn’t noise to back it up. He heard no yelling, no conversation, no roars, or calls, or even the crack of twigs being broken from the weight of bodies stepping over them. In fact, with this sensation of apprehensiveness hanging over him, the silence was only making it worse.

Below him, there was a small shuffle from Kagome and immediately his eyes fell down to her. She’d merely readjusted herself, laying more on her back now than her side. Her cheek hit her shoulder, one arm was at her hip, and the other rested over her stomach - his robe only managing to cover her belly and down now. Taking a moment to observe her carefully, he gathered the steady rise and fall of her chest. Everything seemed to be as it should. She was fine. So, steadily, his attention shifted back out to the horizon of the forest they dwelled in.

That aroma. He knew it. It was coming closer, and the nearer it grew, the more powerful it became. At this point, it was all a matter of patience. With the direction his body faced, the scent was coming from his right. It smelled of the woodlands and an extremely subtle campfire that he could have easily dismissed as his own immediate surroundings. The only thing that tipped him off was the staleness of the fragrance. It was old, it was laced with an abundance of sweat, and just as he caught the startling odor of that monster appear, the metallic smell of blood singed at his nose.

Kagome opened her eyes, feeling her feet on the hard, packed dirt of the forest. There were whispers around her, but she couldn’t tell what direction they were coming from, feeling incoherent, even dizzy where she stood. She stared at the setting, again shrouded in a haze of red, but everything was so blurry. No matter how many times she blinked, nothing would focus. The world was spinning around her, growing deeper in shade, bringing Kagome to feel nauseous and slap the heels of her hands around her temples to silence the blaring headache that slammed into her out of nowhere.

Her feet stumbled backward, unable to keep her footing, not knowing left from right, up from down, and her back hit the rough bark of a large tree, scraping as she inadvertently slid down to a squat. That was where she was safe from falling, safe to keep her eyes squeezed shut.

Where was she? This time, she was in her own body, she could tell. With a little wiggle of her ankle in her boot, Kagome felt the shape of her father’s blade rub against her, she felt the top beneath her shirt that kept her chest secure with each heavy inhale that pressed her ribs outward, she heard her own voice as she grunted shakily from the bile that threatened her esophagus. Why? What had she done? Where was Inuyasha? Where was she?

The whispers were beginning to reach her ears more clearly now. Kagome could feel the nausea gradually passing. Her fingers still trembled, but they were steadying little-by-little with each focused breath she exhaled. Again, she blinked her eyes open, noticing that now her surroundings were more centered. But, why, why was everything red again?

It felt like looking through stained glass. Every direction she turned was hued all the same. No greens, no browns, no blues, or violets, but the shadows of the night still remained black, terrifying, menacing in this particular environment.

The voices were no longer whispers. They were clear. Two women. From somewhere behind her. Kagome pushed herself from the tree, appreciative to have her own mobility this time around. She moved carefully, watching her step, walking as lightly as possible so as not to give her position away.

“Don’t take me back to him.” One said demandingly. The voice was deep, weighted, muttered between alarming breaths. “I don’t want to die in his arms.”

“I only need your blood. While it’s warm.” This voice was stable, somber.

“Don’t come near me!”

“Look, I didn’t want to do this! I had no choice! I’m telling you he didn’t request for your body; he just wants your blood!”

“For what!?”

“Proof!”

“No!” She sobbed. Kagome recognized that waver, that desperation. She’d known it all along, but had been too in denial to accept that this may be a possibility. Kikyo.

It was Kikyo.

Heedless with her movements now, Kagome rushed through the trees to close the distance, physically stopped by a forcefield that felt to grasp her and hold her captive as soon as she turned the corner and caught sight of the actual scene. It felt as if invisible vines had wrapped around her body, gluing her arms to her sides, immobilizing her and wrapping around her mouth so she couldn’t make a sound - forced to watch but not allowed to interact.

Kikyo was on the floor, trying to sit up against the trunk of a tree, bleeding profusely from her shoulder and chest, covered in sweat and crimson and tears. Her large, beige blouse was sullied horribly, drenched, clinging to her thin frame as if to emphasize her life-threatening wounds.

“Kikyo, I have to! He’ll kill me if I don’t!” She was a tall woman. Beautiful. But, her eyes radiated fear. Her skin was peached, complimented by the moonlight, her short, brown hair tied half up, though strands had escaped to fall down by her cheeks in their charade. Her lips had been painted with a dark rouge, faded but stained.

“I’m not going to survive this! Is that not enough!?”

Kagome tried to scream, to fight, to let this woman know she had a new opponent to take on, to let Kikyo know help was here and she’d be okay, but she couldn’t do a thing. This felt like more than restraints now. She felt like she was under a spell. Or, that maybe she wasn’t even actually there, merely watching on through a red-tinted window. Neither of them had acknowledged her loud footsteps approaching before she’d been caught, neither of them had turned to see her as she ran into the narrow clearing. Even if she was being held at bay right now, the enemy should have at least noticed her.

Quickly, she’d deduced that this was Kikyo’s dark magic at play. And, for the first time, she wished she knew at least a little so that she could subdue the opposite conjurer’s and stand a chance at saving her.

“It’s not! I’m sorry! You know him as well as I do, you know it isn’t enough for him!”

“You’re his creation! You’re practically his child! Don’t act like you pity me! That only makes you appear more vile!”

“You think I care how vile I look right now!?” The enemy snapped, screaming brokenly. “I had no choice, Kikyo! He’s got a little girl in captivity! If I die, what chance does she stand!? I am the only thing protecting her right now, so if it’s between you and me, I choose me! Do not mistake my obedience as admiration for that monster! I hate him! I loathe him! Naraku is the bane of my existence, and I wholeheartedly wished for you to kill him! He knew you were weak, though! He made the call! He sent me alone, because he knew with that little girl’s well being on the line, I wouldn’t come back without my objective complete!

“I do pity you, conjurer. You deserved better. And, I’m sorry I had to do this. Now, I’ll ask again: May I take your blood while it is still warm? Or, must I force it?”

“I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! I hate him. I hate - I hate him.” Kikyo had shattered. Her strong demeanor crumbled into little pieces on the earth, her blood slowly beginning to pool at her seat. The powerful confession shifted to one of saddened pleads, and she wept. She trembled and she wept. “I - I hate him. I hate… I hate…”

The demon respectfully kneeled down, taking the presumably white feather from the bun in her hair and bowing her head an inch. “I am sorry.”

“You promise not to take my body?”

“I swear to you, I will leave it here.”

“You won’t tell him where you left me?”

“If he asks, I will have no choice but to say. But, knowing Naraku, he won’t have the courage to face you. Dead or alive.”

“This is the end?”

“Unlike me, you are free now, Kikyo. Be free.”

“Take my blood. See this through. Protect the girl.”

The woman dipped her feather in the gaping wound of Kikyo’s shoulder, dousing the ends in the thick liquid that seeped out at an unforgiving rate.

“Go.” Kikyo ordered. “I wish to at least be in peace.”

Without another word, the demon nodded, rising to her feet. She didn’t bother to brush the dirt from her black dress before using her powers to create a large feather to fly off on, a powerful gust of wind taking the woman up into the sky to disappear over the treetops.

Within seconds, the world was back to normal. The stained glass had been smashed, and Kagome was looking at the setting in the normal hues their luna provided. The vines had released her so aggressively that she was nearly dropped to the floor, stumbling on her feet and to her butt as she failed to catch herself. But, she wasn’t thrusted back into the reality she’d expected to be. This wasn’t a dream. Ahead of her sat a crumpled Kikyo, trying to hold herself up as she grew weaker and weaker, more and more pale, pained, melancholic, and destroyed.

Scrambling, Kagome crawled as far as she could before she forced herself to her feet to hurry over to the conjurer. Her emotions were all over the place, like she didn’t know what to feel first, if anything at all. Panicked, horrified, angry, anxious, helpless, and they all got in the way of her nonexistent action plan.

“Wh-what? What?” Was all Kagome could stammer. Was she really here? Was this really happening? “Kikyo, you’re… what happened? I don’t -“

“I’m sorry.” Kikyo cried, breathing erratically in the hopes to swallow her own fear. “I couldn’t fight anymore. I just couldn’t fight anymore.”

“Where are you hurt!? What happened!?” Kagome frantically implored, trying to be gentle at first. It was too difficult to see in the night, and there was an awful amount of blood that made it impossible to avoid. It was terrifying, but with a swallow that Kagome forced down her throat, she grabbed Kikyo’s shirt and ripped the buttons apart, looking for the wounds to see what she could do.

The gashes were massive in comparison to her frame. They stretched from her right shoulder to the center of her chest, wide, like cracks in a carefully sculpted clay pot that could no longer contain the contents inside. It brought Kagome to gasp so horridly she choked, coughed, quaked with trepidation.

“I couldn’t fight anymore.” Kikyo repeatedly sullenly. “I’m so sorry, Kagome.”

“You’d been trying to get my attention.” Kagome said in realization, her voice low, broken, her brown eyes never leaving the large wound on Kikyo’s chest. “You needed my help.”

“No, you were too far. I had to find myself closer.”

“You needed me. You were trying - and - and I - you needed my help.” Kagome began to cry, the tears burning at her eyes as they fell to mix with the blood.

“There was no saving me.”

“I could have done - you needed me.”

“I needed you to heed my warning.”

“What - what warning?”

Kikyo took her stained hand, mustering as much energy as she could to softly brush Kagome’s cheek and pull her attention away from the ghastly wound. “That I’m out of picture now. That the responsibility is yours.”

“No.” Kagome’s bottom lip quivered as the words penetrated her mind. She didn’t want to allow them to ring with validity. This wasn’t reality. “No. No, no, no. That’s not true.” She shook her head, softly pressing on the worst portion of the wound and gradually applying more pressure. Kikyo grunted loudly from the pain it added, but didn’t move to stop Kagome as she tried to halt the bleeding. “I can still save you! Inuyasha - he can - I’ll go get Inuyasha! I’ll have him bring my bag so we can patch you up! We’ll take you to a healer! You’re still here, Kikyo! You can still live!”

“Kagome!” She cried. “It’s over! You know as well as I that there is no closing up this wound! I’ve lost too much blood as it is! Please! Just -“ Her voice died down some, gurgled slightly as she coughed and blood rose out of the corner of her mouth.

Kagome moved to sit her up some so she wouldn’t choke on it, putting all of her muscle into pulling Kikyo into her arms to support her body weight.

“I am not afraid of death.” Kikyo whispered as the blood trickled from her lips. “I’ve been dead for years as it is. I don’t have to run anymore. I don’t have to hide or - or fight. I’m tired, I’m so tired. Naraku cannot haunt me anymore if I die.” She smiled. And, Kagome clung to her tighter, trying to stifle her sobs.

“Yeah,” Kikyo breathed, almost happily. “He can’t haunt me anymore. He didn’t win. He merely released me.”

“I’m sorry.” Kagome wept, losing the battle against herself. “If I had figured it out sooner -“

“No, Kagome. I wasn’t asking for help. I needed you to - I needed you to know. I wasn’t running to you to seek your assistance. I showed you bits and pieces only to test how far I still was. It was like a map that guided me your way. I needed to show you, myself. I’ve done all I can. The rest - the rest is on you. And, I truly believe you are capable.”

“I can - I can go get Inuyasha.” Kagome offered again, fruitlessly. It felt wrong to give up, it felt wrong to accept this fate, but she could feel in her gut, in her heart, in her brain that there was nothing she could actually do to fix this. To save her.

“Please, no.” Kikyo breathed. “I don’t want to die alone. If it’s not too much to ask, stay with me. Stay with me, Kagome. Speak of beautiful things.”

“Okay.” Kagome agreed, hugging the conjurer a little closer. She tried to stabilize her breathing, but her heart was breaking. She shook and she gasped, sobbing over Kikyo, but no matter what, she was going to tell her everything wonderful in this world that she’d seen. Everything that had nothing to do with Naraku. Kikyo wouldn’t end her life with that horrible creature tainting her final thoughts, her final breath, the final beat of her heart. Kikyo was going to leave this realm in serenity. “I-I’ve never seen so many flowers as I have since leaving home. Most of the flowers in my area are weeds, or dandelions. Some roses, maybe. Tulips are so pretty. And, I really, really love night flowers. The ones that bloom under the moon. I - I don’t know what they’re called.”

Kikyo smiled, unbothered by the pause Kagome had to take to breath, to calm herself, to allow tears to fall so they didn’t hinder her sight. She reached up, carefully stroking tears from Kagome’s cheeks, apologetic for the blood she stained her skin with in its place.

“A few days ago, I saw a bear cub for the first time. It was so cute, but I think that’s the most scared I’ve ever seen Inuyasha.” Kagome giggled wetly. “Where there’s a cub, there’s a mama. He backed off the trail so fast, Kikyo.”

Even the dying conjurer laughed. “You and he.” She spoke, her voice raspy and weak. “Your chemistry is strong. You make a good team. I was entirely wrong.”

“I love him. And, I’m really glad I didn’t listen to you.” Kagome cried, her smile wavering.

“If that’s the case, then so am I.” She wept. “Not all love is bad.”

“No.” Kagome shook her head, searching for anything she could speak of to bring Kikyo’s smile back. “Kaede. Kaede, she’s - she’s incredible.”

“My sister?” Kikyo asked, her eyes large and hopeful, brimming with tears that streamed down her face.

With a nod, she continued. “She’s headstrong, and brilliant, and a quick thinker, and I’ve never seen a woman bully so many men and put them in their place before. It’s inspirational.”

Kikyo giggled. “Tell me more about her.”

“You’d be so proud of her. The texts about - about enchantments that she got while you two were still together, she never stopped learning them.”

“She didn’t?” Kikyo inquired with astonishment.

Kagome shook her head in reply. “No, and she helps so many with what she can do. People like us, and like Inuyasha. Those who deserve a chance, who haven’t done wrong to deserve the hands they’ve been dealt. She sets up these - these deterrents around her village and it wards demons away from scents they may be tracking, and she has special rooms designated for those on the run. Kaede’s a savior. The first time I met her, I was sick. I used too much strength and hurt myself, so Inuyasha took me to her. She had some remedies at the ready and took such good care of me. She’s sweet, Kikyo. Kaede’s a good person. She’s such a good person.”

Kikyo was reduced to sobs, but the sadness was of her own regret. Of how she couldn’t have witnessed this for herself. Overpowering that was her happiness. Kaede was healthy. She was fighting for something. She wasn’t this frail girl that hid behind people, but in fact was the person others stood behind instead.

“You’ll also enjoy that she constantly puts Inuyasha in his place.”

“I thought they were friends.”

“They are.” Kagome giggled. “But, she’s a take-no-shit kind of woman, particularly with the opposite gender, I’ve noticed. It doesn’t seem to matter who you are, if you step out of line, she’ll be the first to remind you to back up.”

“She’s always been like that. I’m so happy to see that it hasn’t gotten her into any trouble. I was always worried about that.”

“No, Kaede holds her own just fine.”

“I am. I am proud of her.” Kikyo confirmed quietly.

“I think she’d be proud of you, too.” Kagome whispered.

Kikyo trembled as she cried.

“I think she’d be unbearably proud, Kikyo. And, I think she’ll understand everything better than you think.”

“Does she know yet? About our last discussion?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Please - please tell her I love her. Add that in. Tell her I said I’ll meet her under the willow tree.”

“The willow tree?” Kagome’s voice cracked as she clenched back her sob.

“In our - in our village growing up, there was a willow tree. We always sat beneath it.”

“I’ll tell her.” She promised, gently stroking the matted hair from Kikyo’s sweat-soaked cheeks. “I promise, I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you. Thank you so - thank…”

More blood was seeping from her mouth. Kagome was drenched in it. It was warm and thick, dressing her hands, her arms, stomach, and legs. Kikyo’s skin was ghostly white, and her eyes lost any vibrancy they held before. Every swallow could be seen as it went down harshly, her throat bobbing with the movements, and it was more like she was looking through Kagome now. Not at her.

“Shh, maybe you shouldn’t talk anymore.” Kagome hushed, stroking her hair. She spoke as her own mother would to her when she was emotional, when she was devastated; softly, soothingly, patiently. The world could wait for just one moment. Right now, it was just the two of them. That’s all. That was all they needed. Just for right now. “Everything’s okay now, Kikyo. You fought so well.”

Hot tears streamed from her eyes, and the dying conjurer looked up toward the sky. The moon was so big even though it was completely full just two days prior. It felt like a greeting from mother nature. A kind, forgiving smile from the goddess that held her hand out for her to take, her long, black hair swaying behind her feminine frame with the breeze.

“I’m s- I’m sorry.” Kikyo breathed brokenly.

“Don’t be.” She whispered in reply. “You did your best. We’re all so proud of you. Thank you, Kikyo. Thank you so much.”

Kagome continued her tender brushing, holding the woman closer to her so she could hopefully feel her own warmth. Kikyo was cold, was small, her hands unable to grasp onto Kagome’s shirt any longer.

“Everything’s okay.” Kagome repeated sadly, but sweetly. “You’re going to be okay now. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

Kikyo’s eyes fluttered closed.

Her breathing came evenly.

Slowly.

Not as it should.

“You don’t have to fight anymore. It’s okay now. It’s okay.” Kagome was sobbing, shaking, fading away.

Her grip on the woman was growing weaker, she could feel it slipping. With Kikyo’s life dwindling, so was the power she used to keep Kagome to her. Carefully, she set Kikyo down so she wouldn’t chance dropping her, continuing to pet her cheeks, whispering the same, kind statements over and over until she couldn’t physically feel her cold flesh beneath her fingers any longer.

There was a moment of pitch darkness. As she blinked her eyes opened, coming to consciousness, it seemed as if all sounds followed. The song of the crickets, the fire popping just feet away. Kagome was back in her camp, her head against the bag that served as a pillow where she’d fallen asleep just hours before.

It was a dream. It was just a dream.

A nightmare.

Either way, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real. I couldn’t have been.

Slowly, timidly, Kagome moved her arms, instantly feeling the uncomfortable drench of her soddened clothing sticking to her skin. It caused her heart to pound inside her chest, it caused her panic to return, and as she lifted her hands above her face, she saw the blood that stained her skin.

“Inu - Inuyasha.” She couldn’t even call out for him, she was so terrified. Her voice came out small and broken, raspy, as if she’d been screaming for hours and this was the aftereffects. “Inuyasha. Where are you?”

He’d heard her from below, movement, but it wasn’t until he’d caught the desperate whisper of his name that his ears twitched in her direction and he looked down. She was slowly sitting up, looking at her hands, and he smelled blood. A lot of it. Instantly, he jumped down from the branch, landing on his feet so roughly that he stumbled forward but never stopped on his scramble to her side.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m right -“ He froze. He was right. The blood. She was covered in it. How? There wasn’t an inch of clean skin on her hands that he could see, her charcoal shirt sticking to her chest, her abdomen, stained with such a deep red that it had his stomach sinking at a drastic rate. Frantically, Inuyasha yanked his robe off of her lower body, looking to see if there was a source, only to find her legs and boots soaked, as well.

He couldn’t speak. A huge lump had formed in his throat from the fright he felt, and his gaze climbed up her body to find her large, weeping eyes.

It had taken a moment to push passed his initial dread in order to think rationally again, but he knew the smell of Kagome. He knew the smell of her blood. This wasn’t hers. This was the metallic odor he’d caught before. He smelled the familiar scent of a person he couldn’t pin, he smelled a horrible amount of blood, Naraku, and then within a split second, it was all gone. It had him further on edge than he’d been before, but he watched. He waited. All for nothing to rise again. He’d felt like he was in a simulation of sorts and he’d just witnessed a glitch in the system.

So, how the fuck was Kagome now soddened in the very same blood he’d just smelled moments before? She was asleep. She was safe. She was under his watch. Nothing could have gotten her, so how in the hell was she looking at him with finger streaks of blood painted on her cheeks that her tears didn’t even bother to clean?

“Kikyo.” Kagome sobbed, holding her hands out before her as if she was afraid to touch herself, or him, or anything in between. “It’s Kikyo. She’s - she’s dead.”

Kikyo.

That was who it was. He knew he’d caught it. It was only once that he’d met her though, so his olfactory system wasn’t familiar enough to have memorized it.

“What do you mean she’s dead, kid?”

“She’s dead.” Kagome repeated, unable to bite back any emotion. “I saw. I was there.”

“H-how?”

She presented her hands, her arms as if they were statement enough. “Her - her magic! It was one of Naraku’s underlings! They killed her! Inuyasha, they - they -“

He closed the gap, pulling her into his lap, holding her tight. He didn’t care about the blood, or the mess. He couldn’t just watch her shatter like that. Inuyasha didn’t understand the magical aspects that some people were capable of, and he’d come to terms with the fact that not everything could be comprehended by others who didn’t experience it firsthand. He didn’t need to understand. He just needed to listen. Kagome had witnessed Kikyo’s death. There was no possible way she could be lying about that while she sat there bathed in the opposite conjurer’s blood.

Kagome shook inconsolably, sobbed loudly, but she clung to Inuyasha with an unmatched urgency. The heaves that wracked her chest became painful, but it felt like no matter how tight she held onto him, she couldn’t feel her hanyou over the liquid that smeared her body. Kikyo was still out there. Her body was still on the ground. She was cold, and alone, and nobody deserved to be left like that after death. If she was able to pull Kagome next to her in such a physical manner, that meant she was close. Very close.

“Can you - can you find her?” Kagome asked Inuyasha between gasps of air.

“What do you mean?” He asked with a gentleness he rarely presented, using the backs of his knuckles to caress her cheek.

“She’s close. She had to be in order to perform that magic. Do you smell her?”

“I did. Before.” Inuyasha admitted. “You were asleep, and I caught her scent for literally a second before it disappeared. Minutes later, you’re waking up like this.”

“But, do you smell her now? She can’t create a barrier anymore.”

Apprehensively, he spoke. “I - I can’t smell anything over you.” And, as wrong as it felt to slide her from his lap and let her go - horribly, sickeningly wrong - he did so, rising to his feet. “Give me two seconds.”

Inuyasha jumped back up to the tree branch he’d occupied before, taking it a step further to go just a bit higher. The breeze should carry something his way. He really had to focus. His instincts were glued to Kagome, his brain only bringing the noises she made, the aroma off of her his way, and he’d had to mentally shove that aside in order to concentrate on their surroundings. The moment he’d caught the heavy scent of copper, Inuyasha locked on the direction they needed to head in, memorizing what he could. He knew the moment he jumped down to grab Kagome, it’d be hard to smell Kikyo out.

His feet hit the floor, and he quickly grabbed the conjurer’s hand. He hadn’t expected her to be on her feet, he hadn’t expected her to be able to run. She was so unsteady in his arms, he’d fully anticipated carrying her, but the woman had relatively pulled herself together so quickly. They left everything at their camp aside from their weapons, and she followed him as far as he could lead. For a while, she had to stay behind him, downwind from Inuyasha so that he could scout the path, reduced to walking now as they trekked through dark, shadowed trails they could barely see through.

It was vague, but there was a sense of familiarity that Kagome felt twinge in her stomach. She wanted to say she knew where they were, but she’d only seen it in red, so how could she be sure? Noticing some disturbed dirt next to a large tree, she reached for Inuyasha, clutching his shirt to stop him so she could crouch down and look without him going too far.

She’d been here. This was where she’d dropped down. This was where she’d almost puked. The disturbed dirt was where her boots had dug into the earth as she’d sunken and scratched her back on the bark of the tree. She did know where they were.

Kagome took off running, rushing in the direction she recalled from earlier, knowing they weren’t far at all.

And, then she abruptly halted. Her feet stopped worked. Her muscles jolted painfully, and her lungs clenched in her chest. The only thing she could feel was an icy sensation swarm over her and the pounding of her heart as it was being forced to slow.

Kikyo laid motionless in the exact position she’d left her in. The moon shined on her, but it illuminated no color except for the crimson Kagome didn’t want to see. There was no pink in her cheeks or on her lips where there should have been at least a slight hue. She was gone. Kikyo was gone. It was real. This hadn’t been a nightmare at all.

She forced herself to amble forward, her chin quivering as she grew nearer the corpse.

“Baby -“

“No. Don’t protect me right now.” Kagome said with a melancholic shake of her head. She’d already suffered through the worst of it. She’d already witnessed the death of someone she never saw falling. If she’d wanted security, a safety net, she would have never asked Inuyasha to find Kikyo’s whereabouts. She would have stayed in camp, continued clinging to him for dear life, closed her eyes and pretended it had never happened.

Inuyasha respected her wishes. He understood this feeling completely. Right now, Kagome didn’t need someone to stand behind, to shield her, but someone to stand directly beside her in support. He could do that. He would do that. If that was what she needed, it was already hers.

The conjurer stopped just a foot away from Kikyo, noticing the markings she’d left behind before she’d returned to reality. “This was - this was where I… I sat here.” Kagome admitted, feeling the hot tears brimming again as she glanced over her shoulder at Inuyasha. “I held her. While she - while she died. I told her about Kaede.”

“You held her?” The hanyou couldn’t help the sympathetic curve of his brow, or the frown that pushed at his lips.

She nodded, looking back at Kikyo’s body. “She didn’t want to be alone. She was just so happy to not have to be haunted by Naraku anymore.”

“Those dreams you’d been having. They’re connected aren’t they?”

“It was Kikyo. She was using our connection to find me. She wanted me to know what was happening first hand, but she needed to be closer.” Kagome found herself kneeling down at Kikyo’s side, feeling like the right thing to do was pick Kikyo right back up into her arms and continue comforting her, but she resisted. If she’d done that, there was a strong chance she wouldn’t have been able to put her down. “That means, she’d been running, and hiding, and doing everything she could to stay alive for days. What’s it been since the first vision? Four? Five?”

“Kagome, it’s not your fault.”

“She should have told me where she was. We could have helped her.” Though tears streamed from her eyes, she didn’t sound to be sobbing. Her tone was so sunken, so sad it was almost devoid of all emotion.

“But, she didn’t. That’s not on you. What did she tell you? She had to have given some sort of explanation.”

“She said she knew she wasn’t going to survive. That she just wanted me to know that - that she was gone. That she couldn’t fight anymore.” Kagome blinked away the sadness that refused to stop flowing through her eyes. Naraku didn’t win. He wasn’t allowed to even think he’d won. All he’d done was set her free. Much like Kikyo said, he’d released her. “I think it was Kagura. The woman that killed Kikyo. She was apologetic. Remorseful. And, she mentioned having no choice but to do this because she had a child’s safety to ensure. That means Sesshomaru’s family is still alive. They’re okay.”

“Don’t worry about that right now, kid.” Inuyasha sighed, sauntering over to kneel beside her. He didn’t like the way she looked right now, how she wouldn’t even glance at him anymore. Her eyes were dull and listless, drowning in grief. He wished she’d weep again. He wished she’d crumble. At least that way she’d be getting all of it out of her system. But, this? This was the works of the sorrow taking her hostage. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I don’t want to think about me right now.” She confessed. “This isn’t about me. Later. I promise.”

“Okay.” Inuyasha breathed, accepting her compromise. He took a moment, sealing his lips, pushing her hair behind her ear as she stared on at the corpse. With the way her fingers twitched forward, he could tell she was wanting to feel Kikyo again, hold her, console her. Like, she was trying to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t necessary anymore. She was dead.

“We should,” He sighed. “We should bury her. You want to do that?”

Kagome nodded. “Yeah. But, not here.”

“Not here?” He echoed, more for a reach into her mind to understand.

“Kagura told Kikyo that if Naraku asked where her body was located, she’d have to tell him. Kikyo doesn’t want Naraku to have her body. I don’t want him to find her.”

“Okay. Let’s find some place else, then. Come on.” Inuyasha held his hand out for her, waiting patiently until she took it.

He let her guide their way. He didn’t mind the silence, or the loose grip she had on his fingers. He didn’t mind her minor stumbling, or how she was aimlessly wandering. Inuyasha would be able to find their way back, and he would walk however far Kagome deemed appropriate.

They came upon a hillside that overlooked a valley. It was green, dewy from the moisture in the crisp air, and peppered with wildflowers. Instantly, he knew Kagome’s attention was on the single tree just to their right. Before she’d even pulled him in that direction, he knew.

“In the daytime, she’ll be shaded, but at nighttime, she’ll have a clear shot of the stars. What do you think?” She asked. She’d finally stopped crying, her cheeks positively stained with streaks of old blood and salt. Yet, she was still capable of being kind, of being compassionate. Kagome didn’t choose a spot at random, but put some thought into the scenery that felt right.

“I think it’s perfect.” He answered. Pointing to a spot that he felt would be best covered by the branches above, Inuyasha asked, “Here?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t the easiest, but they dug a whole that ran deep, one the average demon's nose wouldn’t be able to catch a whiff of the deceased through. One Inuyasha felt would properly shield Kikyo from Naraku within. They traveled back to grab Kikyo, and Inuyasha was careful with how he carried her, handling the former conjurer with extreme care as Kagome followed immediately behind with her discarded bow to bury her with.

The sun was beginning it’s ascent as they returned to the gravesite, and by the time Kikyo was fully laid to rest, the sky blended with awakening tints of pink and blue. Inuyasha remained quiet, respectful as Kagome continued to pat the dirt to ensure it was packed firmly. It was easy to tell she was hesitant to leave Kikyo. He could physically feel the remorse she waded through, but still, he wished she’d shed tears again. It hurt so bad to watch her suffer in silence, to watch her shut down, to watch her fingers tremble while he could do nothing to ease her heartache.

It was one thing to understand a person you knew had died. It was one thing to learn of it from another, or even to witness it from a safe distance. But, to hold them as it happened? To see the light fade from their eyes, to hear their voice trail away, to feel them grow heavy in your arms, it was an entirely different story. It was traumatizing. He’d been there. He held his mother. He held a few strangers he’d found mauled, on their final breath, and so afraid to die alone. It was hard. He knew firsthand that Kagome was going to continue to feel the weight of Kikyo in her arms throughout the duration that she mourned, as if the woman were still present and there. He knew firsthand that Kagome was going to wash the blood from her body but still see it as if it had seeped through the first layer of her flesh and she’d need to scrape it all off until her skin was angry, raw, and prickling with her own blood. And, there was nothing he could do to save her from that. Those feelings were going to demand her undivided attention, and the only thing Inuyasha was aware he could offer was his unwavering support. No matter how badly he wanted to protect her, even steal the emotions away to be felt as his own so that she wouldn’t have to shoulder them, he knew he couldn’t.

In no way did he plan on allowing her to sink into those dark thoughts he was all too conscious of. The ones that dragged you down while you were weakened by a state of grieving, that made you feel like there was no amount of sunlight that could brighten the darkness. As time had passed and Kagome merely stared at the grave, silent, motionless, the hanyou made the call. It was time to go.

At her side, he held out his hand. “Come on, Kagome.” He’d spoken so softly. Her dull gaze slowly shifted to his extended fingers, and by instinct, she went to place her hand in his, but paused halfway.

It was the guilt. That she got to continue living while Kikyo did not. That Kikyo would be left here alone. All alone. Kagome’s hand faltered back and forth between taking Inuyasha’s and touching the dirt that bedded the former conjurer. All the while, he was patient. He knew she would understand that she couldn’t stay here forever, and he didn’t have to articulate the reminder. Kagome would choose to move forward.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered to Kikyo, and before long, her fingers slid within Inuyasha’s gentle grasp.

The hanyou assisted her to a standing. “She doesn’t have to fight anymore. She’s at peace now.”

“I know.” The surviving conjurer replied quietly. He could tell, at the moment, his statement was in one ear and out the other. She wasn’t in the right state of mind to receive reassurance. Her walls were up. And, he had a feeling he’d know when she was ready.

They made their way back to their campsite to gather the few things they’d left behind. Inuyasha knew she wouldn’t want to stay. He didn’t need to kick out what embers may have still remained because they’d long died off on their own. Instead, he took the bag before she could secure it over her shoulders. He couldn’t do much for her right now, but the least he could do was remove the physical weight from her back.

Kagome wasn’t talkative in the least, didn’t even make a sound when she’d accidentally tripped over a root and stumbled into his arm, the gasp she’d released so light even he had hardly caught it. She needed to rest, he was more than aware, but he knew that if he verbally made the suggestion, Kagome would shake her head to decline. She’d closed herself off so much, he was certain she didn’t even realize they were still covered in dried blood and dirt. As far as he was concerned, it was his executive decision to make. So, he sought out a river, or a lake, or any small body of water they’d be able to wash off in.

He’d thought he’d been following the sounds of a stream, but as the rushing water became more thunderous than expected, he’d realized they were at the bottom of a waterfall. It was secluded, it was peaceful, it was where they were calling it a day. And, he meant that. He didn’t care if she wanted to keep going after they’d cleaned up, and he didn’t care if they got into an argument because of it; Kagome needed to sit down and rest. She hadn’t gotten much sleep as it was, and she couldn’t just walk this feeling off. She, of all people, should know.

To his surprise, as they forced their way through bushes to come out onto the greenery that surrounded the pool, Kagome seemed to have no objections. She knew what they were there for, and as he set the bag down, removing the sheath of his sword from the loop in his belt, she dropped her bow and quiver from her shoulders to the ground beside them. After placing her father’s knife in the pile, she followed the hanyou into the water, neither yet bothering to remove any clothing.

Inuyasha reached for her hands, which this time she didn’t hesitate to take, holding the both of his as he pulled her in deeper. For the first time in hours, Kagome sighed out heavily, a little shakily. The pool was cold, it was a shock to the system, and it served to both cleanse her person while jolting her out of the bleak depths of her depressive state.

The hanyou gently began washing her palms off, taking meticulous care, and finally he heard her voice. It was cracked, it was small, but it was her voice.

“I can do it.” She claimed. And, he gave her a small grin of acknowledgment, releasing his meager grip to give her space.

Kagome dunked her hands in the water, beginning to rub the filth on her fingers away. Some of it washed off easily, but a good portion was stuck to her skin. It would have been easier if she had a rag, or maybe something coarse. Something that could lift the crimson stain so she’d never have to see it again. Utilizing the next best thing that she had, Kagome removed her shirt, balling up the ruined cloth and plunging it into the pool. For some reason, she’d tried to rinse it the best that she could, no matter how much of a lost cause it was from the start.

Grabbing an end that wasn’t stained, Kagome used it to scrub at her hands, finding it helped substantially. She continued up her arms, taking her time, but during which, finding her stability wavering. As she washed the remaining evidence of the last of Kikyo’s life away, she revisited the wounds that marred her flesh, her final words, the way her eyes faded, and hot tears quickly brimmed that had to be blinked away.

“I’m gonna dive.” Kagome mentioned, warning Inuyasha so he wouldn’t worry.

She took a deep breath, and down she went, kicking off of the rocks beneath her feet to swim deeper into the pool. Coming up to the surface, Kagome treaded in the water for a moment, quickly acclimating to the temperature now that she’d fully submerged. She backed up until her feet could reach some of the loose, mossy floor beneath, and then continued until she was only engulfed from the chest down. Even the cold didn’t help anymore. Kagome couldn’t silence her grief, tears streaming from her eyes as her breathing became heavy and sputtered once more.

Kikyo was gone. She was gone. She could still feel her in her arms, she could still hear her cries. She was told it wasn’t her fault, but if that were true, why did Kagome feel such a horrible sense of remorse in the pit of her chest? Why did she feel so guilty? Just because Kikyo felt she couldn’t be saved didn’t mean Kagome shouldn’t have tried. Why hadn’t she figured out the visions were coming from Kikyo? How could she not have pieced that together sooner? It didn’t matter that she had never experienced the detrimental tint of red before, it didn’t matter that she was apparently seeing things through Kikyo’s eyes for just small glimpses at a time. They were reoccurring and precise. How could she have dismissed them as nothing more than dreams without a meaning? She was smarter than that. It felt insensitive to have belittled them as such, it felt cruel of her to shrug them off and carry on with her day while Kikyo had been fighting for her life. Kagome had failed. She’d failed herself, and she’d failed her friend.

Her sobs were beginning to wrack her body, like hyperventilated breaths that made it hard to actually attain oxygen. This sadness, this thick sludge of loss was impossible to ignore, and instead of trying to regain control over herself while it wasn’t necessary, instead of reaching for composure that was miles away, Kagome turned around to face Inuyasha.

He’d been watching her. Carefully. Closely. All while minding her space. He, himself, had removed his shirt using it to scrub clean, but he never had his eyes off of her for more than a second at a time. Each gasp he heard her breathe as she began to cry was like a thorn to his heart. It was difficult to respect the distance she’d created, but as the water rippled, and she turned his way, looking at him with such a sorrowful expression, that was all he needed in order to know that he no longer had to. She was ready for him.

Taking his cue, Inuyasha waded over, his arms catching her as she closed the distance herself by bounding into his chest.

“I’ve got you, baby.” He whispered soothingly into her hair, tightening his hold around her as she cried against him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Inuyasha kissed her head, stroked his fingers over the soaked backside of the top that supported her breasts, gently pet her hair, and waited patiently. He would have stood there holding her all fucking day and night if that was what it took. He didn’t care. If this was what Kagome needed, then nothing stood the chance of pulling him away from her.

As her weeping gradually died down, and the aftershocks of hiccups shook her core, his hands began to massage at her upper back, creating tiny ripples of water with his skillful movements. Her arms had slackened some around his waist, but Kagome still nuzzled into his chest.

“I can’t get all of the blood off of me.” She mentioned, her words raspy. Broken.

“You got most of it. I saw. You want my help?” Inuyasha spoke sweetly.

“Please.” Kagome nodded against him, leaning back the tiniest bit. “Is it - is it still on my face?”

Inuyasha didn’t answer just yet, dipping his hands in the water before bringing his thumbs up and gently rubbing against her cheeks. “Not anymore.”

He didn’t say anything else before his hands traveled downward, washing her chest, applying a little more friction to the mess on her stomach, all the while placing a tender kiss to the center of her forehead.

“I’m sorry. I have to ask this.” Inuyasha whispered into her ear. “But, I wasn’t there, so I don’t know the situation. Were you hurt, kid?”

In response, Kagome shook her head. “Kikyo protected me with her magic. Kagura didn’t even know I was there.”

“Then, what’s this on your back?” He asked, gently rubbing over the scraped area as he had numerous times already.

“That was me.” She said, tucking herself back into his arms so he’d rest his chin on top of her head. “I stumbled into a tree.”

It wasn’t until her nerves had died down and she began to shiver that Inuyasha made the decision to guide her out of the water. Their soaked clothes were set out to dry, and the both of them were soon donned in fresh apparel, sitting around a fire she’d insisted on being the one to build.

Kagome hadn’t wanted to deal with her hair, finding herself growing impatient just by brushing the damp tangles away. As soon as the last of it was smoothed out, she grabbed her hair tie and set to braiding it, uncaring of the uneven chunks of hair that she grabbed while she started at the crown of her head and worked her way down.

“That’s cute.” Inuyasha smiled, crouching before her and taking it upon himself to fix her loose bangs. The only reply she could muster was a lazy crinkle of her nose, bringing a chuckle from his lips as he got some fish cooking over the fire.

At first, he’d figured she didn’t want to talk about anything, but before long, Inuyasha realized it was more that she couldn’t. Kagome looked exhausted. Her emotions were justifiably all over the place, and in her state, how could she be expected to be able to put them into words? He wasn’t the least bit bothered by her silence or how far she seemed to sit from him. Truthfully, he figured it was all absentminded action. At least now she didn’t seem so sunken inward. Her irises were still dull, but there was the glimmer of Kagome in them again. He suspected that slowly, steadily, she would return at her own rate. And, Inuyasha would be right there when she did.

Kagome managed to eat more than he’d expected of her, and though he’d left her alone to rest, he knew she was fighting it. Couldn’t say he blamed her for that. It was twilight, but a monotonous one. No gorgeous colors glowed in the sky to end their day, and from their position behind the mountain, they couldn’t even see the sun as it fell. Before they knew it, the two of them were shadowed completely, the air quickly growing crisp as it lost the warmth that the sun provided.

It was chilly. She sat near the fire, but being so close to the waterfall had a draft hitting them that was hard to ignore. Kagome was trying not to make it obvious. She knew Inuyasha was already worried about her, and he had been so kind, and sweet, and diligent all day, so she was scared that merely shivering would exacerbate his concern. She’d considered laying down, trying to sleep, but it was hard to close her eyes for more than a second without seeing Kikyo’s body. Even now, there was still a hard lump caught in her throat that made it difficult to swallow. She was just all cried out for the moment. Her eyes burned with fatigue, her chest ached from the hiccups that had taken forever to go away, her muscles felt sluggish and heavy, and her head throbbed horrendously.

For some reason, her attention kept shifting to Inuyasha. He was leaning back against a tree, sitting nonchalantly as he gazed up at the sky. Why were they so far apart? Why had she sat alone? Maybe because she was worried about bothering him further or seeming clingy. Would Inuyasha actually mind if she was clingy for a little while? She honestly couldn’t see him being bothered by it. At all. She didn’t want him to just allow it because she was in a bad state of mind at the moment, though. Like he pitied her. She didn’t want pity. She wanted compassion. But, this was Inuyasha. This was her Inuyasha. If she wanted to be near him and didn’t act on it, and he found out later, he’d probably call her an idiot. No, he’d call her worse. If she wanted to touch him but kept to herself out of fear of bothering him, Inuyasha would give her the look. The look that said more than his mouth ever could, and that was saying something given Inuyasha was probably the most outspoken person she’d ever met. It was a glare that scolded, a slant of his eyes that condemned her, but there was no frown. His lips were set straight, pulled in no direction, and it was probably what made the expression worse since she couldn’t read what level of upset he was actually conveying. It was rare that he ever looked at her that way, but she’d seen it twice, maybe three times, before. And, it was the one thing he could do to make her truly pout in shame.

Resolved and hopeful for an inkling of peace she knew his arms would provide, Kagome picked herself up from her spot, sauntering over to the hanyou. His eyes shifted her way, and as she grew closer, a small, welcoming smile appeared. The empty spot beside him didn’t suit her liking, though. As odd as it seemed, it just wasn’t close enough. Feeling a rush of shyness mix into her already-swarming emotions, all Kagome could bring herself to do in order to communicate was glance down at his legs while she stood in front of him. Verbal communication was far out of reach, but she knew Inuyasha was the only person who’d learned to understand her with or without.

Inuyasha’s grin only inched wider when she gave such a subtle signal for him to take. She wanted his lap. Honestly, he was just happy she wanted to be near him right now. He’d fully accepted that she needed her space and was going to respect it, but he’d be a lying sack of shit if he didn’t admit that he wanted to at least be within arms reach for his own sense of comfort. Having her sit across their camp was hard while he knew she was struggling and all he wanted to do was help, but he was more than willing if it was what she’d wanted. But, now she wanted him.

He outstretched his bent legs, patting on his thighs for her to lay on as she had several times before, but this time Kagome gave a small shake of her head. At first, Inuyasha was a little confused. He’d read her correctly, right? She does want his lap, right?

“Not like this?” He asked. And, Kagome replied with a shake of her head in confirmation. “Did you want to sit?”

She gave a small nod, pointing in between his legs. In another attempt to get it right, Inuyasha bent his legs as they’d just been, spreading them wider so she had room to sit between his thighs. Again, she shook her head, a bashful flush heating her face as she bit her bottom lip.

“Oh,” He chuckled. “I know what you want.”

Of course. It was foolish of him not to think of it first. Kagome didn’t want to just sit with him, or lean against him. She wanted to be held by him. She wanted to be tucked so securely against him that nothing stood the chance of harming her. She wanted, just for a moment, to not have to put up a strong demeanor. She wanted to shrink into his chest, his arms, she wanted to close her eyes, and she wanted the sound of his heartbeat to mute all other thoughts her mind could threaten her with.

Inuyasha folded his legs, watching the tiniest smile pull at the corners of her lips when he opened his arms to invite her in. She carefully crawled into his lap, her own legs folding over one of his thighs as she curled into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling against him.

“Better?” He asked just before kissing her temple. Kagome granted him a hum of approval, sighing out deeply as he hugged her close, tight, safe.

Inuyasha relaxed back against the tree, enjoying the feel of how her breath hadn’t yet synced to his. The push of her lungs met his abdomen in disagreement with his own pattern, matching their own rhythm, and it brought him a sensation of tranquility. When their breathing matched, it wasn’t that he didn’t love it. It was more that it just became too second nature and he had to focus to make sure her lungs were really doing their job. But, when she opposed his own, he didn’t need a reminder. He could feel it.

Quicker than he’d expected, Kagome’s weight began to increase against him. She was falling asleep. His arms were snug around her, his chin was resting on top of her head, and if he didn’t risk pulling her from that in between state, he’d be kissing her goodnight right now. It was that in between state that he knew was the most worrisome, though. Where you weren’t quite unconscious so the thoughts that you barely kept at bay during the day could sneak up on you at any given moment without so much as a barrier to hold them back. All Inuyasha could hope for was her serenity. Kagome deserved that much. She deserved to rest right now. And, as he felt her breathing deepen, a small twitch from her fingers on his backside, he knew she’d gotten past it without harm, sleeping soundly in the refuge of his protection.

—

It would be an understatement to say Kagura was shaken. The choice of vocabulary was laughable in comparison to what she’d actually felt. She was no saint. She’d done horrible things in her lifetime. Before she thought to escape her “father,” Kagura had done his bidding without so much as blinking an eye. She’d murdered, she’d robbed, she’d come home covered in blood belonging to numerous people at a time, took a bath, then moved on with her life without feeling an ounce of compunction. It wasn’t that she could claim she had a conscience. In fact, she was sure she was deliberately created without one. If Naraku surely didn’t own one, how could she? That didn’t mean she wasn’t smart enough to know right from wrong. That didn’t mean she wanted to be the same sort of beast Naraku was. That was where he’d made his mistake in creating her. He’d given her a mind of her own.

Naraku was more than vile. His twisted laughter at another’s expense caused her stomach to churn and ache, his malicious smile made her welcome the dark so she’d never have to see it, his unforgiving brutality had her wishing for her own death at times, and it wasn’t all that long after her rise that a switch flipped in her brain and she realized she wanted to be as far removed from him as she could possibly get.

Maybe that meant she did have a conscience. Maybe she’d developed one after so many pleading screams had echoed in her ears. Maybe running away and experiencing love was both the best and worst thing for her, because killing Kikyo was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

It was too easy. It was entirely too easy. Why was she ordered to kill Kikyo when she was on her deathbed as it was? The conjurer had run herself dry, depleted her energy, and was so far gone that no matter how well she’d tried to take care of herself thereafter, there was no coming back from it. Kikyo would have died on her own in just a matter of weeks if things continued as they were. So, why the hell did Kagura have no other choice but to savagely murder her?

She knew the story. She knew how Naraku attempted to corrupt Kikyo, how they’d met when she could still be considered a child, how that monster upheaved her life, flipped it upside down, and burned any future she may have been able to create for herself. Naraku had singlehandedly made that woman’s world hell, and Kagura was furious that she had to personally see to the end of it. Naraku killed her spirit, and Kagura killed her heart.

And, she knew what was about to happen. She knew Naraku too well not to know what sort of reaction waited for her on the other side of the manor. As disgusting as it was, while he was still human, he truly did harbor some sort of affection for Kikyo. And, Kagura had her blood dripping down her fingers.

She took a deep breath, easily shoving aside her conflicting emotions so that she could get this over with. She’d been gone for too long as it was, so any feelings that slowed her down were useless right now. Kagura’s heels clicked along the hard floor, a frown curving at her stained lips as she approached the study and entered through the cracked door.

He’d smelled it. He’d smelled her coming, and he smelled the liquid oozing from the feather she held and down her hand. That was why Naraku was already staring at the door, that was why his jaw was hard and set, that was why his red eyes were more piercing than she’d ever seen in her entire life. Kagura instantly understood that she had underestimated the situation. From the way the half demon bristled at the other end of the room, from the way his tentacles curled malignantly, and the spider legs that grew out of the free space of his back appeared and stiffened, from the way his demonic energy began to swirl like she’d only felt a handful of times, things were already appearing to be worse than she’d imagined. It’d caught her off guard. She froze in the entryway, apprehensive, her breathy gasp caught in her throat to emphasize the hollow.

“That - that’s -“ It seemed like her master was in a state of shock. Kagura had never seen his lips twitch this way, or his chin quiver in the manner it did now. “Did you…”

“Miss Kagura, you’re -“ Rin’s small smile of greeting faded as quickly as it had appeared as the man standing just a few feet away from where she sat on the floor playing with dolls screamed at her so loud, his voice cracked.

“SHUT UP!” Naraku had curled his spine some, his thick fingers positively quaking. “Did you do it, Kagura!? Is she dead!?”

“She’s - yes.” Kagura answered unsteadily, eyes wide and breath trembling. “Yes, I did it. Kikyo’s dead.”

“And, that’s her blood?” He didn’t need to ask that question. She knew his sense of smell was somehow stronger than her own.

“It is.”

“You’re unscathed. How? Kikyo is strong, you should have come back half mangled! You’re lying! You betrayed me again, didn’t you!? You made a deal with that cunt and took some of her blood to try and fool me! She’s still alive out there, isn’t she!?” He raced over to her, grabbing Kagura by the throat and pinning her against the wall before she could so much as think to react. She’d had to ignore the little girl’s scream, her broken cry, praying she’d keep the promise they’d made when she’d first arrived. If Naraku were to ever do anything to Kagura, Rin swore to keep her distance. Rin swore never to run up and try and do something her father would, because Naraku wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her. “Isn’t she!?”

“N-Naraku.” Kagura gurgled, trying to push him off, to pry her neck from his grip with her free hand while preserving the evidence she held in the other. “Kikyo’s - Kikyo’s dead.”

It was another moment before Naraku’s eyes went blank, his fingers gradually releasing Kagura, and a thick swallow had his Adam’s apple bobbing.

She gasped in some air, recovering as quickly as she could to give the explanation he was looking for before he could grow angry again. “Kikyo did strike me.” She said, pointing to a tear in her gown on her arm that she’d received days before. “It’s just healed already.”

“She’s a conjurer. You should have been dead from her strike.”

“She was dying, Naraku. She hardly had any power left in her.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know the logistics of their kind. She looked passed the point of fatigue. When I had appeared, she had this look in her eyes. Like, her final chance had just been stolen away. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try.” He said through gritted teeth.

“I saw hope, but I saw it gradually fizzle the nearer I got.” Kagura said. “You were the one who’d told me she was weak and sick. Why is this coming as such a shock to you?”

“Such impudence to question me!” Naraku yelled, slapping the back of his hand across Kagura’s face. Forcefully, he jerked the feather from between her fingers. “This will tell me if you’re lying.”

The monster hovered the stained, white object close to his face, observing it intensely, intimately. His red irises traveled over each minor detail of the feather, gazing at the blood with a sense of dedication that steadily shifted into desire. It was grotesque. It was disturbing. It had Kagura pressing herself flush against the wall in an attempt to further separate from the madman.

Dreamily, Naraku dragged the feather over his tongue, the conserved blood coloring the surface of which before he closed his mouth and took his time studying the taste. His eyes blinked hazily, sort of rolling into the back of his head as a vicious grin turned at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t wide, it wasn’t tooth-baring. It was minute, subtle, but speaking volumes of the pleasure he felt. Kagura had to swallow her shudder, tensing her entire body so she risked no involuntary, negative reactions from her muscles.

“I can taste you.” Naraku breathed.

“You sliced her.” He chuckled.

“Your demonic energy is mixed with her mortal essence.” He moaned.

“She still tastes as good as she did before.” He licked the feather again.

“Fuck,” He groaned pleasantly. “I can practically taste her final breaths.”

“She was so pathetically weak when she died.” Naraku laughed, stumbling backward as he grew intoxicated by the blood. “She’s dead. The bitch is dead! She’s dead!” But, then his glee began to dwindle, his crazed eyes glued to the feather as he began to furl his spine forward. The extra appendages on his back began slithering, growing, twitching erratically. His mental state had slipped, his footing was unstable as he continued to stumble backward, to the side, forward, stopping in the center of the floor when his spider legs planted roughly and supported him. He neither blinked nor swallowed, drool with the slightest tint of red dripping from his opened lips to dribble down his chin while his smile fell into a horrible, enraged frown. It was processing. His ex-lover was deceased. She was no more. Kikyo’s existence was gone, and even he, with the decrepit heart that beat within his chest, felt the pain of loss. “She’s dead? She’s dead? She’s dead. She’s - she’s - no.”

With a quick a demanding snap of her fingers, Kagura looked to the terrified and crying girl on the carpet, directing Rin to run to her side immediately with a point. The patter of her feet was rushed as she scrambled up and away from her spot, opening her arms wide for Kagura to grab her and pick her up, securing her against her body.

Naraku’s energy was soaring. It was so irate that a literal strength circled around him, building, growing, sending objects flying, the jar on Naraku’s desk holding Moryomaru’s still and rotting heart shattering against the far wall.

“Kikyo! Kikyo, my beloved!”

As quickly as she could, Kagura tucked rin’s head down against her shoulder and raced out of the room to safety. She’d never seen him like that. She’d never witnessed just how insane Naraku could be. She’d thought she’d seen it all, she’d thought she’d lived through the worst, but the entire place was shaking with his rage, and she wondered if killing the conjurer was truly worth it now.

—

Inuyasha turned to check how far behind him Kagome was trailing. Seeing she was within arm’s reach, regarding him with a small smile had his chest feeling a little lighter. It hadn’t yet been a full week since Kikyo’s passing, just a day shy, and he couldn’t quite claim she was back to normal, but she was handling herself well. He knew the further they got from the place it all happened, and the further they got from the date, the more Kagome’s state improved.

Just recalling how she was a few days ago had a heavy throb making home in his heart. She’d wake up and her irises would seem dull and spiritless, she’d either lay or sit there for a long moment before really coming to, and then she’d check her hands. Every day, she had to make sure they were clean. Kagome said her peripheral vision was playing tricks on her. In the corner of her eyes, she still saw red staining her skin, and first thing in the morning her not-yet-functioning brain would convince her she hadn’t succeeded in cleaning it all off. He’d quickly made it a habit of checking behind him to see where she was. He was so used to her by his side that when she was missing it was unsettling, but he also comprehended that keeping up was a little more difficult at the moment than when she was mentally sound. Inuyasha didn’t want to make her feel like she needed to hurry along, though. Right now, he didn’t mind taking it easy. Their next destination, one he hadn’t brought up to her for the sake of her momentary sanity, wasn’t necessarily one he was eager to get to anytime soon, anyway. As important as it was to get there soon, it wasn’t pressing to get there now. They had a few days to spare; it could wait that long.

Kagome still broke down. She wasn’t an empty shell of herself, and sometimes the pain in her chest became too much to bear and she’d crumble where she stood. It wasn’t difficult at all to be patient, and he hushed her whenever she apologized between shuddering sobs. If she’d stop while walking and crouch down to cry, Inuyasha would stop too. He’d kneel right next to her and either stroke her hair or rub her back. He wouldn’t say a thing unless prompted, because he knew very well that this was just a form of release. If she allowed it to build up, if she swallowed it and pushed the feelings away like she used to, it would eventually become too much to bear and potentially grow worse. It would ultimately effect her mentality, and her spiritual power would be difficult to control. Kagome couldn’t allow her emotions to pave the way, so she had to let them out.

Inuyasha knew that sensation. He knew that stuffiness in the center of your chest where it felt like a literal weight was making your entire body seem heavy. He knew how quickly it expanded, how bleak it made everything seem, how it made you feel like you would never recover and you were bound to be stuck with this burden forever. So, he was glad Kagome was taking care of herself. He was glad Kagome was crying. He was glad when she looked at him with those reddened, puffy eyes and that pouting, bottom lip that jutted out just a tiny bit, and she allowed him to clean the tears from her face and express just how tender he was capable of being.

Gradually, as the days passed, she cried a little less, she fell behind a little less, she replied a little more, she smiled a little wider, and her laughter was beginning to return. Inuyasha reached behind him now, accepting her modest grin by grabbing for her hand.

“Need a break?” He asked.

“I need a snack, is what I need.” Kagome said with a little grumble

“You’re hungry?”

“I mean, I could eat.”

Inuyasha chuckled, squeezing his grip on her hand. “Okay, we can climb down the mountain for some fish and actually sit down to eat a lunch, or we can eat some berries and hope that tides us off for a while. Option A will take at least an hour given we’re pretty high up from the river, option B will take about ten minutes because I’m pretty sure I saw some bushes with berries not too far back. I’m just not sure if they were the poisonous sort or not.”

“Berries!” Kagome chose with a small bounce.

“Okay,” The hanyou had to look away then, standing no chance of subduing his flush. In such a short time, her happiness appeared so far away from him that now that she was beginning to show it again, to be herself again, it made him stupidly flustered. She was cute. Too fucking cute. Irritatingly cute. “How about I go grab the berries and you find a spot to relax?”

“You don’t want me to go with you?” She questioned.

“Nah, you don’t need to. Don’t wander off too far, though.” He replied, slipping his hand out of hers and turning around to backtrack the trail they’d traveled.

Kagome felt a tug on her heart as he grew further. She’d felt so absent this past week that she actually missed Inuyasha, and he’d been right next to her the entire time. He’d kissed her head numerous times, her cheek, her temple, and once even on her hand, but right now she wanted that little bit of affection she’d been too far gone to receive and reciprocate. So, Kagome spun around on her heel, albeit bashfully, as she played with the sleeves of her shirt.

“Hey.” She called out, stopping her hanyou in his tracks.

Inuyasha looked over his shoulder at her, cocking a brow as he waited for her to say something. But, no words came forward. Instead, she pursed her lips, starting small until she lifted her chin, making it evident she wanted a kiss. His heart gave a delightful thud, but his entire body grew uncomfortably warm.

“Use your words.” He teased, trying to swallow his own rush of shyness. She had too much power over him and he was pretty sure she knew it. She knew he was wrapped around her finger just like the red string that knotted around their pinkies, tying them to each other. That didn’t mean he was always going to present himself as the goo his brain turned into. He was still a hard ass through and through, and he’d been nice enough where necessary. Right now, he felt well within his rights to play around with her a little.

Kagome’s mouth fell into a minor pout, finding herself just a bit too timid under his stare to say anything now. He was just taunting her to be a jerk, she was well aware of the games he played. But, she wanted a kiss, dammit. If she gave in and asked, he would only tease her more by saying something like, “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” There was no way Kagome could give him that sort of satisfaction, so again, she tried to communicate her wishes by pursing her lips, this time letting out the smallest whine.

“Is that any way to get what you want?” Inuyasha laughed.

With a skeptic arch of Kagome’s brow, her lips falling into an expression that easily said, obviously, she nodded.

He couldn’t help his sputtering laugh. Yeah, she definitely knew the effects she had on him. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Inuyasha walked right back over, rushing her at the tail end so she’d squeal and jump back just as he grabbed her, pulling her into a kiss.

“There,” Inuyasha spoke between a peck, his word murmured against her lips. “Happy?”

“Wait, one more.” Kagome replied, just as muted by his affection. “Okay, now I’m happy.” She giggled.

“I’ll be right back.” He lightly stated, giving her rear a small tap before he went to walk away again.

Kagome smiled, turning around to find a good spot to sit down for a moment. They could always just park it on the floor, which they may very well have to do given the trail they were currently on, but it was at least worth looking for a better spot.

They’d been heading uphill for a while already, and she was glad Inuyasha offered a break. She knew she’d been slowing the two of them down for days now, but it honestly couldn’t be helped. And, while she was aware he more than understood her current state, that didn’t mean she wanted to request more stops just because her legs and ass were on fire from the steep mountain they traveled on. If he hadn’t have brought it up, Kagome would have pushed through it all without complaint.

Down below, she could just barely hear the river. It was still so full from all the rain it had recently received, moving wildly along its course. As she traveled just a bit further, Kagome noticed a slim peek of rock through a break in the bushes and trees. It looked like a cliff that extended outward, overlooking the scenery - a wide one that had no previous accessibility until this point, and even now that accessibility was narrow. Still, if she were right, it would be the perfect spot to sit down and rest for a moment.

It wasn’t until she grew closer that she began to feel like something was off. It felt like an object was very subtly radiating demonic properties, yet it wasn’t a demon, itself, she was sensing. In essence, it was similar to Inuyasha’s blade, but for some reason, it also felt very different. Curious, Kagome pushed through the thick shrubbery to come out most of the way onto the cliff - extending longer than she’d anticipated. Immediately, her brown eyes landed on a man at the edge, facing away from her, his hair long, waving, darker than her own, and ruffling in the breeze. Despite the large amount of noise she’d made pushing through the bushes, the man hadn’t seemed to notice her, and if he had, he didn’t bother to turn around. Not straightaway. He was leisured as he slowly glanced over his shoulder, and it was only after the noise had completely died.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Kagome said, trying not to stare into his red irises as he gradually turned around to fully face her. She’d never seen any quite like that. Not where the pupils were white. It was piercing. Intimidating. But, the gentle smile he wore contradicted that, and that was what she chose to focus on. “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here.”

The man still didn’t speak. His thin lips didn’t even part as if he wanted to say something. He merely gazed on at her, his head leaning ever so slightly to the side.

His silence was unsettling. Worse, his never-dying grin was becoming so, as well. What once was gentle was now disturbing. With the way he stared at her, it would be normal to perceive it as him looking straight through her, but he wasn’t. Kagome could feel it. This man’s eyes were right on her, studying her, eating her up.

“Are you - are you okay?” She asked nervously, unable to help the way her fingers fidgeted. What she truly wanted to know was if this man was mentally present. He was standing unnervingly close to the ledge. One misstep, and he was gone.

To her surprise, he chuckled. His voice was deep, silky. “I can’t even remember the last time anyone’s bothered to ask me that.”

That, alone, had Kagome feeling substantially more uncomfortable. What had he been looking at before she came? What had been running through his mind? What was this man contemplating just before she disturbed his silence and came trudging through the thickets? Her eyes, yet again, fell down to the edge of the cliff just behind his heels, then shifted back up to his face, his mouth.

“If you’re worried I’m going to jump, don’t be.” He said kindly, showing a little more personality with the way he smirked and looked away in amusement. “That’s quite the opposite of what I want. Really, it’d be counterproductive.”

“Oh,” Kagome breathed. While she wanted to feel relieved, there was something off-putting about the man. Severely off-putting. What was the object that drew her attention? She saw nothing on his person. No weapon was belted to his hip, nor his thigh, nor his shoulder. He held nothing in his hands, nor was there a bag strapped to his back. Maybe, it was something else she sensed. Or, maybe she should heed the warning her gut was receiving and leave it alone, back away, find Inuyasha, and rest on the very far side of the mountain. “Well, I apologize for bothering you.”

“You don’t have to leave.” He said before she could even move.

“I have to go find my boyfriend. I promised him I wouldn’t walk off too far.” She quickly stated.

“Then, why did you come out here?”

Kagome tensed. “I - Well, it looked like a nice spot to rest, and the scenery would be pretty. I wasn’t aware you were here, though. The last thing we’d want to do is disturb you. Besides -”

“You want to look at the scenery?” The man offered, his smile widening an inch as he turned to look over the cliff, at the mountains opposite, the green, the trees, the blue sky. “Come. Look. No need to be shy, Kagome. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, but I -“ Kagome froze mid-step, turning around to exit through the bushes when it hit her. As a chill ran down her spine, she pushed herself to look back at the man, her lips still parted, her brows furrowed in question.

He chuckled. “You’re not as easy to find as I’d thought you’d be.”

“How do you know my name?” She asked apprehensively.

“Isn’t it funny, maybe even a little ironic, that I would figure out who you were before you would me?” He carelessly ran his fingers through his hair. “Did you even bother to ask what I looked like? Given you’re a conjurer, I’m assuming your vendetta is with me. Of course, that could very well be my arrogance talking.”

No. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be…

“Oh, there it is.” He laughed, chest and shoulders bouncing with the amusement. “The face of someone realizing just who they’re talking to. So, am I right? Was it me you were looking for?”

Kagome didn’t answer, an alarming sensation igniting in her core. Was this really Naraku? How did he know they were looking for him? Was it because she and Inuyasha had killed Moryomaru and it had gotten back to him? Or, had she been betrayed?

“You look to be in a state of shock. Disbelief? Kagome, it’s really me. Baby, honey, sweetums, pookie, I’m the man you’ve been searching for. In the flesh. Why don’t you seem happier?” He taunted jeeringly.

“Naraku?” She asked. She couldn’t help her skepticism. If she was in the presence of Naraku, why hadn’t she felt his demonic energy? Why hadn’t Inuyasha? It wasn’t a being she was sensing, but an object, and Inuyasha should have picked up his scent given she wasn’t all that far from where they’d parted. But, he hadn’t smelled anyone. Otherwise, the hanyou either would have warned her to be careful, or just purely wouldn’t have left her alone. This couldn’t be right. Naraku was supposed to be insanely powerful, so why wasn’t she feeling him. Was he able to conceal his powers? Was that possible?

“Good job, boo boo.” He said mockingly, smiling.

“But, how?”

“You killed Moryomaru. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Naraku shrugged his brows. “If you wanted my attention so bad, there were other ways to go about it. So, what’s up? What did you want to talk about?”

Kagome didn’t know how to read him. She was so thrown off, her perception of this reality was distorted. She needed to get a grip fast, she needed to draw her weapon, but she felt so solid, so confused, so afraid by not only his presence but his carefree demeanor.

“Come on, spit it out.” He wagged his hand in a rushing gesture. “God, for someone with a target on me, you sure seem scared. You sure you can do this?”

“Stop.” She finally spoke. “What are you doing? How are you talking so lightly right now?”

“What do you -“

“You know what I mean!” Kagome intentionally shouted, hoping to catch Inuyasha’s sensitive hearing. “You’re a mass murderer! You’re evil! You’ve been committing genocide, and you want to stand there spewing jokes at me as if nothing’s happened!”

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes.” Naraku nodded, agreeing to everything she’d just listed. “But, see the thing about being evil is, you don’t really care. I know that’s a difficult concept to grasp, what with the whole conscience and all.” He sneered with a light roll of his eyes.

“And, what for? What’s the purpose of all of this? World domination or something?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He curled his upper lip in slight disdain. “Sounds like a lot of responsibility. I would probably have to say power. And, recognition. Like, imagine another region saying, ‘Hey, you’ve heard of Naraku, right? Yeah, I wouldn’t want to fuck with him either.’ To see everyone fear me, to be unbeatable, to know that if I did someday want world domination, I could attain it with the flick of my wrist. Yeah, that’s probably what I’m shooting for.”

“Oh, screw you. You said that all as if you didn’t already know. As if you started all of this because you could.”

“That’s the thing, Kagome. I did. I had the power, so why shouldn’t I be the one to rise to the top? In doing that, I’d have to dispose of the waste, silence the challengers, make a few demonstrations to get the word out, so on and so forth. See, you conjurers are weird folk.” He pointed. “Acting like you’re better than anyone else. It doesn’t make sense to me. What’s that about?”

“We don’t kill for fun.” Kagome replied, a deep scowl forming on her face.

“Oh, no, see that’s not what I’m getting at. Sure, you gotta kill to survive sometimes, self defense, I get that. But, like, you guys act like you’re the peace keepers of the world just because you have the power to purify demonic entities. If you think about it, it’s kind of like you guys are acting like you’re the superior species. It’s the same shit.”

“It’s not the same.” She fired in defense.

“It kind of is.” He chuckled.

“You’re just trying to get me to react.” Kagome said, sighing out a deep breath to regain her bearings. “You really can’t put us on the same level as you. The only thing I heard you admit was that we’re competition. Our existence is a threat to yours.”

“Your existence,” He began, his tone taking a slightly darker note. “Is unnatural.”

She didn’t say anything, utilizing the silence to allow her bow to slide down her arm and into her hand. It would have been impossible not to notice, she was sure, but Naraku mentioned nothing about it, not even bothering to glance down at it in her grip.

“Humans aren’t purposed for supernatural abilities. You guys are the bottom feeders. In the game of the wild, you’re the boars intended for demons to hunt and cook over fires. And, yet here some of you are, popping out of the womb with spiritual powers as if you’re archangels placed on Earth to fight, good versus evil. Allow me to set you straight, Kagome, there is no competition between you and I. Whomever told you that was spitting a pathetic attempt at a lie that you idiotically fell for. If no one told you that and you truly feel I think highly of your kind, you’re delusional.”

“Then, what’s your reason for killing us all?”

“Simply because you’re no archangel. I am as close to a god as you’ll ever get, but you’re meant to join the fallen. So burn, Kagome. Burn.”

“You say it, but you don’t look like you mean that.”

“And, you want to pretend you know me well enough to make that determination? You didn’t even know what I looked like just minutes ago.”

“You’re putting up a front. I know how to read emotions, and you’ve got plenty. What you’re trying to do is conceal them all behind a wall of big talk. Yes, you think my kind is unnatural, but you honestly do think highly of us. I can say that with confidence, because if I recall correctly, you asked a certain conjurer to join your fight toward the very beginning. You thought combining your power with theirs would make you significantly stronger. If you really considered us bottom feeders, you’d have never contemplated such a suggestion. You’ve experienced years of struggle fighting against that conjurer, and have since deemed us all a threat. You’re afraid of us.”

Naraku laughed malevolently, almost appearing taken aback by her insinuation. “Fear. That’s bold to suggest since you’re currently too nervous to even pull an arrow from your quiver.”

“I am afraid.” Kagome admitted without apprehension. “My pride’s not the thing up for question right now.”

His smile was one of incredulity as his red eyes gave a small shift to the side. “Are you sure you want to do this? Fight me?”

“Like I have a choice.” She said through clenched teeth.

Naraku gestured to the ledge. “You do. Jump.”

“Never. I was sure I wanted to do this the moment I recognized the war you were waging. Now that you’ve killed Kikyo, there’s no way I’ll ever back down. You’re cruel, and -”

“Hey, woah, hey, hold on a second there, lady.” The demon braced his hands before him to silence her, pursing his lips for a brief second. “Look, I’m gonna be real with you, you don’t want to mention her. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that you can’t detect my presence. Where’s you’re half breed boy toy? Who knows, because he has no idea I’m here, right? It’s because I’m not. I’m not real. Naraku, he’s kind of - he’s having an -“ He delayed for a second, bobbing his head as he pondered the proper wording for the predicament. “- an episode at the moment. I’m a puppet. A puppet without any strings, if you will, created to complete this task and then - poof - I’m gone. There’s sort of a tether between my mind and his, and god forbid he’s actually paying attention right now. For your sake, you’d better hope he’s still underground. I mean, I’m not trying to play any sort of good guy - it’s nothing like that. You’re still gonna die today, I’m just trying to show a little mercy. Naraku hears her name, he’ll show up because he’ll be able to locate me real fucking fast, and in the mental state he’s currently in, he’ll literally rip you to pieces. Come on now, that’s no way for a girl with a pretty face to go.”

Kagome was grimacing, a deep frown of disgust pulling at her lips. “He kills her and then has the audacity to cry about it!?”

“Drop the subject.” He warned.

“So, you came to kill me in his stead? Just like he had another underling kill her? And, you want to tell me he isn’t afraid!?”

“He doesn’t like to waste his time squishing bugs.”

“Pathetic.” Kagome said, her voice low, demeaning. “How can anyone be expected to take him seriously as a powerful anything if he can’t even do his own bidding? Naraku is a joke. I’ll bet he’s broken inside. I’ll bet he’s fragile.”

“Stop while you’re still ahead.” The puppet had taken on a serious expression, dark lashes fluttering as he blinked his eyes.

“And, I’m supposed to be intimidated by you? You’re not even him.”

“Oh, no, I’m Naraku.” He corrected. “I’m just not him. Count your blessings. I look exactly like the guy, I can do everything he can do aside from multiply, and you really should learn to watch your mouth.” The puppet began to sprout additional limbs from his back, slithering, green tentacles appearing first, soon joined by long, thin legs looking to belong to a spider, planting themselves on the floor to elevate his body from the earth.

Spider-legged-tentacled creep. Koga had said it, but at the time, Kagome hadn’t known how to comprehend the snide remark at Naraku’s appearance. It was shocking, terrifying, but she knew she didn’t have time to stand there and gawk, to take him in, to actually acknowledge her fear.

As swiftly as she could, Kagome drew an arrow from her quiver, about to aim at the monster before she sensed a powerful energy budding from behind.

“Kagome, down!” Inuyasha ordered, and without a moment’s hesitation, knowing exactly what she was feeling, Kagome dropped her body to the hard surface of the rocky cliff. Air was pushed from her diaphragm from how heavy and quickly she’d dodged, but she remained low, feeling that swarm of demonic power blow directly over her, kick against the surface of the ground, and hit Naraku’s puppet.

With a hasty maneuver, Kagome rolled onto her back, lining the knock of her arrow up with the string of her bow to aim at the demon. It was an odd position, one she wasn’t used to, but she powered through it, pulling back her weapon and releasing to hit just as Inuyasha’s wind scar died away. It seemed as though a barrier had protected Naraku from Inuyasha’s attack, and she’d just caught the way the storm of wind rolled right over him, but her arrowhead stuck in the surface of the invisible barricade, penetrating just passed the tip.

She’d noticed the flinch of his brow, how it pinched inward an inch in observation before relaxing. Was he not expecting such quick reflexes from her? Or, was he not expecting her to make a dent at all?

“So, the half breed finally joins. How long were you listening from the sidelines?” Naraku’s puppet inquired, pretending his expression hadn’t accidentally betrayed him.

Inuyasha didn’t answer. His amber eyes were glowing with anger, his skin was blisteringly hot, and his lips twitched as his glower only managed to deepen. This bastard thought he’d catch Kagome while she was vulnerable and alone? This cheap, knock off, son of a bitch really thought he could kill her so easily? The hanyou was furious.

He’d picked up on Kagome’s voice the moment she’d started talking, and he was sure there was no one on the mountain with them. They were alone, and unless she was talking to a ghost, conversations shouldn’t have been had. Instantly, a bad feeling began to curdle in his stomach, so he headed back. He’d rather be safe than sorry. He’d decided to stay off to the side, listening, peeking through the cracks in the trees to get a glimpse at the man she was speaking to. It was easy to tell something was incredibly wrong. Inuyasha couldn’t smell him. He smelled wood, and just a small piece at that. It was very lightly - very lightly - tainted with Naraku’s scent, though. Something that smelled so far off, it was no wonder he didn’t catch it from down the trail. Then, he admitted to being Naraku, but he knew that couldn’t be the entire truth. He didn’t sense a person. He knew this was an illusion of some sort, but the minute Kagome’s life was so readily threatened was the minute Inuyasha’s anger rapidly bubbled. He was not only underestimating her so disrespectfully, but claiming he was going to put his hands on her. He’d told her to jump off the cliff. He’d claimed to offer her mercy. Inuyasha was going to personally see to this thing’s demise.

This was simply a new message that could be sent the real Naraku’s way. They killed Moryomaru. Now, they would be sending his puppet back in pieces. He was next.

“Tell me you’re okay.” Inuyasha said lowly, stepping through the thickets he’d torn apart with his attack. He didn’t bother taking his eyes off of the underling as he supported his sword in one hand, holding his free one out to help Kagome up.

“I’m fine.” She replied, pulling a new arrow from her quiver.

“Don’t want to bother with small talk? Fine.” Naraku smiled, his tentacles somehow growing. A thick one hastily flew upward to slam down between Inuyasha and Kagome, the two of them dodging but ending up separated.

“Inuyasha, aim at the arrow in his barrier!” Kagome instructed.

“Got it!” The hanyou shouted, dodging another mad tentacle before swinging his sword in another wind scar. Naraku laughed, watching the attack yet again slide over his blockade, missing the arrow entirely.

“What the hell was that!?” He guffawed, his laugh almost choked on as he sputtered to a halt, feeling the disruption of a sharp tear in his wall poking his arm. Another arrow had gotten ninety-percent through, stopping just at the feathers and piercing the surface layer of his flesh through his long-sleeved shirt.

“A distraction.” Kagome stated, pulling another arrow.

The puppet smiled again, but it was daring. Challenging. Kagome could quickly tell he was becoming irate, the way his jaw flexed conveying a lethal threat. She sensed the danger about to come her way, but she fell for his ploy. Naraku sent an appendage shooting at her right, but when she went to swerve left, she was struck by a tendril she hadn’t thought to expect. It sent her flying back onto the ground, a cough sputtering from her mouth from the force, but the puppet failed to pin her. He had lost his grip in the moment, and Kagome rolled away. Still, it would have been impossible of her to get to her feet in time, and again, his tentacle dropped on her, trying to wrap around her waist.

His grip was feeble, sliding away altogether as Inuyasha provided a destructive attack right against the barrier. Kagome looked across the way to see his Tessaiga glowing red, the skin of his face reflecting the bright color, worsening the shade of the fury he radiated. His blade sliced through the barricade, decimating it with the blow, and Naraku’s puppet stood there, stunned.

“Fancy trick you got there.” He growled. “A sword that can break through just about anything, huh?”

“Just about.” Inuyasha said in return, his tone gruff.

Naraku didn’t bother to construct another barrier. If they really wanted to think it would be that simple to take him down, he’d be glad to show them the contrary. To his right, Inuyasha stood with his sword at the ready, the red aura dwindling away to reveal its original appearance. To his left, Kagome stood with an arrow aimed directly at him. She’d shrugged off her backpack in the slim moment his attention was off of her, most likely for better movement control, but the puppet couldn’t help but cock a grin.

He moved swiftly, throwing tendrils of his body outward to distract his opponents. He accepted the hits, laughing tauntingly as he raised his hand and extended it in the direction of the half breed. His demonic powers soared outward, clutching the unsuspecting man in a telekinetic and vise grip, throwing Inuyasha to the ground with a loud thud.

Kagome was trapped, caged, and she didn’t know which appendage to aim at first. It was like they were trying to grab her, closing in to make it harder for her to fight back. It was causing her to panic, to second guess her actions, to back step, and his villainous laughter helped none. She’d heard the loud gasp of Inuyasha colliding with the rocky floor, her panic growing when she called out to him and didn’t receive a response.

Spotting an opening, Kagome aimed between the tentacles, straight at Naraku’s body. One of the slithering things was beginning to snake around her, but despite her trepidation and how badly she wanted to jump away, she stayed perfectly still, waiting for a smidgen of a clearer shot. On an exhale, Kagome released her arrow, her spiritual power demolishing a portion of Naraku’s ribcage, his arm, the tentacles around her dying off, and she quickly jumped out of those that hadn’t yet eroded, shaking them off and scampering toward Inuyasha only to halt halfway.

The hanyou was sitting on his knees, pushing himself back to a standing when his attention flew from Kagome to the monster’s incarnation. Kagome had shot him, had used her powers and blown off a part of his side, but at an alarming rate, Naraku was regenerating.

“I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t impressive.” The puppet spoke, and he almost seemed humored. “I’ll admit, you’re putting up more of a fight than I’d expected of a little girl and a mutt. Bet you didn’t see this coming, though. I’m not real, remember? Your conjurer strength can’t just deteriorate my arm and think it’ll hurt, I’ll scream a little, fall to my knees, and then you’ll be good to serve the finishing attack. It’s gonna take a little more than that, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby!” Kagome demanded, quickly pulling an arrow and shooting it at his body. It nailed the same arm, bringing an annoyed groan from his throat as his skin crumbled, but so rapidly did it heal.

“That make you feel powerful?” He mocked. “Get your point across? ‘Don’t call me baby!’” Naraku echoed in a high-pitched voice. “Stupid ass bitch. You’re not fucking listening, are you?”

Before her very eyes, the puppet’s body seemed to be transforming. More tentacles, vines, slithering demon tails grew from his flesh, entangling around his lower body and plunging into the earth. He was surrounded by a mountain of crawling parts that threatened them and protected his core. Roots began sprouting all around them, loosening the ground that supported the cliff, causing their footing to quake as they stumbled and dodged what grew.

“Kagome, come here!” Inuyasha called, wanting her next to him. He couldn’t protect her this way, he couldn’t adhere to her safety when they were divided, and he couldn’t predict what sort of move this monster was going to make next. In his peripheral vision, he could see the conjurer trying to follow his command, but the puppet was teasing her with his roots, pushing her back. When she finally got over them, Naraku slammed a tendril down in between to keep the two lovers separated.

Ferociously, Inuyasha raised his sword to attack, slashing it down in a formidable wind scar that hit the creature dead on, damaging its faux body. It was insane, the speed at which it regenerated, but the hanyou noticed a small part of his abdomen piecing together just a little slower. That must have been his weak point. That must have been why the demonic parts were protecting his stomach.

“Alright, you’re getting a little annoying.” Naraku commented, swiftly snaking multiple vines around him.

Inuyasha knew it was a distraction, the one that stabbed through his left arm, so he growled and clenched his jaw, but that was the only reaction he allowed himself to give, never taking his eyes off of the damned puppet. Kagome shot another arrow, piercing Naraku’s chest, and as quickly as he could to add his own power to the mix, to end this, Inuyasha swung his sword. His attack rumbled dangerously, shooting over the puppet’s body, but his core was protected in the nick of time.

He hadn’t noticed the tendril around his ankle. He hadn’t noticed the knot it had created. And, it was too late to try and cut himself free before the tentacle yanked his foot back and sent his body crashing forward to the ground. Inuyasha had lost his grip on his sword then, the metal clanking against the rock as he was lifted upward by another root that circled around his waist. He was trying to fight, to free himself, but the root was difficult to slice through with his nails. The ground came flying at his face before he could process as he was wasn’t just dropped, but thrown down heavily, the world going silent and black.

“Inuyasha!” Kagome cried, noticing how he hadn’t attempted to get up or reassure her. The hanyou laid still on the ground, a hand beside his face that neither twitched nor reached for his sword.

It was difficult to focus on what was happening with all the movement around her. So desperately did she want to sprint to her hanyou, but at the moment, she absolutely couldn’t. The second she let her guard down would be the second Naraku would win. It all happened too quickly, though. She’d decided to aim at his body, trying not to be distracted by the wriggling roots and appendages, but just before she could release her shot, something large grabbed around her waist, yanking her back so she’d lose her handling on her weapons, and then thrusting her forward and off of her feet. Kagome was ensnared, the tentacle progressively growing tighter as it wrung around her, pulling her closer to the puppet’s side.

Her groan was pleading, and she pushed fruitlessly at the green flesh around her stomach with her empty hands. It hurt. The closer she got to his burning, red eyes and sadistic smile, the more terrified and panicked Kagome grew.

“So, what now, conjurer?” Naraku asked, hovering her near him. He liked the tiny whimpers that escaped her throat. He liked the way her brown eyes were glimmering with urgency. “Come on, I’m within reach. Now’s your chance. Kill me. Save yourself and your precious mutt.”

She was trying. Kagome was damn near outwardly begging for her powers to work with her. Just once - just fucking once - come through her hands, her skin, anything. Follow the wave through the surface of her flesh. But, nothing was coming. The puppet squeezed her waist tighter and Kagome cried out, but still she tried to utilize that point in her body. She could feel something there. She could feel her powers bubbling where she was being strained, and she pushed, and pushed.

Let it out! Let it out, little bird!

“What a shame.” Naraku lamented. “Who’s pathetic?”

Kagome didn’t have time for this. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, let him win. Reaching behind her, she grabbed an arrow, swiveling the head forward in her fingers and jabbing it into Naraku’s neck.

The demon smiled. The girl was too flustered to apply enough force into her attack. Her powers ran deep, but just an inch further and she would have actually struck his “heart,” protected within his abdomen. It was too bad she’d fallen short. He waited as his body regenerated, plucking the arrowhead from his throat with a disturbed grunt.

“I don’t bleed.” He said, jerking her forward to hover just a couple of inches from his face. His tone died down to a gruff whisper, red eyes staring directly into her stricken irises. “But, you do. Don’t you? How should I do it? Should I make you cry first? Or, would you prefer something quick? Either works for me.”

“You won’t win this.” Kagome whispered, trembling. She was petrified, her heart was pounding, and a thick lump formed in her throat as she felt like the worst was about to happen. It was weird, the way fear would sit in your chest. It made you feel light but jittery, like you should scream to release some of that sensation but you physically couldn’t.

“Famous last words.” Naraku said, stroking the back of his finger over Kagome’s cheek. “How could you possibly take on the real thing if you couldn’t even defeat a puppet, though?”

No. He wasn’t right. They were going to win this.

Weren’t they?

Naraku was moving her over the edge of the cliff, and she fidgeted, gasped, shuddered.

Kagome wasn’t done fighting. She hadn’t seen this through yet. This was just a threat, and she was going to pull out of it. But, why did she get the leadened feeling that she wasn’t?

Why did Kagome suddenly feel so afraid that she couldn’t even breathe anymore?

She heard a sigh, a groan, and Kagome’s attention shifted to Inuyasha as he was coming to, blinking his golden eyes open as he pushed himself up onto his forearms.

Inuyasha was trying to reattain his bearings. His head was throbbing, and blood had gotten into his eye as he opened it, burning. He was still being restrained, his lower body pinned to the ground from the hips down. The battle wasn’t over. How long was he out? Why didn’t he hear Kagome? Where was Kagome?

He blinked some more, stabilizing his lungs as he pushed past the bleary state he was in. At the ledge, held over in a twisted grasp of tendrils, he found her. She wasn’t entirely clear, but he could make out the setting.

And, his stomach dropped.

His vision settled then, and Inuyasha stared on as Naraku grinned, holding Kagome’s life over the edge of the cliff.

| previous chapter | <- -> | next chapter |

#man #talk about a cliff hanger #lololol don't hate me #I had to make the joke before anybody else did #anyway #also #kagome #kagome higurashi #inukag #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag fanfiction #monster #akitokihojo

[refinedbuffoonery]

Broken Like Me (1)

masterlist.

THIS FIC IS NOT INTENDED FOR READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 18. Please see the masterlist for content warnings. 

Here it is, the long-awaited dark!MacRiley AU! First, I want to thank my lovely beta readers and my life-saving brainstorming/workshop buddy. You all know who you are. ❤

This fic adheres to canon through 5x05 and then goes off the fucking rails. Backstory and other important tidbits of information revealed in the latter half of season 5 may be used, but timeline-wise anything after 5x05 does not exist in this fic. Also, Jack is dead and is staying dead, so don’t get your hopes up for a happy ending. 

I will do my best to update this regularly, but hanging out in and writing such dark headspaces is HARD. I will definitely be taking breaks to write fluffier fic, because a big chunk of this story is all hurt and no comfort. 

Without further adieu, let’s get this party started. (It’s not a party. In fact, it’s like...the opposite of a party.) 

*****

They say he was a good man. 

A good soldier. 

A good father. 

A good friend. 

They say they are sorry for her loss, sorry he was taken from this world too soon. 

They say Jack would be proud of the legacy he left behind, would be proud to have gone out in a blaze of glory. 

Riley is sick of it. 

It’s like she’s a teenager, and Jack is leaving her all over again. Only this time it’s worse. This time there’s no coming back. 

The guests at the wake gaze at the folded up American flag on the fireplace mantle with deep respect, but Riley only feels anger every time she glimpses the piece of fabric the government sent back in his place. A flag and a life insurance claim feel like a mockery of the kind of man Jack Dalton was. 

Was. Past tense. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

*****

Mac has never been afraid of Riley before. 

He’s seen her angry and upset, but the rage-filled woman he stopped from killing Anya Vitez with her bare hands back in Croatia is someone he does not know. 

The frightening part is that Riley isn’t a hot-headed person. In work mode, she is cold and calculating, so for her to go after Vitez like that...something inside her snapped. 

Three weeks have passed since then, and every time he looks at Riley, Mac remembers holding her back, fingers digging sharply into her waist until she stopped fighting him. He sees the fury radiating off Riley’s body like heat waves off asphalt—sees the way she clings to it, finds purpose in it, letting it consume her so there’s no room for guilt or grief. Mac knows the feeling all too well. And he also knows there will be a very loud thud when she finally comes crashing back down. 

But he also knows that the woman is like a loaded gun, safety off and desperate to fire at something. 

Which is why he worries when Matty calls them in for an op and Riley isn’t there. She’s at Vitez’s trial, Matty informs them, but that doesn’t make Mac feel any better. Whenever there’s downtime during the mission, and Mac’s mind is free to wander, he can't stop thinking about her. This new Riley is becoming obsessively vengeful, and if someone doesn’t reel her back in soon, she might do something she can’t come back from.

The thought plagues Mac every second there aren’t bullets whizzing toward his head. 

After the op, Mac drives to Riley’s apartment. Upon arrival, his ears are assaulted by Riley’s upstairs neighbor blasting Macklemore’s greatest hits. Mac hears the lyrics clear as day, even though both his truck windows and the apartment windows are closed. 

Riley really shouldn’t have moved out of Mac’s house, not if this is her best option. He still doesn’t understand why she did. 

It doesn’t take long to notice the GTO is missing. Riley should be back from the trial by now, but Mac has a sneaking suspicion where she is. 

The drive to Jack’s apartment seems to take forever. The brick building is in an older neighborhood, one of few affordable ones with trees planted along the sidewalks—a luxury in LA. Sure enough, the GTO is parked on the curb, not far from the fire escape that connects to Jack’s living room.

Looking up, Mac spies a familiar body perched on the stairs. 

Riley sits on the fire escape, soaking in the last rays of sunlight. Her eyes are closed, head resting against the brick wall. Mac doesn’t say anything as he sits beside her on the narrow metal stairs, their hips and thighs just touching. 

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he hug her? Hold her hand? Leave her alone? Riley isn’t a super touchy person. Mac decides on the latter, picking at his fingernails while his gaze drifts west to study the sunset. 

Several minutes pass before Riley says, “Hey.” Her voice is low and scratchy, like she’s been crying. 

“Hey,” Mac repeats. “How long have you been here?” 

Riley shifts beside him, sitting up. “I don’t know. A while.” 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve come here, is it?” 

A sigh. “No, it’s not.” Mac figures as much. Aside from the constant clamor of the city, Jack’s apartment is relatively quiet. It’s not in the greatest neighborhood, but it’s safe enough for Riley to sit alone and think. Or not think. Whatever she feels like doing. 

Riley rests her head on Mac’s shoulder, and a wave of protectiveness floods his system. It’s new, this need to watch her back more than the others’. It came on so gradually that Mac doesn’t know when it started or what triggered it, only that he feels it all the time now. Especially after Jack’s…

He avoids examining the feeling too closely. 

Without warning, Riley says, “If you hadn’t held me back, I would’ve killed her.” 

Knowing exactly who she was talking about, Mac glances down at Riley in surprise. He knows it’s true—thinks so himself—but hearing it come out of her mouth makes his stomach turn. The last, and only, time Riley killed someone...it took her months to piece herself back together afterward. And that death was in self-defense. 

This one would’ve been murder. Intentional and vindictive. 

Mac isn’t sure Riley could come back from that, at least not as herself. The woman who would emerge from that would be a total stranger inside his best friend’s body. Mac suppresses a shiver. “I know,” he says.

“Thank you for stopping me.” Riley’s voice is quiet. So, so quiet. 

“You would’ve done the same for me.” Gingerly, Mac wraps his arm around Riley’s shoulders, ready to let go at the first sign of her discomfort. When she doesn’t react, he relaxes and holds her more surely. 

The sky is painted in vibrant oranges and reds, fading into deep blue overhead. Subtle strokes of pink outline the scattered clouds hanging above the horizon. Out of all the sunsets Mac has seen, all over the world, nothing quite compares to the ones here at home. He wishes Jack was here to see it. 

Mac spends far too long debating whether to bring it up before asking, “Why did you go to the trial?” Agents, especially secret ones, don’t go to trials, mostly to keep their identities safe. Publicly tying oneself to a case is never a good idea, for more reasons that Mac can begin to name. 

“I swore I’d be there every step of the way. I meant it.” Mac tries not to bristle at the snarling, defensive edge to Riley’s tone. “Eventually, she’ll make a mistake, and I will be there when she does. And then I’m going to rip out her entire organization from the roots up.” 

Fear wraps its ugly hand around Mac’s heart. Until every single person associated with Tiberius Kovac is behind bars, there will be a target on Riley’s back, and Riley will have put it there herself. Losing one person to Kovac is more than enough; Mac refuses to lose Riley too. 

“How can I help you?” 

Riley looks up, eyes wide like she’s expecting him to try to talk her out of it, not offer to help. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“And miss out on all the fun?” Mac almost smiles as he quotes her. Almost. 

She sits up. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m going to hack Interpol first, to see which of her colleagues might also be dirty. So unless you secretly picked up hacking…” 

Mac huffs. “Sorry, I only hack hardware.” He expects some insane, crackhead plan, not something so…reasonable. Maybe Riley isn’t as off-the-rails as he thought. 

But only maybe. 

A seagull perches on the railing below them, honking and squawking for seemingly no reason at all. Gulls are just like that. It glares at Mac, pinning him to his spot with a beady yellow eye, challenging Mac to shoo it away. 

Go find some tourists to harass, Mac wants to snark at it. Leave us alone. 

The seagull cocks its head, as if to say, I know something you don’t. 

Mac narrows his eyes. I bet you do. 

He swears the seagull shrugs before taking off, flying low over the GTO before sailing over rooftops on its way back to the ocean. It passes a billboard advertising a new blockbuster spy thriller, the product of millions of dollars and Hollywood plot recycling. Mac saw the trailer. The movie is about a soldier who joined the CIA in a quest for retribution after his best friend came home in a box. Usually Mac likes watching spy movies—mostly to make fun of them—but this one hits a little too close to home. 

It takes a monumental effort to tear his gaze away. 

When his eyes finally meet Riley’s, Mac understands the silent ache in them—the ache that’s surely reflected in his own eyes. He and Riley are drowning, but at least they’re drowning together. 

Mac frowns. That must be the dimmest “on the bright side” thought he’s ever had. 

Riley doesn’t say anything more, so neither does Mac. They sit on the fire escape until long after the sun sets and the temperature drops, and the city's nightlife stretches its limbs as it wakes. Mac shivers, but Riley seems oddly unaffected by the cold. That or she’s too numb to notice. 

He threads his still semi-warm fingers through her icy ones, letting their joined hands rest on his knee. It seems like his last tether to the Riley he knows and loves, one who’s slowly slipping away from him and being replaced by a woman who might very well bring the world to its knees as payback for all that it’s done to her. 

Mac has no interest in ever meeting that woman. Mostly because he refuses to lose his Riley, but also because Mac knows he won’t be able to resist that other Riley. She will slash his restraint beyond repair, and Mac will follow her to the ends of the earth. 

He will find a way to keep them both afloat. He has to. 

Or else the Phoenix may very well be hunting him and Riley again, and this time, they’ll deserve it.

*****

Entering her apartment later that night, Riley realizes too late that it isn’t empty. Bozer is still there, and he’s making dinner. Locking the door behind her, she hears a rushed, “Got to go, Matty. She’s home.” 

Bozer crashed on her couch the night they got the news and never left. I don't want you to be alone, Bozer keeps saying, despite her insistence she doesn’t need a babysitter. Other than that, they don’t speak to each other much. In fact, Riley wouldn't have noticed he said anything at all if not for the way he stares at her, standing at the stove and twirling a wooden spoon between his fingers. 

"What?" she snaps. 

Carefully, Bozer asks, "How was the trial?" 

"Fine." Riley knows he cares, and that he’s hurting too, but nothing he says or does is going to help her. The sooner he figures that out the better. She drops her keys and jacket on a chair before heading for her bedroom. 

“You hungry?” he calls after her. 

Riley yanks off her boots, chucking them into the closet with too much force. “No.” 

“Have you eaten anything today?” 

Her fuse is running short these days, and she’s just about had it with his incessant smothering and questioning. Riley marches into the kitchen, rolling her shoulders back and bracing her hands on the counter. “Last I checked, I still have a mother, so if you’re just going to keep nagging me, then I think it’s time you get the fuck out of my apartment.” 

Bozer’s eyes widen and his mouth opens, but no sound comes out. 

“Get out,” Riley snarls. 

Still struggling to regain his ability to speak, Bozer stammers, “At least let me finish making you dinner first.” 

“Fine.” Cracking her knuckles, Riley retreats to her bedroom once more. “I’m taking a shower. You better be gone when I come out.” She doesn’t wait for a response. 

When Riley emerges, her dinner is cold, and Bozer is long gone. 

She doesn’t eat.

*****

On the second day of Vitez’s trial, Riley sits in the back of the room long after the trial adjourns for the day, thinking. She didn’t recognize the witnesses who testified today, and as the prosecutor called each one forward, Riley wished she had her laptop so she could look them up. Now, as she stares over the rows of empty wooden seats to the section where the jury sat, Riley can only hope that the witnesses’ testimonies are enough. 

Riley knows there’s more than enough evidence to convict Vitez—especially since she recorded the confession herself—but obsessing over the trial is easier than facing the reality waiting outside the courthouse doors. 

Her mom invited her to visit his grave today, after the trial, but Riley declined. Facing that slab of granite will make it real, make it…permanent. 

She knows what it says. Jack Dalton. Beloved. Gone too soon. Someone asked for her approval before it was made. It doesn’t say nearly enough to encapsulate all that he was, but at the time Riley couldn’t think about it—couldn’t look at it—long enough to suggest any changes. She still can’t. 

Chewing her lip, Riley anxiously toys with her rings, spinning them and moving them from finger to finger. 

At the wake, one of his old Delta buddies joked that the gravestone should read “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers,” but Riley didn’t laugh. 

Riley hasn’t laughed since Matty broke the news. It’s like the part of her that knows how to feel joy died in that explosion too. 

Instead, she wants to scream at the universe until her voice gives out, cursing it for taking her dad away too soon. Because that’s what he is. Her dad. Riley doesn’t even know when she started calling him that again, but if she has to guess, it was sometime between the first “I’m proud of you, honey” and him kicking her ass at skee-ball for the millionth time.

Tears leak from Riley’s eyes without her consent. 

It feels like she failed him, in a way. By not being there. By not keeping him alive. 

Now the best she can do is make sure his death means something. 

Vitez will go to prison for the rest of her life, that Riley is sure of. But the rest of her organization is still out there, and Riley intends on putting every single member behind bars. No amount of justice will even begin to heal the Jack-shaped wound in her heart, but at least the world will be better for it. Safer. 

But she’d rather live in a more dangerous world with him still in it than a safer one without. That way they could save the world together, like they always did. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Anger rumbles through her body, like a Texas thunderstorm in her veins. It’s the only emotion Riley feels anymore, ever since the sadness gave way to numbness. 

A woman in a security uniform pokes her head in the room. “Excuse me, ma’am. I need to lock up for the night.” When Riley doesn’t respond, the woman adds, “Are you okay?” 

Are you okay? Riley hates that question more than all the others. How are you? Have you eaten today? What can I do to help? 

She feels like she’s dying. She can’t eat. Nothing will help. 

But that isn’t what people want to hear. Even Mac asked that last question, yesterday on the fire escape, although Riley didn’t automatically despise the question like she usually did. It’s different coming from him than anyone else; his offer was genuine, not coming from pity or obligation.

She isn’t surprised Mac recognized her need to do something. After all, he had been the same way after his dad was killed. 

Coldly, Riley finally says,“I will be.” The woman doesn’t deserve her abrupt answer, but Riley can’t quite bring herself to care. She lets the anger the questions bring up fuel her, lets it hold her together. 

The anger is all she has left. 

Riley stands, her heels clicking on the floor as she exits the courthouse. 

She’s coming for all the monsters who hurt him. She’s coming for the ones who rendered him nothing more than ashes on the wind, the ones who turned her life into a nightmare she can’t wake up from. 

Because she doesn’t need to wake up to become theirs.

~

Want to be tagged in future chapters? Send me an ask.

#beth writes #dark!MacRiley #macriley #macgyver #angus macgyver #riley davis #mac x riley #macgyver fanfiction

[vannahfanfics]

Picture Perfect

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Sen Kaibara, Setsuna Tokage

Hello, everybody! I am super stoked to present my story for the @class-b-abuzz-bang! I had the pleasure of working again with my talented friend @danyartime​, so be sure to check out their super beautiful and cute art for the story!

The smudge of ruby-red gradually came into focus as Sen twisted the dial on his camera, revealing a blooming rose nestled among the spiny branches of a rose bush. Its soft, silken petals glistened with dewdrops from the early morning rain. The little beads caught the sunlight to shine like crystal-clear gems on the red petals, their iridescent sheen glinting even through the lens. 

Sen kept his hands steady as he fine-tuned the focus until he was satisfied; then, with a simple press, he clicked the shutter and captured the image. 

He straightened up with a small sigh, letting the camera flop down against his chest while the thick leather strap around his neck kept it from falling. He tilted his head back to squint at the sun, which shone brightly in the azure sky amidst the white, cottony clouds. It was a lovely Saturday morning, still slightly cool with the lingering chill of the night. Sen was making his weekly rounds of the campus to practice his photography. 

Sen had always liked cameras and had dabbled in photography in middle school. Once he arrived at U.A., he thought that homework and hero training would dominate much of his time. However, after Midnight had given them a lecture about the importance of maintaining a hobby to promote mental well-being, he’d picked up his camera again and taken to wandering the campus on the weekend. There were more things to capture than he’d anticipated, so he now had a large collection of candids taped to his dorm room wall and was adding more every week. 

He picked up his camera to inspect the photograph of the rose, scrutinizing it for any imperfections. A smile slowly bloomed on his lips as he realized it was a quite pretty photograph indeed— definitely one he intended to print later. As he mulled about on the sidewalk, wondering where he should look next, he heard the glass doors of the dormitory open. 

He glanced over his shoulder to see Setsuna trotting out onto the porch, and his heart thumped against his ribcage. 

She didn’t notice him standing there at first, giving him an opportunity to unabashedly admire her. She walked out into the sunshine, closing her eyes and tipping back her head to let the warm rays fall upon her face and thread into her dark green-black hair. She wore a sleeveless white dress that hugged her figure and stopped a little above her knees. A golden belt looped around her waist, and shiny white boots enclosed her feet. A golden necklace with a lizard charm hung around her neck. Sen had always thought that Setsuna had impeccable fashion sense, in addition to being stunningly gorgeous. His fingers itched to hit the shutter and snap as many photographs of her as he could. 

Of all the things he’d ever wished to immortalize in a picture, Setsuna Tokage was perhaps the greatest. 

After soaking up the sun rays for several moments, Setsuna opened her eyes and finally noticed him standing in the garden in front of the dormitory. His body had grown slack with dreamly laxity while he’d gazed at her, but he tensed tight when a grin split her face. She cheerily called, “Morning, Sen!” 

“Good morning, Setsuna,” he replied. She hopped down the steps and trotted toward him. He hoped the heat on his cheeks was from the intense spring sun and not a blush rising to the surface. She stopped in front of him and immediately looked down at his camera, and then her eyes widened in curiosity. 

“Oh, are you out and about taking pictures? Do you have any good ones?” 

Sen nodded and lifted the camera, turning it around so she could see the display screen on the back. She pressed up against his side to look over his shoulder, and he felt his face blaze with heat as her hair, still damp and smelling of her dewberry shampoo, brushed over his neck. He could hear her breathing in his ear; every inhale and exhale made him dizzier and dizzier. Somehow, he managed to retain enough control of his body to cycle through the photographs he’d taken that morning. 

The first was of the sunrise. He’d climbed to the roof of the dormitory to catch the hemisphere of white emerging over the horizon, the blue curtain of night rising to reveal a flood of red-orange. It had been cloudy that morning, so the sunbeams had caught on the clouds to stretch in white lines across the sky. “Wow… That’s beautiful,” Setsuna praised. 

“Yeah.” Except, he wasn’t looking at the photograph of the dawn. 

The next photograph was of a squirrel sitting on the roots of the oak tree next to the dormitory. It rested on the gnarled chunk of root that rose from the loamy soil like a sea serpent. Its little paws clutched an acorn, holding it to its little snout while it scored its long front teeth across the surface to try to break through the hard shell. Its fluffy, long tail curled over its back like a plume of wispy brown-gray smoke. Setsuna giggled, “It’s so cute.” 

“Yeah.” Except, he wasn’t looking at the photograph of the squirrel. 

He showed her the photograph of the rose next. She inhaled sharply with awe, then leaned more over his shoulder to peer closer at the screen. His face darkened as more of her body pressed against him, but she was too enraptured by the beautiful bloom bursting in colorful pixels on the screen to notice. Her eyes sparkled as she murmured, “Amazing…” 

“Yeah.” Except, he wasn’t looking at the photograph of the rose. 

Sen lowered his camera back down when she pulled away, though he lamented the loss of her body heat along his side. She smiled radiantly at him. Sen felt his heart start playing his rib cage like a xylophone, and he lowered his face to fiddle with his camera so she couldn’t see the haze of red staining his cheeks. 

“Wow, Sen! I never knew you were so talented!” she gushed. He mumbled some sort of gratuitous remark in response. “What are you going to take pictures of next?” 

Sen felt a lump form instantly in his throat. He peered through his bangs at her, watching, measuring. He’d always wanted to photograph Setsuna, and here she was, so interested in his hobby. Would she agree to a small photoshoot? He didn’t want to bother her or creep her out, but… Holy cow, Sen had never seen someone that was more a work of art than her, and he was gripped with such an intense desire to see her through his photo lens that it was almost suffocating. 

He swallowed several times, but that lump in his throat just bobbed in place. Somehow, he managed to force the words out around it: “I’d like to photograph you, Setsuna.” 

Her eyes blew wide, two dark moons floating in a sea of white. She pointed at herself and squeaked out, “M-me?” 

When he nodded, a bright flush of pink rushed into her cheeks, and a shy smile teased at her lips. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other while her eyes rolled up to the corners, unable to look Sen in the eye at the realization he wanted her to be his muse. He waited patiently for her to answer, despite his stomach twisting in his belly, until she uttered a meek, “O-Okay…” 

Sen couldn’t help the giddy smile that tugged at his lips and the light that lit up his eyes. 

“Okay,” he echoed, and the happiness that bled into his voice made Setsuna smile bashfully. He held out his hand for her, and when Setsuna coyly slipped her fingers into his, it felt like electric shocks rocketed up his nerves. He wanted to jump for joy, but he had to remain professional. He forced down his elation to focus on the task at hand— capturing Setsuna in all her goddess-like glory. Smiling softly, he tugged her down the sidewalk, walking backward while he led the bashful girl by the hand. 

As he walked, he glanced around the garden to find some suitable settings. He couldn’t just photograph Setsuna in any old setting, no, no— it had to be something truly magnificent, fitting of his image of an angel fallen to earth. He thought of her standing on the porch, her head tipped back to soak up the warmth of the sun, and at the same time his eyes fell upon a patch of wild dandelions growing in a patch of empty green grass. Perfect. 

“Here,” he said and pulled her off the sidewalk and into the grass. He treaded carefully, trying to disturb as few of the dandelions as he could. It wouldn’t be much of a backdrop if he kicked all their floaty little seeds to the wind before he could get started, now would it? Setsuna milled about next to him, her cheeks stained as pink as carnations, while Sen stared at the small patch of wildflowers and mumbled under his breath. A vision took shape in his mind, one that made him as floaty as the dandelion seeds. 

He directed Setsuna to sit among the dandelions in the clearest patch they could find. She eased down into the dewy grass, tucking her legs against her side. Her right hand rested on her thigh, while the other pushed into the loamy dirt, supporting her weight. She tossed her tresses of dark green hair over her shoulder, and there was so much magic in that simple movement that Sen’s mind momentarily went black. He just gawked at her, wide-eyed, until Setsuna bashfully said, “Sen? Is this good?” 

“O-oh,” he stammered, flushing. “Yeah, that’s good.” He crouched down a few feet away from her and picked up his camera, then peered through the lens. He tried to keep his hands from shaking— it would ruin his shot— but it was so hard with the way she smiled sweetly at him through the camera lens, her head tilted just so to give her a demure demeanor. Her eyes were lidded as she rested contentedly amongst the dandelions. Sen waited until the wind whistled across the grass, bobbing the dandelions and fluttering her hair, before clicking the shutter in quick succession. 

While he lowered the camera to choose which of the set he believed to be the best, Setsuna turned to watch a few of the dandelion seeds float away on the breeze. As a serene smile graced her lips, Sen snuck a candid photo. Unfortunately, the click of the shutter betrayed him, and she rolled her head on her shoulders to smirk at him in amusement. 

“I feel like a model,” she laughed. “I never thought I would be a part of a photoshoot.” 

Sen blushed, using the bulk of his camera to hide his face. 

“Well…” he mumbled, deleting the photos he didn’t intend to keep so he didn’t have to look directly at her. “Hopefully my photos live up to your expectations.” 

“I know they will,” she hummed with so much conviction that it made Sen’s heart flutter. While waiting on him, she picked up one of the dandelions and gently blew on it. Sen scrambled to back out of his photos so he could snap a picture of her slightly parted lips blowing into the seeds, dislodging them into the breeze. They bobbed around her hair, some of them settling into the waves of dark green like little snowflakes. Suddenly, Setsuna laughed and flopped backward into the patch, slamming her arms down to send hundreds of the little seeds spiralling into the air. 

Sen hopped to his feet, but he didn’t pick up his camera. He just stared in adoration at the beautiful sight before him. Setsuna’s hair spread around her head like a dark halo, threaded with grass blades and dandelion seeds. She gazed reverently at the seeds spinning above her body; with no wind to catch them, they slowly swirled down, down, down to settle on her form. Her eyes drifted to Sen, who was gaping at her like she was the most sublime creature on earth. A tinge of pink appeared on her cheeks as she asked, “What? No more photos?” 

He played with the thick black strap of his camera as he stiffly said, “Some things a photo can’t even do justice.” 

She tilted her head slightly at that, eyebrows creasing in just the barest hint of amusement. Sen took a deep breath, preparing himself for the crazy thing he was about to do; then, he pulled his camera off from around his neck and set it down amongst the grass. Setsuna just watched him as he walked to where she lay in the grass, her chest rising and falling with rapidly-quickening breaths and a knowing smile spreading over her lips. 

“Is that so?” she breathed when he knelt down next to her, on her left side. Surrounded by the grasses, Sen could see the hidden rivers of emerald shining in her eyes and her hair. Even with the most expensive camera equipment, he could never capture those streams concealed within the dark of her hair and eyes; they were immortal only in Sen’s memory. 

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice just as breathy. “A photo could never do you justice, Setsuna. Not in my eyes.” 

A shy smile played over her mouth, and then she quickly swiped her tongue over her lips to wet them. This action did not go unnoticed by Sen; it made his heartbeat quicken and adrenaline surge through his veins. Setsuna’s hand snuck through the grass like a lithe snake, latching onto his. He didn’t resist as she guided him to crawl over her body, knees resting next to her hips, hands on either side of her head. 

“Then why ask me to do a photoshoot for you?” she asked teasingly. 

“It’s a good excuse to be able to look at you longer,” he answered matter-of-factly. Her face flushed red as her flirtatious taunt was turned so effortlessly back to her, and this made Sen’s mouth curl up into a smirk. “Besides, even if a picture can’t do you justice, I’d still like to have them. You’re beautiful, even through a camera lens.” 

He brushed his fingers gently over the cascade of hair framing her face, teasing through the strands and dislodging the dandelion seeds. The way she was looking at him, the fire smoldering in the depths of her eyes, emboldened him. His fingers slowly shifted to skim over her cheek, feeling the heat that rose to the surface in response to his touch. He brushed down the curve of her jaw until he met her chin, and then he turned his hand to place his thumb just under her mouth, tugging down to part her lips ever-so-slightly. 

“May I kiss you, Setsuna?” 

“Please,” she whispered, literally agonized by the fact he wasn’t kissing her already. This made Sen chuckle, but he didn’t want to keep the lady waiting. He dropped down onto his elbows to bring his face centimeters away from hers. She craned her head slightly with a low, needy whine, bumping her nose softly against his with the motion. Sen chuckled again, then tilted his head so he could close the gap and slot his lips against hers. 

Truth be told, Sen had thought about kissing Setsuna many times. Still, all his daydreams could never prepare him for how it really felt to have her lips melding with his. It felt like his heart exploded in his chest, filling him to the brim with a cloudy, floaty feeling from the crown of his head to the very tips of his toes. Sen pressed his body down against hers slightly, grounding himself because it really did feel like he was going to float away, just like those dandelion seeds. 

Setsuna hummed against his lips as he moved his mouth over hers, kissing her with a growing hunger. She just felt so good, tasted so sweet, and that scent of her dewberry shampoo was flooding his nose again. He kissed her until his mind was growing fuzzy with oxygen deprivation instead, then pulled back with a deep intake of air. Setsuna’s eyes fluttered open to look at him reverently, like he’d just hung the moon in the sky for her. Damn it, Sen would if that’s what it took to see that look on her face every single day. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered again. His voice cracked with the sheer amount of worship he put into the statement. Setsuna shyly bit down on her bottom lip, but the twinkle in her eyes intensified. Unable to help himself, he leaned down again to kiss her nose, each of her cheeks, and then her lips again. Setsuna giggled at the soft, feathery kisses brushing over her skin, and the sound was music to Sen’s ears. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she joked cheekily. Sen rolled his eyes, but wasn’t exactly surprised at her impudence. Her overwhelming confidence was one of the many, many things he adored about her. He nosed along her jaw as he smiled softly down at her, making her squirm and giggle. She wound her arms around her neck, indicating that she had no care to go anywhere anytime soon. The wind rustled the grasses around them, dusting Sen in a few of the dandelion seeds. 

No, a picture really couldn’t do her justice at all, Sen thought as he gazed down at Setsuna. She crossed her eyes as a dandelion seed drifted across her nose, then playfully blew it into Sen’s face. The little feathery fibers of the seed tickled his cheek as his lips teased up into a loving smile. A picture was worth a thousand words, many people said— but as they gazed into one another’s eyes, a million words passed between them that a picture couldn’t even hope to capture.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#sensetsu #setsusen #sen kaibara #kaibara sen #setsuna tokage #tokage setsuna #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha

[hauntedelation]

Seize The Throne

(Picture found on Google, I don’t own.)

Description: He was always so reckless, drawn and following the darkest paths in life. You can’t help but chase after him with stars in your eyes and a bizarre thrill churning your gut. Maybe this time things were too heavy for you.

Pairing: Black Female Reader x Will Shaw

A/N: I recently watched one of my favorite mob movies, Goodfellas, and fell back in love with that gritty image. A good friend of mine, @hope-to-hell, had already created her world of Mob!Will and has several parts out featuring him and his chaotic ways. Part one, part two, and part three explore so many depths to him and that heart-pounding life. I strongly suggest reading!

Her writing of this version of Will was my most favorite and I really wanted to try to pay homage to that. I hope I did good love, 🥺💗

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, gore and blood play, minor character death, reader sustains injuries, some fluff if you squint. I do not recommend if you happen to be sensitive to these topics. Please heed the warnings.

Proofread as much as I could, Please enjoy guys!

➽─────────────❥

The bottle is sat down next to your leg with a soft clink. Sand and sporadic rocks mold around the glass, holding the claret drink inside upright.

You feel your body hum pleasantly. The vibrations stem from the top of your head, down through your thighs, and settle in your toes, which are currently sunken into the warm clasp of the shore.

Salt and a hint of cinder brush your face and press through your hair, tousling the tight ringlets out of your eyes and behind your ear. You take in a breath while the wind dies down. To the very depth of your lungs, you allow the night to enter you. 

The water is cool; blue as can be. It just about matched the sky earlier that morning, save for the bunching of storm clouds trailing toward the horizon. 

It’s a wonderful feeling against your feverish skin, but it doesn’t fail to sting the cuts on your feet. You don’t move a muscle, not any closer to the swirling foam, but you ponder, maybe it will help.

You're unwound and you had been ever since you came closer to the sand. Head dancing blissfully and filling with each drop of the piquant wine, your visions were growing far more spirited than they had been for the last several hours.

The deal with Holford went to shit. 

➽─────────────❥

You weren't sure why you were strung along with this one. Will had been disrupted, true, but he was always that way whenever a deal this significant came along. The other guys were unknown, fresh in the game but garnered enough reputation to be talked to. He insisted that you were to not be left at the house, too much risk, he couldn’t see you.

Much of the originally agreed amount was lost, the usual inquiry and loaded threats were slung from either side. Forty thousand was at stake, and the bastards dared to show up with only a quarter of that. 

You were there resting two rooms down in a decaying office, listening to those voices, Will’s, Syverson, and maybe another. There was a restive silence,  before a guttural shout and a bang was sent out, followed by an explosion of more. You felt your heart throb clear in your throat.

It was difficult to keep track, and the walls of that building were already so abysmally thin. There was a good possibility that if a punch was thrown, it would put a hole right in the plaster.

Bullets went through the drywall and sprinkled chalky dust into your hair. You had the right mind to jerk away and hit the floor. The concrete was chilly and layered with the filth that reminded you of a public subway. Upon impact, you were no doubt painted with inky marks on your knees and elbows.

You didn't cry out, none of it could be heard anyway. Yet, you did a fine job keeping whatever you wanted to scream out on the inside. You held your breath and ducked your head to the lowest point of the room. 

It all tumbled over, that composure, soon after witnessing the man protecting you get his insides blown out.

From under the table, those projectiles continued to whizz in and out of the walls. Daniel, you think the kid’s name was, though he was only four years younger than you he had the face of a youth. He was always polite, getting you whatever it was that you wanted, afraid of disappointing.

They should have known he wasn't ready, wasn't skilled enough for any of this. 

The door was kicked at, the brass lock weakening and soon falling away. Daniel whipped around, his machine gun tucked against his armpit and trembling finger on the trigger. He let out a few shots at a sharp speed, laying more holes in the door before dashing to the side. 

He was panting, his big brown eyes glancing to you before pulling out another magazine from his pocket. 

A deafening boom went through the wood, and the door flew open revealing colossal-sized boots stomping in. You don’t recall a second shot. Everything had been stunned, from your ability to move to any volume in your ears. All that was, had been ringing.

That gunshot indeed came, because you saw the kid fall back. 

Crimson rained down over you and you felt the warmth dot your skin, covering the shade of your nail polish. Your eyes reopened and picked up far more carnage—tiny pieces of him all over the vicinity. Bone and flesh, some landing near your hands on the floor. 

His body toppled to the ground. You remember how he landed, head smacking against the solid concrete and his eyes opened wider than saucers. 

He was in shock, gurgling and spitting up blood down his chin. His fingers desperately scrambled for the handle of his machine gun, but it was kicked far out of his reach.

The faceless gunman placed Daniel’s chest under his boot, crushing the torn hole in his middle and forcing more distressed wails from the young man. Before the kid was able to cry any longer, he was cut off by another boom.

There wasn't much time to respond then. Your longtime guard was desecrated, all the life drained from him the instant the third shot was sent from the twelve gauge.

And all that you continued to hear, was ringing.

As that cliché says: time slowed to a standstill. Bullets pelted the surfaces, nonstop and in every direction. Devastation surged, wood chips and old papers swept up, and heavy footsteps trudged all throughout the concrete floors. You spent your lifetime under that table, cowering away from the turmoil. 

Along your cheeks, and falling to your hands you saw the clear, salty liquid bend and mix with that young man’s blood

The make-shift shelter lasted a mere five minutes, then it was flipped over. Glasses and other items shattered onto the ground and spread to every corner of the room. 

Directly after, your wrist was snatched in a viselike grip.

He had nails, this beast holding on to you. They were long, jagged, and digging far into your flesh. You sucked in the mucid air, holding back everything in your throat: bile, sobs, whatever it was. The man dictated something in your ear, along the lines of, 

‘Keep that pretty fucking mouth shut before I pack it full with lead.’

It was more than a motivator. He adjusted his hold and dragged you toward the entryway of the room, pushing aside Daniel's lifeless body. Your free hand braced against the ground, but your legs were left dragging. It was grueling, finding leverage to move with the man.

With each manipulation the brute had on your body, each step of his feet and yank to your wrist, your legs caught shards of the glass and were sliced open. Amid this, the lacerations on your wrist gradually formed under his nails and began to drip hot down your arm. He was moving with purpose until he stalled right near the doorframe.

More bellows and pops of machine guns echoed against the stone.

The man was waiting, probably for the next cue. Or, maybe he was considering that last threat to you, should he go through with it?

How could you know?

After a while, you couldn’t feel anything at all. You couldn't feel the barrel of the gun pressed against your temple, your vein pumping against the hot surface, and the circulation around your wrist anymore. Your skin grew cold, vision drawing away. The lights in the room dimmed and you finally lept in a dark tunnel.

The weight between your shoulders slumped toward the ground.

 .

 .

 .

 It was shortly thereafter, seconds later, that those same voices came much closer than before. Your wrist ached but no longer were you under that crushing grip. The steaming metal of the shotgun was absent from your skin, though the pressure would forever be burned against your skull. 

The only sensation that remained were calluses grazing against your skin.

There were no longer any gunshots, no more footsteps, or even glass shattering. The masculine tones in your ears surfaced and started to be particularly familiar. Those hands on your body, the clammy palms securing your jaw, it was real.

You felt how damp the thumb pads were and the sticky residue that was left behind along the line of your cheek. 

Opening your lids was taxing, but you saw dark curls stuck to a creased forehead. A fresh gash was drawn on an eyebrow and dozens of bruises on that handsome face. A pink lip painfully split nearly in two. 

The light was beaming around his head and the source was different than the one in that previous room. There were more windows. Natural light revealed one side of his form, highlighting his dewy skin and the dampness of his shirt. 

The deep red splotches covering his body.

Your pupils dilated and centered on his face. He was panting, tongue swiping at that cut on his bottom lip. His voice read a steadied, but fraught question.

‘Hey—hey, Doll. You’re here with me, yeah?’

Will’s focus was dashing across your face and the rest of your body. His breathing jolted when he caught your pupils, but never did he lose grip of that solid poise. He reached up and his fingers smeared more pungent liquid on your face, forcing the iron-laced odor into your nostrils. 

You coughed, grunting at the rough scratch along your throat. Your lips pressed together before you forced your head to nod weakly. You were sore, and you didn't really wish to move your legs at the moment. The hairs of his arm grazed against your fingertips. With a flex to your good wrist, you took hold of him.

You were breathing. You could see, you could hear, and while every bit of your nerves flared and pinched—you...were alive.

Will released a sigh low within his chest and out of his nose. The strain in his shoulders released a fraction, yet the muscles in his back maintained the stiff shape. His eyes were cognitive and lingered keenly on yours. He didn't choose to say anything else, and neither did you. 

Your throat and your lungs felt as if they were packed with dust. And, what was there to say?

He dismissed a question that was brought up by a ragged-looking Sy. The veteran stopped his pacing by a blown-out window and shook his head. In a blur behind Will, you saw him remove his cap and use his stained shirt to wipe at the sweat on his buzzed head. 

The air around Will's head was spiraling, the remnants of the firefight clinging to the air around you. You squinted and looked past the fog to see mutilated bodies, with thousands of bullet casings littering the floor. 

Limbs twisted around, mangled, with pools of blood swallowing up each of the remains.

Every member of the Holford group was dressed in matching tan-colored suits, the corpses' jackets now drawn with scarlet. You weren't sure if you could answer the question, which man had been the one who grabbed you? Who killed Daniel?

Maybe he was one that slipped away.

Your braids moved from your face, the soft hairs by your forehead pushed back and smoothed away. Will's fingers, thoroughly slick with blood, left behind glistening streaks in their wake. 

 .

 .

 .

 Following a short phone call made by Syverson, you three and the remaining number of Will’s men vacated the building. Duffle bags of cash and anything else that was of importance was secured.

While you made your way out of the structure, you caught the sight of armed workers, nudging the bodies of Holford’s group and aiming the end of their guns down at their heads.

The pops that rang out were sent past your mind. The air outside washed over you, fresh almost jarring. Under the occasional shots fired in the building, you could pick up the hum of insects and birds. 

Your eyes fluttered under the tepid sunlight, and instead, you occupied yourself with the feeling of that. Just for those short seconds, you were under those rays.

Will was hot on your heels with a vigilant hand on your lower back, his other arm providing support for your shaky footfall. He was still running on hot, that look in his eye reflecting off far away from here.

He directed you toward a black truck and carefully helped you slip into the back passenger seat. After clicking the seatbelt over your lap, he dragged his eyes over you one last time, persisting on your wounds. He drummed his fingers on the palm of your hand and parted from you a promise, 

‘It will be a little while, but I will be back. Sy will be taking us back to the house...we're gonna get you cleaned up.’

Through your lids and out the window of the vehicle, you observed the men’s work. Their actions were swift and it was clear to see that disposal of certain events was in their expertise.  

A few of the guards were gathering red gallons of gasoline, entering the building, and dousing every surface on the interior. Others were negotiating with Syverson and Will, the latter man speaking with venom falling from his mouth. The last worker exited the archway and tossed the red bin in behind him.

Your legs ached. Minutes trickled by, and at first, you withheld moving. But it was as if each laceration was prying open. You took your eyes from the scene outside the truck and grit your teeth to readjust your body. 

The window bore the weight of your head.

Will took a prolonged look at the decrepit building, his arms crossed and locked over his chest. The tendons in his jaw were spasming like a coiled knot and his mouth set at a firm line.

Whatever thoughts broke down in his mind, they were intensively racing and reflecting the failure of today. He sent a final nod to Sy before turning and making his way to the vehicle you were residing in.

Another man fished a lighter and cigarette out of his pocket, adjusting the strap of the rifle on his shoulder. He then flicked open the metal casting, lighting the end of the stick. Without closing the lid, he threw the lighter into the broken window of the building.

 .

 .

 .

That drive was long. Despite the many twisting roads and turns, you noticed the flames shredding their way through the sky several miles away.

There behind you, Will's lips pressed to the crown of your head, with your body tucked into his chest. In your lap, you watched his torn knuckles flex. He formed a fist and would do so every couple of seconds, tremoring and taut. Eventually, he would ease up and relax those fingers, still shaking, but it would return. 

Repeatedly, open and close...

 open and close,

 open and close.

➽─────────────❥

You flinched as Syverson carefully picked the glass out of your legs. You were sat on the granite countertop, bruised knees hooking over the edge and your foot resting in his camo-clad lap. 

He was in a chair located directly in front of you, with his cap sitting on the counter and an assortment of tools surrounding it 

Your wrist was the first that was looked at. It was throbbing, hardly able to be moved but the bleeding clogged. He cleaned it as much as he could and set it into a makeshift splint. Syverson then notified you that you most likely suffered fractures.

He would have a friend come tomorrow to properly take care of it. 

The tweezers were skinny and almost disappeared under his thick fingers. He had his palm wrapped around your calf, and with an attentive eye, he leaned closer to dislodge more shards from your skin. 

You wince as a jagged edge is plucked from your calf.

"Stop squirmin' little lady."

You tilt your head to the side and cradle your injured wrist in your lap. Your braids tangled and fell just over your shoulder. In a corner of your mind, you thought about a hot shower, scrubbing your skin, and taking the damn things down. To wash everything away. 

It was absolutely anticipated.

Sy resumed his work, wetting his lips and holding back that vexatious grin.

The only sound resonating throughout the kitchen was the clink of the splinters hitting the plastic bowl, and the music of a film playing on T.V. Here and there you could make out Will's voice in the other room, his timbre suppressing an unhinged man. 

How could he not? You knew how much today went south, it wasn't expected, but you didn't make an attempt to eavesdrop anymore.

Really, you didn't venture to do anything but sit and wait until the soldier at your feet was finished. 

Will had entered the house before you and with not another step further, he conveyed to his partner that same pithy look. The point of your shoulder was gently tapped and under his bushy beard, the southern man offered you an apologetic look.

Sy was nothing but meticulous. He had a way about his movements that indicated his substantial experience. While he was working, your eyes glanced over that brawny man, taking in the thick slabs of muscle on his shoulders. You had to figure he possessed more scars than five men combined. 

He had the look of a man who had seen a lot in his life and could destroy everything in his path, but to you, he was the sweetest he can be.

You withheld a moment longer, additional pieces of shrapnel were dug and removed from your limbs. He pulled back and sat down those tweezers, promptly moving his fingers to wrap around a cheap bottle of alcohol.

He doused a fresh white cloth with the clear drink and patted each of your opened wounds.

"Mwell...You're lucky you don't need any stitches, sweetheart," he husked.

Your lip quirked at his tone. He peered up at you with a ghost of a sanguine reflection in his eye. Remarkably, he was always the one to find a smile out of you, always after those wearisome days. You decided to indulge the man, forcing a curl to your lips. You then turned away and watched the images flash over the television screen. 

His fingers lingered on a bigger cut on the top of your knee, clearing his throat. The muscles of your thigh tensed, like acid on flesh. Your nails clutched the surface of the granite and scratched shallowly. 

Sy's thumb rubbed at the outside of your leg in return, applying a little more pressure to the wound before ultimately removing his fingers.

Your attention drifted away from the screen, you knit your brows down at your legs. You were sure that you would adorn some scars from today, the unfortunate memory coming in at each glance to your body. 

The bottle of alcohol was placed between Syverson's legs, tucked close to his groin. You clocked your eye from his face back to the container. He was occupied wrapping bandages over your wounds, soon finishing off the last one before catching your look. 

He took his hands from your legs, and palmed the neck of the bottle, unscrewing the cap. He tipped his bushy jaw back and poured the biting liquid down. Sy offered the drink to you with a crinkle of his nose. It was unspoken, but you chewed on your lip.

"Do we have anything else?"

➽─────────────❥

The bubbling of the ocean, that sparkling shore, and the break in the clouds, all of it was transfixing. You wanted to see the moonlight, to breathe the fresh air, and genuinely feel that you were alive. 

So you slipped into something willowy. You couldn't pinpoint where it came from exactly. The tag was black and stitched gold in a foreign language, far too small to discern without a magnifier. From a closer look at the skew of the words, you could guess it came from somewhere in southern Europe. 

The fabric was silk, completely pearly white with a sheer design layering over your chest. It was revealing, rightfully so though it was currently the dead of summer.

Moreover, it worked well to not agitate your wounds. 

You passed by the living room where Sy had his feet kicked up on the coffee table, fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose. The man was slumped as far as he could on that couch, all grime, perspiration, and fatigue.

You made sure to not close the glass-sliding door all the way.

Behind the sepia-colored bottle, you scanned about your surroundings. The palm trees strewn about the property swayed lazily in the wind, welcoming, disclosing to you: It's alright, you can relax now.

There was a blur of grey standing against the greenery, men in slacks with glimmering metal-encased by their arms. Those silent watchdogs weren't new to you, their presence would vanish from your mind from time to time. And even more so, the image of them called: It's alright, everything is okay now. 

Except it wasn't, it wouldn't be for as long as you would remember today, but ever since arriving at this location you had been trying to convince yourself otherwise. Best practice was to acknowledge, right? You wouldn't pretend that today never happened, that you didn't come a hair's breadth away from perishing.

Being wasted away far before you should.

It's not hard to think about. This lifestyle, the outlook, and the expiration date of it all. You've known about it ever since you were a teenage girl. 

The missing people that would show up in undisclosed locations, how strict your mother was with making friends, the luxury items in your home, and all of the days your father would be away, it didn't make sense until much later.

Securing all of your family's secrets followed quickly with your adulthood.

You think back to before everything split apart before you broke away. And now you stand outside of a clandestine house in God-knows-what country, you reflect.

It was never meant to last forever.

These nights you thought about many faces, strangers to the person you are now but people that blotched their fingerprints in your brain. Your mother comes around, stops during those times when you grow the most imaginative. 

She would adorn a knowing look on her face but waited until you asked her for advice. 

If you could just talk to her now. She'd probably kiss her teeth, cross her arms, and her heart breaking the longer she watched you. The dismay gone—no, she'd never forget what you did to the family, how you could give away your father like that with no further thought.

You hope that she would find it in her to understand, that she would look into you and see why you did everything. 

If you opened your eyes and saw her standing before you in the sand, you'd take her hands in yours and ask her—just how to navigate. How do you go day by day and still feel alive?

For the first time in your life, you had no clue what she would reply with.

You were close to lifting your foot off the stone porch and making your way through the sand until the slide of the patio door reached your ears. 

He sauntered out wielding a cup of amber, hair damp and pushed back from his forehead, his clothes changed to something fresh, new. He had just as much gauze wound around his body as you did, but he walked as comfortably as any man. 

Will was born for this life. 

He sat down by the outdoor dining table, placing his glass down and stretching his legs wide and relaxed in the chair. His fingers slid down the length of his shorts, stopping at his knees and staying there. 

You wrapped the gown around your body and brushed away the bumps rising on your skin.

There was a gale that blew through whenever he was near, more submerging than the humid air around you. Something close to those storms that frightened you as a child, the imminence and the pause between claps of thunder.

Yet, every time that they came, you ever ran away to hide. 

Will's brows creased, and he removed his attention from the undisturbed tide straight to you. His right hand moved back on his leg and pat the top of his thigh,

"Come here."

You were slow with approaching him. The bottle in your hands was replaced with his shoulders, the container clinking dismissively close by his drink. Will's arms opened up the moment you stepped between his thighs. His head tilted back, peering up at you. He wound his fingers behind your thighs and settled you astride his lap.

The way that you drew into him, there wasn't much helping it. 

You could feel him on your neck, your cheeks and your lashes, Will's breaths, and his utmost tutelage. Maybe this was your favorite. From your position, you could look down at him just right, draw the light in his covert eyes. 

You were able to capture all of the lines on his face, the shade of his skin, and those dots that appeared after being out in the sun. You could study this man, searching for whatever you wanted. Each and every time you tried discovering something new.

With all of the secrets he locked away from you, there were about a dozen escaping every other day. Tales whispered amongst the other members and strangers, lingering eyes on Will's back whenever he walked by. He carried himself as if he was grasping at direction, but it was well known how untamed he used to be.

No, he was still a wild animal in his soul, you knew that part about him wouldn't ever change. You bet if you took his hand in yours there would still be dried-up blood stuck under his nails. You knew this but here you are, towering over him and you still can't quite read the shadows in his eyes.

These times? Unfortunately, they were few and far between. 

Right now, he held onto you like you wouldn’t be slipping away anytime soon.

“Y/n.”

Will was mindful of your wounds, fingertips gliding over the sides of your legs and taking a cautious hold of your bound wrist. The bruising feeling shot through the crushed bones. Will gingerly placed his lips along the top of your thumb and followed the bandage wraps down your wrist. 

"How're you feeling?"

He didn't blink, and for an important reason, you wouldn't look away from him. He wanted from you, your reply, whether or not it was one-hundred percent.

"I'm okay."

Your coils moved with your head, a chary nod. You knew that you shouldn't think too deeply about that question. You were patched up, scrubbed clean from all of the stains today, his skin was there and warm under your hand. 

So you scooted closer to Will, brushing your chest against his, and laced your fingers around the back of his neck. 

He focused on your natural hair, how the tresses flowed down your back and framed your face. You made good on your promise to yourself on cutting the old-style away. There wasn't anything quite like that feeling, that weight falling away and nothing but an utterly new look.

You turned your eyes toward the horizon, catching the distant twinkling of fishing ships and airplanes. The red and white were faint, and sometimes those lights blended in with the stars. But never had they been any closer than several dozen miles. 

On the shell of your ear and down your jaw, Will's facial hair started stroking and prodding.

"Doll…"

Your lips pulled tight. You carded your nails through his damp ringlets and twirled a few strands around, fidgeting. 

"Don't you go soft on me."

His fingertips sunk lightly into the flesh of your lower back and bottom. You heard him sniff quietly. For a second there, you thought he was going to apologize to you. Though, Will's thumb hooked under your jaw, caressing with a tender stroke before leading you to him. 

And he kissed you, real slow.

More than he ever had with you. Will was always messy—greedy, a palm on the nape of your neck and draining the oxygen from your lungs. 

He kissed you as if you were about to fall into pieces. You pulled away from him after a long while, still dazed. It was before you could slide off that white gown and unlace the waistband of his shorts. All in front of those men in the shade. It wouldn't be the first time, nor the last.

He was reluctant, his palms residual on your body, but you slotted your fingers through his and detached them from your hips. 

Will carried somewhat of a smile slanting his face. In the low light, you can catch a glimpse of it, how his cut lip stretched. You braced your hand midway on his chest and lifted yourself up from him. You then palmed the wine in one hand, tossing a look from over your shoulder before setting on your way. 

He didn't get up or try to chase after you, but the movement behind his eyes did. 

You went on to do what you originally wished to, feeling the salt and the sand. You had been neglected of this for forever it seemed, months, years maybe. Just like through the window of the bedroom there was still a spell of sorts being cast on the beach, you weren't going to fight it.

All the way to the mouth of the shore you went, taking in sips of wine and filling your vision with the stars. 

Never did he take his eyes from you.

"How's she holding up?"

Sy stood about two feet away with a towel draped around his shoulders and his back leaning against the patio door. Will turned his head to glance at the soldier, before returning to you.

"She's... she'll be alright."

Will sat up in his chair, sweeping his eyes through the backyard once again. 

"We lost five guys today, three including the guys from the inner circle, two others were regulars...Still have over  27K to retrieve," Sy reflected. 

He set his elbow on the armrest, rubbing his fingers over the stubble on his face and surrounding his lips.

"It's a shame what happened to that kid. I'll take care of his grandparents...send them a severance."

Christ, he was actually feeling a bit of guilt, more so with how the kid went out. But, he knew what this job was. He was told about the repressions and what was expected.

Daniel was a few months shy of his next birthday if Will had that right. And, now he wouldn't even be able to have an opened casket for his funeral. Not that this mattered in the end, though.

He wouldn’t have a casket at all.

"...They've fucking lost it if they think this is all forgotten."

Syverson nodded his head, already preparing his mind for any possible retaliation. No doubt much of the next few days will be filled with planning, making calls, and ordering more supplies. Maybe a few all-nighters just to get the deal straight, spending money just to make triple the return. He thinks that he might phone up Walker, the caliber of this situation had blown up in that man's range anyway.

"You have guys surrounding the perimeter?"

"Don't you go sweet on me, Will," Sy laughed. Of course, there were men around the perimeter. Not one spot was left open.

Will wrapped his fingers around the glass and took a small sip of the drink. His jaw twitched once again at that phrase, it just about mirrored yours, "I'm not." 

There was a brief silence between the men, Will wasn't looking at Sy but both of them had somewhat of the same thought winding through their worn-out minds. The soldier followed his partner's eyes, down the shore and to where those tan grains disappeared in the water.

"Then why are you sitting outside, watching her like a hawk?"

Will did not say anything in return. His tongue prodded again at the cut on his lower lip. He slowly lifted his glass and knocked back the rest of the liquor in his cup. The water and the trees moved in the wind and the sound filled their ears. Those low clouds were picked up by the gust and eventually revealed the moon. 

That cool blue light spilled down and radiated off your bronze skin. It was like you glowed, drawing Will's unreadable gaze. 

You were pushing your feet toward the ocean, just barely letting the water touch. Your fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, not moving the container but, letting your nails pick at the ridges in the glass. Will stared at how your head tilted to the side, and your lashes closing, taking in the breeze blowing through you.

There he was dwelling, fingertips tapping on his knee and another bracing on his face, ruminating through those long corridors in his mind. As he watched you he couldn't help but think in the past, back when he first laid eyes on you and took in that fear entangled in your soul.

He thinks back to your inconceivable proposition, you were on your knees for him, begging for a chance to show him what you got. You were dead serious in the end and you slid to him that folded up paper with the keys to the universe.

He shook his head and scratched at his hair, Will's brain repeated those words that your father said to him. Through grit teeth, spitting, and bloodshot orbs, his voice echoed that foreboding line up to Will.

‘Listen, son, you fall asleep at night with the visions of the world twirling in your palms. You are hungry for it and you run rampant with the darkness that resides in every man. You don’t lock yourself back and you will stumble. The time will come where your dominion crumbles and knocks the crown off of your head. And when you wake, a phantom won’t take you, but you will be rasping for it when you watch everything you breathe for get torn to shreds.’

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Taglist: @feralrunaway @inlovewithhisblueeyes @emyearns @mansaaay @cavillryarchive​ @thetaoofzoe​

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#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfic #Will Shaw #henry cavill x black!reader #black reader #woc reader #will shaw x reader #will shaw imagine #henry cavill x you #will shaw x you #henry cavill x black reader #the cold light of day

[caxsthetic]

In the Rain

Miya Osamu x F!Reader

For those who said that the only thing that could bring happiness was sunshine, then they have never danced in the rain before.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. GRAND MASTERLIST .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You stood in front of the grocery store with a pout gradually slipped to your facade. The azure light was so bright an hour ago, the breeze was warm as it touched your skin. Thus the reason why you went to this place by foot instead of using the car.

But now, the sky decided to cry at whatever breaking their heart at this very moment. The sun was hiding under all of the clouds that filled the horizon, raindrops hitting the road mercilessly. Generating the swarm of people to run around with their bags on top of their head, trying to shield themselves from the water that struck their skin.

You jolted when you felt someone's palm rested on your arm, caressing it gently as they knew how tense you were from the predicament. The touch was so familiar, and you calmed down immediately from his gesture. It was your husband, Miya Osamu,

"It's raining."

He stated the obvious scenario that was now unfolding in front of you, making you roll your eyes from his statement. If you were not stressed, you would chuckle and smacked his muscular torso. But no, you just bought something that could be destroyed if it made contact with water.

And you were pretty sure by the time you came back to the shop, it would be damaged already—noting how heavy the rain was.

"Samu, what should we do?" Your forehead scrunched up as you spun your brain, thinking about how to save all of the belongings on the bag, "Right now I really miss having a plastic bag."

"Hey now, you don't mean that." He wrapped one of his arms around your neck, ruffling your hair gently, "What did you buy? Aren't we just shopping for some ingredients?"

You opened up the plastic bag for him to look by himself, and he raised one of his eyebrows when he saw the device, "Hairdryer?"

"Yes. Tragic isn't it?" You huffed, blowing your hair away from your face that was tickling your nose, "Our hairdryer was in memoriam since our son decided to think that sucking the air from a plastic bag using the back of the hairdryer was a good thing."

"Oh, that time! But that was because he needed it. Something about making some rock properties for their drama play or something?" Osamu wanted to grab the groceries bag from your hand, a habit of him since he didn't like to make you tired. But you pulled your hands away before he could do that.

"Believe me, I am not going to get angry if it turns out good."

"It's that bad?"

"It's awful!" You let out your frustration, telling him the exact scenario that happened a few days ago. From other people's point of view, you would look like a feral woman ready to throw a child in a trashcan. But through his eyes, he just saw a tired wife that needed a break, and maybe some pampering that could make you feel at ease.

"And I swear to God, Samu. If he's not my child I will—"

Before you could say anything, he immediately clamped your mouth with his palm, knowing that it was just your emotion who ran your mouth at this very moment,

"Take a deep breath, okay? I will take my hand away but you need to promise me to take a deep breath with me." You closed your eyes and nodded at his statement, "Good."

He pulled his hand away from your mouth, guiding you to calm yourself down by running his thumb ups and down your arms. After seconds, you were back to yourself, but now letting out a long sigh as your mind clouded with the hairdryer that could be damaged once again.

You darted your eyes to the sky, sad by the fact that not even a glimpse of rays slid between the clouds. Even the sky became so much darker than before, and the rain never once gave you any mercy.

He eyed you carefully with concern engraved all over his complexion. Usually, you were not someone who got upset so easily. But these past few days your mood had become a rollercoaster, and he felt helpless sometimes as he couldn't do anything about it.

"Hey, it's going to be okay." Your husband's voice sounded so gentle as he tilted your head softly with his finger, pushing you to look at him, "The hairdryer was in a box, right?" You nodded, answering his question with the simple gesture, "Then come on."

Without waiting for your approval—something that he knew he wouldn't get—, he interlaced his hand on yours, pulling you towards the rain as he walked towards the whirlwind weather. He could feel how you tugged on his hand, yelping once your entire figure drenched by the rain.

"Samu!" But he didn't stop, knowing if he looked back at you he would take you to shelter. And right now, he wanted to do something to make you let loose a bit.

You eyed his back as you walked behind him, raising your eyebrows from the bizarre action that he decided to do. He walked like he didn't just soak himself under the heavy rain. Like it was sunny outside as he enjoyed the weather with a smile on his face.

Your whole body trembled from how the frigid conditions impaled your skin. And he could feel it. The two of you were halfway through by now, but he stopped all of a sudden as he saw how quiet the street around you. There were no other people on sight, the only thing that you could see was the rice fields and the quiet neighbourhood.

He immediately let go of your hand and grabbed the groceries bag from you, arranging it under the tree that loomed near the meadows. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, wondering what exactly his plan was. When you exhale, you could see how a puff of air seems to evaporate, warning you about the cold temperature.

You really wanted to just run towards the shop. But at the same time, you wanted to know why your husband decided to stop midway. He walked back towards you with a giddy smile on his face, extending one of his hands for you to take.

That's when your mind clicked,

"Oh kind, sir. What a good thing to do, eh? Asking for a dance in the downpour that could make you sick?" You sounded so disapproved of his plan, making his heart drop in an instant. That until you rested your hand on him, "Please do guide me, sir."

His smile became so much wider than before, the same old smile that always made your stomach churned with butterflies. He pulled your body closer to him, making you gasped as a soft chuckle slip from your lips.

You put one hand on his back while the other still interlaced with him, locking together like there was a padlock keeping it there. His smile was so contagious that you didn't even realise you carried the exact same smile on your face.

"Now, that is the smile that I have been waiting for," He whispered softly, but with how close the two of you were, you could hear his voice loud and clear, "You pouted so much since the rain started I am afraid there would be a wrinkle on your face tomorrow."

"Oh, come on!" You snorted at this, displaying your annoyed face. Despite all that, you still followed his movement anyway. Both of you stayed in the middle of the quiet road. Just two happy random people in the world, waltzing as the rain observing their every movement.

"You should have listened to me before and used the car." He spun you around before pulling you back once again to his embrace, "My gut feelings were good, you know?" You rolled your eyes when you could hear how smug he heard right now.

"Please, you were just too lazy and—" Your fingers pinched his stomach gently, giggling at his chubby tum, "—want to keep this~"

Red hues started to creep into his face, didn't expect you to call him out like that. After hours working behind the counter, he hadn't spent some time at the gym or done any workout. Hence the reason why there was now a bulge of dango—that was how you called it—on his stomach.

"Sorry, I will work out mo-"

"Hey, I don't care." You decided to circle both arms around his neck, resting your forehead on his as you try to replace the coldness that you felt with his warmth, "Either you had a dorito body or this dango-like tummy. I don't care." Your breath tickled his lips, "Because you are perfect already."

He chuckled at this, his heart swelled with the sudden confession that poured from your lips. You were not someone that constantly indulged him by saying sweet things. So when you gave him some compliment or acknowledgement, he knew that it was all genuine, from the bottom of your heart.

The two of you stood there and swayed your hips softly, matching each other's beat like there was music blasting through your ears,

"I'm singing in the rain," You whispered, trying to sing out the song that you remember from your childhood, "Just singing in the rain." It was one of the old songs from a movie that your mother showed you, "What a glorious feeling, I am happy again!"

"I am laughing at clouds~" He suddenly continued the song, making you giggle as he twirled you around, "So dark up above~" His finger pointing at the dark sky, and you subconsciously looking up there, "The sun's in my heart, and I am ready for love." Then he suddenly pulled your body closer to him, didn't leave any gap as his eyes bore to your face.

With just a simple act, he could erase all of the worried from your eyes. Forehead that was scrunched up earlier, was now relaxed as he had you here in his embrace. The smile that didn't even appear before now tugged permanently on your expression, replacing the once gloomy facade.

Both of you standing there, looking at each other's eyes like you and him were the only people on earth. Some people were running around looking for shelters, shaking their head when they saw the odd couple dancing in the rain. You were aware of their prying eyes, but you didn't give a damn about it.

He leaned in, wanting to capture your lips on his. And once you follow his movement, the two of you finally have no gap in between. Your eyes fluttered closed once his cold lips touched yours. The raindrops watched how the couple found happiness in the melancholy atmosphere.

Maybe it was because you were distracted, didn't remember about the stuff on the groceries bag that now would be damaged already. No, it was not about distraction. But it was all about the existence of the man that currently poured his love for you.

He was just a normal human being, not a prince not even a conglomerate. Yet he could make you the happiest woman alive by just having his presence in your life. It was all about the company, him, your partner in life, that made every single breath that you take worth everything.

Achoo! He sneezed all of a sudden, making you gasped as you looked at him with bewilderment in your eyes,

"Did you just sneeze on me?!" You took a few steps backwards over this. He only gave you a sheepish smile, but that smile was enough to make you laugh anyway. You couldn't stay mad at him, one second and that was all it took, "Come on, let's get back to the shop."

You were now the one who led him through the heavy downpour that somehow didn't die down even after minutes you put on a show with your husband. With groceries in hand that were now fully soaked, the two of you walked slowly to the second home that he built together with you.

Unlike before when you despised the rain so much from ruining your groceries, you circled your arm around his. In the middle of it, sometimes you decided to dance playfully as you walked side by side with him, resulting in him to follow suit.

You couldn't feel the freezing temperature anymore as your skin occasionally made contact with your husband. He was enough to make you warm, even better than any pile of blankets or some hot cocoa that you made for your son before sleep.

Your eyes lit up when you could finally see the shop, and it didn't go unnoticed by him. Both of you sped up the pace subconsciously, somehow even when the two of you enjoyed the rain so much, you couldn't help but want to feel the real warmth.

"We are here!" You announced your arrival to everyone, and all of the employees and patrons were all freaking out when they saw the state the two of you were in right now, "Please, please, don't mind us! Oh, hello, Yumie-san! Shinsuke is still busy?" You put the groceries in the kitchen after greeting all the patrons.

You and your husband excused yourself to the upper floor, needing to change all of the clothes that were now sticking all over the skin. Both of you decided to take a shower together so no one would be cold for too long. There was no lust in the room, just pure adoration and fondness as the two of you bathed in each other's warm.

He was currently lost in thought after shower, wearing the spare black t-shirt that he always had laying around on the little en suite, a getaway that he made for the two of you.

"Sit down," You stood behind him all of a sudden, he didn't ask why or anything and just comply with your words. The bed creaked a little when he sat, and it creaked even harder when you jumped up behind him with a towel in your hand.

His whole body relaxed the second he felt the soft fabric plopped on top of his head, followed by your hands as you massaged his scalp gently—drying his hair at the process. His eyes fluttered close, enjoying the affectionate gesture that you gave.

"How is the hairdryer?" He asked you with his low, calm voice, "I presume it couldn't be safe?"

"You bet it is." You chuckled a little, didn't feel any kind of sadness even when you just lost something that could benefit you in the future—cue when you woke up late or in a rush.

"I am glad," He leaned his body backwards, love to feel your warm torso. His statement made you raise one of your eyebrows in confusion, "I love to feel your hand on my hair like this, it soothes me."

A smile grazed your lips as you stopped your ministrations. With your hands, you tilted his head upwards a little. Your eyes met with his warm dark orbs, filled with love as it stared back at you. You leaned down your head closer to him, giving a small peck on his forehead.

"I love you, Samu." You gently set his hair aside from his face, wanting to see him more clearly now. A giddy smile tugged on his lips as the words rolled down from your tongue oh so smoothly.

"I love you too, dear. So much." His hand wandered gently on your arms, caressing it softly as he tells you how thankful he was to have you—just through the simple gesticulation, "Think we could do it again?"

"Hm? Do what?" You eyed him before you tilted his head back, continuing to dry his hair.

"Dancing in the rain? It was fun." He sounded like a small child at the moment, and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh, "Please? Look me in the eyes and say you didn't enjoy it, I bet you can't."

"Yeah, yeah, I enjoy it. A lot, actually." And it made you wonder why it took twenty-seven years for you to feel that, "But, you have to wear a raincoat the next time we do that."

"No…" He whined at this, and you pinched his cheek playfully, making him weep even further, "But it's no fun! We couldn't feel the water trickling down our skin!"

"Oh shush, or we could use an umbrella. To give some effects as we dance." He turned his body towards you before pulling you to his arms. His eyes bore at you with a mysterious look behind his pupils, "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

He didn't answer as he still made eye contact with you. His gaze looked so serious while yours looked confused. Then he chuckled all of a sudden,

"You looked so stupid!"

"I beg your pardon!"

It always ended up like this, the two of you bicker over the smallest things. You rested both hands on his shoulders, smacking him playfully as he somehow could turn a romantic atmosphere into chaos in a matter of seconds.

"Oh, by the way…" You trailed off, squeezing your hands on his arms. It made him fall silent as he could hear a serious tone in your voice.

"What is it?" He waited for you to say something, anything. To say that he was patient was the biggest lie of the century. Compared to his brother? Maybe, but both of the twins never once considered a patient one anyway. So it torture him when you just looked at him with an unreadable gaze, "(Y/n), what-"

"I am pregnant."

He blinked, once, twice, thrice. His mouth was now agape since he still tried to process your words, making sure it seeped into his brain, "Are you still breathing?"

"Hey!" He was too shocked over this. Then he remembered how you always ran first towards the bathroom first thing in the morning, or how you became picky over things that you eat. Or the most prominent one, was how you could be such an angel then possessed by satan in a blink of an eye.

"Yeah, right. Now, I don't want you to-" But before you could warn him about things that you don't want him to do, he shut you up with his lips—pressing it deep on yours. Your teeth clicked with his, making you gasped because of the slight pain that you got.

"Alright. First, I wouldn't allow you to lift some heavy groceries,"

"But, Samu-"

"And then, I will throw away all of the liquor in the house."

"Don't throw it away! Some were from our wedding!"

"Okay, I will just lock it," This was exactly what happened when you announced your first pregnancy with him. He wanted you to be as comfortable as ever, treated you like a queen, and overall just wanted the best things for you, "But something that crucial was… I forbid Atsumu to come to our house until our child acknowledges me as their dad."

"Hey, why? I thought he was a decent person to take care of our child when we were busy."

"Did you forget that it needed two years for our son to finally agree that I am his father instead of Atsumu?" Your husband was annoyed by it, and you couldn't help but cup his cheek with your hands, hoping that it calmed him down, "What? No matter what you say, I don't want to be called an imposter by my future child ever again. So I need to take the safest route."

"Alright, alright, you big baby." You caressed his cheeks with your thumb, tilting his head a little to face you. It was quite now as his hand went down towards your hips, stroking it gently.

"I know I have said it a million times already, but-" He whispered softly, grazing his lips on yours as a smile tugged on your lips, "I love you, and thank you for being here with me from the start."

It was quiet now as you rested your forehead on his. Funny how one man could impact your moods in many ways. You chose him all those years ago, and same as him as he decided to love and wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

"I love you too, Miya Osamu," You shared another affectionate kiss with him, "And I swear I will be there too at the end of everything."

The rain never stops pouring down the roads and attacks the wooden roof on top of you. Yet, you and him acted like the frosty atmosphere didn't affect the tenderness and warmth that you two shared.

Because it didn't, not even in the slightest bit.

Because when you were with him, any kind of sorrow and dreadful atmosphere couldn't be felt. When you were with him, there was only warmth, and even when the raindrops impaled your skin, it would be nothing compared to the love that was radiated from the two of you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*     ༶• ┈┈ ⛧ ┈ ♛ ♛ ┈ ⛧ ┈┈ •༶     *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tagged Fanfiction:

@muffins-puffins @nanashinanashi @vlovers-world @kashika @blacckdiamondposts @muffngw @baby-boy-taichi @for-ests @giyuwu-san @mochi-poof @miyatsunami @iwaixiumi @hihiq @the-fandom-ness ​ @quirksandbreaths @rintarhoe @verbluehte @simp4tsukkii @ladyalicevii @evermorehaikyuu @clowninfortodoroki @koutaroulovebot @daiseukis @fitriiaw @mistypoison @aquariarose @shiningstar-byulxx

This is totally not self-indulgence fic👉👈 Tell me if you want to get tagged on any of my fanfic that I am going to write!

#osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya imagine #miya osamu imagine #miya osamu #osamu miya #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fluff #osamu miya fluff #miya osamu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #osamu x reader

[frodos-bizarre-adventure]

@gingerreggg just some fluff

Heads Up- Part 12 (Joseph x Bust!Caesar)

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"Are you ready to go out?" Suzi asked Caesar, as he sat atop the kitchen table.

"Really?" he replied skeptically. "I thought you didn't want anyone to see me?"

"And that's why we've got this!" Joseph exclaimed joyfully as he pranced into the room with a small carrying crate. It was quite lightweight, and across the top of one side a narrow, horizontal slit had been cut into the hard cardboard material, to function as a viewing window.

Caesar felt uneasy, somewhat queasy to the stomach if he'd had one. This was the first time he'd see the world, beyond the confines of Joseph's apartment. Well, of course, aside from that one escapade, but he didn't really get far.

"You really mean it?" he said nervously.

"Look, if you're gonna go bouncing away at night to see the world then I thought I'd let you have in on the fun with the two of us! We picked a nice place, I bet you'll love it." Joseph smiled, as he lifted Caesar off the table and gently into the box, fitting him perfectly with just a little bit of room to spare. "Just remember to be very quiet."

"Joseph," Caesar complained, as he was laid snugly into the box. "You cut the view-hole too high."

"Aw shit," Joseph groaned. "I should have measured."

Fortunately it wasn't a problem a few layers of newspaper couldn't solve, and with some cushioning beneath his neck the peeping hole was perfectly level with Caesar's eyes.

"That should do the trick," Joseph huffed, as he gently covered Caesar with the lid.

"And now...it's time," grinned the sculptor, as he carried his created companion, tucked safely into the box, out into the warm light of late afternoon.

--------

Joseph mostly got around town, and to and from the university, in his trusty old bicycle he'd gotten as a birthday present from his uncle Speedwagon. It had seen better days, but still served him well, especially after he installed a small sidecar so he could carry his art along with him on the way.

"This is fun!" Suzi cheered, as Joseph pedaled along down toward the beach-view that he and Suzi had agreed on earlier.

"Just don't let go of me!" Caesar cried, from inside the box. He laid upon her lap as she sat in the sidecar, and each time she raised her hands in excitement the hapless bust feared he might fall off.

But at the same time, as he peeked out of the narrow slit, Caesar felt a strange elation.

He was seeing the world beyond.

Buildings, cars, streets and people rushed by, illuminated in the orange light of sunset, as Joseph came pedaling along, so quickly that Caesar couldn't keep up with seeing them all. There was just such a big, big place to see, and with a little help, Caesar was going much, much further than he could possibly hop by himself.

Caesar smiled, a hidden smile from within his box that no one could see.

Perhaps it was far nicer to see the world with friends.

Perhaps he didn't have to be alone.

And yet, at the same time, Caesar felt a hint of sorrow as he admired the sun-kissed landscape gleaming in its tangerine illumination. There was a vast world out there, full of people, full of experiences, of stories in the making waiting to be told.

And he knew he could never be a part of it.

--------

"We're here!" Joseph said excitedly, as he halted near the parkway by the beach.

"And look!" Suzi exclaimed. "We're just in time for the sunset!"

"I can't see!" Caesar complained. "Get me out of this box!"

Dismounting from the sidecar, Suzi stood up and with Joseph's help, removed Caesar from the box, after glancing around to make sure nobody was around to witness them unloading their unusual cargo.

Caesar couldn't believe his eyes. They were at a quiet little corner of the beach, with the floor a smooth, wooden viewing deck. Beyond him was a view of the ocean, stretching all the way into the horizon, and hovering just above it was a brilliant orange orb whose rays Caesar felt onto his clay skin for the first time in his newfound life.

"So, what do you think?" Joseph asked as he gently laid Caesar down onto the deck, and sat cross-legged next to him.

"It's...it's beautiful," gasped Caesar in pure amazement, as he made a few hops forward.

"Whoa, easy there, Cae," Joseph cautioned. "Try not to fall in the water, I doubt you can swim," he said with a snarky laugh.

Caesar nodded, but was too absorbed in the splendor of it all to heed Joseph's dry wit. He could smell the refreshing salty breeze, feel the warmth of the descending sun, hear the waves and the wind and the calls of the birds. Just like the one time he'd left the house, except this time, Joseph wasn't trying to stop him.

And never before, in his short existence as a bodiless sculpt of clay, had Caesar felt so free.

Joseph shifted himself forward so that he was next to Caesar again. "I thought you'd enjoy this," he said, gently cradling the bust onto his lap.

The sun's rays were fading in warmth, but Joseph's arms felt warmer.

Soon the brilliant orb began to sink into the horizon, fading away into the distant mists as the deep pinks and purples of the sky began to crowd out the oranges and yellows of the sun's final rays. Caesar was awed. It was something that happened every single day, sure, but it was no less of a glorious spectacle to behold.

It wasn't long until the stars began to appear.

A few bright points, here and there, gradually emerging from the darkening sky. There were scarcely any clouds, to Joseph's delight, and soon, the night had come: enveloping them in a calm, peaceful darkness lit by the thousands of glittering pinpricks up above.

"Caesar," Joseph said softly. "Look."

He laid down onto his back on the wooden floor, after he took the newspapers from Caesar's box and gently laid the sculpture's head onto them so that Caesar could also recline comfortably. Side by side, artist and artwork lay down gazing skyward, into the infinite vastness of the night sky above.

"You know, Cae, my grandpa Jonathan used to tell me," Joseph began. "He said that as the night comes it paints over the sky, swiftly and in a rush, leaving a few spots uncolored in its hurry. I'd always thought it was a silly story," he laughed.

Caesar chuckled. "Your grandfather?"

"Yeah..." Joseph sighed, sadly. "I miss him."

"Now it's just Granny Erina and me, and really, just me, after I came to live in my flat. Mom was always away, and I'd never met my dad. But Grandpa Jonathan...he was the best part of my childhood."

He gestured to the sky.

"I like to think he's up there where he belongs, up among the stars. We are Joestars after all," he said with a mix of a laugh and a sigh, gently running his finger over the birthmark on his neck.

One he remembered his grandpa also had, which Joseph imagined was a mark, a promise, perhaps, of where he'd since returned.

There was a moment of silence as Caesar momentarily pondered.

"Do you think I belong among the stars too?" Caesar asked, after a pause.

"Huh?" Joseph turned to look at him. "Why would you think that?"

Caesar gave a melancholy pause.

"Because...because if I really am Anthonio Zeppeli, as Suzi said...shouldn't I be up there? And yet, I am here."

That one word, that had struck Caesar earlier, hit him again.

Purpose.

"I mean, if you really think about how big the universe is, and how small we are to it, it's downright humbling, and a little bit frightening," Joseph mused.

"But we're tiny specks that simply exist, and maybe, we make our own existence worthwhile," he added, stroking Caesar's shoulder stub.

"Then I guess I don't really need a purpose, then," Caesar mumbled, watching the unimaginable vastness twinkle far beyond.

"I mean, do you?" Joseph answered. "You exist for the sake of existing, and that should be enough."

Caesar smiled.

Joseph was right. Why did he have to bother figuring out why he was alive, or who he was, or why he was where he is today?

He was alive today, even though he shouldn't be.

His existence was an unexpected blessing.

He existed for his own sake. And, looking into his sculptor's brilliant blue eyes, mesmerized at the heavens, he thought, perhaps for Joseph's sake too.

"I'm glad you made me, Joseph. Whether or not I really am Anthonio or not. I'm just glad to be here today."

"However way you created me."

Joseph chuckled. "You know what they say, Caesar. Yesterday was history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift."

"That's why they call it present."

Caesar groaned.

"Oh come on, Jojo," he grumbled. "You stole it from that turtle from the panda cartoon."

Joseph burst out a hearty laugh. "So you have been watching the movies Suzi brought, huh?"

"I was bored," Caesar said, embarassed.

Joseph was just glad for the time they were enjoying together, by the beach, under the night sky, with only the glimmer of lamp posts and the now-rising moon lighting the way. It felt peaceful, and very calming, for both weary artist and lonely creation.

He wished they could do this forever.

Just the three of them.

Oh yes, Joseph remembered, three.

"Say, where is Suzi, anyway?" wondered Joseph after a few moments. "We'd gotten too busy with our little talk there... Suzi?"

A faint snore came as the only response.

"Oh great," Caesar moaned, rocking back up into an upright position with a little help from Joseph. "She slept through the whole thing, and this whole trip was her idea."

"You can't blame her," Joseph explained. "She's pretty tired."

He couldn't help a small giggle as he saw Suzi splayed out awkwardly onto the sidecar seat, dozing away like she was on her sofa.

"I think it's time we went home." Joseph said.

Rousing Suzi to make sure she was safe throughout the ride back to Joseph's apartment, the three friends made their way back, Caesar once more tucked inside his box.

As Joseph pedaled home Caesar peeked out at the view of the city through the hole in the box. The city at night looked so different.

Thousands of brilliant lights shone through the darkness, outlining buildings, illuminating streets, marking the passage of cars.

The city's lights were like the stars on the earth.

And in a way, they were among them, after all.

A sudden halt to the gentle motion of the box indicated to Caesar that they'd reached home. Soon he felt himself being lifted back into the house, as Joseph had done the night he snuck out. Yet this time, it didn't feel like a punishment, as it was when Joseph had forced him back inside. It felt like a reward, at the end of a long, grand adventure.

And at the night, Caesar knew he could look forward to end his day with another night in bed lovingly cradled in his beloved maker's arms.

Suzi sleepily staggered her way into the house and flopped onto the couch with a yawn. "Sorry about that, I hope I didn't miss too much," she said to Joseph, a little regretfully.

"Don't worry, Caesar loved it," Joseph reassured her. "We had a little talk."

"Hmmm?" she hummed drowsily.

"Oh, just stuff, about the stars and the world and the niceness of being alive, he had a lot to say." Joseph explained. "Also he's been watching your movies, he gets references," he laughed.

Joseph felt a strange warmth to Caesar that he couldn't quite explain. His feelings had been all over the place since the handsome little piece of clay came into his life. He'd gotten to know him, and he'd come to like him.

He'd come to love him.

And Caesar, sitting close by on the floor, gazing up at his relatively-towering form, felt the same.

He loved him for granting him life. He loved him for the care and affection, and all the numerous things he'd done for him, even if he couldn't return the favor.

And he loved him for just... being Joseph.

Their gazes met, and two shy smiles crept across their faces.

Perhaps Caesar belonged with a certain star after all.

---------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

#jjba #gingerreggg #battle tendency #caejose #caesar x joseph #jojo's bizarre adventure #bust!caesar #sculptor!joseph #hands of life au #heads up

[lemonietrinket]

Coward ||| Chan & Reader

Summary: you and your best friend that have been conjoined at the hip since you were little got into an argument 3 weeks prior, and you can do little to escape it Genres: Angst, but a happy ending with fluff Warnings: consequences of and therefore inferences to a big argument (actual events left vague), one explicit insult, poor language (2x f**k) Word Count: 2,099 Theme: Not a song, but this edit inspired the fic AN: guess how long I’ve had this here in my drafts? September 9, 2019. finally got round to writing it, even though I knew exactly what would happen this is my brain’s bs I don’t write angst super often so, I hope you enjoy!

High school/non-idol AU

~~~

With a sigh you let your chin fall onto your arms. You stared at your own muffled reflection in the glass as you sat on the windowsill, brain in a haze. The cicadas were chirping away below your hunched body, their chorus at its opening hook, and they would continue long through the night—much like the chaos next door.

You supposed, through the thicket of your thoughts, that you should be grateful that the swathes of bodies were just chatting loudly to themselves, instead of screeching to some awful trap beat like they’d been doing the week before. The speakers were playing full blast however, and it didn’t help a single bit that it was one of your favourite songs.  In fact, that was part of the reason why you felt so heavy.

Had things been normal, you would have been there, dancing and smiling and joking with anyone who would listen. But you weren’t.

He hadn’t invited you. Your best friend. Didn’t invite you—his best friend—to his birthday party. Over something so petty too.

You could barely recall the intricacies of the argument. All you could remember was his terse scowl, his soft eyes going from sweet to sour in a second, and the words that cracked like a whip and branded you. Your best friend was so gentle, with a heart of gold—you had seen him at his worst once before, what you’d thought was his worst, and even then you couldn’t imagine he could even contain the spite that then flew from his lips. Even if there had been warning for what could come, nothing further still could have prepared you for it.

He’d become a sort of cold vicious, insults thrown carelessly that then cut deep as if they’d been heated in a bare flame. “How can you be such a fucking coward, Y/N?” had been the one that had twisted as it was pulled out. It still snuck up on you, pounced when you thought you’d calmed down, and then left you reeling in unsettled hurt all over again. 

It never made you cry though. Not during the day. As night crept over the horizon however, it was a different story, and the cicadas’ call became a tepid siren.

You let the warm night air hold you, as if it would work as a suitable replacement, though you knew it would never come close. Breathing in the night air, you sank deeper into the arms of your jumper. It smelt of comfort, of home, of happiness, and the loose hairs there tickled your nose. It was as if your reactions were on a set delay, as it took you several seconds to realise that it was dog hair that was on your sleeves, and that scent was from the person that had taken the comfort away from you. 

‘He doesn’t want you anymore,’ you had to remind yourself, ‘you shouldn’t spare a thought on him.’

But there you were, moping nevertheless, your thoughts practically consumed by him. You couldn’t blame yourself entirely for it, because even as soon as you tried to lift your head away from the memories embroidered in your sleeves, you were still hit by the realisation that you were sat by your bedroom window—the very one that he’d clambered through unprompted years before. He’d been so desperate to escape being forced to tolerate his uncle’s ramblings about roadworks and his pitch to him to get him to come and work at his business instead of music. “Silly songwriting,” had been what his uncle had referred to it as, and your best friend always got a kick out of impersonating the man’s wily poshness. 

You used to chuckle every time your brain procured the memory randomly for you. Now, it just stung.

He’d always wanted to do music, and he refused to give in no matter what anyone told him. His parents had always been supportive, and you figured that was partly why he was so determined with it, though the sentiment wasn’t shared with his extended relatives that often visited. You’d always thought he was brave for standing up to them, it was something that you’d always wanted to do to your own for other reasons, but never found the words to.

You caught yourself in the loop, shaking your head miserably at yourself and the situation before you. How were you supposed to move on when everything around you seeped with him? The caps you shared were slung on the bedposts, the mess of homework scattered upon your desk, the guitar in the corner easing gradually out of tune. Even the night itself was his time. How were you supposed to hide away from the night when you’d spent pretty much every other one before with him.

The ember heat of anger rose in your throat, your thoughts spiking at the distaste of how no one seemed to take the jagged loss of a best friend seriously, at least to enough to help you. The heat grew wilder then; it was never directed at him.

With the sun set below the horizon you felt your lower lip quiver and you loathed its tenderness. You’d watched the sunset with him so many times, you could conjure the exact shades of gold and crimson in your head, it was just a hindrance that you couldn’t paint it without his messy dark curls in the corner.

A knock came from the front door, ad you found yourself counting its beats. Three, no sharps, just drawled pauses in between. You immediately questioned yourself on as to why it mattered. But you knew exactly why. Wishing one of your parents was home to go and answer it would not fix the problem no matter how much you yearned it to, and so you convinced yourself to trundle down the stairs to see who it was. It was probably only a delivery guy after all. Hopefully they wouldn’t try and talk to you unnecessarily.

Biting the inside of your cheek and settling your shaking lips into a firm scowl you swung open the door with a warning glare already in your eye.

To your surprise, it was no person holding a stack of pizza or a parcel of any kind, just a boy you knew too well, with his fallen-tipped eyes all downtrodden.

“Chan, what the fuck are you doing here?” you snapped, your hand itching to slam the door straight back in his face. The only thing that stopped you was his bitten lips. You hated how you knew him so well and that it left you vulnerable.

He drew a smile upon his face, but it was too tight-lipped to be convincing. You wondered if he thought you a fool to try and lie, but still you left the door open. “Too many people,” he finally managed, one fist curling in the cradle of the other’s palm.

“It’s your party!” you snarled, your heart’s leniency not transferring across to your words. You watched his lips hammer shut as his sad eyes glanced away, explanations or excuses—how were you to tell—pooling behind his barricade. You let him stew, the vengeful spirit seeking some joy in his utter discomfort and you didn’t have it in you to hold it back quite yet. The weeks he’d left you in turmoil etched across your mind, the insecurities he’d played on that he couldn’t use the ignorance-card for in the slightest too. You weren’t ready to forgive him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tag a ‘never’ no matter how much you tried. 

His response broke through the blockade of his silence. “I realised that I messed up Y/N, and it’s not my party if you’re not there and,” his gaze came back to yours and you indulged him, meeting his eyes and how they glistened, “and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

The vengeful sprite vanished from your shoulder, and you were left without a clue as to what to do. You wanted to forgive him, and he seemed genuine. He’d never pulled a stunt like this before, and you’d known him ever since you were little. But neither could you put his words to bed, and the actions that followed. You’d been to every single one of his birthday parties, you’d been such a staple to him that this wasn’t actually the first time you strictly speaking hadn’t been invited—because there was no way you wouldn’t have been at his side to begin with.  But this was a first, and it hurt. 

You took in the sight of the boy that you’d refused to even look at for the past three weeks. He looked exactly how you’d left him, only emptier. His shadow grew in the flitting light of the dying day sky, much like the ones beneath his eyes had already done. He was closed in on himself, the subtle confidence he always oozed nowhere to be found. You couldn’t picture his high tone catching laughter tumbling from his lips like this. Neither could you hear those sharp edged words on them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean it, it all just happened and... and this doesn’t fix it—I made you cry, and I hate that I did! It... it’s my responsibility. I accept that it’s my fault, and I’m sorry, I really am—”

You stepped from your doorway and took him into your arms. Three weeks was too long of a time to be from them after all, and you couldn’t stand the way the tears threatened to spill over both your eyes and his. 

He held onto you as soon as you fit against him as perfectly as you always did, hands clutching at your jumper while he nestled his head into your hair. Your tears dampened the collar of his sweater as you sighed, a staggered breath that only just pulled you back from crying entirely. You focused on him, just like you had done before, only this time it was less painful. You realised he smelt different than before, and it soon occurred to you that it was your scent that was missing. It surprised you to discover just how much of your perfume ended up all over him. It wasn’t like you were super affectionate and cuddly friends either. Your lips twitched into a smile without a single thought discarded.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, swaying before your wide open door as Chan slowly regained his stability. All the midges were probably fleeing inside but this once you didn’t mind. You had your comfort back, and even though things weren’t perfect, you could begin to move forward as things should.

“You better make it up to me,” you ordered, a feeble laugh filtering through. 

He sniffed and its stunned you just how close to crying he’d been. “I know, I will, I promise.”

Rubbing his back soothingly, you eased him into swinging gently with the song. It earnt you a warbled laugh, but it meant his usual self was returning. “Do you want to play Mario Kart and see how long it takes for someone to notice?”

You pulled away gently hearing him chuckle awkwardly. Peering up you saw his pink tinged cheeks and wet eyes that he half-covered-half-wiped with his hand. He was the same old Chan you’d known for years after all. “Sounds perfect!” You smiled, helping him wipe his tears with the side of your finger which caused him to sheepishly smile and repeat ‘I’m ok, I’m ok...!’ 

Unsure how to handle the next part, you ended up leading him inside his second home with an awkward shimmy of your arms. It was meant to be a dance move, but it didn’t look much like one and it barely fit the theme of the song pummelling across the air. It didn’t matter to you though, it was really a test of the waters, and fortunately: it worked.

Your restored best friend giggled shyly as he followed, steadying his breath as he watched you shuffle through your front door. He would make all his words up to you, he vowed he would. They’d all been misplaced, all been resentments with himself that he’d sprung weakly on the first other he found, and of course that was going to be you. He was going to make it right, never let you down, help you with whatever you asked—no excuses—and maybe let you win a few times at Mario Kart. And maybe one day he would finally work up the courage to tell you the truth.

~~~

AN: i wrote a thing! go brain!

[edited: may 31]

Masterlist

#bang chan #chan skz #stray kids #skz #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x reader fluff #bang chan x reader fluff #chan x reader angst #bang chan x reader angst #stray kids x reader #bang chan angst #bang chan fluff #chan fluff #chan angst #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader angst #stray kids x reader fluff #bang chan oneshot #stray kids oneshot

[hypnoticwinter]

The Adventure of the Eidolon Chapter 1

“Bad business, this is, Holmes,” Watson remarks again. Sherlock glances over at him, then returns his gaze to the binoculars.

The weather is awfully nippy this far north, and especially this time of year. Sherlock has bundled up but Watson is seemingly completely unruffled, laying there on the berm in his immaculate maroon suit. Sherlock wonders, briefly, why he’d refused to change into more appropriate attire for the occasion, but he has long since learned not to question these things, for the line of inquiry leads nowhere.

It’s been a solid two or three hours since they set up camp there on the berm, and Sherlock is beginning to get bored. They are just high enough up and at just the right angle so that when the wind comes through it cuts like a knife and chills him straight to the bone. Sherlock looks at the sky, grey and nasty and sleet-hued, and thinks about it for a while, but in the end he drops his gaze back down to the small blot that marks the cave entrance. He doesn’t want to alert anything, not when they have such a good vantage point.

Watson is checking the rifle again. He draws the bolt back, not far enough to eject the cartridge in the chamber, but enough to see the brass gleam dully in the pale, overcast light. Sherlock nudges him. “I don’t think the bullet’s gone anywhere since last you looked,” he remarks, and Watson laughs, a muffled thud of thunder resounding somewhere deep in his chest.

“You can never be too careful,” he remarks enigmatically, and Sherlock rolls his eyes.

Another ten minutes passes without incident.

The smell of the mire from below wafts up to the berm every now and then, and each time it does some instinct makes Sherlock wrinkle his nose, driving pinpricks through his frozen skin. He yawns and then cracks his jaw, working it left and right. Watson glances over at him. “Why don’t we just go down there?” he asks, but Sherlock shakes his head.

“That’s a bad idea,” he tells Watson. “Staying up here is much safer.”

“Yes,” Watson grumbles. “Up here we’re only in danger of dying of boredom.”

“You didn’t have to come with,” Sherlock points out, tugging down the brim of his deerstalker hat just as the wind rolls in yet again. Watson takes it on the chin without complaining.

“And leave you to have all the fun by yourself?” he asks. “Tcha.”

“Fun?” Sherlock asks. “I thought you said this was boring?”

Watson smiles.

The sun is gradually settling lower in the sky, off to the west. Sherlock watches as Watson rubs the bags under his eyes, pulls at the corners of his eyelids, and then settles back down on the rifle. Sherlock checks his watch.

“What do you think they’re having at the inn tonight?” Watson asks.

“I saw the board before we left, it’s beef stew and cornbread.”

Watson grunts. “Could go for a spot of that right about now.”

Sherlock’s stomach grumbles in agreement. He eyes the sun warily, judging the distance between it and the horizon. “If this keeps up,” he remarks, “we might have to come back at night.”

Watson nods. “Won’t be much fun,” he observes.

“We’ll manage,” Sherlock mumbles. A bit of movement at the treeline a few hundred yards away has caught his attention. He shifts the binoculars over and lets out a sigh of relief. “Finally,” he groans. “Watson, do you see the…?”

“Over on the treeline? Yes, I see it,” Watson says, peering through the scope of the rifle. He squints at the dial on the side of the scope. “What would you say the distance to there is?”

“Keep it on the mouth of the cave,” Sherlock says, tracking the figure slowly picking its way across the moor.

“If I take the shot now,” Watson starts, but Sherlock’s voice turns brusque.

“I said keep it on the cave,” he says. “And get ready, it’ll be there in a second.”

“Christ,” Watson mutters, but he nudges the rifle back over to cover the yawning black mouth of the cave.

Just as Sherlock says, the figure make its way to the cave mouth, winding between trees and popping in and out of coppices here and there as it goes. Watching it through the scope, Watson reflects begrudgingly that Sherlock is right, if he’d tried the shot as it moved through the treeline, there’d be no guarantee he’d hit his mark.

The figure pauses at the cave mouth and rears up on two legs, one forelimb planted on the side of the cave, in exactly the same manner as a drunken man leaning on the doorframe to his house, trying to find his balance and his keys.

The rifle cracks and the figure stumbles and howls, and then drags itself inside the cave, a dark smear of ichorous blood staining the pale rock. Sherlock curses. “You couldn’t have shot it in the head?” he asks, and Watson shrugs.

“That was the head,” he says.

“Mm,” Sherlock grunts. “Well, let’s go finish it off.”

“No, you stay here,” Watson says, putting a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock shakes it off immediately and glares at Watson.

They stand there like that for a moment before Watson shakes his head and, leaving the rifle on the berm, starts down the long rocky path to the foot of the moor. Sherlock watches him go for a moment before he shoves his hands into his pockets and, tucking his chin down to keep the wind from biting at it, follows after Watson’s dwindling form into the moor below.

 * * *

 “Do you hear anything?” Sherlock whispers. Watson, cocking his head intently near the cave’s mouth, shakes his head.

“All quiet,” he murmurs. “Think there might be another exit?”

Sherlock shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, “but I think that even if there was, he wouldn’t want to leave the cave.”

Sherlock rummages around in his jacket for a little bit and then takes out a pistol and hands it to Watson. Watson’s eyebrows raise. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“I’ve always had it,” Sherlock says. “Let’s go in quietly. You go first, I’ll carry the torch.”

“Wouldn’t it be smarter to just wait for it to come out?” Watson asks. “I mean, you saw the size of that thing, we’ll be in close quarters…”

“And if you had just hit it in the head we wouldn’t have to do this the hard way,” Sherlock says. A vein throbs in Watson’s temple.

“I did hit it in the head,” he asserts again. “I know where I shot it and I didn’t miss.”

“Then why is it still alive?” Sherlock asks, a hint of a smirk forming on his thin lips.

“Look,” Watson starts, but from inside the cave there is a distinct shifting of weight, a sound like something moving around on dry packed earth. Watson shoots Sherlock a significant look, and Sherlock sighs.

“It’s hurt,” he whispers. “We’ll just go in and put it down and this whole damn case will be over with. Alright?”

“Alright,” Watson says, checking the pistol. He cocks it and motions for Sherlock to stay behind him, and then they walk into the mouth of the cave and are swallowed by darkness.

The first thing that hits them is the smell. The air inside the cave is rank and warm and wet, like they’ve just walked inside a decaying dog. Sherlock seems unbothered by it but Watson’s eyes have already started to water. He hesitates briefly, but Sherlock puts his hand on Watson’s shoulder and Watson shakes his head and pushes past it.

He’s holding the pistol down low at his hip, ready to bring it up and shoot at a moment’s notice, but for the moment no targets are forthcoming. Sherlock shines his torch along the worn, well-packed earth floor and along the dusty walls of the cave, but whatever had been moving around in there a moment before has now fallen ominously silent.

Watson clenches his jaw and proceeds forward at a slow but regular pace. The mouth of the cave is long and narrow and winding but it gradually opens up to the point that Sherlock and Watson can walk side by side.

There is a sound from ahead and they both stop. Watson glances over at Sherlock and Sherlock raises a finger to his lips, shakes his head.

The cave makes an abrupt left turn and then opens out into a great basin-shaped chamber. The smell is strongest here and Watson again has to take a moment to fight through it, eyes smarting with the sheer weight of the drooling animal stench.

“Watson,” Sherlock murmurs.

“Give me a minute,” Watson says, rubbing at his eyes.

“Watson,” Sherlock repeats, and Watson manages to force his eyes open and peer blearily at the limp, blood-soaked object bathed in Sherlock’s torchlight, laying there pitifully on the floor of the cave.

Sherlock’s eyes are very wide. Watson looks a little green.

“Is that…?” he starts, and Sherlock nods.

“Yes,” he says. “That’s Beryl…or what’s left of her, at least.”

The bloody torso on the floor has clearly been gouged at by massive teeth or claws, and Watson imagines he can see an expression of abject terror frozen on the poor woman’s face.

Sherlock finally takes the beam of the torch away from the corpse and plays it over the rest of the cave, but it seems utterly empty. Watson’s speculation about there being another exit seem to be irrelevant; there’s only the one entrance, and they would have noticed if anything had tried to slip out past them.

Watson clears his throat. “Well,” he says, glancing over at Sherlock, “we should probably call the -“

There is a scuffling sound from the roof of the cave, and Watson’s words catch in his throat. Sherlock whips the torch upwards and for a moment they can see nothing but the crenellated granite ceiling, but then -

“Jesus!” Watson cries.

The thing is enormous, its arms and legs sheathed in tawny fur, its tail like a fat black mop of ragged hair. It inclines its elongated wolfish head towards them and for a moment, just a moment, Watson can see the bullet hole in the side of its skull before its crazed, red-litten eyes fix on him and it releases its hold on the knobbly rock wall and falls directly onto him with an earsplitting howl.

The impact knocks Sherlock back and drives Watson to the floor, sending the torch spinning away and casting crazy shadows all across the cave walls.

Watson is struggling desperately to keep the thing’s teeth and claws out of him. He’s already gotten a nasty scratch across his cheek and his face is flecked with spittle from its jaws, gnashing in frustration just inches from his throat. “Sherlock!” he yells.

Sherlock gets to his feet and stares down at the muscular, furry form of the beast pinning Watson to the ground. Watson is struggling to keep its long, clawed hands away from his face, but it means he has to wriggle and writhe back and forth to dodge the snapping bites it throws his way as well. “Sherlock!” he calls again, a note of desperation in his voice. Their eyes meet and for a long moment, perhaps about a second or so but feeling infinitely longer, Watson thinks that Sherlock is about to turn around and walk out of the cave.

Then, Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut and with a curious sense of resignation about him, makes a small gesture with his hand.

For a second nothing happens. The beast rears up and tears its arm free from Watson’s grasp, its claws glinting wickedly. Watson tries to roll out from under it before it comes swinging down like a meteor, but the thing is far too heavy to just throw off. Watson draws in a breath to scream.

The rock floor of the cave erupts and a mass of stone slams into the beast, knocking it clean off of Watson and tossing it up against the cave wall. It tries to rise but before it can the mass of stone slams down onto it again. Watson can hear the thing’s ribs shatter like toothpicks.

It takes four more repeated impacts before it stops moving, four more tooth-rattling, bone-jarring impacts before the creature, little more than a flat disc of matter at this point, stops struggling.

Watson, breathing like he’s just ran a marathon, slowly gets to his feet. The cut on his cheek is bleeding freely and his suit is in tatters, but there doesn’t look to be any harm done. He glances back at Sherlock. “That’s that, I suppose,” he says, but Sherlock shakes his head.

“It’s still alive,” he says. “We have to burn it.”

Watson looks down at the mangled mess by his feet. “It’s still alive?” he asks, dubiously.

“Have you got a match?” Sherlock asks. “Or a lighter or something?”

“I don’t.”

Sherlock mumbles a muffled curse and gestures towards the crushed, furry form on the floor, and it immediately bursts into flames. Watson lets out a surprised yelp and scurries backwards, bumping into the cave wall. The thick, acrid smoke is clawing at his throat and he waves his hand before him, trying to clear the air. “Sherlock?” he calls.

“Come on,” Sherlock says from the entrance. “It’s time to go.”

Watson hesitates. “What about Beryl?” he asks. “We can’t just leave her here.”

Sherlock walks out of the smoke, seemingly unbothered by it, and takes Watson by the arm. “Let’s go,” he repeats, and Watson allows Sherlock to lead him out of the cave. They pass through the curving tunnel quickly, and once they’re out the fetid odor of the moor slams bracingly into Watson and clears the stench of smoke from his nostrils. He takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and blows his nose.

“Christ,” he mutters. Sherlock looks over at him. Watson feels the slender young man’s eyes on him but just clears his throat. “Haven’t had one like that in a while.”

“No,” Sherlock agrees, looking around. The last few slivers of sunlight are spreading across the sky languidly, over to the west. Somewhere close by, a chorus of cicadas are starting up. Watson coughs and then, with nothing more to say, the two of them start to pick their way back through the moor.

They make it to the cliff before Watson speaks. “What are we going to tell Stapleton?”

Sherlock laughs, but there is very little mirth to it. “That was Stapleton.”

“What was?”

Sherlock looks at him, but gives no answer, and after a moment, Watson looks away.

The moon is rising now and the pale light shines down on the two of them, picking their way carefully up the hill. Once they reach the top Watson turns round and looks back, and after a moment Sherlock joins him. Somewhere far off, a wolf howls, and Watson shakes his head.

“Are there many things like that in the world, Sherlock?” he asks.

“Like what?”

“Like that…creature. Whatever it was.”

Sherlock shuts his eyes and makes a minute gesture with his right hand, down low at his hip. Watson’s eyes unfocus slightly. “What creature?” Sherlock says. “Back in the cave? That was Stapleton. The poor man was deranged, clearly. It’s a lucky thing you managed to set him alight or he’d have gutted you for sure with that knife of his.”

Watson is silent for a long while. “Stapleton?” he asks finally.

Sherlock looks over at him. “Yes,” he says. “Don’t you remember?”

Watson shakes his head. “I guess I must have hit my head back in the cave there. Christ, that poor woman…”

Sherlock peers at his watch and sighs. “We’d better go back to the inn and call the police. The inspector isn’t going to be very happy about being woken up but there’s no way around it.”

“Poor him,” Watson says drily, and Sherlock laughs.

And then the two of them turn and begin the hike back down to the car, and from there the drive back to the village.

Down on the moor, the moon shines very brightly, and the howls of the wolves multiply until it sounds as though the entire forest were howling.

 * * *

 Watson is halfway through his bowl of stew by the time Sherlock gets off the phone with the inspector. He sits down heavily at the table and sighs. “Christ,” Sherlock says, “that man doesn’t know how to shut up.”

Watson laughs and pushes Sherlock’s bowl over to him. “How are the kids?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Marybell finally lost that baby tooth she’d been trying to get rid of for the last week and she’s very excited for the tooth fairy to come tonight, and Kenneth got detention at school for passing notes.”

“Passing notes? Kids still do that these days?”

“Apparently. Amazing how that man is a complete sourpuss at every hour of the day but if you ask him about his kids he transforms into a normal human being for five minutes or so. Oh, this is really good,” Sherlock says, having taken his first spoonful of stew.

“Right? Oh, I got you a beer but I didn’t know if you wanted - “

“I think I’m just going to get some water,” Sherlock says. “Did whatshername -“

“She went to bed already, told me to clean up when we were done.”

Sherlock nods and heads over behind the counter to the sink, then fills up a glass of water for himself. He peers in the freezer for a moment, then makes a face. “Do these people not know about ice trays?”

“The ice maker is broken, she said.”

Sherlock grunts. “I’ll take the beer, then,” he says.

The two of them sit together eating for about half an hour or so before Sherlock announces he will retire and heads up to the room. Watson sits there by himself for a while longer and then gets up, washes the dishes in the sink, tosses the bottles in the recycling container, and heads up as well.

He opens the door to their room very quietly and comes in without making any sound, but Sherlock shifts in bed. “It’s alright,” he says, “I’m still awake.”

Once Watson is in his cot he looks over at Sherlock, or at least where Sherlock would be. His eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness yet so all he can make out is a lumpy outline huddled in the bed across from him. “Will the inspector need us for anything?” he asks.

“No,” Sherlock says. “I gave him the gist of it and he sent a few men down to take a look at the cave, and then when they see the body they’ll get it wrapped up.”

“And Stapleton?”

“The remains are still there. They’ll probably have to go to dental records but he should still be identifiable, I expect.”

Watson grunts. “So that’s it, then,” he says finally.

“What is?”

“Mystery solved, I mean. It was Stapleton all along.”

“It looks that way.”

“And poor Beryl?”

“What about her?”

“Why did he…do what he did to her?”

Sherlock makes a small noise and rearranges his pillow. “Who knows? Perhaps she had finally had enough of lying to him and was going to come tip us off.”

Watson shakes his head. “That poor woman.”

They lay there in silence for a while. The wind has picked up outside and something about the way it howls through the old oak tree in the village square makes Watson feel very mournful indeed.

“Goodnight, Watson,” Sherlock says.

“Goodnight, Holmes,” Watson says.

And then, the sound of the wind still in his ears, Watson rolls over and tries to sleep.

 * * *

 “Watson, wake up.”

Watson, without opening his eyes, waves a massive hand at where he thinks Sherlock is. “Go away.”

“Watson.”

“Let me sleep in,” he says.

“Watson, they’re here.”

There’s only one ‘they’ Watson knows of that would have Sherlock sounding this concerned. His eyes flash open and he sits bolt upright, staring at Sherlock. “They’re here?” he asks, and Sherlock nods and gestures to the window. Watson goes to it and starts to open the blinds, but Sherlock stops him, shaking his head. “Just peek out,” he tells Watson. “Be careful.”

Watson leans down and peers between the slats of the blind. Down below in the square the Twins’ big black car is parked, hazards flashing, halfway up on the sidewalk. As Watson watches, one of the Twins, the brother, gets out on the passenger side, talking rapidly on a mobile phone. He looks round for a moment before his eyes fix on the inn and his gaze slowly travels upwards. Watson lets go of the blinds and takes a step back. “Did they see you?” Sherlock asks. His eyes are very dark.

Watson shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, but I think they know where we are.”

“Fuck,” Sherlock snarls, casting his gaze about the room.

Downstairs, the bell rings as somebody enters the inn.

“Sherlock,” Watson says, “we have to do something.”

“I’m thinking,” Sherlock snaps. After a moment he points to the window. “Can that be opened?”

Watson goes to the window and checks it, but shakes his head. “No,” he says. “It locks and we haven’t the key.”

Sherlock curses again.

There is a knock at the door and both of them whip around. Watson looks at Sherlock. Sherlock reaches up and smoothes his messy hair out of his eyes. “Go open it,” he whispers. “But be careful.”

Watson goes to the door and reaches inside his jacket. “Who is it?” he calls.

“It’s Lestrade,” the inspector says, sounding annoyed. “Open up already, I need to talk to Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s face brightens immediately. “Thank god,” he says. “First time I’ve ever been happy to hear that man’s voice. Let him in.”

Watson throws the bolt of the door and opens it. Lestrade glowers up at him, a sallow, rat-faced imp of a man looking already peeved that he had to wait for two minutes at the door. Watson glances down the hall and sees the Twins just reaching the top of the landing. They freeze when they see Lestrade. The brother starts to put his hand inside his pockett, but his sister reaches over and tugs his hand away. She gives Watson a very unpleasant smile and starts forward.

“Come in, inspector, please,” Watson says, flashing the man a smile and moving out of the way. The inspector glowers at him and strides inside without a word, and Watson shuts the door forcefully behind him, and slaps the deadbolt shut. He stands there with his back to the door, listening, while Sherlock, a note of strain in his voice, greets Lestrade. He looks over Lestrade’s head at Watson, who shakes his head and gives Sherlock a significant look.

Next to him, the doorknob turns, very stealthily. Sherlock’s eyes flit down to it and he nods. “Inspector,” he says, grinning at the man, “why don’t you come into the study?”

Watson frowns. The study? There isn’t a study, it’s just the bedroom and an adjoining bathroom, what the devil is he -

When Watson rounds the corner he finds with a shock that there is a new door open right in the middle of the wall, which leads to a rather nice-looking study with a fireplace, a desk, and several chairs. Watson stares; even Lestrade seems a little confused. Watson wonders to himself for a moment how in the world he could have possibly missed the door all this time. Sherlock is busying himself with something at the desk inside the room. “Brandy, Lestrade?” he asks, holding up an elegant glass bottle filled with amber liquid.

“No, thank you,” Lestrade says after a moment. “I’m working. Really, I was just coming to ask what the devil you two did to the perpetrator, we came down to the cave and all that was there - besides the woman’s, er, remains - was a pile of ash and charred bones. What -“

“Inspector, please,” Sherlock says. His voice is pleasant but Watson can see a vein pulse in his temple. “Why don’t we all have a sit down and I’m sure Watson and I will be able to answer any questions you might have.”

Lestrade hesitates. Watson bends down next to the man and, very gently, puts his hand on Lestrade’s shoulder. Lestrade nearly flinches. “Please, inspector,” Watson says, keeping his voice utterly calm, “why don’t you sit down?”

“Well, I - you see, I - yes, alright.”

Watson shuts the door behind them, and before he can lock it he hears a series of clicks from the lock and the bolt and it has already locked itself. Quite a modern innovation for an inn this old, Watson thinks. When he turns round again Sherlock is putting his hand back in his pocket. Lestrade settles into one of the armchairs and glares dubiously up at Sherlock. “Now, inspector,” Sherlock says, “please, what can we assist you with?”

“Well, as I said -“

“Pardon me for a moment. Watson?”

Watson hurries over and leans down next to Sherlock. “Take the other door,” Sherlock says. “And then go and pull the car around. This ought to keep them busy but I don’t know for how long.”

“The other door?”

“Right there, Watson,” he points. Watson gives him a dubious look and starts to say something, but there is a loud crash from the room and Sherlock’s eyes widen. “Hurry!” he whispers.

“What the devil was that?” Lestrade asks, twisting around.

“Er, me, I think,” Watson says. “I was, uh, doing some reading last night and I put my book right on the corner of the nightstand. I guess it must have finally fallen over. If you’ll excuse me -“

“Now, wait just a minute -“

“Inspector, please,” Sherlock says, his voice pacific. “We’re all busy men, surely you have more pressing matters than to investigate books falling off of shelves,” he chuckles.

Lestrade pauses, then settles back into his seat, and Watson opens the other door and slips out.

The door opens, for some strange reason, onto a fire escape. Watson shuts the door softly and then bounds down the stairs, taking them two at a time. It’s the work of a moment to bring the car round, and somewhat to his surprise Watson doesn’t run into the Twins while he’s doing so. The village is still very quiet, although if they get into a fight that’s bound to change fast.

Watson honks the horn and after a moment the door at the top of the fire escape opens and Sherlock pushes a furious-looking Lestrade ahead of him. “Really, inspector, I’m very sorry, but we have to be out of the room so housekeeping can go through it,” he says, hustling Lestrade down the fire exit. At the bottom he seizes Lestrade’s hand and pumps it vigorously, clapping the man on the back. Watson shakes his head, trying to stop himself from grinning. “So very good to see you,” he tells Lestrade, completely ignoring the man’s protests, before spinning him around and pushing him gently off in the direction of the village square. Then Sherlock sprints over to the car and throws the passenger seat open, flinging himself inside. “Drive,” he tells Watson.

The door to the fire escape bursts open and the Twins come bounding down, taking the steps two at a time in their haste. Lestrade boggles at them and yells for them to stop, but they simply bowl him over. Watson throws the car into gear and reverses onto the main road, and then takes off.

“This is going well,” he remarks to Sherlock, who shakes his head, craning his neck round to look out the rear window.

Sherlock glances in the mirror; the Twins are dashing for their car. As he watches, the female Twin dives into the driver’s seat through the open window, and the lights power on just a second later. She kicks the passenger door open and the male Twin, coming up a little behind, catches it just as she starts to peel off and folds himself into the car, slamming the door behind him.

Watson grunts. “Haven’t been in a car chase in a while,” he says, and Sherlock nods.

“It’s too bad the road out of here is just a straight shot,” Sherlock says. “We’ve no opportunity to lose them.”

“We could call the cops,” Watson suggests. “They might not be too keen to do anything with the police watching. Sherlock snorts.

“Lestrade was there and they didn’t much care about him.”

“Maybe they didn’t know who he was?”

“Watson,” Sherlock says, a faint tinge of annoyance coloring his words, “this is the closest they’ve gotten in ages, you really think that calling the police will make them stop?”

Watson shrugs and stays silent, focusing on the road. There is a long gentle curve ahead before the road plunges into the forest. Watson bites his lip. “It’d be really bad if a tree had fallen,” he remarks, and Sherlock curses.

“Don’t jinx us,” he tells Watson. “Look, open the sunroof, would you?”

Watson glances in the rearview. The big black car is gaining on them. Watson is driving as fast as he dares but the twins are only about twenty or thirty feet back and getting closer every minute. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” he tells Sherlock as he thumbs the button for the sunroof. Sherlock unbuckles his seatbelt and stands up, stepping over so he’s straddling the center console.

“Whatever you do,” Sherlock tells Watson, “don’t crash the car right now.”

“I’ll try,” he mutters, edging over in his seat to give Sherlock more room. What are you -“ Watson glances over and then does a doubletake. “Where the hell did you get a cinderblock?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Sherlock grunts, hefting the cinderblock. Watson watches in the mirror as Sherlock throws the cinderblock at the Twins’ car. The car swerves out of the way and loses a bit of distance, but not much, not enough.

“Sherlock,” Watson says, voice tight, “are you sure -“

“Pass me another,” Sherlock says, in a tone that will brook no disagreement. Watson glances over and then reaches down into the footspace of the passenger side and hands up another cinderblock. Sherlock squeezes one eye shut, tracking the Twins’ car as it weaves back and forth, and then throws it.

Watson watches in the rearview as the Twins swerve in just the wrong direction and the cinderblock crashes into the windshield like a cruise missile, leaving a massive, jagged hole in the tinted glass right in front of the driver’s seat. The car oversteers and then runs off the road and into a ditch, and just like that the pursuit is halted.

Sherlock sits back down heavily and fumbles with his seatbelt, and Watson shuts the sunroof. He slows the car to a bit more manageable of a pace and then glances over at Sherlock; the young man is, as always, smoothing his untidy mop of black hair out of his eyes. “Don’t think they expected that one,” he says, watching the dwindling wreck in the right-side mirror.

“Do you think you killed her?” Watson asks.

“Oh, was Jessica driving? No,” Sherlock shakes his head. “I doubt it. It’d take more than a cinderblock to get rid of her.”

Watson glances over dubiously. “You’re awfully calm about all this,” he observes, and Sherlock sighs.

“You’d prefer it if I was having a panic attack?”

Watson just shakes his head, and then the two of them sit silently, Watson’s eyes fixed on the road and Sherlock’s watching out the window as the trees slip by. Every now and then Sherlock looks in the rearview and watches carefully, waiting for a pair of headlights to appear, but none are forthcoming.

Continue with Chapter 2

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#writing #writeblr #alt lit #sherlock holmes #lovecraft #novel #thriller #mystery

[mcfanely]

The Blessed Moon

The Celestials, gods that observe the thriving world. Be it amongst the mortals, or from a distance, their existence has a profound effect on the world. Providing day and night, warmth and comfort, safety. They are worshipped, or feared. They give blessing of their power to a select few. Yet, some people feel as though they deserve the favour of the gods, and there isn’t much they won’t do to get it. 

4304 words 

Trigger Warning: Death, Graphic Injury, Blood

The cloying sensation of muzziness and fog surrounding his mind made it hard for Cole to open his eyes, but he found that even with the confusion and the nausea that seemed to come in tandem with his gradual waking awareness; he wanted nothing more than to let his eyes slip closed all over again and let the darkness of sleep take him. 

Only, the feeling of a cool breeze running through his nightclothes, and the unusual awareness of not being in his bed anymore forced him to try and make sense of the situation. 

Cole remembered his dad putting him to sleep that night. He remembered the long day he'd had before that. Sitting around, trying to keep his four year old self from getting bored. His father, Lou, renowned performer for the God of the Sun; had taken him to work that day with the knowledge that he was to be respectful and quiet in the temple as he entertained the visitors that came by. 

Kai was a very welcoming and enigmatic deity, and some legends said that whilst he existed in the sky, shining down and providing day, allowing crops to flourish under his watchful gaze and humanity to thrive under the day that he provided; he preferred being amongst the humans. That he took the form of an assortment of animals, though mainly favoured the look of a fox. He gave light and joy to everyone and the temples dedicated to him reflected that. 

If Cole was told to sit still, he tended to do the exact opposite. Everything and anything was interesting, and the best time to sneak away and explore the Temple of the Sun was when his father was far too distracted to notice and stop him. 

He'd made sure not to touch anything, not that he'd been able to reach what seemed to catch his eye. Yet, everything seemed to. The temple rose high, towering walls and pillars that held up the structure, adorned in the brightest red tapestries that the seamstresses in the nearby villages had been able to provide. The brightest colour Cole had ever seen. Then there was the gold, glinting in the sunlight that came pouring through the open doors, along with people from far and wide. Large oaken contraptions that stayed hanging open from the tiny hours of the morning just as the sun peaked its glow over the horizon, to the late night as the final rays of its light descended and darkness took over. 

To a child, the notion that everything in that room had been built, crafted so expertly all in the name of a benevolent god that allowed them all to thrive and grow and live. It was astounding. 

For about the whole of ten minutes. 

Cole padded around the main room, explored the hallways that webbed off to the sides. Toddled past cleaners with wooden buckets of steaming water, some people dressed in some nicer tailored clothes with loaded platters of food heading straight to where the central sun dais was situated, providing food for the masses of people that came and brought with them gifts for their god. 

A few people spared him a few glances, though most workers knew who he was. They gave him small waves, smiles. Cole simply continued to gaze around each new room in turn. Until the corridor circled back around to the performance area, and he was back where he'd begun. 

And he was quickly bored again. It didn't help that his father's job seemed to stretch on for so long that it was almost like the day was stretching and making Cole's boredom and torture worse. He'd looked around, but now there was absolutely nothing to do other than sit around at the side of the room, try not to complain, and allow his dad to work. 

He must have picked a small pile of loose threads from his linen shirt when his father had come over to him. The sun had dipped, long shadows cascaded over the floor and Cole let out a large yawn when he felt himself get picked up under the arms. He rested his cheek against his dad's shoulder, and let his eyes drift closed. 

He'd come around when they'd arrived back at their home, a small place, quaint but well built. There was a large green space to the back of it, and a cobbled area to the front. Candles lit around his bedroom chased away the darkness and Cole snuggled into his bed with a soft sheet pulled up to his shoulders. His mind drifting back into the hold of sleep. 

Cole knew he hadn't woken again, he hadn't gotten up and gone outside, he hadn't pulled a stool to the window and pushed the shutters open to allow the breeze of the night into his room, then why did he feel so cold?

Why did the breeze now bite at his skin, why did he feel so bad and sickly? Why did he have the oppressive sense of wrong that caused fear to curl in his gut? 

He tried to open his eyes again, and this time it allowed a sliver of an image to get in. His head was pounding, his body was aching and he felt tears quickly prickling at the corners of his eyes. 

Cole was most definitely not at home. 

The more of his surroundings his mind decided to take in, the more his chest tightened at the fact that he didn't know where he was. Somewhere high up? The peak of a mountain? It was hard to make out anything under the faint light of the moon which was shrouded by clouds. 

There was a small fire, faintly glowing too far away to feel its warmth. Then something moved, the form of a large man, his visage covered by the night. 

The moment the man noticed that Cole was moving and awake, he stood and advanced forwards. By default and in reaction to the stranger, Cole immediately shuffled back on the ground. His night pants were muddied due to the sodden dirt and yesterday's rain, his shirt was ripped and ruined. 

And he barely moved an inch back before something stopped him. His back hit a solid blockade, a wall, or a thick pole driven into the ground, he wasn't sure?

The man knelt down in front of him, and Cole was more than close enough to see his cracked and yellowed teeth, the animal hide cloak draped over his shoulders and the wicked sharp and glinting knife on his belt. 

He whimpered, closed his eyes tightly as some tears spilled free. The man just chuckled, a rough hand clasped his chin and forced him to look up. 

He needed to get away. He had to get away, find his way back home, get to his father. Anywhere but the mountain peak. 

"Snivelling brat." the man ground out, though there was an edge of glee to his voice. "I can't believe it was so easy for me to get my hands on you. You're going to be doing something very important tonight."

The man pulled his hand away, but Cole could still feel the pain. There was bruising that would follow, should he get out of the situation unscathed.

What was happening? What had..?

Around the fog in his mind, a memory surfaced. It was distorted, and hard to make out. He remembered waking up to a figure in his room. Not his dad, his dad didn't stand that tall. Then a cloth had been pressed to his mouth before he'd even had a chance to scream, the noise only came out muffled as a sickly sweet and cloying scent rushed into his mouth and nose. His eyes had dropped instantly, his body sagging soon after. Then nothing. 

Nothing until he'd woken up freezing on a mountain top, thick ropes tied around his chest and arms to keep him in place with an unknown person in front of him.

He wanted to go home. 

He wanted to go home! 

Cole could feel the tears flowing quickly now, each one dripping from his face and hitting the ground. His nose was running, his shoulders were shaking and he couldn't move his hands to wipe it all away. 

The man just towered to full height in front of him, a monster of a man. He was bedraggled, and dirty, and he smelt foul. 

"Please, let me go!" Cole squeaked out, his tongue like lead in his mouth, "Please, I want to go home! I want my dad!" He was wriggling, pulling on the ropes. Though they weren't shifting an inch. 

In response, the man smirked and turned away. 

He began setting up a circle of small candles, thick and short, the wicks barely staying lit with each frozen whip of the wind. Cole simply watched, his breathing ragged, his voice cracking and shrill as he screamed for any help, only for the sound to echo and die in the surrounding expanse of night sky and nothingness. 

His only companion was the light of the moon which intermittently broke through the clouds. 

The man seemed to gaze up into the sky with excitement every time a moon beam helped barely light up the mountaintop. 

He was muttering to himself as he worked, moving over to the fire intermittently to collect items from a leather bound bag, sewn crudely together with thick lengths of spun wool. It seemed filled to bursting with every new item taken out of it. Strips of silver cloth, which he laid to rest over the wicks of the candles, each one beginning to burn with a glowing fervour. 

Then came the flowers, a small bunch of them but Cole knew what they were. They grew in his neighbours hanging baskets, and he'd climbed up to pick them before without permission many times. 

A white petled bud, almost a star shape. They were thin and small but there were quite a few of them. They seemed to absorb the moonlight, and give off a soft white glow. 

It was comforting, and it would be pretty, if Cole wasn't so terrified of what was going to happen.

The man stepped over once he'd looked like he was happy with the set up of his items, and placed the collection of flowers just a bit further from where his feet could reach. 

Moon blossoms. Secred datura. 

Only ever used in special rituals. Told of in stories, said to ward off evil spirits and be a gift from the moon to man. An apology, almost, for bringing darkness to the world. 

Now that the man was closer, Cole could make out what was being said, and fear coiled. He was talking to himself, in a mad fervour of words and excited cackles of glee. 

"This is the perfect night, perfect… 

A child of a disciple of the sun god, what better to use to get the attention of the moon?

They'll be so pleased. So, so pleased."

"What are you going to do?" Cole questioned, the words pouring quietly from his mouth before he could stop them. They were pitted with a teary sound, and short pulled in breaths as he spoke through the tears. 

Attention was immediately back on him, the man's eyes wide and his smile large, Cole just wished he could shrink back. Disappear into the ground, be anywhere else. 

"Gain unimaginable power."

Cole's brow furrowed deeply, his body still trembled, but if he could bide a bit of time, maybe someone would come and help him. Maybe… Maybe his dad knew where he was and he was already on his way. 

He needed to be strong, he needed to have hope. 

"How will you," He paused, swallowing around a lump in his throat, "How will you do that, mister?" 

The man seemed to perk up at the question of how, and when one hand came to rest on the hilt of his blade, Cole felt his heart stutter in his chest, even with it already racing a mile a minute. 

"You see, my boy. The gods can sometimes come to the surface, like that blasted Sun God. But they do give out power to those who they deem worthy." The man crouched down, but he was still tall enough for Cole to need to look up and see his face. Though that wasn't where his attention was focused. It was the knife, now held in the man's grasp, being twirled slowly. "They give power to people who give them gifts, help them out, or if they simply just like the particular human."

The knife was getting lifted, being brought far too close. 

Cole whimpered lightly and pressed himself back against the pole. 

"But there are some things that the gods cannot possibly ignore. Summoning gets their attention well enough." The man spread his hand back to the circle of smouldering candles. "Yet, gods cannot ignore precious and unique gifts. And tonight, my boy, the moon is at its peak. It's waxing, but bright." He grinned madly, "The moon god is watching, my patron, and when I show them how devout I am, give them such a gift, they will descend and bless me with anything I desire."

The point of the knife came to rest on Cole's throat, and in an instant his body stilled. It ran cold, but didn't move an inch. There was no shaking, tears dropped down but he didn't dare shift an inch. The point was digging in lightly, if he swallowed, if he breathed, it would do more damage. 

If the intention was injury, there wasn't much Cole could do from where he was to prevent it. 

"Please…" He whispered quietly, his pupils blown wide. "I just want to go home."

The man lent forwards, carding his fingers through Cole's hair before his grip tightened on the strands. It forced his head back, exposing his neck further. He couldn't help but shriek, the noise echoing around. The moonlight around him was harsh now, oppressive. He'd heard stories, horrible nightmare inducing tales of some of the gods in their world. Ones that didn't take material gifts, foods, crafts, gold and silver pieces. 

Some gods only accepted things that provided more power. Belief could go a long way for the deities, but there were things… 

Sacrifices, spilled blood. Tales of people never returning home, of horrifying beings that roamed the land. Searching for waylaid children, those who didn't listen to their mothers and fathers. 

Who stole them away in the night. 

All in the name of their gods. 

"You have more use here." the man smiled. 

In an instant, a powerful wind blew over the peak. The candles cascaded into darkness, one after the other. Moonlight, more powerful than Cole had ever seen it, provided light to everything around him. Silver and white. Soft. 

Cole just wanted his dad. 

"They're here." The man whispered in glee, his grip adjusting on the knife. "They're really here. The perfect night, the perfect gift. A blooming soul, for anything I desire." He said to himself, his eyes slipping closed. 

Then the knife twisted and moved, slicing in a sharp arch. Cole didn't flinch, he couldn't move. 

He remembered a cold, wet sensation, which descended into a bone deep chill. Strength left his body in an instant, slumping forwards but supported up by the tight rope that bit and burned his bare skin. 

There was a liquid dropping intermittently to the ground, his heart was pounding loudly in his ears. 

It took him a second to realise the liquid wasn't his own tears, but by then his senses were leaving him. His mouth moved, open, trying to form words. But copper simply filled the back of his mouth, preventing any noise from coming out. His vision was swimming, edged with an advancing grey fog. 

The man was still in front of him, the blade in his grip. The edge of it coated with a deep red liquid, running off its point freely. 

The moonlight strengthened around them, but Cole didn't pay it much mind. 

His fingers and toes were tingling with pins and needles, before the feeling started to fade away completely. The liquid hitting the ground was coalescing, becoming a growing puddle. It was sticky, it seeped into his shirt and pants. 

Cole barely managed a slow blink, before his vision faded fully. 

He was sure he'd seen another person on the mountain top. 

__

Summoning, for a god, was like a magnetic pull. It was there, tangible, it could be ignored but it was a present sensation. One which moved through The Moon's form as he gazed down on his favourite planet once again. 

Mortals were unusual but interesting beings. Fun to observe. They went about their nights in their homes normally, shrouding from the darkness in the safety of four walls. 

He just watched. It was what he did every night. Be it whether he could see clearly down to the world's surface or not, he just looked. Each night, a new mortal to observe. But sometimes his attention was beckoned, pulled in a certain direction. Yet it was expected whenever mortals provided gifts for him. They didn't have to, but the action of a human providing a possession of theirs in his name, The Moon couldn't help but turn towards it.

However, that night, something different happened. Something had been given to him. Something that The Moon hadn't felt in decades, centuries even. 

The copper tang, the oppressive and surrounding shroud of darkness that chilled even the god to the core. If forced anger to bloom, however unwillingly. It made his powers rile and climb, whip and scream within his form; increasing to levels that would easily be deemed by his fellow Celestials’ as anything but natural. 

Blood magic, a blood sacrifice. 

Some gods took them, thrived in the dark energy and boost of power they provided. 

The Moon, Zane, was sickened. The power felt wrong, yet it seemed into his form. Even as he descended to the planet's surface to the epicentre of the power, he could feel the energy. 

He could feel it seeping into his mind, distorting his form. Favoured silver and white robes darkening to a steeled grey. Eyes that shone blue like a perfectly pure moonbeam dulled into an almost inky blackened mockery of their true nature. 

On the mountaintop, Zane could finally see what had happened. 

See the sheer horror of the scene. 

There was a man, gazing in his direction with an incredible look of awe. His form tended to bring that out of people, but that wasn't what caught his attention. 

The bloodied blade, the man's hand with the red liquid also dripping from his fingers. The summoning circle. 

The body at its centre. 

"My… My Lord." The man bowed his head and dropped to his knees before him, his head bowed but his hands held out before him, palms up. As if he was expecting something. 

"You're truly here." He laughed, it was loud. Ecstatic. "Look upon all that I have done for you! The gift that I've given you."

Zane just stood there, his eyes never leaving the unmoving form. Clearly lifeless, skin a clear ashy grey in the dim light, red rivulets that were dried and looked as though they'd stopped flowing a while beforehand. 

A gift? 

"What have you done?" The Moon questioned, his voice carefully level, he took a small step forward.

The man looked up with a wide smile. "I provided a sacrifice for you. Power, a soul, and in return you are welcome to bless me however you see fit!" 

Bless him? Zane almost laughed as loud as the creature before him had. There was anger blooming under the surface, but it wasn't the tainted sacrifice that was causing it. 

The idea that this human… This mere mortal had taken the life of someone and thought it was what The Moon wanted? The sheer uncaring look in his eyes, the fact that he was unbothered. Unphased by what his dirtied hands had done. 

"Power?" Zane questioned, his voice echoing seemingly, even though the word was barely above a whisper. It had a ring to it, shrill and loud. 

The man knelt before him spared a wince. 

Good. But The Moon was not done. Not by a long shot. 

He stepped closer to the man and knelt before him, his back straight and greyed and charcoaled robes draping over the ground around his legs. The Moon reached forwards, his fingers resting against the monster's cheek. "You wish for power?" Zane questioned quietly. This time the reaction from the man was faster, clearer. There was pain, gritted teeth, winced eyes. 

Fresh blood was dropping, but this time it was from the man's ears. His nose. The corner of his mouth. Zane had been given a blood sacrifice, tainted abilities and power, but he wasn't above using it once provided. 

__

The moon was near to concluding its bow over the night's sky, and Zane stood back to his full height. The mountaintop was silent now, with only himself and the remnants of a disaster spread out around him.

A horror, plain and simple. Zane couldn't help but look around. Such a simple set up, so unassuming and easily done. Candles, material, fire. 

A blade. 

His attention went quickly back to the form slumped in rope, and getting closer he could feel disgust and abhorrence descend.

It was a boy. Bound, Zane could see where he'd been moving. The ground was kicked up with light trenches of shifted dirt, the ropes had left marks on his small arms. 

But the worst thing was the wound. 

He moved forwards quickly and with a wave of his hand the ropes holding him up dissolved into a puther of silver smoke, which faded just as fast. Zane was there to catch the small form, though, one hand lightly on the boy's cold cheek, another on his shoulder as he lowered him to the ground.

He wasn't moving. 

He hadn't moved for a while.

"No…" Zane whispered quietly, "No, no. So young… You're so-" He shook his head, his words catching in his throat as he crooked forwards until his chin was resting against his chest, his back bent until he was a visage of one of his followers. Bowed forwards, knees beneath him against his chest. In prayer, almost. 

Had the boy prayed? Dark skin was soft and near delicate, tiny hands with mud caked under his nails, eyes closed but if they were open they'd be unseeing. There were dried tear tracks patterning his cheeks. 

He must have been so scared…

Zane carefully brushed some hair away from the boy's face, lifting him just carefully until he was situated on his robe instead of directly on the floor. The wound took his attention.

Long and far too deep for someone so small. The edges smooth and caked in blood. It would have been slow, painful. Terrifying. Yet, before he'd even realised it, The Moon had placed his fingers just above the marring mark. 

This boy, this death, it had given him horrible power. Power that was already fading, if his robes were anything to go by. But there was some left. Mixed and diluted with his own energy, everything before him had been carried out by a mad man on a disillusioned mission to be blessed by a god. Be given power. 

Zane didn't bless people as freely as The Sun; as Kai did. Hardly at all, really. 

But if there was anyone who was deserving of it… 

He felt power flow through his hand. Firstly, into the open wound. Like silver ichor, the power seemed almost liquid, flowing beautifully. Glowing calmly. 

The skin and flesh stitched slowly back together, and the taint of blood was removed from the boys skin in turn. Yet, the power still flowed in, even when the wound had disappeared. There wasn't much power provided, not really, but it was enough. 

The boy's small form before him took on a slight glimmer, and under closed eyelids there was a sliver of light from his eyes. 

In a second, it all stopped. 

The scene went back to The Moon, knelt down on the mountaintop, cradling the boy in his arms. This poor, now blessed boy, who had laid still and unmoving for far too long. Who had been caught up in such twisted man's plan with no idea what was going to become of him. Or maybe he had known, had realised? 

The sun was edging on the horizon, the light blue of the sky chasing away Zane's deep colour of the night. 

Then finally, after too long. The sound of quiet breathing permitted the air. The boy shifted slowly in his arms, wrapped in the power of the moon and the dregs of sleep that had now overtaken him. 

Zane couldn't help but smile down at the mortal, the way his chest now moved. 

The fact that the scar was gone, but an intricate design was adorned in its place. Barely visible in the oncoming sunlight, a light blue diamond in the centre of his throat, with curled wisps of silver stretching out along either side of his neck. It was not a scar, thankfully, yet it would stand out as a physical remnant of what had taken place. 

Zane just hoped that the boy would not remember the horrors of the night, simply just the comfort and safety The Moon hoped to provide with his presence. 

He would need to leave soon, with the sun rising so fast, but he was content to wait till the last second to ensure this mortal boy slept soundly.

-

AO3

#ninjago #lego ninjago #cole #cole ninjago #cole brookstone #zane #zane ninjago #zane julien #Celestial AU #Zane is The Moon #Angst #tw: blood #tw: death #blood #death #potentially triggering #mcfanely writes #mcfanely

[evergreen-dryad]

day 7 -night/names

[aka a Rise of the Guardians AU where Khun is Jack Frost, and Baam is the Sandman.]

It is not the first time AA has seen this scene. After all, night comes everyday, as regularly as the tides and time and the sun and moon — it is nature. The dark comes, as surely as there is light.

And then come the dreams.

Gold wreaths and drapes and pours over the black night sky like sand, like water, like magic — it is a steady stream of the human unconscious, shifting and permutating every which way.

It’s beautiful. It’s one of his favourite parts of the day — something to look forward to at the end of his working hours, almost. He likes to settle down somewhere, like perched on a tree or a pole or tucked on a rooftop, and watch the show go on. It’s even better than stargazing, and almost as good as people-watching — he really pities the humans who’re missing out on this.

Strands of glittering sand stretch and flicker out near him, and he reaches out his hand. With one touch, it bursts into life — the dreams supposedly lurking underneath his skin. He wouldn’t really know. He hasn’t needed to sleep after all, not when this body never tires.

But the sight oddly comforts him every time. It’s almost always fish of some sort. Fish frolic and dance around him, bodies waving gently.

AA supposes it’s only natural that he dreams of fish — he had been born from a frozen lake after all, where his only companions would have been them. Amazing they hadn’t nibbled away his body, but hmm.

That’s the power of magic, isn’t it? He turns his eyes to the scenery, watching the dreams that drift off from heads and windows. He could just zone out like this, staff in hand sweeping to and fro, occasionally sending out a burst of cold wind here, a zap of frost there. All while his dream fish hover around him, some nudging him playfully.

Look at the almost infinite number of shapes they could take. Fairies there, flutes over here, grocery lists for this one. Aeroplanes, manta rays swooping, and … was that an elevator?

His eyes drift along the strands slowly spinning over from the dark sky — wait.

They’re all like strings, aren’t they? Then logically, shouldn’t they be connected somewhere?

It had not occurred to AA before that perhaps… there was a source for these dreams. Other than just spawning from humans, every night without fail, when most of the human population entered REM sleep.

He slowly gets up from the crouch he'd been in, walking along the power lines. His eyes track the dark cloudiness of the sky, following the golden strings to their source. Surely, there is one, a nexus from which all these interconnect.

He leaps over to the next length of cables lightly. It feels almost like chasing a rainbow — it seems like there may be an end in sight, but it turns out it's all an optical illusion.

He's a spirit now. Laws of nature don't always adhere to known physics anymore, so he feels pretty good about his chances. Plus, a walk while on the lookout for something is definitely interesting.

He takes to the sky in one large leap, using his staff as a pole vault. Something new was always much welcome in his opinion.

*

It's a bit like trying to find a needle in a haystack, he decides much later. Most people sleep at night, and of that category everyone is bound to dream sooner or later. The golden sand is everywhere, hovering over cities like a golden spider's loom.

Now, how does one look for the root of all this?

He asks this out loud to the winds in frustration. They don't answer as always, not in speech, but he can feel them wiggle and flutter along his shins as if shrugging in amusement at him.

It takes him all night to realise the dreams stretch on like huge rainclouds, following wherever the night is. (So it's not really all night.) He's just been following the trail across timezones. AA reaches up to pinch the middle of his brow, exasperated. Right, wherever the earth turns, there's night facing away from the sun, and wherever that is at least a few thousand people sleeping.

He should take it a step up. Calculate ahead. Where should he go? He hovers above a bank of clouds, thinking.

Ideally, he should travel wherever people are just beginning to fall asleep, or wake up.

(Whoever was behind all this didn't get a rest at all, did they? AA's almost sorely sorry for them — and he thought he had it bad having to work an entire season twice, for each hemisphere.)

He immediately rules out the first. There's really no telling when people go to sleep, while the majority of people usually wake up whenever the morning hits.

Well, with how much he's been chasing the dreamclouds in this particular area, dawn was actually going to hit soon. He can tell by how quiet the air around them is — the particular stillness there is when nothing visible is moving around. The witching hours.

The dreams gradually lessen, spinning off to their source. AA follows them with his eyes, watching the ribbons swirl to a faraway point in the distance.

The air of quiet preparation as the earliest workers start to silently shuffle to life.

The softest tinge lightening the horizon.

And then—

AA spots it, that last strand of gold glinting in the underbelly of a cloud. At last. Wisps flow upwards, so he flies up too.

It is near the crack of dawn, a little yolk of sun peeping out from its place on the horizon when AA sees him for the first time.

Soft light falls around them as AA —oh god— freezes, on the spot. He can't look away.

A golden cloud of sand nests above the clouds, shifting to its own tune.

And at the centre of it all—

—is a small boy in a sheet, long dark mane of hair floating around him, as he wills more fantastic shapes to life with a flick of his hands. Hair black as the night flows in the breeze, with eyes as bright and golden as the dreams he brings. A butterfly bursts into flight, two, more, around him, and—

Ah. He thinks, as the being of the night slowly turns his head and finally notices him. It's all he can think.

He doesn't know what this odd feeling settling in his chest is. It feels heavier, like snow precipitating, but he isn't... sad, as far as he thinks.

Something in him races, like magic, like snowstorm wind, when those golden eyes start at his.

This is the first time in a long time someone has seen him. Is actually looking at him, with something that doesn't feel like an ancient being peering down its nose at him. Something beyond wanting to use him.

He doesn't quite know what to do about it.

He almost, almost wants to dart away at those eyes having seen him, but he stays his ground. His mouth is dry. His mouth can't seem the form the shapes to say words, what with the way the boy stares wide-eyed (He's staring back as well, isn't he?) at him, his dark brown hair floating in waves behind him.

This is ridiculous. He shouldn't want to hide.

Yet the grip he has on his staff almost goes slack when he realises the boy is actually coming closer. The cloud of golden sand follows beneath his feet.

It's only then he realises that they're around the same height. AA forms a small smile. Gods, it was so unfamiliar to him at this point. "Hello," he says tentatively.

The boy blinks, and slowly makes a gesture with his hand. Sand follows and flicks into the image of an ear. Huh.

"Are you... deaf?" He says, grip on his staff reaffirming. He's not sure what face expression he has on right now, but it doesn't seem to have scared this one away, if the fact he's still here and attempting to communicate is any indication.

The boy tilts his head at him, brows furrowed. He seems frustrated, judging by the way his sands shift around him, and how he spreads his hands outwards. He spreads them palms out towards AA, as if waiting to receive something.

The sand reforms into various forms of script and language, all piled up and mixed up. And then into a question mark.

"You don't understand," he guesses. The boy's stare is unchanged. "I see, then." AA's hands curl over one another in thought. How does one make greetings into an image?

What can't be conveyed in language might as well be conveyed in body language, he thinks, as he holds out a hand.

"Here." His voice sounds different to himself. Familiar-unfamiliar, the gentle tone in it. "Do you know how to shake hands?" He waggles his fingers, bending his wrist. The boy's eyes follow his movement, confused. They're as gold as the sand that eternally flows behind and beneath him. AA has to smile.

Tentatively, the boy's palm rests in his, all while he glances at AA doubtfully. He turns their joined hands and grips, shaking them. "That's how you shake hands," he explains softly, other hand pointing a finger at the action, just to say something despite the boy not understanding a word.

The boy responds to his voice, anyway, with the small smile spreading over his cheeks as his grip is reciprocated.

This was strange. The boy-spirit before him was probably older than him, yet he didn't know how to speak, or couldn't? Or, was it that being a spirit mainly of dreams, he was much more attuned to images?

Or perhaps no one had ever spoken to him.

AA's hold on his hand tightened ever so slightly.

“Let’s,” he begins. “Try something out, shall we?” He pulls onto the boy’s hand so they both descend onto the sandcloud. The feeling under his bare feet isn’t too bad, he thinks as he stretches his toes. It’s something between feathery and the grit of actual sand.

The boy is definitely confused, but seems good-willed enough to let him continue. AA twirls his staff, steadying the tip of it onto the sand. It makes a mark. When he lifts it, the sand shifts over.

He glances over at him. The boy seems to get it, so he smooths over the entire movement of the cloud. It’s now as flat as a board, ready and waiting.

AA doesn’t know if this will work. From the looks of it, the boy might not know how to read the script he uses.

*

It takes a lot of tries. Fortunately, the boy is patient.

When they finally hit on a common language AA could have cried from relief. He definitely exclaimed out loud. The boy had smiled at him sheepishly.

They’re both sitting down at this point, writing with their fingers.

What is your name? He writes.

The boy hesitates, looking at him. Sandman, he writes, clearly confused. Surely you know that, is written clear in the brow of his expression, as he side eyes him.

AA shakes his head. No. He takes ahold of his hand, lightly pressing upon it. The boy's eyes widen.

Those are what they call us. Most of the world may call you that now in their stories, but they change. Only half of the world likes to mention me as an aside as Jack Frost. AA cringes a little writing that name.

He underlines the your from before, and writes: What do you call yourself?

The boy is still for a while.

Finally, ponderously, he begins to etch out the lines for his name.

Baam. AA mouths. Night. It suited him.

Baam hesitated, and then he added more letters in front of his name. This time it was lengthy. AA leant back on his haunches.

"Twenty-fifth Baam," he reads out loud.

The boy nods, seeming to glow a little from the proclamation, satisfied. A small smile sits upon his lips as he mimics the movements AA made.

~

//so. I made myself finish this part for today’s prompt, but this is just an excerpt for the larger ROTG AU. Where khunbam is the focus and will likely be slow burn?

Come talk to me about this AU lol I still can’t quite decide if Rak should be Santa XD and Wangnan the Easter Bunny?? Concrit welcome :’D

#khunbam #tower of god #tog #tower of god fanfiction #khunbamweek2020 #day 7 #khun aguero agnis #25th baam #twenty fifth baam #kami no tou #my writing #ed fics #fanfic