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amoristt · 3 years

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Grazing the Fire | IV

well hello. here i am, four years later, once again enamored with nathan enough to finally dust this baby off and pick up where i left it. im a little rusty so bear with me this chapter! much more to come <3

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language, very vague s/a mentions

want to support me? heres my kofi!

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“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?”

A few hands raise in the corners of your eye, but yours remains atop your desk. Eyes far away, mind in a murky haze and almost completely unaware. All you could focus on were the memories playing on repeat within the confines of your tired, tired brain. Hours ago, you were warm, you were comfortable. Safe.

Cheeks heated to a dusting blush when you remind yourself just how you had awoken that morning. At some point in the night, an angel had blessed you. Allowed you to wake up wrapped around none other than big, bad, Nathan Prescott. Your face nuzzled into his chest, broad but wiry hands pressed firmly over your shoulder and his arm slung over your waist to keep you against him. Thankfully you had been the first to wake up, blinking away the morning sun blazing through his blinds and painting the room stripes of gold. At that moment, before your headache came crashing down onto your skull, you were astounded by him.

Eye lashes brushing the top of his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly, chest rising and falling rhythmically. In that moment, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just a soft and peaceful slumber. It was like being the sole viewer of a magnificent painting- each stroke and detail placed just there just for you to pick out, to remember the curves and sharp edges down to the very foundation. From his unkempt hair down to the way his hand flattened onto the mattress where your indent still lived. Nathan was so beautiful like this.

For a long time you stayed there. It was as though you were afraid to move- you couldn’t bear to disturb him. You had wondered, if he was always like this, so at peace, what would he be like? Likely soft voiced, mild mannered. He’d do his school assignments without hassle and donate to the charity board. He would wander the town with his friends and listen to music in a beat up truck flying down the stretch of highway overlooking the bold, blue, and beautiful ocean. An entirely different version of himself- carefree, and a fair blue as opposed to a burning flame of red.

But, if that were the case, you’d never have gotten here. You’d never been both the outsider, and the only seeing eye. A lucky, albeit firstly unwilling witness to the display of depth before you.

It never hit you like it had quite in that moment how lucky you were.

But- just then- an alarm disturbed what serendipity existed. You nearly leapt out of your skin, clutched your hands to your chest at the sudden sound. A headache wove its way into your once untouched temples. Nathan groaned, mumbled, ‘god damn it’, under his breath, and thus his body was reanimated into life. He rubbed his eyes and he stretched, that familiar scowl coming over his eyes and lips as he took in the sunlight damn near blinding him. A polar opposite to the being you’d appreciated just moments earlier.

“Ugh, fuck, how the fuck is it seven already.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“Well good morning to you too,” You started, welcoming Nathan into the world. “‘I’m feeling pretty shitty as well.”

You said that, but really… You were more than alright. Your head had hurt, slight nausea crept into the wells of your stomach, but other than that you’re sure you were phenomenally better than you’d have been waking up whereverTate would have left your ass.

“You need to get outta here, before everyone gets up.” Nathan drawled, but he didn’t sound as urgent as you expected him to be. You’d expected him to be angry that you were still in his room, but instead he just… accepted it.

You snickered, climbing out of his throne of a bed. “Wow, you’re giving me the morning after treatment?”

“Sure am. Get outta here, whore.”

“Oh fuck you.”

You located your heels from last night, resting upright near his dorm room door. Heels didn’t sound like the most practical to sneak out of a dorm with, so you instead opted to grappling them by the straps and carrying them at your side. Hair a mess, outfit riddled with wrinkles and makeup smudged under your eyes, you stood before Nathan in all your glory. He stared at you for a long, odd moment- and you for some reason felt exposed, or even, shy.

“What?” You ask expectantly, placing a hand on your hip.

His eyes trail to your line of vision. He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how now you really do look like my morning after.”

“Yeah?” You hummed. “Find it hard to believe you get a lot of those.”

Nathan shoots you a suggestive glance. “You’d be surprised. Everyone wants a piece of Prescott.”

Surely, he was joking, or maybe he wasn’t, but you… Didn’t like hearing that. It made your stomach feel odd, uncomfortably heavy. As he stood up, reminding you how many inches he had over your size, you swallowed and cleared your throat to flush out that crappy feeling. “Well,” you started, mood having dropped. “I’m gonna go, then.”

“What got your panties in a twist all the sudden?” He asked, raising a brow and pulling some clothes from his closet, tossing them onto the bed.

The bed you two had shared.

You hated the idea of his morning afters- whoever they may be.

“Not feeling great. Probably a side effect of the roofies.” You mumbled.

Nathan breathed a laugh. “Probably.”

He seemed so calm, right now. Perhaps due to it being so early, before the outside world had a chance to remind him just why he was so uptight all the tight. Before he needed to be so uptight all the time. He really did have so many versions of himself- all of whom you were slowly becoming familiar with. Compared to the person you’d believed him to be before your run ins, you’d never have assumed someone so dangerous could be so soft as last night, as this morning. In the beginning, you’d feared him. Avoided him like a plague, or a wild animal. Even when you were enraptured in the existence of him, you still wanted to keep away. You’d never have believed someone like you could wake up clutched to his chest, as though he were afraid if he released you, you’d be gone long before he woke.

Then, a sudden thought struck your mind.

He’d held you so tight. He’d welcomed you in the morning. No anger, no annoyance. His soft laugh at your banter and taunts. How your heels were standing upright instead of tossed haphazardly into some random corner, where he’d watch your struggle to find.

How he’d stayed awake to ensure your sleep.

“So are you just gonna stand there?” Nathan called you back to reality, hands gripping the hems of his shirt. “I gotta get ready and you need to wash up so you don’t look like a five dollar stripper.” Cruel words, but with absolutely no bite. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. But, hey,” You started. “Thank you for last night.”

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta start learning to watch your own back.” He says. “There’s gonna be times I won’t be there to drag your ass out of the fire.”

If you’d been charged, if you’d been stricken with a strange defensiveness, you’d have retorted, ‘than stop helping me’, but… Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of protection. You allowed Nathan Prescott to watch you.

“I know,” You reached for the door. “Thank you.”

With that, you bounded out of the dorm silent as a mouse.

-----------

In hindsight, you should have left earlier. Class was merely 15 minutes away when you slipped out of Nathan's room and bounded towards the women's dorm. Albeit not exactly a long walk, by the time you discreetly snuck back into your own dorm, you had roughly twenty minutes to somehow pick an outfit from your countless unopened boxes and make yourself even slightly presentable.

Wiping off whatever make-up you could get and reapplying it, brushing out the tangles of your hair and nearly tearing off your scalp in the process, scattering your nightclothes over your floor and managing to scrounge out a semi-decent outfit for the day… You still looked a mess. If the mirror could laugh, it would have. Black mascara smudges under your eyes and frizzy untreated hair. What a lovely look.

You’d made it to class just five minutes late, but those five minutes were all it took for all eyes to be on you as you tried to slide into the classroom unnoticed. A couple classmates whispered to their table mates as you passed by, smelling of oversaturated cherry blossom perfume to hopefully cover the scent of alcohol. You sauntered to your seat and sank down with all your weight, suddenly exhausted. You’d made it with just five minutes tainting your record of attendance. The teacher greeted you with a disappointed sigh, and thus, the day began.

But, it was so hard to focus. All you could think about was Nathan.

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?”

You lowered your head.

“Ah, how about, ___?”

You snaked back into reality, blinking up at the chalk board that was somehow already riddled with math equations. Since you hadn’t been paying attention even in the slightest, your mouth gaped wide open, eyes scanning for something you understood even slightly so you didn’t look like a total idiot.

Sadly, you were out of luck. The teacher shook his head. “I’m shocked,” He said. “You're normally so on top of things. Oh well.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was on top of things,” A female voice sniggered behind you “Last night.”

Your face flushed a red, hot, ruby. What the hell was she talking about? How had they found out you were with Nathan? You were so sure of being sneaky, there was no way-

“Her and Tate totally got it on last night.”

You whipped around in your seat, facing girls who looked to be clones of some sort. Both with the same dark eyes, short brown hair, and freckles. “What?”

“Alright-” Your teacher blurted. “That's enough. April, May, enough. Let’s not discuss things outside of the classroom.”

The two girls batted their eyes. “Sorry sir.” One spoke, twirling a hand through her hair. Her sister's wide toothy grin never fumbled.

“Back to it then. Kate, can you help out __ with number four?”

The small, blonde girl nodded quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her eyes and offering an empathic nod.

As you turned around in your seat, her answer fell on deaf ears. Your heart was racing in your chest, hands balled into fists while you stared ahead blankly.

They couldn’t seriously think that you chose to leave with Tate, could they? Surely someone must have seen the state you were in. Someone other than Nathan.

The clock ticks forward but time feels like it's passing almost unnaturally slow. With just 10 minutes left, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

‘Nathan: consider ur favor officially returned

Your tongue poked from your lips, the tiniest of smiles taking over your once sullen features. Terrible thoughts and worries flew out the window while you type back, ‘damn. here i was gonna to ask you to do a backflip off the roof with me. there goes my plans.’

Nathan types for a moment. Typing, stopping, typing again.

‘Nathan: soundz like a blast. where and when?’

A small blush heats your cheeks. ‘very funny. thanks to last night i have an entire 24 hour session of studying to catch up with.’

His response is almost instant. ‘Nathan: boringgg. txt me when ur fun.’

Rolling your eyes, you shove your phone back into your pocket. It seems you’ve been able to secure enough of a friendship with him for some mindless banter even outside your little visits. You smile. He’s… Fun to talk to. Surprisingly.

Class comes to an end and you start to pack up the books and papers you’d hardly even glanced at the whole period. Whatever had been upsetting you before is lost in your mind while you think of the morning, the night before. All the things in-between. But, your happiness doesn’t last long. As you get up, you’re almost forced right back into your seat as a weight shoves into your shoulder. Your books scatter to the floor. April, the one who’d remarked about you earlier, glares at you in what looks to be disgust.

“Careful April,” Her sister hums as she saunters past you, keeping distance and raising her already shrill tone of voice. “Might wanna watch where you’re walking- I’d hate for you to catch something from this slut.”

You absolutely gawk at her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

April scoffs. “Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t know what you were up to last night.”

“Sleeping around isn’t a good color on you.” May hikes her bag over her shoulder and snickers at you. They both leave the class together, sickeningly in sync. You’re left stunned where you stand, unsure how the hell your life came to this so quickly. How you’ve stooped so low that the daughters of the world's most uncreative parents are able to bully you based on something that didn’t even happen.

Next class goes no better. The person to your right, a jockey looking brunette guy, asks, ‘have you ever heard of a Tate?’. You say no, that that’s the dumbest name you’ve ever heard. The idiot grins and goes back to marking down likely wrong answers on his test sheet and you debate kicking the leg of his chair out- but you don’t to avoid even more eyes on you. It makes you sick to your stomach- even more than recovering from the roofies does. How can everyone believe it? You barely even knew the guy and you were clearly uncomfortable with his advances. No one saw that?

After everything you’d worked for to build a reputation, trying so hard to not call out peoples shit for the sake of seeming friendly, tainted over something that didn’t even happen? And the kicker was that it hadn’t even been your fault! He’d drugged you, he’d have taken advantage of you! Yet you were the bad person?

Class came and went in the blink of an eye this time. Your mind wrapped up in the situation, your stomach churning. You wanted the day to be over with but you still had 4 more classes to suffer through. Why was this happening to you? Was Tate being treated just as horribly, or was he getting pats on the backs of his unaware friends?

Wandering down the halls to your locker, you noticed Lance and Kaz hanging around one of the drinking fountains. Your nerves quelled- your friends would surely make you feel much better. Especially since they had witnessed how awful you were feeling as you left. You approach with a relieved smile, ready to say your truth and finally have someone on your side.

“Hey guys.” You smile, but Lance looks down at his feet while Kaz places her hands to his hips. Your smile fades.

“You could have told us you were gonna spend the night with Tate,” Kaz snaps. “You didn’t need to lie like that just to leave. We were all worried about you and it was for nothing.”

“What?” You feel like you could cry. “No, Kaz, I really did try to leave. Tate tried to drug me and take me home, and-”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lance interrupts, with a frown. He looks back down at the floor with knitted brows. “I’ve known Tate since before time. He wouldn't do something like that, especially not to one of my best friends. Plus he told me he was really into you. Why would he even try?”

“Are you serious?” You sputter. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“You’ve been lying about all sorts of things!” Kaz huffs. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been so distant, and secretive. What are you hiding that’s making you lie like this? We’re supposed to be your friends and then you lie to our faces just to go and fuck the first guy that shows you attention.”

“What…?” It was like acid. It was like the rug had been pulled from your feet sending you spiraling down the unending cliff. Kaz, your best friend, all that venom. How could they turn against you like this? What the hell is going on? You felt your throat tighten. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, but I’m not lying to you, I-”

“We gotta go.” Lance isn’t in the mood to hear it. “We’ll catch up to you.. Some other time.”

Kaz says nothing as she pushes past you. Lance, at least, spares a short glance over his shoulder. You stood there alone in the hallway, your bag falling off your shoulder and clattering onto the floor with a thud echoing off the walls. Everything you had, all gone at once.

No one believed you.

---------

With nowhere to go where you felt like you could truly allow yourself to process the day's events, you went to the only place you knew.

Just outside of campus, where rocks lined the edge of the boundary, overlooking the outskirts of the town and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. You settled yourself there, staring at the vast waters and wondering how this had all happened. Unlucky didn’t even begin to cover how it felt. Not only did you feel violated with Tate attempting to do unthinkable things with your unconscious body, but you also felt alone, and walked on. Your best friends hadn’t believed you. While Lance seemed saddened, Kaz was so… Angry. Her words cut like knives into your skin.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this.

You want to talk to Nathan, but knowing him, he’d see your state and bounce instantly. After all, this isn’t exactly very fun of you.

As the sun began to fall, splaying orange and blues over the wide open sky, behind you, you could hear voices. A group of them, some male, some female. Memories of when your notebook had gotten snatched by those two horsed face assholes came flooding back and with all your alertness, you stood up, and decided that this sitting place was no longer safe. Nothing was.

Before you even made it ten feet away, the group had found their way to your spot and gotten comfortable, one of the girls cheering, ‘this’ll be our hangout! look at how pretty the view is!’

You took a short drive down the stretches of road and decided that if you were going to lament in your own sadness, you were at least going to do so in a place that had something to cover the sound of your tears. Plus a nice view.

The beach, littered with its picnic tables and the sounds of crashing waves would suffice just fine. So, you pulled in the desolate parking lot and wandered down the sandy shores until you stumbled upon a picnic table shaded by a large willow cascading lushious branches to block out the sun- a perfect canopy for you to wallow under.

You had nothing at that moment. No friends, no reputation, no one to believe your tragic tale. And now, you’d just lost the one spot that made you feel comfortable when stress was building into your body like concrete. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip, dreading that feeling of a lump in your throat. Why you? Everything had been going so well. How could not even a single person believe that Tate had tried to hurt you?

Well, actually, there was one person.

Of course Nathan believed you. He’d been the one to rescue you, after all. Time and time again it seemed. How was it that even the ones closest to you would turn their back so fast, yet Nathan seemed to be there even when you didn’t want him to be? Even when you yelled at him, and he yelled right back, fire and sparks falling into embers around the two of you.

In that moment, you almost felt like you could finally relate to him. A reputation based on lies and things out of your control, paired with a hardheaded attitude to try and combat all the assumptions.

No wonder he was so angry.

“Hey bitch,” A voice suddenly called, and you had a split second moment where you were terrified of once again being the victim of a cruel prank or some classmates boredom. “How about next time you have a pity party you don’t fucking call me in the middle of it.”

You blinked away your tears and through the blurriness saw a figure coming towards you. All that sass, the tone...

“Nathan?” You breathed. It only takes moments before he’s in front of you, holding his phone in view, seeing that the call that had been running for nearly ten minute. You flush in embarrassment, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “How did that happen?”

“Well, can your ass dial numbers?” He taunts, ending the call.

“Damn it, dumb phone must have butt-dialed you. I knew I should’ve gotten a different one.” You mentally kick yourself. “It must have unlocked in my pocket.”

“You don’t have a password on your phone?” He taunts. When you shake your head, he whistles. “You are just begging for a robbery. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the mood to send random messages to all your buddies.”

“Fuck off.” You scowl, and he grins, hopping up on the picnic table next to you. The sun flatters his skin. He’s almost glowing.

“Speaking of buddies, how the hell did it pick my number out of your sea of friends?”

You shrug. “Probably cuz’ it’s a priority contact.”

“Oh lala, I’ve been upgraded to priority huh? Does it display a superman logo whenever you give it a ring?”

“Nope. When I press call it rings the nearest asshole in my vicinity. The fact that it’s you is your own problem.”

“Haha, fucking ha.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares out at the water, watching waves pull and crash onto the beach. It’s almost beautiful, until he ruins it. “Yknow, you’re a really ugly crier.”

“Wow, thanks.” You shake your head. “That's exactly what I needed to hear right now. Why did you even stay on the line?.” Wiping your eyes, you start to forget your tears. “Couldn’t have been that wild of a conversation.”

Nathan shrugs. “Between the crying and the sound of the waves it was pretty nice.” He grins. “Very educational.”

“Awesome. Glad I was able to make your day.” It doesn’t feel like your usual bitey remarks. You’re tired, you’re still a little hurt and you can’t stop thinking about how such an amazing morning had turned into such a horrible day.

“So what’s got you all fucked up? Never seen you act like this big of a baby before.”

“Nothing. You already paid off your debt to me per this morning, so feel free to resume our regularly scheduled mutual hatred.” You say, lying through your teeth. You know you’re both past the point of hatred, but you’re feeling jaded, you can’t help it.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” He groans. “I didn’t drag my ass all the fucking way out to this shit hole of a beach just for you to give me that bullshit. What, did you fail a test? No one matched you on tinder?”

“Everyone thinks me and Tate slept together last night.” You blurt. “I think he’s telling people me and him had sex.”

Nathan tenses his shoulders and grimaces. “Fucking werido.”

“I told my best friends that he tried to take advantage of me and they don’t believe me. One of em’ even said he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck em’. Who needs best friends.”

“And to make everything so much better, these two bitches that I share four of my classes with harassed me all goddamn day. I mean, fucks sake, how the hell are girls named April and May of all things able to get to me. It’s bullshit. And to make matters worse, Tate is just… Getting away with it.”

“Yeah well, something tells me that Tate’s gonna get a real nice fucking taste of medicine eventually. I just gotta find him first. He’s got a lot of nerve spreading shit around given I knocked his ass onto the pavement.” Nathan brows knit at the memory.

You test the waters. “Why would you do that for me?”

He seems caught off guard, or maybe, surprised that you’d ask. Maybe he thinks you’re both beyond that point. He grumbles, “Why does it matter.”

“I’m just curious. We don’t owe each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” He huffs. “Don’t ask me questions to shit I don’t know the answer to.”

“You say that an awful lot.” You tease.

“Yeah well you ask dumbass questions an awful lot. Not everything I do has to have some weird ass motives behind it, ___. Maybe I’ve got beef with Tate that’s outside of you.”

“Uhuh. Sure.” You’re about to say something else, when your phone lights up with a text. The display makes your heart fall all over again.

Unknown Number: you should just pack up and go somewhere else. no one wants std’s from breathing your air xoxo

You don’t even know who that is. Now absolute strangers are on your case. You want to throw your phone into the ocean and leave.

Nathan scoffs. “Don’t even bat a fucking eye for that bitch, whoever the hell they are. Half the hoes you’ve mentioned have slept with half the football team,” he pinches his jacket, “and I would know.”

“Ew, Nathan,” You grimace, that same feeling from the morning returning. It feels, oddly, like jealousy. He nudges your arm with his elbow and grins playfully. It’s cute.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with you. You gotta know even I wouldn’t fuck girls that desperate. I’m a man of class.”

That last comment actually forces a laugh from you. It’s soft, but it’s real. The first laugh you’ve genuinely had all day. “That’s horrible.” You remark, giggling again.

It's almost like the slight restoration of your mood puts him at ease as well. He leans back on his hands and stares off into the ocean, those sparkling waters under the setting, orange sun. “I’m for real though. Those hoes aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shithole of a town they’re not even gonna matter.”

Your brows knit, eyes blinking up at him. Had you heard that right?

“We?” You ask, perplexed, albeit a little… Hopeful.

Nathan sputters. “Well- Like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it's fine.” You interrupt. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna blow this town and they’re just gonna be some shitty memories.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. You’ve never heard him scramble like that, like he’s been unmasked. The look he casts you when you agree, when you don’t tease or patronize and finally hop on the idea that yeah, what if the two of you really didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

What if the two of you could just exist, without the anger.

You look up at him. “Would you actually do that though?” You start. “With me, of all people?”

He swallows. His expression is tense, but he’s not upset. He appears nervous, caught off guard. Nathan tries, “I-”

Your phone rings. Shrill, piercing. Mood destroying.

“Jesus Christ, it’s my mom.” You grab your phone and Nathan looks forward, stone faced and silent as you hop off the table and answer. It’s your mother, who all but shouts into the phone that her and your father are taking a surprising visit to Arcadia Bay while they’re traveling by on their vacation. She insists that you be ready in about an hour for dinner, and likely there will be family photos.

Which means if you still look as wrecked as you did this morning, you’re gonna have a lot of washing up to do. With a quick goodbye, a short and sweet, ‘love you’, you hang up and sigh.

“You still tell your mom you love her?” He teases. “What are you, five?”

You frown. “You don’t tell your parents you love them?”

Nathan side eyes you, and just shrugs. It is all the answer you need, really, and for his sake you decide it wouldn’t be best to press the issue. Not now. But- it still makes your heart hurt just a little. You wished that he’d had it better growing up.

“Right… Do you want a ride home?”

“Fuck no, what am I,” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “a fucking girl scout?”

“I was just offering, weirdo.” When he doesn't get up, you feel like you’re missing out. Like if you stayed, maybe, just maybe, you’d get to know him a little better. “Hey, if you want, I can stay for a bit longer.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re needed elsewhere. But,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuckin’... Text me or something. Or not, I don’t care either way.”

There’s a small warmth in your chest that rises to your cheeks. He wants you to text him. “Yeah,” You say. “If I’m feeling fun.”

And with that, you bid him farewell, beginning your descent to the parking lot.

“Hey,” He calls, and you turn just in time to catch a small item he’s tossed right at you. A tiny key resides in the palm of your hand. “Spare. If shit hits the fan again-...” He shrugs, and actually looks away. “Just don’t be too fucking loud of I’ll kick your ass out myself. No Madison needed.”

The widest grin plays over your lips. “I’m gonna re-decorate your room while you’re gone.”

“Ah, you fucking better not.” He shouts. “Actually- you know what, give it back.”

“No, no! I’m sorry.” You play with the key between your fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose it and remember- emergencies only. I don’t need you watching me sleep like fucking freak. We’re past that stage.”

“How many times will I have to say I was never watching you. Christ… But, alright. See ya, then.” The key is heavy in your palm.

You place it into your pocket and give him one last glance before you take off, leaving him to enjoy the sound of waves, birds, and the absence of your tears.

#nathan prescott #nathan prescott x reader #life is strange #grazing the fire #scenario #fanfic #fluff

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thora-jane · 3 years

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Twin-Way Mirror (Pt iv)

Series Summary: You've been friends with the Weasley twins since your first train to Hogwarts, but as the three of you start your 6th year, you start to question if your feelings go beyond friendship.

Summary for Pt 4: You begin to feel something is truly off about the twins as you all start to get ready for the world cup

Warnings: gets the slightest bit spicy, someone briefly isn't wearing a shirt but nothing happens lol

Word count: 2,637

female!reader, 2nd person POV

(a/n): We're back to Twin-Way Mirror BUT! I'm still taking requests! I think it'd be awesome to make some stories any of you want to see! Don't be nervous to reach out and send me an ask! Please!!!! I sit in the college cafeteria every morning for hours needing something to do!!!!! Love you all and hope you have a ~magical~ day <3

***

“(Y/n)! (y/n), get up!” Hermione whispered, shaking your shoulders lightly, “We need to get ready to go, could you wake up the twins? I need to get the other boys.”

You nodded, eyes not fully open as you sat up in bed and stretched. By the time you had rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and looked around, Hermione was already gone. Crawling out of bed, you looked over at the twins. Both of them were still fast asleep, and you tried to recall exactly how heavy of sleepers they were.

“C’mon, fellas, we gotta get moving,” You mumbled, nudging the one nearest to you. When there was no response, you sighed. Sitting down on their bed next to them, you leaned over and tucked his hair behind his ear. Freckles. Taking a deep breath, you placed your lips next to his ear. Without whispering, you woke him up, “Oi, Georgie Porgie. Get up, we need to go soon.”

You felt his leg kick out with a start as he bolted upright, his eyes snapping open and looking around before he saw you. You tried to hold back a smile but failed, and with an exasperated groan he grabbed your shoulders and yanked you over to him. You let out a little yelp as he wrapped his arms around you and yawned.

“How dare you,” he paused, squeezing you as he stretched out his legs, “waking me up in such a violent manner! Do you not care about my beauty sleep? It takes a lot of work to be the better looking one!” this got you to laugh, but not long after that a pillow came flying towards your face. George ducked, turning the two of you to shield you from the impact, “Careful love, I think we’ve awakened the savage beast,” He winked down at you before getting hit with another pillow.

“Savage beast? Speak for yourself Georgie. (y/n), where’s my good morning kiss? I dare say I feel a bit cheated,” Fred pouted. You wriggled out from George’s arms and threw a pillow back at Fred before walking to your trunk and taking out some clothes.

“Bold of you to assume George would even get a ‘good morning kiss.’ And if the two of you don’t get up you’re not going to get a good morning, period. Now c’mon, Hermione said we’d be leaving soon,” You picked up the pillow from your cot and threw it so it hit one of them, then ran out of the room before either had the chance to reciprocate your actions.

You changed as quickly as you could and combed your hair. You knew you didn’t have a whole lot of time to spend in the bathroom with a house full of people, but as you splashed your face and let the cold water drip off your nose, you started mulling over everything that had happened since you got here: Being carried into the house, Fred and George’s jokes about the handsomer twin, the moments where you’d make one of them go quiet, not to mention Fred kissing your forehead last night. It was all rather odd, really. You wondered if Hermione or Angelina would have anything to say about it. After drying off your face and deciding that talking to the girls about it wouldn’t hurt, you left the bathroom and headed back to put your pajamas back in your trunk. Apparently you were too used to having a room to yourself, as you opened the door without knocking.

That was a mistake.

“Bloody hell, (y/n)!” you heard one of them exclaim before you slammed the door and clamped your eyes shut. You weren’t sure which twin was still in their room, but whichever it was, they hadn’t exactly finished changing their shirt. A second later the door swung open again and you did everything in your power to not look up at them again.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry,” You winced, trying to duck below their arm and get through the doorway without touching them. He only laughed, and turned to watch you tip-toe through the bedroom out of embarrassment. Walking back towards the door and staring at your feet (either out of embarrassment or fear that he’d see your face turning as red as his hair) you had nearly made it out before he stuck out his arm to block you.

“I’m so sorry, I really am,” you stammered out again, still trying to avoid his gaze, “I forgot to knock and I thought you two had gone downstairs and-”

He only chuckled to himself, “It’s alright, (y/n), nothing that hasn’t happened before, and certainly not something that won’t ever happen again, right?”

At this you looked up, utterly confused, “I’m sorry, what?” you caught a glimpse of his jumper, green with a large letter ‘G’ knitted into the front.

“Oh, uh…” he paused, scratching the back of his head, “I only mean that...I’ve been walked in on before and...It’s bound to happen again and...well better me putting my shirt on than something else, right?” he offered a laugh, but after hearing his words leave his mouth it came out more like a wince.

After some hesitation you gave a weak smile, then nodded, “Right, yeah,” he coughed, and you looked down at your feet before pointing out to the hallway, “Let’s get going, then.”

***

The seven of you left the burrow just as the sun had started to rise, George and Fred had been walking with the other boys, passionately talking about who would win the quidditch match and debating what bets to place on which team. Meanwhile, you lagged behind with Hermione and Ginny. When you were sure the twins couldn’t hear you, you leaned over to Hermione and whispered.

“Have you noticed anything different about them lately?” you nodded to the gang of boys ahead of you.

“Well...Harry did mention having a bad dream last night. And he woke up with his scar hurting. We’re not sure what it is but-”

“No I uh...I meant the twins,” You interrupted, shoving your hands in your pockets as you watched them walking ahead of you. Merlin, they had gotten taller, they were practically twice as tall as Ginny and had to walk with their heads ducked so they wouldn’t be hit by any passing branches. One of them (George, you could see the top of the ‘G’ on his jumper from underneath his jacket) was walking backwards. He caught on that you were watching him, and his face lit up before he stuck out his tongue. You waved back, but quickly turned back to Hermione, “Something just seems a little different.”

“Well they’re much taller than the end of last term, and I suppose their hair has gotten a bit longer since the last time you three would have seen each other,” she thought aloud.

“I’m well aware of that,” you said, tucking your hair behind your ear in hopes that your hand shielded any blush on your face.

“And they are quite excited about the match today, if that means anything,” she added, tilting her head, “But other than that I haven’t really been paying much attention. Why do you ask?” she turned to you, curiosity in her voice.

“They talked about you practically all summer,” Ginny butted in, “Every other thing they said was (y/n) this and (y/n) that,” She stood up as tall as she could and tried to copy their voice to the best of her ability, “Blimey, Freddie, I sure wish (y/n) was here. You know she would appreciate our refined taste. Oi Ron, (y/n) wrote to you, the least you could do is say hi back to her! Look everyone, (y/n) sent me a letter! (Y/n) sent me a letter! Did Eros stop by, mum?” she sighed, shaking her head, “You’d think you were the only person in the world! No offense, of course. They spoke about you like you were some great celebrity.”

“Did they really?” You asked, rather puzzled as you looked back up towards the twins. George turned around again and gave you an exaggerated wave, with Fred following suit.

Ginny picked up her pace to catch up with the others, but before Hermione could do the same, you grabbed her hand, “I walked in on George this morning.” You almost blurted out.

“What?” she asked, rather shocked. You shushed her before she had the chance to say anything louder and draw attention.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose” you said in your defense, “I just opened the door and he wasn’t wearing-”

“I don’t want to know!” she interrupted in a harsh whisper, but after a moment she asked quickly, “What happened after that?”

“I slammed the door shut and probably turned as red as a tomato. Then when I went back in he sort of awkwardly made a joke about it, but he didn’t seem too bothered? He just wasn’t wearing a shirt, so it could have been way more...you know…awkward.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Well that’s for sure. (y/n), I haven’t the slightest idea what to tell you. You know George better than I do and by the looks of it, he doesn’t seem to be the least bit bothered,” She started to pick up the pace of her walk to catch up with the rest of the group, and you did the same.

“Hurry up kids, we’re nearly there!” Mr. Weasely called out over his shoulder as he ducked under another branch, “Ah, Amos!”

A man who you assumed was Amos Diggory smiled and loudly greeted Mr. Weasley, the two of them talked and exchanged a brief conversation about the weather before you heard Mr. Weasley ask, “Where is your son? Cedric, right?”

Cedric. That’s where you had heard the name Diggory before. Griffyndors and Hufflepuffs shared a potions class last year, and the two of you had been assigned as partners. He was a rather nice boy, and although the two of you didn’t exactly become best friends, you always waved to each other when he passed you in the hallways.

After making his grand entrance of jumping down from a tree, he greeted everyone with a simple nod. It was then that you caught his eye and he jogged over to walk beside you.

“(y/n), I didn’t expect to see you here. What a pleasant surprise if you don’t mind my saying so,” he smiled, and you could have sworn you saw Hermione and Ginny give each other a look out of the corner of your eye.

You nodded, “Yeah, the Weasleys were nice enough to invite Harry and I. How has your summer been, Cedric?” You looked over at him, trying to ignore the twins entering a small shoving match a few feet away.

“Oh it was quite nice, and you?” Cedric was always so polite, and that had proved helpful in potions with Professor Snape. The class was by default unbearable; the cold and dark and dank dungeon, Professor Snape’s face always glaring down at you over your shoulder, his comments on your insufferable eagerness to learn magic, on most days having Cedric as your partner was what made the actual class time worthwhile.

“Ah yes, the dynamic potions-brewing duo reunited once again.” Fred interrupted, slinging his arms over you and Cedric’s shoulders, startling both of you.

“It’s nice to see you too, George,” Cedric smiled, looking rather ruffled by the surprise.

“That’s not George,” you corrected, swinging one arm over Fred’s shoulder and the other over George beside you, nodding your head in his direction, “this one’s George.”

Cedric looked over at you in casual awe, “how do you do it, (y/n)? How do you tell them apart?”

You pulled the three boys closer, throwing your head back with a laugh, “Well it takes some practice. But it’s actually quite simple, you see-”

“Hurry up now! All of you! Gather round, it’s almost time!” Mr. Weasley called out, getting the four of you to jog up to join the group gathered around an old boot. George turned his head to Cedric, but didn’t take his eyes off you, “Come now, Ced, a magician never reveals his tricks.”

You looked back at him, pressing your back to his chest to reach out and place your fingertips on the boot, “Georgie, we’re all magic.”

Before he could respond, you felt your whole body’s weight lurch forward and your feet leave the ground, gravity hooking around your abdomen as the group of you took off spinning. At one point, you felt you were going to go flying off away from everyone. George must have felt this two, and you felt his arm wrap around your waist and pull you closer. You thought you heard Mr Weasley shout for all of you to let go, and before you could process what it was he was saying, George let go of the boot. You felt him fly away and, with his arm still around you, you were yanked off with him.

The two of you landed with an oof, your back still pressed against George’s back. You could hear him groan from beneath you as you rolled off him and scrambled to your feet, turning back around and offering out a hand to help him up. He smiled weakly, squinting up in the bright light as he reached out and grabbed your hand.

You weren’t sure what to blame, his arms strong from playing beater for Quidditch the past four years, or how you were still dizzy from your ride through the portkey. But what you did know was one moment you were standing, offering to help him up, and the next he had pulled you back on top of him.

The two of you froze, not breaking eye contact. You could see the horror grow on his face and blush creeping up on his ears. And, by the feel of it, your face was about the same. Neither of you moved or said a word until you thought you overheard Fred groan and Cedric laugh from over to the side.

“Sorry!” He cried out, a bit embarrassed as he shoved you off him and got up to his feet, now offering his hand to pull you up, “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

You reached up, clearing your throat as you tried to not look flustered. You weren't quite prepared for how quickly he tugged your arm though. Once again the two of you found yourselves rather close, your chests pressed together from how quickly he pulled you up.

“Oi, you two!” Fred called from behind you, grabbing your hand and pulling you along with him, “We’re gonna lose the others if you two don’t stop rolling around in the grass.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder and jogged to keep up with Fred’s big steps. You could see the big goofy grin on his face and couldn’t help but laugh. You’d seen the twins excited over pranks, but this was a different kind of excited; innocent, wide-eyed, wholesome (or as wholesome as the twins could get). Watching his face strain from all his smiling, you couldn’t help but laugh. He looked down at you with a sort of glint in his eye you couldn’t remember seeing before and he let out a chuckle as he loosened his grip ongeo your hand and spun you around.

“I don’t suppose you’ve been to a quidditch match outside of school. Have you, (y/n)?” He asked, keeping his hand in yours and swinging your arms back and forth.

“No, I don’t suppose I have,” you answered, “but I can’t wait.”

#fred wealsey fic #fred weasly x reader #george wealsey imagine #george x y/n #george weasley #george x reader #fred x y/n #fred weasley #george wealsey x reader #harry potter #hogwarts #fred and goerge weasley #weasley twins #requests anyone?#requests are open #requests open

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Text

For You

Warnings: vampire, feeding blood, IV, drawing blood, forced drugging, passing out/collapse, blood loss, delirious state of consciousness, hallucination, death thoughts, fever, starvation, pills, forced medication

There was no strength left in their body. No strength to run, no strength to fight, and absolutely no strength to take care of them.

Villain laid on the cool, wooden floor of their bedroom, too weak to do much more than periodically twitch their fingers. Their eyes drifted closed every once in a while, only to open when they remembered that Hero was starving in the bes above them.

Villain rolled over onto their stomach, the motion causing the world to contort and waver into a dizzying pallette of pastel colors. They breathed deeply, gathering their arms underneath them before heaving themself up and into a sitting position.

After about five minutes of sitting there with their eyes squeezed shut, trying not to sway from their taxing position, Villain reached forward and grabbed the IV off the night stand.

"V-villain," Hero murmured. Villain cast them a long glance. Their nemesis was hardly conscious on the bed, starved and heavily drugged. Villain gulped. They didn't want to keep them sedated like this, but they would try to kill Villain otherwise.

"Sorry," Villain slurred, their voice was as fragile as Hero's.

"Mmn," Hero groaned and slightly opened their mouth, awaiting the meal. Villain gave a small nod that nearly caused them to fall back onto the ground. They put a tube into Hero's mouth then inserted the needle into their own wrist.

Within a second, the delirious and greedy vampire started to gulp frantically. Villain's bottom lip trembled as they felt their limited blood supply diminish.

After only thirty seconds, Villain began to feel incredibly light-headed and contemplated whether or not to stop Hero's feeding. But one look at the desperate face made Villain decided on the former- just a minute longer.

"Hmph," Villain gasped as they slumped forward onto the bed, their consciousness wavering. With shaky hands, they clutched the needled and deftly drew it out of their vein before falling completely unconscious.

Villain drifted between sleep and wakefulness for a while, still collapsed on Hero's bed. During their brief stints of consciousness they woule remind themselves of Hero's next dose, but couldn't bring their depleted body to do so.

They feel vaguely feel the awakening Hero stirring under their body. Villain pushed themselves backwards, planning on standing fully up and going about their day, but their body had other plans. They fell back, hitting their back against the ground as the world was submerged in a dark shade of ebony.

"Villain! Open up!"

Villain moaned and tried to peel their eyes open, but they were too heavy.

The voice- it was a voice, they were sure- came again, "Villain. You need help, open the door!"

Villain didn't need help, they were sure of it. Hero did- Hero needed to eat and Villain was able to take care of them. For them.

"For you," Villain whispered, almost like the faintest breeze.

Their fingers curled into the hard ground. They were aware of the floor's cool features, but oddly it felt warm. Too warm.

Villain forced their eyes open and saw a trickle of blood coming out of their veins from where the IV was still attached. They were so certaib that they removed it and seeing it felt like a rock was dropped into their stomach.

Villain tried to reach over and pull it out, but failed, letting out a strangled sob as they tried to call upon their healing powers. Using them made them completely exhausted, but it kept them and Hero alive.

Villain, after a few agonizing seconds of calling their power, finally felt a comforting tingling through their fingers as their body created some blood. It was low in oxygen and lacked all the necessary and vital functions that blood cells carried out, but it did a decent job at feeding Hero.

Villain sighed in relief as the new warmth spread throughout their body, drawing them back into sleep...

Villain woke rather unpleasantly. They were only aware of the heat gathering in their head and the fact that they were cold- oh so cold. They moved their hands about, testing their environment, but was quite confused at the outcome. Wet. They were wet and cold.

Villain cracked open an eye and looked around. White walls with small shelves that held various bottles. Looking down, they saw tiny glaciers floating around a small expanse of artic water.

Suddenly, they tensed, scared and completely convinced that they were indeed trapped in a frigid ocean.

"Shh," came a voice, foggy and distant as if Villain's ears were underwater. Maybe they were, Villain couldn't tell for panic consumed them.

So Villain continued their struggles even as ropes wrapped around their head pulling them against hard surface. A boat. They were going to be crushed by a boat. They kicked and resisted the ropes that tied them so tightly against the imminet danger.

"Let me go!" Villain yelled, pushing away. The ropes let go, cut away by the knives that threatened to slit Villain's throat.

The term "knives" was literal. There wasn't just one silver dagger, but five, all working to free Villain before they decided to end the suffering person themself.

Those knives grabbed Villain's bare chest, right above their heart as they were pulled right back against the boat.

"Villain. You need to calm down. You have a fever, you are safe, okay? So is Hero. Do you hear me? Hero is being taken care of."

Hero... taken care up... Villain allowed their tired body to slump deep into the cold waves as they waited for one to take them to their grave.

But the merciless ropes and knives held them up, keeping them from drowning. Soft tendrils drifted through their hair and for a moment fear enveloped Villain at the thought of a mysterious plant suffocating them.

But, once they decided that the tendrils were kind, they leaned into the gesture, closing their bloodshot eyes as darkness closed around them...

Villain woke up, dazed and confused. They struggled under the thin sheet that covered their pale body, but was too weak to push it off.

Looking around, they noticed that they were in a foreign- possibly dangerous environment. The memories of the night before were foggy like they were swallowed, threwn up, then swallowed again.

But they did remember Hero, sick and starved on Villain's bed.

"Ah your awake," came a tired voice. Villain's gaze shot to the person sitting next to them. It took a moment but...

Supervillain.

Villain flinched and tried to run away, only to get tangled and stuck on the floor. Carpet, not wood.

They weren't in their house.

Villain squirmed, terrified of the all too familiar face. The face that brought tears of pain to many. The face that was probably here to punish Villain for taking care of a hero.

But Supervillain only walked to the other side of the bed, scooped the weak villain up, and laid them prone on the bed.

"Are you too warm?" Supervillain asked, placing their cold hand upon Villain's burning forehead. The cold hand that was going to be the death of Villain...

"Still running a fever..." Supervillain murmured and turned around. Villain barely had time to register the words before they were faced with a small, evil-looking, torture device.

Oh boy did it look simple and the possibilities were endless of what it would do. Villain imagine maybe it had a hidden needle and they would be drugged. They also wondered if it contained a knife- knives were threatening them before, why not do it now?

But nothing prepared them for the way Supervillain clutched Villain's jaw, forcing it open and sticking the device under their tongue.

Nothing prepared them for the lack of pain other that a sharp pinch. Their eyes began to flutter closed. After all, Supervillain wasn't torturing them...

A loud beeeep brought them back around. They stared deep into Supervillain's concerned eyes.

"I'm going to get you some medicine. Okay?" Supervillain laid a hand on Villain's head. "Try to stay awake for me."

Villain swallowed and nodded, small and helpless. Weak and fragile like a thin glass just waiting to break at the slightest touch.

But, despite Supervillain's request, Villain began to doze off only to awake when they felt like they were falling. They kept on forgetting what their half-consious self was dreaming or thinking about after those falls.

"Dang it Villain," Supervillain groaned when they entered the room and saw their colleague's eyes half-rolled into their head as they stared at the ceiling without any real object or reason.

"Come here," Supervillain cooed and gently cupped Villain's chin, opening it, and slipped the medicine into their mouth. They hoped that the sick villain still had some instinctual reflexes as they dumped some water down their throat. Supervillain then went to work on rubbing Villain's throat until they swallowed, taking the tylenol nto their stomach.

"Good job," Supervillain praised. They wiped Villain's sweating brow with a wet cloth while their patient drifted off to sleep. Supervillain did nothing to stop it.

Hero was struggling against the restraints as henchmen pried their mouth open.

"Gosh!" One of them squealed when Hero nipped at their hand. "They got rabies or something? They are wacko."

"They are a vampire you dim-wit," another henchman growled. That same henchman took Hero's mouth with some pliers and held it open long enough for the other to slipped some tablets into their mouth.

The hero swallowed and hissed.

"Okay. Supervillain told me that those will keep their vampire side at bay until they gain some weight," Henchman1, the one got bit said, wiping their nose with their hand.

Hero continued snarling until they exhausted themselves, slipping into sleep. Henchman2, the other, stood up and started to pace.

"Knock that off," Henchman1 snapped, standing up themselves. "You are taking first watch."

"No. You," Henchman2 shoved their friend. "I am not sitting with a freaking vampire. Did you see Villain? Part of me wonders if they were mind controlled."

"I thoroughly assure you that they weren't," Henchman1 rolled their eyes and slipped away from Henchman2. They opened the cell door and left.

Henchman2 walked over to Hero where they laid on a cot, unmoving. But, as if the presence of another was like a stimuli, the hero woke up.

Their eyes this time were not filled with desperate starvation or anger, but of worry.

"Where's Villain?" They asked, looking around. "They are not thinking. It's dangerous... it's..." they trailed off, their gaze meeting Henchman2's. "Are they dead?" They chirped.

"No, but sick and unconscious," Henchman2 replied, relaying the last update. That was about five minutes ago.

"They need my saliva," Hero continued. "To quicken the healing process. I cannot stimulate blood production, but I can share my healing."

"Villain has a healing factor as well and it doesn't seem to work."

"Because they are beyond exhaustion. Pair that will blood loss and starvation themselves, their chances of surviving are low. They need my saliva."

"How do I know this isn't a trick. A way to eat more?"

"I am human now. I need actual food. When the vampire takes over is when I can only consume blood," Hero glanced down at their bony wrists. "Blood satisfies like candy, but it is far from nutrious, but I thank Villain. Truly."

Henchamn2 smiled despite their best effort to remain nonchalant.

"I'm glad you do."

~ not going to edit, so I apologize for any mistakes

#villain whumpee #hero whumpee #hero whumper #? i guess #vampire #drugged #feverish villain #feverish whumpee #hallucination #unconscious whumpee #passing out #supervillain caretaker #blood tw #blood drawing #force fed #hero x villain

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crowsnests · 3 years

Text

taste of certainty - part four

Fandom: The Arcana Pairing: Julian Devorak x OC Apprentice (Syran Elkas) Tags: friends to lovers; modern times au; friend group dynamic; slow burn; pining; really just Julian being Julian and Syran being Oblivious Words: 8280 Warnings: mention of anxiety, migraines, insomnia, alcohol

part 1 2 3 4 5

playlist

Believing in something more than just the surface I trust that this is worth it, But my toes are hanging off the ledge

-trust, half-alive

IV. heavy storm

Everything hurts and everything seems blurry. Syran feels like she’s floating, her feet not touching the ground. She hears a mix of sounds, the clanking of metal, a voice urgently talking to someone, the shutting of a door. Something is tickling her face. She groans and opens her eyes, light disorienting her.

“Syran! Oh, god–”

She looks up towards the hurried voice and, finally, things come into focus. Ilya’s face looms above her, eyes so big and worried that she fears they might fall out of his skull. Everything is spinning. There’s someone else calling from– the floor?

“–lo? Ilya, is everything okay?”

“Just a second!” He yells at the floor, then starts moving. And Syran moves with him.

Oh, okay. He is carrying her.

He lays her down on something soft and Syran finally takes in her surroundings. She tries to sit up, but Ilya’s hand pushes her back. “Ah, ah, ah, no– stay down, okay?”

Another fit of pain to her head, Syran winces.

“Take deep breaths, you’re okay. You’re okay.” Whether Ilya is saying that to reassure her or himself, Syran doesn’t know.

“I’m going to grab my phone real quick, yeah? I’ll be back in a split second, please don’t get up.”

Syran vaguely nods and Ilya gets out of her vision. She recognises the ceiling of her apartment– how did she get here?

It slowly comes back together: the stars, Ilya, the walk, the migraine, Ilya, the person hitting her, her losing balance. Ilya. The pain in her head, a million times worse.

Ilya returns, kneeling by the couch. This time he’s got his phone lodged between his ear and shoulder, and some cloth in hand.

“Yeah, Nadia, we’re here– she’s awake–” he reaches the fabric to Syran’s forehead and she shies away at the contact. “It’s just water, don’t you worry, yeah? We’ll fix this, it’s nothing big.” Ilya reassures Syran, as the voice from the phone keeps talking underneath. “I’ll call you later, okay? Y–yes, I’ll take care of her– I’ve got a fucking medical degree, Nadia!” He hangs up, then reaches the newly free hand to cup Syran’s face.

“Can you talk?” he asks, voice now hushed, just for her.

“Y– yeah–” Syran mutters. “I think– so.”

Ilya smiles a little, relieved. “Good– that’s good.” He sighs, then looks around the room. “Do you have a first aid kit? A medical cabinet?”

Syran nods a little. Her head is about to blow up, she’s sure. “Bathroom– under the sink.”

“Okay, can you hold this here? Apply some pressure?”

Syran realises he’s still holding the cloth to her forehead, and she figures that’s why she felt something down her face. She’s bleeding. She tries not to let anxiety get the best of her and reaches up to do as told. Ilya covers her hand, fingers cool to the touch, and presses gently.

“Good, like this. I’ll be right back.”

Ilya takes care of her with delicate hands and gentle whispers, cleans her wound and bandages it, brings her water, holds some ice to her head. He reassures her all the way through, makes sure she’s okay until the end– until her head stops spinning and the pain calms down enough for her to slowly sit up.

He’s still crouched by the sofa, wide eyes looking up at her, his hands on her waist. Had she not felt like this, Syran would have overthought that touch, that contact– her heart would have made somersaults.

But right now, she can only think of one thing– sleep.

“How do you feel?” Ilya asks.

Syran huffs a laugh, “Like I hit my head.”

Ilya smirks, although worry doesn’t leave his face. “Well, yeah. But I told you before, you’ve got a strong skull there. You won’t need any stitches.”

Syran laughs a little again, reaches a hand up to where she feels the stinging pain, finding some gauze wrapped around her head instead.

“I wouldn’t touch that,” Ilya gently pulls her hand away, but doesn’t let go.

“You might have a concussion. Think you can stay up for a bit?”

“Uh– I guess.” She wants to sleep, really, but she should trust Ilya more than herself when it comes to medical advice. “What happened? There was a guy–“

“He was running and bumped into you, you hit your head on the concrete. I tried to call after him, but he was faster– I thought it better to stay with you.”

“Well, here ends my wrestling career.” She mutters, pain still making her feel dizzy.

Ilya chuckles, then gets up, sits next to her.

“I don’t want to scare you, but if you still feel bad in a bit I think we should go to the hospital.”

“Are you sure? I’m– I’m not that bad.”

“You hit your head pretty hard, Syran.”

His voice is soft, but serious. He sounds genuinely concerned, it warms her heart.

“Fuck– I have work to do tomorrow.”

“On a saturday?”

“Yeah– I can’t miss it. I need to go to bed.” She tries to get up but Ilya’s hands softly pull her from the waist and make so that she sits back down.

“No, no, no, missy, not until we’re sure you’re okay. Feeling sleepy is part of the symptoms.”

She feels frustrated. She enjoys his company, but– her bed calls.

“Ilya,” She whines. “I’m tireeed.”

“I know, but if your concussion is bad I’m not letting you hurt yourself more. How about we watch something? And drink some water.”

She pouts at him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Aight.” She resigns.

“Good, I’ll go get you water– don’t get up!”

“Yessir!” She mocks him, but it just makes him laugh.

A glass of water and an episode of The Bake Off later, Syran feels much better. Ilya made her take some painkillers too, which helped with the throbbing in her head. He sits close to her and has been asking her how she feels every now and then.

“I’m fine, Ilya. Much better, I swear.”

“Okay, okay– you sure? You don’t wanna go to the hospital? No more dizziness? Nausea?”

“No, doctor. Just the pain in the temple.”

“Good, okay– I mean, bad, I wish you weren’t hurting, but it’s good all the other stuff is gone.”

“No hospital, then?” She asks as the credits roll.

He sighs. “I’d still take you but if you’re sure you’re okay, then- some rest should do the trick.”

“Nice. Good.”

“So, ready for bed?” He asks, nonchalantly.

“I–uh–” for a second, Syran gapes at the various implications of his words. But then again, that is a perfectly normal question, given the situation. “Yeah– I need my pillows.”

Ilya lets out a small laugh, “That you do.”

He helps her get up and to her room. When they reach the door, he seems to hesitate.

Syran turns to him, small smile on her lips. “I’ll change myself, don’t you worry, Doctor.”

“I– uh– no- I was more thinking that you shouldn’t move your head much right now,” Ilya mumbles, clearly flustered.

“Can I at least wear pajama bottoms? Sleeping in jeans is a sin.”

That makes Ilya laugh and he finally lets her go. “Be careful, though.”

“Yep, yep,” Syran waves him off, closing the door behind her.

“I’ll– uh– I’ll wait here!” He exclaims from behind the door.

Syran slowly undresses, careful to her head, gently putting on her nightwear– really just some sweatpants and a hoodie. She looks at herself in the mirror: the smudged make-up, the faded lipstick, the bandages, bits of blood still sticking on her hair, the look of utter pain lingering on her face.

Well, she can’t look worse than this.

When she opens the door again, Ilya is pacing back and forth, typing aggressively on his phone.

“All done,” Syran says. Ilya’s head shoots up.

“Right, well, good, that’s good,” He takes her in, then his features soften. “You should rest now, really.”

“I guess so,” she smiles, then winces a little at another fit of pain.

Ilya immediately reaches for her. “Does it hurt again? Should I help you lay down?”

She nods and lets him help her to bed; he carefully props up a pillow for her and tucks her in under the duvet. It’s sweet, really. Syran’s heart is fluttering a little, under all the pain.

Then, a little meow fills the silence, paws pressing up into her side.

Amongst all this chaos, she had forgotten about Persephone.

“Ah, yes, it– it wouldn’t leave your side before either,” Ilya smiles at the cat. “What’s its name?”

“Persephone,” Syran reaches to pet her. The cat leans into her hand softly.

“She’s a good cat,” Ilya says.

“Yeah, can’t believe you never met her before,” Syran then moves her head slightly, looks at her nightstand. “Hey, can you– can you pass me that little plastic bag? It’s got makeup wipes in it.”

“Oh, sure–” Ilya does as told and passes her a wipe directly, then Syran slowly cleans her face off.

“I’ll get you some more water, okay?” Ilya asks, but before she can reply he’s already out the door. Syran finishes removing her makeup as best as she can, arm plopping down as soon as she’s done. She sighs, hoping for the throbbing in her head to subside soon.

Ilya comes back with water and some more pain relievers, she gulps the water down, then goes to clean her face some more. When she’s done Ilya looks at her and chuckles a little.

“What?”

“You’ve got– uh– some–uh, erm, can I?” He reaches for the wipe, still in Syran’s hand. She lets him take it. “You’ve got black smudged on your cheek”, he smiles fondly and leans down to wipe her face, hands ever so gentle.

Syran can’t help but be aware of his closeness this time. She looks at his profile, sharp and clean, his grey eyes focused on the task, hair falling down his face.

When he’s done, their eyes meet and Syran’s heart is in her throat. They’ve never been close like this.

She can see Ilya swallow, his hand still kind of hovering near her lips. Then, as if waking from a dream, he shoots back up.

“Well– I’ll– I’ll let you sleep then. Let me– let me know if you need anything. The pills will help with the pain when you wake up.” He clears his throat and turns to Persephone, pointing a finger at her, brow furrowed. “You keep guard, ‘kay?”

“She will,” Syran says, faint smile on her lips. Suddenly, exhaustion starts to take over her, as her body catches up to all the night’s efforts.

“Ilya?” She calls, as he walks towards her bedroom door.

“Mh?” He turns to her.

“Thank you– Uh. You’re– you’re really kind.”

Ilya smiles, “Just doing my job.”

Syran drifts off to sleep just as Ilya closes the bedroom door behind him, Perspephone purring beside her.

🂱

It’s still dark outside when Syran wakes up.

She slowly sits up, careful to the pain in her head. It makes her wince a little, but it’s not as bad as before. She looks around her room, soft moonlight peeking through the window, Persephone curled up and sleeping beside her.

Syran reaches for the water on her nightstand, notices the dirty makeup wipe next to it. She can’t help but smile. Stars know what would have happened to her if Ilya hadn’t helped her.

When she’s done with the water, though, she realises she’s still thirsty. Slowly, she pads out of bed, taking her time to do every little movement. Persephone looks up at her after a big yawn.

“I’m just getting water, I promise,” Syran says.

Persephone doesn’t move, but carefully follows her with her eyes as Syran exits her room.

She makes her way to the kitchen, doesn’t turn on any light– luckily the ones from outside are outlining enough of the apartment for her. A chill runs down her spine; the temperature is much colder.

She chugs down the second glass of water, then starts walking back to her room.

Just then, she hears it– a soft murmur. Someone almost– whining?

She turns to her right, where her couch is. A figure is laying on it, arm hanging from one side–

Fuck.

Ilya is still here.

She slowly makes her way to the front of the couch, notices how Ilya barely fits on the length of it, his feet hanging over the armrest. His boots are hastily thrown on the floor and his coat is loosely draped over him. His phone is on the floor too, next to his dangling hand.

His face is all scrunched up on one of the couch pillows, and now Syran is sure, he’s talking in his sleep. Not concrete enough words to make sense, just a murmur here and then. She doesn’t know what to do.

She wonders what in fresh hell made him decide to stay like this and not go home, but a voice deep at the back of her brain tells her she knows why. He clearly cares about her and wanted to make sure she’s okay.

Syran wants to half smack him, half hug him. She sighs.

She’s got a few throw blankets in her bedroom, so she quickly goes back, under Perspehone’s curious stare, and brings them to the living area.

Careful not to wake him up, she removes Ilya’s coat and drapes one of the blankets over him. His breath hitches at one point, which makes Syran freeze, but he doesn’t wake up. She slowly puts another one over him, making sure it covers enough for him to keep warm.

“–mail. Snail? Lovely– leaf eye.”

Syran stifles a chuckle at the weird mix of words coming out of Ilya’s mouth. Before she knows it, she reaches out to move some hair out of his face.

Then, he starts talking again and Syran immediately shoots away, startled. The hell was she thinking?

With the sudden movement, though, her head spins for a second, and she stumbles back. The back of her knee hits the coffee table, making the potted plants on it rattle. She almost falls on it, but she grabs ahold of herself.

“Shit–” She whispers, hand to her temple.

“—yran?”

She turns back towards Ilya, who’s looking up at her with half-lidded eyes. She crouches down to him.

“Hey– hey, Ilya, sorry– I–”

“‘re you okay?” He slurs, clearly still half asleep.

“Yes, yes I– I didn’t mean to wake you up,” She sighs, “You didn’t have to stay.”

He reaches for her cheek with his free hand. “I wanted to– you’re– I'm glad you’re safe.”

At this point Syran doesn’t know if the blood in her body spikes up because of everything that’s happening or because of how calmly Ilya does and says certain things, making her stomach turn upside down.

“I’m– I’m glad you were here to help–” She murmurs, reaching up to cup his hand.

Sleep is clearly heavy on both of them, Ilya’s lids barely holding open.

“ ‘nytime.” He smiles sweetly, as his eyes close again. “Anytime, for you.”

His hand slowly drifts back down, and Syran holds it all the way through. She doesn’t want to let go– it’s something like four in the morning and she hates to admit this to herself, but she wonders how it would feel to lay to sleep with him. How it would be to hold him through the night.

With a shake of her head, she carefully gets up, getting back to her bedroom.

It’s all in her mind. There’s nothing going on, right?

Right?

🂱

The next time Syran wakes up, is to her phone alarm. She groans and shuts it off immediately, checking the time.

7:30 am. Ugh. She’s got work.

There’s a few messages on her phone– more than a few, actually.

It all comes back to her.

All of her friends have contacted her, from Muriel to Nadia, all of them wishing her well, asking to call when she awakes, reassuring her. As she’s reading through them, a call from Asra sets the phone off.

“Mhmh?” she croaks.

“Oh god– oh god, you’re awake. Are you okay? Ilya isn’t picking up–” Asra sounds extremely worried, but there’s also relief in his words.

“I’m okay, hey, Asra– I’m fine,” Syran tries to sound as calm as possible. “I promise.”

“Right, yes, good.” He exhales, “Syran, I’m– I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault– if I hadn’t left you alone like that–”

“Hey, no, stop right there,” Syran reprimands him. “You have nothing to do with this. It could have happened anytime. And I wasn’t alone. It’s not your fault. Don’t you dare say that again, okay?”

Asra takes a pause, but when he speaks again he sounds more relieved, “Okay– okay.”

“How are you, anyway? With the whole– Valer–”

“I didn’t call to talk about me, S,” Asra counters. “I’m fine. We’ll talk about it when you’re better, all that matters now is that you’re okay.”

Syran can’t help but smile at his concern, “Understood. But really, I’m okay. Just a little scrape.”

“Ilya said it was a concussion–”

“Yeah, well– I guess. But I’m much better now.” She’s not lying, really. Things are not as fuzzy as last night, and definitely not as painful.

“He helped you, right? He took good care of you?” Asra sounds threatening, like the thought of Ilya not helping would be enough for Asra to send him to the gallows.

A flash of memories floods her again; the way Ilya handled things, how he reassured her, fixed everything. Made it better. The way he held her hands and cupped her cheek, tended to her with the utmost care. Her face grows warm for the millionth time this week.

“Yes, he–” she clears her throat. “He did. He was very kind.”

“Good, he better have been,” She can hear Asra relax again. “Is he there, still? He hasn’t come home.”

“Yeah, he’s– he’s here. I think.”

“You think?” Asra’s tone is edging on playful and she really doesn’t have the will to argue with him right now. “Or you know?”

She sighs. “Asra. He slept on the couch, last time I checked. Maybe he’s left, I don’t know.”

“Aw, he stayed to look over you, that’s cute.” Then his tone changes again. “And honestly if he hadn’t I would have killed him.”

“Stars, it was a small accident, not a car crash! I’m fine, Asra, seriously.”

“Okay, okay. I should get ready for work, I’ll come over later, okay?”

“Uh– no, I’ll see you there–”

“Don’t you dare show up to the office. Muriel’s calling there as we speak. You’re off for the day, please rest.”

Something in his voice tells her she’s better off not retaliating. “All right, all right, jeez.”

“Good. Now go check on your charming doctor, he’s probably going to eat his own hands in worry until he sees you stand up.”

“Shut up–”

“Toodles!” Asra hangs up before Syran can insult him. She shakes her head with a smile.

Persephone prances up in her lap.

“Good morning, cutie,” Syran grins at her.

Then, a gentle knock on the door.

“Uh– Syran? You awake? I– I heard you speak–” Ilya’s voice sounds hesitant.

“Yep, you can come in!” She says, letting Persephone go to slowly sit on the side of the bed.

“Oh– okay.” Ilya gingerly pokes his head into the bedroom, eyes quickly finding hers.

She smiles at him, “Goodmorning.”

“Goodmorning– I– uh– just wanted to check on you one last time.”

“You can enter, you know?” She laughs, then pats the spot beside her. “I promise I won’t bite.”

“Ha– right. Yeah. Sure.” His voice still sounds groggy, a little huskier than usual. Syran tries not to think about that.

When he sits down next to her, Persephone is quick to come around him and prance in his lap, meowing up at him.

“Ah, my assistant,” he smiles as he scratches her behind the ears.

“She was excellent,” Syran laughs.

“Good,” Ilya looks up at her, eyes soft. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Better.” He doesn’t look convinced. “Really, Ilya. I probably would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t been there to help. I’m good.”

Ilya gapes at her for a second, then turns back to pet Persephone. She notices his ears are red, but she turns back towards her window, sunlight streaming through.

“I barely did anything, but– I'm glad,” he says. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Syran thinks back at their small exchange in the middle of the night. Does he not remember?

“Ah and– thank you for the blankets. You didn’t have to. I assume you put them?”

“No, that was the house ghost, actually.” She teases him, bumping his shoulder. “And you didn’t have to either. Stay, I mean. You should have gone home and gotten proper sleep.”

He looks up at her, something akin to shock in his eyes. “I couldn’t have, I wouldn't– I wouldn’t have been able to sleep. I hope it didn’t bother you. That I stayed.”

“It didn’t,” she sighs, “I’m just sorry you went through all the trouble.”

“Syran, no–” Ilya scowls at her, “It was no trouble. At all. And not your fault either, that’s on the asshole that pushed you.” He looks genuinely angry at the thought. “I wanted to– I want to be there for you.”

Syran’s breath hitches, she doesn’t know what to say, not when he’s looking at her like that.

So, she just nods, tries to utter a thank you.

“And hey–” he adds, smirking. “I’m pretty sure your couch is more comfortable than my own bed.”

“That’s why we got it,” she laughs. “Want some coffee?”

Syran insists she make him some breakfast, too, before he leaves. It’s the least she could do, after all that.

It’s a little weird and a little natural, the way they casually chat, the way Ilya reaches for the mugs on the top shelf, the way he helps her anyway, because she’s still his patient, after all. It’s oddly domestic, surprisingly peaceful, it feels right, how easily they work together.

It’s confusing yet simple at the same time.

Ilya shows her how to clean her wound and gives her advice even as she ushers him out the door; Syran all smiles and promises, Ilya all apprehensive and considerate.

When Syran finally takes a shower – careful, careful to the wound, careful to the movements, just like Ilya told her– all she can do is smile. It might seem a bit jarring, considering the circumstances, but. She got to see a side of Ilya that she never thought much about.

Sure, she knew he was caring, she knew he put effort into his profession and studies, she knew he was thoughtful. She’s always been able to see that, through the deflecting humour and the charming grins.

Still, seeing him so– gentle, so attentive, so concerned for her wellbeing was– something else.

And then seeing him laugh, and pad behind her to help her in the kitchen, still throwing a careful eye to her every now and then; seeing him beside her like that. It made her realise how even before that, before all of the pain, she has always admired his resolve to stand up for his friends, to protect those he loves.

Seeing him look at her with a whirlwind of emotion passing through his eyes, just as that same whirlwind passed in her chest–

Syran doesn’t want to give into it, but she feels like she might not be imagining things after all.

🂱

It takes a few days, but Syran’s pain gets better. The wound on her temple is still there, but it’s healing pretty quickly now, which calms her down a lot. She ices it every now and then, and the days of rest she gets off work really help.

Things haven’t slowed down though. When she gets back, although her friends do ask her about her wellbeing, things get hectic quite quickly.

Syran tries to take a few more breaks when she’s allowed, which helps, but really it’s like there’s not enough time to get everything ready. So, today, she ends up working overtime.

The lights in the office have dimmed, last rays of sunshine peeking through the big window. There are not many people left with her, only Varya and two other of her colleagues. After a while, Varya walks up to her as Syran is checking for the umpteenth time that the graphics for the new packaging are correct.

“Hey, we’re about to go get some drinks, do you want to come? You’ve been doing a lot today.” Varya smiles kindly and Syran ponders on her offer. She is a little hungry and her headache has slowly increased in the past hour.

“I don’t know, honestly–” She frowns. “I think I’ll just be knocked out after all this. I’ll let you know if I change my mind, though? Thank you for telling me.” She smiles, genuinely appreciating Varya’s offer.

“Sure, text me when you get home, though. Don’t stay too late!” Varya preaches teasingly, then pats her on the back and walks out of the office, the sound of her heeled boots fading along the corridor.

When she’s left alone in the room, Syran realises just how tense her shoulders are, how much she’s slouching forward towards the computer screen, how her eyes are strained and dry. Even her scar is making itself heard, slightly throbbing in pain.

Syran sighs, trying to relax back into her chair. She looks up at the ceiling and takes a few deep breaths, trying to let out a little bit of her anxiety. It’s been a while since she excessively struggled with it, but days like this are not easy on her. She really wants to do a good job and now that she is in charge of a lot of things the responsibilities heavily weigh down on her.

She slows her breathing, notices that her hands are shaking a little, so she closes her eyes and tries to focus only on the rise and fall of her stomach. Slowly but surely, it calms her down. When she opens her eyes the air doesn’t feel so suffocating anymore.

Just then, her phone vibrates with a call.

The screen reads Ilya’s name and her chest is back to feeling anxious. But this time it’s a little different. Not as stressful, but surprised, rather. Almost– excited.

“Hey,” she breathes out. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Ilya replies, “Just. Uh– I wanted to check up on you. How’s your wound feeling?”

Syran can’t help but feel touched by his words. He’s been sending her texts now and then the past few days, even if just to remind her to take it easy, or to clean the wound at the end of the day, or to share some funny thing that happened to him. Syran soon realised just how much they helped her and how much she started looking forward to them.

“Better,” She twirls in her chair. “Honestly, the headache hurts more.”

Ilya clicks his tongue, “You really should get those checked out. You get them way too often.” He sounds positively concerned, if not a little frustrated, even.

Syran chuckles, endeared by his tone. “It’s okay, doctor. I’ve had these for a while now, I know how to deal with them.”

Ilya’s tone doesn’t change. “Still, recurring migraines are not to be taken lightly. They can really be debilitating, I’m sure you know that. Is it a chronic condition? It sounds like it might be, I can– I can get someone at the hospital to treat you, if you want, my mentor is amazing in their field–”

“Ilya,” She interrupts him, “Breathe. I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

She can almost see his frown on the other side of the line. “You shouldn’t be. I– I wish you weren’t.”

God, she wants to take her heart out of her chest because it’s just choking her a little too much now. She tries really hard not to give much meaning to his worry. He’s her friend, he’s in the medical field, of course he wants to help, of course he’s concerned. He’d be like this with everyone else, she’s sure.

“That’s–” she clears her throat. “That’s sweet of you, but trust me, I’ll be fine. All I need is some good food and peaceful sleep.”

She’s not sure she can get the latter since she’s been having even more trouble with staying asleep during the night, but she can still hope.

“Well, I actually thought– uh. Wait. Are you done with work? You’re done, right?”

“Not really,” she sighs, looking at her computer screen. “Doing overtime today. Trying to get a headstart since Thursday we launch a new line.” She scoffs, tired. “I’m the only one left in the office, but it’s oddly calming.”

“Syran,” Ilya deadpans, tone almost scary.

“Ye– yeah?” She asks, wondering where this is going.

“I strongly insist you stop,” he warns, but she can tell there’s no real intention behind it. “You have to rest.”

She laughs. “Is that a threat?”

“Yes. Don’t make me use my mean doctor voice.”

She can’t help but laugh again. “Oh, I should listen, then.”

“Yes,” He says, but then his tone suddenly gets lighter. “Please?”

His plea almost gets to her. She really appreciates his concern, and– god. Honestly, she wishes he was with her right now. There’s no point in denying it.

Maybe it is a crush.

“I will, I will. Just have to finish one more thing and then I’ll go home.”

“Good. You better.” He reprimands. Syran smiles.

“I promise, I’ll send you a picture of Persie when I get there, if that will make you believe me,” she teases.

“Well, I will accept cat pictures anytime of the day, so,” he plays along, solemnly. “But– actually, huh. Have you eaten yet?”

Syran fiddles with a pencil, thinking when’s the last time she ate. “Not really, some colleagues asked me to go for drinks, but I’m not feeling it. Might just go to bed, to be honest. Too lazy to eat.”

“Well, too bad, guess I’ll have to throw away this extra chinese food I bought.”

“Uhhh. What?”

Oh god, if he really means what she thinks he means she might just hide under her desk and never crawl out.

Ilya laughs, but sounds nervous, “I called because. Well– I was going to check up on you and then I remembered you like chinese food, so I thought– you know, I– I thought I’d bring you some, figured you needed the extra care. Uh– since you’ve been having a hard time and all.”

Syran is going to die, right now this instant, she is going to plummet into the ground, twenty floors below, and bury herself under the pavement. Her cheeks are going wild.

She genuinely doesn’t know what to say except that if she could she’d materialise next to him right now, but at the same time she wants to run away and never see anyone ever again. She’s had crushes before, sure, but with Ilya it’s like– one moment she thinks she can handle it, and the next it just bursts inside her. Curse him and his kindness, and compassion, and dorky jokes, and handsome face.

Fuck.

“Uh. That is if that’s okay. Is that okay? I don’t want to overstep, I just thought–”

She should be dead right now.

“No, that’s okay! That’s completely fine, I actually– uh. I really appreciate it.”

Stars, the amount of times this happens. The number of times Ilya does or says something nice and completely unexpected and she’s so floored she takes ages to reply. And then, being the considerate person he is, he doubts himself and Syran wants to scream even more. Fuck, if this was Asra, or Pasha, or literally anyone else, it would be okay. It would be normal. She’d appreciate it, and hang out with them, and get distracted, and be fine. And it would all be okay.

But it’s Ilya, so her brain has to speed up and go in overload and overthink everything. Of course, it does.

“Oh, okay. Uh. Nice. So, I could come and pick you up? At work, that is. If you want.”

Right, because there’s nothing healthier for her heart right now than to be in a car with Ilya, in close proximity with Ilya, go home with Ilya, and eat chinese food with Ilya. Maybe she already died. Maybe this is some twisted version of purgatory. Either way, her heart is about to stop.

“Sure– thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Good, because I’m already, like, ten minutes away,” he chuckles.

Yeah, no, she’s done for.

🂱

Surprisingly, the car ride is a lot easier on her heart than Syran thought it was going to be.

After the initial awkwardness and small talk, she and Ilya just find themselves humming along to a song on the radio, which soon turns into a full-blown karaoke session. And just like that, it’s fine. Syran munches on a few spring rolls on the way because her stomach rumbled so loud that Ilya practically threatened to stop the car and wait unless she ate something right away.

Ilya pulls into her apartment complex’s driveway as they’re still laughing about some dumb joke he made about oranges. They’re still happily chatting in the elevator as they hold way too much chinese food in their hands. They’re still smiling when they walk into Syran’s apartment and Persephone welcomes them with insistent meows, demanding pets and attention. They share simple words and comfortable silence as they set everything on the table, stomachs ready to eat.

It’s all okay. It’s all fine.

It’s nice and smooth, and yes her chest is pounding and she can’t stop thinking about every little thing he does, but it’s fine. Spending time with Ilya feels like the world has stopped, she decides. Ilya and his deep, throaty laugh that goes five pitches higher whenever he finds something really funny for too long. Ilya and his hands, slender and careful, sure like death and taxes, he said once. Ilya and his eyes, always picking up on everything, but never revealing much. Ilya and his awkwardness whenever he feels too shy, Ilya and the way he recovers from that even though everyone can read through his bravado. Ilya and his all-encompassing hugs, Ilya and his thoughtful words, Ilya and his jokes, Ilya and his smile. Just– Ilya. Ilya. Ilya.

His name sounds like a song.

Everything is him and her sitting at the table, eating after a long day, soft music in the background, sun long gone, and nothing else matters.

Nothing else matters.

“That’s ridiculous! How can anyone say that?” Syran laughs before biting into the last of her dumplings. “Seriously, you’d think in this time and age people would know better than to make a sexist joke.”

Ilya joins her in the laugh, “I know, right? Like, the whole class went dead silent and didn’t laugh, then when I asked to explain it he was all like. Oh, I mean– I guess– I uh, well– maybe it was a little insensitive.” Ilya lowers his pitch and tries on a creaky voice, clearly imitating his professor.

It makes Syran snort and she has to cover her mouth in fear of spitting her food out.

“That’s where it got hilarious though, he just got all red either from anger or embarrassment, I’m not sure.” Ilya shakes his head, smile lingering on his face as he searches for a piece of meat in his noodles.

When the food is all done and cleaned up, leftovers neatly packed on the counter, Syran makes some tea for the both of them. It’s getting a little late and she stifles a yawn as she brings the mug to Ilya, back to sitting at the table.

Ilya notices, because of course he does.

“Maybe I should go, it was a long day for you.”

Syran shakes her head, maybe a little too vehemently. “I don’t mind! At least finish the tea. I sleep badly anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow at her, “That doesn’t convince me more, Elkas.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.” Syran laughs once more, then takes a sip from her mug. She’s grateful he doesn’t ask about her insomnia, though, she’s not sure she wants to think about that right now. When she glances back at Ilya, he’s looking at her with an odd glint in his eyes.

“What?” Syran asks.

He opens and closes his mouth, like he’s pondering whether to say something or not.

“Nothing, I just–” He frowns a little at her, like he’s trying to decipher her features. “Ah, it’s stupid, nevermind.” He shakes his head. But Syran won’t let go that easily.

“Ok, now you have to tell me,” she teases.

Ilya looks down at his mug like if he stares at it long enough he will be able to hide in it.

“I just– I haven’t felt this calm in a while,” He smiles, still without meeting her eyes. For a second, she feels like he read her mind. “Truth is, I’ve been struggling to keep up in university, mostly whenever we do sessions in the hospital. I always feel like I need to go faster, do more, be more. Like– like I’m never achieving enough. ” His brows knit and Syran’s heart aches a little.

She knows that feeling too well. While her life isn’t at its worst at all right now, she’d be lying if she said there aren’t many moments like that still. That there haven’t been any moments like that ever. She’s experienced most of them back in her university years, getting her degree was so stressful that she can’t even remember how many times she found herself in her room, panicking, crying, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to figure out where she was going wrong. Where she was going wrong with her relationship, where she was going wrong with her life. Never enough.

Sometimes work feels like that too and it brings back ugly feelings.

“But right now I don’t feel that, it’s like I can breathe a little, like–” Ilya continues, finally looking at her– she can tell he’s blushing. Fuck, god, she’s definitely blushing too. He chuckles nervously. “It’s nice. To be here, like this. With you.”

She’s going to die. She’s definitely about to die. She’s dead and this is nowhere in hell or heaven or in-between, this is just Ilya sitting in the kitchen with her, like frozen in a picture.

She can only hear the thrum of her heart, she can only see Ilya’s eyes, she can only feel the warmth of his body on the other chair, so close to her, yet so far apart. She manages to come to her senses enough to gather a reply.

“Yeah,” she swallows, nodding, as if that will bring her back to the ground. It doesn’t. “Me too. I– I get how you feel. It’s frustrating when the world makes you feel– so small.” She looks at the table, the smooth texture of what coated it once now long gone, leaving rough wood behind, unpolished, consumed in different spots. She feels like that, sometimes. Rough at the edges, full of splinters, and been through so much all she is now is exposed skin. Doing her best to hold it together.

She looks up at Ilya, ribcage too small for everything she’s feeling. “But. Yeah, this is nice. To be here. With you.”

“Good to know,” Ilya smiles. It’s small, but slowly gets bigger. She can’t look away from him, she probably has to, or else she will explode. It’s like he’s inching closer. Is he inching closer? Is it a trick of the light?

No, it isn’t because he definitely is. This is happening. It’s happening and Syran is going to let it happen. She doesn’t know what else to do, she doesn’t want to do anything else.

There’s only Ilya, Ilya and his lips, Ilya and his hand crawling up the back of her chair, Ilya getting so, so close. There’s only him, and her, and nothing else.

It’s just Ilya, beautiful, smart, charming Ilya.

His name sounds like the waves.

They’re about to kiss. And Syran is going to let it happen.

Or maybe not.

The sound of the door unlocking open breaks whatever spell they were under. Ilya shoots back, sitting upright in his chair, eyes wide and downcast like he wants to crawl under the table from the scare. Syran stares at him for a second more, dazed.

“Honey, I’m home!” Ran’s voice echoes through the room. Syran turns towards the entrance, her friend’s eyes tired but an unmistakable grin on her face. “Oh– hello!” She gapes for a second when she notices Ilya sitting next to Syran.

“Hello, Ran,” he waves. Ran’s eyes dart between the two of them, but before she can say anything else, Syran shoots up and runs to hug her.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I forgot you were coming back earlier!” Syran pulls away, holding her shoulders, genuinely happy to see her friend again. “How was the journey? Your parents okay? Are you hungry? There’s some leftovers–”

“Hey, hey, calm down!” Ran laughs. “Let me take my jacket off first!”

It’s weird, but the air diffuses a little when they talk a bit about Ran’s trip, just small, idle chatter. Ilya asks some questions, genuinely interested as he finishes his tea– almost chugs it, really. Then Ran excuses herself to go take a shower because she’s beat.

Syran knows she did that mostly to leave the two of them alone to say goodbye; Syran dreads the conversation she knows will follow later with her. In the meantime, though, all she can think of is how awkwardly Ilya stands next to her, all nerves, shoulders hunched. She can’t help but notice how much further apart they are now, how different the air feels. Something stings in Syran’s chest. She wonders if that split moment between them was even real. Maybe she imagined it.

Maybe they were never going to kiss.

God, the thought of that. Of kissing Ilya. She’s had it before, but. Now it feels so incredibly real and so incredibly farfetched at the same time.

“I– uh. Thank you for having me over,” he mutters, polite smile on his face.

“Sure, no problem. Thank you for rescuing me from work.” She tries, her mouth running before her brain can. That’s a stupid thing to say.

Ilya laughs, it’s still nervous, but not as much as before, “Anytime.”

Her brain can’t help but remember.

Anytime, for you.

Ilya leaves her with a wave, his distinct perfume made of musk and clean linen whooshing after him.

Syran feels like he took something of hers with him, too.

🂱

She is on her laptop when Ran knocks on her bedroom door. When Syran allows her in, Ran is wearing her cosiest pyjama and her hair is still damp from the shower.

“Feeling better?” Syran smiles, putting aside her laptop as Ran sits on the side of the bed. Persephone makes her way to her with a small meow.

“Much better, I was sore all over,” She sighs. “Man, a week helping my parents with the farm and my body is already done with it. I don’t know how they do it.”

“Remember that one summer we tried to trim your horses’ hooves?” Syran laughs.

Ran joins her, wide eyes in realisation. “Oh my god, yeah! What were we, fifteen? What a mess.”

“Yeah, I still have nightmares about that.”

“Oh, come on, Babette was just scared.”

“Yeah, and she scared me in return.”

Ran laughs again, Syran smiles with a shake of her head, remembering their time as unruly teenagers. When the mood calms down, Ran turns to her with raised eyebrows.

“So?”

“So?” Syran echoes.

“Well. Ilya was here.”

Oh fuck.

Okay, Syran should have seen this coming, really, given how and when she came in, but. Ugh. She tries not to give herself away. “Yes, and?”

“Well, you tell me.” Ran smirks.

“Oh god, not you too.” Syran buries her face in her hands.

Ran huffs a laugh, clearly way too amused. “What do you mean not me too?”

“I already have Asra and Pasha on my case, so before you ask– no, there’s nothing between us, no, there won’t be anything, no, I do want to kiss him.” Syran looks up from her hands and almost yells, eyes wide and blood rushing up to her cheeks. “I MEAN I DON’T. I DON’T WANT TO KISS HIM.”

“Hm.”

She groans, resigned to Ran’s enquiring stare. “It’s just– ugh, fuck. I just. I don’t know. You know? ”

“Oh boy, you're really gone huh?”

“Please don’t tell the others.” Syran sighs.

“From what you tell me I don’t really have to.”

“Yeah, but– ugh.” Syran shakes her head. “I feel so pathetic, he’s– he’s got so much going on for him, and like, it’s weird, right? Isn’t it weird?”

“Why would it be?” Ran asks, brow knotted.

“I don’t know– like. He’s part of the group and all. We’re all friends and I feel– I feel like this shouldn’t happen.” She groans again, head thrown back to her headboard.

“Syran.” Ran’s tone is a lot more serious now.

“Mh?” Syran asks without moving her head.

“Stop blaming yourself for having feelings. Not everyone is like Diana. Ilya has done nothing but care for you. He literally took care of you when you got hurt.”

At that, Syran’s eyes go wide. She didn’t think Ran was going to bring her up. Diana was– in a lot of ways, she was a mistake. They started dating halfway through her second year of university, and it was all fine at first. They really liked each other. Then, Syran’s insecurities (courtesy of her mother) started to show themselves more and more and Diana– didn’t take that so well. She started making Syran feel bad for everything, started blaming her for not being able to leave the house sometimes, started demanding more and more. Syran couldn’t give that to her. Not in the state she was.

Syran hasn’t been able to open up to someone in that way since. To trust her gut in the same way when it comes to romantic feelings. And although she knows Ilya is nothing like that– what if she screws it all up anyway?

Anxiety is starting to well up inside her, threatening to burst out. “Yeah, but. But what if– I don’t know. What if he’s just, you know. Acting like a friend. Because, I mean, he is, we’re friends and– that’s what friends do, right? And what if I open up like that again and. You know.” She looks back at her friend and she’s sure that Ran knows exactly what’s going through her head right now.

“Syran, I get it. And yes, you’re friends, but– you’re friends with everyone else too, right? And everyone has been lovely and understanding and they’ve known you for years, longer than Diana ever has. We all love you and understand you because we’re mature and not needy assholes.”

Syran laughs at that, then finds herself sniffing. God, was she about to cry over this?

Ran continues. “Listen, sometimes he looks at you like– I don’t know, like you’re the only person in the room. I’ve never seen Diana look at you like that. Or anyone else you’ve dated.” Ran smiles fondly. “The only reason everyone’s on your case is because you’ve been too blind to see it all this time.”

Syran’s blood suddenly rushes up, everywhere, head to toe. “Wh– all this time? What do you mean? Ran, I genuinely think he’s just being nice. And– and my feelings. I don’t want to do anything about them– I’m not even sure I understand them, I–”

“Babe, I love you, but–” Ran reaches out to put a hand on Syran’s leg, covered by the duvet. “You’re either incredibly dense, or incredibly in denial. You guys were literally about to kiss before I came in.”

“We–we weren’t!” Syran’s eyes get even wider, heart racing just at the thought of everything that could have happened. “Okay, maybe we were. I’m honestly not sure. It felt like– like everything was in slow motion.”

Ran smiles, but this time it’s understanding. “I say you shouldn’t hold yourself back anymore.”

Yeah, like that’s easy. Just before she falls asleep that night, her phone vibrates with a text. Ilya’s name lights up the screen and Syran’s heart swells in return.

From: dr. devowreck

hey, just wanted to thank you for tonight. I enjoyed it. I hope you’re doing well. I mean, like, with your headache and all. And work And in general i guess Uh, okay, goodnight, take care

Syran starts smirking at his words, but then embarrassment flushes her and she finds herself staring at the screen, brain empty of an answer, with no idea how to take that in.

To: dr. devowreck

Ah, it’s no biggie, the food was good And the company too i guess ahah Anyway, yeah, thank you. goodnight!

No one mentions anything. It ends there. Maybe they weren’t about to kiss. Or maybe he realised that it shouldn’t have happened at all and it’s sparing her the embarrassment of turning her down by pretending nothing happened.

Maybe– maybe she’s a fucking mess.

#an writes #fic writing #the arcana fic #julian devorak #portia devorak #syran elkas #julianxapprentice #julianxsyran #ilya devorak #the arcana apprentice #the arcana game #asra alnazar #muriel the arcana #just one more chapter to go #syran is a mess #sorry #part 4 #hurt/comfort

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infinite-xerath · 3 years

Text

Runeterra Retcons: Ruination Episode (Ionia)

Ionia Part I

After discussing it heavily with your comrades, you all agree that your next destination should be Ionia. The light of the Wayfinder encompasses you all as it carries you across the sea to the Ionian Sentinel outpost, where you are surprised to find that nothing seems amiss on the shores.

“Looks like the Black Mist hasn’t gotten here yet.”

“Wow, so this is Ionia? It’s beautiful!”

Riven response 1: “I can’t say I’m surprised. Ionia’s always been resistant to invaders…”

Riven response 2: “Yeah… But it wasn’t always like this…”

Gwen: “Oh what an absolutely splendid place! I’ve never been anywhere this majestic before!”

Senna: “They call Ionia the First Lands, and some say it’s the birthplace of magic itself. I guess it’s no surprise that this place is a sort of safe haven against the Harrowing.”

Olaf: “Wait! Look there!”

Olaf points further inland, where you see a great cloud of Black Mist descending onto a vibrant forest.

Vayne: “So much for a safe haven…”

Senna: “No time to stand around and gawk! Let’s move, Sentinels!”

Senna takes the lead as you all charge ahead, ascending the winding mountain path. All around you, wild animals scatter and flee as the Black Mist pours through the forest. The once-vibrant flora withers and distorts around you while the very air seems to linger with malice.

Suddenly, you feel a gnarled tree root spring to life and wrap around your leg, pulling you down. A shrill scream fills the air as you hit the ground and feel yourself being dragged back down the path. Before you vanish completely into the brush, however, Lucian frees your leg with a well-timed shot.

Lucian: “You alright, rookie? That was, uh, quite a scream just now.”

“Thanks, I owe you.”

“That, uh, wasn’t me.”

Lucian response 1: “Don’t mention it. Now let’s keep moving.”

Lucian response 2: “Heh, sure it wasn’t...”

Before you can say anything more, another identical scream cuts through the air. You all turn to see a peculiar figure bounding through the forest. Her upper half resembles that of a young woman, but her lower body is that of a fawn. She holds in her possession a branch with a peculiar bloom attached to it.

???: “Oh dear, oh dear!”

“Is that a person?”

“Is that an animal?”

Vayne: “Whatever it is, it’s heading right for us.”

Sure enough, the strange figure is bounding toward you at an alarming rate, looking back over her shoulder. She turns her head just in time to see the Sentinels and comes skidding to a stop.

???: “Eep!”

“Eep!”

“Woah, that was close!”

“She… Is… Adorable!”

Lillia: “W-Who are you!? Ah, wait, no! Just… Pretend you can’t see them, Lillia! If you can’t see them, they can’t see you.”

Vayne: “Sorry to lay this on you, but that’s not how it works.”

Riven: “Hang on, something else is coming!”

You look up to see the Black Mist descending toward you, carrying with it a swarm of wraiths.

Lillia: “Oh no! They’ve followed me!”

Gwen: “Please, stand behind us, funny fawn person! We will make short work of these fiends!”

Ionia Part II

The Sentinels charge into the fray, cutting and blasting their way through the swarm of wraiths. As they fight, however, you notice more of the local wildlife succumbing to the Black Mist, warping the surrounding forests beyond recognition.

Lillia: “No… Stop! Please stop!”

“Are you OK?”

“Hey, everything’s going to be alright.”

Lillia: “No… Can’t you feel it? The dreams of the trees, the animals… It’s like… One very bad dream is blocking out all the others!”

Lucian: “Rookie, what’s she talking about?”

Senna: “Nevermind, just stay focused! We need push deeper into this forest and find that fetter!”

The Sentinels quickly resume their fight, though Lillia’s ears perk up when she hears Senna’s words.

Lillia: “What? You’re… Going DEEPER into the forest? B-But it’s dangerous!”

Vayne: “Exactly! Where monsters go, so do we!”

Riven: “If the Black Mist is here, that must mean another one of these fetters is too, right? Then we have to find it and get it out of here, or all of Ionia will be in danger! That’s… Not something I want to see again!”

Gwen: “Quite right! Fear not, funny fawn girl! We shan’t let a few wraiths impede us!”

Lillia: “But… Why?”

“We’re Sentinels. Fighting ghosts is what we do!”

“We’re here to save Ionia, and the world, from the Black Mist!”

Lillia: “You… You aren’t afraid?”

“Not in the slightest!”

“Quite a bit, actually, but I can’t turn back now!”

Lillia: “That’s… That’s quite brave of you. …Alright. Everyone, please follow me! I think I know what the ghouls are after!”

Lillia suddenly darts off into the forest, waving her branch to clean a path through the Mist.

Riven: “Should we follow her?”

Senna: “Well… If she can lead us to the fetter, it’s a risk I’m willing to take! Move out, Sentinels!”

Ionia Part III

Lillia guides you through the forest, using the branch in her hands to keep the hostile wildlife at bay. You follow her into a cave, where your only source of light comes from Lillia’s bloom. Though it’s dark and damp, you’re surprised to find that the Black Mist seems to linger about the entrance, refusing to step inside.

Vayne: “Are we sure about this isn’t a trap?”

“We’ve already come all this way…”

“Hey, she’s cute! How can you say no to those big eyes?”

Olaf: “Hmph. If this is a trap, there had better be a worth foe at this tunnel’s end!”

Lillia: “...”

Lucian: “Hey, fawn girl!”

Lillia: “Eep! O-Oh, you mean me?”

Lucian: “Yeah. Are you sure there’s a fetter in here?”

Lillia: “Uh, well… I’m not sure what sort of ‘fetter’ you mean, but I think… I know that the ghouls want what’s up ahead.”

Vayne: “And just how do you know that?”

“Come on guys, have some faith in her.”

“The Mist didn’t want to come in here, so there’s gotta be something special about this place.”

Riven: “Wait, do you see that?”

Up ahead, the path widens out into a grotto illuminated by giant crystals in the cave wall.

“What is this place?”

“It’s breathtaking…”

Riven: “Yeah, Ionia really is beautiful. It’s a shame that some people would destroy that beauty just to take it for themselves…”

Up ahead, you see that the cave floor turns from stone to grass. Somehow, a small meadow has bloomed in the heart of the mountain, illuminated by the glow of the crystals.

Gwen: “Goodness, these gems would make for a marvelous addition to a dress! Oh, but I suppose that would ruin their natural beauty. A shame.”

Lucian: “It’s pretty, alright, but where’s the fetter?”

As if on cue, the light in Senna’s chest starts to glow, as does Gwen’s. Nearby, you see a single flower near the heart of the grotto begin to glow with the same calming light.

Senna: “There it is! That’s the fetter!”

“A rose? How can a rose be a fetter?”

“So Isolde’s soul has been hiding in a flower for centuries?”

Lillia: “This flower is very old. It was brought here long ago from a far-away land. I can see its dreams too, you know. Dreams so pure, full of love and light… Happy memories. It dreams of man and woman who cherished each other more than anything. Isn’t that… Such… A lovely dream?”

You watch in horror as a ghastly crown forms around Lillia’s head. Suddenly, Black Mist fills the cave, engulfing Lillia and transforming her in an instant.

Lillia: “Such a lovely dream, and you all are trying to ruin it! How… How could you!?”

“Lillia, wait! Let’s talk this out!”

“Aw man! Why is it always the cute ones!?”

Vayne: “I knew we couldn’t trust her!”

Vayne takes aim with her crossbow, but before she can fire a single shot, Lillia waves her branch in a wide arc. A mysterious, glittering dust washes over you and the other Sentinels, as does a strange sense of drowsiness.

Olaf: “Argh! What… Is this…?”

Gwen: “Oh my. Suddenly… So… Tired…”

“So… Sleepy.”

“Can’t… Stay… Awake.”

Despite your best efforts, you soon succumb to the effects of Lillia’s dream dust. Soon, you and the other Sentinels fall onto the floor of the cave and descend into a deep slumber…

Ionia Part IV

You find yourself wandering the streets of your hometown, alone. Wherever you go, the people have locked their doors and refuse to open up. You are cold and scared, and those feelings only grow as you notice the ominous Black Mist coursing toward you.

You try to run, but the Mist is faster. You hear inhuman screams behind you, and look back to see vaguely humanoid figures emerging from the haze. You force your legs into overdrive, only to wind up tripping and following on a loose stone. Your cry out in pain as you hit the ground, but your scream is drowned out by the wails of the undead behind you.

Dread hangs over you a like a pall. Death seems inevitable, though you know that death is not the end if these creatures take you. You will become one of them, hunting other poor souls to join the ranks of the undead. You close your eyes and wait, only for the sound of gunfire to fill your ears.

You open your eyes and look up. The wraiths cry out in pain as bolts of light pierce them, driving them back. You find yourself surrounded by figures in strange uniforms, carrying weapons unlike any you’ve every seen.

“W-Who are you?”

“Where did you come from?”

Though their face is hazy, you see one of the figures turn to look at you.

???: “We’re the Sentinels of Light. Don’t worry, we’ll handle the undead. You just find a safe place to hide and wake up.”

“Huh?”

“What do you mean?”

???: “Wake up. Come on, Rookie, nap time is over!”

Your eyes slowly open as you regain consciousness. You see Lucian and Senna standing over you.

Senna: “Good to see you’re still with us.”

“How long was I out?”

“What happened?”

Lucian response 1: “Too damn long. That deer girl made off with fetter while we are all dozin’ off.”

Lucian response 2: “That deer girl put us all to sleep then nabbed the fetter, that’s what.”

Gwen: “And she seemed so nice! What an awful turn things have taken.”

???: “Indeed. The future of the realms hangs in the balance.”

“Uh, who is this?”

“Is that a freaking ninja!?”

Shen: “Apologies if I have startled you, child. I am the Eye of Twilight, but you may call me Shen.”

Vayne: “After Deer Girl put us all to sleep, this ninja’s the one who came to wake us up. I don’t like being in debt, but I guess we owe you now.”

Shen: “You owe me nothing. I acted as needed to maintain balance, nothing more.”

Riven: “Apparently, he’s part of the Kinkou. I’ve heard of them. They’re a group devoted to maintaining order in Ionia, though from what I understand, they didn’t do much when Noxus invaded these shores.”

Shen: “The Kinkou protect the balance between the material and immaterial realms. Mortal wars are not our concern… But this Harrowing threatens to consume Ionia itself.”

Shen gestures outside and, to your horror, you see that the Black Mist has nearly complete covered the forest. The once-vibrant colors of the trees are now faded and lifeless and the sounds of nature are replaced by the cries of wraiths.

“It’s awful…”

“How did this happen so fast?”

Shen: “The spirit of Ionia is tainted, and the land is a reflection of that spirit. What’s more, azakana will feed on the negativity brought forth by this, granting demons more power than ever.”

Senna: “This is what’ll happen to the entire world if we don’t stop Viego. That’s why we need to find that fetter, and quickly!”

Gwen: “But… That Not-so-Funny Faun took it! How are we supposed to find her amidst all of that?”

Vayne: “Hate to say it, but she’s right. If we have to fight through all of that, then Deer Girl will be long-gone by the time we catch her trail.”

Shen: “Fear not, for the Eye of Twilight sees all, even through the darkest shadows. The Dream Faun makes for the coast, though I sense an even greater darkness approaching. You, who are sword to defend the light, will you accompany me to confront this darkness?”

Gwen: “A greater darkness? You couldn’t possibly mean...”

Lucian: “Viego! We gotta get the beach, now!”

Riven: “But how are we going to get there through all this Mist?”

Shen: “Fret not, for I walk the space between world. Gather close to me.”

Though uncertain of his meaning, you and the other Sentinels do as asked, stepping close to Shen as he makes unusual gestures with his hands. Suddenly, you are all engulfed in violet light as Shen whisks you through the spirit realm.

Ionia Part V

You feel formless. Weightless. All around you are sights and colors your mind can scarcely comprehend. Some set your mind at ease, while others terrify you. This sensation lasts for only a moment before you reemerge in the physical realm, surrounded once more by your comrades.

“Hey, long-distance teleporting is my thing!”

“That… Was awesome!”

“That was… Bizarre!”

Riven: “Ugh… I think I’ll stick to the Wayfinder from now on, thanks.”

Shen: “Gather yourselves! The Dream Fawn is just ahead!”

Sure enough, you see Lillia standing on the beach, staring out at the ocean. She clutches the fetter tightly in one hand and her branch in the other.

Lucian: “She doesn’t know we’re here. I say we take her by surprise and-”

Olaf: “RETRIBUTION AWAITS!”

Suddenly, Olaf rushes ahead, screaming at the top of his lungs. Lillia leaps in surprise and turns around to see the berserker rushing at her. Instinctively, she launches a seed from her branch that rolls along the sand, growing large in size as it travels.

“Olaf, look out!”

“Don’t let it hit you!”

Olaf utterly ignores your warning and runs into the seed head-on. To your amazement, he just keeps running even as the seed explodes into dream dust.

Lillia: “W-What!? T-That’s not possible!”

Lucian: “That’s a berserker for ya. Once they get riled up, nobody can stop them.”

Olaf is just about to reach Lillia when, suddenly, the tide behind her swells to life and comes ashore. Olaf is swept back in a massive wave of darkened away, though Lillia somehow remains completely dry.

Lucian: “The ocean, on the other hand…”

Shen: “The Spirit of Ionia is tainted. The trees, the air, the waters… They now bend to HIS will.”

You look ahead to see a familiar figure emerging from the Black Mist, the sea itself parting to make way for him.

“Viego!”

“The Ruined King!”

Olaf: “Pfft! Pah! So, he’s the one who bested the Barbarian King? I thought he would be… Bigger.”

Viego: “Ah, what a pleasant surprise! I travel all this way to find that my prize is already waiting for me.”

Lillia: “Y-Yes, sir. I am here to help your dream bloom.”

Shen: “Stop! You have desecrated the balance, and now you shall pay for your transgressions!”

Viego: “Balance? Fool. Without her, there is no balance. She is the light to my darkness, the joy to my anguish. If you would stand against me, then YOU are the one who shall pay the price!”

Shen and Viego dash across the beach toward each other, their blades ringing out as they clash.

Senna: “Let’s back him up, Sentinels!”

You and the other Sentinels quickly rush to aid Shen, but find yourself impeded by the corrupted Spirit of Ionia. Fierce bursts of wind repeatedly knock you off your feat while rocks along the beach form together into twisted constructs.

Riven: “Ngh…”

“Are you alright?”

“Riven, what’s wrong?”

Riven: “Fighting on the beaches of Ionia, pushing back against the will of the land itself… This whole scenario is bringing back a lot of unhappy memories.”

Senna: “Shake it off, Riven! We need to push past this!”

The Sentinels continue to struggle against the will of the land, but only Shen seems undeterred by it. The Eye of Twlight engages the Ruined King in a fierce battle, both of them vanishing and reappearing all over the beach.

“I can barely keep track of them!”

“This isn’t working!”

Viego: “See how your homeland bends to my will, Ionian! Your allies can lend you no aid. Mine, on the other hand…”

Lillia leaps into the air behind Shen, slamming her branch down on the beach. Shen staggers as Lillia’s dream dust washes over him, falling to one knee as he struggles to stay awake. Meanwhile, Viego turns his attention to your group, his gaze fixing itself upon Senna and Gwen. They fail to notice, too busy fending off the endlessly-regenerating stone constructs on the beach.

“Gwen, look out!”

“Senna, look out!”

Option 1: Viego rushes toward Gwen, but thanks to your warning, she manages to parry the blow and push Viego back her Hallowed Mist.

Option 2: Viego rushes toward Senna, but thanks to your warning, she manages to evade his strike and fire a back in retaliation.

Viego grunts in annoyance and vanishes into the Black Mist once more. To your surprise, he reappears before you, lifting you up by the throat.

Viego: “Such a peculiar child. Your little band is strange enough, but you… You do not even carry a weapon. Still, you seek to defy me, all the same.”

Vayne: “Put the kid down, creep!”

The Sentinels all rush to your aid, but soon find themselves impeded by a wall of sand rising up around you.

Viego: “Many choose to stand against me and my noble quest. Some do it to ‘save’ this cruel world. Others merely resent me, though their hearts are as dark as my own. So tell me, child: why do you oppose me? Justice? Righteousness? Contempt?”

“…”

“What you’re doing is wrong!”

Viego: “Hmph. A predictable response. No matter. Whatever your reasons, you will serve as an example!”

Viego raises his sword to impale you, but another blade suddenly manifests above your head: an ephemeral weapon that lingers in the air. A pulse of spirit magic frees you from Viego’s grasp and destroys the sand barrier. Viego vanishes into the Mist once more, and in his place stands Shen, grasping the shimmering blade.

Shen: “Stand up. Your role is far from over.”

The other Sentinels quickly reconvene around you as you climb to your feet.

Gwen: “Rookie! Goodness, are you alright?”

“I’m alright, thanks to Shen.”

“Still shaking, but otherwise fine.”

Viego: “You think you are safe? None of you shall escape my grasp!”

Suddenly, you notice several giant crabs erupting the sand around you, their eyes flickering with the ghastly light of Ruination.

Senna: “This isn’t working! Sentinels, I’m calling a tactical retreat! We can’t fight Viego AND the damn beach at the same time! Rookie, get us out of here!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you raise the Wayfinder and let its light wash over you just as the crabs begin to close in. In an instant, you and your allies vanish, leaving Viego alone with Lillia on the harrowed beach.

Lillia: “Oh dear. They got away, sir…”

Viego takes the flower from her grasp and sniffs it longingly.

Viego: “No matter. I am one step closer to realizing my dream, little fawn. Come, let us resume our search elsewhere.”

Viego turns and walks away into the Black Mist with Lillia behind him, leaving a Ruined Ionia in his wake.

Back as Sentinel headquarters, you breath a sigh of relief to have narrowly escaped the Ruined King.

Senna and Olaf: “DAMN IT!”

Senna: “We almost had him!”

Olaf: “I almost had my glorious death!”

Riven: So that was the Ruined King… I can’t believe he has that much power.”

Vayne: “He didn’t the last time we faced him. Somehow, that monster’s gotten even stronger.”

Gwen: “Goodness, are you alright, Rookie? That was quite fright!”

“Honestly, I’m still shaking a little.”

“Y-yeah, I’m t-totally fine!”

Shen: “Overcoming fear is the first step to attaining inner balance.”

Everyone: “…”

Senna: “Hang on, how do you get here?”

Shen: “The same way you all did, naturally.”

Shen gestures to the Wayfinder.

“Oh, guess he got caught in the light too. My bad.”

“Huh. I, uh, totally meant to bring you back with us too.”

Shen: “I am here because Balance wills it.”

Riven: “Hang on, are you saying that…”

Shen: “I… Was not strong enough to defeat this imbalance on my own. Ionia has been consumed by darkness, but its spirit has not yet been wholly subsumed. I will do all that I must to preserve it, even allying with your order.”

Vayne: “You want to be a Sentinel? I guess we could do worse, though I don’t know if one ninja will make that much of a difference.”

Gwen: “Oh, another new addition to the team! How wonderful! Please, come with me, and we’ll get you fitted right away!”

You all watch as Shen departs with Gwen, emerging moments later with his new Sentinel attire.

Gwen: “Tadaa! I present to you: Sentinel Shen!”

You can’t help but note that her display lacks the same level of enthusiasm as usual, but opt not to comment on it.

Shen: “It is an honor to fight alongside you.”

Lucian: “Right… Well, let’s get you sworn in, I guess.” (But after that, we’re all gonna need to rethink our plan.)

#Runeterra Retcons

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doomedandstoned · 3 years

Text

Planet of the Dead Return to the Stars as ‘Pilgrims’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Album Art by Jonathan Guzi

Every other day there's a story that calls our eyes heavenward to wonder about new planets discovered in nearby solar systems, terraforming Mars, or exploring the smallest elements in the universe. Anywhere has to be better than here, any time better than here right now. At least that's what a lot of people are feeling. How about the power of music to elevate us into vast dimensions of the imagination. One band out of New Zealand is interested in finding out what limits one can breach when the driving power of doom rock is hotwired with adventurous sci-fi/fantasy storytelling.

I speak, of course, of Wellington quartet PLANET OF THE DEAD Last year, Mark Mundell (vox), Malcolm McKenzie (guitar), Kees Hengst (bass), and Josh Hussey (drums) brought us the impressive first introduction to their soundscape and narrative concept, which elicited no small amount of praise for 'Fear of a Dead Planet' (2020), including the enthusiastic Bandcamper who gushed, "Some of the best jams I've heard in this universe!" Listen to fan favorites "The Eternal Void" or "Mind Killer" and you'll discover why there's excitement around this band's future.

But Planet of the Dead wasn't done yet. As many of us have already experienced, unexpected and elongated times of forced aloneness do crazy things to the creative mind. For one, it frustrates, as you cannot express the present songs you feel so strongly about to live crowds filled with spontaneous drifters. The moods usually shift out of sheer exasperated boredom, leading to the insatiable urge to begin tinkering again. 'Pilgrim' (2021) comes at us like an explosion with stories to tell and songs to wail. It's purpose-driven interdimensional doom we're talking about here. This may have been the impetus behind the second album’s creation, so closely after the birth of their first (incidentally, both records feature exactly eight songs a piece).

"Gom Jabbar" is the first creature we chance upon in this otherworldly dimension. He speaks with synth-enhanced vocals (ever so slightly) that's practically like an alien encounter if you listen to it high (gosh, sorry. I've gotta stop leaking album reviewer secrets like that). A defiant second voice joins the dialogue, sounding for all the world like Goliath, Hercules, or Hulkian figure.

"Pilgrim" stirs up grey and purple auras as this groovy sandcrawler glides across dunes and high above deserts, searching for the most fitting place to (re)build the world they once knew, perhaps even dare to dream beyond it. I'm assuming they're a scientific voyage on the run from a restrictive government in a week's long mini series I should have pitched to NBC 20 years ago for big bucks. The song allows your imagination drift on its own recognisance, before the closing words call us back to the shadows.

A dire feeling blankets the air throughout "Nostromo," a stomping little number that's straight-up doom rock, with a cool streetwalking kind of stride. It's impossible to not to think of previous adventures aboard vessels christened Nostromo, but each are mysterious encounters with the unknown, some of which yield new insights into our humanity by taking us back through some strange luck of heavy metal time travel to experience pivotal moments in astral history.

"The Sprawl" may be one of the most dismal legs of this journey, but in an exotic acid-soaked kind of way that makes you question your reality (and your own sanity) before the trip is done. The song is good about building various layers of joy and tension, then meshing them together for some distorted, fuzzy, electric, sparkin' Frankensteinian experience. Where will the spiral take us next? Confident lead gets a riff-enhanced jolt, staging march-like-groove that eventually turns meditative, psychedelic, and ethereal. And that's just the first side of the record! Go ahead, flip it over. You can't stop this far-invested in the trip. Shhh. Listen. Grungy, rumbling energy, extraterrestrial harmonics, and gnarly acid-touched solos are just ahead.

"Escape from Smith's Grove" jars the senses with the unexpected tonal shift from clarinets into a seismic pattern of eruptions that match our stomping feet. This is, after all, a jailbreak of sorts.

"Directive IV" takes the perspective of an enforcement officer who is just doing his job. Mark Mundell's vocal stylings are on-point. For me they compare to the pipes of the late-great Wayne Static, the spastic, growling frontman of Static X. Others may see more similarity with the "common man" grit of Scott Angelacos from Hollow Leg and Junior Bruce. Or even Kirk Windstein's apocalyptic spitfire with Crowbar.

The song appears to be a struggle of conscience between compassion and machine-like order, a tug-of-war that after several epic call and response segments in which our protagonist is put on trial by his peers. The tight grip of fascistic space goons gradually loosens their grip in the song's final minutes, as a street-worn riff storm carries our rebels far away from the grasp of whatever the fucks. That means our (now treasonous) soldier has a second chance at life in the (are you ready for this?) the unknown wilds of...

..."The Cursed Earth." This is a perfect song for that moment in a show when the alcohol or "legal tobacco" has sufficiently unlocked your third eye with stellar riffs and choruses (this song has several "ah-ha" moments). The vocals are obscured here and are sometimes backed up by other singers to emphasize a specific point in the lyrical narrative. The final moments again are slowed down with impactful tonal moments that make you think you're on the edge spying some strange meeting of warrior souls.

Things are not what they seem They never are

"The Great Wave" pulls you right into its hypnotic sway, interjected with extraterrestrial strains of thought communicated as if by a very blasted HAL 9000, our onboard computer. It's downright creepy when it hits you. Then again, maybe that's what we want from an intrepid album such as Pilgrim, to rope us into a fascinating narrative and invite us to return to sort out the details, several spins down the road. Now that I think of it, maybe these songs are all references pinned to great Alien, Robocop, and Judge Dredd moments? Listen closely to "Nostromo" and "Directive IV" and wonder. A good album should do that to a person, draw you into its storytelling and musical colour. It has me listening to it immediately from beginning to end, then end to beginning. If you wanna give it a shot, Planet of the Dead's monsterpiece will definitely reward your back-to-back listens.

Look for Pilgrims to come to life on July 23rd, with a fantastic spread of options on vinyl and CD (pre-order here). In the meanwhile, Planet of the Dead are letting us join the party leading up to the big drop right here at Doomed & Stoned HQ, where you can hear each track in full. Don't miss crucial insight from the band itself in 'Some Buzz' to follow. Then join in sharing your thoughts and theories (stoned or otherwise) on this transcendental New Zealand metal album in the comments below!

Give ear...

LISTEN: Planet of the Dead - Pilgrim

SOME BUZZ

Just little over a year following the release of their auspicious debut album, 'Fear of a Dead Planet' (2020), which attained more than 35,000 views on YouTube, New Zealand cosmic stoner and doom four-piece band Planet of the Dead are back with a new full-length album titled 'Pilgrims' (2021).

Hurtling towards the forever yawning void within their busted-up space freighter, they draw inspiration from classic science fiction and horror, and push supermassive and megalithic riffs to the outer limits.

"Our second album came together around the titular track 'Pilgrim', which is based on the book 'Slaughterhouse 5' by Kurt Vonnegut. Musically, it plays upon the themes of moments trapped in the amber." So says the band about this new album.

"Our basic concept is heavy music played heavy, and we try to keep it simple. There are recurrent themes in our riffs which gives the album a sense of coherence, but we've experimented with some new sounds in the latest album which we feel results in a greater sense of dynamism.

"Lyrically, we dug deeper into our obsessions with classic sci-fi and horror. There is a distinctive and undeniable fan-fiction element to our work. We actively seek out cultural references, and weave them into our tapestries. Ultimately, we do everything we do for the great god Dyzan, for his greater glory...and for our mutual pleasure.”

Set for release on July 23rd, 'Pilgrims' will surely cement Planet of the Dead’s reputation as serious riff merchants.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

#D&S Debuts #Planet of the Dead #Wellington #New Zealand #doom metal #stoner rock #fuzz #sludge #metal #D&S Reviews #sci-fi #Doomed and Stoned

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dwaynepride · 4 years

Text

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART III - WE CAN ESCAPE SOMETIME

summary: jethro gives the reader shooting lessons to avoid another incident in the saloon.

words: 3,163

warnings: female reader

tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05 @consultingdoctorwholock @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @pageofultron @stanathanxoox @kittenlittle24

author’s note: part 3 of the cowboy!au series. this is a part of meg’s 11k challenge. the prompts are cowboy au and secret relationship trope.

part II | part IV

February 29th, 1889

I’ve spent the last week instructing the heiress on how to shoot. It seems as if she’s never held a gun in her entire life, which I’m not too surprised about. It took a whole day to teach her how to hold my revolver properly. Another day to get her to shoot without letting it fly out of her hands.

But I think she’s getting the hang of it. Not too bad, but not too good. Hasn’t been able to hit three bottles in a row, yet. But she’s getting there.

She’s determined as hell, I will grant her that.

But even in my frequent absence, I’ve noticed Anthony’s change in behavior. It ain’t hard to miss. He’s quieter, somehow. Less annoying. And as much as I should be joyful over this change, it concerns me. Perhaps he’s only in a mood about my saying no to his foolish bank robbery plan.

Or I fear he may be up to not good. That’s nothing new, though.

I can’t sit around speculating. I have another target practice appointment to get to.

The wind carried the light scent of wildflowers. If one were quiet enough, they’d catch the faint chirping of songbirds in the trees. Jethro was pleased that, for all the civilization out here in the East, at least there were some silent spaces left. A peace he’s sorely missed.

And he regrets having to ruin such peacefulness.

Gunshots ring out into the air at random times, one after another. Sometimes accompanied by the sound of shattered glass - but most times not. Jethro watches with serious eyes and a furrowed brow as bullets are fired into the old wooden wall of the abandoned church. When one of the bullets hits a bottle, he gives a light nod.

But it doesn’t happen all too often.

He expects more shots to be fired, but instead hears you give a heavy huff and your arms fall to your sides. Jethro’s eyes shift to where you stand, and you’re just looking at him with an exasperated look. “Mr. Gibbs, I don’t believe I’m capable of being a gunslinger,” you tell him in a flat voice.

“You don’t gotta be a gunslinger, ma’am,” he replies. “You only gotta hit those bottles.”

You sigh again. Eye him with a disbelieving expression, but you turn back to the glass bottles. His old revolver is raised, you aim carefully, and fire.

No shattered glass follows the echo of the gunshot.

Jethro smirks when you stomp your foot in frustration, and he pushes himself off the tree he’s been leaning up against. “This is impossible, I tell you.” Jethro shakes his head at your words. “I believe I may be unteachable.”

“No one’s unteachable, ma’am.” Jethro stops behind you. His eyes run over your back and shoulders, and he quickly notices the likely reason for your missing the bottles. “You ain’t standing right,” he continues. Carefully, his hands come up to square your shoulders. As they slide down to straighten your back, Jethro’s careful to keep his touch light and gentle. Only the tips of his fingers touch your back, but he’s firm in his movements. And you give no objection.

“Make yourself solid. Unmovable when you pull that trigger,” Jethro instructs. His tone is low. Concentrated. Once your back is sufficiently straight and solid, he steps forward. His front almost pressed against your back in order for his hand to reach your arm. Jethro guides it to aim at the next bottle.

And he’s very aware that his heartbeat has gotten faster. Feeling like the tremble of horse hooves in his chest - he’s never gotten so close during any of the other lessons. And Jethro hadn’t planned on the close proximity - it just happened.

He feels you’re tense. And he’s unsure if it’s because of him or the shooting lesson.

You breathe in, and then exhale slowly. And this time, when you fire, it hits the bottle dead on. Tiny shards of glass explode off the church wall. You move the gun, focusing on the second bottle. And again, when you fire, it hits square in the center. Jethro sees your hands tighten around the handle - you’re getting nervous.

But he doesn’t speak. He lets you aim on the third bottle. A heartbeat goes by, and then a second. After the third, you fire again. And just like the others before, the bottle shatters with the impact of the bullet.

Three in a row.

Instantly, you let out an excited whoop. Bouncing up and twirling around to face Jethro with a large grin. And he can’t help but reflect the smile right back at you - what can he say, it was damn contagious. “I got it! I hit three in a row!” You exclaim.

And in the moment of pure excitement, your arms loop around his neck. Jethro can still hear your joyful laughter, but with you hugging him like so, he feels it, too. It shocks him. Surprises him thoroughly, but Jethro still wraps his arms around your middle and returns the hug. He was proud, truly. But he hadn’t expected to feel this sort of softness again.

Being held, gingerly, by someone he cares about.

Jethro’s the one who pulls out of the hug. His eyes are pointed down - not so much avoiding your gaze, but more hiding his own. Guilt pricks at him sharply; he can nearly feel your surprise that he broke the hug so quick. But he merely motions to the broken bottles. “Congratulations. May not be a gunslinger, but I’d be glad to ride with you anytime,” Jethro says lightly.

And when he finally glances up, you look pleased; wearing a proud smile on your face while examining the bottles you shot. “Perhaps I will, one day.”

You turn the revolver around in your hands for a moment. Jethro watches your fingers run over the cool metal slowly; almost a caress. So he’s surprised when you suddenly hold out the revolver to him, intending to give it back. But he shakes his head. “No, you keep it. For your own protection.”

You scoff at that, as if Jethro had told a joke. “Oh, my father would never allow me to have a gun,” you tell him, glancing back down to the revolver. “If he even knew you taught me to shoot, he’d be furious.”

“Well, a lady as pretty as yourself really should know how to protect herself.” At that, Jethro reaches out. His hand covers yours, and he gently pushes the revolver away from himself with a slight smirk. “Just keep it, and make sure he doesn’t find it.”

You’re reluctant, he can tell. But eventually, you give in and tuck the small gun into your waistband with a meek smile. It can’t really be seen, unless someone specifically searches for it. And already, Jethro feels much better that you’re walking around town with some sort of protection.

And then there’s silence - neither of you speaking up or knowing what to say next. This was usually the time when you part ways. Returning tomorrow for another lesson. That was the sole reason for their secret visits, and now that you know how to shoot, there’s no good reason to keep on. The celebration of hitting three bottles was bittersweet, in hindsight. Jethro’s boot kicks up some dirt, and he takes a breath to excuse himself. Perhaps for the last time.

But you’re quicker than him. Stepping closer, and when he glances up, your eyes are both excited and nervous. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Mr. Gibbs, but would you like to take a walk with me? There’s a spot by the river that’s my favorite, and I think you’d very much enjoy it.”

The question gives him pause. Jethro almost declines your offer because he knows what it sounds like and what it might mean and he’s not confident he can simply walk away if nothing comes out of it. Not confident that he can go back to camp without that mooning cloud over his head that Dr. Mallard would sniff out easily.

Because, try as he might to reject the notion, Jethro knows he’s grown a fond affection for the only kind aristocrat in this hellhole of a town.

He’s aware that you can do better than him. You can find a nice, rich man who would pay for your every wish and whim and the only thing Jethro can offer is a life of living in the dirt and blood. But as you stand there, watching him with those soft eyes, Jethro knows you’ll make a fool of him yet.

“Sure, alright.”

Your smile, even temporarily, relieves Jethro of his harsh thoughts. He smiles back, motions for you to take the lead, and then falls into step beside you away from the old church.

There’s silence, for a time. You both listening to the songbirds that have returned since the ruckus of gunfire. The breeze still smells of wildflowers, and ruffles your hair in a way that Jethro can’t look away from. And you catch him in his ogling, to which he quickly recovers from. “By the way, you don’t need to call me Mr. Gibbs,” he says lightly. “I gotta first name.”

“Well, Mr. Gibbs, you never told me your first name,” is your sarcastic response. “I was beginning to think your momma didn’t give you one.”

He huffs in laughter, head shaking. “It’s Jethro, ma’am. Most folk call me Jethro.”

“Most folk? So are there other folk who call you by a different name?”

“Only certain folk.”

You let out a slow, thoughtful hum, and Jethro can feel your eyes against the side of his face. Though, when he looks over, your light smile quickly starts to fade and your eyes flicker to the left side of his face. “How are your battle wounds holding up? I hope you haven’t been in too much pain, on my account,” you tell him.

But Jethro just shakes his head. “Ah, they stopped hurting long ago. ‘Round the time we started meeting up for target practice.”

The scoff you let out pulls a smirk to Jethro’s face - even if it did pull on his bruised cheek unpleasantly. “Mr. Gib- Jethro- that was only a day after the saloon fight,” you point out to him. And he reckons you were trying to trip him up.

So he only shrugs, and you say nothing.

Upon reaching the river, Jethro quickly decides you were right to love it. Green grass lining each side of the clear river. Colorful wildflowers seeming like freckles on fair skin with how they pop. And if Jethro cocks his head, he can spot a doe and her foal drinking from the river a little ways down. Even when the doe lifts her head and spots them, she doesn’t run off. It’s much too peaceful to feel any sort of danger.

Peaceful, and very beautiful. Much like you, in fact.

You pad up to the river’s side, wearing a smile as you look out on the water. “By the way,” you speak up, drawing Jethro’s attention over. “I never really understood why you were so adamant on teaching me to shoot. Any other gentleman would have just defended my honor and been on his way. But you? You’ve done much more than that.” Your voice is soft. So sweet.

It makes Jethro look out across the river again. Damn, he’d hoped you wouldn’t think too hard on his actions. Even worse that you’re questioning him, because Jethro himself had trouble understanding why he was drawn to teaching you.

But one thing was clear: the thought of you being in any sort of danger without him to protect you made him feel sick.

“I suppose I just didn’t want to see a lady be unable to keep herself safe.”

“Well, I doubt you tutor all unmarried women in the art of gunslinging,” you reply in amusement before lifting your eyes up to watch a butterfly as it flutters by. You’re being light-hearted; not pushing the subject much further than he wants to talk about.

And yet, Jethro can’t stop his thoughts from drifting. Drifting back to years prior, to what soured this cowboy life of his so irreparably. The heartache he felt akin to a stab in the chest. The waning sense of uselessness that turned him so hard and cold over the years.

But maybe not so cold anymore. Being here with you, by the river, warmed him more than the sun itself.

Jethro takes a breath, his cobalt eyes fixed on the slow-moving river. He wished moving on was as easy as water to the sea. “I had a wife, long ago.” Your head instantly snaps back to look at him, but he keeps his gaze steady. “Married young, and I loved her very much. But I wasn’t there to keep her safe, like I outta been.”

His words are short and straightforward. Jethro doesn’t watch your smile falter, nor the heartbreak clear in your gaze. He’d rather not see such a sorry sight, and prefers watching the fish swim by - somehow unable to hear his heart beating as hard as it was.

And....you’re still so quiet. Probably not knowing how to reply in the least, and Jethro scolds himself for dumping such a thing on you unprompted. It just came out so easy - he can’t really explain it. But then you move closer to him, just the tiniest step. And Jethro finds himself holding his breath. “I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through,” you say softly. “I’ve never been married; though, if my father had it his way, I would marry his associate.”

A bit of humor edges on your tone - you’re trying to lighten his mood. But when Jethro looks over with a flat look hidden beneath the brim of his hat, you step closer. Reaching out and putting a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. “But I think it’s very honorable to want to protect the people you care about. Or even just....silly girls who need an entire week to learn to shoot bottles,” you say with a smirk.

He mimics your smile, just slightly. But it emboldens you. Softly, your thumb rubs back and forth on his arm. “If I may ask, what was your wife’s name?”

Her name. It’s always been stuck in his throat, choking him for years. A slow death.

But now, it comes easy. “Shannon,” he says.

“A very beautiful name,” you lament. “I bet you miss her very much.”

“....I do.”

The yawning pit in his heart that Shannon’s death left behind, it’s always been so painful. Too agonizing to ignore and it just made him angry when he tried. And right now, the pit is still there. But it doesn’t hurt too bad - doesn’t turn him mad with grief. Jethro can breathe, at least. That’s gotta be something. And when he breathes, he smells those wildflowers.

He turns from the river to face you fully. “I have a confession to make, ma’am. And you gotta promise something.”

You’re curious, he can tell. That little light in your eyes has returned as you nod enthusiastically. “Anything, Mr. Gibbs,” you reply quickly.

“Promise you won’t run off and tell your little friends about it. I know you women love to gossip, but this is just between us.”

You snort, close to laughing but you nod anyway. “Cross my heart - no gossip.”

Jethro hesitates, despite the promise. Almost spills his heart to this woman who has somehow been able to hold the pieces of it in her delicate hands. He nearly makes a fool of himself again, but regains his willpower and offers a half-smirk. “Jethro’s actually my middle name,” he relents. “My first is Leroy. That is why I introduce myself as Jethro Gibbs.”

He watches your eyes widen, and then you’re laughing. Not the malicious type of laughter - your hand covers your mouth to silence the outburst, but Jethro finds himself chuckling, as well. The laughter persists, and then dies down, and he finds your eyes watching him with a warm softness. “Well, despite your grievances, I think it’s a handsome name. A handsome name for a handsome man.”

Jethro’s ready to shrug off the compliment. Tease you for even saying such a thing, but your hand is still on his arm. It squeezes, harder than last time, and Jethro knows that you’re foolishly serious. So he doesn’t lean in so much as he’s pulled in - the thought of kissing you does too much to him to ignore. When your hand comes up, he half-expects a slap to the face for being so bold.

But you just tip his hat up, curl your hand around the back of his neck, and pull him in the rest of the way.

Jethro hasn’t kissed another woman since Shannon. He thought it would hurt too much - he’d be betraying her, somehow. It would be wrong. But when his lips touch yours, wrong isn’t even in his vocabulary.

You feel good. You taste good. Your lips are soft and warm and the skin of your cheek beneath his hand feels like silk and when your hands clutch his coat, Jethro can’t hardly breathe, let alone think. His other hand comes to grip your arm, keeping you in place - perhaps a little too hard, but he can’t help it. He wants to keep you here, pressed against him, forever. With nobody but the doe and her foal to bother them.

And by the way you gasp against his lips, he expects you feel the same.

Despite this, you’re the one to break the kiss. When he feels your breath on his lips, Jethro dips his head in for another. But you back your head away with a soft smile. “I must leave,” you breathe out. “My father will be wondering where I am.”

Your words make Jethro sigh. And he feels the shivers it gives you. “Your father really should mind his own life, instead of yours.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that I need to be home,” you reply softly.

Reluctantly, Jethro releases you. His hands linger on your body, as does yours with his. But eventually, you turn away from him. Walking off toward the direction of town, and Jethro just watches you leave.

So when you stop and turn back to him, you’ve already got his attention. “Meet me in front of the bank in two days. I have to assist my father with something, but afterward, we can go back to the church.” Your smile is wide. Mischievous. So bright, it can be mistaken for the sun. “Perhaps I can hit four bottles in a row.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk. “Don’t push your luck, sweetheart.”

#ncis imagine #ncis reader insert #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #ncis x reader

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samsexualdeancurious · 3 years

Text

His Own Hands | Chapter Twenty

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Words: 954

Summary: Bucky is settling in well with the Avengers but he keeps having nightmares - flashes of repressed memories of a girl being tortured by his hands and then vanishing into a swirling black portal. He's not sure who she is until Fury introduces them to their newest potential team member, a girl Bucky recognizes on sight and Fury calls "Portal".

Warnings: Hurt!Reader, Lack of Communication, torture, trauma, PTSD. Specific warnings for this chapter for torture and drugging.

Written for Nanowrimo 2020

Betaed by Saxxxology and Amory

Cover art edited by me

---

“In here. Be quick, she’s going to wake up soon.”

The voice sounds like it’s coming from a long way away. You frown - or at least, you think you do. Your body feels weird and floaty, out of your control. You can’t tell if your mouth actually moved at all.

“Shit, don’t drop her. If we damage her, Marcus will have our heads.”

You’re flying. No, wait, you’re being carried. Who’s carrying you? Where’s the team? What happened?

You groan and try to move in the grip of the hands lifting you but nothing happens. Fear lodges itself in your throat then. Why can’t you move? Where are you?

Your back hits a hard surface - a table, maybe? It’s metal against your hands and makes you think of morgues.

Are you dead?

No, that’s not right. There’s no way this is the afterlife.

“She’s starting to wake up.”

Thick bands wrap around your limbs, pinning you to the table, and the panic hits you hard as the fog in your brain begins to clear. Your eyes snap open and you see

Blue.

Blue eyes above a black mask, framed by long brown hair.

The man studies you intently, head cocked to one side in a way that would be cute if you weren’t so scared.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, I don’t-”

He presses one hand over your mouth, silencing you. His touch is cool, his skin hard, and you feel your entire body begin to shake in the belts holding you to the table when you see that his arm is metal.

Who is this man? What does he want with you?

Despite asking those questions on the surface, you know in your heart that this has something to do with what happened in the car accident.

The man tips his head the other way, piercing eyes tracing over your body in a way that sends cold shudders down your spine.

BANG.

The man’s head snaps up and he turns to face the door that’s just opened.

“Finally.” This new man speaks with a posh English accent and wears a white coat over a neat suit. He couldn’t look more like a stereotypical scientist if he tried. You grit your teeth, trying to look intimidating but it’s not working. Your face won’t move right. “Hello, my dear. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally see the infamous Project Portal in person.”

Infamous? Project Portal? What the hell?

The man keeps talking, spouting off a bunch of sciency stuff that goes right over your head. Your mind is clearing up as he speaks but you’re still struggling to follow his sentences. So you ignore him, choosing instead to focus on trying to form a portal. If you can get one just right…

“Ah, no,” the scientist sighs, shaking his head like you’re a disappointing child or naughty pet, and smacks your twitching fingers lightly. “Phillips, get that IV set up right now. We don’t want her taking the same way out as before.”

“Yes, sir.”

You want to scream as an IV stand is wheeled into the room and a needle is inserted into your arm. You can feel it the moment the drugs start to hit your bloodstream. The fog slides thick over your thoughts and makes your limbs heavy. It feels like you’re sinking into the table.

“That’s much better,” the blue-eyed man says, leaning over you once more. His metal hand strokes over your hair, surprisingly gentle. His voice is low and dangerous, though. No matter how gentle he is, you’re not safe with this man. “Behave.”

You whimper softly, tears pricking your eyes and blurring your vision.

People are filing into the room, neatly dressed people with cruel white coats. Some are carrying clip boards. The blue-eyed man watches them. There’s something wrong with his eyes. They’re devoid of emotion, like he’s not all there. His hand still rests on your head, metal warming thanks to your own body heat, and you can’t help but feel like he’s the same inside as he is on the outside. Lifeless.

“Soldier,” a man positioned somewhere above your head says. “Begin with the knife. Nothing too serious. We don’t want to overwhelm the project before we learn what it’s capable of.”

Knife? Project? It?

You cast your eyes around the room, searching for some clue as to what’s going on, but all you see besides the crowd of what you can only assume are scientists is the blue-eyed man and the small silver knife in his hand.

“No,” you gasp, realization dawning. You twist in your bindings, instinctively searching for an escape that isn’t there. “No, please-”

Pain.

Your life is pain now. That’s all you know, all you can comprehend.

Sometimes the pain fades a little and you become vaguely aware of your surroundings - labs, mostly, filled with equipment and machines you don’t recognize. Sometimes you’re hooked up to the machines. One time you’re inside of one that you vaguely think looks like an MRI like you’ve seen in movies.

You’re not allowed to become too aware, though. Sometimes you wake but it’s never long enough to fully comprehend what is happening - what is being done to you. The IV in your arm is your one constant besides the few faces of lackeys that you’ve come to recognize - orderlies? Assistants? Is there a proper term for “brutish monsters who drug people and keep them tied to tables at the instruction of smarter, crueller, no less slavering monsters”? - and the few times your eyes open, one of them is right there pushing whatever cocktail of drugs they’re using into your veins.

You don’t even know how many days have passed.

---

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @imsuperawkward @emoryhemsworth @manawhaat

#his own hands #bucky x reader #my writing

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dazed--xx · 4 years

Text

Beside you 3

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 3,494

Genre: Angst, Smut, Light Fluff

Trigger Warning: None

A/N: SO here’s part 3 i got inspired and just wrote it Part 4 will be coming soon hope you guys enjoy. 10 COMMENTS FOR PART 4.

My arm released quickly as Sang realized the figure behind me. “Jungkook! I-I didn’t know t-that s-she was....I'm sorry I swear I didn't know Min-Jun invited me on a date with S-Sunny and Y/N I didn’t even know she was married” Sang stuttered terrified. Jungkook grips my wrist and spins me to face him “Are you okay?” I nod “I just want to go” I push past Jungkook and run out the door as I hear Jungkook and Sunny’s voices calling my name. Rushing down the street as the need to vomit rises in my stomach. Leaning over the side of the apartment building, the world spinning as the alcohol takes over.

A strong hand began rubbing my back, as the stranger pulls my hair out of the trajectory of the vomit. Tears stream down my face, as the figure speaks “Shhhh, I got you baby....” Jungkook’s melodic soothing voice goes through my ears. Soon the sickness subsides and Jungkook is carrying me back to his car. My exhausted frame too weak to walk. We get to Jungkook's car and he releases my legs, pulling me close to his frame sobbing. I wrap my arms around his neck, him holding me as if he's going to wake up and I will disappear. “Kookie-ah” I whine “I'm cold can we get in the car now?” He chuckles and pulls away opening the passenger door.

The second he sits in the driver's seat he has a vice grip on my hand. “So, um... am I bringing you to umm Sunny’s?” He asks hesitantly. I shake my head remembering her words. “Honestly I don’t really have anywhere to go....” I mumble. A loud sigh escapes his lips as he pulls my face to look in his eyes. “Come home...you can always come home to me baby and you know that....” I shake my head “How would I know that I figured you would’ve moved on already...” Anger builds in his face as he hits the steering wheel shouting “GODAMMIT Y/N! YOU DON’T FUCKING GET IT! THERES NO MOVING THE FUCK ON!!! I WANT YOU....YOU! YOU FUCKING BRAT CAN'T YOU GET THAT THROUGH YOUR THICK FUCKING SKULL!!!”

“Excuse me!? Who's the one that fucked some random slut on the night they slept with me? Who’s the one that slept with some bartender not even 3 hours after being married? Who’s the one that degraded me every second up until our wedding when YOU fucking knew how I felt? I've done everything for you ever since we were kids. I took everything your evil friends did until that night. You betrayed me and I still went through with this. You embarrassed me multiple times and then lied to me” I shout confusion appearing on Jungkook’s face “What are you- what do you mean how you-”

“IVE LOVED YOU SINCE FUCKING HIGH SCHOOL DON’T ACT LIKE YOU DON’T KNOW BECAUSE I CONFESSED AND YOU KNOW I CONFESSED AND YOURE GOING TO USE ME NOW LIKE YOU FUCKING DID THEN YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!!” The memory slowly returning to his mind. His face freezing “I know what you mean now b-but this-s isn't like that Y/N I swear” His voice shaky his hand reaching for mine. “You just want me back there so you don’t look like a failure in front of our parents....I'm not stupid Jungkook” He sighs running his hand through his hair. “Baby the only thing I want is for you to come home. It broke me when you left, especially after I told you I love you...You didn’t even let me know you were okay. I’ve been worried.” and for the first time I really looked at Jungkook’s face.

His eyes are red and swollen, dark bags under them. His frame thinner, hands less steady. His worry looks still stuck on his face. “But then I get that text, your text and it was obvious you were drunk you would never say things like that when you’re sober.” Confusion rising in my body.... MY TEXT?!?! “Wait what do you mean you got my text?” Jungkook pulls his phone out and hands it to me. “Yeah! Look you texted me...how else did you think I found you baby girl.” Turning the phone screen on a picture of me and Jungkook from our wedding is on his lock screen. The picture of us sharing our kiss as husband and wife. My eyes lock onto the photo examining it, my fingers trace over my lips as the ghost of his kiss appearing on them. The car pulling into the street, as my messages appear on the screen.

“I need to know where I'm bringing you or I'm just going to bring you to your parents.” “NO!” I shout as Jungkook jumps out of his seat swerving the car “FUCK Y/N! DON’T DO THAT” He reprimands me. “I’m sorry but I don’t want to go there, I haven't told them...” “I know....” He interrupts. “How?” Suspicion rising within me, did you stalk me Jungkook? Fuck how do you know that

“Your mother came by 2 weeks ago to take you out to lunch, she seemed genuinely confused when I told her you weren't there. So, I figured to keep our business ours and just said you went out with your friend to spend the day together.” He chuckles at my accusing tone. “Oh.” My mind drifts off, the memory of the club returning to my mind “Well can you bring me back to your place.... Me and Sunny-” "I know I heard; I can bring you to get your things if you want” “Oh....um....” “Please, Baby...just come home okay? I'll do anything, I'll give you your space you can have your room I haven't changed anything. I can change, Areum is gone.... She means nothing to me. She was gone the second you gave yourself to me. I didn’t tell her that morning because I didn’t talk to her until after you had already left me to tell her to leave me alone.” His voice shaky. “If I knew how that night was going to pan out, I would have never left your side” He turns onto his street.

“Look I-” “No please let me finish, If I knew what they were planning back then I would have never done it I'm sorry I didn’t protect you. You were my best friend in middle school and then I met Byeong-Cheo, he was cool and didn’t care about anything anyone said. I followed behind him and that was the same with how he treated people, we were terrible. But please know I was in that video too okay? I didn’t know it was being filmed let alone being distributed to the entire school. I beat him senseless after figuring out it was him and haven't spoken to him since.” He pulls into the driveway of his home; memories begin flooding back into my mind. Jungkook's hand grasping mine, his other making me face him. “You can tell me to take you somewhere else...but you know I'd like you to stay” He mumbles, my eyes shifting to our hands interwoven.

My hand in Jungkook’s it feels so natural, comforting. I grasp his hand back “Look at me, Y/N” he whispers. My eyes following his hand noticing the fresh ink upon it. Trailing up his defined bicep, the worry in his eyes a frown permanently placed on his lips. His eyes traveling to my lips, silence around us. He sighs “We should get inside. It's going to get cold and you’re only wearing.... that” His eyes following the low sinking neckline, his bottom lip in-between his teeth. I smile, “Yeah, I’m still a little tipsy” getting out of the car. The alcohol taking over as the world spins. Jungkook rushing to my side to steady my feet as I wobble trying to walk toward the door. His hands fumbling with the keys, shaky and nervous.

The heat from the familiar home rushes through my skin. Finding solace on the couch as Jungkook runs to his bedroom. Laying back as the familiar surroundings make me feel at home. 2 articles of clothing hit me in the face “Get changed you probably aren’t too comfortable in that dress” Jungkook says from behind the couch. A seductive smirk appears on my face “I need you to help me, I don’t feel too good” I whine as I lift my hands. He smiles and lifts the dress over my arms tossing it to the side. “Fuck...” He mumbles as his eyes trail down my body. He lifts the shirt I recognize as my own, my hands halt his movements. Lifting my body, my face to his chest hands sliding around his waist sliding under his shirt lifting it slowly. “Y/N-” I silence him “I want to wear this one” I pout. “I can right kookie” I ask as cute as possible. He bites his lip and nods. Taking his shirt off and placing it on me.

I toss the shorts he grabbed to the side, as he walks toward the kitchen “You should eat something so you don’t throw up again? I'm going to get you some water” He returns with a glass of water shoving it into my hands “Here. Wait here I'll be back with something for you to eat” He says roughly. I follow behind him back to the kitchen as he starts prepping some rice. “I didn’t know you could cook” I say softly, “You never asked” He retorted. The rice almost done as Jungkook prepares the kimchi in a pan, I sneak behind him my water long forgotten as his shirtless frame stands focused on his task. My hand snakes around his waist, sliding over his abs. Jungkook’s body tenses as my fingers make contact with his skin. Slowly, I slide my hand down toward his hard member, Jungkook turning the burner off. “Y/N, you need to eat” He says curtly.

I pout as I pull away and sit at the dining table, him placing a beautiful meal in front of me. Not realizing how hungry I was until the food was in front of me, I take a small bite as a burst of flavor explodes in my mouth. After the food is gone, feeling a little more sober. “Thank you that was really good I appreciate it.” I mumble looking down feeling guilty. I shouldn’t have called him this is messed up; he shouldn’t have to take care of you. “I'd do anything for you” He states softly, almost like a whisper. I nod slowly, its silent again. “You should get some sleep. You’ve probably had a long night.” Jungkook speaks up after a few minutes of silence standing up from the table. I nod hesitantly, not wanting the night to end. The fear this is a dream creeping in my as I stand and head toward my old bedroom. Jungkook hugging me before I open the door “Goodnight baby girl” He sighs. My heart racing at his tone, the need to feel his lips on mine grows the longer he holds me. Pulling back, I wrap my arms around his neck hugging him back pressing my lips against his. His lips moving against mine instantly, pressing me against the wall.

My hand pulling at his hair holding him against my body. My panties growing wet as I pull his bottom lip in-between my teeth. His member pressed against my thigh, hard. Jungkook pulls away his forehead against mine “Baby...You’re drunk...I shouldn’t” “You don’t want me” I pout, making puppy dog eyes. He kisses me softly his hand sliding around my throat “You know that’s not it, baby girl your drunk and I'm not the type to take advantage” I press my lips against his neck “Do you miss me like I miss you?” I whisper, I feel him nod. I nibble “I never stopped thinking about how you fucked me... I'm not that drunk please” I brush my lips against his as I beg. “Baby stop...don’t” He pulls back, my hands taking a hold of his before he can pull them off. I shift back to my spot on his neck and begin sucking and nibbling a small red mark, claiming him for my own. “Fuck, baby girl... you're making my cock so hard. Stop please...” He begs.

My lips trail down his torso, I nip on the soft area over his waistline. Pulling his sweatpants down exposing his member smacking against his stomach. “Baby you don’t-” His words cut off as my tongue runs from the base of his shaft to his tip, his left hand gripping my hair. His right finding his balance against the wall in front of him. Profanities escaping his lips as I take him in my mouth. Soon his thrusts are sloppy, stuttering his words “F-fuck, I l-lov-ve th-is mou-th.” My pussy growing wetter at his pleasure, surely a puddle in my panties. His climax approaching fast as I rapidly bob my head up and down forcing him into my throat. “S-SHIT, THAT’S IT BABY GIRL! FUCK SUCK THIS COCK, SWALLOW ALL MY CUM.....IM SO FUCKING CLOSE KEEP GOING BABY GIRL” He looks at me, caressing my face. “Hmmm that’s my good girl, you look so fucking beautiful with this cock in your mouth. I can’t wait to reward you...FUCK!” His praises cut off as his seed spills into my mouth.

I swallow the contents in my mouth standing slowly turning away from Jungkook embarrassed by my actions. I rush to open my bedroom door, as Jungkook wraps his arms around my waist, his hand in my hair pulling my head to the side as his lips attack my neck. A moan escapes my lips “Where do you think you’re going?” A rough smack to my ass as Jungkook’s hand snakes around my neck. “You were just so good for me what happened?” He questions lust and dominance in his eyes. I look toward the ground, ashamed and silent. Another rough smack to my ass as he leads me into the room. “Answer daddy when he’s talking to you. What happened to my good girl? Why did you try to leave daddy like that?”

“I’m sorry daddy I just felt a little embarrassed” I look toward the ground squeezing my thighs together, turned on by his dominance. My panties soaked, the taste of his cum still on my tongue. He spins me around pressing his lips against mine. “Come here baby girl let me make you feel as good you just made me feel would you like that?” I nod “Good girls use their words; you want to be daddy’s good girl, right?” He whispers against my lips. “Yes daddy” I moan, as he pushes me back against my bed. His tongue running over my soaked core through my panties. “Hmmmm you taste so good baby girl, so fucking wet and I haven't even touched you yet. You must get so turned on being treated like my little slut huh baby?” I cover my face in embarrassment Jungkook's frame jumping up pulling my hands away “Don't be embarrassed with me kitten... you're mine and I'm yours I don’t care about anything else your pussy is amazing to me I love how well you behave for me. You do things for me and me only, that’s what makes me cum so fucking hard for you baby girl” He kisses me, leaving a trail of kisses down to my core.

He pulls my panties off swiftly. His tongue attacking my clit my hand tangling in his hair. “FUCK!” “Hmm that’s it baby” He moans licking rapidly at my core. My climax building quickly “No! Daddy please I want to cum on your big cock fuck me please” He pulls back smirking, sliding into my core slowly. “Fuck baby girl, you're so tight” He moans burying his head in my neck. His size stretching me out immensely, “Fuck baby you waited for me, didn’t you? Of course, you did, you’re my baby girl. No one else would be enough for you.” He thrusts roughly as he speaks. “I was so scared someone else was making my kitten cum for them.” “Only you daddy, I belong to you, fuck just like that” I moan out interrupting him as his pace speeds up.

“Fuck that’s your pussy daddy make me cum on this big dick, ughhhh” the profanities released through my mouth as he fucks me roughly. His member attacking my g-spot. “Daddy” “Who’s making you feel this good baby?” “You!” “Say my name” His hand wraps around my throat. I sit silent from the angle as he attacks my core my climax growing closer and closer. He pulls out “Noooo!!!!!!!!!! Daddy why?” “Answer me next time.” I pout. “Let me see that beautiful ass baby.” I blush and flip onto my stomach. He thrusts into me returning to his original pace “Fuck daddy” he smacks my ass roughly, pulling my head back by my hair. “whose pussy is that?” “Yours daddy” his thrust grow sloppy. “Fuck! Who fucks you the way you deserve?” “Fuck!!!! YOU DADDY YOU FUCK ME SO GOOD” my eyes roll to the back of my head as I feel that familiar knot form in my stomach. “Let the whole neighborhood know who owns this pussy” “Jungkook!” “Fuck yes say my name again baby girl it sounds so fucking beautiful out of your mouth” his thrusts becoming sloppier and rougher bringing me to my orgasm as I tighten around him. “Fuck Jungkook! AHHH I'm cumming baby” “FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!” warmth falls in between my legs as Jungkook forces his lips on mine caressing my face.

Pulling himself off of me, he looks into my eyes. “I really hope this wasn’t a dream. Baby I'm so lost without you” He says shakily. “We’ll talk about the important stuff in the morning let me enjoy this....us...for now” I whisper softly, exhausted. “Come here baby girl. I need to hold you; I need you close to me just for tonight let me have that” He begs. I press my lips against his softly as he lies on his back, my head resting on his chest as we drift off to sleep.

The sun shining into the curtain in the morning is blinding, my head killing me. The side of the bed next to me empty, my eyes flutter open slowly. Sliding out of the bed, walking toward the bathroom groggy. A knock on the bathroom door alerting me to the fact that I've drifted off using the restroom. “Y/N?” Jungkook's shaky voice calls out from the other side of the door. I open the door, Jungkook’s troubled look plastered on his face a coffee in his hand. Smiling at his figure “Yes? I can't pee now?” I joke “Oh! Of course, I just went back to the room and you weren't there. I went to get you some coffee and Advil I figured you'd be a little hungover since last night” Last night flooding back into my mind as I mess with him “ugh I don’t remember much....it's all fuzzy I remember getting here and then nothing” I shrug. The color from his face drains “Y-you don’t?” he questions as I burst out laughing and pull him into a kiss. “That rings a bell” I giggle, realization dawns on him and he whines “That's not right you know I was nervous about this” “Don't be I remember everything okay I wasn’t that drunk” He gives me a knowing look “I sobered up throughout the night.” I laugh.

“Can you maybe spend the day with me? If you don’t want to live here baby then fine but give me a chance. I'll take you out today, show you how it could be” I shake my head. “Why not?” He pouts “I don’t really like going out. I'd rather spend the day just you and me if that’s okay?” I bite my bottom lip. “That sounds perfect.” He smiles

#BTS jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #Beside you #jungkook fluff

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motorcitizens · 4 years

Text

ive never seen anywhere to watch motorcity with subs? so i went looking and found transcripts of most of the early mc episodes (available in a reply so tumblr doesnt kill the post) but theyre missing a few towards the end. i decided on my fourth rewatch that id transcribe episode 9! whether youre a hard of hearing fan or just want the reference, here you go! let me know if the initials are annoying, ill edit them out.

-I got you with the slash!

-Nuh-uh!

-You first.

-Why me?

-Cuz you're dead anyway.

-There's nothing down here!

-Philip? S- stop fooling around, man. I- I can hear you down there.

-Aah!

[theme]

-The last time I bought anything from you, it took me a week to fumigate the kitchen!

-Okay, the reshcaps were a mistake, you're right about that. But today, I have something extra special...

D- ...then she says, 'that's why I can't eat the sandwich!'

[all laugh]

C- Wait, wait, I got one. Where does a snowman keep his money? In a snow bank! Eh? Get it? Come on, it's funny!

Th- We're searching for the Vanquisher, king of the realm?

T- Oh. I think they're talking about me.

M- Yeah, I have no idea who you're-

Th- There he is!

Burners- Chuck?!

T- [laughter]

R- Hey! You dare insult Lord Vanquisher? I should take your tongue and feed it to the birds.

T- Uh, you can't do that. I need my tongue.

C- Release him, Darkslayer.

R- ... Fortune smiles upon you today.

M- So, Chuck, you wanna introduce us to your... friends?

C- Guys, allow me to present: Thurman the Magnificent, and Ruby the Darkslayer!

Th: We are knights of the kingdom of Raymanthia.

C- It's called LARPing! [...] Live action role-playing? [...] Okay, I have a life outside of the Burners, you know!

D- Sure doesn't look like it.

T- Oh! I get it! Ahahaha!

Th- My Lord, a situation has arisen. The oracle awaits.

O- As you requested, Sam and Phillip were dispatched on a scouting mission early this morning. But we have not heard from them for many hours.

M- What do you mean you haven't heard from them?

O- I fear, Lord Vanquisher, they have gotten lost on the outskirts of the realm.

T- Texas is confused. Okay, now is this part of your little game or is this real?

D- We're standing behind some dude's van who calls himself the oracle. What do you think?

O- I demand silence!

J- I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm with Texas on this one.

O- Chuck! Make em stop.

C- Wait. Is this part of the game?

Th- No. Sam and Philip are really missing.

M- So, this is for real?

O- We need your help.

C- I vow to find our wayward kinsmen.

C- Guys, this is LARPing!

T- Woah. That's it?

C- Each weekend, teams battle for control of the realm. The rules are simple: First, once you step onto the field of battle, you must remain in character. Second, if you must be vanquished: do so with honor. It's neat, ain't it?!

J- The game's already started?

R- If by 'game' you mean a ferocious battle to the death for the crown of Raymanthia, then yes.

O- But we can't win unless we find our friends.

[at the same time]

C- I say we split up.

M- Let's split up.

M- No disrespect! Chuck- uh, I mean, Lord Chuck. What do you think we should do?

C- Ahem! If we split up, we'll cover more ground!

O/Th/R- As you say, Lord Vanquisher.

C- Okay guys. We'll check the warehouse near the old Renaissance center, you guys check the battlefield.

Th- I dunno where that is. Can somebody else drive?

M- So, King Chuck. How'd you win your crown?

O- It happened many weekends ago... Chuck stood as freedom's last hope against Mad Dog the Conqueror. If he were to fall, darkness would reign for yet another long weekend. Mad Dog summoned his dragon to finish off the Vanquisher once and for all, but fate had different plans. It was totally awesome!

C- Naw, it wasn't... that awesome.

D- Little dudes!

J- Sam! Phillip?

D- Where are you?

Guy- Huzzah!

R- Leave this to me!

Guy- The bards shall sing of this day... the day the Darkslayer fell!

R- Someone shall fall on this day... but it shall not be me.

[fighting noises]

Guy- Aha! Tsk, tsk. You've lost your sword!

T- hyah!

R- What are you doing! I had him right where I wanted him!

Guy- You're not playing by the rules.

T- These are Texas rules! [karate noises] Now. We need you to answer some questions.

D- We're looking for two missing kids, Sam and Phillip. Have you seen them?

Guy- I'd rather die a thousand deaths than help the likes of you.

J- Ahem! Forgive us, my liege, but we are but humble squires in search of our kinsmen. Can you help us?

Guy- I've never been one to refuse a lady, certainly not one as ravishing as you. Saw your kinsmen five hours ago, approaching the Dungeon of Anguish.

D- Neat trick.

Th- We're never gonna find them in time. Then the stupid Bardonians are gonna win, think they're all cool with their fancy mustaches.

C- Hey. Buck up there, camper! People said we'd never win the Battle Royale last Fall, but we did. Our friends are out there, and we'll find em! We just gotta keep-

M- Uh, sorry. Dutch just called. Your friends were seen someplace called the Dungeon Anguish?

Th- It's actually the Dungeon of Anguish.

C- It's, uh. Well, it's actually just in the basement right here.

C- Wah, ah! Get it off me, get it off me!

Th- This isn't part of the game!

M- Yeah, well, neither is this!

R- That was. Incredible!

D- What were those things?

M- Don't know. But I'm betting they have something to do with our missing friends. We have to move. [LARPers kneel] Uh, come on. Get up, guys, we don't have time for this.

O- From this day forth, you shall be known as "Mike, the Smiling Dragon."

Th- You just got a great name. Jealous!

C- For saving my life on the field of battle, I owe you a debt of life.

M- That's... really not necessary.

O- Actually, it's totally necessary. The king of the realm cannot rule while carrying a debt of life.

C- As such, I give the crown to the Smiling Dragon!

M- No. No, Please, look, I can't, I just- I was-

C- Mikey, you gotta!

J- Hey guys, check this out! I've never seen that symbol before.

D- That's really old.

M- Way before my time. Maybe Jacob can help.

Th- What if those... things have Sam and Phillip?

R- Never fear. We have the Smiling Dragon. As long as he's our king, we can't lose. Did you see his moves? They were just so- so-!

M- You okay, buddy? Look, if it's about what happened back there, I'm sorry man. I was just trying to help.

C- It's not that. It's just-

M- Just what?

C- Look, I tripped, okay?

M- Um... If that's some kind of LARPer slang, I have no idea what it means.

C- The story you heard. About how I earned my crown? That's not how it really... went down. It was my first real battle. I'd never held a real lance before. I was still getting my balance when Lord Mad Dog summoned his dragon... I ran forward but... I tripped. The lance fell and hit him by accident! I won my crown with a lie. Hey... it's better that you're king now. I was never fit for the post. I've been king for 48 consecutive weekends, and-

M- 48? Woah, you do play this game a lot.

C- Yeah, but... it took less than an hour of LARPing with you for the others to see me for what I truly am... a follower.

M- Hey, a follower couldn't have led his team to 48 consecutive victories. You can't fake that!

C- Mikey... Look, I appreciate your support but we both know I'm no leader. Not when I'm a Burner and not even when I'm here, playing make believe.

M- Here. Take the pin back.

C- You can't just give it to me! The only way I can get it back is to earn it by saving your life. And let's be honest. That ain't gonna happen.

Th- Never seen that tunnel before. You aren't planning on taking us down there, are you?

R- Well I'm going in!

Th- Do you know how much trouble I'll get in if my mom finds out I went down some crazy dark tunnel looking for killer robots?!

O- He's not joking. His mom is terrifying.

M- They're right. This isn't a game anymore. Texas will stay up here and keep you safe while we go get your friends.

T- What! Wait, why me?

M- Because you're the bravest warrior we've got.

T- Yeah, that's true, but come on! Don't leave me with the nerds!

D- What is this place?

O- Booyah! Mutant wolverine. I win!

Th- I could show you how to use that.

T- Save it. Not interested.

O- Why not? You're really good.

T- You really think so?

Th- Here, watch.

T- Hyah! Huh?

T- Mike, Julie! Incoming! We got trouble!

Th- Come on, I just got this!

O- Your mom is gonna be so mad.

J- This isn't working!

M- I'm open to suggestions!

R- A wizard!

Ja- Applesauce!

J- Jacob?

R- Aww!

Bot- The creator has returned!

M- Uh, Jacob? Care to fill us in?

Ja- It started back when Kane and I were partners- before there even was a Deluxe! I was designing our first ever Utility Bot. Its purpose was to make life in Detroit easier and safer. I equipped it with a new AI that would allow the bot to anticipate human commands, but I was the only one the bot seemed to listen to. But if it were ever to escape the lab, there's no telling the danger it could pose. I begged Kane to shut the program down! I always thought he did.

Bot: It began soon after you left us. Kane retrained us! We were instructed to capture enemies of the public and bring them back to Kane's new creation, an Interrogator. But the humans could not control it. Kane sealed the lab. Our new master told us every human was out to destroy us. As such, every human became our enemy. Disloyalty was severely punished. So we waited, until this door finally opened.

M- Our friends went missing this morning. Have you seen them?

Bot- Of course. We took them per our master's instructions.

J- We need to get them back!

[roar]

Bot- Our master has awoken. If he discovers you here with us, he will destroy us.

M- Get the LARPers out of here!

C- I'm not leaving you guys!

R- Our place is here, with our King!

M- This isn't a game! Get your friends to safety.

C- Let's move!

D- Come on!

J- Look out!

[rubble collapses the door]

T- Mike!

D- Julie!

Both- Jacob!

D- We'll never move this stuff by ourselves!

T- Says who?

Th- What do we do?

C- I know a way to get through there! But I will require your van.

Ja- There used to be another exit!

J- Hey, look at this!

M- The kids have to be in one of those rooms. If we can find a way past that thing we can rescue them and get the heck out of here! Think you can buy us some time?

J- Do you even have to ask? Hey, ugly! Over here!

M- Sam! Phillip! Climb up here!

S- You're the new king of the realm?

M- You bet your butt I am. Lord Smiling Dragon, at your service. Now get up that rope, squire!

T- Okay, I admit. It's pretty cool.

C- But is it possible?

D- Sure. But there's no way the three of us can build it fast enough.

C- What if they helped?

D- I know you don't mean the little lunatics that just tried to kill us!

Bot- We cannot get involved. If our master were to find out-

C- He's not your master! You are in Raymanthia. And in Raymanthia, every man- or... freaky little Utiliton- is free! Free to stand up for yourselves. Free to fight back! And free to live! Our friends are down there, and I swear to you on the steel of my blade that even if I have to slay the beast itself, we! will! bring them back!

[utilitons cheering]

T- hwah! Nah, see, this ain't nerdy. This is a level 25 battle ax, okay? Twenty five. Think about it.

Ja- Maybe there wasn't another exit?

M- Stay here!

M- Way to go, Chuck!

S&P- The Vanquisher!

T- Make way for Texas!

C- The beast is absorbing the blasts!

[mike gets got]

C- Mike!

C- Drive! and when I say stop, stop fast! ...STOP!

M- Ha, oh yeah!

M- For saving my life on the field of battle, I owe you my life. My steel is yours to command, since a king cannot carry... I forget how the rest of it goes, here! All hail King Chuck, the Vanquisher!

R- This was the coolest game ever!

M- ... the game. Your win streak. You guys have to go defend your crown!

Th- We'll never be able to muster an attack in time.

T- What if we help.

M- We're yours to command, Lord Vanquisher.

C- For the glory of the realm!

[all yell]

#motorcity #i meant to just. have this but i figured i might as well post it #chuck (motorcity)#mike chilton #julie kane #dutch gordy #texas (motorcity)#mne

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, JADE! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF JUDAS.

Admin Jen: There aren’t enough words to capture the sheer magnitude of your portrayal, but I would say your writing definitely gets the job and speaks for itself, Jade. You have such keen insight into Judas and the various intricacies that play into his character, and you explored it all so beautifully in your app. My favorite part was certainly the plots and the limitless possibilities they posed for Judas, but every other portion of the app only added onto it and propelled your vision further. It was so compelling to read through, and it left me so unbelievably excited to see Judas prowling and scheming on the dash! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Jade

Age | 27

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | My schedule is nothing if not predictable these days! Covid has me almost exclusively sitting at home on the couch, so barring the time that I spend with my husband, I’m usually around. I don’t always have it in me to write every day, but I think it would be reasonable to expect me on the dash multiple days per week.

Timezone | PST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the rp? | Through Rosey’s grapevine!

IN CHARACTER

Character | The infamous, the great betrayer himself — Judas (ju-da-ah-ahhhhh!!)

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

I | KING OF EVERYTHING

Judas’s ultimate goal, once the last wars have been waged, is to claim the Holy Land for himself. Sorry, for demonkind — but, ruled by and submitting to, himself. He formed Infernum’s government with intention, hiding the monopoly of his power amongst a consortium of others who allegedly hold sway as well, allowing Damien to be the face of the revolution while his hand guided from the shadows. For some time, it has served him well, but contentedness is a poison he cannot swallow. He looks towards the Holy Land and greed takes his reins yet again, his hollowed stomach in knots thinking about a world in which the people bow to a power he does not hold firmly between his teeth. There are a multitude of ways he might go about it, and I’d be eager to plot out the possible angles with other writers, but I do believe that Judas will, at some point, make a play to claim the Holy Land. That might be through political division — sewing lies amongst the people, breeding distrust in the Tridium and their current way of being. It might be through betrayal, tried and ever true — to sell the Tridium out to a rogue set of Heretics, an insurgent with a grudge.. whoever might be interested, really. Or, if all else fails, perhaps by declaration of war.

II | COLLECTING FROM CONQUEST

He’s no fool. He knows the value of a blank check with Dmitri’s name on it, and he’s been waiting patiently for the right time to cash it. While Judas doesn’t yet have his exact ask envisioned, he knows one thing for certain — when he calls upon the favor he’d earned by saving old Conquest, it won’t be for something as small as a discounted price on a hit. No, it’ll be saved for the moment he makes his play towards the Holy Land — war times, when he’s sure to benefit most from the protection of the healing horseman. Until then, he finds such a wicked joy in taunting Dmitri with his silence on the matter.

III | GRASPING THE STARS

I imagine Judas carries a heavy interest in just who is going to be selected as the Stars, and will be doing what he can to sway mortal perception in favor of whoever he feels will best represent the demons’ interests. Azazel plays her part, but a loyal mortal amongst the Tridium would serve Infernum well, particularly in keeping Gabriel at bay. He’ll do what he can to put the right person in the position — and if that fails, he’ll be sure to slither up alongside who is elected and make their close acquaintance.

IV | CONSPIRING WITH THE HERETICS

Should Judas decide that sewing distrust in the Tridium’s ability to maintain peace and safety is the best move, I imagine he may try to use the world’s hatred of the Heretics to his benefit. I could see him providing rogue groups of Heretics or Heretic sympathizers with information about or access to gatherings, parties, political events, what have you. Surely, a resurgence of the Heretics would cause a panic — one that may make the populus question whether their leaders are the best leaders. Who might he set them on, though? Maybe he’d give them an opportunity to assassinate an angel, or even one of his own. Maybe he’d sick them on innocents. The precise move would depend on what’s happening in-game, but this type of betrayal is surely possible!

V | PUPPETEERING THE TRIDIUM

There was a reason he’d reached his hand up to Azazel from the pits of hell, pulled her down into his kingdom and taught her all he could. He’d seen what could be forged from a thing like her — the way she could enchant, the way she inspired adoration. She made for a Moon both palatable and unthreatening — a beauty that begged to be worshipped by the masses, and a mind that cared not for the politics of it all. While she wears the crown, Judas sees the strings as his to pull. I imagine him very much attempting to use Azazel as a means of enacting his particular will amongst the Tridium. He trusts that she’ll continue to represent the interests he instructs her to, so long as the praise keeps coming — and oh, he’s aware of just how key praise is in getting anywhere with Azazel. I see Judas showering Azazel in attention and blessings, all the time, even when there isn’t something he’d like her to get done in the Holy Land. It makes it far more likely she’ll be agreeable when there is.

VI | BETRAYAL OF AZAZEL

Should all mentioned above work without a hitch, I don’t see Judas finding a reason to betray Azazel aside from sheer boredom — though, don’t discount that as a very, very real possibility. I think Judas keeps a particular watch on Azazel, most notably on where her interests lie. If he begins to notice her prioritizing the Tridium before Infernum, things change. If she’s no longer a use to him, she’s a target, and there are plenty of ways I can see Judas trying to target her. As a prominent political figure in the Holy Land, something bad happening to Azazel would cause some sort of political uprising that Judas could surely take advantage of — maybe he arranges her kidnapping, maybe her death. Maybe he just sets her up to look incompetent and make a fool of herself. It would all depend!

VII | WAR ALONGSIDE DAMIEN

From the moment he saw Damien, he’d had a plan for him — to guide the child towards his destiny and his father’s demise. He’d needed Damien as the face of his revolution against Lucifer, but more importantly, he’d needed Damien’s powers for war on earth. Through whisper and trial, Judas had crafted the Antichrist into the weapon that would destroy the Morning Star. Though peace has persisted for years, Judas sees another war ahead of them — one in which the demons stake their claim on the Holy Land, and in that war, he needs Damien’s power of devastation more than ever before. I see Judas subtly preparing Damien for another war, planting seeds of anger and fight in him, winding him up and preparing to unleash him on the world yet again. But, this time, when a new order is established, I don’t imagine Judas sees Damien as any sort of king. No, when the Holy Land is conquered, it will be with Damien as a war general, and Judas on the throne.

VIII | BETRAYAL OF DAMIEN

As time ticks on, Judas grows more and more resentful about the invisible crown Damien seems to be growing a bit too comfortable underneath. While he views Damien as an instrumental piece in his eventual takeover of the Holy Land, and one of his most cherished weapons, Judas’s patience could easily be tested if Damien begins to grow a bit too power-hungry. I could see a legitimate rift building in Infernum, in which some sort of civil war erupts between Judas and his protege for the true crown.

IX | MINDING THE CELLS

In Abaddon, he sees something almost resembling an equal. He trusts her with the keeping of the Cells, he trusts she’ll allow him the kind of access and influence over the prisoners that he needs, while never aspiring to threaten his rule and supporting all his endeavours. Ever an opportunist, I think Judas uses Abaddon to keep a close eye on who’s currently in lock-up, and how they might prove useful. I imagine him either prowling the cells alongside Abaddon, looking for abilities or gifts that he could weaponize, or unfortunate souls he can use as scapegoats in various plots, or heretic sympathizers to manipulate, conspire with, and unleash. While he’d never say it explicitly, I imagine Judas is silently keeping an eye out for some sort of being with a power he could one day weaponize against the Antichrist himself, should the need ever arise to deliver Damien his ruination.

X | BETRAYAL OF ABADDON

As Abaddon struggles with the duality of her nature, wrestling with her angelic remains, I’m curious to see how Judas responds. I imagine he might view any further exploration into her angelic nature as a threat to her loyalty, and if he fears she’s disloyal, he’s not above throwing her to the wolves — perhaps locking her in her own cells if he suspects her of holding interests elsewhere, or unlocking a few doors and setting on her a legion of prisoners hungry for vengeance. You know, just an idea.

XI | BETRAYAL OF JUDAS

The one we’ve all been waiting for — the plot in which the tables finally turn, and it’s Judas who’s blindly turned on by someone he’d made the mistake of trusting. While the details of this would be entirely up to other players and what they might have in mind, I would gladly offer him up to learn what it feels like on the pointy end of betrayal.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Should the circumstance be right, and I could still find a way to be a part of the group post-mortem as another character, I could be convinced!

Driving Character Motivation | What motivates your character’s actions? How does it define them? Where does this motivation stem from?

IN DEPTH

In a word, himself — more specifically, the advancement of the self, full utilization of every opportunity he’s given to climb ever higher. Within Judas lives an insatiable thirst for power, a desire to devour and rebuild in his name and image. No matter how many lives he holds firmly in his palm, there are always more to seize. A master strategist, with moves planned to be executed as early as tonight’s dusk and as far-away as the new era he’ll one day reign over uncontested, he sees the path of greatness he’s laid out for himself, and it propels him ever forward. His selfish, greedy, hungry soul has never rested, never waved a flag of white. He cast the Son of God out from the earth, and Lucifer himself from the pits of hell — and yet still, he craves more.. More power, more leverage, more shadowed spiderweb strings with which to puppeteer his ever-growing consortium of underlings. It’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough.

Both his most rudimentary nature, down to his rotting marrow, and God’s wicked predestiny may share accountability in equal parts.

We’ll first address what comes from within. Something dark and nebulous has always festered in the pits of him — an emptiness that knew only how to want. That blackness, rumbling hollow and empty, is sin itself, as entwined with his being as the ligaments and cartilage that held his human bones together. Amongst the reasons his eventual rise led him to the Conclave rather than an anointment as one of Damien’s vices, his most favored is that he simply cannot be reduced to a single manifestation of sin. A gluttonous appetite that the body and blood of Christ himself could not sate. A deep-rooted greed able to mistake the glint of silver for salvation. A silent pride so resounding he bathes himself in absolution, while wicked wrath condemns the rest. Even as he followed the Son of God and recited his teachings, the devil perched himself comfortably on his shoulder, whispering of selfishness, of indulgence, of power, and Judas drank each word until their voices became one.

The thing about sin is, it is inherently unsatisfied. It is the lacking of something, of glory itself — a hunger that wants to be fed, an envy that wants to seize. Sin is desire, and thus, he, sin incarnate, is desire perpetual. It’s a curse of his unholy nature that he’ll never truly be content. What is contentment, what is happiness, but a surrender? An abandonment of progress? The enemy of greatness? The end? He cannot simply allow dust to settle, nor allow the light peeking from behind the horizon to cast itself against his back and force upon him a life no longer concealed by shadows. He won’t have it. With each iteration of the universe, he’ll pick utopia apart bone by bone until he finds a reason to loathe it, foraging for discontentment, because it is his only way forward. What a cruel trick on God’s part, that He sculpted a creature who cannot stomach the taste of sweetness. He spits it back into the dirt, dissatisfied, and instead chews on the bitter, the propulsion of his own vileness, the most indulgent, comforting flavor he’s come to know.

Now, allow us to return to Him for a moment. All predispositions for blasphemy, Judas can blame on Him. Judas Iscariot had been born a man — human, fallible, like every waking creature of the Lord. And, as it did to all other humans, sin had crept its way into his veins and claimed him. He’d done what the man he’d betrayed had taught him to do — in his momentary guilt, he’d sought absolution, repentance, for having allowed the devil to take hold. Still, he remained damned on arrival, a pawn in God’s game with a fate predestined for ruin. Had God not sculpted Judas Himself? And He dared punish Judas for personifying His own design? All of it, pre-orchestrated back when the cosmos were but babes — and thus, all of it, exhaustive and fruitless to fight. If he was to be damned, then let him be damned. That damnation wouldn’t rule him. He’d rule it. Even now that God has been vanquished, and Lucifer alongside him, Judas is ever driven by his resentment and anger towards the paradox his maker cursed him with. That anger manifests in Judas’s unquenchable thirst to build himself an empire greater than any God ever could, to build himself into an entity more powerful, more feared. It’s the only way to prove himself bigger than God’s alleged all-encompassing predestiny, greater than a handful of verses written by men who would be but footnotes underneath his gospel.

Character Traits | OPTIONAL. Please list 3 positive traits and 3 negative traits that you identify in the character you’re applying for.

+ | PATIENT (see also: steadfast)

To blaspheme one of His virtues by wielding it as a weapon is simply in Judas’s gospel. Finding an innate way to corrupt even the most holy of traits, his patience has put time itself to the test. With an eternity to burn, and God to thank for that, he’s learned to control human impulses and embrace the power of ensuring things unfold at the right time. Ever with an end vividly envisioned for the selection of foes currently at odds against him, he strikes at the time of heaviest impact. Never too early. Never too late.

+ | DIPLOMATIC (see also: persuasive)

He can convince anyone of anything. Including himself. His tongue can twist the vile and thorny, disguise it as something candied, dripping in nectar. It makes him an excellent representative, able to keep his head about him for the sake of maintaining relationships. He understands the importance of people, of connections — in the hands of one who knows how to properly wield them, they’re a far more powerful weapon than any sword or spell.

+ | STRATEGIC (see also: cunning, clever, perceptive)

He always has a plan — for everyone, for everything, at all times. One of two questions can be asked of everyone in his life — what value do you provide me, or alternatively, how might I destroy you? It’s only ever one of those two, and he’s often got a fully fleshed out strategy plotted either way. He thinks in terms of the war, not just the battle, planning moves that might not come to fruition for millennia. Once one goal has been reached, he finds another, and begins again.

+ | STRONG (see also: formidable)

Not one to be easily intimidated, he does not back down when challenged or threatened. In fact, he’s more likely to actively seek out a fight or rivalry, simply to demonstrate his fortitude.

+ | COMPOSED (see also: controlled, intentional)

If you can read the emotion on his face, it’s simply because he wants you to. He has a commanding sort of control over his composure, one that demonstrates discipline and demands respect. Not to say he can’t hurl insults and roar — but that when he does, it’s because he chooses to; because that’s what his analysis has decided will serve him best in the moment.

- | SELFISH (see also: disloyal, corrupt)

He’d drive a knife into anyone’s back if it would get him a single step further — he wouldn’t even hesitate. Ultimately, looking down another soul’s path does him no good, he’s decided. There is only him — his own glory, his own road to revolution. There are guests along the way, some he favors more than others, but he is the only thing that will persist and endure. The center of his world, that will always be his core — but he’s mastered the art of pretending otherwise. Despite the way he’ll swear his allegiance to a millennia-old friend, there isn’t a soul he wouldn’t sell. For those he has yet to, it’s simply because it’s not yet the right time, the right place, or the right price.

- | VENGEFUL (see also: ruthless, resentful, begrudging)

His anger is a quiet one, one that’s hidden in dark places, growing thorns, festering and rotting until a grudge grows so old its stench simply demands attention. He does not forget a single transgression, a curse for an immortal. His rage is cycled into revenge, and he enacts it gleefully. Perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but if you’ve wronged him, whether you know it or not, you can be assured he’ll strike — but not until it benefits him the most, and cuts you the deepest.

- | INSATIABLE (see also: power-hungry, greedy, indulgent)

He’s always been a bit of a magpie, shiny silver things calling to him — and everything celestial simply glows. He is a being made of wanting, hungry to devour lands and stomp his boot on the wreckage. No matter what he achieves, which luxuries he tastes, how much power he is truly able to seize, his curse is that none of it will ever satisfy.

- | MANIPULATIVE (see also: conniving, duplicitous)

While he may have a handful if favored pawns, everyone in his life is a pawn nonetheless. He’s prepared to scheme against and sacrifice any and everyone that stands between he and his ends, keeping his cards close to his chest, most often with true intentions known to himself and him alone. Oh, and he’s an excellent liar.

- | DESTRUCTIVE (see also: implosive)

Judas is not the kind that will ever find happiness in peace. In fact, he is not the kind that will ever accept true happiness at all. In his quest for ever more, he’s always striving for something, always needing to rip something content apart so he can sculpt something of his own in its place. I believe this translates to people, as well. He’s never known how to accept love; he actively rejects it. How could he not? Had God Himself not told him he was never destined for love? In time, his response to comfort and acceptance is always the same — to turn his back on it, to crush the heart offered to him. He did it to Christ, who welcomed him as his disciple. He did it to Lucifer, who loved him like a son. Should another make the mistake of loving him, he’ll do it again.

In-Character Para Sample | There is no minimum or maximum word count to this para sample, but we do encourage that you highlight your character’s VOICE and MANNERISMS within it.

THE GOSPEL OF JUDAS: A STUDY IN SILVER

ACT I | PIECES

It begins with a glint, a wash of light caught against the body of silver that’s piled neatly in three stacks of ten, blindingly beautiful. Then, a proposition — to surrender the one he calls teacher, Rabbi, friend.

Should they have negotiated in whispers in the dark, offering only empty promises of treasures to come, perhaps Judas Iscariot may have remained faithful to his so-called Lord’s teachings of honor and conviction. Alas, they don’t. No, he offers to betray his God under warm, bright lights, before a pile of riches that shine so bright he can’t see the blood that taints them.

“The one I kiss,” he commands the lawmen. “He’s the one.” His head nods in slow, stern affirmation. His eyes remain locked with that bewitching stack of silver. What a transfixing, all-consuming thing greed can be, making itself at home in him once again like an old friend. Bewitched fingers snake around a single piece, the silver’s ice a delightful chill as he slides it into a pocket; one now, as a deposit. The rest later, once the deed is done.

As he throws heavy garden doors open, police following in hordes and numbers, he bears a smile that shines as bright as the piece that sits with comfortable, reassuring weight in his pocket. “Greetings, Rabbi!” he bellows, and as he steps boldly forwards, he places the Son of God’s face in his hands, pulls his lips into his, and is irrevocably damned. Mouth pressed firm against that of Christ, he does not taste divinity; it turns to ash on his tongue as he seals the fate God himself had promised.

He watches, proud, as the Lord is dragged away, as Christ’s disciples turn their swords towards the soldiers in retaliation and heartbreak, all the while, his hand in his pocket, twirling that single piece of silver between his fingertips.

Some present will come to say in their recountings that this is the day Satan entered Judas Iscariot, pierced him with sharp talons and claimed him for the hellions. These men lie. To give the Morning Star credit would be blasphemous to his gospel, for the greatest devil the world will know is not perched upon a throne in the fires of hell. He is born of the organic rot found only in the pits of fallible man.

ACT II | TONGUE

In the forges of hell, riches take a new shape. The wealth he’d condemned himself for? Worthless in death, reduced to a river of shapeless molten sterling. He has no choice but to adapt. He allows that silver to coat his tongue instead, and in their union they both evolve and yet remain entirely unchanged.

Infernal wings sprout from his shoulders and the devil himself casts his favor upon him, and Judas is acutely aware of just how unique he is amongst his new brethren — dare he say, simply, better? What feat is it to have manifested from nothing, to wield powers that were gifted rather than earned? Is the true mark of a demon not in his will? His ability to rely not on divinity to bring ruination, but on merely the curve of his lips and the void in his chest?

The thought tastes poisonous each time it simmers to the surface — his dissatisfaction with Lucifer’s status quo, though it remains to be seen whether it’s hell’s regime in particular that he loathes, or the existence of any regime whose reins he does not hold. It’s not important, not as he gathers demons eternal and fledgling alike in crooked, cavernous shadows, whispering curated falsehoods to them in the dark until they claim his anger and hunger as their own.

“A kiss — that’s the signal,” he repeats to each of them, his words carbon. “Only then, is it time.”

It will not be time for quite some time, though Judas lives every day as if it might be — sowing ever deeper his seeds of doubt in their liege, parsing Lucifer’s each breath, examining his hallmark overconfidence, watching the hellish love with which he showers his kin as he demonstrates he knows nothing of the revolution that his most wicked ward brews in the dark.

He wakes that day not yet aware that the day has come — not until he hears Lucifer beckon for him from his altar. “My Lord?”Judas asks, the word silken as it slides over his lips, wrapping all disdain in luxe and warmth.

“I can sense it, Judas,” the devil smiles. “A soul on earth has proven themselves. Go to them, and drag them home with you.”

Judas pauses, and when he listens, he registers not the words Lucifer says. What he hears is: the day is now. It’s a straw as small as any that breaks Judas’s back — the most rudimentary form of disrespect, to task hell’s crown jewel with a hound’s fetch-and-retrieve mission. He cares not to see the love in Satan’s request; what is spoken in between the words of Lucifer’s decree is Judas’s value, his Lord’s pride in his work, his trust in him over all the rest. It is in loving him, that the devil gives Judas the power to destroy him.

“Yes, my Lord. I’ll set out at once.” He nods along with his empty assurance, and with a look upwards, he meets his maker’s eyes with finality, casting him a last glistening smile before laying palms on either of the devil’s cheeks. “Goodbye, my Morning Star,” he wishes, and he means it, pressing his lips to Lucifer’s and savoring the taste of sin.

He pulls away, and the devil’s eyes open to the same sight that had brought the ruin of the Christ child — Judas Iscariot’s beaming, prideful smile, an army at his back, swords drawn, but this time, led not by the Sanhedrin. It is the antichrist that carries the charge, his own menacing grin drawing nearer, as hell’s usurpers claim their new order.

The devil is dead. Long live the devil.

ACT III | CROWN

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he hums, allowing the thick iron door of the Conclave’s court to close loudly behind him. “We reconvene soon. I don’t have long.”

Lie. It is he who called the recess, and it is he who will decide when it ends. He shares none of this with Damien, who stands impatiently in the adorned hallway. “Then divulge,” the Antichrist itches.

The echoes of both their tones resonate loudly, as deep and heavy as the invisible crowns each of their heads hold high — though, one brow seems to far better suit regality. He does not wonder which of them will topple beneath the weight of theirs first; he already knows. Everything when the time is right, and until then, he walks a delicate, intentional line as he addresses his pseudo-son, simultaneously wanting to stroke the boy’s drive and shatter his independence. He must feel powerful — to a limit.

“The Conclave has requested you assemble the Vices.” Judas, even-toned and composed, presents it as an ask; it is not. It’s a directive. They both know it. “Sources suggest a siege of insurgent Heretic sympathizers are gaining on the Palace walls, possibly with intention to break their own out of the Black Cells.” He can hear the way Damien begins to laugh midway through, but he does not stop speaking.

“A handful of Heretics?” Damien sputters. “And you believe that calls for the Vices? Abaddon has kept larger threats at bay single handedly.”

Judas scoffs. “So you suggest we do nothing?” he deigns. “Wait until they claw at our gates? Leave Abaddon to face them alone?” In pause, his brows knit together, though he contemplates nothing. “Gather them, boy,” he states loudly, and this time, it is an order explicit. The moment of sharpness passes quickly, and a familiar grin toys against his jaw. Once again, suddenly, they are friends. “What use is the devastation you hold in your fingertips if not to defend what majesty you and I have built here?”

He feels resentment, bitter and cold, steaming in wafts off of the young halfling — but then, an acceptance just as cold. “I suppose it’s been some time since we’ve been out to play,” he concedes.

“I knew you’d make the right decision,” Judas smiles, placing a large, strong hand on Damien’s shoulder. “I’ll need you out the gates as quickly as possible. Do have some fun with it, won’t you?” And just as quickly as his smile had appeared, he rescinds it and turns on his heels back towards the court’s wrought iron doors.

With a slow turn of his head, he locks eyes with his pupil, and arrogance claims him. “The Conclave wishes you the best of luck,” he bolsters, proud and booming — one last signifier that, in their clash of crowns, it will always be his that blinds brightest.

Extras | OPTIONAL. If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here!

I’ve compiled some inspiration posts on this blog! Additionally, here’s a small selection of headcanons:

HEADCANON: WINGS

Judas’s wings are of feather and bone — raven-black feathers, some that are tipped in brilliant silver. In some places, feathers have been charred or cut during battle, and the bone beneath is visible. He prefers it this way. Bone, sprouting from his shoulders, is human, as he once was before he ascended past those demons who manifested from nothing.

HEADCANON: SWORDPLAY

Judas’s greatest strengths lie in diplomacy, delegation, and manipulation. While he can wield a sword well in battle, it’s only because an eternity has given him time to practice. Truthfully, his skills as a swordsman are far below most of his fellows. Where he makes up for it is in waiting in the shadows for the right time to strike, rather than aimlessly wailing at a target out in the open.

HEADCANON: RESENTMENT

He made it to Hell before Salome did, and yet her wings sprouted before his? He’s never forgotten it, and never will. His anger towards not having been the first of humankind to join the hellions is projected in its entirety onto Salome, and though he has yet to enact his wrath, he remains plotting.

#accepted #accepted: judas

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caysophia · 3 years

Text

Platonic relationship

This chapter has aspects of the movie but some scenes are left out.

Y/ns pov

The sound of glass breaking and a slam was heard from down the hallway, "What the fuck." I said as I took off my headphones and heard a scream. Sam. I exited the room and ran down turning into the washing room, Sam slammed up against the countertops a washer with the glass blown out.

"Hey, what the fuck happened?!" I shouted, grabbing his hand to help him up, he flinched. " What, I just. What the fuck is happening?" he said hyperventilating and started speed walking with my hand still in his "where are we going sam?" I questioned, still very confused. Sam kept on walking, not answering.

"Aaaaah!" another scream this time a girl's voice, Rahne or Illyana.

Illyana came running down the hall at full speed. A man with a smiley mask following "follow!" She yelled and we tagged along "what is that?! What is going on!" I screamed looking back seeing more smiley men. Sam and Illyana turned down a hall, I ran straight, not being able to stop. I ran down more halls trying to find someone, Rahne or Roberto. Maybe even Danielle.

I turned down a hallway, again and again, and again. Hopping, maybe even praying at this point find someone.

I turned down a hallway, seeing blood all over the walls and floor. The hallway was different from the rest like it's another dimension. A woman stood at the end of it. And turned around, her skin fried. In some parts falling off of her. I looked at her face "What the fuck is happening!" I screamed And started to cry. The lights started to flicker, some even blowing out. "How! I killed you, your dead! You were fried!" I screamed, feeling electricity move down my arms, the woman walked closer, she started to multiply and I ran. I ran back down the halls I had come from, the lights blowing out as I ran down them. I turned around to see hundreds of the same women, and I sent a bolt of electricity towards them. Knocking them down, and I ran. And didn't stop until I heard another scream and the door being slammed shut was a loud bang. I ran towards the door, seeing blood on the floor and the door. "What type of horror movie is this?" I questioned and went to open the door.

I walked in and saw Rahne and Danielle, Rahne trying to wake her up, Danielle was knocked out. I looked around the all-metal room, an Iv pool with a bag of green liquid hanging from it.

"Hey!" I yelled and Rahne looked at me. She was half turned and there was more blood on the floor. " Dr. Reyes, she tried to kill her! Help me carry her," she yelled and I took her in my arms. Danielle is quite small compared to me, and very light. I looked at Rahne "We have to go, there are monsters out in the halls. Something isn't right here." I said running out of the room following Rahne "its Dani, she can show people their fears. I saw the priest that... you know." She said with gasps as we came across another lanky man. We turned around and saw more behind us.

"Fuck me." I said and tried to think of a way to get out of this, "Ah!" was heard as Illyana came out of nowhere with her powers activated, she hashed and slashed at the men without a second thought.

I ran down the hall, Rahne and Illyana following "wheres sam and Roberto?" I screamed, turning down more halls trying to find an exit. "We need to go to the church, maybe we'll be safe there." As they ran down some more halls, Sam and Roberto came out of a hall further down the hall." hey! Behind you!" Rahne Yelled to the boys as a smiley man came out from behind them, Illyana teleported and killed him.

After a few more minutes of running, we finally made it out. The sky was a dark grey. We ran into the church and tried to find a place to hide.

"Here take her." and handed Roberto Dani "what am I supposed to do?!" he questions and ducked behind one of the pows.

"Guys! Behind you!" Sam screamed as a whole was put in the roof of the church "what is that!" I screamed "it's Danis fear. The evil bear. " Rahne said with a scared tone. I looked at the knocked out Danielle. I looked up to see the evil bear bending down towards Roberto and Dani. Illyana tried to hit the bear, getting one hit before getting slammed to the ground.

Sam mumbled something before charging at it. Knocking out one of its teeth before hitting a wall. I ran to Dani and tried to wake her up. Roberto, Illyana, and Sam try to take down the bear.

Rahne making sure the bear doesn't come close.

"Come on Dani, please wake up!" I pleaded with the unclean girl "Dani! Wake up, you have to control this bear. It's too big for any of us to take it down. Please wake up!" I screamed as I shook her, sobbing. After a few attempts at yelling, she started to wake up "hey hey come on, you have to stop this please." I pleaded, and she started to come. Dani saw the bear and saw

Sam and Illyana be thrown in the air. She stood up and walked towards the bear, Rahne screamed at her to stop, but she didn't listen. Dani said something to the bear and it started to calm down. "Hey, you have to stop this. You need to control it" she said calmly and reached her hand into its head, the bear slowly turned to ash and the sky turned blue again. Roberto looked around, with a shocked expression on his face. I looked up at Dani and took a deep breath.

"I just was free now?" I questioned looking at the guys. They laughed and stood up "I guess." Rahne answered. We all got stuff from the facility and stood at the gate. And looked at each other. "There's no turning back now," I said as sam throw a rock up in the sky, no shield anymore. "There's a town 20 miles away. Wanna see.if it's true" Illyana smirked. We walked out of the facility without looking back. Finally out of the cage, that most of us had been locked in for a very long time.

#danielle moonstar #mirage #fanfiction #my stories #danielle x reader #danielle moonstar x reader

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aliceslantern · 4 years

Text

Grow, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 2

Suddenly human and abandoned in the Keyblade Graveyard, Demyx struggles to survive and come to terms with what his life is. Only by chance is he saved from exposure, and brought to Radiant Garden to recover. Unsure of who he is and where to even begin, Demyx finds a kindred spirit in Ienzo, and before long finds perhaps he isn't the only one lost in this new life. But how can they move forward with so much holding them back?

Roughly canonverse, Zemyx, hurt/comfort. Started for Zemyx day (9/6). Updates Wednesdays until it's done.

Chapter summary: Demyx begins to recover from his ordeal, and plan for whatever comes next.

Read it in FF.net/on AO3

---

Dark, for a long time, actually.

What he was aware of first was the pain. His muscles and back were screaming, forcing his eyes open. There was so much to take in he actively had trouble sorting all the stimuli.

Pain, a bed, cool air, a window with white curtains. Something pinching his hand, a plastic lead. A tube?

Demyx thought he saw a person. His eyesight was weak, and he squinted. White coat, slate-gray hair. Was this all another hallucination? He tried to sit up, but it was so painful he just flopped back down weakly.

The person turned. “Oh, you’re awake,” he heard. They crossed over to him, and Demyx could see the vague outlines of Zexion’s face.

“Zex?” He cleared his throat. “Zexion? No…” He coughed a little. “Ienzo… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“Are you real?”

“Yes, I’m very real. Much to my chagrin.”

“Am I dead?”

“No. Not quite.”

Demyx thought. His mind seemed slow to process information. But if he were dead, why would he be in so much pain? “H-hurts…”

“I’m sure it must. Do you want me to get you something for the pain?”

He looked at the ceiling, trying to decide. Did he want to try and clear his head? Or did he want the agony to stop? “Okay.”

Hazily, Demyx watched him get up, cross over to a cabinet, pull out a blob (a vial?) and what had to be a syringe. Demyx felt something stinging injected into his hand, and a few moments later the pain began to subside to a throb. His vision was still not quite clear. “Is that better?”

“T-thanks…” It was difficult to speak. “W-where--?”

“Radiant Garden. Isa and Lea brought you in here in a panic. They were looking for clues to help Sora in the Keyblade Graveyard. You were horrifically dehydrated. Your kidneys failed, and Even suspects you may have had a seizure at some point--”

“...Yikes.”

Ienzo chuckled a little. ““Yikes” is right. You’ve been unconscious a few days--we were worried at first you might not wake at all. But then you started to rebound.”

“I’m… a-alive?”

“Yes.”

For a moment, Demyx just looked up at the ceiling. “Now what,” he murmured.

He thought he saw Ienzo smile. “Recovery,” he said. “It’ll probably be a while before you feel fully back to yourself.” A sigh. “And there may yet be lingering effects.”

“Like… what?”

He shook his head. “Even would have to examine you to be sure.”

“Am I human?”

Ienzo knotted his hands together. “Yes. Perhaps not yet technically fully--the data is still inconclusive. It is only you and Even who are going through this. Right now, it is imperative you rest, receive enough fluids, and try not to get too anxious.”

“Even.” Demyx tasted the name. “You mean Vexen?”

“His Somebody, yes. Which reminds me. What is your name?”

He hesitated, and strained to think. But it was like hitting a mental brick wall. Demyx couldn’t remember; he suspected he hadn’t been able to for a long time. “I… I don’t know.”

He thought he saw surprise on Ienzo’s face. Then, “perhaps… you’re simply disoriented, with all that your being has experienced. It may come back to you.”

He was feeling tired again, now that the pain was subsiding.

"...Why don't you get some rest," Ienzo suggested.

"Okay."

Ienzo got up and headed towards the door.

"Zex?"

"...Yes?"

"Thanks."

A sigh. Demyx could not read his expression. "Sure, Demyx."

---

Demyx dipped in and out of sleep for a long time. When he woke up for real, he was less sore, but he was shaky and somewhat nauseous. His vision was still weird--did his Somebody just need glasses?-- and he squinted hard. He felt sticky and gross. Maybe they'd let him take a shower. How much time had he lost? He got up slowly. With the IV, it was hard to maneuver, but he was able to peek out the window, to the town of Radiant Garden below. He'd been changed into loose linen pajamas. His body felt odd; he flexed his hands. He had to have lost some weight.

"...Oh, good, you're able to get up."

Even's voice startled him; he gasped aloud and his heart gave a weird, quivery beat. "Frightened you, did I? My apologies. Here, sit." He gently eased Demyx back onto the bed and took his pulse with two cold fingers. "...That was all quite hard on you, wasn't it?"

"I don't feel well."

"Of course you don't. I'd be shocked if you did," Even said. He felt at the glands on Demyx's throat. "It's a miracle you were found. A few hours later and you would've been no more." He took a pen light out of his jacket and tracked Demyx's eyes for a moment. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Sore. My eyesight's kinda funky."

"The soreness is part of the dehydration. It should pass in a few days. I'm more concerned about your kidney functioning. It's improving, but it's not where it should be. Eyesight… well, that could possibly be again due to the kidneys, but you might've naturally needed glasses anyway. Strange problems the Nobody status hides. We'll keep an eye on it, pardon the pun. There's some medication I want you to take daily and you must rest . I'm sure you need no excuse to be lazy." He scoffed a little.

"Why did you save me?"

Even seemed genuinely confused by the question. "Was I to let you die, then?"

"I just…"

"You helped me," Even said. "But regardless I think that you being another living thing is reason enough."

Demyx felt his eyes watering.

Even sighed. "At some point we must let past conflicts lie."

"You became human like me."

"Ah… yes."

"Did you forget things?"

Even cocked his head. "No," he said slowly. "What can't you remember?"

"A lot of things. ...My name."

Even stared deeply into his eyes, as though looking for something. "Of course brain damage is possible with dehydration but--"

" Whoa, wait, what--"

"--but I don't think you've experienced anything that extensive. Perhaps… it could be…" He put a hand to his chin. "...I so wish I had access to a working MRI…"

Demyx swallowed.

"You're stable enough to be talking to me, at least," Even said quickly. "We will look into what we have." A pause. "Do you know how long you were there alone? What happened?"

Demyx explained about Xigbar. "He broke the phone so I couldn't call you guys. And then he knocked me out so I couldn't escape in time. I had no power-- I couldn't…" His eyes were watering again, and he felt it break free.

"It is traumatizing," Even said, almost gently. The gentleness was so jarring Demyx started crying in earnest, pressing a hand to his mouth. "Surviving such a thing and dealing with this new humanity on your own."

"I'm pathetic."

A sigh. "No, you're not. How long were you there alone, Demyx?"

He tried to remember. "At least three days… after that it's hard to remember. I… I knew I was going to die…" the tears were hot on his face. "He left me there to die."

Even sighed. "Leaving it to the fates," he muttered. "Alas, you seem to be lucky."

"Ha. Hardly. It's total coincidence they found me."

Even hummed. "You're alive now, whatever that means to you."

"What do I do ?"

"I'm afraid you must answer that question for yourself." He stood. "Do you feel up to trying to eat?"

"...I guess."

"I'll get you something light." He left.

Demyx considered the interaction, hiccuping. Even had never been so kind to him before. Was this because of the vessels? Or did humanity just make him different ?

He looked at his hands blurrily. "Am I different?" He asked out loud. He had a new lease on life, free of Xemnas and Xehanort and he was dubiously human. Everything he'd ever wanted. But it was a hollow victory.

He lay back down. Even brought him rice, and he was able to keep it down. The man didn't want to remove the IV line just yet, and Demyx was feeling vaguely tethered. He said he could shower, though, so gladly Demyx did, shedding days of desert. He almost started to panic when he saw clumps of hair gathered in the drain, but Even reassured him through the door it was a stress reaction and the hair would likely come back.

He'd never been so painfully aware of his body, its aches and pains. Shouldn't have been proud of himself for being able to go to the bathroom, or found so much pleasure in brushing his teeth. Once he was clean and dressed (in clothes other than a cloak?) he returned to his bed, exhausted already.

"Lea wants to see you," Even told him. Demyx thought he saw his jaw tense, a glint of fear in his eye--but why? "Would you even want that?"

He shrugged. "I owe the guy a thanks, at least."

Even sighed and put a hand to his brow. "Alright."

A few minutes later Lea bounded in, followed by Isa. They weren't wearing black cloaks after all, just black clothes. "Good to see you're okay," Lea said, grasping his hand. He almost looked like he would move in for a hug. "That was scary. "

"Sorry for going all zombie on you," Demyx said. He found it hard to meet his eyes. "And… thanks for saving me." He bit his lip. "You didn't have to."

"As though we would leave you to die?" Isa said levelly. It was odd to see his teal eyes. "I think I owed you ."

Demyx scoffed. "For carrying two empty dolls?"

"For taking the initiative. As it were."

Lea slung an arm around Isa. "It's because of you that Roxas is up and about. We gotta thank you for that."

Demyx shook his head. The praise didn't feel good. He just felt weepy again.

Lea sat next to him on the bed. "You alright?" He asked a bit more softly. "The eggheads treating you okay?"

"Everyone's been… really nice," he said. "I don't get it."

"Humanity has afforded clarity," Isa said in a low voice. "None of us treated you very well."

"Because I was a bastard."

Lea snorted. "I think we all were. 'Sides, you were only a pest at the absolute worst."

His lips twitched in a hesitant smile.

"It seems you have quite a story to tell," Isa said.

The smile faltered.

"Only if you wish. I imagine it was very difficult."

Demyx took a deep breath. "I felt pulled there," he admitted. "The… graveyard? Then Xigbar showed up--"

Lea put up a hand. "Wait, wait, wait, he's alive? "

Demyx frowned. "Yeah."

He groaned. "He must've faked us out."

Demyx touched his chest. "When Xehanort died both Even and me lost his heart. The same must've happened to him."

"It's still worth bringing up to Riku and the others," Isa said to Lea.

"I don't know where he went," Demyx said honestly. "He knocked me out, broke my phone. So when I woke up I was human."

"And trapped." Isa shook his head. "A sadist way to go out."

"Yeah. I sort of… wandered, just trying to find water, and then you guys found me. But not before I got all sorts of fucked up."

"We weren't sure you would make it," Lea said. "You stopped breathing a couple times on the trip over."

"I did?"

Isa nodded. "Never have I missed the corridors more. But we're… human."

"I really owe you one," Demyx admitted to his lap.

"Think nothing of it."

"What will you do now?" Isa asked.

"I have no idea," Demyx admitted. "I… never thought I'd get this far."

Lea chuckled. "Well, it's nice here, and it's nice in Twilight Town. Feel it out. I think our landlord had an empty apartment in the building."

"You guys have an apartment? In a building? In a town?" He sighed. "Why does that feel weird?"

Isa smiled. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Am I going to have to get a job?" He asked, and groaned.

Lea laughed. "At least you can pick it this time."

"And not until you're well," Isa added. "Take your time recovering."

"...I'll try."

Lea patted his shoulder. "We gotta go. Just wanted to check in on you, is all."

"...Thanks."

"Ienzo has our numbers. Give me a call."

Demyx watched them leave. Their faces seemed pleasant until they were in the hallway, and he heard-- “... Xigbar. I knew it couldn’t be that easy.”

Demyx decided not to worry about it, because he was feeling tired again. He lay back down and went to sleep.

#grow #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #even (kingdom hearts)#lea (kingdom hearts)#isa (kingdom hearts)

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mythicamagic · 5 years

Text

Eye of the Beholder: Subayui oneshot

Commission for @s-e-kwan, happy birthday ^^

Summary: Alternate plotline for Kou’s More Blood Manservant Ending, wherein after being ignored for so long by Kou, Yui stumbles into Subaru.

Rated T for language

Angst/romance

Is love ugly or beautiful?

----

The late hour drenched everything in shadow, the moon and street-lamps banishing them to the corners of Yui’s vision. She wiped at her cold, damp cheeks, but more tears rolled down to replace the old ones.

She knew it was dangerous to be out so late alone. The good church girl never would have thought she’d become so reckless in her heartbreak, but Kou’s flair for the dramatic must have rubbed off on her.

Kou.

That’s right. If he couldn’t see her anymore, maybe she was invisible? Perhaps she’d died a long time ago within the vampire’s clutches and now walked as a ghost. Then there’d be no reason to be afraid of walking the city streets at night.

“Ah, Kou-kun. Good morning. What happened yesterday?”

Nothing but silence had answered, the blonde vampire passing by without a glance. Perhaps he simply hadn’t heard?

“Kou-kun?”

“Oh, hey hey Yuma-kun. Did you do yesterday’s homework?”

“Ah? That thing’s too annoying to do!”

The beautiful boy she’d come to love laughed, the sound carefree and amiable. “I know right. That’s why I asked.”

His taller brother had glanced down at her uncertainly. “You do know that she’s calling out to you. You’re okay with that?”

“Eh? She?”

“Sow. Right in front of you, she’s calling out to you!”

Ice had shot into her heart the moment his red and blue eyes had glanced around, purposely passing over her. “Yuma, are you tired? …Isn’t there no one else here but us?”

She stumbled a little, walking with no destination in mind. Since Kou’s silent rejection, Ruki had told her there was no need to stay at the Mukami mansion. But she’d been stubborn and clung to her love. She’d tried so hard to make him see her for months on end, following him like a spectre.

But then he’d slung his arms around those girl’s at school and laughed so heartily with them. She’d seen him sink his fangs into their delicate throats in hidden corners. The message was clear; Yui Komori wasn’t needed anymore.

After yearning, crying, praying for nothing but freedom for so long, it now felt hollow. The breeze didn’t feel soothing on her skin. Nothing satisfied. She realised she didn’t want it. She hadn’t wanted to cage door to open when she’d grown so accustomed to the bars.

Should I…call Father?

Nothing was stopping her now, but what if he couldn’t hear her over the phone?

What if-

“Ach, watch where you’re going!”

Blinking, Yui held her sore shoulder that had been roughly bumped. Glancing up, rose-pink eyes met blazing red.

Subaru’s expression changed, hard features softening only slightly. “…It’s you. What the hell are you doin’ out so late, hah?”

“Y-you can see me?” She breathed.

“Tch, the fuck you talking about, of course I-“

Yui grabbed his hand tight, tears collecting in her eyes. “Can you touch me?”

Subaru’s eyes flew wide, face shuttering. He stared at her as she curled her free hand in his torn shirt. “Please, do anything. I don’t mind if you bite. I just need to feel something, please!”

“…The fuck did he do to you?” He muttered quietly, voice thinning a little as a woman with features like his, adorned in pure white flashed in his vision.

Staring up at him beseechingly and easing forward, she rested her head against his chest, tears rolling down pale cheeks once more. Subaru remained still, as though carved from stone.

“I saw you around school, following after him like a lost puppy. You finally left his side, huh?” He rasped.

“I’m sorry-“

Life finally entered his tone. “Don’t fucking start apologising. You always do that, and it doesn’t mean shit.”

Pulling back a little and glancing away, shame filled her. “I just…I was being selfish.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll grant your wish, if you want my fangs so bad.” His large, calloused hands were suddenly pulling her back in, tangling in the dulled blonde strands of her hair. “…You’re mine now. I better not hear you talk about him again. I won’t have you become my Mother, always waiting for a Bastard. Wanting him and all that shit-“

Yui’s breath hitched. Gladness filled her heart. Someone was holding her, and it felt so…different to before. “I can only see Subaru.”

Red eyes blazed, looking regretful even while he leaned closer, not stopping. “You’re gonna regret this. My hands will dirty you.”

Her soft, pale hand covered his. “They feel wonderful. Please, more…”

Hey…Subaru, is love real? Is it something beautiful or ugly?

---

He’d noticed it eventually, a few hours into her absence. Kou blinked, looking behind him and expecting a shadow, but there was none.

“I saw her.”

Kou whipped his head forward, starting upon seeing Yuma in the hallway. “Where? Heh, did she get lost? Dumb girl…”

“Nah, she was with one of the Sakamaki’s in the city. Should think they’re at his mansion now-“ the front of his shirt was suddenly yanked- Kou glaring up at him. A dark, wild look of fear passed over his face.

“Y-you’re lying! She wouldn’t do that!”

Yuma growled, ripping his hands off and shoving him back. “I ain’t fucking lying! Saw it plain as day, she was cuddling up with that Sakamaki hermit. Look, Ruki said to leave them alone. That other guy will probably become Adam- Oi! Where are you going! Kou!” He exclaimed as Kou disappeared with a burst of speed.

----

She’d only experienced his embrace for a day, but Yui had slept soundly with the vampire, enclosed in his arms and coffin.

Subaru didn’t talk much. When he did, he often cursed or tsked spitefully, but his eyes always found hers, straightforward. His hands on her body were rough, like he didn’t know how to handle things with care, but she liked them all the same. They felt like a sure thing on her body.

Of course, her peaceful Eden didn’t last long.

They’d been in the rose garden, taking a walk together under the pale moon and talking quietly, when a form burst out from the bushes. Subaru had raised his arms, snarling and meeting the blonde head on.

Yui stared, heart thundering in her ears.

“Y-yui!” Kou shouted, landing heavily on his feet and looking at her imploringly. “Are you okay? H-hey…we should go back together. I didn’t mean that thing before- I was just confused. Heh, you know I don’t handle love very well, right M neko-chan?” He breathed, mismatched eyes a little crazed.

Quickly dodging Subaru’s fist, he leaped. “Let’s go back. Things can be like they were before!”

Yui’s eyes hardened, pain filling her chest while her gaze averted. “…Subaru…you’re acting strange. Why are you fighting by yourself?”

Kou jumped down, staring at her, aghast. “Don’t start doing that shit!” He pleaded, feeling a rush of desperation. He blurred through the air, heading towards her with his fingers out-stretched, before a fist slammed into his cheek.

“Back off!” Subaru snarled, lips peeling back to reveal fangs. “She’ll do whatever she fucking wants! She ain’t yours anymore. You think if ya ignore her forever she’d be fine with it? Idiot!”

“That’s rich! You’re always pushing or pulling her away too!” A fist pummelled Subaru in the face, making him spit blood.

“Fuck off!”

“…There’s no need to get upset, Subaru. We’re the only ones here,” Yui mumbled, holding her arms and folding in on herself.

Kou snarled at the youngest prince, before the two descended into an all out brawl.

Bone’s cracked, ribs shattered, skin clawed and ripped.

Yui watched everything, trembling alone in the moonlight. Was this love? Fighting, scrapping, killing each other?

The ground was split open as bodies thudded into it. Dirt was sent flying. Blood rained out. Subaru lost his grip.

Flying free, Kou extended his hand once more, speeding towards Yui. “If you can’t see me, I’ll make you!” Manic tones snarled.

Rose-pink eyes widened, before her back landed hard against the earth, knocking the air from startled lungs the same moment her skull met the ground.

Colours drained away as darkness claimed her sight with a blaze of pain. Something sharp stabbed into her eye, ripping a cry from her mouth just as she lost consciousness, retreating from the horror.

---

A rhythmic beeping noise was the first ting she became aware of. Cracking her eyes open, Yui blinked slowly, moving her hand and stilling when it hurt. An IV was attached.

Movement on her left made her turn her head. Coarse palms slid into her hair, stroking slightly. “Damn it…” he breathed.

“Subaru?”

He exhaled shakily. “I told you I’d dirty you.”

“I’m okay. You look sad, what’s wrong?”

She didn’t want to ask but she wondered what had become of Kou. The vampire above her had blood-shot, tired eyes. She felt as though she’d been hit by a truck, groggy and weak. Something hurt on the right side of her face. Raising her hand, she felt raised, bumpy, sore skin around her eye.

“Ah, I see you’re awake miss Komori.”

Yui shifted, looking up at Dr. Reinhart. He walked gracefully into what appeared to be a private room. She couldn’t be sure if they were in a hospital, but she had the strangest feeling she was back at school in the nurse’s office.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, “it’s been a few weeks since you were injured.”

“I-injured?”

“Oh yes, didn’t Subaru tell you? That Mukami boy certainly did a number on you. I think he got a little carried away,” he chuckled as though the thought was amusing. “Luckily your knight in shining armour was there. He brought you here and I treated your wounds. Unfortunately you needed surgery to remove the damaged eye, it was…”

Yui wasn’t listening anymore. Forcing herself to sit up from the pillows, she gripped the IV and tore it out, much as the muffled sounds around her seemed to grow in volume. Climbing unsteadily from the bed, she felt those same calloused hands steadying her waist and wrapping around her fragile fingers.

Easing to the mirror set upon the wall, Yui flinched and stilled at the sight. Her eyes grew wide, skin draining to a ghostly pallor.

One rose-pink eye stared back.

The other was glassy red, pupil slit.

“I took the liberty of putting the fake-eye in already. It was my only condition when agreeing to help you, because admittedly I was curious about its effects on you. Do you like it? I can always find one that matches your natural colour but-“

“Doctor,” Yui cut in, trembling. “Whose eye was this?”

Subaru gathered her close then, muttering that it didn’t matter into her hair. The guy was gone, dead and buried. Who cared where they’d gotten it?

“There’s no need to worry my dear. You wanted to know if love was real, correct?” The Doctor purred in silken tones. “Now you’ll know. That eye never lies, it sees the truth in all hearts. Hopefully you’ll use it better than the previous owner,” Dr. Reinhart smiled, assessing the new Adam and Eve.

Yui trembled in the arms that held her, gripping his torn clothes tighter. Looking up at him and blinking through her tears, she choked on a sob.

Kou, I-I understand now. Like this, I can see everyone’s emotions. It’s overwhelming, but…love. Why did you think love was ugly?

Subaru raised her bleeding hand to his lips, sucking the blood away and licking over the wound. His bloodied lips then sought hers.

It’s so beautiful.

She accepted Subaru’s desperate kiss, sliding her hand carefully into his bangs and brushing it away from his face. Reverent, solemn, frightened emotion stared back at her, but she handled his love delicately like a newborn.

She wouldn’t doubt love like Kou. She’d try to understand it. Nourish it. Both Subaru’s emotions, and Kou’s old ones contained in the eye she wept from.

I’ll show you the blue sky you wanted to see so badly, Kou.

#subayui #kouyui #Subaru Sakamaki #Yui komori #kou mukami #diabolik lovers #diahell #dialovers

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