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masterjedilenawrites · 3 years

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"Youre so full of light, I'm afraid I'll be the one to quench it" with crosshair x reader? is that an option?

Awww yesss, I’m happy to write anything for this grumpy toothpick! 🖤

Crosshair x reader | 2k words

“You’re so full of light... I’m afraid I’ll be the one to quench it” from this prompt list.

Crosshair was avoiding you. That much was obvious.

At first you'd thought he was having a bad day and let him have his space. But then it kept happening. Never looking at you. Leaving the room as soon as you entered. Pretending not to hear your questions. You were back to where you'd started with him, all those rotations ago when the Bad Batch had first arrived on your home world to help drive out some troublesome pirates. He'd been a tough cookie to crack, but slowly, day by day, you'd managed to draw him more and more out of his shell. And the more he did, the more you fell for him.

But now he'd retreated back behind his walls again and you had no clue why. Had you said or done something to scare him? You weren't sure, but you also weren't disheartened. You knew someone as special as Crosshair would take time and patience to bond with. You'd pull him back out eventually, you were confident.

An opportunity came when Hunter announced one day the need for the marksman to scout a nearby pirate camp, located in a clearing just beneath a forested ridge of land. You knew the area yourself and convinced the Sergeant you'd be a good assistant for Crosshair's recon mission. The sniper had had his helmet on when Hunter sent you off with him, so you could only imagine whatever salty expression he sported beneath it.

The two of you trudged along in silence for a while at first. Occasionally you'd suggest a path to take, or he'd caution you from stepping on the more unstable parts of the terrain hidden beneath the underbrush. Otherwise, you let him be, and instead focused most of your attention on taking in your surroundings. Even in the midst of trouble, you still made a point to appreciate the beauty of your planet. The curved and knotted trees, each as unique as a snowflake, with their wide leaves fluttering in the grasp of a stray breeze. The tiny beams of sunlight that sliced through the foliage and illuminated the otherwise dingy forest floor. The echoing songs of the winged creatures that danced above your heads, ignorant to the conflict of the more sentient beings they cohabited with.

Eventually you couldn't help yourself, and you started to hum a song of your own. It was a tune you made up as you went, each note created to express whatever new feeling sparked within you as you ventured further into the forest. You were hardly a composer, and you were certain that even when humming you were off-key, but it didn't matter. The song made you feel light and free, a feeling that was rare but welcomed wherever you could find it.

You realized you were being watched, and turned your head to see Crosshair's worn helmet trained in your direction. He quickly averted his gaze, but it was enough to show you he'd been staring for a while. You hid a smile, not wanting to seem like you were teasing.

"Am I annoying you?"

"No," he said, low and quick. You noticed his grip on his rifle tightened ever so slightly.

"Are there any songs you like? I can try to sing if I know them."

He did not respond, continuing to plod alongside you in silence. Well, at least you'd gotten one word out of him.

You soon arrived at a part of the ridge that gave you the perfect view of the pirate encampment below. You nestled in the crook of a large tree while Crosshair laid himself prone on the ground next to you. He used the scope of his rile to get a better look at the camp, muttering details he thought important while you logged them on a holopad for future strategizing.

"Kriff," he growled. You peered around the trunk of the tree, as if you could see whatever had caught his eye from such a distance. You could only make out little dots of tents and people scattered in the valley below, so you turned back to him for explanation. "Children."

You hummed knowingly, which seemed to fluster him.

"That doesn't concern you?" His scope was abandoned as his helmet lifted to face you.

You shrugged. "What, criminals can't fall in love and start families?"

You couldn't see his scowl but you could feel it. You weren't sure why his grumpiness made you want to laugh sometimes, but you hid your amusement with another shrug, not wanting to upset him further, not when he seemed to be more open to talking to you again.

"Well it's going to make this mission much more difficult," he grumbled, starting to pack up his rile.

"Yeah..." you agreed, but you didn't sound as defeated as he did. "We'll just have to get creative. We'll figure it out."

He was crawling over to your spot behind the tree but paused at your words, his helmet tilting as if in thought for a moment. You raised your eyebrows at him, wishing you could somehow read the marksman's mind. You were certain his thoughts were fascinating; they usually were with the quiet ones.

He settled into the space next to you and fumbled around in one of his pouches, eventually bringing out a couple of small ration packs. You smiled in gratitude as you took the one he offered you. You hadn't realized how famished you'd grown from this outing.

"It's not much," he mumbled as if apologizing. He worked on freeing himself from his helmet and you tried not to stare at the face that emerged from it.

"It's still something," you smiled through bites of... well, whatever it was you were eating. It tasted more like wood than food and you tried to believe it at least had some nutritional value as you forced it down.

Crosshair was shaking his head at your words.

"What?" you asked. He only shook his head again.

You tried to drop it, but your patience was starting to wear a little faster than usual. He was so close to you, and yet he felt further away than ever. You were both angled so that it'd be natural to look at each other, but you could see him purposefully looking anywhere else. You moved your knee experimentally, brushing against his and causing it to jerk away suddenly. Even beneath all his armor you could tell his muscles were tense. Something was clearly bothering him and you hated the thought that you were somehow the cause of it.

"Crosshair," you said, trying to keep your voice soft and non-threatening, but still speaking loud enough for him to know you were trying to get his attention. He reluctantly looked at you, his fingers curling around the rile that lay across his lap in clear display of unease. He almost looked sick. "What's wrong?"

His frown deepened, further than you ever thought possible.

"Cross," you said again, even softer now, scooting yourself just a little bit closer. You felt like you were approaching an injured animal. You needed to be careful if you wanted to help him, lest his suddenly snap and chase you away.

"Nothing's wrong," he huffed, still determined to keep his thoughts private. You didn't move closer, only looked him up and down, trying to figure him out.

"If I did something to upset you," you said slowly, "please let me know, so I can try to make amends. I don't want to be a burden to you."

He sighed, but it wasn't as frustrated or annoyed as it usually sounded. He brought his hands up to his face and dragged them down, slow and forlorn. When he spoke, it was so quiet you could barely understand. "You're not a burden."

You squinted at him, summoning back what patience you'd briefly lost before, waiting.

"I'm the burden," he said a little louder. "You, you're so..."

His eyes cast about the forest beside him, as if he might find the words he wanted painted on the trees. You held your breath, unsure what they could possibly be.

"So full of light," he finally said, allowing his gaze to finally meet yours. "And... I'm afraid I'll be the one to quench it."

You blinked as it became clear to you the cause of his turmoil.

"Your response to everything is positive," he continued rather quickly, as if to get his thoughts out before he could stop himself. "All I see is hardship and difficulty. You sing songs and act like everything is beautiful."

"Most things are," you couldn't help but say, which only caused him to glare at you, proving his point.

"This forest is not," he said. "There are a hundred places someone could've hid and got the jump on us. Those pirates are not... They can have as many children as they want, but they are fools for bringing them along to a raid. These rations are not..."

He threw the crumpled wrapper at you and probably would've continued his ranting had you not let out reached out for his hand and stopped him.

"Okay, okay, I get it," you said with a slight chuckle, only resting your hand atop his, not yet holding it fully. "I'm an optimist, you're a cynic. So what?"

"So..." his voice slipped back into a growl. But he trailed off, unable to explain why it mattered to him that you were so different from each other. You had a guess as to why now; it had become quite clear to you the sniper had feelings for you that were very similar to the ones you had for him.

"You want to know what I think?" you asked with a smile. You waited for his nod to continue. "I think we need each other. I think you need me to ease your worries, show you that not everything is as difficult as you make it. And I need you to keep me grounded. Keep me safe from all the threats I can't see. We make a good team, you and I. That's what I think."

Crosshair looked at you and it was if the walls he'd built up were slowly lowering down again, just as they had when you'd first gotten to know him. The lines on his face, usually so sharp and prominent, softened as your words began to settle within him. You much preferred seeing him like this, relaxed and at ease.

"You won't ever be a burden to me," you said, now letting yourself cross the gap that remained between you, saddling up alongside him so your sides were flushed together and your hands, now holding each other properly, rested on your thigh. "My entire planet is at war. Most of my friends have left or are dead. I don't even have a home anymore. It's going to take a lot more than your grumpy ass to quench my light."

You rested your head against the stiff plastoid on his shoulder. It wasn't comfortable, but it was more to show him the truth of your words. You trusted him. You enjoyed him. You wanted to be close to him.

He didn't say anything, but then again, he was better with actions anyway. After a beat, he let go of your hand and moved to wrap his arm around you instead, pulling you into the crook of his shoulder and placing a toothpick between his teeth with a contented sigh. You let out a happy sound of your own, humming your made-up song as the two of you rested against the tree.

You knew this probably wasn't the end of Crosshair's insecurities, that you had a lot of work ahead of you to continue convincing him that he was wanted and worthy, that you were strong and safe. But it was a good start, and you were more than willing to keep going, knowing the reward of Crosshair's love at the end would make it all worth it.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #the bad batch #crosshair #crosshair x reader #ct-9904 #my emotional support grumpy toothpick man #ask box open #prompt list #i'm feeling creative in this chilis tonight

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0606-hyuck · 3 years

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a letter to my lover | lee jeno

♡ dear y/n, i’m writing you this letter in the hopes that it gets to you well. our relationship has been tumultuous, that’s for sure, and i thought it was high time i wrote you a letter detailing all the times you said "i love you" that are important to me.

genre: jeno x reader, fluff, mild angst, supernatural!jeno, angel!jeno

warnings: blood and violence, descriptions of injuries

word count: 1.9K

tagging: the lovely @roses-of-the-moon ♡ @mora134340 + @nct-writers

Dear my beloved Y/N,

The first time you said “I love you”, you had already saved my life.

I still remember the day you found me, as clear as the cloudless sky that loomed above us. You were taking a short walk through a hiking trail when we met; the stony path was surrounded by great trees, which you later informed me were pine native to the area. I still remember the look on your face when you found me: beaten, bloodied, and bruised, with my left ankle twisted in between two large roots that protruded from the dirt. You clearly couldn’t believe what you were seeing, if we’re going off of the double take you did - you later told me that you never imagined you would come across a half de-robed young man with feathery wings sticking out of his naked back.

When I realised you had spotted me, a billion thoughts were flying through my mind. Would you help me? Would you call the authorities to report what you’d just witnessed? Would you even believe what your eyes were showing you? From the moment we met, you knew I was not from this world - hell, the wings were a pretty big give away - but only hesitated for a second before you ran off the path to help me, to make sure there were no other walkers travelling the same track. It would be an understatement to claim I was in a wee bit of a predicament. Considering I was an angel who had just been chased from my world into yours, beaten, and left for dead, life wasn’t really going my way at this point. I was the divine being in this situation, but on that day you were the only angel in the forest.

Without batting a single eyelash, you rushed over to examine my wounds. The cuts were deep and painful, but ultimately not life-threatening. You mustered all your strength to pull back the roots that enclasped my broken ankle, and, after you had me leaning against you, you threw your jacket over my shoulders to conceal my wings, arguably the only in-tact part of me at this stage. You led me back down the path, and by some god-given miracle we hobbled to your parked car together without encountering another person on the track. You saved my life that day, no questions asked, and for that, Y/N, I will spend the rest of my life trying to pay you back.

The second time you said “I love you”, I had fallen for you.

The day you found me wounded in the forest, you had taken me back to your apartment where you lived alone. I remember thinking, even in my delirious loss-of-blood state, that your home was so dull and lifeless and there was no way any human could live here and be truly happy.

You spent the next few weeks virtually gaining a nurse’s certificate of practice with the amount of knowledge you were retaining in order to heal me. Taking me to a hospital was out of the question, given the wings, and so you resorted to healing my cuts, bruises, and bones from the comfort of your old single bed. I remember you were worried that you would end up mistreating a festering wound and I would die alone in your apartment while you were at your day job, but you really had nothing to worry about.

After six weeks, my body was completely healed, and the home-made splint you fastened around my leg had straightened the bone right out. Of course, I was left with a barely-noticeable limp, one you would only spot if you already knew I had one, but that was to be expected given how mangled it was when you found me.

The only thing your new-found medical skills were not able to heal was my broken heart. Granted, I didn’t expect you to. Facing the truth that I’d been exiled from the world I had called my home for my whole life by people who believed lies about my past, and having to leave behind friends and family that cared for me was something I was going to have to deal with at some point. It would take years for me to fully accept my new life, although you were there to support me every step of the way.

When I had physically healed, and informed you I had no idea how to get back home, we both realised the only option for us was to become obligatory roommates. I not only had the good luck of running into possibly the only human who unconditionally accepted what I was, but also one who was in dire need of socialisation and company, too.

We spent the next few weeks doing this thing you called ‘online shopping’ together, finding furniture and items to decorate our new, shared space with. After our packages had arrived, we found ourselves with a brighter, cosier place we were soon calling our home. And, for the first time since I’d met you, you seemed truly happy.

The third time you said “I love you”, I was giving up my life for you.

By this stage, three years had passed since you had first saved me. Our meeting in the forest felt like eons ago, and we had only grown closer since then. Our apartment had stayed more or less the same since we first decorated it - the only difference was we got rid of your musty single bed in exchange for a larger, softer queen-sized bed, which we spent many long nights together in. We referred to each other as ‘partners’, and we had shared so many feelings, thoughts, and memories together that I couldn’t ever imagine living in a world without you.

But that was the problem. You were a mere human and I an angel - there would be a time when you would pass and I would find myself alone in a world that was not my own. That’s when I made the decision - I would give up my immortality to live out the rest of my natural life with you. You tried to convince me not to, worried I was giving too much up for our relationship, but my mind was set. And so, my research began.

When I was a young boy in the celestial plane, I heard rumours about ancient beings who had the power to strip angels of their divinity, leaving them as mortal as any typical human, and cast them away into other worlds. If I could find one of these beings, I could ask them to rid me of my divinity too, and send me back to Earth. Well, that was the plan, anyway.

I have to give credit where credit is due, Y/N, once you realised I had made my decision, you did your best to help me find a way back home. The library in your town appeared seconds away from falling down, but contained numerous books about mythical creatures and local legends, and you always fetched the ones I needed when I asked.

I spent months upon months scouring every book and online resource I could find that was even remotely related to angels and the celestial plane. Long nights were consumed by skim reading hundreds of pages of decades old writings, but we eventually found something promising.

Since I was still technically an angel, I retained some of my powers which were vital for me to be able to travel back home. I still remember the last time you held me before I left. You buried your head into my shoulder and left a massive tear stain on my yellow jersey, and you wouldn’t let me go for a solid five minutes. You said you loved me, and I said it back. I had told you I loved you numerous times before this, but this time it was different.

The ritual I was about to perform was dodgy, at best, and even if I did make it to the celestial plane there was no guarantee I would be able to return. When you held me tight, all that was running through my head was the last few years we’d spent together, the happiest years of my whole life. I couldn’t ever imagine living without you, but that was a reality I was facing - for all we knew, this was the last time we would see each other.

The last time you said “I love you” was yesterday.

You were running late, I had cooked dinner and was waiting for you to arrive, so I phoned you to ask when you would be coming home. You said you were stuck in traffic, which was typical for this new, big city we had moved to, and before you ended the call you told me you loved me.

Since I had left to terminate my status as an angel, I had managed to successfully convince the divine beings that I had no use for my immortality, and return home to you. Shifting through the worlds was costly on my mind and body, but when I came home and saw the look of pure relief and tears on your face at my safety, it was all worth it.

Now that I was a regular human and no longer had five-foot long wings sprouting from my back, I could go out in public for the first time in years. The first place you took me was your parents house, where after all these years you could finally introduce me as your boyfriend. Your parents were so lovely, and after we visited them we went to the beach. I’d never seen one before and didn’t know how to swim because we had nothing like this where I was from, but it was one of the best days of my life.

That was almost a year ago now. I didn’t get to tell you I loved you this morning since I had to leave for work so early, but that was common. My new job as a teacher meant we could afford to move out of our one bedroom apartment to the bright lights of the big city, and finally settle down in our new life together. It seems so long ago since you first said “I love you”, and truthfully, it is, but my love for you has only grown with years gone by.

I’m writing this letter for you because I don’t think I can verbally explain how much you mean to me. No part of me doubts the fact I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for you stumbling across me all those years ago. I’m on my break at work as I’m writing this letter, and I can’t help but feel like my pocket is a little too heavy. I picked out an engagement ring for you last week, and I plan to give it to you right after I give you this letter.

No matter how many times I tell you, my words will not be able to convey just how much I love you - but hopefully this ring will.

Yours, forever and always,

Jeno ♡

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #nct-writers #dreamwritersnet #nct #nct dream #jeno #lee jeno #nct jeno #jeno nct #jeno nct dream #jeno x reader #jeno imagine #jeno scenario #supernatural nct

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seizethecarpe · 3 years

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Know By Hart || Solo

Timing: Current Summary: No matter how practiced he was, Dave had never been good with grief. Triggers: Somehow… none. Contains grief. Author note: Before you read this, I want us all to remember that I’m completely innocent please file your complaints to the local mime ungulate

In 2004, José De Nueves had walked into Dave’s life. He’d had an easy smile and slightly glassy eyes. It had taken a rusalka, a Swedish fortune teller, and three drinks for José to hold up his hair and reveal in true depth the feathery scars that framed his face. He grinned with two teeth missing as he’d explained the tendril like creatures he’d hunted for one night. “Made me the perfect soldier,” He’d said with a laugh as he downed his whiskey glass. “I don’t give a fuck about anything.”

When Dave had followed his scent to a crypt a year later, he’d found a spawn chewing on José’s drained neck, a stark reminder of how the smallest mistakes could make even the routine hunt a death sentence. He’d wondered that night if José had even cared as they’d ripped his guts out in front of them, felt anything at all as they’d dragged it out of him until his intestines had torn all over the cemetery lawn. Or if he’d screamed and begged for his family anyway, right at the end, his soul returning to life only when it was too little, too late.

Unsure which fate was worse, Dave’d raised a glass in the man’s memory, and chose to forget.

——-

In ‘11, there had been Jasmine. Her honey warm skin highlighted the feathery scar that tucked under her jaw. Her bar, her spare room and her bed had all been Dave’s home for a little. But she’d always been clear that when push came to shove, he wasn’t her priority, he wasn’t human enough to risk her life for. All the same, they’d talked for hours under the thick cover of clouds as they waded up mountains to find the monstrous beast contaminating the local springs, they’d talked through her thick cigarette smoke, outside the fading wooden sign of her bar. They had talked more than Dave had spoken to anyone in years. She bared his soul, little by little, and in turn one day she told him about the nest nearby that she sent her friends too when they had lost one thing too many. Dave had listened intently, harder than he’d listened to anything, until the glass in his hand had shattered.

Not too long, she’d warned. You could lose too much of yourself too fast, and end up more ghost than man. The next day Dave had hiked five miles, peering into the edge of a dried out lake, and saw the silvery creatures there, languidly floating through the air with a dozen tentacles. Dave thought of José, all light gone from behind his eyes, and Jasmine whose grief sometimes sounded wrong, like an untrained actor on the stage. Dave turned and left, hungry tendrils chasing after him fir half a mile.

Two years later, Jasmine had insisted she was retired at forty two, but there hadn’t been another slayer for a hundred miles, so she had come when he’d called anyway. Some cruel unnatural winds had extinguished their fires, and when the aipaloovik wrapped its arms around her and pulled her underwater, Dave made just one attempt to get her free before he told himself there was nothing he could do.

The white polyps she’d told him about haunted his thoughts longer than she did. A quiet, gentle what if.

——-

Last year, Dave had met a boy wearing a grin like armour and who considered his enhanced healing another weapon in his arsenal. Dave had saved him from drowning, the kid had saved his life with the penance for the murder of Winn Woods. And then the saving had happened again, over and over, until it became as routine as the wise cracks and eye rolls.

He loved you. It rattled around in his head. When he’d seen the words on his phone in what had obviously been a final goodbye, Dave hadn’t let them ring any more true than the promise that they’d go fishing with beers. Now, the caster’s voice was stuck in his head, sneaking up on him when he was elbow deep in the bowels of his van’s engine, as he garroted a fish to eat in his human form, when he covered his body with slime to slide into his seal pelt. Sixty feet of ocean above him and he still wasn’t safe from Nell Vural’s voice. Thanks for that, Adam.

It was worst in the mundane moments, like folding laundry, because his mind churned while his hands were busy. See, Dave found it easiest to associate with hunters because he always knew they were destined to die. Everyone agreed there were things no one talked about because there was the deep undercurrent of knowing that Dave probably broke most of their codes, but as long as they didn’t know, it could go ignored. It was an emotional barrier that suited everyone just fine. Until now, apparently.

Dave smoothed his fingers over the edge of a shirt that had seen better days, folding it down as tight as he could before putting it away in a drawer that clipped into the wall of his van. His van was a mess, fishing gear scattered across the floor, seaweed drying on a bucket he hadn’t cleaned out, photos hanging skew on the wall. He wasn’t ever perfectly neat because how humans took care to keep their possessions perfectly in line was alien to him (the sea was never tidy), but he damn well knew he could do better than this.

Humans considered it a sign of intimacy to show someone their living spaces. Dave couldn’t remember the last time he’d let anyone in here that he wasn’t giving a ride elsewhere. Adam hadn’t known him, not really. Hadn’t seen the emptiness in Dave’s heart, that the fire that kept him going ran on fumes. Who the hell was he to speak of love, when Dave hadn’t let him deeper than his second skin? That there was so little left in Dave worth loving.

He looked down at the shirt he was folding, the collar pressed down skewed and the sides lined up at angles, and realised at some point he’d picked up the wonkyphoto from the wall, and the cracked, bloody compass Nell had given him that Dave had put on his bedside table and not looked at again. In the photo, three toothy sharp smiles were yellowed with age, teenage boys tussling in the sand. The photographer’s shadow stretched across the sand beside them, and even twenty five years later he could see the impatience behind the boys’ expressions at the doting woman behind the camera. The brass of the compass offered no such warmth, and filled the interior of the van with the scent of the last blood Adam had ever spilled. He flicked it open, and saw it pointing south west again. How could he forget, his home wasn’t a house but an underwater grave.

Fucking ironic, that each grief pointed so sharply to the other, blurring the lines of his most defining pain. Dave didn’t know how long he stared between one and the other before he returned to folding his shirts, and putting them away. He hung the photo back on the wall, and carefully put the compass away along with the rest of his fishing gear, tucked into fabric so that the scrapes it had taken in Adam’s final moments would be its last. When he was done with the laundry, Dave’s mind was set.

His grief had always been a call to action.

--------

In the hours of hiking since Dave had set out, White Crest becoming a distant blip on the horizon, Dave hadn’t changed his mind. More doubts should have crept in, but they hadn’t once, his mind clear of thought and feeling already. Just one step past the other, past the purple heather fields and overflooded lily pad ponds, under canopies drooping with pine needles and summer chirping birds.

White tiny flecks began floating past his face through the trees, which slowly grew as he walked deeper into the heather moors. White floating tendrils extended out, brushing against his clothes and hair. The deeper he walked into the cloud, the more the air felt like water, as if the trees had become kelp forests and he was swimming through clouds of chrinoids. The only thing that made the masses of them different than a mist was that Dave could not feel his way through it. They pulsed around him like Jellyfish, glowing under the setting sun.

In the densest part of the mist, he turned instead to an ethereal white creature at his side, as large as an old TV. Its mass of white tentacles fluttered against Dave’s skin curiously. Shame prickled in his veins, flinching away from those delicate touches. The sick, sinking feeling that this was wrong finally set in, worse than most vices that people leant on for their grief. If Adam could see him- but Adam couldn’t. He wasn’t a single damn person’s role model, and didn’t owe anyone his grief. Not even for a good man whose connection to him had been skin deep and yet reached him to his core. Dave swallowed, and turned back to the town for the first time since he’d made this choice, but all he saw was the clouds of white as he weighed the same thing as so many others had before him.

Grief had always been a call to action. He stepped a little closer, and didn’t flinch as the tendrils brushed against the side of his face, then latched on.

The tendrils were as gentle as a kiss. He’d expected it to be like the time he’d gotten tangled up in an octopus, suckers bruising his skins for days, but if he hadn’t felt the white static encroaching on his mind, this wouldn’t have been unpleasant at all. Tendrils which hadn’t attached traced over the planes of his face, lulling his eyes closed. Peace spread from those pinpricks deeper into his mind, and he could see the appeal of staying here for eternity. Let them clear him out, until there was nothing left except his mission.

Dave sighed quietly as he felt himself become lesser. He pulled away, and the tentacles let him, and Dave couldn’t even feel the absence of whatever they had taken. That was good, feeling the loss would have been too close to more grieving. The flickering tendrils of the hartvlinders trailed after him as he hurried away, through the clouds of gentle creatures until he burst out into the dying of the sunlight.

Dave tested a memory like he might tongue at a broken tooth. Deep in a swamp with the rotting corpse of a giant fish clogging up his nose. Dave gave a countdown before lowering Adam into the cleanest water they could find, working quickly to wash off the last of the acid gunk. Adam had been weak kneed and badly burned after his adventure in the monster’s stomach, but he had shut his eyes dutifully and held his breath as Dave washed the worst of the acid out of his hair with exceeding care. As soon as he was out of the water, he’d cracked a joke filled with post hunt exuberance, one after the other while they waited for their stamina to return, until holding back his grin made his cheeks hurt. They hurt again now, hot tear tracks prickling his face. Dave sagged against a tree, and then down onto his knees. Something was gone, he was sure, but not this. The hartvlinder hadn’t been so goddamn kind as to take away his newest, sharpest grief. Or even what he’d really wanted gone: the regret of words left unsaid, the guilt of outliving another kid, the shame of envying a good man for a life where he’d completed his mission and saved everyone.

Dave would have to learn to wear it until it became another ropey scar on his heart, another line on his death-weighted net.

#para #solo #wickedswriting #adam

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echo-three-one · 3 years

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Whatever It Takes

Now safely headed home and rescued the hostages, Soap discovers something from the four corners of the infirmary. It's basically a chapter that happened inside the infirmary. Yeah.

Previous Chapter : Alex - Dé jàvu

Chapter 5 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

"Reunited"

John 'Soap' MacTavish

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Base - Infirmary

Soap grunted at the initial moment he felt consciousness. The faint tune of the radio started to fill his ears followed by soft hushes from within the room.

If I lay here… If I just lay here…

Sharp pain struck his abdomen as he tried to get up, making him wince ang grunt loud enough that the two ladies beside him noticed. He shot a pained glare at them and breathed heavily.

"Look who finally decided to get up." The pale brunette greeted him with a soft smile. This was Samantha, the Daughter of America's Head of Defense, she really looked different from her photos from the briefing and Soap thought maybe it's the continuous days of being unconscious draining her out.

"Hm." Soap muttered as he laid back on his bed. He wasn't strong enough to fully get up yet and it frustrated him that he let out a heavy sigh. He rolled his eyes to France who was giggled beside him. Guess she found his misery satisfying.

"What's funny?" he finally gave in and asked.

"Oh nothing. It's just no matter how fast we ran the bullets will always be faster, huh?" she joked, but there was a hint of grief on her tone, something Soap knew and realized just then. It was unfair, it was the harsh reality. They were both considered fit for those conditions but they were the ones who sustained most injuries.

"Heh." Soap chuckled and leaned to face Maxine. She had a few stitches on her forehead an bandages wrapped most of her arm. Her smile was warm and welcoming, but Soap knew what's hidden underneath. Samantha wore the same smile but hers was just happy to be away from her captors.

"So I assume your British, like the rest of the people here?" Samantha asked Soap.

"What made you ask that?" He replied, curious as to her assumptions.

"You sound different than the doctors and nurses around here. I was just curious." She replied almost intimidated.

"Don't mind him, Samantha. He's just grumpy he got injured because he thinks he's so good at everything." France mocked and they both giggled.

"So you two got something going on? I may have lost my memory but not my senses." She winked. France fell silent and Soap immediately replied.

"It's Scottish, Maam and no. We do not have something. If anything it's rivals. She wants to be better than me."

"Oh. I knew that accent stands out among the others!" she mused. Soap turned his attention to the glass window as Alex and General Shepherd passed by discussing something. Samantha caught up with his behavior and looked as well.

"Shit!" She cursed, loud enough to get the two's attention.

"What's wrong?" France asked, holding her arm.

"That guy… his face… looked familiar." she whispered, her hands covered her hands almost scared.

"Oh him? General Shepherd. Basically our boss. Why, you met him?" France replied calmly.

"No.. those arm tattooes. I swear I saw those before… they're very familiar." she spoke softly. Soap and France turned to each other and nodded, agreeing not to force her too much on remembering things.

"Arm tattoes are the new thing now. I could get one myself anytime you know." Soap informed, trying to divert attention.

"Really? It won't look good on you. You got noodle arms." France retorted, mocking the Scotsman. This seemed to work as Samantha turned to them and laughed.

"You two are the worst liars." she giggled. Soap didn't mind this but he was glad that Samantha was okay.

Time passed by and Soap continued conversing to the two ladies, sharing thoughts and ideas on each other. For someone who's memory had been played with, Samantha recalls quite well. Her descriptions were very detailed up to the last dot. Soap wondered why this was the case and decided to consult Alex when he had the chance.

When it comes to talking, the girls really took their time, they were discussing a lot of things and Soap wasn't able to catch up with them.

"So, Why France? Is it because of the city?" Samantha asked. Soap gulped as he knew it would be asked to him next.

"It's actually short for Francine." She smiled, Soap just stared at her.

"What about you, tough guy?" Samantha asked as MacTavish snapped back to reality.

"Got beef with someone back at the parachute regiment. Threw a bar of soap straight into his eye." he muttered, almost embarrassed.

"Quite the marksman…" France mused jokingly.

"Oh, bug off. Bet you can't do it square in the eye at a far distance." he boasted, finally getting up.

"I could try. Why don't you stand there so we can test it out." she retorted and Soap just rolled his eyes at her, convincing himself that arguing with her is a waste of time.

The doors slowly opened and a short blonde girl on a wheelchair was being pushed by a nurse. Everyone turned their heads towards the door and Soap noticed France's soft sobs.

"Maxine… I finally found you." she cried. Maxine just sat still, her eyes were open but it felt like she was looking at the vast nothingness.

"She's still recovering her memory lapses. She could hear you and see you but while her brain is still repairing itself, you couldn't expect any response from her." The nurse added and set her on the bed beside Samantha's.

"Sleep restores most minor brain damages we have. So I advise you to do it as well." the nurse patted Samantha and she nodded as the nurse made it's way out.

"How do you know her?" Soap asked, breaking the silence that occured since Maxine entered.

"She's my roommate." Samantha replied in unison to France's "She's my sister."

The girls turned to each other and started crying. Soap just sat there in awe, knowing nothing about calming the situation down.

"I'm sorry I dragged her into this." Samantha sniffled, wanting to hug France.

"You don't have to… It's not your fault." France replied.

The rest of the squad arrived when they were permitted to visit the infirmary, except for Price, who was busy about another upcoming move from Nero. In a small room, on a huge circle like formation. Alex was by the door, crossing his arms and staring momentarily at Samantha and turning back to the squad when she turns to him. Soap was aware they had a past mission together but something happened that made him act that way, another reason why he wanted to talk to him.

Ghost and Roach sat by the sofa, finally addressing his raccon story to the group.

"And so there I was by the dumpster. Spreading my arms establishing dominance toward him." Gary narrated, spreading his arms like that of his story.

"It's all over now Rocky Raccoon. I have you cornered. Now give me back my watch! I yelled and you know what happens next? The raccoon actually dropped my watch and scurried back to the forest! Isn't that amazing!" Gary continued adding sound effects and ambiance in the story. He was always the jolly one in the group. He turned to the girls who were laughing along Roach's story while Ghost and Alex forced themselves not to chuckle.

"What's the value of that watch?" Samantha asked.

"Oh about a few hundred British pounds."

"No no. The sentimental value. The memories it holds. Why is it important to you?" She corrected. Soap caught Alex staring at her intently, his fists were gripping some sort of pendant.

"My mother gave it to me when I left home and joined the force. She said time is golden and I have to enjoy every second of it." he replied showing his watch to the group.

"Aww.. Roach.." France sniffed and Soap rolled his eyes. It wasn't that sad. He thought.

"Well, your Mum's right." Ghost patted Roach's back and he smiled.

The PA Systems rang again and alerted their little group. It announced about another briefing with the exception of those injured and Alex. Ghost and Roach bid their goodbyes at the remaining people, and they waved back except for Maxine who was still asleep.

As soon as the door closed the atmosphere began to shift as Alex slowly walks toward Samantha. Soap and France quietly trailed their eyes at the event and observed intently.

"You!" Samantha finally yelled and slapped Alex as soon as he was reachable.

"Ow! What gives!" he hissed in pain, rubbing his red cheeks.

"You were that creep I met by my apartment! What are you doing here!" she grabbed a pillow and gestured to hit the man. France tried to calm her.

"That's Alex. One of our allies." She whispered softly.

"Alex? Hmmm. Yeah. He looked like that creep who chased me to the supermarket. But that creep had longer hair and complete legs." she noted, calming herself down and lowering his weapon.

"That was actually me. Samantha." he muttered. Soap and France sat quietly as the drama began to unfold.

"You dropped this. That's why I chased you to give it back." Alex handed her a golden pendant. Samantha quickly recognized the thing and held it tight.

"Daddy's gift." she sighed.

"You dropped it when you were walking home." Alex added and looked down on the floor.

"Thanks, Alex. I'm sorry if I slapped you." She smiled at him and Alex stared back. It was quite long and France whispered to Soap that "things are heating up'. Do these two have some history or something? Like Romantically? Cause, I can sense it."

Soap shrugged her idea and looked back at Alex who was now leaving.

"It's okay, Maam. Afterall, I'm just nothing but a complete stranger to you." he smiled and closed the door shut, leaving the four of them in silence.

Next Chapter : A Walk to Remember

#yeouch #horRAYfic #alex echo 3 1 #john soap mactavish #john price #simon ghost riley #gary roach sanderson #codmw #codmwfic

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poptod · 3 years

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Hi I hope ur having a great day! I love ur writing so freaking much! This request is a little different than what I’m sure ur used to but hopefully ur comfortable enough with writing it. Could u write a one shot (or headcanons if it’s easier) where Snafu from the Pacific is crushing big time on the reader (like almost in love) and he’s always hitting on her but she never shown any interest toward him. Then a few days in when the nurses come Snafu walks in on the reader making out with one of the nurses. They see each other and he walks out all like CONFUSED and shook and the reader runs after him to swear him to secrecy. He’s still shook and admits his feelings and she comes out as a lesbian to him. He’s even more SHOOK but he’s rly understanding and accepting even tho he’s incredibly heartbroken. Sorry if it’s not what u usually write, as a bi I’m just always a sucker for “I’m dumb she’s a lesbian”

notes: anon i love you you're literally perfect WC: 1.9k

He was used to this sort of behavior when he first met girls – curt and rude, meant to pry his eyes off their figure. Eventually though, after time, he would win their affection through his shining personality (or, at least, that's what he thought happened). Usually it only took about a week or less; he was good at what he did. This was ridiculous, though – he was ranging on the sixth week of knowing you. That's one and a half months, far above his usual score.

But you're beautiful. Even if you won't share a genuine conversation with him, you 'let' him watch you, allowing yourself to become his only source of entertainment on the island. The shine in your hair – always neatly pulled back – is a fantastic distraction from the blisters on his palms and the heat of his sunburnt skin.

You're the last piece of humanity here. It makes sense he would never be able to win you.

Today you're tending to his wounds, an activity he thought he would never love as much as he does. Your fingers are still soft somehow, brushing against the exposed skin of his arms, sliding over the bandages to ensure they won't slip. The concentration evident in your sharp eyes is revealed in the way you bite your lip, gaze never leaving the bloody blisters on his hands.

"Not for nothin' babe, but," he began to speak, voice raspy and dry, "last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid."

You very slowly raise your head, reluctantly meeting his eye with a dead stare.

"Not today, Snafu," you say.

"Tomorrow then?"

You scoff, shake your head, almost laugh, but in the end you say nothing. Instead you return to your work, diligently cleaning the scabs and covering them up. He can't say he minds––whether or not you truly engaged with him, he heard your voice, and felt your touch. That would be enough. For now.

Surprisingly enough, they still get to have movie night sometimes. That doesn't mean the movies are good, but they're generally more entertaining than watching the shore birds. Every now and then, Snafu will even go and join his tent mates, ogling more at the nurses than paying attention to the actual movie. Those are always good nights, and the forest is close enough that it's not a problem if he gets too excited.

Tonight's movie is titled 'Godzilla Goes to College,' and upon hearing the name Snafu knew he would not be able to attend a full hour of it. Instead he wanders around the encampment, watching shadow silhouettes and the movement of the breeze on tent flaps. The sound of shuffling catches his ear, and when he turns, he's pleasantly surprised to find you beside him, drowning in an oversized jacket. He laughs, loud and probably impolite, but the juxtaposition of him being shirtless beside you truly tickles him.

"Evenin', doll," he says through his laughter, stopping you in the middle of the pathway. A soft groan leaves you as you turn to face him.

"And good night," you say in a too-cheery tone, your saccharine smile instantly falling into a dead stare as you go back to walking, a renewed vigor in your step.

"Hey, where y' goin' in such a hurry?" He asks, and begins to trail slowly after you. He allows a decent amount of space to grow between you before he continues with, "stay n' chat a minute, cher!"

You don't even bother to respond once you turn the corner, where Snafu loses his trail on you. He curses to himself, turns back around, and finds several of his mates coming back from the movie rather tipsy. How long have they been there?

"Reeaaaall lucky with the girls, aren't'ya, Snaf?" Burgie asks, and the four of them fall into teasing laughter.

"I'll get her, you'll see," he promises, turning back to see if he can glimpse you between all the tents. "One a' these days, she's mine."

Later that evening he sees you again, through the sheer fabric of your tent, where you've been burning a candle. It casts your shadow clearly against the wall, allowing him to see you perfectly.

Snafu likes to claim he isn't a pervert, but most who know him in any way know that's not really true. Sure, he can be a gentleman, but if no one's looking he doesn't especially care. No one but him will know, not even you. Even if he wasn't a pervert, he still wouldn't be able to tear himself away––you're undressing, peeling the clothes off your skin and he can see the whole of your body. In outline, of course, but there nonetheless.

Fucking creep, he tells himself, calls himself, but he doesn't cease his staring till you've put out your candle. At that point he can no longer see you, and he returns to his own tent with fantasies circling his head like vultures.

It's not that you're particularly rude to him. You just don't engage or indulge any of his bullshit, which is fair enough he thinks. He has a lot of bullshit coming out of his mouth 24/7. Everyone knows that. There's a theory he has, though––a theory he came up with just a little while ago, that you would treat him perfectly normal as long as he didn't come on to you in conversation. If he treated you just like he treated most others, then you might actually be nice to him. You're a good person. You're not going to be needlessly mean.

"Afternoon," he says to you, and he has to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from calling you cher. You quirk one of your brows.

"Afternoon," you repeat back. "Something ailing you?"

"Why'd ya think that?" He asks, slinking into one of the chairs in the aid tent.

"This is a medical tent," you say, and he wants to facepalm himself.

I'm just achin' with love for you, boo, he wants to say, and again, he has to bite his tongue to stop it from coming out. Damn it, he thinks, that's actually a good line.

"So why are you here then?" You ask.

"Better than tryin' ta find somethin' edible in my lunch," he grumbles out, leaning back against the chair and closing his eyes. He lets out a satisfied sigh.

You giggle, you actually laugh from something he did, and say, "understandable. You should still eat, though. Here."

You move from your spot at a nearly-fully stocked tray, instead digging through one of the numerous unlabelled boxes piled like towers in the aid tent. From there you pull out a granola bar, brand name, and throw it at Snafu's face. He nearly falls off balance, but catches it before he loses his cool.

"Thank ya kindly, ma'am," he says with a grin, tipping an imaginary hat your direction. Again you smile; there is nothing better than this, sitting across from you, and being the reason for your happiness.

Eventually he has to leave in order to make room for those who actually do require medical aid, but he leaves singing on a high note. You say good-bye to him this time, for the first time, and a smile tugs at his lips all day. Therein lies the secret to your affection––a blazingly obvious secret that all men should know––that he must treat you as an equal, not size you up to something he can win over, something he can buy with cheap words and undressing eyes.

He thinks it over all day, lets it mull over in his head how he should next approach you. Things get twisted in his mind if he doesn't speak them out loud, and by eveningtime he's convinced that he should meet you tonight, even if it's just him barging into your tent. Politely, of course. A polite barging in.

For a moment he stops, his hand poised above the handle of your tent flap. You're definitely in there––or someone is––as there's shuffling behind the material, a sound he can barely process over the rushing of his heart.

Fuck it, he finally says, and without giving himself a chance to doubt, he pulls open the flap.

You don't even notice him. To be fair, your eyes are closed. And you're a bit preoccupied. Your tongue is pretty far down that nurse's throat.

His mouth falls open as every muscle in his body freezes. It's the other nurse that actually sees him, and she taps you harshly with her wide eyes set on Snafu. You tear yourself away from her touch, turn to the marine, and all the air in the tent goes stagnant.

He leaves. Throws the flap back into place and all but sprints away, wide eyes burning in the cool night air. It's only a second or two of running before he hears the flap open and close again, followed by you yelling something, and ultimately your chasing footsteps.

You end up being surprisingly fast, and you easily catch up to him. Once you do you grab his wrist, tugging him back, and forcing him to face you. Both of your hearts are racing a hundred miles a minute, both of your eyes wide with shock.

"Merriel I am begging you, you cannot tell anyone about this, please, please, you can't, I’ll do anything," you beg him, and it's then he notices there's tears on the edge of your eyes. "Please do this for me, you can't tell anyone. Don't even think about it––just, pretend it never happened?"

He's panting, unable to formulate any response, only able to stare into your panic and sink in the fear pouring out of your desperate eyes.

"(Y/N), I'm––no, I won't," he says at last, and you practically collapse with relief, falling into him with your forehead on his shoulder. He continues in a murmur, awkwardly holding you, "I just... I'm.. I'm in love with you. I––I couldn't do that to you."

"Fuck, I know," you say in a breath, removing yourself to look him in the eye. "But I can't be with you."

You pause, and he waits a moment for you to continue, his brow quirked in curiosity.

"I'm a lesbian, Snafu."

"Oh," he says, but it doesn't process. Not for a minute, anyway. "Oh. Ohh. OHHHH."

"Yeah," you say with a vigorous nod.

"Okay, I thought – I thought I jus’ lost my touch, you're just.. a lesbian, okay," he says, sparking a laugh from you.

"You're not angry?"

"Shit cher, you can't control who you wanna get freaky with jus' as much as I can't," he says, smiling, and the tears in your eyes finally fall. They aren't sad, though––birthed from fear, yes, but falling from happiness.

"You're a lifesaver, Snaf."

As heartbroken as he truly is, none of it really shows in his face. At least now he knows it wasn't really his fault that you didn't show interest in him. Still, disappointment fills up his chest, until you tell him that he makes a good friend. It's then he realizes he can still keep you in his life, a version of modesty and stature and innocence that he can't achieve alone.

He won't ever be able to kiss you, which he does mourn––your lips are painfully soft, and every time he catches sight of them he yearns to press his own against them. Your statement on him works in reverse, though; you're a good friend, and that would be enough for Snafu. But Merriel hides within the bravado, within the suaveness of his voice and actions, and Merriel weeps childish tears that Snafu doesn't know how to wipe away and comfort. Snafu understands the reality of the world, but Merriel will always lament the unfairness of life.

You're the last piece of humanity here. It makes sense Merriel would never be able to win you.

#merriel snafu shelton #snafu x reader #rami malek #the pacific hbo

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

Infection - Good Omens Fic

My second fic for tonight for the @bingokisses prompts! This one fills my second “Wrist Kisses” square, which was paired with “Patching up a wound.” Get ready for some hurt/comfort, strong angst, and Crowley desperately trying to protect his angel. Promise: this one ends in soft bed cuddles.

This will be edited before going on AO3, so let me know if you notice anything is off.

CW: blood, not too graphic but definitely there.

Aziraphale spread his hands before him, still steaming lightly from the force of the holy blasts he had thrown at the demons. They were fleeing, finally, five dark shapes vanishing into the soil before him. He clenched his jaw, holding his cold expression, his pose, and his breath until the dark stain of their infernal presence had dissipated from his mind.

Then, slowly, he lowered his hands to the wound in his side.

“Oh,” he murmured, as his fingers slid through the rents in the fabric of his tunic to find the deep gashes slick with blood. “That’s…a bit worse than I thought…” He pressed harder, and suddenly the pain lanced through him, burning tearing. His power reserves were low, but he’d need to heal that quickly or face discorporation and likely some uncomfortable questions from his superiors.

Lifting his trembling hands, Aziraphlae looked at the deep red blood, and saw a thick black shadow already spreading through it like a cloud. “Oh, very bad, indeed…” Demonic corruption. Already, he could feel the pollution working its way into him – not his corporation, but his true angelic body on the astral plane – seeming in like a toxin, corroding the light of his soul. If he didn’t purge the befouling influence quickly, he would else face something far worse than discorporation.

But that would require focus, quiet, and a spot to work where the world wasn’t filled with fuzzy mist…the ground not tilting alarmingly back and forth…and…

“Blast.”

He toppled over, collapsing into the dew-speckled grass.

Crowley tore through the forest, ignoring the stinging slap of tree branches and snaring twists of undergrowth that tried to slow him down. “Aziraphale!”

Another little stream opened up suddenly just ahead of him, and, unable to stop in time, he attempted to leap straight over it. Nearly made it, too, but the soft earth on the far side shifted and slid as soon as his feet touched it, and he rolled back down the bank, hitting the cold water with a splash.

“Stupid bloody – Aziraphale!” Somewhere in this endless ancient forest, on one of the countless hills or ridges or hollows, the angel was fighting, injured, needed his help and Crowley had miles upon miles still to search and he didn’t have time for this.

He set about scrambling up the far side of the bank, digging his fingers deep into the muddy earth.

It had started, nearly a hundred years ago now, with a suggestion in a misty field in Wessex.

“Be easier if we both stayed home,” he’d proposed, metal sabatons sinking in the English mud. He could almost picture it already, a nice little cottage and a roaring fire, a few glasses of the local brews.

But Aziraphale hadn’t been interested. “Absolutely out of the question,” and he’d stormed off full of all the sanctimonious indignation an angel could carry. “We aren’t having this conversation” – but he’d certainly followed it up with a strongly-worded letter, ensuring Crowley in the strictest of terms that he would never consider such a scheme, that any cooperation on assignments was simply inconceivable, that he would henceforth devote all his efforts to thwarting any of Crowley’s infernal works that he caught wind of, and do his utmost to ensure that all hellish influences were wiped from this peaceful island, nay, this blessed world and all its inhabitants…

Crowley read the letter twice, then packed up his armor and camp and headed for London.

Once he was dressed in proper, comfortable clothes, there was no chance anyone would recognize the sophisticated red-haired traveler as the dreaded Black Knight, and before long he had settled into an alehouse with his feet resting comfortably on a bench by the fire and set to work telling stories of the immortal warrior dressed all in black, leading raids against unnamed villages somewhere to the north.

Within a few weeks, the rumors reached him of Sir Aziraphale of the Round Table and his band of holy knights, scouring Mercia and Northumbria for signs of the Black Knight. Crowley tossed in a few stories about the rebel band joining up with invaders from the south with just enough tantalizing details to keep the angel on a wild goose chase for months and congratulated himself on a job well done.

When next Hell checked in, he shrugged ruefully and explained that Heaven’s agent (a fierce and terrifying opponent) had effectively stopped him at every turn but also that Crowley (a cunning and devious force for evil who deserved a commendation and a promotion) had prevented the angel from pursuing Heaven’s larger agenda. He added in some gossip about the queen he’d picked up from travelers out of Camelot, broadly suggesting that was somehow his doing, and declared his mission to the island an overall success.

And, incredibly, they bought it.

A very neat solution, Crowley thought several decades later as he lounged by the Mediterranean, sunning himself on a rock and sampling the latest developments in viticulture and winemaking. He was already trying to work out the best way to include “convincing monks to sell wine to a demon” in his upcoming report. It sounded like an appropriately demonic activity.

The countryside was swirling with tales of a terrifying monster ravaging the villages, fighting endless battles against a glowing warrior of light, based solely on rumors he started and allowed to grow and expand in the retelling. Seven different noble warriors – three armed with holy weapons that could only have come from Aziraphale – had come searching for the beast, and Crowley had gleefully sent each to a different corner of the world.

Everybody won, really: Crowley’s reputation was surging Down Below as tales of his narrow escapes grew; Aziraphale and his agents got to parade around being self-righteous; and Heaven and Hell took credit for whatever developments they wished.

What could possibly go wrong?

“…which kept me from directly joining the emperor’s invasion of Armenia, as originally instructed, but I was able to stay behind in Constantinople and focus on the corruption of countless aristocrats.” As if wealthy humans had ever needed help becoming corrupt, but it was the sort of result Hell liked.

Beelzebub glared down through the cloud of flies, and as always Crowley wondered if ze believed a word he said. It was impossible to tell, really; the Prince of Hell’s expression never wavered. “Tell me where you were szupposed to go next.”

“Another king’s court, thousands of miles away.” Crowley furrowed his brow, trying to remember.

“Dagobert, king of Austrasia, heir to the throne of all the Franks,” Dagon interrupted, mouth perpetually stretched into a grin with far too many teeth.

“Yeah, that one. And, really, I was looking forward to it.” The Franks had some of the best grape wine in the world, but he’d discovered that the people of the north had done some interesting things with mead and fruit wines, and over in Bohemia they’d started experimenting with hops in their beer instead of gruit, and really Crowley needed to give these developments his full attention. “But, you know, turned out that angel was still on my tail.” At this point, dropping rumors of his devious activities for Aziraphale to chase had become a game, and he’d left a trail of breadcrumbs for the angel all up and down the continent. “We had a great battle in the northern forests, and I barely escaped with my skin intact, but he’ll have a hard time recovering from the wounds I left him with.” He’d not seen Aziraphale in-person since that field in Wessex, but there was always a local legend of warrior fighting beast he could co-opt, and Hell did almost nothing to verify his claims.

“Laszt time you claimed he’d never walk again,” Beelzebub pointed out, looking distinctly uninterested.

“Did I?” Crowley might have gotten carried away. “Right. Well. He healed more quickly than I could have expected. Blasted angel.”

“Why have you not infected him yet?” Dagon wondered. “That would put an end to all this.”

Crowley ran his tongue over his teeth. Every demon carried some toxin or venom, the remains of their Grace, twisted and tainted by the Fall, and most could spread it through their claws or nails. Infected humans became more susceptible to suggestion and temptation; but to other supernatural beings, it was far more dangerous. The strongest could eat away at an angel’s true self, as holy water did for demons, only slower and more painful.

Crowley, serpent that he was, carried it in his fangs, which made it difficult to administer; and he’d always found it cheating, and a little cruel. In four and a half millennia, he’d only ever used it in the most dire of emergencies. “Well, ah, I did. Only, as you know, Aziraphale is – is impossibly strong. He seems able to shrug off what I can give him.”

Dagon’s perpetual grin grew even wider. “Good thing we sent a team, then.”

“A…a team?”

“After hearing your reports, Hastur and Ligur volunteered to take on the angel themselves. We had them bring a few specialists along as back up.”

“Oh.” Crowley’s stomach dropped down to the ninth circle and kept falling. “And…and when did they leave?”

“Two daysz ago,” Beelzebub offered. “Ligur reported they’d tracked the angel down momentsz before you came in. They’re ambushing him asz we szpeak.” For once, the Prince of Hell shifted forward, studying Crowley’s reaction with unreadable eyes.

“Oh. Well. Good for them. Ngk. Glad they can…glad to see…” He clenched his jaw before his two superiors could see how his teeth chattered, how the panic threatened to overtake him. Swallowing it down, Crowley tried again. “I mean, Aziraphale is one of Heaven’s greatest warriors, as I’ve personally experienced many times. I’m glad he’ll finally get what’s coming to him.” He tossed his head and continued as casually as he could, “Any chance I can join up with them? I’d love to, to witness this glorious…victory for our side.”

Crowley stood for an eternity, pinned between the sadistic gleam of Dagon’s eyes and the inscrutable calm of Beelzebub’s. His fist tightened, nails digging into his palm as he struggled not to show a single sign of worry, no trembling knees, no sheen of sweat.

Although the game wouldn’t exist for another twelve centuries, Crowley had already perfected his poker face.

Finally, finally, Beelzebub nodded. “It might be too late. Catch up if you can.”

The Germanic forest that seemed to stretch on forever, rocky ledges giving way to soggy river land and back. Humans lived here – humans lived everywhere – but there seemed to be none for miles in every direction, not even as much as a road. The night was silent as the grave, completely still, even the stars shrouded in clouds.

At first, Crowley crept along quietly, looking for hints of the demons’ passing, listening for the sounds of battle. Trying to maintain his cover as an interested observer. He could sense them – somewhere – not close, but not far.

After an hour of this, his façade began to slip, the worry bubbling to the surface. Soon after, there was no longer even a trace of demonic presence in the forest, apart from his own. Which meant they’d done their work and left. And that meant…

As the sun began to rise, he flung all caution to the winds, racing through the forest like a hunted deer, calling the angel’s name again and again. Maybe it was a trick. Maybe they suspected, maybe they were just waiting for him to slip up.

Or maybe they’d already killed Aziraphale. And it would be all his fault.

As he pulled himself out of the muddy stream, he felt it – the faintest hint of angelic presence, ahead and to the left. “I’m coming,” he whispered, his voice too thick to shout.

It took another half-hour before he found the clearing, bursting out of the trees into ground burned black, twisted and churned in a ring as large as a basilica, and there in the center, in a circle of grass incongruously untouched, lay a motionless white figure.

“Aziraphale!”

The ruined ground was hot on his feet, like hallowed ground, but he raced across it without a second thought, collapsing onto the blood-soaked grass. It seeped into the ground, too much blood, red turning to black before his eyes.

“No, no, no, no.” When last he’d seen Aziraphale, they’d both been dressed in sixty pounds of armor, Aziraphale’s surely blessed for extra protection; but now he wore the simple clothes of a traveler, pale blue tunic shredded, four deep lines carved into the flesh of his side. A bag lay beside him, loaves of bread spilled across the grass, as well as ceramic jars of alcohol, oil and honey. “Aziraphale, please…”

“C…Crowley?” His eyes fluttered open just for a second. “Looking…for you…”

“Don’t try to talk, Angel.” He shifted, lifting Aziraphale’s head to his shoulder, cradling the angel in his arms. “I’ve got you now.”

“Certainly…” Aziraphale’s mouth worked for a moment. “Got me…Clever trap…”

“I…Aziraphale, I didn’t know…I swear, I never thought…” Oh, Satan, he was getting paler every second. “I’ve got you, alright? I’ve got you.” One hand braced the angel against his chest, the other wandered down to the deep cuts in his side. The bleeding had slowed. Because it was healing? Or because he was running out of blood? “This might hurt.”

“Hurts…already…”

Crowley rested his fingers against the cuts, trying to ignore the way Aziraphale gasped, sounding too weak to draw breath. “I know, I know.” He closed his eyes, looking instead to the astral plane, searching for the heat and glow of Aziraphale’s true form. It should have been blinding; instead he found an endless sea of dark energy, pulsing, growing.

It was devouring Aziraphale, smothering him, infiltrating his Grace and turning it…necrotic. Killing him.

“Crowley…I…I…”

“I told you, don’t talk.” Crowley’s face felt wet. Without thinking, he brought his hand up, wiping his cheeks, leaving smears of angel blood under both eyes. “I…I can do this.”

Bracing himself, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s side, digging his fingers into the cuts. He pressed Aziraphale against him as the angel arched his back, crying out in pain, voice breaking –

Crowley – in a shape loosely approximating his human form – waded into the black mass. It sucked at his feet like a bog, and smelled even worse; thickening around his legs with every step, trying to hold him, pull him down. It stung where it touched bare flesh, and he tried to keep his hands clear as he searched.

At last he saw it – there – at the center of the twisted mass of decay, a single ember, flickering fitfully, sinking into the morass. He struggled towards it, as the dark energy nearly solidified, tendrils forming to pluck at his tunic and belt.

He reached out his hands and, yes, he could reach it, cradle it in his hands, lift the tiny spark of power free from the sea of death. All that was left of Aziraphale, a single brilliant gemstone, not even strong enough to burn him. He lifted it to his face, even as more dark tendrils formed, angrily trying to snatch back the treasure he guarded.

“Angel, Aziraphale, please…” But at the touch of his breath, the light stuttered and nearly extinguished. Of course. Angel, demon – incompatible.

One black coil snagged his wrist, searching, crawling towards the light.

“No,” Crowley snarled, transferring Aziraphale’s light to his other hand, “I won’t let you have him!” Closing his fingers carefully around the last fragment of Grace, he held it above his head, as more lines and waves grabbed at him, trying to pull him under. “You messed with the wrong bloody demon.”

He grabbed the tendril that held his wrist, twisting it around his arm like an anchoring rope. Once it was secure, he relaxed his arm, letting it become insubstantial as mist. The dark coil sank into him.

He’d hoped that the demonic taint would be compatible with his body, allowing him to handle it as easily as Aziraphale did holy water. No such luck. It burned and sizzled, like solid potassium into water.

Crowley braced himself and pulled.

Somewhere back on the physical plane, he writhed and screamed, body convulsing as another demon’s toxins ran through it, filling his veins like fire and ice. He thought his corporation would burst, torn apart, that his true form would be shredded to pieces under the pressure. He almost lost his grip, on both planes, almost broke the connection, almost dropped the precious light of Aziraphale back into hungry black chaos.

But however much it hurt Crowley, Aziraphale must feel it tenfold. Which made his silence all the more terrifying.

Hang on, Angel. Just a little more…

His body strained against him, trying to fall away, contact only maintained through his grip on the dark energy, taut as a bowstring even as he pulled it into him until –

POP!

The last of the infection broke free of its connection to Aziraphale, snapped into Crowley. On the astral plane, he collapsed to his knees, skin swollen from the effort of holding it all in. Carefully, so carefully, he lowered the last glowing fleck of Aziraphale’s soul, setting it free. “You…” he sucked in a painful breath. “You’re alright now. Just rest…”

Crowley’s eyes fluttered open, back in reality, body clammy with sweat, every joint and every organ burning with pain. He scrambled away from the angel to the edge of the grass just in time to cough – heave – and retch out what felt like gallons of boiling black vapor, steaming out of him, swept away by the wind.

When he finally felt empty again, his arms and legs were trembling from the effort of holding him up. He could feel the blood coating his face, dry and flaking except two wet channels under his eyes.

Still coughing, he managed to crawl back to Aziraphale. The wound at his side was bright red, no sign of the dark corruption that had nearly killed him. But the angel still twitched and jerked fitfully, and his skin was fever-hot. The demonic infection was gone, but a mundane, earthly one had taken its place.

“D’n w’rry, Angel,” he muttered, mouth numb with exhaustion. “Just gotta…” He miracled up a length of cloth, almost as long as he was tall, but that was the last of his strength; healing would be impossible.

Reaching for Aziraphale’s bag, he found a jar of strong Roman-style wine, alcohol mixed with vinegar and salt water. He pulled at the seal, wax and cloth breaking free and a stream of wine spilled across the cuts, rinsing them clean. Aziraphale flinched and whimpered, but Crowley held him in place with one hand on his hip.

“Almost done.” Remembering something he’d seen a human do in Athens, centuries before, Crowley broke open the jar of honey and smeared it across the gashes, sealing them under a thick, sticky layer. He hoped it would work. You never really knew with human medicine. “Alrigh’ Angel. Time to…to sit…”

He slid an arm under Aziraphale’s shoulders and lifted him as far as he could, nearly collapsing under the angel’s boneless weight, until Aziraphale’s head was on his shoulder again. Crowley shook out the cloth and began wrapping it around his middle.

Aziraphale felt a burst of heat, sparking through every part of his body, like he was being boiled alive from the inside out.

Then, just as abruptly, it passed, and he was resting against something sturdy and warm.

His side still ached and burned, but in a distant, fuzzy way. He couldn’t focus on it, but he could feel the gentle pressure of fingers moving here and there.

Wasn’t he supposed to be worried about something? Something important. Of that he was certain. His eyes felt heavy as the weight of the world, but he forced them open.

A pair of hands, stained red and black, tied a knot in a cloth that seemed wrapped around his middle. They moved slowly, awkwardly, as if they didn’t know what they were doing. He could feel breath stirring his hair, and it sounded heavy, laden, tired.

Aziraphale tried to tip his head back to see who he leaned against, but all he managed was to turn slightly, his eyes finding a vast expanse of impossibly black fabric. “C…Crowley…?”

“Nh. Told you…” The body behind him shifted, and Aziraphale lost track of his surroundings. When they cleared again, he was lying on soft grass. One hand brushed across his forehead, pushing away the curls, and a cool breeze prickled across his skin. “Better?”

The face hovering above fuzzed in and out of focus. Yes, it had red hair, and a narrow face streaked with blood. “You…” Aziraphale tried to lift his heavy arm, reach for the already-fading form. “You’re hurt…”

“Nah.” The figure scrubbed at his face, not noticing the blood. Was Aziraphale dreaming it? Did he also imagine the eyes turned solid-gold with exhaustion? “’m fine. Jus’ rest now.”

“No…I was…” his hand managed to reach his side. “Toxin…bleeding…”

“Don’ worry. All better.”

Better? Every angel knew nothing in Heaven or Earth could heal demonic corruption. Well. Perhaps he’d dreamt that, too. Perhaps he was dreaming now.

He managed to roll onto his uninjured side. There was a frightful chill, but trying to curl up pulled at his wound painfully. “Nf,” he managed, without even the energy to cry out.

“Cold?”

“Y’s.”

A moment later, all the cold melted away, replaced by something warm pressed against his back, a light touch resting protectively on his hip. “Got you,” the voice whispered, a gentle brush of air across his ear. Then a sharp snap some sort of blanket draped over him, shielding him from the wind and the sun. “S’good. Sleep now.”

“Can’t,” Aziraphale objected. “I never…”

With a sharp breath, Aziraphale woke up. For a moment, he was disoriented – it was dark, everything tilted and strange – but, no: black sheets, grey walls, a few books resting on the bedside table near a mug of tea. The bedroom in Crowley’s flat. Which meant that the arms gently wrapped around his chest, the body pressed against his back, and the face nuzzling his shoulder…

“Mhf. ‘Wake already?”

“Sorry, my dear fellow. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“S’fine.” Crowley shifted, bringing his chin up to Aziraphale’s shoulder, wriggling his body into a more comfortable position.

“I’m still not used to sleeping.” He doubted he’d been out for more than an hour. “Not sure I’ll ever quite get the knack.”

“Told you. S’fine.” Crowley’s voice was still thick and heavy. He clearly had no intention of waking up so soon. “You wanna read now?”

“Not just yet.” He patted Crowley’s arm and leaned into his embrace, feeling lips brush absently against the back of his neck. “I think I dreamt this time.”

“Really?” He could hear the grin in Crowley’s voice, practically feel it against his skin. “Thassa first. Dream ‘bout me?”

“You know, I rather think I did. We were in a field…”

“Hmmm. Picnic?”

But Aziraphale’s smile faded as the details came back. “Your hands were…they were red. And I was in so much pain. Crowley, I think it was…” Without realizing it, his hand was pressed against the four scars on his side. “It was when I…”

In seconds he shifted from comfortably at rest to alert and awake, heart thundering as if it wanted to break free. He remembered the attack – fourteen hundred years ago now – the struggle for his life – the wound – and waking up, a week later, lying alone in a dying field, weak and hungry. He was never sure how much of what he remembered was a fever dream – but someone had bound his wounds…and then left. The cloth was soaked with blood; it had never been changed.

He hadn’t seen Crowley for another thirty years. Aziraphale only ever alluded to the attack once, and the demon had just growled learn to take better care of yourself. Never a hint of why the forces of Hell had ambushed Aziraphale, or why they never returned, or if Crowley had really been there to heal Aziraphale afterwards.

He hesitated to mention it now.

But Crowley’s fingers glided down his arm, twining with his, pressing lightly into the scars as if to ensure they were fully healed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I…I mean…it wasn’t the attack, though it felt as though it had happened only moments before.” Aziraphale shuddered at the memory of five demons, bursting out of the woods, claws and fangs and… “No, it was…surprisingly pleasant. I dreamt you were there. Afterwards. Taking care of me.”

“Oh.” Then, softer. “Oh.”

“You dressed my wound. Talked to me. And…and held me. Just like this.” He tugged Crowley’s arm across his chest again. “Stayed with me until I woke up.” His fingers played around Crowley’s, massaging knuckles. “I…ah…back then…I always wondered…”

“Yeah. That was…yeah. It was me.”

A lump formed in his throat, and all Aziraphale could do was nod, bringing Crowley’s fingers to his lips. How strange, to have confirmation after all this time. It shouldn’t have affected him, brought tears to his eyes, but, oh…

“Thank you,” he whispered, when he could speak again, and he pressed a kiss into Crowley’s palm. “I…I’m glad you were there.” More kisses, trailing to his wrist.

“Didn’t stay.” There was no mistaking the regret in his voice.

“Oh, no, I know you couldn’t.” Another kiss to the wrist. “It was a different time…we were different and…just that you stayed long enough to save me from an inconvenient discorporation…truly, thank you.” But when Crowley didn’t relax, Aziraphale switched to a teasing tone. “I used to think it couldn’t possibly be you. Why would a demon help an angel his own side had left for dead?” Ah. That wasn’t funny at all, was it? He continued, more serious. “I…I don’t wonder anymore. I know why.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, you silly old thing. Yes. I was quite fond of you back then, too, you know, though I didn’t trust you at all and very much wanted to throw you off a cliff for your…absurd pranks.” He smiled in memory. “And I would have helped you the same way, if you ever needed it.”

He lay there a moment longer, in the warm circle of Crowley’s arm. “I…don’t think I’ve ever told you…how very safe you make me feel.” Aziraphale turned over, just enough to meet Crowley’s eyes, expecting them to be warm and soft. Instead, he found them filled with pain. Aziraphale quickly reached up, cradling his demon’s face. “Darling, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“It…it was my fault.”

“What?” The words slid down his spine like ice, and Aziraphale scrambled to sit up. “No, it’s not your fault. It was Hastur and – and those other demons who attacked. I don’t know why they suddenly decided…Ah. You mentioned me?”

“More than that.” A tear ran down Crowley’s face, just one, and dropped unheeded between them. “I – I thought I was so clever. If I didn’t want to do a job, just say you stopped me. Told them how – how fierce you are. Fearless. Strong. And you are.” His eyes were pleading now. “I wanted them to…to think you were a-a-a worthy opponent.”

“And instead they decided to eliminate me.” He reached up to brush the tear track from Crowley’s cheek. “My love, no, it wasn’t your fault. I’m sure I gave Hell plenty of reasons on my own. You weren’t their only agent on earth in those days, and the rest were certainly not as fond of oyster dinners.”

“They wouldn’t have sent five demons if I hadn’t…”

“You don’t know that.” He kissed Crowley’s cheek. “And glad as I am for your help, I was fine. Really, my injury looked much worse than it was.”

But Crowley shook his head. “Angel…you almost died.”

“What? No, I…” He remembered hands, coated with red blood, and something black.

“I pulled all the toxin out of you. I…I held your soul in my hand. It was almost gone.” The tears started again. “You were almost gone. I…a few minutes later and…”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale pulled him into his arms, felt Crowley’s arms twist around him, tight as only a serpent’s embrace could be. “I didn’t know…”

“I stayed as long as I could, I swear. Two days.” Crowley shuddered. “Then they came back. Even more of them.”

Fear boiled through Aziraphale, as if Crowley’s words could summon the demons into their bedroom. Calm down. That happened fourteen hundred years ago. “What…what did you do?”

“Told you. I left.” His voice was strained, broken. “When I sensed them coming. I just…abandoned you. Led them on a chase. Told them you’d attacked me. Had reinforcements. Everything I could think of, until they gave up. And then I went back to Hell with them. Left you there.”

“Crowley. Look at me.” He pushed the demon back until he could see his eyes. “Thank you.” Crowley started to shake his head, and Aziraphale gripped his jaw firmly. “No. Don’t blame yourself. I was in no condition to fight, even if you could have woken me. And I would never ask you to fight a horde of demons. By leaving me, by leading them away, you saved me. And more importantly, you saved my best friend.” He leaned in and kissed Crowley lightly on the lips. “So. Thank you.”

“I wanted to stay.”

“I know. I…I wanted you too as well.” His fingers searched for Crowley’s, crept between them, and squeezed. “I hope, er, your former side didn’t do anything too bad when you returned.”

“Nah,” and there was that smile, the careless grin Aziraphale adored so much. “I was a legend. Only demon to ever face you and walk away unscathed. Even Hastur was afraid to face you again. Dagon had me develop a whole training course on angelic combat.”

Aziraphale threw back his head and laughed. “They thought you could beat me?”

“Oi! Mind who you’re mocking, I am the Serpent of Eden, Hell’s fiercest and most effective agent!”

“Only because you lie about everything.”

“You’re one to talk!” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, pushing him back down into the pillow, laughing just as much. “You invented lying! To God!” His lips brushed against Aziraphale’s ear, but it was a serious voice that whispered, “I will protect you always, Angel.”

“I know.” He kissed Crowley’s jaw, then rested against his face, cheek to cheek. “Thank you.”

Eventually, they settled down to try sleeping again, Crowley pressed against his back, long fingers resting on the curve of his hip. With a snap, Crowley’s wing emerged, covering Aziraphale in a feathery cocoon. Just like in his dream.

There, in the embrace of his demon, Aziraphale felt safe, and warm, and welcome, and other things he’d never expected to feel. Whatever came next, they had each other. Forever.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens prime #ineffable husbands #hurt comfort #hurt aziraphale #protective crowley #but also #protective aziraphale #aziraphale and crowley #pre-arrangement #cw: blood #CW: wounds #bed sharing #sleepy cuddles #wing cuddles #My writing #tumblr fic

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jafndaegur · 4 years

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Noise of Rain | Chapter Six

Light the Fire Here to Find Your Answer

Sesskag

a/n: starting to get into the thick of things...

Kikyo's fingers skimmed over the plain of her belly…it was barely curved, hardly a swell. Yet despite the lack of visibility, she knew a creature grew inside of her, one that she hardly wanted or desired. But Inuyasha practically beamed with the idea of its existence—and it kept his focus diverted most days from the annoyance that called herself the Edo Matriarch. So she was grateful at least for her child's immediate usefulness. Once it was birthed, who knew.

“Are you sure you do not wish for me to attend as well?” Her voice was even and she realized there was hardly any concern in her tone. She knew that her lover required affection and often she tried to provide it. Falling short and yet not ever really caring.

Inuyasha kissed the top of her head. “Nah, it’s just going to be a boring old summit with a couple ol’ coots. But since they’re outlying shoguns, it might be a good idea to see what they have to say. Besides, weren’t ya going to check the village’s barrier today?”

“I was going to, however I do not wish for anything awry happening with your meeting. It’s unlike you to go out of your way for such things.”

“Keh,” he scratched his nose bashfully. “If I wanna stand equal with the village priestess, then I gotta step up my game.”

“Yes well, keep trying,” Kikyo muttered, donning outer garments to wear over her miko garb. Early winter loomed on the proverbial doorstep, ready to worsen itself on any moment. And despite the increasing weight on her body, the chill seemed to seep through her skin even more than usual. She let out a sigh and turned to look at Inuyasha.

The half-demon regarded her with a twisted gaze, something torn between a laugh and hurt. Rolling her eyes, she gave his suikan a light tug before gracing his cheek with an even lighter kiss. “Be careful then.” Kikyo hummed, before leaving their hut.

It wasn’t as if she disregarded him or held him in little regards. It was also never her intention to be straight out brusque with him. But something since she became human had clicked for her. For while she no longer desired (completely at least) to drag him to the pits of the underworld with her, something relished the sad little looks or the panged winces he would make whenever she was curt. And it was something she enjoyed seeing him chase after her to make up for each little sting. Because it meant that he was moving on and away from his friendship with Kagome. She knew that as long as the two of them were alive, one or the other would always be vying for the hanyou’s attention. While both types were in two different ways - Kagome seemed to be content in her companionship and Kikyo herself wanting to be the subject of Inyuasha’s obsession, she found it amusing that she wound the half-demon further and further around her little finger. Soon enough, with the birth of their child, there would not be enough room left for the little priestess who threw herself off the deep end. Another use for the babe that had yet to be. Perhaps before it was even born, it would have proven its worth.

---

Inuyasha waited with baited breath for Kikyo to leave his scent range. His chest heaved painfully and he tried to not focus on her small jab. Had it been Kagome, it might have been a playful joke followed by an elbow to his side. Nothing more than a quip.

But the words from his lover always hurt in a way that he didn’t expect.

It didn’t matter. He’d lied about the meeting. But it was still time to go if he wanted to be back by nightfall.

Moving on and forcing himself not to dwell on it, Inuyasha took a tentative step before leaving the village. His feet ran over forest floor and grass and leaves and the world around him slipped by so easily and so quickly. Eagerness flooded his nerves and suddenly he wondered if he would get caught. Not that Kikyo followed him anywhere he went. But she always seemed to know what he was up to. Not that he cared. Again. He was his own damn person, and dammit he was going to go see his best friend regardless of whether or not Kikyo told him to stay away.

It’d been months since he’d seen Kagome. Summer had just been dying away when she’d disappeared, and fall just born when she reappeared. After that he hadn’t seen her since she’d stormed from the restaurant, his half-brother in tow.

His frown pulled tight and a growl formed in his chest.

Every time he’d seen Kagome since her change, Sesshomaru had always seemed to follow in her footsteps like a ghost. The guy acting like a damn lost puppy or something like that. He’d hoped that it had stopped. Nothing good ever came of hanging out with a demon like his brother.

The mountains where the Burial Mounds towered close now. Their stiff and pointed peaks were coated in snow and he gave an involuntary shiver. It hadn’t snowed yet on the normal earth, despite how cold it had gotten. He wondered if Kagome and the others were safe and warm. It was hard to find protection from the cold up that high. Not much foliage for kindling grew up that far into the terrain, and coming down to bargain for food made traveling difficult. With Miroku up there, he knew that there was a small chance that they were eating well and at least finding enough jobs to feed everyone. But rumor had it that Kagome had more than just her friends up there. Word was from all around demons and half-demons alike had found shelter within the small settlement at the peaks. Last thing he’d heard was there were some seventy to one hundred people up there under her protection. They’d called her the Edo Matriarch, saying how she’d founded her own clan reminiscent of the ones of old.

He couldn’t imagine it. The gangly, squawky girl who rode her bike around the countryside for kicks seemed a far cry from the demonic and intimidating village matron that townspeople surmised her to be. Yet the last time he’d seen her...enraged eyes and lashing evil aura.

Inuyasha steeled himself.

He would see her for sure and he would discover the truth behind whatever transformations she underwent. Unsure if he could bring the real Kagome back or not, he would try. Her happiness meant the world to him, and the image that kept repeating itself on loop in his mind was just how sunken and how exhausted she had seemed. Resorting to this “demonic cultivation” as she called it was doing more harm than good. He needed to know why she felt so inclined to keep practicing this dark art. She was a miko for fuck’s sake, was being a priestess not enough for her?

He approached the trail most traveled in the mountains. Right away he could detect everyone’s scents. Miroku and Sango’s, Shippo’s, Kaede’s...Kagome’s.

A nostalgic twinge pulled through his chest and urged him to run faster. It felt as though he were coming home for the first time in a long time. His breath quickened and his eyes widened. He was scared and excited - would he be welcomed or would he be pushed away?

Bursting out into the small valley before the village, his mood quickly darkened.

Sesshomaru lounged on one of the village huts, his arm draped over a propped up knee as he kept surveillance over Rin and Shippo playing with a few other demon children in the snow. Sango and Miroku were there too, chopping wood as they watched the children as well. They were the first to announce his arrival - he was sure his stupid brother was the first to detect him - and they did so with smiles and several waves.

Much to his relief, his brother continued to ignore him. And as much as he would like to whoop the older demon’s ass there and now, he was not the goal of his mission. His sole purpose was to visit -

“Inuyasha!”

Kagome.

Her voice bounced off of the snow and into the air like bells. She emerged from the hut Sesshomaru currently safeguarded, and waved. She pulled a heavy charcoal haori over her shoulders, shuffling quickly over to him with a wide grin. He wanted to cringe away, her scent reeked of his brother. But he noticed with a little touch of pain, that she looked healthier. Her skin wasn’t so jaundiced, and her cheeks and eyes were not so sunken. Her clothes weren’t so baggy on her small frame, and it looked like she’d finally figured out how to tie her robe properly…

His gaze went quickly from her to his brother and back. The daiyoukai continued to evade his observation, and merely laid back on the roof of the hovel and closed his eyes. How arrogant that stupid prick!

Kagome rushed him in a barreling hug that forced all thoughts from his mind. Her scent flooded with happiness and her arms circled him tightly. All else was forgotten as he buried his face in the crown of her hair.

“Sorry I hadn’t come to visit ya yet,” he mumbled.

“Miroku said you and Kikyo were heads of the village now,” she whispered back. “I imagine that’s pretty busy.”

“Formalities ain’t my strong suit,” he huffed. “Just keepin’ an eye on things while Kikyo does all the official priestess stuff.”

She didn’t answer to that, and he internally kicked himself for mentioning her.

Recovering quickly, Kagome grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the little hut she’d come from. “Here, let’s go in. It’s cold! There’s some leftover soup that I have on the fire, you want some?”

“Sure Kags...that’d be great,” he hummed with a faint and fond smile. He allowed her to tug him along. Nothing else existed as he followed her wake into the hut.

He sat down obediently by the fire, as she rummaged around what he presumed was a common eating hall. There were lots of tables with the fire pit at the center. It was such an odd idea, to have a place where everyone of this village could dine together - but with Kagome as the leader, all of that somehow suited her. It was homey.

“It’s boar and lotus soup, I hope you don’t mind,” she chirped, serving him a bowl. “We have lotus to eat for centuries because of Sesshomaru, and the other day he and a few other demons caught a herd of boars that were roaming around -”

“Hold on,” Inuyasha didn’t mean to interrupt really. “My half-brother? The walking Ice Prick?”

“Don’t be rude.” She gently cuffed him on the back of the head. “He doesn’t stay long...but he helps out a lot whenever he comes. I guess this is his pitstop between his travels.”

“A likely story,” he growled. “He’s using you for something.”

“Wow, you just got here and you’re already picking a fight,” rubbing her temples she let out a sigh. “Look can’t you accept he’s doing something nice for us? Even if he is using me for some bizarre reason - we’re getting food and protection out of it. So at worse it’s some symbiotic relationship, okay? We’re fine and he’s fine. Let’s leave it at that.”

“If you hadn’t left, you wouldn’t need to be relying on him to protect ya Kagome.”

He really didn’t mean to dive right into the problem either. His whole intention of this visit had to just be there with her. Nature really knew how to force its ugly head into his personality though - and his nature had always been brazen and confrontational.

“I had to leave.” Her voice lowered and her brows furrowed with anger. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You up and left in the middle of the night!” Inuyasha raised his voice before he could catch himself. “You didn’t even give us a chance to help you with whatever happened.”

“Did you ever think that I didn’t mean to leave?” She shouted back, her hand swiping through the air.

He pulled his soup out of the way so she wouldn’t knock it over. “Then why didn’t you come back? Three months! Three whole months you disappeared no matter how hard we looked. And when Kikyo came back human and whole - do you have any idea of what we thought?”

“I’m sure you were absolutely overjoyed,” she snarled, eyes flashing crimson. “You wanna judge me for the company I keep? Look who’s talking - she literally tried to drag your stupid butt to hell.”

“This is not about her.” His stood, standing toe to toe with the angry girl. “Leave her outta this.”

“It’s always about her!” Kagome snapped. There was a flash of resentful energy and then suddenly she was fuming. Her hair whipped by the torrent of evil aura radiating from her while her eyes glowed that eerie vermillion color. Her hand flew to her chest and gripped her robe painfully as her breathing heaved. “It’s always about her. Who do I look like? Kikyo. Who do you always chase after? Kikyo!”

“That’s not fair, I’m right here now aren’t I?” He shook her shoulders, his pulse quickening.

There was a thump on the roof.

“And even now,” there were tears in her eyes and the resentful energy lashed, throwing tables and dispelling the fire and knocking the pot of soup over. “When my priestess powers are gone and the core of which my reiki was stored all dismantled and transferred through our connection of souls to Kikyo just so my powers could protect itself from the resentful energy. It’s. All. Still. About. Her.”

Inuyasha stilled. Maybe he had misheard. “What?”

“Yeah funny thing,” she laughed now, her tears leaking into her mouth as her croaking giggles came out. “That thing were qi and reiki are stored? That connects all your meridians? I don’t have it anymore. Kikyo does.”

His throat ran dry. He didn’t understand. Powers beyond punching and slashing really ran over his head.

A strong grip grabbed him by the collar and flung him back. Sesshomaru now stood as a solid white wall between him and the growing torment that was Kagome. His brother’s fangs flashed and his eyes bled red. Leave.

Stumbling back, Inuyasha realized this visit had not gone how he’d wanted. As he fled, Kagome’s cries and Miroku’s and Sango’s startled yells echoed in his ears. His feet ran over mountain floor, and dirt road, and the earth underneath him sailed. Yet everything was pale and devoid of color. Time seemed sluggish and broken.

He left everything behind him.

#sesskag #sesshomaru #sesshomaru x kagome #kagome #kagome higurashi #Inuyasha #au: mo dao zu shi #noise of rain

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b-else-writes · 3 years

Text

the tiger shark and the sun

New chapter posted for my Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender RebelCaptain fusion AU! Eadu time! Dagobah time! Shit absolutely hitting the fan time!

Read on AO3 | Read from the start

Pairings: Jyn/Cassian, minor Han/Leia and Baze/Chirrut, random minor background pairings

Rating: T

Summary: Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender fusion AU. When exiled firebender Jyn Erso lands on his doorstep the day Cassian, last southern waterbender, meets the Avatar, she seems just another obstacle in ending the War against the Fire Nation. An obstacle he would willingly remove. But as their paths keep crossing, and the twins discover that destiny and balance are more than they expect, Jyn and Cassian find that they are more alike than they ever thought possible.

Snippet under the cut!

Far away, the twins clambered over the rocks and roots of Dagobah. The entire island, in the green-blue waters of the Southeastern archipelago, was covered in mangrove forests, trailing upwards into high cliffs. He could hear apes and monkeys swinging in the trees, mouse-deer trekking through trails, snakes and crabs scuttling between the roots and sand. Before them was tiniest old man Luke had ever seen. He was covered in wrinkles, with wisps of white hair on his head and sprouting from his large ears. His skin was mottled with a green fungus, but his eyes were bright and luminous. “Found someone, you have,” he chortled, clutching his cane, made from a gnarled branch. “Help you, I can.”

“Well...whoever you are, we’re looking for a great warrior,” Luke said, stepping closer to the strange little man.

The old man chucked to himself. “*War? Wars not make one great*.”

The twins looked at each other. Luke didn’t need to touch his twin’s mind to read what she was broadcasting. In the midst of their silent conversation, the little man began poking and prodding Artoo and Threepio. Snickering, he pulled open their packs, enthusiastically chewing on some of their food. “Hey, put that down!” Leia cried, as he dug out her poncho.

Artoo, growling, grabbed one end with his mouth. Leia gasped, seeing the cloth and fur starting to pull. “Artoo, let him have it!” Luke yelled.

The old man whacked Artoo over the head. “Bad dog! Mine! Or I will help you not!”

Finally, Luke managed to get Artoo to relinquish his hold. With a firm glare from Luke, the old man handed over the poncho to Leia, not even concealing his huff. Artoo looked over at Luke, asking, can I eat him? Please?

“No, Artoo,” Luke said, though he was sorely tempted. Artoo sighed.

“Now leave us alone, we're here to find Yoda,” Leia snapped.

“Yoda?” The old man hopped onto a root to look at them in the face. “Hmm, know him, I do! But first, a snack.”

From his dirty robes, the old man pulled out two coconut shells tied together with twine. He opened them. A putrid smell emerged. “Banana and frog soup – eat, eat! Or I will help you not.”

"We don't -"

"Yes, yes, know him I do. Great Sage, of the Jedi..."

Luke pursed his lips, throwing his sister a beseeching look. Patience. With extreme reluctance, Luke accepted a shell and swallowed a mouthful. Instantly, he began to gag. “Oh, this is not worth it at all,” Leia murmured.

“Ugh, we’re wasting our time!” Luke snapped. “You’re just an old hermit trying to trick us!”

The old man’s head slumped. His ears drooped as he looked out distantly, speaking to someone. “Teach them, I cannot. Too angry, too impatient.”

“Ben?” he asked. Luke could not see or hear, and yet… Something, older than him, carried on from his past lives, knew. "You're Yoda..." Rapidly, “No, no, we can learn!”

“Hmph,” Yoda said with a shake of his head, “Bridge between the Spirit World and ours, the Avatar is. Yet see Spirits in the physical world, you cannot. And worse, this one -” He rapped Leia on the head with his cane, “Sense it not! Spirituality of a rock!”

“We can learn to be more spiritual, to open ourselves,” Leia insisted, rubbing her head. Leia’s voice was tense. She flexed her hands, trying to leash the anger simmering under the surface. “And then we can open the Avatar State and beat -”

The old man shook his head in dismay, wandering away. “Beat? Beat?”

They chased after him. Yoda had found a wide sinkhole. It plunged deep into the island, so massive that trees were growing all over its sides. “But you brought us here to learn how to enter the Avatar State at will! You believe in the Jedi religion, you’re a powerful bender, you should know -”

“Bender? Bender, I am not, Skywalker,” Yoda said.

They drew back, startled. The air seemed to shift, grow thinner. “*Always looking to the horizon, Skywalker… Adventure, pah! Excitement, pah! Avatar crave them not,*” he said. “Organa, always looking inwards. Know nothing of the deep ocean, does the frog in the well. Avatar to all Four, bender and non-bender, you must be.”

The twins scowled. Leia snapped, “That's easy for you to say, living in your swamp!”

Yoda shook his cane emphatically. “Four Nations – think too much of it, you do. Transcend these rigged boundaries, the Jedi tried to be.”

Tried… the word echoed in the charged atmosphere of this strange, breathing swamp. It was darker, sadder than Yavin. “Feel it, do you?” Yoda murmured, closing his rheumy eyes. “Old Air Nomad sky burial ground, this is. Studied with the great sages of the Air Nomads, eight-hundred years before I did. A spiritual place.”

Luke could see her biting back a retort. “Judge me, do you? Great Sage, this cannot be,” Yoda tutted.

Leia’s cheeks were flushed, eyes narrowed. Luke could feel his own ears burning. Patience. Patience. We need to let him teach us. They exhaled slowly. As one, they bowed, and if Leia's was a little shallower, Yoda did not comment on it. “Please, teach us, Master Yoda.”

The old Sage cocked his head. At last, he spoke, eyes closed. “Teach you, I will. But unlearn what you have learned, you must.”

After drinking more of Yoda’s disgusting banana-and-frog soup – “essential to the Spiritual journey!” he cackled – Yoda directed them to the sinkhole. “In there, we must go,” Yoda said, “No weapons. Leave them with the animals.”

They shrugged off their water-skins, securing them alongside their Air Nomad staffs to Artoo’s saddle. Luke stroked his stalwart companion, assuring him and Threepio they'd be back soon. Yoda perched himself on Luke’s shoulder. The old man's claw-like hands dug into his skin. “What’s down there?”

“Only what you take with you.”

There’s no such thing as ghosts, Luke reminded himself. Linking with Leia, they began to bend. From deep within the sinkhole, water from hidden pools inside spiralled skyward. A shimmering water-spout crested up in front of them. “How do you get in there, if you can’t bend?” Luke asked, as the water curled around their feet, slowly lowering them into the cave.

Yoda laughed to himself, but did not answer. They dropped further and further down, clearing the vast greenery of the sinkhole. Stone swallowed them as they entered a further crack in the earth. His breath caught in his throat, almost dropping them.

The crack opened up into a great cave. This chamber alone must have been at least two-hundred feet high. The black walls were slick with water and lichen. They landed on a rock. The cave dropped further and further down into the underground water, its surface black and glass-like. Huge boulders, moss-covered, rolled all around them, a series of hills concealed underground, disappearing into further passageways. Stalagmites the size of towers rose up in the distance.

“Know nothing of the deep ocean, the frog does,” Yoda repeated, his luminous eyes lamp-like in the darkness.

He indicated for them to assume poses for meditation. They sat facing each other, legs folded in Lotus Pose, hands pressed together. “Magic power-up, Avatar State is not. Memory of a thousand lifetimes, it is. Live inside you, all past Avatars do. Mace, T’ra, Revan, Nomi…”

“It’s the beauty of the human experience,” Luke said, open his eyes with a start.

Yoda thumped his cane meaningfully. “Good, good. Now, listen. Feel. Beyond what you see and know, stretch out. See beyond the thick stone of the cave.”

Luke breathed slowly. His mind cleared. The sun passed through the sky above, shadows lengthening. Wind stirred the trees. The underground water bubbled, the ocean hummed, cutting through the stone. Bird song. He and Leia, their energies intermingling, rising from the ground like two stone statues. And…something. Half-memory, half-dream, whispering… The Spirits of Enfys’ people, Enfys, who was gone…

He gasped, opening his eyes. Yoda’s disappointed gaze fell upon them. “Hear you nothing that I say?”

“Meditating, reaching enlightenment – you can’t expect results at once!”

Yoda wagged his cane. “No. There is no difference. What is the role of the Avatar?”

“To keep the world in balance, and act as the bridge between the Spirits and humans,” Leia repeated, resting her chin on her hand.

“Great conceit we have. Are we not part of nature? You, girl, understand this.”

“Well, I, yes,” Leia said, “Because the Water Tribes live in such a difficult place, we understand that our fortunes are part of theirs, and they us. Our hunting keeps the populations in check to flourish in the next cycle.”

Yoda nodded. “Yes, yes. Listen: life, beating around us. Growing, dying, over and over. Energy surrounds us. Binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter,” he said, pinching Luke’s exposed shoulder, “You must feel it around you. Between you, me, the tree, the rock. Even between us, and the Spirits.”

Luke winced, rubbing the skin. Leia made a small grin. “That’s what you get for wearing shirts without sleeves.”

He very subtly earthbent to shift her out of her Lotus Pose. Leia squawked, flailing before she got her balance. Yoda sighed, handing them more banana-and-frog soup. “Truly, their father’s children they are, Obi Wan,” he said, though he sounded almost amused, watching them choke down the drink with revulsion. “Now, listen.”

It was almost night. His stomach rolled. His skin was hot and sticky and uncomfortable. But the twins returned to their stances, breathing in time together.

Reach out. Just as Luminara had said – every breathing thing, every animal and sapling and great old swamp tree… He heard the soft musical voices of the Air Nomads in the air, allowed them to wash over him. Time, time was illusion, Luminara had said… They were gone and yet they were here, a story that was already over and yet was happening right now…

Something blue shone beyond his vision. Slowly, forming and re-shaping itself. Obi Wan Kenobi. A Fire Nation man, here in an Air Nomad site, in the Earth Kingdom, shaped by Water Tribe philosophy. Yoda raised his wizened head and nodded. Obi Wan smiled. “I don’t believe it,” they whispered.

“That is why you fail,” Yoda told them.

continue reading on AO3

#star wars #rogue one #rebelcaptain #dailyrebelcaptain #jyn x cassian #jyn erso #cassian andor #luke skywalker #leia organa #my fic #writing #au: atla

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wonderful-writer · 4 years

Text

06 - Into Grounder Territory

Summary: As Bellamy rallies a search party to look for Octavia, everyone discovers that the flares had not worked. More than one person was lost on your search for Octavia, and things end badly once you rescued her.

Word Count: 2.19k

Based Off: 01x06 “His Sister’s Keeper”

You heard Bellamy calling for Octavia outside the tent, but knowing her, it’s likely he won’t get a reply. He came to a stop in front of your tent and lifted the flap, revealing you playing with your necklace. “You’re still up?” He asked.

“Yeah. Can’t sleep knowing that I might have accidentally killed 300 people.” You responded, standing up and exiting the tent.

“That isn’t your fault, okay? It’s mine. I trashed the radio, not you.” Bellamy shifted the blame to himself to comfort you.

“But it wasn’t just you, Bellamy. I helped you. I didn’t try to stop you as much as I could’ve and we don’t know if they saw the flares or not and-” Bellamy put his right hand on your upper arm, as his other one held the torch.

“Hey,” He said softly, gaining your attention as he cut you off. “It’s not on you, I promise. It’s all on me. You don’t deserve to feel like that.” You nodded, a little bit of comfort coming from his words.

“Now, have you seen Octavia?” He asked.

“No. not since last night. But it’s Octavia, she probably just went to get some space.” You assured him.

“No, I checked the camp. She isn’t here.” He sighed.

“Okay, well you told me you fought with her before you saw me, right?” He nodded. “Okay, so I can help you look for her. She’s my friend.” He nodded gratefully as you told him to check the dropship while you searched the tents again.

When you couldn't find her and had disturbed or woken up everyone in camp, you and Bellamy gathered everyone willing to help look for Octavia to the middle of camp with the weapons you had gathered since your arrival laid on the ground.

Everyone took one as instructed while Bellamy began to inform the search party of the circumstances. “My sister’s been out there alone for 12 hours, so arm up. We’re not coming back without her.”

You were the first to grab one, a pair of daggers with sheaths for each thigh. You set them up and saw Jasper holding a torch and talking to Clarke. You heard Bellamy tell Clarke that we needed all the people that we could get as you walked up to the trio.

“Thank you for helping, Jasper. I know how you feel about leaving camp.” You told your brother. He smiled at you and you patted his arm as he passed you to get a weapon. You could tell he was scared, to you he was an open book.

Soon enough you were all ready to head out of camp, a total of 15 of you. One of the members pointed up at the sky to the beautiful meteor shower happening overhead, until you heard Raven speaking.

“It didn’t work,” She said solemnly.

“The meteor shower tells you that?” Bellamy asked.

“It’s not a meteor shower,” Clarke told him. “It’s a funeral. Hundreds of bodies being returned to the Earth from the Ark. This is what it looks like from the other side. They didn’t get our message.”

The pit in your stomach grew larger as you realized that all of those innocent people were killed. You could’ve stopped it or helped stop it and you didn’t. Bellamy's words from before came back to you, this time giving less comfort than before and taking away none of the guilt.

Everyone began to murmur and talk amongst themselves as you looked to Bellamy and vice versa. Raven passed Finn and Clarke to storm over to Bellamy.

“This is all because of you!”

“I helped you find the radio.” His face hardened and so did his tone, which was entirely different from the one he usually uses when he’s with you and Octavia.

“Yeah, after you jacked it from my pod and trashed it!” She yelled again before Clarke intervened.

“Yeah, he knows.” She looked him up and down. “Now he has to live with it.”

“All I know is that my sister is out there and I’m gonna find her.” He told the women before turning to Finn. “You coming or what?” Finn responded with a ‘yes’ and Bellamy shouted at everyone to begin moving out.

You and Bellamy headed the search with Finn, who managed to trace her from where Bellamy last saw her to a small hill. John saw something caught in the bushes and showed it to Bellamy.

“Is that hers?” He asked, lighting the way with his torch.

Bellamy asked for the rope and maneuvered himself down to the bush. Once he was down, he picked up the cloth and called out. “It’s hers! I’m going all the way down!”

He continued to lower himself down the hill with the rope, Jasper following suit with a burst of confidence, and then you. Once you got down you saw blood on the tips of Bellamy’s fingers, illuminated by the light of the flashlight. Soon after, Finn arrived at the bottom of the hill, crouching beside Bellamy.

“Someone else was here,” Bellamy told you, looking at the deep footprint just ahead.

“The prints are deeper going that way.” Finn acknowledged.

“He was carrying her.” You concluded. The others began to make their way down as Jasper spoke up.

“If they took her, she’s alive. Like when they took me.”

The four of you stood up at Jasper’s words, knowing how things were last time, and followed the deep footprints.

You walked for a while until the party came upon a bunch of skeletons standing up in the forest as some type of warning.

“I don’t speak grounder, but I’m pretty sure this means keep out,” Finn said breathily.

After hearing some people begin to doubt the search and start to leave, Bellamy spoke up as he stared ahead. “Go back if you want. My sister, my responsibility.”

“I’d walk into hell to find her,” Jasper told Finn, following after Bellamy. You did the same, along with Finn and a few others.

The sun had now come up and the small group had been searching for hours. “I got nothing, I lost the trail,” Finn told Bellamy.

“Keep looking,” Bellamy ordered.

“Wandering around aimlessly isn’t going to find your sister, we should backtrack-” Finn was cut off by Bellamy.

“I’m not going back.” He said. It was then that Roma pointed out that John was no longer in sight.

“Spread out. He couldn’t have gotten that far.” You started to move in the opposite direction when John’s body was dropped from a tree, throat slit. You gasped at the sight of him. You didn’t know him, but from seeing him around camp you could tell he wasn’t like Murphy at all, despite sharing the same name.

Finn came to your side and looked up before turning to Bellamy. “They use the trees.” He realized.

You all looked up into the trees but saw nothing. “We shouldn’t have crossed the boundary,” Diggs commented.

“Now can we go back?” Roma asked.

“There,” Jasper pointed to a grounder who dropped from a tree. That’s when you noticed many grounders had begun to surround you, trapping you and setting you up for death.

“We should run,” Finn suggested, and everyone agreed. You took off into the forest as the grounders chased you, cutting you off and causing you to turn every once in a while.

“I can’t run much longer!” Jasper yelled.

“I’m not stopping for him!” Diggs shouted. You fell back from the front of the group to help Jasper out. Bellamy stopped, along with Finn and the rest of you.

“Yeah, well I’m tired of running,” Bellamy commented.

“What are you doing?!” Finn yelled.

“They know where she is,” Bellamy stated. One of the grounders kept running towards you and Roma called out for Diggs when she realized that he wasn’t with your group anymore. You heard him call out to her and you all followed.

You could barely comprehend what was happening as Roma cried out and ran off again, seeing Diggs’s body impaled on a wooden structure they set up.

“They were leading us here. It’s the only direction we could run in.” Jasper panted as he figured it out.

“Hey. Where’d they go?” Finn asked, and you looked around. No more grounders.

“After Roma,” Bellamy told the group before heading off in Roma’s direction. You followed after him in an attempt to not get split up and to try to save Roma. It didn’t take you long to find her. You heard a scream and followed it, which led you straight to her.

“There she is.” Monroe pointed. “Roma!” She called quietly, as to not attract any grounders. Bellamy pushed past everyone to go get her, and you followed.

You sprinted up to her figure with Bellamy, finding her with a spear in her chest, pinned against the tree.

“They’re playing with us,” Finn explained.

“She only came because of me,” Bellamy said softly, as he reached up to close her eyes with shaky fingers.

“They can kill us whenever they want,” Finn told the group.

“Then they should get it over with! Come on!” Jasper began to yell, causing all of you to try to stop him. You all crowded together as Monroe pointed out the grounders that began to surround you. You thought you were dead until a foghorn blew and the grounders stopped, running away.

“They’re leaving.” Bellamy pointed out.

“That horn, what does it mean?” Jasper asked, and Finn answered.

“Acid fog.”

He quickly began to take out a piece of the parachute from his sack to cover the five of you with until the fog passed. Not long after, you were tightly squished between Bellamy and Finn as you waited for the fog to pass, uncomfortably aware that Bellamy was practically on top of you.

“How long are we supposed to wait?” Jasper asked.

“Will this even work?” Monroe countered.

“We’ll just have to find out,” Finn answered.

“No, we won’t,” Bellamy responded, pulling back the parachute before you had a chance to protest.

“There’s no fog.” You and the others climbed out of the parachute, glad to not be in the uncomfortably hot and stuffy area anymore.

“Maybe it was a false alarm.” You commented, shrugging your shoulders.

“They’re coming back,” Finn pointed to a grounder who ran across your view in the distance.

“I think he’s alone,” Jasper said after looking around to find no other grounders. You all kept in your crouched position as Monroe asked if we were able to run, but Bellamy decided on something else.

“He doesn’t see us. I’m going after him.” You looked over at your friend in disbelief as you thought over how bad of an idea that was.

“And do what? Kill him?” Finn asked.

“No. Catch him. Make him tell me where Octavia is, then kill him.” Bellamy corrected. You rolled your eyes at your friend’s stupidity and scoffed lightly.

“What an idiot,” You mumbled, watching him make his way over to the grounder.

“How do we know he’s not leading us into another trap?” Jasper whispered.

“We don’t,” You answered.

You followed Bellamy to the grounder, who went inside a cave. It would be easier to capture him that way, but you knew that the grounders put up a good fight. Either way, the outcome of the situation wouldn’t be good for anyone.

When you entered the cave, you saw the grounder passed out on the floor and Octavia freeing herself from the chains he tied her up in. As she and Bellamy reunited, Monroe was watching the entrance and you looked around with Jasper, while Finn got a closer look at the grounder. You hovered near Octavia and hugged her once she let go of Bellamy. She let go of you to greet Jasper, as you got a better look at the grounder.

“We need to leave, now. Before he wakes up.” Octavia told her brother.

“He's not going to wake up,” Bellamy assured her.

“Bellamy stop!” She protested. “He didn’t hurt me, let’s just go!”

“He started this,” Bellamy told her, preparing to shove the spear into the grounder’s chest. “Y/n, move.”

You inspected what the grounder had on his person closely, leaning over his body.

“Foghorn,” You whispered, taking the item in your hand.

The movements of the grounder took you by surprise, as you thought he was unconscious. What stunned you completely, however, was the feeling of a knife being driven into your left side. It stung as it entered your body, but a general burning coursed through the rest of you. You were thrown to the ground, hitting your head as you heard your name being called from multiple people. It was like when you got into the knife fight with Murphy, except a lot more painful and it didn’t take you nearly as long to lose consciousness.

Darkness poked at the edges of your vision, every sound entering your ears garbled like you were underwater and couldn’t swim. But it didn’t take much longer for you to fall into the dark void of unconsciousness, not knowing when you would wake up again.

Taglist: @soullessbabee | @hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis | @dummythiccwitch | @sireddobrev | @gxvrielle

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake series #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake x y/n #bellamy blake x you #this is war series

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sirsharp-a · 3 years

Text

I Thought you Knew Better Than That. ❜

Summary: Paths change constantly in the depths of the forest. Some change directions, others vanish entirely. The trail used for the Heart’s Day Hike is a cursed piece of land... excluding for the month of February.

Warnings: N/A, it’s just fluffy wholesome goodness. It’s also not very long!

"Not scared, are you?"

The light whap of her hand against his chest was met with a chuckle. He knew as well as she did that there was nothing for them to fear. They had grown together in this forest. No matter how cosy they became in Huron, No-Man’s would always be their first home.

"Why, do I look it?" Her gait was playful, steps carrying her so lightly that it looked as if she was dancing on air. The butterfly ornaments on her otherwise modest sun-dress caught the rays of light that filtered through the trees, their sapphire-shaded wings glimmering like jewels. "I'm sure not bothered by the myths surrounding this place."

"You don't believe in curses?" He asked, his hand smothering hers as they meandered down the path. "I thought you knew better than that."

"Oh, I believe in curses," Grace retorted. For a moment, her gaze looked accusatory. He revelled in her judgement. Her ire filled him with the same burning passion that her praise did. "But you're the biggest one I know. You kinda cancel it out."

"Ouch." It was punctuated by a laugh that wasn't very hurt at all. "You hit hard for a woman that holds my hand with such insistence."

If she was being honest, her head was still reeling somewhat at the idea of him asking her to do anything with him on this day. She'd wholeheartedly expected him to go on with life as usual; greet her in the morning with a warm cup of tea and a smile, but ultimately go on without missing a beat. To know that he wanted to put effort into this stupid holiday made it feel a little less stupid.

She had learned fairly quickly that Edgar was a filthy romantic when he'd woken her with breakfast and flowers. She'd caught glimpses of it during dates prior to them getting together, but it had always been in the back of her mind that it was as likely for theatrics as it was to portray himself as loving and worthy of her body. It had been a game, a chess match full of wit and charm, and only when he’d wormed his way into her heart had it blossomed into more. Now that they were in a relationship, having been intimate hundreds of times and still finding his interest solely on her, she was absolutely certain that it had nothing to do with grandiosity. He truly did just like to spoil those that he came to love.

"It's an old tale," she said, ducking beneath a paper heart decoration that a huro had draped over a low-hanging branch. The trees were littered with them, the walkway clearly marked with lanterns attached to ropes. It was clear that the festival had taken some time to prepare. "Is it even true?"

Edgar thought about it for a moment. He thought about it hard. He considered the improbability of a path being cursed at any other time except the month of 'love’. Then he recalled that the No-Man's was full of improbability-- of paths that disappeared at different times of the year, of weather so unpredictable and crass that it made the land all but uninhabitable, that God himself dwelled in the belly of the undergrowth-- and he felt fitfully humbled.

"I don't know," he replied, smiling an enigmatic sort of smile. "But there is one thing I've learned in this life, and that is to never piss off the Universe*, nor the occult."

They both knew that he wasn't referring strictly to witchcraft or Huron's particular brand of 'Satanism'; that the occult was more an entity than it was a concept, writhing and dark yet inviting nonetheless, like a bottomless cave that one felt an inexplicable urge to dive headfirst into. Its incomprehensible depth was precisely what enticed wanderers into giving chase-- into running into worlds not meant to house them. Dark caverns; empty holes in the ground; bodies wedged in damp, sad walls of dirt and death.

The sound of soft music being played on lutes was carried by the wind, the nostalgic smell of freshly baked cookies and cakes floating gently alongside them. Edgar really couldn’t place this holiday. It felt strange, shrouded in a mystique that seldom others did. He’d say that the only one that confused him half as much was the signature Hallowed Eve celebrations. Why are we messing with the dead, exactly?

The trail would end soon. The path would meld into nothingness by the end of the month-- not that anybody but he, Grace and Murr knew that. Nobody knew about the strange properties that formed this land for they were ( rightfully ) afraid of it. They knew not of how many animals hadn’t been seen for they dwelled in the bowels of the dark, or of the monsters that roamed the paths like people did the streets. Its quiet existence was somewhat symbolic to the lye. It reminded him a lot of where he came from, and of the life he was now trying to lead in spite of it.

Being nameless doesn’t suit me. I was born to be somebody.

“This was nice,” Grace keened softly, curling close enough to snuggle into his arm as they walked. Neither of them were much for public displays, but being relatively alone on a walk through the woods that had birthed them felt intimate enough a place to engage in something innocent. “I didn’t think you’d bother.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, his long coat picked up by the wind. The smell of pastries was getting closer. Freshly baked bread called his name. “You’re my mate now. We should put time aside for each other like this.”

“Mm, such a gentleman,” she cooed, only half serious. She knew better than to press him on the topic. Not to be confused with coy, Edgar was one for privacy; he didn’t much care for his personal affairs being splashed on a proverbial front page, even if said page had been made by her. This side of him was for her perusal, and her perusal only. “You can make good on that by buying me something sweet!”

He made a strangled sort of sound, a terse scoff mixed with a laugh. “Grace!”

A boisterous laugh left the woman as she let go of his arm in favour of dashing ahead, towards whatever smelled so good. From the golden stretch of hair to the blue of her dress, she glowed in his vision, the emerald glint of the forest dimming in comparison. Foolishly in love - and more than a little bit awestruck - the Alpha sped up, following her towards the stalls at the end of the trail.

#🞮 — i am the lie that you adore. ❜ ( edgar. )#🞮 — the best is yet to come. ❜ ( edgar&grace. )#🞮 — welcome to my world﹐take a look around. ❜ ( main. )#🞮 — ask me to stay﹐i would be charmed to. ❜ ( ic. )#drabble *#[ * universe is capitalised in their world; much like god is! ]#[ i am somft. i love them. ]#[ i was so upset that i was late to my own babies' day that i thought about shifting the date of v-day in their universe pahaha #idk if i'm sold on it yet tho-- would make ''promotional'' art for them kinda hard if all their dates were mixed up ]#[ EITHER WAY. HM. I LIKE IT. ]#[ i'll probably reblog this later bc i want people to have a chance of seeing it heehee]

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Tangles Webs of Fate Ch.1

Everyone always said that you shouldn't go into the forest at night. No one but the foolish or the desperate would willingly venture between the trees when the moon rose, high and full above the port.

Marco was both.

If asked, Ace could tell you exactly what made him want to live in a cabin at the edge of the woods. That answer was, quite simply, he was broke.

Notes:

Major AU! None of this takes place in the One Piece world, includes magic spiders and time travel.

Into the Woods

Everyone always said that you shouldn't go into the forest at night. That those who did came back strange and different, if they ever returned at all. Mothers whispered to their children, children whispered it to each other and all but the huntsmen, who were strange and aloof already, skirted the edge of forest whenever the sun began to sink.

No one but the foolish or the desperate would willingly venture between the trees when the moon rose, high and full above the port.

Marco was both.

He ran, bare feet digging into sharp roots and snagging on stray roots until they broke his skin and left a trail of blood in his wake. Shouts echoed behind him, too far for him to hear, as though he didn’t already know the words being hurled at his back.

Normally, Marco avoided this place as much as anyone else, but he couldn’t afford to. Not tonight, not with blades chasing his back and death dogging his heels. He clutched his bag tight to his chest, the small jingling a meager comfort. Was it worth the trouble? The danger?

Was a sack of gold worth throwing himself into the dark space between the trees?

He prayed so.

Between the branches over his head only the smallest flashes of silver light filtered through, glancing off of shiny rocks and a tiny brook that snaked its way through. Marco hissed against the cold when his feet sunk in, stirring up mud and crawfish.

He stumbled only once, smacked his face on a branch, and stopped dead. The air in front of him shivered with heat he couldn’t feel. A spider hung from its web an inch from his face, looking at him with its dozens of eyes.

Marco scrambled to remember what he’d been told, the snippets of warnings wind had carried to his ears. Advice he could use now.

The howl of a hound cut through the night and Marco bowed his head, gripping the treasure he coveted closer to his chest. He pulled out a piece, then two, then three, until he had eight in his hand. With blind fingers he groped for a nook in the trees that walled up on either side of him. The spider was clever, he had built his web a hanging net between a arch of two trees in a close cropping of a dozen. Marco shoved the coins, one for each leg and one for each eye, into a gap in the bark.

“Please,” he begged, “give me safe passage.”

The spider turned its eyes from him. The shimmering air vanished, a cloud passed over the moon and the forest was plummeted into darkness.

Marco ducked under the web and ran through the trees. The hounds voices cut off as soon as he was through. The air felt different, heavier. A light flashed across the horizon, but it was too early to be dawn. Stars fell through the inky blankness of the sky. The moon was gone.

Marco slammed face first into something hard and metal. He bounced back, landing on his butt. The earth had vanished, packed down into what Marco’s fingers told him was a single slab of stone. A massive one.

The boy pushed himself up, his legs starting to shake as the reality of what he had done sunk in. He had broken all of the rules and obeyed them at once. Don’t go in the forest at night, humans said. Pay for your safety, the fae demanded.

Marco touched the metal, his fingers brushing over the smoothest surface he had felt in his life. He ran his hand across it, tracing over a strange indentation and a handle stuck in. Carefully, Marco bent to retrieve his bag from where he’d dropped it. The coins rattled against eachother, a reminder of his crime. A reminder of his escape.

In the blackess he could see the hulking shape of a house. Slowly, so slowly, he walked towards it, calling out into the darkness.

“If I am unwelcome, please tell me,” he asked the Fair Folk that lived here. The only response was the soft chirping of a lone cicada. Where in Gods name was he that there was one cicada and not several hundred?

Two bright eyes erupted out of the darkness, blinding him with a brilliance he had never experienced. Trapped suns flew towards him, stopping short. Marc o threw his hand over his eyes, stumbling back.

A voice shouted at him in a tongue he did not know. Angry, offended. Marco cursed himself for taking the cicada as the wrong sign and bowed low to the two suns that had flown to him in the night.

When the voice, still speaking words he could not understand, turned to one of concern he rose and fled, back into the trees. When dawn broke, he would pick his way back to the spiders tree and thank it for it’s help, and perhaps it would send him back to whence he came.

~ ~ ~

If asked, Ace could tell you exactly what made him want to live in a cabin at the edge of the woods. That answer was, quite simply, he was broke as fuck.

To be fair, trying to feed Luffy took up almost his entire paycheck, and what little Sabo brought in went almost exclusively to their seemingly never ending medical bills. Between the fights the three got into and the fact that they were still paying off the debt from Sabo’s ‘accident’ ten years ago there was never enough money, they were always stretched thin, and consequently they lived in a rickety old house that predated the automobile.

The water didn’t always run, so they kept a supply in barrels around the back, and the electricity liked to go out, if it was on at all, so they took turns working on a dilapidated generator to keeps the lights on and the fridge working.

It was nothing special. It was nothing good, not the way Luffy and Sabo deserved their lives to be. Not the way Ace wanted their lives to be.

It had never impressed anyone before, unless it was sheer amazement that the house was still standing.

Which begged the question, why the man in his living room was looking around him in wonder.

For that matter, how had he managed to get in in the first place?

And what was he wearing?

Ace leaned on the banister, urging a creak out of the old wood that made his ‘guest’ jump about twenty feet in the air. The blond spun around, hair flying about wildly. Ace froze where he stood, caught by bright, golden eyes. They were wide, the man’s shoulders were tense. He took a half a step away from Ace, shifting onto the balls of his feet. Ace would know a fighting stance anywhere.

“Um,” Ace said. He cleared his throat and added, “Hello? I’m Ace. Who are you?”

The man just stared at him, a furrow forming between his brows. He opened his mouth and released a string of gibberish that Ace assumed were words to other people. He looked around, said something else, and looked to Ace expectantly.

Ace, not sure what else to do, pointed at his face.

“Ace,” he said slowly. “Portgas D. Ace.”

“D!” the man repeated, a light erupting in him. It flashed behind a hint of a smile. Now that Ace was looking closer, scrutinizing him openly, he could see that whoever this man was he was not dressed for the thirty degrees outside.

His grey shirt was only halfway buttoned up, his black pants stopped long before his sandals, and the closest thing he had to a coat was the sash that jingled around his hips, gold flashing along its heavy folds.

He looked familiar...

“Uh, yeah,” Ace agreed. There was something about the clothes that looked wrong. Something not quite right, a sort of… nonconformity that department stores just did not sell. He pointed at himself again and repeated his first name. The man nodded, slowly. Some of the tension drained out of his shoulders.

“Ace,” he repeated, pointing to the young man. “Marco,” he added, pointing to himself.

It was surprisingly common of a name. There was something about Marco that was entirely uncommon. Something different, like the subtle variation between a King and a Coral Snake. What was that rhyme again?

Red on yellow, you’re a dead fellow. Yellow on black you’re okay Jack? Or was it black on yellow you’re a dead fellow, Red on black you’re okay-

Not the time.

“Why are you in my house?” Ace tried, hoping to be understood. His hopes were quickly dashed by the blank stare Marco levelled him with.

“Fuck,” he said flatly. Manners did him no good when someone couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Fuck,” Marco repeated, which was of course the second word he learn, after Ace’s name. Ace and Fuck. What a vocabulary.

“Okay Marco,” Ace ran a hand through his dark hair, watching Marco perk up at the mention of a familiar sound. “What am I going to do with you?”

The answer did not come. Marco just watched him, weariness ebbing away into curiosity. Had he never seen the inside of a house before or something?

Ace shook his head and reached over to snap the living room light on. Marco jumped, shouted more gibberish at him and pointed at the lamp. Ace frowned at him and snapped the switch off, then back on. Marco looked at his hand, then at Ace, and eased himself closer.

The younger boy stepped back, letting him come to inspect the light switch. This was… weird.

Ace couldn’t figure out what was going on, but he let Marco tentatively run his fingers over the switch before he pushed. The lights when out. Again, the light’s came back on. His fascination was endearing, if bewildering.

Not sure what else to do, Ace went to the kitchen and got a box of Cheez-Its. While he was at it he hunted down a couple of soda’s to split between him and his visitor, but by the time he got back to the living room Marco had disappeared.

Ace was left staring at the space he had occupied, hands full and brain muddled. What the actual fuck was going on around here?

~ ~ ~

Marco sat on the ground, watching the Fair House from a distance. He had left his bag outside when he had gone up to see it, hoping to find someone who might take pity on a traveler. What he had found was perhaps the most beautiful man he had ever seen in his life, who did not speak his language at all.

He had taught Marco the magic of his home, and in return Marco had run before he could be offered anything from what was obviously the kitchen. He knew better than to accept Their food or refuse Their hospitality, so he did the only thing he could think of that would satisfy both of those rules.

He scurried out the door, where he had left his bag, and ran off.

At some point in the night he had stumbled across a pair of sandals that fit him miraculously, made out of strips of black leather and something soft that Marco had never encountered before. A gift, perhaps. He hoped at least. If he had stolen from Them…

His stomach growling broke him out of those thoughts. His body wished he had accepted the food but his mind knew it was for the best that he hadn’t. Even if he hadn’t eaten since yesterday it was better not to eat the food of Faerie than to risk never being able to eat his own food again. Assuming he managed to find his way back to the spider tree he had come through in the beginning.

He’d been trying to retrace his steps all night but it wasn’t working. He had no bearings in this world. He had no one to help him, nowhere to go.

Then again, when did he ever have those things?

Marco sighed. He had been alone for God knew how long, and he would stay that way until he could book passage on a ship and get to the larger port than the tiny indentation on his home island. Somewhere where he could disappear from the miniscule world of his birth and find a true place in the sea.

Marco allowed a dreamy sigh to flit past his lips. He had been so close. So close to being there and now-

Now he was a world away.

The door to the house opened, slamming against the wall and a whirwind of a boy came sprinting outside, his smile the sun his eyes warm and brilliant. Marco tensed and slid back against the tree, into the brush he’d taken shelter in in the wee hours of the morning.

The Fair Child secured the hat on his head and spun to walk backwards towards a massive metal cart sitting in front of the building, hollering behind him. Minutes later a blond boy in blue emerged at a brisk jog, dragging his overcoat on he went. On his heels was the beautiful being Marco had met before.

He looked even better in day time, sunlight spilling across his tanned skin, tracing over the freckles on his cheeks and waving over his dark hair. He shook his head at the antics of what had to be the youngest of them and ushered him to the cart.

With a laugh the smallest of the trio showed Marco that it wasn’t a cart at all, but a carriage.

Either way, did they expect to pull it themselves? Marco hadn’t seen a barn, or a stable, or a single horse since he’d arrived. If horses existed here.

Abruptly the carriage released a roar that sent Marco skuttering back, his heart pounding in his chest. The beast growled and moved on black wheels that crunched the stoned under its wake, tearing asunder the earth. Two eyes, like the twin suns that had almost struck him down the night before, swivelled towards him.

Marco drew back in fear, sliding as far into the foliage as he could. The boy did not fancy himself a cowards, but the working of the Fair Folk were far beyond him.

He waited until it was long gone before he crept out of the greenery.

Marco realized his hands were shaking. Was he excited? Was he terrified?

He turned and wandered into the forest, looking for the spider.

~ ~ ~

Ace was exhausted by the time he got back to the treeline. His arms felt like noodles and if he heard one more request to speak to the manager he was going to cut his own ears off. He longed for the day the pits of hell would open beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

Ace waved to the bus driver and dragged his sorry ass onto the path that would get him to the house. Sabo had the car today, so he could get home after the buses were finished running, and Luffy was staying over at Vivi’s house with the rest of his friends for weekend party. Ace would be the only one home for quite some time.

That was probably for the best. He shivered when a cold wind blew, pulling his jacket tighter around him. A few snowflakes drifted in front of him.

Ace’s mind drifted back to the boy he’d seen in his house a few nights ago, the one with the soft blond hair and the wide, wonderous gaze. He’d been thinking of him ever since he disappeared, trying to puzzle out who he was and what he’d wanted. And, where he’d gone.

Ace paused at a break in the path. From here he could continue down the well worn dirt until he was back at his house, start a fire and see what he could scrounge up for dinner. Or, he could go right and make his way into the forest, along the deer trails and into the shadows. He could disappear into the night and never have to go back to the call center again.

He could do it. He knew how to hunt, how to fish, how to build a fire. He could walk away and never look back again.

Then he thought of his brothers. Of Sabo and Luffy, who depended on him, who he depended on. He couldn’t leave them. He couldn't.

But he could pretend, for just a minute, that he might be able to walk away from the pressure, the responsibility, the fear that no matter what he did he would never get out of this cycle of bills, being broke, and never going anywhere.

He walked into the trees.

There was no fear for the boy here, he knew these trees like he knew his own hands. He could find his way home blindfolded here. Here, where the lights of the city only brushed the clouds of the horizon. Here, where the air was fresh and crisp and the water ran clear.

Ace walked the familiar lines between the wood, trailing his fingers lightly across the gnarled bark as he passed. He always felt better out here, where no other people were around to bother him. It was a small escape, but one he found himself relying on more and more these days.

From inside the shuttering branches of the aspen he could see steam lifting off of the pond where snow tried to settle on water not ready to freeze just yet. Standing on the shore was the same blond man.

A frown drew his brows together. Ace could see him shaking from where he was. Had he been outside this whole time?

“Hey!” Ace hollered at him, emerging from the trees. It was the second time he’d gotten Marco to jump out of his skin. He was holding something to his chest, a rucksack, like his life depended on it.

“Hey,” Ace repeated, walking out. The wind blew again, tousling his hair and lifting his hat. Ace shoved it back on his head quickly. He walked towards Marco, who stood very still, clutching the back close to him.

Marco watched him wearily. He said something, paused, and told Ace, “Hello.” which Ace hoped was a greeting and not something he was supposed to respond to.

“Hey,” he said for the third time. “Are you okay? You’re going to freeze out here. Do you even have a jacket?”

Marco stared at him for a long time. He didn’t loosen his grip on the bag at all. Ace sighed and shed his heavy coat, walked towards Marco and offered it to him. The blond stared at him wide eyed.

“What? What do you want for this? You can’t have the bag!”

Ace frowned. He had no idea what was being said, but Marco was turning an unhealthy color. He pushed the coat at him again, insistently.

“Seriously man, just take it. I have more. You’re gonna freeze,” forget what he was saying had no effect on the boy. He pushed the jacket into his hands, jostling the bag.

Marco jerked back, his foot caught a stray stick and he fell. Right into the water.

“Fuck,” Ace said, looking down at him. Marco looked back up at him, frowning deeply. He didn’t accept when Ace offered him a hand up.

~ ~ ~

Marco clutched the fleece blanket tightly around his shoulders, shivering as he sat right on top of a small slat in the floor that blew in warm summer winds, so contrary to the flurries of white that floated outside.

Marco didn’t let his sack out of his sight, even when he reluctantly allowed the beautiful boy to take his clothes and replace them with some of his own. They were softer than anything Marco had ever felt, in colors that only those with money could afford. A violet shirt and pants a dark color of blue, finery that Marco had barely ever dreamed of.

He watched Ace move around the cabin, cleaning up and setting things straight. The smell of cooking meat tried to entice Marco into the kitchen but he didn’t dare go in. Didn’t dare look at the kitchen. If he did, he might never go back.

The slithering thought that asked what he had to go back to was violently crushed.

No, no. He had the sea to go back to. He had the gold to spend and places to go. Somewhere. Somewhere.

Ace knelt next to him then, offering him a glass of water. Marco swallowed thickly. He hadn’t drank anything in days.

Slowly, he shook his head. He couldn’t accept the offering. He had already taken too much.

Ace frowned at him. “Are you sure?”

“I may not understand you, but I’m not foolish enough to accept anything to eat or drink,” Marco tried not to sound too irritated. His kind were well known for tempting humans. For testing their will and their intellect.

Ace sighed at him, shook his head, and wandered off.

Marco was left alone to lean on the wall. The warmth and the comfort lulled him until he had to drag his eyes open to look up at the door when it swung open to let in the blond Marco had seen leave a few days previously. He dragged his had off and draped his long overcoat across the banister.

For just an instant Marco met his eyes before he looked away again, slumping on the wall. He couldn’t remember ever being this comfortable. He felt like he was being dragged down into the warmth with no way out.

The two fair creatures were talking in the kitchen. Marco could hear there, even if he didn’t know the language.

The blond one appeared in front of him with a plate of food that Marco was quick to shake his head at. He couldn't, no matter how much his stomach hurt.

The blond frowned at him.

“You really should eat something,” he said.

“Why are you so adamant about me staying trapped here?” Marco asked. The mans pale brows drew together.

“Ace? Do you know what he’s saying?”

“Honestly, you could just chain me to the wall. You’re probably stronger. Or do you need permission for that?” Marco was just talking for lack of anything better to do.

“Uh. No. If I did, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

The blond looked at him again, frowning deeper. “I’m worried about him.”

Finally, Marco looked straight at him and said, “Fuck Ace.” Whatever that meant.

The blond stared at him for a long moment before a grin broke out across his face and he started laughing, doubling over on himself until his butt hit the ground. A spatula covered in green sauce came flying out and smacked him clean in the temple, but that didn’t stop the peels of laughter that shook his shoulder.

Some of the green splattered against Marco’s face and arm. He swallowed thickly, looking down at the droplets. The plate of food still smelled so good. Surely, just a taste…

~ ~ ~

“I’m glad he finally started eating,” Ace said once the sun had gone down and the moon come up. Their little house guest was curled up tightly on the folded out couch, covered in as many blankets as the pair could spare. His bag was still clutched tightly to his chest.

Sabo nodded along, watching the boys shoulders rise and fall. He sat on the stair two down from Ace’s head leaned on the poles that held up the handrail. Ace had stretched himself across the landing halfway up and was methodically flicking a lighter open and closed. The firelight danced across his freckle dusted cheeks before going out again, leaving him in darkness until he struck the fire back into existence.

Normally, Luffy would be stretched out across their backs, taking up the rest of the stairs, snoring like a chainsaw or laughing at half told jokes.

“You like him, huh?” Sabo guessed.

Ace sort of shrugged. It more the sound of his shirt moving than anything else.

“He looks like he needs help. Did you see the bruises on his arms?”

“Someone’s been hurting him for a while,” Sabo confirmed. “Wanna bet whatever’s in that bag is everything he’s got?”

Ace grimaced before the fire went out. “I wish I thought you were wrong… We have to help him.”

“Yeah.”

They both knew they could barely feed the three of them, but neither was willing to turn the strange, wild eyed boy away. He needed them.

“Ace… What are we getting ourselves into?”

The oldest of the trio shook his head. He had absolutely no idea.

None of them did.

~ ~ ~

Marco woke up to more food being set down beside him.

He forgot his fears and inhibition and promptly inhaled the thick cut ham and the golden eggs, eating like the starving man he was. A glass of the finest fruit juice he had ever touched followed it and Ace, beautiful, smiling Ace added more to his plate.

�� Marco watched his face now, from closer that before. He counted the freckles on his cheeks, watched the light in his dark eyes and the soft waves of his hair. There wasn’t a malicious shadow that fell across his smile, no teeth baring grin that spoke of dark intentions.

Just Ace, kind Ace who pushed the full plate back towards him and offered him more juice.

“Apple Juice,” Marco pronounced carefully. Ace beamed at him with pride. Marco’s chest warmed and, feeling less skittish and less fearful than he had in years, he pointed to what was on his plate. “Home, eggs, taste.”

Ace snickered and shook his head. “Home,” he gestured to the cottage around them, “taste,” he pointed to his tongue. “Ham and toast,” he pointed to the plate.

Frowning, Marco repeated the words slowly, pointing as he did so. Ace clapped his shoulder when he got it right and spoke what Marco hoped were words of praise. He couldn’t understand any of them save his own name.

It was enough, he supposed, that he could understand that Ace was proud of such a meager accomplishment. Sabo had already left in their car, to go… wherever they went in the day. To town, if such creatures had a town.

If ever Marco had doubted that he had fallen in with the fae, that was banished from his mind the second he ate their food, slept in their house, wore their clothes. There was no possible way such things were made by mortal means.

It was luxury, but there was something about Ace and Sabo that made Marco wonder if it was a luxury for them, or just for him. Were they fae of the royal courts, like Ace’s beauty and Sabo’s clothes made them out to be? Or were they common folk, living in the woods away from others?

�� Did the Fair Folk even have such a system as his own?

Marco shook himself free of the cobwebs of curiosities that clouded his brain.

He looked up and froze when he realized Ace was inches away from him. Oh. Up close he was even prettier. The dusting of freckles framed his wide, concerned black eyes. His lips, full and poised, were parted with a question Marco couldn’t understand.

Fae were beautiful, and they were supposed to be tempting and Ace was certainly all of those things.Marco hesitated. Perhaps…

He leaned forwards on impulse and kissed him.

#marco the phoenix #ace x marco #portgas d. ace #mugiwara no luffy #fluff #sabo #sabo one piece #one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece au #fae #fairy au #time travel

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ashsinmywcke · 3 years

Text

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

As everyone piled in, the first hints of flame peaked beneath the closed hood. Time was up. Vermilion took her phone from her pocket at sent a message ahead: Unscheduled departure request, 3 passengers, Imminent arrival. Royal Exec. The message back was nearly instantaneous: Confirmed.

The road ahead was clear. The car pulled out of the tunnel and back into the rescinding sunlight, chasing the rising twin moons until it led them south, out of city limits. A winding trail guided the car to a dirt road that was not on any map. Vermilion knew it well–a chauffer escorted her out on it in the Empress’s vain attempt to send her home for her own safety. But the loyal were truly stubborn. Eventually, Annalis’e herself was brought into the city on that very road, and she had been back and forth on it in her very brief study of the world. Vermilion couldn’t speculate what Annalis’e would bring back the next time she took the road.

If anything.

As the car traveled, the road became uneven and trees grew thick and crowded until what was left of the sun vanished beyond the canopy. In an instant, it all dissipated as the car pulled into a vast clearing, where a hangar sat pronounced in the center. On sight, guards opened the doors without question, and kept their eyes on the road as the car passed. Only when the hangar doors were sealed behind them did Vermilion and Annalis’e exit the vehicle. Annalis’e hurried to gather her things, but not so desperate enough to not open the door for Ella on the way to the trunk.

Vermilion made her way to the black crate in the center. She had to steel her nerves, even though (statistically) there was nothing to worry about. It didn’t change the fact that she was nauseous each time. But the chance to see Lux Hall again, perhaps the first time as a welcomed ally, motivated her forward to the technician.

“We’re ready.”

The technician nodded, and went to work in silence. The crate’s door opened to welcome them.

Annalis’e had only traveled back and forth a handful of times. Seeing the door open this time filled her with relief, but also with a sense of obligation. She had seen the injustice Vermilion had hoped she would, and though she was able to easily flee home…she couldn’t leave it be. Only in those whirlwind of feelings did Annalis’e truly understand why Vermilion asked her here in the first place.

Turning to the girl under her protection, Annalis’e braced Ella’s shoulders and turned her until she faced north. It was impossible to see it through the hundreds of trees, but the city was on the other side.

“I know I’ve asked you to take a lot on faith, but in the end, it’s your decision to come with us. Last chance to wave goodbye. Or to turn back. But for however little my word means to you, I can guarantee that no one will find you where we are going. I can also guarantee that this goodbye is only temporary.”

She released Ella’s shoulders and started for the crate. “Whatever you decide, either way…I’ll understand.”

The city gave way to trees. Ella leant up and all but pressed her face to the glass. She had been allowed a few escorted to visits to the great lakes, and her family owned a grand garden, but an actual forest? That was a more unusual sight in Ella’s world. To be truly parted from the inorganic, and as she often imagined it, parasitic capital of Sonedisi. It was a wonder to her, and she felt in that moment that had she simply decided it maybe, just maybe...She could have slipped away in the night and escaped after all. Before any of this.

But unfortunately, she had to climb out of the car. When she did, what stood before her almost couldnt have caused more emotional whiplash; It was a Supo hangar. Her hand went up to steady herself on the door.

Ella suddenly remembered sitting in the drawing room with Gopal while he tried to draw out the theoretical principles of how the thing worked, his hand working with the careful and elegant precision of a draftsman on the tablet. She had frowned at the diagrams.

“But, if a crate is displaced, where does it go?”

“They don't get displaced, if they did it would be less than a one in a million chance...”

“But if it did?”

Gopal was a person of great patience, and he sat thoughtfully for a moment before responding.

“Theoretically, you could vanish from the universe, or perhaps be transposed into a completely different one.”

Ella had raised her eyebrows. “I appreciate the explanation Gopal but I don't think I’ve ever been gladder to be a mechanic, rather than a physicist.”

The black mouth of the crate opened like a void. It took no effort for Annalis’e to turn her away, back toward the lights of the city. Ella felt herself perched on a terrible fulcrum; on one side was a concrete, unshifting world of unremitting cruelty...And on the other was an unknown void that may just represent salvation, but so much faith and bravery was required.

She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. She could still smell the forest, still feel Annalis’e’s hands firmly on her shoulders. Ella turned to look hard at her escort, she looked different now. She wasn't just an agent, she was something else altogether.

“I’m not a religious person. Not the old gods, or the new. I never had much use for it, I never understood it. I always looked at the world exactly on the terms of what I could see and touch. But right now...” Her gaze drifted a moment to the crate, then back again. “...I understand the need of faith.” Again that slightly bemused laugh. “And Lords help me, I could almost believe that one of the heavenly host finally decided to show up...” Her expression softened. “...And if that’s true I’ll give them credit, because it was in no way I could have anticipated.”

Ella turned away from her world, all the while promising herself that this was just one step in a chain. But Lords, what a step.

Propelling herself almost mechanically toward the up ramp of the crate she grasped Annalis’e’s forearm for strength. Her heart hammered altogether too hard in her chest.

#annalis'e #Dagilach 4452

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orions-nebula · 4 years

Text

I’m Ready Now (Pt.2) - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You don’t remember when you started falling in love with Steve. What you do know is that with each year that passed by you fell even more in love with him. Despite the years of friendship and special nights spent together, there were constant mixed signal tossed left and right which made you doubt. One day everything changes and you find yourself going through a major life altering moment.

Warnings: 1 curse words, good amount of angst, a tiny bit of fluff? Talks about breaking down. Word count: 3,112

Prologue - Part 1

A/N: THANK YOU all so much for the likes, comments, and especially the re-blogs! It means the world to me! I will continue to tag you guys just in case my post isn’t appearing under the tags. (I’ll keep on trying though.)

And if you guys would like to be added to the tags please let me know! I will be more than happy to do so!

I apologize for any mistakes, I will make any changes, I just wanted to get this out to you. I hope you guys enjoy part 2! :) - The story takes place after the Winter Soldier and Age of Ultron, but minus Civil War. Hope that helps.

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Five months later you found yourself standing in an empty alleyway, behind an abandoned office, staring at the one an only Bucky Barnes.

“You know he won’t stop looking for you, right.”

“I know.”

“I tried telling him that you still need time. Time to rediscover yourself if you will.”

“He’s stubborn.”

“Oh, I know.” You shook your head fondly. “You should at least talk to him, give him something. Anything will do. He, he just needs some peace of mind.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” You pushed, but Bucky stayed silent.

“Bu- can I call you Bucky? Or do you prefer James?”

“Bucky is fine.”

“If you really need time and space, I get that. I really do, but Steve won’t. He won’t rest until he knows you’re safe. Until he can talk to you.”

“M’not ready. I just-

“(Y/N) do you copy?” Bucky stiffened as he heard Steve over the comms. You pressed your finger to your ear while keeping an eye on Bucky.

“I do.” Bucky looked at you with desperation in his eyes and started shaking his head.

“Where are you? I lost track of Bucky! Do you see him? I saw him running in your direction.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry Steve, I- I lost track of him. I’ll meet you at our rendezv-”

“No! Stay put! I’ll catch up with you, maybe we can still find him.”

“Roger that Rogers.”

You put your face in your hands, shaking your head. “He will be here any moment. You should go while you still can.”

“Why. Why are you doing this for me?” Bucky asked you.

“Because… because if he wants to have his best fri- his brother back, you need to be ready. And you can’t exactly focus on yourself if you’re constantly being chased.” Bucky narrowed his eyes, trying to read you.

“You like him, don’t you?” Bucky asked, showing hints of a tiny smile. You tried your best to hold back the blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Look, the way I see it, the faster you heal the sooner you’ll return to Steve.”

“(Y/N)!” You heard Steve shout but didn’t see him anywhere. You turned back to Bucky.

“Please don’t tell him we talked.”

“I won’t, but you have to promise to reach out to him as soon as you’re ready.” Bucky simply nodded. “Now, go.”

“Thank you… (Y/N).” With that Bucky took off at an impressing speed, faster than you have ever seen Steve run.

“(Y/N)! There you are! Come on let’s go.” You didn’t even get the chance to argue before Steve grabbed your wrist and basically dragged you through the streets of Romania.

He kept running for a good three minutes and you were pretty sure he didn’t realize that he was still holding on to your hand.

“Steve.” You panted, your lungs burning and your wrist sore, but you don’t think he heard you so you tried again.

“Steve!” Still no response from him.

“STEVE!” You shouted, ripping yourself from his grasp.

Steve turned to look at you, taking in your current state. Face bright red from the exertion, your hair was sticking to your forehead from the sweat, and your hand over your chest as you took in deep breaths trying to regulate your heart.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry, I didn’t realize, I just got caught up with trying to find Bucky and,” Steve swallowed hard, starting to feel guilty for forcing you to keep up with him knowing that you weren’t super soldier like him.

“We lost him… again. Dammit! I… I lost him,” Steve murmured as he shook away the tears. You felt your heart twist knowing you were the reason he felt so distraught, but you also knew Bucky needed time.

“Hey, don’t give up now,” you whispered encouragingly, “he just needs time. Time to readjust and figure himself out.”

“How can you be so sure? What if he hates me and that’s the reason he’s running away?” He swallowed painfully.

“Okay, first of all, why would he hate you?”

“Cause I couldn’t save him from HYDRA.”

“I am a a hundred percent sure he wouldn’t have saved you if he hated you Steve.” You took a deep breath, using the time to collect your thoughts, in hopes to gently explain the situation to Steve.

“I read the files, you know, on the ‘Winter Soldier.’ From what I read, it’s a lot Steve. Too much. I would run away too. You have to understand that it’s a lot for him to handle at the moment. He doesn’t know who to trust and-”

“He can trust me! Why doesn’t he trust me?” Steve exclaimed as more tears welled up in his eyes.

You reached out to him and gently started rubbing his back in comfort.

“Stevie, he’s been through so much. He doesn’t remember anything. He’s been tortured, his memories scrambled and erased. He hasn’t seen the real world nor has he interacted with real human beings who don’t have some villainous master plan up their sleeve. He most likely wants to rediscover himself without anyone interfering.”

When he didn’t look up at you and just kept quiet you decided to continue.

“Steve, it will be okay. I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” He asked you as a tear streamed down his cheek.

“I just know it. I do. Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“The trust me when I say he will come around. Now come on.”

Steve nodded and decided it was best to head back to the Avenger’s Jet you left near the forest. You both turned around started walking back where you came from. You looked up at Steve, despite the somber look he had, he still looked so handsome.

How had you ignored it for so long? He was true beauty in the purest form. Plump lips that you would love to kiss and sparkling eyes where you wouldn’t mind getting lost in. Also, why did he have better eyelashes then you? What you wouldn’t do to have his eyelashes, but you wouldn’t also do to hold him, to have your hand against his jaw. To have him lean in your touch. To run your hands through his soft hair, as you pulled him close to you in a warm and loving embrace.

Bucky was right, you did like him. More than liked him, but you weren’t ready to admit that to yourself. You didn’t think you were ready. Plus, he had never shown any signs of liking you.

You chose to look away before he caught you staring and opted to look at the ground instead, when something caught your attention.

You walked towards an empty wooden crate where you saw a folded piece of paper, too clean, almost untouched, which only meant one thing.

Steve watched you as you trailed to the left picking up a white piece of paper, your eyebrows scrunching in confusion before realization washed over your eyes.

“Steve… I think Bucky left this behind after we ran after him.” You turned to him, handing him the piece of paper

Steve grabbed it with a slight tremor in his hand and began reading it.

Blonde man. Grant? Maybe.

Steve. Enemy?

Friend. When? Where?

I had another dream. The blonde man, Steve, happens to be there too, but there was a woman this time. She was real pretty too. Dark blonde hair and bright blue eyes, just like Steve’s. Here name was Savannah. Sylvia. Sofia? No.

She keeps on reappearing in my dreams. Always gives me food, hot chocolate, hugs. Warmth. Yells at Steve. Same thing. “Steve Grant Rogers, when will you stop this? You can’t keep getting into fights sweetie. It’s no good for you.” Sierra?

Except last night, when she appeared in my dreams again, in white like an angel. This time Sara something different. “Thank you, Bucky. Thank you for keeping my boy safe.” She’s been appearing more and more after I saved the man’s life. Sara.

Sarah. Steve. Home.

Time. I need time.

By the time Steve finished reading he started shaking, trying to hold in the sobs that threaten to break him apart.

“It’s a sign. It’s his way of telling us he’s not ready yet. He left this for us.”

“H-how do you k-know?” Steve questioned not caring that his voice kept on cracking with emotion.

“The paper is clean with no dirt, rips, water spots, or sign of deterioration, meaning it couldn’t have been there more than a couple of hours. It rained yesterday and this morning it was humid, but it cleared up later in the day, so it must have been put here not too long ago.”

You read the note again and started to point at the paper as you explained to Steve what you thought.

“It’s clear that he’s trying to piece his memories back together. At first, it’s simple, short, but you can tell that he’s starting to remember. He’s trying to piece things together. The woman, I’m assuming she was your mother?”

“Yeah. She was.”

“With or without the H?”

“H?”

“This memory that he wrote, he talks about your mother. The first time he tried to remember her name he wrote down a name that begins with the letter S. Savannah. Too long, too many letters, but it if you look at it,” you start pointing to the name, “it starts with an S and ends with an H. The next few names start to get shorter in length, so to speak, but the sounds they create are all wrong. Until he writes Sierra. He’s getting closer, but it’s still wrong because he scratched it off just like the other names.

It’s not until he has a different dream about her. This must have triggered something in him. Something positive, because now he writes the name Sara, and he doesn’t scratch if off, and he write her name again. And I think he finally pieced more memories together, because he writes Sarah with an H, followed by your name. So, he knows it’s either with or without an H, I’m assuming an H?”

When you looked up at Steve you noticed that he was staring at you intently.

“I’m sorry I know I ramble a lo-”

“No! Sorry, I mean no, you don’t ramble. And it is with an H.” Steve finished quietly. Steve saw the look in your eyes and waited for you to continue.

“He wrote this entry a while ago, but he must have recently added to it. He must have added ‘Time. I need time,’ just now because the ink is smudged and a darker color. Don’t you see Steve!”

Steve just kept staring at you like you were the stars that would guide him home. Of course, you didn’t notice too caught up in the fact that Bucky had actually left something for Steve.

“He left this for you! He knows you’re looking for him, he knows who you are! He just needs time. If he didn’t plan on ever seeing you again, he wouldn’t have left this for you! He wouldn’t have written ‘Home!’ This means he will find you when he’s ready because he knows you’re his home.”

After hearing your words Steve couldn’t hold in anymore and broke down. He looked at you and not taking it anymore pulled you in. He hugged you, holding on to you, afraid as if he let you go you would disappear like Bucky.

His hug took you by surprise but once you reacted you wrapped your arms around his waist. You did your best to hold him tight and let him know you were there for him, to give him some form of comfort and peace.

You felt him sink to the floor but didn’t let him go, on the contrary you held him closer to you. The more you held onto him and the stronger your embrace became the more he shook with sobs. You felt the tears well up and you desperately tried blinking them away, but you couldn’t them back when he let out whimper, which then turned into broken cries.

“It’s okay Stevie, it’s okay. Just let it all out.”

You don’t know how long you sat there with him but you didn’t mind. You told yourself you would be there for him and you wanted to keep that promise.

More time passed before Steve, finally calmed down. He would sniffle from time to time but he was calmer now.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I didn’t mean to overste-”

“You didn’t and I’m glad you trust me enough to let yourself go. I mean, to let out all your emotions.” You grabbed his face, gently wiping the tears from his face. You gave him a soft smile and leaned in to peck his forehead.

“Never apologize for letting go of what you have been bottling up inside you. It’s not healthy. And ‘it’s okay to not be okay.’ It’s okay to be upset or angry or whichever feeling you’re feeling. You’re allowed to feel the way you do and no one should invalidate that. We all have things that make us cry, no matter how big or small. And you definitely had every right to do so. Like I said, I’m just glad you trust me enough to do so in front of me.”

“God, you are just- you’re so- you’re amazing. You know that?”

“I didn’t know, but you can tell me again.” You tried to joke, which worked, causing Steve to let out a small laugh.

“Well you are more than amazing and I can’t thank you enough. I mean it (Y/N). You didn’t have to, but you’ve been helping me find Bucky for the last couple of months. You’ve dropped everything on the day that I would ask for your help and I don’t know what I would have done without your support. So, thank you.”

You felt your heart beat uncontrollably and you hoped he didn’t hear it. You knew he was grateful to have your support as a friend but how you wished he meant it as more than a friend.

“You don’t have to thank me Steve. I hope you know that I will always be here for you.” He smiled at you, that beautiful smile that as of late has started to give you butterflies.

“If I didn’t know before I definitely do now.”

You started at each other for a while before he pulled you in for another hug. Once he pulled away, he grabbed your hand and continued making your way back.

“Steve?”

“Yeah doll?” You bit your lip in hopes to hide the blush and smile that threaten to form. This was the first time he called you doll and it made you giddy.

“Um, I was wondering, since we’re in Europe already, if we can we stop by Paris before heading back? There’s this great bakery I know! I was thinking we could grab a couple of pastries and enjoy them over at Jardin Villemin?”

Steve looked down at you and asked himself. How could he ever say no to you? How could he ever say no to the woman with the beautiful smile. The woman whose eyes are brighter than any constellation he’s ever seen, and whose heart is full of compassion and love. And without knowing it yet, the woman who makes his life brighter, better.

“Anything you want doll.” You grinned at him, excited to spend some time in Paris with Steve.

Steve was laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. It had been a week since the incident in Romania and Steve was left feeling confused. This wasn’t the first time but it was the first time he decided to acknowledge it.

You’re sweet and caring personality definitely took him by surprise. You had this energy, the way you carried yourself. You just radiated warmth. You were always so willing to help and you always did it with a smile on your face. You were a true optimist, always trying to lighten up any situation.

You were motherly towards Wanda and Peter. You always watched out for Tony, always made sure he was eating and sleeping. You made sure Natasha felt loved and appreciated, made sure she felt like the most virtuous woman in the world.

Steve knew that you were one of a kind, but what he wasn’t so sure of was the way you made him feel. Did he actually like you or did he appreciate the time he spent with you? Was it you that made his heart race or was it the situation you two always seemed to find yourselves in? Which were missions.

Steve wasn’t so sure. What he did know was that you made him feel different. You made him feel like he was cared for, like someone finally noticed him. With you he didn’t have to pretended everything was okay, didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t lost. With you he could be vulnerable.

Steve valued you, he truly did. He just didn’t know how yet, whether it was as a teammate, a friend or something else. When did you start making him feel this way? When had you wormed his way into his thoughts?

Sure, you were gorgeous and there were probably many men who thought about you, but you were more than a pretty face. You had courage, strength, determination, and most importantly, you were resilient.

What you had done for him last week, they way you held him and brought him hope, it made his heart burst with gratitude. No one had ever done that for him, not even Natasha who he’s very close with. Then again, he never opened up to her the way he had with you.

Steve grunts in frustration, not knowing how to feel about you, but knowing enough to do something about it. He grabs his phone from his night stand and pulls up your contact.

‘Hey doll. Are you busy tomorrow night?’

‘Hey! I’m free after 7pm. Why you ask?’

Steve debated for a few seconds but quickly started typing before he lost his nerve.

‘Want to go out for dinner? My treat.’

‘Yeah, I would like that. Can we leave at 7:30 tho? I would need to get ready.’

‘7:30 it is.’

‘Awesome! I’ll see you then! Good night Steve!’

‘Good night doll. Sweet dreams. 😊’

He put his phone on his night stand and closed his eyes, smiling as he thought about tomorrow night.

---------------------------------------------------------- TAGS: @sourpatchspinster @crist1216 @deadlymistress24 @foulfashionstreetstylekitty @elena-chat @vougueworthy-barnes @agirlwhoneedalittlelovingtonight @donner5822 @brokenrogerz @petlaufeyson @marisathewonder @steve-barry-damon-logan @tfandtws @clogger101 @insertwittystatement-here @unapologeticallymimi @strangelycami @jessyballet @miovanci @overpretty @capcapcapsicle @queenie70 @iamwarrenspeace @wisesharkpersonazonk @shannon124 @captainamericathot @lallyj11 @lucyshea @kazumilein @milea @loudmoviesondeanwinchester @darcytown @iheartsebastianstan @supernaturallover2002 @novaya-model @kawairinrin @lovely-geek @ballerinafairyprincess @swatson06 @haley24689 @hobisgenie @jules-1999 @sicparvismagnaxi @okcowboys84 @fisherbrookphotos @myforeveryoungblog @pixievengeance97 @fancyharry @laic2299 @blackcatfamilia @littlechillies @delicioussteverogers @12345nothing42 @goblinshark1e @janieavalos @weebid @linkingdolas @meagaroni123 @ashwarren32 @shawdowypaintermughero @awk-sauced @killemallcherrypie @floralandspice @fofoggo @josiemara @readermia @bornadragon @isthisreallynecessary2 @darkavenge-t

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #avengers #captain america

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mathurah · 3 years

Text

CHILD

There are a million mugs and refrigerator magnets about how our dogs are like our kids. That’s not the truth for many of us, especially gay people who don’t have their own children. They are our kids. When I brought Luke home in a box at the age of 9 weeks, he was a baby. His every meal, ounce of water, comforting hold, need to go, toy to play with, and basic survival depended on me. These are the things I would have done for a baby, except babies don’t bite hundreds of marks into your body while you’re trying to care for them. When he was six months old, I bought a cabin in upstate New York for both of us. He was getting big and needed space to run, and it was my dream to have a simple sanctuary away from the chaos I never loved about New York. He went with me to select it, as I knew he would tell me which was the right one. He did. For the next few years, we went every free weekend and every vacation, and we discovered the woods behind the cabin, which neighbors were likable, and how to coexist in and out of the city. It took the pressure off so we could experience both sides of the other, and have some space. After my husband bailed on us shortly after we married, I thought I would never want to go back. Luke didn’t see it like that, and would pace around the door in that way that meant it is the weekend and where are the keys. I couldn’t say no, so we went back, a three hour trip. He bolted out of my truck and ran laps around the cabin as he often would the first time we opened it each Spring. I laughed aloud, the first time in months, and I realized that this was our place, just his and mine. He wanted to swim, to explore, to sunbathe on the lawn, and to eat. With me. And he brought me back. For ten years, he was my reason to get up, to make our home comfortable, to have a routine, and to learn to be responsible for someone other than myself. When he was sick, I dropped everything. When he was bored, I took him anywhere. When he was uncomfortable, I figured out why and fixed it. When I couldn’t seem to survive in New York any longer, I had two choices of jobs in two different parts of the country. I chose Portland because I knew it was surrounded by mountains and near the ocean, and I could picture him discovering the trees that he loved with all new smells. It was like getting my kid into the best school, and if I had to move to a different address to enroll him, then that’s what good parents do. We drove three thousand miles through ice storms and tears. We stopped in every landscape change so he could see and smell it. We shared shitty roadside food in the motels that would take him. We drove into Portland with no expectations except to start over, together. The first thing we did was find Forest Park, walking the first trail near the first entrance, and it was all uphill. He pulled me the entire way, sometimes breaking into a trot. When we moved into our new house, he ran from room to room like a child, deciding which would be his, and excited when he figured out there was a yard with trees and squirrels right out the back door, his dream. Watching him realize this was going to be our home was one of the best moments of my adult life. That we had pulled ourselves out of a dark place and could start over together. When Covid happened and my job ended, his other dream came true. I was home every day, 7 days a week. We were given the gift of time together. At nine, his health began to change. He squirted pee a little when he slept, and the medication that might help him might also weaken his heart. So instead, I covered everything with light blankets, and changed them frequently, sometimes doing four loads of laundry a day. I wanted to keep our house clean, but also didn’t want him to feel shame over something that wasn’t his fault. The local water department called to say they suspected a water leak, because my bill escalated to over 300 dollars a month. A couple of months ago, when he first collapsed at Kelly Point, his favorite park, I screamed aloud like a widow and fell to the ground to hold him. I realized he was going to be old or sick now, and my heart started to break. Over the next two months, my strong hero became my elderly care patient. We still made the most of it. He had good days when he would wake me holding his blue Hedgehog and want me to chase him, and then bad days when he didn’t want to walk and couldn’t sleep comfortably. I clung to every second of our time, making sure we were touching even when I was on my laptop or watching a movie. I held him every morning and for a long time before we slept each night. I couldn’t smell him enough. His trust in me grew even deeper, understanding that I understood what he was feeling. I have never had more respect, or have been more respected, for my feelings and my needs, as I have been with Luke. We just got each other. And when, last week, when we were once again alone in life together, him pushed against me chewing his toy, and his first seizure began, I knew what this meant. And I laid on the floor with him until I could get him into the jeep, and Jonah came over to drive us to the E.R. as I held him close. In the parking lot of the E.R., he began to die. I chanted Hare Krishna with my head against his head, and when they came out to sedate him I told them they could not take him unless I could be with him. A few minutes later they wheeled him into the room, sedated. I held his paw and thanked him for sharing his life with me and for helping me through my darkest times, and that no one would ever replace the things that we had and did together. He reached up to my face and licked me. And then he died. Please don’t ever tell me that he was not my child. He was my baby, my kid and my family. He loved me, protected me and understood me. No one else has ever come close, or has even cared to try. I’m grateful, I’m heartbroken and I’m lost. Like anyone would be when their child has died.

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jaspers-levis · 4 years

Text

Your People

Reader request by @isitmine

Sorry this is so late! I promise I did not forget; real life just butts in sometimes.

You sighed, taking in the vista before you and adjusting your pack. At first the views had been breathtaking, awe inspiring, totally worth the chilly nights and damp socks. Now they were just a reminder that you had yet another hill to climb, another mountaintop to summit, another arduous stretch of trail to battle through before you could stop for the night. A month ago you had thought this was the best course of action you could have taken given the circumstances. Now you weren’t so sure.

You took another deep breath, feeling the thinner mountain air whistle through your airways and began the descent into the forest again. Your keen hearing tracked every creature within a mile radius; you could scent a deer about a quarter mile away grazing with her fawn. The wolf in you licked her chops, stomach rumbling, and you made a face. In wolf form, raw meat was delicious. In human form, not so much. Rummaging in your pack, you pulled out a granola bar and continued on your way trying to make each meager mouthful last. According to your map, the next town wasn’t terribly far away. You could probably make it by nightfall. Hopefully.

Really becoming homeless and wandering through the forests of the PNW was not your original plan, but when you first shifted your father panicked and aimed his shotgun at you, triggering your own violent reflex. You hadn’t intended to put him in the hospital but it was either that or be shot to death in your own backyard. You left that same night; packing your bags and taking off before your family could condemn you to a zoo or asylum. Their beliefs were incredibly rigid and definitely could not explain what happened to you, let alone accept what you were now. So you left.

One thing you hadn’t quite expected was how lonely it was out here. You’d had a rather large group of friends back home that you’d cut off to prevent your parents from finding you, and the radio silence was killing you. You just wanted to be able to tell one person about what was going on, relieve the stress, have a partner in understanding what was happening to you. Someone who could talk to you before bed each night. Someone you could look at and shake your head over the weird growth spurts, the dizzying switch between a wolf brain and a human brain, the twigs and leaves you often found in your hair after shifting back. It would be so nice…

A snapped branch several hundred yards away brought you out of your thoughts long enough to realize that whatever it was was HUGE, a predator, and smelled… familiar? Hastily you dropped your pack and shifted, regretting not taking off your clothes before you did so. Damn it, you’d really liked that shirt!

Wolves melted out of the shadows like the first rays of sunlight through the clouds; one minute there were none, the next you were surrounded. You bared your teeth, hackles rising, your tail high and wagging ever so slightly at the tip. Your eyes darted from wolf to wolf, trying to keep track of them all before they tore you to pieces.

Hello, the largest black wolf greeted you. His size and scent indicated he was the leader of the pack. We do not mean you any harm. We did not know there were any other wolves like us in the area

Confused, you backed up, tail brushing against another wolf who snarled at you in warning.

Jake , stop it, the black wolf admonished. What is your name, and how did you get here? What brings you to our territory?

Uh, Y/N… you replied haltingly, your mental voice not as strong as his. I’m just passing through.

Why don’t you come with us? You can get something to eat and we can talk more easily, the black wolf said, not unkindly though his tone implied that refusing the offer was not a choice. My name is Sam and this is Jake, Quil, Jared and Seth.

Reluctantly you picked up your backpack in your mouth and followed the wolves, your keen nose noting the now-obvious scents of a rather large wolfpack layered over the other forest smells. You detected at least several more wolves’ scents; good lord, you’d never thought there would be even one other wolf person in the world, let alone a huge pack!

The five of you ran for about twenty minutes, emerging from the trees at the edge of a clearing housing a cozy little cabin. As a human, the hike would have taken the rest of the day and you were grateful in some small way that you had skipped that. Dropping your bag at the edge of the trees, you ducked behind the trees for a quick moment of privacy, shifting into your normal form and pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a ratty hoodie from your bag. You winced; they could use a wash but they were some of your last clothes left. It would have to do.

Sam and the rest of the boys were waiting for you to change, their copper skin glistening with rainwater and their dark hair damp. Somewhere they’d all found sweatpants or cut off jeans to pull on, though most of them remained shirtless. Sam reached out to touch your shoulder gently, his eyes the same kind, dark brown as they’d been in his wolf form. “Come along, let’s get you inside. I’m sure you’d love a hot meal,” he guided you forward, his warm fingers burning right through the thin material of your sweatshirt. The rest of the boys closed ranks around you, escorting you like a captive. Your nerves jangled as you entered the house, uncertain of what they wanted from you.

“Hey honey! You’re back early,” a sweet voice called out from the kitchen, and a second later a gorgeous woman poked her head around the wall, her silky dark hair a curtain around her perfect face. “Oh! Who’s this?” she asked, leaning her cheek into Sam’s kiss as he wrapped her in his embrace. It was clear the two held a deep affection for one another, a connection you’d chased all your life.

“Emily, this is Y/N; we scented a wolf along the northern border and found her. Another female wolf… I wish Leah was here,” Sam sighed, resting his cheek against her hair. Emily turned her face towards his with a smile, revealing a jagged violent scar. You gulped and averted your eyes quickly to avoid staring. How in the hell did she get that?? You sniffed quickly, but you only smelled the men and your own wolfishness. Emily was completely human.

“Well, come on in Y/N, let’s get some food into you and we can talk. I just put dinner on!” Emily reached out her hand and took yours, pulling you further into the house with a warm smile. “We need more girls around here,” she confessed, whispering into your ear conspiratorially. “Too many men!”

You gave her a weak smile, still nervous of the hulking escorts behind you. “Thank you,” you whispered as Emily sat you down in between her and Sam, beginning to heap a generous amount of food on your plate. The rest of the pack settled in at the table, pretending to ignore you while tracking your every move from the corner of their eyes. You didn’t detect any malice in their demeanor, only curiosity and a vague suspicion regarding your presence in their midst. Understandable, given you were a strange wolf on their land.

The men finished their first helpings in a matter of minutes, reloading their plates almost in the same breath. You took your time, savoring each bite despite the hunger that had gnawed at your stomach all day. After your first helping, Sam leaned back and looked at you expectantly. “Y/N, let’s get down to business. Let’s start with how you can turn into a wolf, and where you come from.”

You swallowed the last bite of food as if it was a lump of charcoal, staring hard at your plate. Emily chafed your hand gently under the table and gave you an encouraging smile. You gave her the tiniest slip of a smile as you took a deep breath and began your story. “I am from just north of Vancouver; I hitchhiked my way south these past couple of weeks and then headed west. My plan was to hike along the coast,” you began, dodging the main question. “I left home three weeks ago to get away from my family; they don’t quite… understand the wolf thing. They wouldn’t, even if I explained it to them,” you sighed sadly, and Emily threw a protective arm around you.

“You shifted in front of them,” one of the younger boys guessed with a sympathetic face. You thought his name was Seth? “My sister did the same, by accident of course. Our dad had a heart attack, literally.”

You winced. “Yeah… only I attacked my dad,” you confessed and Sam put his hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing. “To be fair, he was holding a shotgun and threatening to shoot me. I was an abomination in his eyes.” You smiled without humor, tears streaming down your face silently.

Emily wrapped both arms around you then, with Sam holding you both close. “Sh, it’s okay honey. You’re not an abomination, it’s not your fault,” Emily kissed your hair gently as you cried into her blouse. She smelled of tangerines and soap, an incredibly homey scent that calmed you the longer she held you.

“Y/N, you are not an abomination. You’re a shapeshifter,” Sam told you, stroking your back soothingly. “Of all people, you are extremely lucky that we found you. You’re one of us somehow, and you’ve just come home to us.”

Curious, you looked up at him through your tears. “A shapeshifter?”

Sam nodded. “There is a legend that the Quileute people were descended from wolves,” he began, relating the history of shapeshifters in their tribe and how they usually spring forth due to the presence of vampires. “Recently there was a coven of vampires in the area for several years, hence the transformation of our current pack. I suspect that there may have been a vampire nearby when you shifted, and that you perhaps have Quileute blood.”

You sat back, stunned. Your father had not shared much about your mother after she’d passed, but you remembered her long dark hair like a curtain of silk, her glowing russet cheeks, her careful traditions she held despite them being so different from what the other families in the neighborhood. The Quileute name was familiar; you were sure you’d heard her mention it when you asked about her history with a child’s curiosity. The people that sat around you now reminded you so much of her…

“I know you are one of us,” Sam reassured you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and cupping your cheek gently. “I can smell it, and when you were in your wolf form your mind sounded familiar. You are one of us,” he repeated, the warmth in his dark eyes heating your cheeks with a blush.

“Please say you’ll stay,” Emily begged hopefully as you broke your gaze from Sam’s before your blush could give you away. “Even if it’s just for a little while. Learn how to be a wolf. Stay with us. We can’t completely undo what happened with your father, but at least you’ll be safe here with us.”

“Are you sure…?” You asked, looking around the table with a nervous hope beginning to take root in your chest. The rest of the pack nodded enthusiastically, each talking over the other to welcome you, to plan wolf lessons, to invite you to pack events, explaining pack rules…

“Please stay with us, Y/N,” Sam asked seriously, his voice low. “You belong here, with the pack. We want you to stay. Emily and I want you to stay.” Emily nodded enthusiastically at his words, her gorgeous face earnest.

“Please stay with us. We need another girl around here to even things out, and clearly you were meant to find us someday,” Emily clasped your hands in hers.

You only hesitated a moment. “I’ll stay,” you confirmed, grinning broadly for the first time in a month. Your spirits suddenly lifted, your heart light with the knowledge that you had found your pack. A family that would understand you better than your actual family ever would. Your mother’s people. Your home.

Sam and Emily were at the heart of it, tucking you in their feverish embrace, the first tendrils of affection wrapping themselves around the three of you. You had never expected to feel this way about practical strangers, but your heart knew theirs on some base, instinctive level. These were your people, and nothing could shake that conviction.

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