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ghostandsoap · 1 year

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Choices and Consequences

John Price x Fem! Reader

Tags: Mentions of death.

Word Count: 2.5k

“It doesn’t feel right at all,”

Soap’s face was so close to the window that the tip of his nose was almost pressed up against the glass.

He could feel the chill of the outside world radiating from the dirty glass, a reminder of the bitter cold outside. He wondered how you had managed to stay out there for so long without freezing to death.

Although, you hardly even noticed the cold. It was nothing compared to what you were feeling on the inside.

The last few days hadn’t been the best. Almost three days ago, you had been faced with a difficult decision…an impossible decision really. The choice between saving one life over another was unimaginable. It was a situation that you always hoped you would never have to be faced with. It was the worst case scenario for anyone.

And that day, your worst nightmare had come true.

A lifetime of guilt had been bestowed upon you. A constant, crushing reminder of the decision you had made in a desperate moment of action. There wouldn’t be a day that went by where you wouldn’t have to take accountability for the fact that you had been forced to choose one life over another.

You would have to face the consequences of your choice for the rest of your life.

You weren’t sure how you were going to do it. It hadn’t even been 72 hours and it was already tearing you apart from the inside out.

Everybody could see what it was doing to you. You hadn’t spoken a word since that day. Every movement of yours was slow and calculated, as if you were scared that one wrong move would mean disaster. You were distracted, your eyes clouded and wandering.

It replayed over and over in your mind. It was stuck in an endless loop, and no matter what you tried, you couldn’t rid your conscience of it.

Captain Price had tried everything. It seemed that his words of reassurance and his gestures of gentle affection weren’t making a dent. He knew what kind of headspace you were in. It was the kind that would suffocate you with thoughts of doubt and “what ifs.” It wasn’t a good place to be, nor an easy one to get out of.

It hurt him to see you like this – both as your professional superior and your lover behind closed doors. It was a challenge that he never wished on anyone in his team. It was a decision he had been forced to make before, and he would never hope the same for someone else.

Yet here you were.

You had closed yourself off. You didn’t want to see or speak to anyone. The team had been trying to get through to you. Each of them had tried to offer their counsel to you, which was something that you needed. But you didn’t feel worthy of their sympathy or comfort. You didn’t even want it. You just wanted to figure out how to live with yourself after all of this.

“She hasn’t moved.” Soap remarked to the rest of the team, who were spread out in the room that they were camping out in for the next few days.

The rest of the team had been cautiously peeking on you every once in a while, but Soap was committed to watching you until you decided to turn in for the night.

“Let her be, Johnny,” Ghost instructed. “She needs to be alone.”

Alone. John shook his head. To hell with that.

No matter how much you thought that it was helping, Price knew better than anybody that sitting and stewing in your own head would only make things worse. They had tried to give you your space, to give you enough time to process it on your own. At this point, though, Price knew you weren’t getting anywhere with being by yourself.

“No,” Price spoke up. “I’ll have a chat with her.”

All three heads turned to look at Price with surprised expressions. It wasn’t unusual for Captain Price to be the one to step up to counsel a worried mind. It was the determination, yet out-of-the-ordinary tenderness in his tone that struck them as abnormal.

None of them said anything. They knew better than to get in the way when Price had his mind set on something. Although, that didn’t stop Gaz and Soap from sharing a quick glance with one another.

Price retrieved his jacket, draping it over his forearm as he made his way to the front door. He was mentally preparing himself both as a mentor and as a boyfriend.

Price walked out the front door of the house, the wretched squeak of the hinges sounding out. He cursed under his breath at the sting of the frozen air that swiped across him. He was just thankful that the air didn’t have any kind of movement to it.

His feet felt heavy as he carried himself over to you. His boots that were usually the norm and conformed to his feet suddenly felt like they were made of steel. Maybe this mission was taking a bigger toll on him than he realized…or his age was finally catching up to him.

His approach was unheard as you continued to stare up into the sky, your body sitting upright against the hard earth beneath you. Your knees ached from your legs being criss crossed for so long, but it was the position where you felt the safest.

The feeling of warm material being wrapped around your shoulders is what brought you out of your daze. He winced at the feeling of how cold you were when his fingers brushed against your skin.

“You’re cold,” He announced. “Why don’t you come inside for the night?”

“I’m okay,” You replied. “I prefer the quiet.”

You pulled his jacket tighter around you, the faint smell of cigar smoke and his cologne bringing a certain rush of warmth through your chilled cored. It held some comfort, but not nearly enough.

When he realized you weren’t going anywhere, he lowered himself to sit next to you. He could bear the bitter cold at your expense. He groaned as he adjusted, his bones much more stiff than yours. He brought his knees to his chest, resting his forearms on top of them as he followed your gaze.

The endless pool of black was speckled with twinkling stars, each and every one was burning bright. It was a beautiful sight to see. Price had always been a sucker for a starry night. It was a calming reminder that there were still wholesome sights to see in this world.

But he couldn’t enjoy it knowing that it wasn’t bringing you the same kind of happiness.

He didn’t say anything else for a little while. There was a mutual understanding that his presence didn’t come with an invitation, and he was waiting for the initial tension to settle before he said anything.

He knew that he needed to approach this gently. You were of fragile mind, and he didn’t want to do or say anything to make it worse. He wanted you to be able to move past this…slowly but surely.

Eventually, he turned his gaze to you – watching you stare up into that abyss as if it were the only thing keeping you from disintegrating into the universe. He shifted a bit closer to you, one of his hands coming to rest on your thigh as a show of affection.

“I know that you already know this,” He began, his voice low and smooth. “But wishing on stars won’t change what happened, darling.”

The sound of your captain speaking to you distracted you for a moment. His heart skipped a beat when you turned your head to look at him, your eyes glazed with exhaustion and guilt.

Oh…my poor darling.

Guilt was something he knew all too well. The situations where he was forced to make the same kind of choice were the critical moments in his life that were burned into his soul. He knew that deep down there wasn’t really a way to repair that kind of damage.

There wasn’t a solution. Only a path that you could take that would teach you to live with it. It was a journey that could allow you to be better in the end.

“I know. I just…wish that things could’ve been different,” You sighed. “I can’t help but wonder why it happened the way it did.”

“I’m afraid that you won’t find the answers you’re looking for up there either,” He couldn’t help but chuckle, only because he had done the same thing when he was in your shoes. “I know that all too well.”

There was a brief silence. A hot rise began to expand in your throat, the first real show of emotion in the last three days. It was bellowing up, and there wasn’t a thing you could do to stop it.

“No one should ever have to make that choice,” You stated, your voice cracking under the pressure from the hot tears brimming your eyes. “I never should’ve had to make that choice, John.”

The tears were spilling down your face now, and Price’s heart was stinging with every beat. He couldn’t stand it that there wasn’t much he could say to make this better for you. He wiped the tears from your cheeks, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a sympathetic hum.

“You’re right,” He nodded. “But you did.”

It wasn’t so black and white. You knew that. Things were much more complex than you were trying to make them out to be. The truth was that this job caused you to be put into all kinds of situations that ordinary people would never have to experience. It was all part of (as Price would say) getting dirty to keep the world clean.

“It doesn’t feel right at all,” You sniffed. “What’s the point of doing any of this when there will always be more bad than good?”

“Doing good, no matter how small, is always worth the effort,” Price said, running his thumb back and forth across the material of your jeans. “You can’t go hating the world over the things that you can’t change.”

“Even when we see the absolute worst that it has to offer?”

Quite frankly, Price didn’t have an answer for that. It wasn’t often that he didn’t know what to say. He always could scrounge up some kind of advice, but it seemed that your question didn’t elicit an immediate response from him.

He couldn’t blame you for feeling like this. It was hard to see the positive when there were so many negatives right in front of your face. In all honesty, if you weren’t feeling at least somewhat hostile, he’d be worried.

For now, all he could do was be there for you. He could only support you and guide you through this as much as you would let him. He knew that with time and lots of reinforcement from the rest of the team, you would bounce back from this…but there would be some emotional scars with it, and ones that you would have to learn from.

“We’re protecting others from the worst,” Price reminded you. “That’s what it’s all about.”

“It seems so simple.” You sucked in a shaky breath.

“Nothing about this job is simple, I’m afraid.” He moved to wrap his arm around you, pulling you into his side.

He exhaled a silent sigh when your head fell on his shoulder, your sobs fading into soft cries and occasional hiccups. His eyes returned to the sky, and to no surprise, those same stars were still up there. He wondered how many pleas and wishes had been spent on those burning celestial bodies. On that same note, he wondered how many of them had actually come true.

He couldn’t grant all of your wants. If he could take this pressure and this pain off of you, he would do it in a heartbeat. It was one thing for him to experience that sort of thing, it was different when it was you.

This had helped you slightly. It was good for you to get some of your most pressing thoughts off of your chest. It offered some relief, but the real reprieve would come with time and patience. You were thankful for John and his commitment to being a resource for you. Maybe you didn’t utilize his advice as often as you should’ve, but you were grateful for it.

“Thanks for this, John. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You swallowed down the last of the tears.

“As your captain or as your bedmate?” He snickered, a genuine grin appearing on his face.

“Oh, John. Don’t say it like that,” You scoffed, but you couldn’t even hide the amusement. “And I like you as both.”

“Well, in that case,” He gently guided your head to face him. “I’ll be sure to stick around then.”

He kissed you then, tenderly and carefully – the way that he knew you needed it to be. His facial hair tickled against your skin, but it was a feeling that you had grown familiar with. His kisses were well received, and you were kissing him with the same passion and adoration. His hand came to your face, cradling your cheek as you maneuvered closer to him.

You could’ve stayed out here all night like this, but when you got the sudden sense of being watched, you came to a pause.

“I, uh…think we have an audience.” You whispered against his lips.

A chuckle rumbled out of Price because he already knew exactly what you meant. Sure enough, there were three sets of wide, peering eyes glued to the window of the living room, watching this entire exchange between you and John.

As soon as they noticed they had been spotted, all three heads ducked from sight and there was the faint, distant sound of three figures scrambling over one another.

You supposed that you couldn’t blame them. This was the most interesting thing that had happened all day. “Raincheck?” John asked, pressing a final kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Yeah,” You returned a small smile. “Ready to go inside?”

“Thought you’d never ask. I’m freezing.”

He helped guide you to your feet, allowing you a moment to stretch your muscles before escorting you inside. He hoped for a peaceful night for you, or at least, a night of a little rest. You needed the recharge, and he hoped it would find you.

He felt a little better knowing that you were on the way to being in higher spirits. He’d be sure to check on you in the morning and throughout the day.

He was confident that you would do the same for him and just merely being there for you was the least he could do. He would stop at nothing for you to find acceptance and healing.

He was devoted to being there for you through this process, no matter how long it took.

#john price #john price x reader #john price x fem! reader #john price x female reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price imagine #john price imagines #john price oneshot #john price oneshots #john price fanfiction #Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare II #call of duty mwii #call of duty mwii fanfiction #ghostandsoap

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yeehawbvby · 2 years

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Falling Away With You | Ch. 18

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: The wizard is finally here, and he is hot.

Author’s Note: Here’s the portrait mod I use for Rasmodius, which is how he’s intended to be pictured in this work!

And here’s a visual reference, for those who don’t mod:

Enjoy and take care x

Edit: Almost forgot to add, the tower interior is loosely based off how it looks in SVE. It’s much livelier than the vanilla version :’)

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

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I’ve spent the past few days cleaning up a bit, and convinced Robin — with promises of tons of wood and fresh peaches, whenever the fruit saplings have fully grown in — to help me clear out the majority of the trees around my farm. With the exception of a bunch of rocks, which I still need a stronger pick for, the land is pretty much cleared out!

Cannoli has the zoomies, and there’s plenty of new space here for him to play, so he’s having a blast. I take a mental note to toss some ice cubes in his water bowl later — with the wretched sun beating down on us like this, he’s bound to need ‘em.

While I bury a small handful of blueberry seeds in the freshly hoed dirt, I fantasize about setting up a small play space for him, maybe inside the small cave on my land. Could hang some string lights, put a few blankets and pillows in there, some catnip toys maybe… that shit would look cute. I’d just have to figure out a way to get him to coexist with all the fruit bats hidden in there.

The emo man sitting on my stoop speaks up over the soft lofi hip-hop playing from my phone’s speaker, breaking me from my thoughts.

“So… Sebby, huh?”

“What?” I look up, confused, as he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray.

It’s just a plain one I ordered online from Joja (blegh), but I want to commission Clint and/or Emily for a custom and cooler one. If they’re up for it. I know I don’t, like, have to give him anything in return for my sick bouquet, but the idea always pops into my mind.

“You called me Sebby unironically last week. I forgot to ask about that.”

God, I’d forgotten about that. Not, like… the fucking part. Obviously. I mean the ~Sebby~ part. I was having the time of my life, the absolute last thing on my mind was how to address him. I blush, recalling that day.

“Yeahhh, sorry. I didn’t really mean to.”

“You could call me that if you want, you know…”

Having just finished a row of seeds, I flip around to face the next one. “That’s a high honor,” I tease, “You sure I’m worthy of it?”

“You could call me anything with a moan like that, (y/n).”

I roll my eyes and snort at his horny remark and try to come up with something witty, ignoring how secretly proud I feel. “What if I were to call you… I dunno. Shitballs?”

Perfect. Yes. 10/10 idea, (y/n). You’re so smart!

“Then I’d take back everything I just said.”

“Booooo,” I heckle, laughing at his absolutely fed up expression. “What about Bash?”

“Bash?”

“Yeah, like Se-Bash-tian, ya know?”

He hums in thought. “Honestly, I don’t hate it.”

“…What if I pull a 180 and start calling you ‘darling’ and stuff?”

“Don’t push your luck, princess.”

Chills run down my spine. “Mmm.” A low, demonic chuckle emits from Seb at my reaction. A hot one. It’s not helping me simmer down at all. Without looking back to show my annoyance, I respond, “I’d rather finish up the last of this planting than feel things right now, so if you don’t shut the fuck up over ther—“

I’m cut off by a light flick to the back of my head.

“Ack!” I gasp. “Ya creep… your footsteps are so quiet.” I hover my hand over the area that my hat won’t block the sun from, and look up at the culprit.

He doesn’t respond verbally, simply winking at me instead. He kneels down next to me, using his bare hands to work a bowl into the soil. Reaching around to the basket on the opposite side of me, he steals a pack of seeds and gets to work.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

I grin and continue, scooting over to the next spot. “Well yeah, but like, you don’t have to do this. Could just hang out inside or something if you want to. I don’t care.”

“Maybe I want to help.”

I shoot him a quick, cocky grin. “What got you so keen on farming all of the sudden, hm?”

”Don’t worry about it.”

That sounded a little sheepish, almost. His cheeks are looking awfully pink too, but I can’t tell if it’s sunburn or blush. I decide to spare him.

“Fineee.” I sigh, thinking of how the only way that this moment could be better would be if the sun wasn’t so fucking hot today. “Thank you… Bash.”

“Hey, what’d I say about pushing your luck just now? Hm?” Seb scolds while I snicker to myself.

“What?! You literally just said you like that one.” I flick some dirt at him, and he scoffs.

“I don’t like the way you said it.”

“Whatever Bastion.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t, actually.”

He groans while I snicker, moving onto the next and last row. He follows shortly after, but crouches behind me this time instead of helping. I think he’s feeling needy for my attention, which would be more adorable if I didn’t want to work. His fingers trail along my sweaty back, covered only by a black sports bra.

“Whatcha doin’ back there?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Aren’t I, like, a little icky for this though?”

Not looking back, I notice Seb’s shadow, as he shakes his head above my own. “Somehow you’re still cute, all covered in sweat.”

“Gross,” I whine as if I’m not a little flustered by the compliment. “Well, I’ve gotta shimmy over a little, so move,” I add, wiggling Seb’s hands off of me.

I scoot. He scoots too and keeps touching me. This time, his hands are brushing my hips… toying with the waistband of my light blue gym shorts… slipping into the waistband.

“Mmm— You’re awfully distracting…” I breathe out, flustered.

“Fine, I’ll stop.”

I laugh and shake my head as he steals my straw hat off my noggin.

He plops down at the end of the row of soon-to-be crops I’m tending to. When I glance up, I’m not expecting to be super attracted to Seb in a straw hat. How foolish of me. How could I forget that he could look hot in literally anything?

He’s leaning back, propped up on his elbows, watching Cannoli explore in the distance. His short sleeved, black, button-down shirt is fully open, showing off his torso as well as the long chain that was hidden underneath the fabric. Looks like thin, silver barbed wire. Both of Seb’s legs are out in front of him, his right crossed over the left, as his rolled up pants expose some of his calves. His bangs are pinned back too, although that’s mostly hidden now thanks to my hat.

He’s way out of my league. Dude looks so frickin’ cool, without even trying…

Catching me looking, Seb tilts his head, smirks and raises a brow. I look away immediately, bashfully admitting, “You look hot…”

“Didn’t you just shoo me away for ogling?” He squints at my rosy face as I look back down, nodding in defeat. “Back to work, (y/l/n).”

I rush through the last row before literally throwing myself at Seb. I wrap my arms around his neck and straddle his hips, knocking him off his elbows.

“Oh my god you’re so moist.”

I giggle mischievously and respond in the most seductive tone I can manage. “Embrace the sweat, baby. I thought you liked it.” I cut myself off with more laughter.

“You fucking goblin!” Seb growls. He tumbles us over so that he’s on top of me, picks me up with a grunt, and begins to fucking speed-walk towards one of the many ponds in my yard.

“H-hey, easy there buddy!” I try to wiggle from his grasp, eyes wide.

He wouldn’t throw me in, would he?

…Would he?

“Let’s not noT BE HASTY NO—“

SPLASH

_______________

After Seb and I cleaned ourselves up from gardening and impromptu swimming (amongst other things, heheheh), we invited Sam to hang out. I feel cozier having more than one person over at a time, now that I have the seating for it.

I finally got some actual furniture, meaning the cabin looks more lived in. Still haven’t followed through with getting a kotatsu yet, but as soon as I can find one I like, you can bet your ass it’s going right where this table is.

We’d planned on playing some games, but instead, we’ve just been loafing around with cold, sugary drinks and a bunch of snacks Sam brought over from a subscription box he’s trying out. After a short silence, a frustrated thought comes to my mind.

“I wanna be friends with Abigail!” I exclaim, slamming a fist on the table.

Seb silently looks at me with wide eyes while Sam clutches his heart, letting out a big huff.

“That was so aggressive.” Sam sighs.

“Sorry. Got amped.”

“That’s gonna be a lot of work, you know,” Sebastian points out, a matcha flavored Pocky hanging from his lips. “She’s not a fan of most women.”

Sam nudges him. “Especially the ones who take her wittle Sebbykins away from her.”

I wince and mumble, “Gross,” before sipping some lemonade.

While Seb shoves him back, I explain myself. “I know it’ll be tough, but like, I wanna be able to hang out with all of you. Just… you know. Without running the risk of becoming a victim to some weird yandere outrage.”

The two of them nod, Sam adding a shrug and head-tilt of understanding to his.

My attention is stolen momentarily by Cannoli, yelling for a water refill. Stretching my arms over my head and then behind my back, I leave my chair to oblige.

I shout over the running water in the kitchen, “Got any leads for me?”

“Well, she likes video games and food,” Sam suggests.

“She’s super into the idea of adventuring. Not sure if she’d actually be able to handle the mines or anything, though,” Seb adds on.

“Oh yeah,” Sam nods, “She practices with her wooden sword in the cemetery sometimes. Scared the crud outta me the first few times I found her out there.”

Placing the bowl down, I return to my spot, stealing a taiyaki snack from the box as I sit. “Why the cemetery?“ I ask.

“She has to sneak out to practice at night, and it’s close to her house,” Seb says. “Pierre is traditional. If something isn’t ladylike and Abby takes interest, he shuts it down.”

I wonder if her aversion to women stems from an embedded defiance towards Pierre. This isn’t the time to psychoanalyze, though.

“Hmm…” I wonder aloud, “I could try and take her on a secret adventure, maybe. I’ve been wondering about that creepy tower in the forest a lot. Do you guys think she’d be into scoping it out?”

Seb nods, “Well… yeah, she’d love that.” Him and Sam look at one another, grimacing slightly. Ugh. There’s gonna be a catch to this.

“Go on,” I deadpan.

“Do you know how to wield a sword or anything?” Sam blurts out. “Nobody knows who or what is in there. What if you two get hurt?”

“Yes, I know how to use a sword. How else would I be able to visit the mines?”

“How far down have you gone?” Seb questions.

“I dunno, like…” I think for a moment, “5 or 6 floors maybe?”

“Oh, you sweet summer child.”

“What?! For someone who’s never been mining before moving here, I’d say I rock.”

“Was that pun intended?” Sam whispers meekly, as if he knows the reaction he’s about to get.

As I groan out a “No, you little…”, Seb rolls a napkin into a ball and proceeds to hurl it Sam’s way. Sam pretends he’s been shot as it impacts, groaning and dramatically sliding from his chair onto the floor.

Without moving, Sam hums inquisitively. “What if some creepy old person lives there?”

“It’s probably vacant, if the overgrown look is any indication.”

“Nah, definitely lived in,” Seb hastily corrects me. Hm. “There’s a garden just up the steps leading there. It’s really nice, actually.” He shoots me a wink and a shit-eating grin, before adding, “Puts your farm to shame.”

I try to rebut by throwing my taiyaki wrapper at him, but it just floats off to the side, about a foot away from me. Damn it. Hearing Seb snorting at my failure, I opt to lightly kick him instead.

Sam’s head pops into view, his eyes and nose cutely making an appearance above the table. “You’ve gone that close?” Seb nods back. “Isn’t that, like, trespassing?”

Shrugging, Seb answers, “They don’t have any signs telling you not to enter their property.”

“Alright, I have a crazy proposition,” I suggest sarcastically. “Why don’t I just… knock and see if someone answers? Ya know, rather than trying to just go in blindly.”

“If you have a death wish, sure! Go for it!”

I squint at Sam, who’s still on the ground. “A death wish— bro, it’s probably just some shy farmer or something!”

“Whyyy don’t I scope it out before you and Abby try to?” Seb offers quietly, although it sounds as if he doesn’t even want to. Makes a gal wonder what he saw there, the last time he went. “That way you’re not risking anything.”

“What? No!” I sit there for a moment, contemplating the situation silently to myself. Ugh. “Y’know what, nevermind. I’ll figure something else out.”

_______________

A few days ago, I had told Sam and Seb that I’d avoid the creepy tower in the woods.

I didn’t promise anything, though!

I made sure to change clothes before leaving the house. My third outfit of the day, not counting the pajamas I woke up in… doing laundry will be a pain this week. In my defense, I was paranoid that I’d be caught red handed by a nighttime skateboarder or a wandering basement dweller, so I swapped out my white sundress for black leggings, black boots, and a black tee shirt.

I am one with the night.

…Or, I just look like I’m about to burglarize someone.

Whatever.

The former sounds cooler.

As I inch my way through the trees, the sound of crickets and cicadas are deafening, but in a peaceful sorta way. Maybe I’ll camp out here sometime.

The closer I get to my destination, the more… weird I feel. It’s that same uncomfortable pull I felt at the Flower Dance, towards that creepy hooded person. If I’m recalling correctly, I felt a similar gravitation during my last endeavors in Cindersap. Like something is controlling me, in an effort to lure me in. Bloodbending me towards the tower. Punishing me with a nasty head and stomach ache if I refuse it.

With the structure now in my sight, my stomach is in knots from nerves. Seb’s reluctant offer to go here before me flashes through my mind, giving me second thoughts. He’s only human, but it’s rare he really seems scared about much of anything. What had him so silently irked about this place?

I take a deep breath, and continue my mission anyway.

The lights are on, meaning whoever is there is probably awake. At least I know I won’t be ruining any sleep with my intrusion. I pick up my pace to a light jog, wanting to get this over with.

I hope I can convince Abby to come here, should I not, like, die tonight. And if the resident gives me permission. And if Abby wants to, rather than doing it out of a weird obligation, that would be nice too. Unless… What if she uses the time alone to turn against me? I shake the paranoid thoughts from my head as I approach my destination.

The moment I set foot on one of the rugged, wooden steps, I’m hit with a dizzy spell. After regaining my composure, I take another step, this time feeling a pang in my temples. I lean on the dirt wall next to me for a moment. I don’t like this.

With some courage, I move again. This time, nothing bad happens. Interesting…?

Seeing that as the universe’s permission to continue, I jog up the final few stairs. Still in one piece, I breathe out a sigh of relief. I wonder if that was just my nerves… My gut tells me there was a barrier of sorts trying to keep me out, or maybe even entice me in, but that just feels nonsensical.

Looking out to the woods behind me, I’m met with a beautiful view. I can see the fireflies dancing by the river, the tops of the roofs and street lamps in town, and the cozy glow of the Stardrop as Gus and Emily likely begin their preparations for closing. On my right, the Gem Sea sparkles under the light of the full moon, offering a welcomed calmness to my current endeavor.

I turn back around and see the small crop area that Seb had mentioned. He wasn’t kidding — this shit is impressive. There’s a huge melon to the right, surrounded by several smaller ones. If I wasn’t keeping this whole thing a secret, I’d take a picture to send to the boys. Has big “Don’t talk to me or my sons ever again” energy.

To the left is a beautiful garden of flowers and some more fruits. A mix of variously colored summer spangles and small, plump, vine-grown berries that I’ve never seen. They’re bright blue, bioluminescent underneath the night sky.

My heart races as I take another few steps forward. Social anxiety aside, I think the encounter I’m about to have would freak anyone out. It’s not everyday that a person decides to spontaneously scope out some stranger’s home, and somewhat late at night, no less.

I swallow the lump in my throat, lift my hand to grasp the cold metal knocker, and—

“Well, it’s about time.”

A short, high-pitched scream escapes me. I shut myself up with a palm to my mouth, as to not attract the attention of anyone who might be nearby.

“What the—? W-where are you? Who said that?”

A low, decadent chuckle flows through my head. I look around frantically, but not a single soul is in sight.

“I’ve been awaiting your arrival for quite some time, young one. I apologize for startling you, but I must say, it was fun doing so.” I don’t answer, and they sigh jovially. “Please, enter! It’s in my interest to make your acquaintance.”

Oh… they live here? Then why does it sound like they’re inside of my fucking brain what the fuck–

I shudder before twisting open the golden doorknob. Instantly, various scents waft through my nostrils. Cinnamon, pine, something musky and sharp too — maybe lemongrass. There are various shrubs, flowers, and vines lining the walls of the entryway; and multicolored lights shine above them, mostly of varying shades of purple, green, pink, and blue.

Shyly, I move forward, both admiring the well-kept shrubbery and the cozy decor of the room past the next doorway. From what I can see, it’s warmly lit. There are more plants scattered, a fireplace in the back, and bulbous fairy lights strung along the upper walls.

I hear footsteps getting closer, and my nerves rev back up. I pause in my tracks as the mysterious voice reveals their physical form.

Yoba, I thought Sam was large, but this guy has to be at the absolute least a half of a foot taller.

The man’s purple hair sprinkles into his vision, slightly in the way of burgundy eyes that sparkle with intrigue. A black leather cord containing a small, corked bottle of something adorns his neck, and his pointed elf-like ears are decorated with a set of red dangling earrings. He is wearing a half-tucked, off-white button down, above black dress pants, and fancy black shoes with pointed silver tips to them.

I feel severely underdressed.

As he leans against the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest, I notice several rings amongst his fingers, each with a different colored gem in the center. Go off, Thanos.

He smiles down at me warmly with a single nod, making my heart skip a beat. Why is everyone in this stupid town so gorgeous? I think to myself. He tilts his head curiously, eyes narrowing with a wider grin, as if he’s reading my inner dialogue.

…Holy shit. I wonder if he can, considering how he was communicating with me before.

“I know you.” I whisper with furrowed brows, pushing my previous thoughts aside.

The moment I noticed the colors of his features — reddish-purple irises, gray skin, almost Abby-colored hair, the black beauty mark below his right eye — I realized this man is the same person I saw lurking around behind the Flower Dance.

“Well, not formally of course, but yes. I was sure you would recognize me.” Thank god he’s no longer speaking directly into my head. As lovely as his voice is, that was intense... “I do my best to keep to the shadows, alas, my hiding spots are sometimes subpar.”

Against my better judgment to just stay quiet, I question him. “Why hide?”

“It would be unwise to bring fear to the townspeople. Only some know of me, but they fear the unknown presence I carry. Then again, it is possible I simply stick out too much for their liking...” He mumbles the last sentence as he observes the dust-colored skin of his hands.

“Worry not, as it is something I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. Now, onto the matter at hand,” he announces, “I am Magnus Rasmodius. Seeker of the arcane truths. Mediary between physical and ethereal. Master of the seven elementals. Keeper of the—“

Magnus looks at my face and catches me biting back a giggle. I never expected this guy to be so adorably dorky. He blushes, his eyes fading from their natural (???) maroon into a light pink to match his cheeks. Oh my god, that was so sick?! “Er… you get it.”

“Sorry,” I snort, breaking.

His features revert back to their previous shades as he grins and shakes his head, silently accepting the apology. “Come, have a seat. There’s much to discuss.”

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destineden-archived · 1 year

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@mtnsedge : isaiah — "good luck taking care of yourself."

It's a desperate last stab. She's never heard his voice like this, so disjointed so heavy and unrefined. He grasps for each word with his tongue and like fingers on wet glass, it slips off. He can't fit the vowels in his slackening jaw. He would hate it, she thinks, if he knew how the illusion shatters in these final moments. The last weeks crawl like spiders up her spine, into her nooks and crevices and they nest there, laying eggs of subtle, chilling nausea. Every place where he touched her becomes inflamed in retrospect, rejecting the ghost of his proximity. Every memory sours and spoils in her gut like meat gone off.

His appearance froze her by the car but not enough so that she wouldn't lift the rifle. Isaiah stands in the door to their motel room, where his machinations slowly, futilely decay. Behind him, her other clothes lie in a small pile, next to his. Her half-finished bottle of root beer, her tooth brush and the body wash he got her that he said smells so good on her. All these things are disposable items, designed to be used and discarded, but now that she must so hastily divorce herself, she finds it hard to let go. As short as the time was, as scary as it's getting now, this was her life. Isaiah filled up every scene, blotting out the light. Miriam tries not to focus on that. She focus on the man himself, the threat she's sure he can't pose now.

He strikes a picture that she'd almost find funny. His usually so composed and arranged posture has slumped, crumpled. He leans in the door, one arm outstretched to hold onto the frame for balance. His head looks so heavy, like it's about to pop off its joint and roll down the hall. Silver hair hangs disheveled in front of his eyes, eyes she can't make out in the shadows. He looks like a bad copy of the man who offered her a ride, who offered her food and shelter and protection.

He looks like something with its mask torn off. He looks like he's about to drop.

"I'll manage, don't worry." She mutters back. It's a faulty impulse to assure him. She's supposed to be cool and sassy here, say something snappy and movie-heroine-worthy. But she can't. She can't think of anything but to appease him even now, trying to evade the ire she's already caused. Her childish, whining brain still begs for him not to be mad, to please not be mad at her!

With his gun trained on him, with him swaying dangerously and his brow lowering like an animal's, spittle in his beard that she thought looks so handsome and distinguished, she backs away towards the car door. The truck sits like a comforting beacon by her side, his beast that he handed her the reins to. The key is already in the ignition. When she reaches a flinching hand for the door handle, takes it off the rifle, off the trigger, he steps towards her, staggers strangely. It's a jolt that starts in his shoulders and carries him out into the light. He keeps trying to speak but the longer he waits, the harder the drugs hit him. She's never been all that great at guessing dosages.

What's rohypnol, anyway?

When he jerks forward, Miriam's body winces back into defense position and the finger flies to the trigger. "Stay!" She barks with her tiny voice, and she's never sounded so young and stupid. "Just. Just stay back. I swear I'll shoot if you don't. I'll shoot you!"

Not to sure who she's trying to convince here, him or herself. But as she says it, as she snaps her judgment, a strange calm settles in her chest. She says it and now it's true. She'll shoot him. As she stares at his wounded animal stance, his gibberish-dribbling mouth, she begins to feel inside herself a deep conviction that she could do it. She could kill him. All his kindness, his sweet words, his care and the heavy, warm hands on her shivering body, it all melts away into a painted target on his chest. She thinks of the zip ties, the drugs in his bag, the strange remarks, the knives.

Her warning seems to hit home, even in his addled state. Whatever he sees when he looks at Miriam, he believes getting closer to it will do him no favors. Miriam fumbles for the car door again and flings it open. Now there is no looking back. She thrusts the rifle into the passenger seat and kicks the truck in reverse to pull out of the parking spot.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." She mutters even as the engine howls and her heart beats in her throat. Gravel screeches and sprays as she swings the truck around and urges it towards the open road.

She'll get as far away as the tank of gas will take her. And then she'll think. Then she'll finally think again.

#miriam : isaiah. — he called me pure. he called me almost too good to eat.#mtnsedge : isaiah #baby.

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lunanheartache · 10 months

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this is a silly lil thing. nothing fancy. trying to figure out fallow and his whole thing. crossroads only knows how to navigate social situations under 10 layers of pretense. 1.8k

it's snowing and fallow-

the doctor hasn't come back yet.

that's fine. he has nothing to do anyway. the apothecary is empty and dark with the winter-early sunset. no one in cahors is braving this mild chill. leaning against the front desk, cheek propped up on his palm, crossroads stares thoughtlessly out the window. his mind wanders.

it's funny to think this is his second winter here. he left lot six years ago, sauntered through towns too many to count and been chased out of half of them. cahors was just another name to forget in a few weeks or months. instead, they have been remarkably tolerant to their new resident bad omens. the bakery on his way to clinic has his morning order ready when he walks by. his hooves click like the doctor's faintly heeled dress shoes. the downstairs neighbor heather trusts nowhere to watch her kids when her family can't make it. he goes to the market every two days as himself - as crossroads, not abel, not laurel, aurélian, benoît, jehan, angelin, privat, bellamy, étienne - and the most he gets asked is if someone should be concerned about a cough. not asked to leave, not intimidated away into an alley, not dragged off to some dingy old mountain prison with rusted, boring locks.

apothecarist shiloh is home with a sick child and doctor idlewild left some odd hour ago for a house visit, wholly trusting crossroads the mutt to maintain the clinic in working order. like he's not a thief or a danger, like he's worthy of faith and trust. like the cabinets under the desk and in the doctor's office don't hold a small but considerable arsenal of expensive, quality supplies wandering mercenaries would pay out their asses for. like he hasn't thought about stuffing as much as he can carry into the enchanted bag at his feet and running away to sell it for whatever he can get. he is six months into clinic and the doctor seems to have no awareness of his-

bad habits.

he gave him a key to the shop within the first month. something about it being easier.

it's bizarre. idlewild is an odd one. he wanted to hire a half-demon, scrambled his finances together while crossroads recovered from his fainting spell just to see how he could afford it. the miracles might help, sure, but getting humans to trust a miracle from someone like him took months in lot. even then that was fragile. his standing was tenuous, built up and maintained carefully. the doctor doesn't expect him to glamour himself here. he was confused by the idea. claimed a disguise and a fake name and a fake everything was unnecessary.

and somehow, he was right. a few patients balked at his appearance at first but settled easily, plainly. they mutter questions instead of accusations of provoking disease and death. shiloh claims patients are asking to wait for him, preferring miracles over their fine stitchwork.

he feels more like an animal the more they treat him like a person. cahors may be kind but.

there's something wrong about it. he doesn't deserve it.

he shouldn't deserve it. crossroads shifts his weight in his hips, frowning. a few months of paid miracles don't outweigh the mountain of sin behind him. he was born with a deficit, born broken and worse than imaginable, and it doesn't matter if he heals a handful of strangers. he is still-

still crossroads.

his fur is more than doubled thick with the winter, hands resembling paws over anything human. he has done nothing to merit this kindness. maybe he can one day, but now? all he can think about is how much money he could make from pawning off potions. there are plenty of wandering mercenaries around these parts. the old war's leftovers lingering like a bad taste, they still rough up money and violence with heavy hands. hell, he could probably steal from the low shelves and pass it off as better and do just as well. the doctor is less likely to notice those go missing. he could sell more, bulk up his coffres again. the lion's head well is long dry.

with a cheery clang of the bell, the apothecary door swings open. crossroads straightens from his slouch over the desk. cold air and snow tumble in with the doctor, bundled up in a thick coat, scarf, and hat, before he pushes the door shut behind him. it disturbs the still apothecary air, replacing the ever-present smell of herbs with winter and something almost sweet and smoky.

odd.

dark eyes brightening when he glances at the desk, the doctor offers a breathless smile. "good, you're still here. i was worried you'd leave. sorry it took so long," he says.

worried he would leave. huh. curious.

crossroads smiles in return, leaning playfully over the desk. his tail curls in a loose c. "of course, you asked me to watch the shop. i have nowhere to be."

"i appreciate it anyway. did anyone stop by?"

"no," crossroads says, "i think cahors is hibernating from this little chill."

"it's bitter out there," fallow says, not quite a protest. he shucks the hat and the scarf, tucking them under his arm. "i wish i had your fur."

crossroads smiles and it is toothier than he means, fangs flashing. "you don't, i promise you," he says.

"my apologies. i meant nothing by it."

"you'd hate the shedding," softens crossroads, pushing off the desk to stand up straight. he needs to stop showing his hand so much. the doctor always seems to pick up on it. "imagine ripping up a dozen down pillows. that's what it's like."

"oh, no."

"it was only useful in lot."

"maybe you'll adjust with time?" the doctor suggests. his heels click on the floor as he joins him, setting the bundle of clothes on the desk. the pleasant smell lingers. "you haven't been in town very long."

crossroads shrugs. "maybe."

"i do remember when you were here last winter," fallow says distractedly. he rummages around in the inside lining of his coat. "you wore more layers then, i think."

"did i? maybe it was colder."

"hah. sure. mostly i remember the few times you stopped in, you always smelled like chestnuts."

"chestnuts," crossroads echoes.

"roasted chestnuts," says fallow, fishing a brown bag from his coat and setting it down on the desk. his eyes sparkle behind his glasses. "for you. you'd be proud: i even got them at a discount. they're still warm."

crossroads stares.

it feels like a trick. idlewild is worried about paying him - finances are always leaner in the winter - so he bought a cheap gift to look better. he got himself a snack on his way, thinking crossroads would be gone by the time he returned, and he is sharing to hide it. it is a test to see if he takes it or asks first, see how selfish he is. it is a bribe to convince him upstairs to his private quarters. it isn't chestnuts at all, instead a roasted goat's foot like the restaurant in some nameless town before cahors served him in a mangled attempt at a threat.

it's nothing like that. idlewild went out of his way to get roasted chestnuts because he thought of him. shiloh told him once that the bastard closed clinic for nearly a week traveling to find a cheese they talked about enjoying as a child. he does this.

artificially unbothered, crossroads laughs off his startle, flirts a hand through his hair. "i'd only be proud if you got them for free," he teases.

"i'm not quite as charming as you. discount's as good as i can get." the doctor nudges the bag closer. "have one at least while they're still warm. i'll take them if you don't want them."

"what do i owe you?"

idlewild shakes his head. "don't worry about it. my treat. consider it a thank you for staying late. oh, i think i have your hair oil ready upstairs -"

there it is.

"let me get it, then you're free to go. i appreciate you waiting."

or not.

crossroads suppresses a frown. the doctor scoops up his hat and scarf and disappears through the clinic door. the bag of chestnuts stays where it is. it smells sweet and almost earthy. the top is crumpled and folded protectively down, trying to keep the heat inside. it's warm when crossroads touches it. when he unfurls the bag, a half-hearted curl of steam winds between his fingers. as promised, there is a handful of roasted chestnuts, edges just blackened.

fallow bought this for him.

okay.

this is just what idlewild does. a kind gesture, but boring and commonplace in its habit. it holds no hidden meaning. it means nothing special.

and that's fine. he's happy to accept a gift, no strings attached. crossroads plucks one from the bag and pops it into his mouth. they don't taste like the same chestnuts as in lot, but they are still sweet and warm and almost buttery. if he had sugar, he would roll them around in it. crossroads hums, hefting the bag in his palm and wandering around the desk.

the clinic door opens as he bites through a third chestnut. the doctor smiles broadly, transparently pleased that his gift was well-received. his coat is gone. the first two layers of his doctor's cloth are gone as well, leaving him half undressed in an undershirt and loose pants. he looks almost tired. he yawns as he hands over a familiar vial.

"can't believe i almost forgot this. how are the chestnuts?"

crossroads accepts it with his free hand and tucks it into his outer pocket. noncommittal, he holds out the bag. fallow looks at him for a moment before he takes one gingerly and bites into it.

"better hot," says idlewild.

"next time," crossroads says.

"think i could walk you home? i'm headed that way."

what a little shit. crossroads can't help but laugh. "you're headed across town half dressed, doctor?" he teases.

"give me your coat," fallow says, snatching a second, "since you don't need it. no one will even know i'm indecent."

"no, you can't walk me home. i know you live upstairs, you know."

fallow has the decency to look embarrassed. "how about next time then? we close up shop, you join me for fresh chestnuts, and i walk you home," he angles, stepping close like he means to pilfer another.

"maybe when you can get them for free," crossroads says with a smile, stepping back in lockstep so he never gets genuinely closer. he folds the bag shut again and tucks it under his coat. "i'll see you tomorrow, doctor."

"thank you again for staying late. sleep well."

"and thank you for the gift."

crossroads flicks the end of his tail as he turns to leave, just grazing fallow's hip. the door sighs as he pulls it open, bell chiming an eager goodnight.

#oc posting: crossroads #oc posting: fallow #calen writes

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itsclydebitches · 2 years

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Emotional Indifference and the Contradictory Heroism of RWBY

I was thinking today about this bit from the Volume 8 commentary where Eddy discusses Jaune’s focus on the mission

“I talked about this a little bit in chapter 9... but just how... we quietly had these little moments for Jaune all volume just to kinda show his mindset of like ‘I’m gonna do the hard thing I still got a job to do’... and how that carried through all the way to this kind of like, ultimate moment for him.”

as well as Jaune’s surprising lack of emotion in our finale. We’ve already discussed Ruby being unnaturally stoic after Yang supposedly dies, with all the emotion instead going to Blake as her presumed, soon to be confirmed love interest. However, though we’ve focused on that largely due to a number of other factors coming to a head —the lack of sisterly moments between Ruby and Yang, Ruby’s iffy status as the central character, the entire group failing to demonstrate sympathy at other, crucial times—in re-watching the finale, it occurred to me that everyone is remarkably chill regarding the murder of their friends and teammates. Though I do think that Weiss’ shaking hands as she shoots Blake’s gun is a great touch, have we highlighted that detail because that’s the only reaction Weiss has? Otherwise, she’s putting a comforting hand on Blake’s shoulder, telling Ruby to keep going in a monotone, or fighting precisely as she’d always fight, whether people are dying or not. Similarly, Penny fiercely tells Cinder that she wouldn’t know anything about having friends, but that line is delivered just like every other ‘We’re better because we love each other’ speech in the show. Watch this in a vacuum and you’d have no idea that Penny is responding to Cinder murdering Ruby and Blake, then blaming Weiss for it by saying that of course a Schnee lets all her friends die first. The emotion of Penny’s assertion in no way matches the intensity of the situation and her initial, unguarded reaction isn’t much better. What does Penny do when her first and arguably only true friend is killed? She puts a hand over her mouth and say “No!” If you really squint, you can just make out a single tear that never falls.

Meanwhile, back to Jaune, he has the most extreme non-reactions of the group. After Blake and Ruby are killed, while Penny is in denial and Weiss shoots at Cinder, Jaune rejoins Nora and orders her to bring all available fighters back to help. He knows two of his friends have just died, that’s why he’s calling for reinforcements—the terms of the fight have changed. Yet instead of sharing a moment of shock, or grief, or even just repeating his leadership position from “Worthy” where he reminds Nora that they have the civilians to care for (AKA, focus on protecting the vulnerable no matter how bad things get), we have this:

Determined expressions with smiles accompanied by a ‘Let’s go, team!’ hand clasp. This is the kind of moment I would expect at the very start of this battle when they’re still hopeful of everything working out. Not now when its all gone to hell and two friends have fallen into an abyss just seconds before.

When Weiss supposedly dies? Jaune’s eyes widen for a moment. That’s all.

Winter is the one who gets to pound the ground, cry, “whimper,” as the subtitles put it, in grief. Outside of Blake’s reaction to Yang’s fall, she’s the only one who (to me) reacts naturally to losing a loved one. Despite the fact that Ruby also lost a sister. Despite the fact that this entire show is built on the group loving each other enough to overcome the impossible. Penny just reiterated that theme: you don’t have friends, but we do. That’s why we’ll win.

So what gives?

Well, I’m wondering if the commentary provides some insight into the writers’ thought process here. Of course, this is entirely conjecture on my part, I’ll never really know their intentions, or how they interpret their characters, but twice now we’ve seen them praise Jaune’s lack of emotion and, frankly, that feels noteworthy to me. First, within the story-world, Ren and Yang stand in awe at the fact that Jaune supposedly feels no fear within Salem’s whale. Not that he’s overcoming it, but that it doesn’t exist.

Ren: Of course I'm scared. [Jaune] on the other hand... There's no fear at all. I can see it, he believes we're going to get this done.

Though a sentence earlier Ren tells Yang it’s okay to be afraid, don’t hide it with a joke, this line seems to be teaching the opposite. By admiring Jaune’s lack of base emotion, the implication is that they look up to him and hope to emulate him in this regard. Indeed, Yang decides that if Jaune thinks they’ll succeed, then she does too, presumably shrugging off her own fear as a result. Then, months after this aired, we get a commentary that highlights Jaune’s ability to “do the hard thing,” to essentially turn off his emotions and get the job done. As a few anons have pointed out recently, Jaune has been positioned as emotionally a step ahead of the group now, moving from the inept member to someone consistently offering advice that others want to follow (the “Let’s do both” plan, negotiating with the Ace Ops, telling Ren how to react and having him embrace that, etc.), which made me wonder if this is a characterization they want for the entire group, it’s just that Jaune is currently best at demonstrating it. And, according to the whale scene, the finale, and the commentary, Jaune’s characterization —the ultimate lesson he has to impart —is how to go through these horrors without letting them emotionally touch you.

Basically, I’m wondering if there is a potential, deliberate message that good heroes shouldn’t be rattled by the horrors they experience in battle, let alone let those emotions guide them. They should be able to shrug anything off and, as said, get the job done. If they fail at that, it’s because they haven’t quite mastered the ability to turn those emotions off yet (Penny’s teeny, tiny moments of grief), an emotional break serves another narrative purpose (forwarding a romantic reading for Blake and Yang), or the situation is so extreme that a quick expression of grief is, by the standards of the show, justified. It’s worth noting that Jaune sheds tears not for Yang’s apparent death, not for Ruby and Blake (as pointed out, he’s still mustering smiles at that point), and not for the loss of Weiss. Rather, he cries when he personally has to finish Penny off. The emotion is tied to the horror of this particular act—assisted suicide—rather than the loss of the relationship itself, given that Jaune barely even knew Penny. He cries over losing a virtual stranger whereas Ruby doesn’t cry over losing her sister because these moments where the characters break are stemming from the drama of the act, not their natural, human inclination to express grief, horror, denial, or fury at the loss on its own.

Looking back at the post-Volume 3 series, there are a number of moments that potentially fit this idea of the writers taking the heroes towards a near emotionless state. Or rather, emotionless in the sense of denying themselves sympathy-based reactions, both for themselves and others. Anger and disgust, meanwhile, remain alive and well. Fans have long been upset that Yang seemed to shrug off her PTSD the moment she helped kill Adam, but from this perspective why wouldn’t she? The job was done. Ruby has no reaction to endangering Argus, or testing Kingdom relations, and she shows no hesitation at taking that headshot on Cordovin. But why would she? She has a job to do.

Yang and Oscar are allowed to voice their uncomfortable feelings about lying to Ironwood, but once Ruby says that this is what’s happening, both bury their emotional ties to the situation because, well, this is the job now. It doesn’t matter how they feel about the situation. Good heroes like Jaune will push that aside and get the job done.

Obviously, the group still feels and expresses emotion, but none of it drives them anymore. Being that mad at Ozpin doesn’t result in them choosing to do something other than his last order to carry the Relic to Atlas. Nora’s devotion to Mantle doesn’t amount to anything other than uselessly yelling at Ironwood. When Blake and Yang decide that they don’t like secrets, rather than going after that original goal—stop lying to Ironwood—they decide to let Robyn in on things, a secondary mission that is removed from the “job” of following Ruby’s order. At this point in the series, decisions are driven by whatever plot RT is eager to get to and any emotion surrounding those tasks is fiercely ignored. I used to think that RWBY just wasn’t interested in examining the way the plot would inevitably change if characters were allowed to make choices based in their own experiences, perspectives, and desires. I do still think that. The “hive mind,” as the critical side of RWBY has dubbed it, remains a distinct problem in the series. But now, I can’t help but wonder if that lack of individuality is not just because it makes for an easier time writing the story, but also because the writers honestly believe that heroes who put aside everything to follow the “job” are more heroic than someone who will challenge that goal, or even just someone who needs a bit of emotional support to get through it. Yang doesn’t push her perspective about Ruby’s bad leadership, she drops it. She goes on to tell Ren to do the same. The message is: don’t waver from the job set out, no matter what you might think about it. Meanwhile, the characters who most give in to the horrors of the situation are also painted as the most flawed. Ozpin is a monster for needing time alone after everything they put him through. Qrow is a disappointment for struggling with alcoholism and, in order to become a loved member of the team again, must instantly get over it—working through it isn’t allowed. Yang, as said, got over her PTSD and it hasn’t come up since. She and Blake have no need to discuss the man they killed. Maria automatically labels herself as lesser than them because she needed to step away from being a huntress after losing her eyes. May is terrible for letting transphobic parents influence her decision to help Mantle over Atlas (and I’ve spoken elsewhere about how that was never just a biased decision). Oscar definitely doesn’t need to work through Ironwood shooting him, or his extended torture session, and Ren straight up is not allowed to be upset about all the horrible things that have happened to them. Meanwhile, the closest we got in the Atlas arc to a breakdown—Ruby hiding in the mansion, paralyzed and unable to make a decision—is hastily painted as the heroic choice. Ruby isn’t buckling under the weight of her bad choices, no, no, she’s just such so pure-hearted that she’ll choose both... the impossibility of that aside. More and more characters are praised for stoically moving in the same straight line and criticized for giving in to their emotional needs.

It’s a lot of moments that, on their own, might not mean much, but put together they paint a rather uncomfortable picture for me. I’ve long commented on the increased group-think and decreased compassion in the show, but Volume 8 was the first time I noticed a lack of emotional engagement with their quest framed as an asset and the commentary seems to reinforce that: Jaune is good because he’s fearless, because he can (mostly) turn everything off and focus solely on the task at hand. If this kind of thinking extends to characters other than Jaune, it would go a long way towards explaining why there’s now such a disconnect between the kind of heroes we want and the heroes we’ve been getting. If the writers are under the impression that the best heroes are capable of shoving aside all sympathy-based emotion to get the job done, then no wonder the group never unpacked what happened to Ozpin. No wonder everyone was only frustrated with Qrow’s drinking, never compassionate. No wonder their desire to get to Atlas outweighed any harm they caused in the process. No wonder lying to Ironwood came easily despite hating having that done to them. No wonder there was no grief at fighting the Ace Ops. No wonder most of them had barely any reaction at all to their friends, presumably, dying in that void. Every time there’s a job to do that, if you’re heroic enough, outweighs any emotions you might be having about the job itself. This might also explain the writers’ celebration of Weiss threatening Whitley. Real heroes aren’t bogged down by pesky things like love for their little brother. The job comes first. Here, the job is to secure a safe place for Nora, so Weiss will do anything to accomplish that. The idea of Weiss changing her approach because of love for her brother is, apparently, not an option. The message seems to be that though heroes love and will comfort each other at times, once that gets in the way of whatever task has been set, connecting and making new choices as a result of emotion is shoved aside. Hence, why both Yang and Jaune have no time for Ren once his emotions threaten their current objective.

I could talk a lot about how hard it is for audiences to connect to a cast like this (as we’ve seen). I could also point out that this is actually a fascinating, nuanced topic with a hundred more questions attached. The reality is that any hero should be struggling to balance what they think they need to do with their own desires and emotional health. Does the hero sacrifice their loved one if it means saving the rest of the world? (Ironwood). At what point does a moment of giving up change from being relatable to infuriating? (Ruby). And in a fight-heavy story, how do you show realistic reactions to loss without interrupting the flow of the action? (I’m obviously not saying that everyone in “The Final Word” should have collapsed in shock, or been so distraught that they too are immediately killed off). There’s a lot more to say about the impact of this kind of characterization overall, but I’d like to end with the acknowledgment that, like so much else in RWBY, it undermines one of its core themes. RWBY isn’t just a story where characters are uncomfortably dismissive of their own and others’ emotional needs, it’s also the story that has painted an emotionless, logical approach to solving the world’s problems as outright evil.

Doesn’t Jaune’s ‘I’m gonna do the hard thing I still got a job to do’ sound a lot like a soldier following their orders? He’s not giving in to his own needs, his own emotions, or his own view of a situation. Ruby gave him a task, so he’s going to complete it. Penny told him to kill her, so he’s going to do it. So what’s meant to separate the mindless soldier from the heroic friend if both are prioritizing their job over their emotions? The entirety of the Atlas arc was already incredibly hypocritical when it came to loyalty—everyone is allowed to be loyal to Ruby, that’s love, but no one is allowed to be loyal to Ironwood, that’s bootlicking—but now we’ve got this added issue of Jaune’s ability to turn off his emotions being framed as his greatest skill, while the Ace Ops’ ability to do the same thing is their biggest flaw. Same with Ironwood. As others have already pointed out, Ironwood’s ability to ignore his emotions (literally if we consider Mettle to be canon) and make the hard call of leaving Mantle is framed as proof of his instability and growing, evil nature. Yet Jaune’s ability to ignore his emotions and make the hard call of killing Penny is a sign of his strength and growing heroism. How are we meant to reconcile this? Outside of the nonsensical ‘Jaune automatically Good, Ironwood automatically Bad,’ of course.

I already have a problem with the show upholding the group’s callous responses and non-reactions as something to aspire to, but beyond that, the writers are leaning into this characterization after they’ve spent two Volumes drawing less than subtle connections between it and the antagonists. After watching the group abandon Ironwood for attempting the hard thing and the story celebrating his death after he continued to try, Jaune’s own willingness to take morally dubious action for the greater good no longer has the impact RT clearly hoped it would. According to the logic of the show, that’s not the mindset of a hero, but a villain. Yet since there’s no way the story would ever go in that direction, we’re left not only with a group of protagonists whose status as heroes is built more and more on their emotional indifference, but also a glaring contradiction as to what such emotional indifference is meant to represent.

#rwde #rwby #suicide tw #mymetas

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windblooms · 4 years

Text

childe scenario – being taken care of

he’s used to taking care of his own wounds, but having your hands on him instead is a welcome change.

gender neutral reader. mentions of blood (injuries). nsfw implications. 1889 words.

with his unmatched agility, keen attention to detail, and combat technique prowess, childe considered himself to be a warrior.

you, on the other hand, thought of him as a fool playing hero – reckless, pretty much.

sure, seeing him slash with his hydro dangers was hot. witnessing his deft rotation to a bow, firing arrows at a speed that your eyes could hardly match, was equally, if not more drool-worthy,

but childe, in his acute taste for strong opponents, is incredibly dumb when it comes to taking care of himself.

this is when you come in. when he’s taken combat a bit too seriously with marks on his face, clothes torn to shreds, and breath more uneven than the fatui agenda, you’re there to snap him back to the senses he has left.

not like he has that many, you murmur inwardly, dragging him back to his room by the arm. he’s reassuring you that he’s fine, that he’s endured worse in terms of injuries, and he’s had practice in bandaging himself up –

you’ll have none of it. watching childe throw himself into combat is like watching a lit match being chucked into a bucket of gasoline.

hazardous. potentially lethal. preferably avoidable.

“sit,” you command, plopping him on the chair behind his desk while rummaging through the drawers with your other hand. his body melts into the chair and he sighs, contentedly, before suddenly remembering that he’s supposed to be putting up a fight.

“i can handle this myself, you know – ” he reaches towards your hand with his own, grasping for the gauze bundle you found, only to have it swatted away.

“the last time you bandaged yourself, you were bleeding through your shirt and onto the chair. no way in hell am i trusting you with this.”

“we’re not in hell, we’re in my office. you’ve got more important things to do, yeah?”

you scowl, already moving towards him to unbutton his shredded coat. despite his words, he lets you, and you toss it across the desk.

his chest would be smooth if not for the ridges of muscle that trail down his stomach. you’ve seen him like this too many times to be fazed, however that doesn’t stop you from appreciating the intimacy of the moment while it lasts. “i’m paid to look after you. so, no, nothing better to do.”

after inspecting the lacerations across his chest and the disturbed flesh on his arms, you go fetch a stool to sit at the same height as him. standing up isn’t practical when he would be beneath you, and kneeling on the ground is definitely not an option.

once you’re back and situated, you take care in measuring appropriate amounts of herbal medication for his wounds (courtesy of grinding qingxin and violetgrass together).

he watches you work, head propped on his fist while you have his other arm flat on the armrest, and you begin to feel your face burn. does he have to stare at you like that? admittedly, you suppose there’s nothing better to look at while he’s waiting, so you just grumble quietly to yourself.

you’ve measured out the quantities, so you get to work applying the paste to his arms fist. you dare not apply it with your bare hands since it’s unsanitary medical practice, and instead with the back of a chilled spoon.

at least you have an excuse to look at his arms. muscular, with wrists thicker than your own, and fingers definitely longer than yours. of course the youngest harbinger also has a great bod – it’s not like he already has a pretty face and a voice that could melt even the tsaritsa’s frigid heart.

you convince yourself that you should get paid more for this, to deal with his careless attitude and impressive visuals.

“tell me if it gets to tight,” you warn, unwrapping a strip of gauze from the bundle before he lifts up his arm, and you proceed to secure the paste under the fabric.

childe winces slightly, although he’s quick to conceal his discomfort. you know that even he bleeds, and doesn’t have to keep his tough-guy act in the privacy of his own office.

your hands repeatedly touch his skin to tighten the gauze, before proceeding to roll on each new strip. his skin is unbearably warm – although it’s natural with the blood rush – and he inhales sharply as you wrap the final strip over his arm.

“sorry,” you mumble, before pushing the armrest so that childe’s body is fully facing yours. “you might have to stand up for this one, since your chest is, uh, bleeding a lot.”

it’s his turn to scoff, but he nonetheless complies with an oh well smile. you help him steady himself, and he grins in thanks.

“this one shouldn’t hurt as much,” you affirm after inspecting his chest for the second time. the gash is shallower than the one on his arm, although it runs from one side of his chest towards the opposite collar bone.

you pause for a second too long, and childe takes the opportunity to interject. you can hear the grin in his voice when he does. “you gonna check me out even longer, doc?” he inquires, and you’re not dense enough to miss the implications of his words, “it’s cute that you think i don’t notice – ”

“this is purely professional, and you know that.” you interrupt him vehemently, pressing your lips together. “i can’t treat you properly if i don’t know what i’m dealing with. you just happened to get injured here,” you jab at his chest, before turning towards the paste.

“i guess you’re right. but you like what you see, right? that’s good news for me.”

“you’re built. if someone as active as you weren’t, then i’d be surprised.”

“so you admit it!” childe exclaims, as if he’s won something out of you. you remain steadfast in your reasoning, not willing to give him any more ground.

“i’m just stating what i see. you’re built.” not a second longer your hand is on his chest, somewhat forcefully in your embarrassment, and you apply the paste. you hate that he’s taller than you; it feels daunting to be in a position literally beneath him in an immature discussion like this.

“aha,” he nods his head, although he’s not convinced in the slightest. he might be slightly tired from his last battle, but doesn’t let it deter him from making fun of his subordinate. "you should be careful where you touch in a closed office like this.”

he takes a hold of your hand with the gauze, and snakes his arm behind the small of your back. you stiffen immediately, taken off-guard by his boldness, and fight the urge to screech at his bare skin against you and his face so close to your own.

“this isn’t appropriate – ” you gag, hands flying to his shoulders, not quite pushing away. and out of no-where –

you whine despite yourself, flustered at his change in behavior. “childe, don’t make this a bigger deal. you didn’t even want me to take care of you – ”

“you’re right, i didn’t,” he agrees, and his voice stops you from continuing. he winks at you from behind his bangs, and you gulp. “but i can indulge someone who cares about me, yeah?”

is this a trick question? you can’t tell where he’s coming from, since your relationship has always been professional up to this point, and you don't think you’ve made it obvious that you found him physically attractive before. he’s got to be messing with you, you’re sure of it, and stutter out a response.

“a-again, i’m paid to take care of you,” (although, you can see on his face that he’s not buying it, and the bastard intertwines his fingers with yours,) “there are lots of other people you could do this with if you're feeling . . . peckish.”

“peckish, huh?” he murmurs lowly, and removes his arm from your back. but he still holds tight onto your fingers, gauze having been discarded onto the table. you step back tentatively, firm in your assertions.

“i don’t think you’d put up with me if you didn’t care,” he reasons aloud. even though this is the first time you’ve physically dragged him into his office to tend to his wounds, you had remarked in the past that he was being too careless with himself. you press your lips together, thinking, before slowly squeezing his fingers back.

“i do care about you,” you begin, and he blinks curiously, intently studying your face. “but i also can’t lose my job. superior-subordinate interactions like this aren’t exactly good either. you do realize that, right?”

he’s playing you like a fiddle, you’re certain of it, and are trying to play your cards as carefully as possible. he’s never shown interest in you in quite this way before. always teasing, insufferably frustrating in his ways, but never invested in you.

you’re not even sure how to tell if he’s being sincere. your peers have always told you that childe is difficult to read, that, especially since he’s practically your boss, you should consider his words as lip service. sure, he’s physically attractive, and you’ve already made peace with yourself in thinking so.

you never imagined to be in a scenario like this with him, and after analyzing your face for mere seconds, it seems as if childe is following your thought process.

he lets go of your fingers, and you flex them cautiously. you’re both quiet as you gradually go back to bandaging him up, and you notice that, despite your tense discussion, his body seems oddly relaxed against your light touch.

you don’t touch him any more than you need to, almost afraid of being burned by any other remarks he can come up with. you probably won’t offer to do this again for him due to the pure awkwardness of the situation; if he pulled this stunt to dissuade you from approaching him in the future, it was a very cunning and manipulative way to do so –

suddenly, childe scowls. you pause, looking up at him, and are surprised once he pats your head. your mouth opens, trying to produce sounds, and you feel like a fish –

“don’t think too much,” he reassures you, voice reassuring. “i’ll wait with whatever you decide, doc.”

if anything, his words leave you even more conflicted, and you’re dumbfound enough that you don’t finish securing the gauze. childe grins in your stupor and secures the bandage himself, leaving you to think of what words to say next.

he heads to his closet by the door, retrieving a new coat before sliding it over his head and chest. you reflexively run over to go help him, although stop half way. it’s difficult for you to think of something witty to respond with like usual, although you suppose that simplicity could settle for now.

“thanks,” you settle for as he opens the door, “i might get back to you on this.”

mind? a mess. body? feels like jelly. childe? undecided for now.

#genshin impact #childe x reader #childe headcanons #childe scenarios #tartaglia x reader #childe imagines #genshin x reader

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sambvcks · 3 years

Text

redefined, b.b. x reader

summary: just because those ten words no longer wreak havoc on his mind does not mean they are gone. just redefined.

warnings: mentions of food, blood, gunshot wound

word count: 3.7k....whoops

author’s note: first standalone! i’m also itching to work on a sam story next. the last episode still lives in my mind rent free and this is a reworking of that which diverges from civil war and we get one big happy avenging family that aren’t dead :)

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Longing

An Avenger.

The concept was still so foreign to Bucky, despite dozens of successful missions under his belt and a permanent residence in the tower. Still, every morning he sprung up in bed expecting to still be in some run-down apartment halfway across the world, on the run.

Instead, he would awake on a plush mattress that offered little back support. He would shuck on the first shirt his bleary eyes could see and pad into the hallway, the smell of fresh coffee overtaking his superhuman sense of smell. You would be perched at the kitchen counter, pouring over mission files stained with coffee rings that Tony would later complain about.

Steve and Sam would have already come through on their way to their morning run, the coffee pot running dangerously low. You’d already placed his favorite mug nearby, two packets of sugar emptied into the bottom. A routine.

Bucky didn’t think he’d ever have a routine again.

His hand would press against your shoulder in a familiar greeting as he passed, you’d grin up at him with sleepy eyes and a lazy smile before returning to your work. Your cereal sat forgotten beside you, the overly sweetened kid’s choice growing soggy.

It was a silent and comfortable interaction. Neither worked to fill the quiet or felt the need to. Even with Steve, there was always talking and planning and ‘what about this’. With you, it was so natural to just exist how he was in that moment. No excuses, no whispered apologies.

He pushed his back against the sink as he sipped at his coffee, eyes immediately settling on your distracted figure. Your pajamas were wrinkled, mouth formed into a perfect concentrated from as you hunched uncomfortably, hand scribbling furiously. He swallowed and decided you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen, especially with your coffee breath and fingernails chewed to nubs.

He wanted so desperately to move across the kitchen and press himself perfectly against you, to push aside your paperwork and demand your sole attention. His hand clenched into a fist as he longed to feel your soft, round cheeks in his hands, how warm you would feel against the cool metal of his left and how you’d nuzzle closer still.

He hadn’t heard the dragging footsteps of Steve and Sam returning from their run and didn’t even notice them until they were settled at the doorway, watching him watch you.

“Morning.” Steve grinned, all knowing. Bucky cleared his throat and refocused on his mug.

“Morning.” Bucky replied with a look that said ‘don’t say anything’.

Rusted

Bucky learned that if you weren’t cooped up in your room or camped out on the kitchen island, you were tucked away in Tony’s garage. On slow days where it seemed everyone was off in their own little world, Bucky would know to find you under the hood of one of Tony’s vintage cars, each kept in pristine condition, but you claimed that ‘there’s always something to work on’.

Bucky was never a car guy. His family was too poor to even think of ever owning his own car. He didn’t even have his own license and technically couldn’t legally ride his bike either. He found out quickly that being an Avenger meant the term legal could be bent a bit. So, he wasn’t a car guy. But the sight of you with streaks of grease across your face and your raggedy workshop clothes would have him buying one just to see you work on it.

You were notoriously protective of your little hideaway, the music loud and the sound of metal ringing as you fixed and fiddled with every little thing. Steve nearly got a wrench to the face when he tried to distract you from Tony’s antique Chevy.

Bucky was different, though. He was always different.

He would sit himself on a tall stool positioned next to one of Tony’s many rolling tool chests. You’d call out a tool and he’d rifle through the collection until he found what he thought was the right one and only slightly tease him when he’d emerge with the wrong one. Typically, you’d spend these afternoons in silence, the thumping of the heavy base of whatever crazy metal album you picked the only soundtrack to your work.

Sometimes, though, you’d play gentle rock music. Bucky would ask questions on what you were doing, how you learned to do all of this, why you did it when Tony worked on these cars enough for the both of you.

You’d fish your rag from your pocket, concentrating on scrubbing the grease from under your fingernails as you answered.

“I like using my hands. I like fixing things. For every car that Tony has in this garage, there are hundreds just like it sitting in junkyards gathering cobwebs and rust.” You looked up at him from under eyelashes and Bucky knew you were speaking about much more than just hunks of metal. “They’re worthy of love and care.”

You were talking about him, too.

Seventeen

Bucky didn’t think this superhero business would have so many parties. There seemed to be a celebration for everything. Galas, fundraisers, full on parades whenever Tony happened to wake up in a good mood.

At least this one is a holiday, he thought to himself as he nursed his third beer of the hour. Not that it did anything other than keep his hands occupied.

The year was coming to a close, and the top floor of the Avengers Tower was decked in golden confetti and banners to ensure no one forgot. The music was obnoxiously loud, and the lyrics made little sense, but everyone seemed to be having a good time mingling and even venturing to the dance floor.

No matter how many times Sam tried to drag him in with an invisible rope, Bucky was not going to dance. Well. Maybe he would if you asked.

The party had been in full swing for hours now, with only ten minutes until the ball a few blocks up finally dropped and he could sneak away to his room without a teasing ‘bedtime already, old timer?’ from Nat.

Still, the party raged on and he eyed the glass door to the balcony. He downed the last of his beer, brushing past enthusiastic partygoers with his shoulders hunched forward in some attempt to minimize the space he took up in the room that only seemed to be getting smaller. He caught Steve’s eye on the way out and plastered on a smile in response to his disappointed look.

He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as soon as the glass door slid closed behind him. His eyes closed as he leaned back against it, the chill of the December New York air blew his hair in every direction.

“Fancy meeting you here.” You were sat in the far corner, so well hidden he hadn’t even noticed you, though he had been on the lookout for you all night. “Tired of the festivities?”

“And Tony’s music.” He grumbled as he fell into the seat beside you.

“Been waiting for you for the past thirty minutes. Honestly, you made it a lot longer than I could’ve in there.”

You were waiting for him. You wanted him to be there, with you, tucked away from everyone else’s prying eyes. He wanted that, too. Sometimes he wanted it so much it scared him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, doll. It’s not polite for a gentleman to make a girl wait.”

“Hmm, I think I’ll find it in myself to forgive you.” Your shoulder pressed against his, eyes focused on the smattering of buildings surrounding you. Identical parties were happening in each of them, you were sure. “Can you believe another year is gone?”

“I can’t believe I’m about to make it to 2017 and my back hasn’t given out yet.”

You laughed, loud and unabashedly in a way only Bucky could make you laugh. Head thrown back and eyes glittering from the city lights, Bucky wanted to spend every new year you would allow him to by your side, trying his best to make you laugh again.

“Well,” You stood to peer over the glass railing, Bucky close behind you. You could hear the drunken cries inside as the countdown begun. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” Bucky offered his hand to you. You took it easily.

5, 4, 3…

He wanted nothing more than to pull you close, to finally press a kiss on the lips that had thrown teasing remarks at him during missions. To once and for all end this little dance you both loved so much. But you looked so perfect.

Bucky wasn’t ready to ruin that perfection with everything wrong with him quite yet.

“Happy 2017, Bucky.” You whispered as the fireworks started, but Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes from you.

“Happy 2017, doll.”

Daybreak

The mission had been long and grueling. The week-long stakeout turned into two and quickly turned into a month away. You can’t remember the last time you’d had a good night of sleep that wasn’t interrupted with Bucky’s hand on your shoulder, telling you it was your turn to keep watch.

It wasn’t a horrible mission, more of an exercise in patience and restraint than anything. Bucky’s stories kept you entertained enough, and he was a good partner. Which is why you were paired together more often than not.

Still, it was nice to finally collapse into your familiar bed, not even bothering to kick of shoes or take a much-needed shower. Your sleeping schedule was all out of whack and you tossed and turned, despite the exhaustion seeping through your bones.

After fifteen minutes, you finally huffed a sigh of defeat and stumbled back to your feet. You showered, which was a few good days overdue, and dressed in your largest, most comfortable pajamas.

You weren’t surprised to see Bucky up as well, sitting at the dining table with a mug of fresh coffee.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His foot kicked out the seat beside him as an invitation.

“Sleeps overrated, anyways.” You shrugged, slumping into the seat and pressing your face into the cool glass of the table.

“Sleep is good for you.” He insisted, reaching forward to brush aside the hair that had curtained over your face. “You deserve a good night’s rest.”

“So do you, Buck.”

He stayed silent for a while, just sipping at his coffee and stealing glances at you, face trained out the floor to ceiling windows. He really didn’t know what he deserved, anymore. Sure, he had made some semblance of peace with what the Winter Soldier had done with his body. He was better, that was certain.

Worthy of you and all your unwavering sweetness? He wasn’t so sure.

You idly chatted about nothing for hours, filling comfortable silence with talks of the mission and the food poisoning he had given you when he tried to make dinner two weeks in. You sat side by side until day broke the next morning, eyes squinting at the sun peeking over skyscrapers and finally finding the need to fall shut in rest.

“I guess I should say ‘good morning’ instead of ‘good night’.” You were the first to stand, shuffling towards the hallway that led to your bedroom.

“Good morning.” He answered as you padded away, deciding he would be just fine losing sleep every night if it meant he could watch the sunrise by your side.

Furnace

“Doesn’t Tony make enough money to keep this place at least habitable?” You grumbled as you fell into the couch beside Bucky.

“I’m fine.”

Bucky sat in his patent jeans and t-shirt, unphased by the temperature that practically had your teeth chattering. You were bundled in multiple layers, including one of the many sweatshirts he’d wear jogging on cold mornings and blankets you had stolen off his bed. Your glare from under your cocoon of warmth rivaled even his.

“I’m not a muscle-y super soldier-”

“You think I’m muscle-y?”

“-that runs so hot you’re basically a personal furnace.”

“Oh, so now I’m hot.”

“I would strangle you to death right now, but I’m about to lose my fingers to hypothermia.” You burrowed further into your smattering of blankets with a violent chill running down your spine. Bucky simply rolled his eyes and marked the spot in the book he had been reading before you stormed in.

“C’mere.”

He balled up a fistful of one of your blankets, tugging you even closer to him. You opened your arms to allow for direct contact, sighing contently as your face pressed into his shoulder and legs tangled with his. You sighed contently as you welcomed his warmth, shimmying as close as you could get.

“Better?”

“The best.”

Nine

“Do you ever think what your life would be like? If you’d gotten to go home?”

Even a year ago, this question would have turned Bucky into a brooding mess. He would have delved into every little moment he had missed, every plan that had been turned upside down when he fell from that train all those years ago. But he was better now, more contemplative. He wouldn’t drown in the idea of what could have been because he knows what it’s like to be on the other side.

“I like to think I would’ve gone to college.”

“Really?”

“You calling me dumb, doll?”

“No! You’re the smartest person I know. I’m just picturing you at college. Carrying textbooks and wooing all the dames.” You fell into him at the thought, a fake swoon overtaking your face.

“I’d be too busy studying for dames.”

“Studying what?”

“I always liked math. Maybe engineering or something. Wanted to be a teacher before the draft.” He shrugged like the information was no big deal, but to you it was everything.

“Professor Barnes. Kind of sexy.”

“Oh, shut up.” But his words held no malice. Instead, he was grinning that cheeky grin that pulled his cheeks into perfect rosy apples and his eyes crinkled in joy. “I wanted to have ten kids.”

“Ten?!”

“So we’d be a dozen. My own little army of mini-Buckys to take over the world. Couple sets of twins, maybe. Definitely as many girls as I could manage.”

Of course Bucky would be a girl-dad. Playing dress-up for fake tea parties and scaring off boys when they’d come ‘round for first dates. You could imagine how he’d learn how to take care of their hair and plait intricate braids when they asked. He would make breakfast for the whole bunch, kiss his wife goodbye before escorting them to the bus stop and taking off for a day of teaching classes. Bucky would be an amazing father.

An amazing husband, too.

“I think ten may be pushing it, Barnes.”

Bucky pictured it, too. A little more modern than maybe the image you conjured up. Teaching was replaced with small missions. The gaggle of kids were smaller, and he wouldn’t have to kiss his wife goodbye. You’d be in the car next to him, headed to the tower for your morning briefings together.

“I’ll settle for nine.”

Benign

If you were to ask any New Yorker what they think the Avengers do on Friday afternoons, they would probably say something like ‘kicking ass!’. None would get even close to what your actual routine looked like.

None would imagine The Winter Soldier lounging in a bathrobe, hair knotted into a bun at the top of his head as his fellow world-saving Avenger spread some green goop over his face. Chinese takeout boxes littered the living room coffee table, his feet were bubbling in warm foot spa.

“To keep your youthful complexion!” You had promised him. He didn’t comment on the obvious sound of your phone’s camera clicking.

He knew he must have looked completely ridiculous. But as you sunk into the couch next to him with identical spa treatments covering you, he couldn’t find it in himself to really care.

He never thought in a million years that he would have the chance of boring, completely benign afternoons. He thought he would be sidelined to violent missions for the rest of his life, to being thawed out like a microwave meal every time he was deemed useful. Sure, he felt a bit ridiculous when you reached over to adjust the slices of cucumber placed over his eyelids, but he also felt so relaxed.

As you settled even closer to him, head tilting to rest on his shoulder, he would happily take the teasing remarks from Sam when you showed him the pictures.

Homecoming

Peter wasn’t crazy about the idea of getting ready for his senior year homecoming dance at the tower. But Aunt May was upstate on vacation with Happy and he still didn’t know how to tie a tie.

“Oh, you look so handsome, Peter!” You gushed as your fingers worked on his tie. Bucky stood to the side, holding MJ’s corsage in a delicate plastic container. Peter had been careful to find the perfect color, with a little guidance from you. The white dahlias matched perfectly with Peter’s light green tie.

“Thanks, Ms. (Y/L/N).”

Peter, ever the polite kid.

“Be safe, kid. Have her home at a reasonable time and no wandering hands.” Bucky handed over the corsage with a supportive slap to Peter’s shoulder. He was quick to promise that he would follow all the rules before making a dash to the door, just as you were about to ask for pictures.

“Don’t wait up!” He called as the elevator dinged behind him.

“They grow up so fast.” You sniffled. “I didn’t even go to my homecoming dances.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody ever asked me.” You shrugged, collecting the other ties Peter had picked from and hanging them carefully over your arm. Tony didn’t have to know that Peter was taking one of his priceless Versace neckties to a homecoming dance.

“To be fair, I would’ve been scared shitless to ask you to a dance.” Bucky followed close behind. “And I fought a war.”

“That’s sweet, Buck.” You brushed him off as you retreated into Tony’s closet.

“No, really.” His hand caught your elbow. “I would’ve been the luckiest guy in town if I had you on my arm.”

You fell asleep that night imagining you and Bucky twirling around a dance hall without a care in the world.

One

Steve’s hand was firm against your shoulder, his tactical glove soaked and dripping with your blood. Your eyes were unfocused, head lulling every so often when the fight to keep it steady just seemed too difficult. Sam was at your other side, cracking jokes to try to keep your attention on him and not of the literal bullet lodged in your shoulder.

You were escorted from the jet in a flurry, doctor’s hands replacing Steve’s. You barely winced when you were administered painkillers and the ache begun to subside. Before you could blink, you were lifted onto a gurney in the medical bay and the clink of the bullet that had been dug from your flesh rang through the room as it clattered into a metal dish.

Bucky ran in just as the doctor finished maneuvering a long roll of gaze around your shoulder, scheduling a time for you to return to have it cleaned and reapplied again.

“What happened?” He brushed past the doctor without a second glance, eyes trained on your figure pressed against the sterile hospital bed. “Steve said-”

“It’s nothing. Steve likes to be dramatic.”

“-that you were shot!”

“Oh, well. Yeah, that happened.” You moved to sit up, your arm immediately giving out under the weight. Bucky moved even closer to help you, hand careful on your back like you were made of glass. “But just the one time.”

“As far as I’m concerned, one is too many.” He watched the gauze turn darker against your skin; your eyes screwed shut in pain as your knuckles turned white against the sheets. “And you’re never going on a mission without me again.”

Freight Car

“You’re free.”

He remembers those worlds so clearly, it’s like him and Ayo are still sat next to that crackling fire in Wakanda. He thought that had been it. He would never again worry about those ten phrases that erased Bucky Barnes and allowed a machine to emerge from his memory.

As he stole glances of you from the corner of his eye, shadowed by his unruly hair, he knew those words still very much existed in his mind.

They weren’t a means to an end, anymore. He didn’t have to grit his teeth and clench his fists to fight them off. They were new, now. He saw each of those words in you and realized just how important they are now they they’ve found a new meaning.

His love for you came easy.

One second, he was looking at his friend. She was looking back at him and he felt safe.

Your fingers brushed over his shoulder, where flesh turned to metal, and you looked away as though you hadn’t just made him fall in love with you with a single touch.

It took three years for Bucky to make a move. Another party, another escape plan to the balcony where you were waiting for him, like always. The last time you had found yourselves in that position, he had been too unsure. Too wary of what it would mean and if it was too soon.

Now, he didn’t care. He just wanted you and to be selfish and not think about consequences when he leaned forward and finally pressed his lips to yours.

You pulled back, but not far.

Something clicked.

Your love for him hit you like a freight car. Swooping in from nowhere but really, you should have felt the rattling of the tracks beneath your feet. You should have seen all the signs that you loved him and he loved you back. In stolen glances and easy afternoons, in hard missions and bloodshed. He was there, and he looked at you like that. Like everything his body had done was to finally make it to you in this moment.

He waited, patient. He had waited this long, what was another few seconds as the realization washed over your features?

“Oh.” Was your clever whisper.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s hands cradled your face, “Took you long enough.”

taglist: @bibliophilewednesday @teti-menchon0604 @thiswasnevermylifefromtony @spid3rgwen @beautyandthebleh @victoriabaker112213 @orthellqs @phasma-trash

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/you #bucky barnes/reader #marvel imagine #tfatws imagine #sab writes

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apocalypticwafflekitten · 3 years

Text

Summer Night

Post-Burn Kabal x Reader

A/N: Is the self-indulgent? Yes. Is it completely unrealistic in MK context? Yes. Do I care? No. So here’s some fluffy hurt/comfort because this man needs love and I’m here to give it to him.

So, I wrote most of this while listening to this song, so feel free to give it a listen while you read!

Original Imagine/Summary Kinda Thingy: So there’s a poem mentioned in this story, and it’s one that I actually did write a while back for a Creative Writing class. It had this same kind of summer night setting, and I really wanted to use it in an actually story, so this is born partially from that, and partially from allll the feels I have for Kabal. I cannot express how bad I want to give this man a hug.

Warnings: A very emotional, insecure, soft Kabal who needs all the comfort in the world. Very much a hurt/comfort fic. Other than that, nope, just fluff for this man and all the love he deserves!

Word Count: ahhhhhhh I’m on mobile!

He didn’t think you’d ever look at him again. The scarring that marred his face mocked him for even thinking of it. The face in the mirror before him was hideous. Long ago he’d accepted the idea that you’d only ever see him with his mask on. That you’d only want to see him with the mask.

But what did a mirror know? You’d always been there for him before, and you hadn’t shown any sign of leaving him now. Maybe you’d stay. But who was he kidding? One look at his face and you’d go running off like everyone else.

No. That’s not right. He had to have more faith in you than that. You wouldn’t leave him like that. You wouldn’t run away from him. That’s what he would do. You were stronger than that. Stronger than him at least.

So every once in a while, the idea, the notion of taking off the mask and showing you what was waiting beneath it tempted him. Sometimes he wanted to rip the thing off and beg you to see that he was the same man as before. Even now, as he replaced the respirator on his face, he wondered if you would say anything should he leave the bathroom with his face bared to you. All your possible reactions swarmed his imagination until it was all just noises. Some were screams of terror, others were violent sobs. And sometimes it was silence, followed by the creaking of a closing door. It was all too much.

He shook his head to clear it all out, and took in a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the wheat and corn fields just outside the safe-house.

The two of you were on a job. It was an easy in and out mission that didn’t really matter much in the long run, but it was important for you. It landed you smack dab in the middle of a prairie on the border of a farmer’s land. The crickets chirped and soft breezes flew through the open windows, carrying sweet scents and the peaceful air of a summer night.

When Kabal saw no sign of you in the the house, he looked outside, only to find you sitting on the porch swing, looking up at the stars above you. The chipped, white paint on the bench looked almost blue as the moon began to rise, lighting the surrounding farmland in a silvery, glowing light.

“Hey,” Kabal greeted tentatively, “What are you doing out here?”

“Hey. I was just looking at the stars, taking in the farmland and the open space. It’s making me a bit homesick to be truthful, but I still like it. Something about seeing the night sky right against the crest of a grassy field with nothing else between them is...it’s beautiful. It’s calming in a way. It’s so simple and plain, but there’s more to it than that. It’s more beautiful than you would expect. I don’t know if that makes sense to anyone but me, but hopefully someone out there understands.” You smiled to yourself and curled up further on the bench-swing, holding you knees to your chest while a slow, steady rock lulled you into your thoughts once more.

Kabal took a moment to follow your eyes and see what you were talking about. He wasn’t surprised that you were right. The gentle hill that rose about an acre or two away hit the horizon and kissed the night sky. And it was beautiful--even through the red tint his mask gave everything. You couldn’t see the city that lay beyond the hill, nor could you see the fence that marked the plot of land. It was just grass and sky, and the stars haloing the moon.

“I understand. It is beautiful. More than you would imagine,” He repeats you, thinking about something else you’d mentioned, “You said it made you homesick?”

The question sits in the air for a moment as Kabal took a seat next to you, using his legs to keep the swing’s gentle rock going.

“Yeah. This place remind me a lot of my home, and I’m just realizing how much I miss it,” You lean in to his side, letting him drape an arm behind you out of habit, “But that’s not a bad thing. I mean, if I hadn’t’ve left, I never would have met you.”

You kissed the side of his mask, and rested your head back on his shoulder. Sometimes you acted as though nothing had changed. The way you so casually kiss his mask, and lean back into him as if you’d just kissed his cheek bewildered him. Could you not see how awful it was? How messed up it is that he even has to wear this thing? Or how messed up the face beneath it was? Well, of course you couldn’t see that, but still. How could you see this and still love him the way you had before the fire? And what you’d said? Was meeting him some monument in your memory? Was he really worthy of that? Maybe he would have assumed so in the past before all of this, but now? How could you still see him in such an important light?

“Hey. Hey, Kabal? Come in Kabal!” You laughed when you saw his head shake as he was brought back to the present.

“Yeah?” He couldn’t help but smile a little when he heard your laugh.

“Come with me.” You whispered, eyes wide and full of something warmer than mischief, but not entirely different as you stood and held out your hand.

“Where are we going?” Kabal asked, but truthfully he didn’t care. Being with you was enough no matter where he was, as long as you were there beside him.

“You’ll see.” You smiled and took his hand, guiding him off the porch, towards the cornfield aside the house.

Your hand in his was small and gentle just like he remembered. He wanted to remember more. He wanted to remember everything about you. The way you used to hold him at night and tell him how safe you felt in his arms. Or how you would trace his face and kiss his eyelids while he napped on your lap. He wanted to memorize the smell of your perfume, but only by kissing the tender skin of your wrist and whispering there how much he loved you. He wanted to admire you like that again, instead of following you with wide eyes from behind a mask. For once in a long, long time, he actually wanted to take the mask off, if only to kiss you and see your beautiful face again without the red tint his glowing eyes gave the world.

You brought him out to the edge of a cornfield where the tall stalks looked gold under the starlight, and the bright moon gave enough light to walk by. The sky seemed endless above these shining fields, as if all the cities in the world melted away and the land before you stretched on forever. A long, emerald, grassy plane where dainty wildflowers grew in the spring stretching across the horizon and beyond it. In this moment, walking with Kabal, the safe house faded away and the crickets’ chirp dissolved into the air. It was just you and your lover beside you, walking your own moonlit trail by the side of the cornfield.

Kabal loved the sweet aroma from the crops beside him. When he looked up he constantly found himself in awe of just how many stars he could see. There were trillions more up there than he had ever known of and it gave him exhilarated chills. The most beautiful part though? It was you. You happily took stride next to him and let a comfortable quiet fall over you two.

He kept looking to you, although you never noticed, or if you did you hadn’t said anything about it. Just...the way the moonlight lit your face made you look like something divine—something perfect for him. Something he wanted to hold and squeeze and touch and love. Something he wanted forever.

Kabal was broken from his reverie when you suggested sitting on the wooden fence that outlined the neighboring farmer’s land. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t too terribly bad either, just a little wobbly. To make up for it though, the view from this spot was beautiful. The moon hung high above the safe house, watching over the small building and the grassy plot where it lay. He could see why you’d decided to sit here of all places.

You were quiet for a few moments, enjoying the gentle breezes that would pass by. It was comforting—unlike anything Kabal had felt in a long long time.

“You know, I wrote a poem once about walking through a corn field to sit and talk with the moon awhile. Sitting here with you reminds me of it.” You think out loud.

“Hmm. I didn’t know you wrote.” Kabal remarked, finding himself suddenly curious about your apparent hobby.

“Yeah. A bit. When I have the time to. But that doesn’t happen often these days.”

“No joke. You a big fan of poetry?”

“Oh yeah. I could go on for days,” you smiled bashfully, turning away, “but I don’t think you want to hear about that.”

“I wouldn’t mind. Especially if it was you doing the talking.” You could hear the smirk coming from behind the mask, and you cherished it—loving the moments when the old Kabal would shine through.

“Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll steal you for a day and lecture you on my favorite poets.” You laughed at your own joke, but Kabal hoped that one day you would. Getting to see you excited about anything always lightened up his day.

You both sat on the wooden fence for what seemed like ages, silently enjoying the warm, quiet night together. You would point out constellations every once in a while, and at one point you got so excited about a shooting star that you nearly fell off the fence! Kabal had to rush a hand behind you to keep you from falling flat on your back! But there was a long stretch of time after that where the two of you settled into a comfortable silence and you leaned against him, letting your head rest close to his heart.

“Can I ask you something?” Kabal whispered, breaking the silence with a quiet push.

“Sure.” You answered, keeping your eyes on the stars above.

“Do you...do you still love me? With the respirator and everything?”

He saw the way your head whipped around to face him and he knew he’d struck something deep in your heart. Your eyes went wide, and a worried tilt crested your brows. For a moment he felt stupid for asking. The small amount of time where you went silent to process his question felt like minutes where his insecurities could eat him alive and swallow him into the night.

“Of course I still love you Kabal!” You rushed out, trying to think of a million ways to reassure him. You held his hands again, and those deep, wide eyes looked right into his, “What’s brought this up?”

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t know how you can love me like this. You can’t even see my face. And I’m...I dunno...I’m different.” He mumbled, looking down to his hands, and how yours held them so tight.

“Kabal,” you began with a careful, comforting tone, “I’m always going to love you. Mask or no mask. Burns or no burns.”

He took a moment to let your words sink in, watching you as he realized what your words meant.

“So the mask...doesn’t bother you?” Kabal asked, allowing just the littlest bit of hope to seep into his voice.

“No. Not at all.” You replied simply,

“Why?” He had to know. His voice may have been a quiet scratch through his respirator, but behind it was all the desperation of a man lost.

“Because I know it’s still you under the mask. I’m still sitting next to the man whose perfect idea of a date was barhopping until the early hours of the morning, then drunkenly watching bad movies on your couch until the sun came up. I’m still sitting next to they guy who spent a whole hour explaining the lore of Ninja Mime and why the fourth once was shit. And I’m still sitting next to the guy who played Christmas carols for me on his marimba just to make me smile. You see, I fell in love with you. Not your face or your body. You. Yes it’s different now. Yes it’s a bit of an adjustment, but you’re still you under the mask, so it makes it easy for me. It’s not hard to stay in love with someone you fell for a long time ago, even if they look different.”

By the time you were done there were tears streaming down Kabal’s face. He wanted to hug you and kiss you and hold you all at once forever. His heart was pounding and twisting and clutching and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I love you!” Kabal declared desperately, with all his heart in it. You didn’t miss the hitched sniffle that came from behind the respirator, “I love you so, so much.”

In every word you could hear the thanks that was pouring from him. In that small phrase, in those six words, he thanked you for everything you’d said. He thanked you for not giving up on him, for continuing to be by his side through everything, for showing how you loved him and how deep it truly ran. He put everything he was feeling into those words, everything he couldn’t find words to say. He put the way his heart clenched in those words and you could feel it - his words carrying his whole heart .

Kabal pressed his forehead to yours and you nuzzled your nose against his mask, enjoying this tender moment with him - one of few you were able to have in your line of work.

Before he could pull away, you decided to act upon a wish you’d had for months now. Your only hope is that Kabal would let you. You slowly took your hands from his and ran them up his arms, feeling his strong muscles beneath the marred skin. The bumpy pattern rippling under your fingers when he twitched. You kept your forehead to his as your hands travel over his shoulders to rest for a moment at the base of his neck. There you wait for any sign. Any signal that he wants you to stop. Instead his breathing grows heavy and he tenses, anticipating everything you might do, but he doesn’t stop you.

Ever so slowly, your hands trail up to the sides of his mask and you rub circles against it with your thumb, trying to soothe the man beneath it.

You give him a small smile before bringing your fingers to the edge of his mask. For a second you’re able to slip your fingers beneath the respirator and feel the curve of his jaw. But before you could pull it further from him, his hands shoot up to grab your wrists, a moment of flooding insecurity breaking his resolve.

“Are you sure?” His question is quiet, almost quivering in his tone.

You give him that smile again before looking straight into his eyes.

“Yes. Yes I’m sure.” you insisted with a gentle warmth in your voice.

Kabal let out a stuttering exhale, and let go of your wrists. His hands found themselves sitting restlessly in his lap as every muscle in him was tense with fear.

Again, with caring conviction you began to pull the mask from his face, revealing the scarred surface beneath. His emotions were plain and clear for you to see in his tilted brows and the glistening tear streaks falling down his uneven cheek.

You took a minute to look at him--to see what the fire had done and why he had been so reluctant to show himself to you. But just moments after the mask had been removed and his face had been bared to you, you broke out into the largest smile Kabal had ever seen.

You whispered with happiness warming your tone; happiness like Kabal had never heard before, “There’s that handsome face. I’ve missed you.”

Kabal looked you in the eyes, tears welling up in his own at your simple response to his horribly scarred face. His heart caved in relief, letting him slump against you, once more pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’ve missed you too.” He whimpered, finally letting himself go--letting the buildup of anticipation and fear drop from his shoulders so that he could finally do the one thing he’d wanted to do most since the fire.

He kissed you. Hard and desperate and oh so familiar. His lips locked onto yours as they had a million times before and he wondered how he’d gone so long without this. Your lips played against his the way they always did. Damn it everything was perfect. He whined, sobbing into your kiss as joy and relief flooded his every nerve.

You pulled him back, wanting to kiss him again and again and again for the rest of time. He was still here! Your Kabal! Here to kiss you until you were dizzy, and love you until the world stopped spinning. You couldn’t get enough. Each kiss more desperate than the last as you held his face in your hands and wiped away his tears.

He broke off for just a moment to grapple onto you, hugging you right against him.

“You have no idea how much this means to me.” He whispered in your ear. His chest hurt with how his heart ached for you. He wanted you close—so close that he could never lose you.

You smile to yourself and bury your face into the crook of his neck, drinking in his smell and nuzzling against his skin. You reach up and gently card your hands through his hair, offering him comfort and reassurance.

Again, it’s just you and Kabal, and the sound of his breathing, quiet and labored beside you. His hands gripped the back of your shirt in tight fists, and every once in a while you’d hear a quiet sniff.

But in a few minutes you felt his breathing grow ragged, and as much as you wanted to stay in this embrace, you knew he needed to replace the respirator.

“Hey, come on hun, you need to put the respirator back on. I love getting to see your face again, but I’d love to keep you alive even more.” You laughed a little, meeting his eyes once you’d pulled away.

He laughed a little as well, grabbing the mask and slipping it over his face again.

You watched him, listening as his breathing evened out until he turned to you. You imagined he quirked an eyebrow under the mask.

“Whatcha staring at?”

“The handsomest man in the world.” You smile up at his face and grab his hand as he stares back into your eyes.

“Come on, let’s get back to the house. It’s getting kinda chilly out here.”

He didn’t say anything. He just nodded and stood from the fence, beginning the walk home with you by his side.

Tags!

@onabouteverything

#kabal x reader #kabal mk #mk kabal #kabal #kabal mortal kombat #your honor I love him

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behindheremeraldeyes · 3 years

Text

damirae week 2021

sunday, may 9th - soulmates & wedding/ honeymoon

title: you are my secret

summary: the universe wanted her to know his deepest secret, and even if it made things easier for her to find her soulmate, his secret came with heavier responsibilities than she could’ve expected. — Soulmates AU where they know each other’s secret. Ao3

There are some secrets that do not permit themselves to be told.

— Edgar Allan Poe

His secret revealed itself to her like a wave that crashes against the shore— all at once, all too much.

It came in a dark nightmare, chasing her like a horrific, shadowy figure. She had tried to run, scream for help, even, but no sound came from her sore throat. There was no place where she could hide, no one who could save her, and eventually, she was captured in that thing’s tight grasp. Though she didn’t know what was happening, fighting it proved itself worthless, as her small body refused to move a muscle. An ominous force enveloped her surroundings, and she could no longer see or hear anything.

Something lurked in those shadows— something bizarre and surreal— and chills ran down her body as her small world suddenly grew silent. Might have been seconds or days, she didn’t know, but eventually, screams erupted in her ears. Her eyes widened, then, tears running down her face as a wave of emotions swept her off her feet. Raven was having an epiphany. An unannounced realization of the truth in its rawest form, and instantly, the world was not the same.

And it would never be again, no. Not anymore.

She woke up with her lungs begging the world for air, sweat soaking the covers and a heart ready to burst out of her chest. Her eyes were frantically scanning the room, her pupils still fighting to adjust to the dim light that came with the first rays of sun. Her body was shaking uncontrollably, and before she knew it, her eyes were brimming with burning tears that ran down her cold cheeks. It was the most tragic, yet bewildering moment of her young life, and though she could not deny the fear taking over her senses, her mind had never been that clear before. She had never been more alive.

So this is how it feels, she wondered. Her fingers ran through her messy, dark locks that were falling forward; and it was as if she could feel her brain pulsating under her touch. Adrenaline rushed through her veins and thousands of new thoughts were trying to find a place to settle inside her head.

Raven was confused, yes. Disoriented, even. However, at that moment— at that unique and special moment where a whole new world seemed to reveal itself to her— she was sure of one particular thing that would change everything.

She knew his secret. Finally, the cosmic forces that rule the universe have revealed his best-kept secret to a 16-year-old girl. She knew that Damian Wayne is the man behind the green mask and yellow cape.

He is Robin.

He is her soulmate.

Initially, the idea itself seemed to have been taken from one of her old fantasy books; where the world is dystopian and reality follows no rule whatsoever. She had to be dreaming. Hallucinating, even, but the information was solidified in her core as one of her most visceral memories. No matter how much she has tried to— and she really did try— not even her sharp mind could deny that new discovery. She tried not to freak out, but it was hard not to overthink when her entire lifestyle was about to be jeopardized because of that one secret that was revealed to her.

Raven was but a normal, high-school girl. She had plans to go to college after graduating, and she wished for nothing more than a tranquil life after that. Though she was already familiar with the universe’s rule regarding pairing people who are, supposedly, very compatible, having a soulmate or not has never really entered the equation of her future, especially since she was decided not to let her life be dictated by it. From the very beginning, she refused to believe fate could ever control her with trivial things such as love and understanding, and at some point in her life, the raven-haired girl was ready to do anything to prove her point.

She was ready to defy the forces responsible for selecting two random individuals to be each other’s soulmates.

She was ready to go as far as she had to, but eventually, once her teenage-ish years got behind her, and her insubordination gave place to more reasonable thoughts; Raven decided she could settle for a person who could make her smile every now and then. A person who could share with her a simple life, and eventually, a simple love.

And with or without Robin, Damian Wayne himself could never give her simple.

For as long as she can remember, he has been in the cover of the magazines with his father, Bruce Wayne. He’s the heir of one of the most successful companies in the world and the favorite target of many paparazzi because of his cold and reserved personality. His life has always been exposed to the world— or, apparently, just some of it— and she has always believed them to be complete opposites.

Their worlds were galaxies apart. He didn’t fit any of her expectations, and she was sure she didn’t fit his either. And even if sharing a secret was supposed to bring them closer, his secret identity has only served to distance them even further.

Could two people so different like them ever find common ground? She didn’t know, however; the deed was done. They were walking around, living their own lives while carrying each other’s secrets, and one day— if things worked out as they are supposed to— they were bound to meet and stay together for the rest of their lives.

They didn’t know how, where or when, but it was going to happen. The universe was going to make sure of it. Damian Wayne and Raven were bound to fall in love, just like that. And until their special day could come, she was decided to keep on living her life as she had originally planned to.

Oh, how foolish of her.

The longer it took for their paths to cross, the clearer it became for her that a secret such as Robin’s real identity came with certain responsibilities she had never really prepared for. Just by knowing it, Raven was already included in a very selected and powerful group of people, who had no idea about her mere existence, let alone her true intentions. If anyone did as much as suspect that she knew about his identity, chances were her head would be on the line and Batman would be the first to pay her a visit at night. She could get into trouble—real trouble— and even without wanting to, she would eventually end up dragging her loved ones with her.

Her family and friends didn’t deserve to suffer the consequences of her future love life. She didn’t, either, but that was never a matter up for discussion. Raven had to keep them safe at all costs, and that was why, once her high-school days were over, the girl didn’t think twice before leaving it all behind and moving to Gotham city on her own. It was a very hard decision, but it was the right one if she wanted to keep them safe. It had to be. Also, if she were to live in Gotham, she might get a chance to meet him and properly introduce herself as his soulmate.

Like that would be easy…

With her impeccable grades and remarkable school records, it was easy for her to get into Gotham College, where she began her English Major. It wasn’t her dream college— far from it— but it would have to do for the time being. She found herself an apartment, and for it was Gotham city, it was cheap enough for her to afford it on her own. It wasn’t located in a fine neighborhood or anywhere worthy of a Wayne, but according to the owner, no one had died in there, so perhaps, that was a win.

Once settled in, it didn’t take her long to get to know his city. Apart from its terrible fame, Raven eventually found some nice places spread around the city. There were good bakeries, small bookshops, and there was this one park that took her breath away. Whenever she had time, she would go there to think about life or just breathe a little.

Life in Gotham wasn’t as bad as she had originally expected it to be. After almost five years, her ears were almost used to the constant symphony of sirens, and not even the weirdos dressed as clowns robbing the bank at least once a month took her sleep away anymore. Her eyes shone a little brighter whenever she saw the dynamic duo on the cover of the newspapers, and she would be lying if she said that her heart didn’t grow worried whenever she saw a building on fire or something of the kind.

Perhaps that was their connection as soulmates making her think more about Damian. Or, perhaps, that was just a stupid reaction evoked by her own mind growing anxious. She couldn’t quite tell anymore.

After so many years without as much as an interaction, Raven was starting to grow weary. When she first thought about living in Gotham, she believed it would be just a matter of time until their paths crossed and she could tell him they were soulmates. She actually believed that meeting him would be easy, but eventually, the raven-haired girl realized that Damian Wayne was almost as unreachable as his father.

She has never seen him walking on the streets by himself. Whenever he’s out of his mansion, hordes of people surround him and setting an appointment at his father’s company is nearly impossible for a girl like her. According to his secretary, his agenda is already full until May 2034, and even then there will be no guarantee that Mr. Wayne will be able to meet her. He’s a very busy man, for sure.

Still, her name is on the list, just in case.

A defeated sigh escaped her lungs as she was making her way home from work one Friday night. It was winter, and Gotham is a particularly cold city. A black scarf was wrapped around her neck and her arms were hugging her body so she could get a little warmer. It had been one of those days, and she honestly just wanted to get home and drink a warm cup of tea.

Her heeled boots were clicking against the concrete sidewalk as she followed the masses of employees towards the subway station. All of those people, herself included, were on their way home after another long week of work, and as Gotham citizens, none of them wanted to take longer than necessary to reach their destination. Though not decreed by the mayor, the city was under constant curfew due to the elevated crime rates, and those who were smart enough didn’t dare put their luck to test.

The clock was about to strike 9:45pm and she was casually waiting for the train to arrive at the platform. Raven watched as at least 40 people surrounded her, most of them entertained by their cellphones, and she couldn’t help but close her amethyst eyes for a moment so she could take a deep breath. She was tired, cold, and her stomach was begging her to be fed. She really just wanted to get home and get this day over with.

Unfortunately, Two Face’s minions had other plans.

Once the train stopped and its automatic doors opened, at least 20 men, all armed, walked out, pointing their guns at everyone. People were startled, the tension in the atmosphere thick enough to be cut with a knife, and even if there was no hysteric reaction from anyone, it was as if she could hear the strangled screams wanting to call for help.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” One of them started, showing off the gun in his hands. “I know you’re all dying to get home, but you’re not going anywhere until we’re finished with you.”

In all of those years she has been living in Gotham, that was the first time she was this close to real danger. Her eyes widened immediately, her heart skipping a beat as adrenaline started to kick in. There was a man at least 2 meters away from her, and if his finger did as much as slip, her brief life could come to an abrupt end. She was looking around the sea of people, and all Raven could see were hands being lifted in the air, but no one really trying to alert the authorities or call for help.

She swallowed dry, then, her mind focusing on the small girl all alone who was trembling in fear. Someone had to help them. Someone had to call the cops so they could take care of those bandits.

And apparently, that’s someone would be her.

Once she made up her mind, her icy fingers slowly reached for her coat’s right pocket and tried to get her cellphone without being noticed. Her heart was beating faster in fear of being discovered, but she didn’t stop. With her thumb, she pressed the main button, and even without seeing the device, she slid her finger to across the screen, hoping to have gained access so she could make an emergency call. She motioned her fingers to dial 911, and when she thought everything was going according to plan, one of the bandits looked at her, their eyes connecting, and she knew she had been caught.

“What do you have back there, doll?”

A smirk took over his smug face and her blood ran cold at the sight. Her lips trembled when he lifted his gun to point at her, and at that moment, she knew she was going to die. Her life was about to end and all because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Great timing, Raven, she thought. Or, perhaps, it wasn’t really that bad.

When the man was about to pull the trigger, his gun was knocked over his hand by a flying projectile. He winced in pain, catching everyone by surprise, and before anyone could notice, more projectiles came flying towards the other men. Her eyes followed the sound of metal hitting the floor, and her heart skipped a beat when she recognized the batarangs lying motionless on the concrete. They were here, at last. Help had finally arrived.

Before a smoke screen suddenly exploded near them, Raven thought she had seen his pointy ears and dark cloak coming from the celling and punching the one who was probably the leader on the face. At that moment, the sea of people started to dissipate as they all ran for their lives, like a scared herd of buffalos. People bumped on her shoulders as they passed through her, yet, her feet still refused to move from the spot as her eyes captured a glimpse of his yellow cape jumping in front of her.

Damian, she thought, her heart skipping a beat.

Perhaps it was the thrill of finally seeing him so close, but she just couldn’t bring herself to find an escape route. Raven knew she should be running towards a safer place, but something inside her spoke louder than reason itself. She couldn’t convince her feet to move away no matter how much she tried to, and soon, she realized why. Coming from behind the train, a new bandit showed up, pulling a smaller gun from behind his back. He was quick to aim it at the Boy Wonder, but what followed made her feel as if the entire world was suddenly trapped in a slow-motion picture.

Her eyes saw the man aiming that gun towards him while he was still engaged in another fight. An unexplainable fear took over her senses, and before she could even think things through, her body was already moving on its on. The raven-haired girl was running towards his yellow figure as fast as she could, her arms extending as she got closer. A loud shot was heard by the time she shoved him away from the approaching bullet, and as her eyes closed in pure reflex, Raven felt an arm snake around her waist, right before her feet lost contact with the ground.

She was flying. Her eyes remained closed, but during that fraction of a second, she knew she was flying.

Did she take that shot?

Was she dead?

Who was going to feed her cat?

And what about Damian? Was he okay?

Raven didn’t know. Her head was filled with all of those unanswered questions by the time she had landed, but her eyes were still closed in pure fear. Her hands were covering her face, and she could feel tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

If she wasn’t dead yet, she was definitely going to pass out real soon. Her head was spinning, her knees were about to give in and she just couldn’t find anything around her to keep her consciousness from slipping away. She was about to collapse. She was going to—

“Hey, what the hell did you do that for? Are you insane?!”

A harsh voice invaded her ears, and suddenly, she felt two hands on her shoulders. Her eyes shot open in reflex, and much to her surprise, the first thing she saw was that green mask of his. Their faces were standing so close that she could see the expression lines deforming his tanned skin as he was probably glaring at her. A scowl decorated his thin lips, and only then she realized how tall he actually is as his body towered over hers.

It was him. It was Damian, right in front of her. At last, fate had brought them together, and apparently, he was mad at her.

“Why did you push me like that? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” He continued, her lips parting in awe. “Are you even listening to me!?”

“I-I…” She mumbled, her head still mixing all the words. “You were going to get shot. I thought— “

“I saw that guy back there. I was not going to get shot.” He released her shoulders, and she felt sparks running down her skin at the lack of contact. “Seriously, civilians these days. They think they can be heroes.”

“Hey, I was trying to help, okay!?” She answered, growing slightly irritated at his arrogance.

“Help? How? By getting killed? Thanks, I don’t need your help.”

“God, you’re such a jerk! Next time I’ll let you take that stupid shot!”

“I was not going to get shot!” He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “TT, whatever. I need to go back and help Batman. Get out of here and try not to get into any more trouble by saving strangers, okay?”

“I— What—?”

Her lips stumbled upon the words as she watched him turn around so he could return to the battlefield. All the anger that was taking over her disappeared and was replaced by a longing feeling she had never felt before. The cape that adorned his back swung as he walked away, her emotions growing anxious at the scene.

He was leaving. Damian was going back to his impenetrable world, and he didn’t even know her name. After almost 5 years, that was their first interaction, and however troubled it had been, it was still the only thing they had. Raven couldn’t let that chance slip away from her fingers, no. Not after everything she went through to meet him.

She bit her lower lip, then, but eventually, her eyes were filled with a confidence she didn’t know she possessed. She filled her lungs with fresh air and took a step towards him. “Robin, stop! I need to tell you something.”

“Not gonna happen.” He stated, not bothering to turn to face her. “I have a job to do and—”

“Damian, wait!”

His name rolled out of her tongue and she watched as his shoulder tensed. The world around them went mute, her chest tightening in response. His feet came to a stop, and slowly, he turned to face her once more. Raven could feel his eyes glaring at her with enough intensity to tear a hole in her skull, but she was decided not to back off. “What did you just say?”

“I-I… I know who you are.”

“You’re delusional.” He said, trying to deny her words. “You must have mistaken me for—“

“Damian, I know it’s you.” She spoke, confidently. “I know your secret. I’ve known it for almost 5 years now.”

His hands turned into fists, and in a blink of an eye, he walked back towards her. A mix of anger and bewilderment exhaled from him, and she could hear his heavy breaths moving his chest. His hands were once more on her shoulders, his grip tighter than last time in order to prevent her from escaping. “Who are you? Who told you about my identity?”

“You can call me Raven…” She started, her amethyst eyes on him. Though she knew he could end her life if he wanted to, she was not afraid. No of him. “And over five years ago, I’ve received your secret in a dream. I believe you also know a secret of mine.”

His grip on her loosened a bit, as if he was taken aback by her words. If anything, Damian is a very intelligent man, and at that moment, he certainly knew the meaning behind her words. He knew she was his soulmate. However, she didn’t know what he would do about that.

“Shit.” He mumbled, quickly taking his hands off her. She saw his eyes squinting as he observed her, his hands turning back into fists. “This shouldn’t be happening right now.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to follow you here or anything, but—“

“You have to go, Raven.”

“What?”

“Get out of here. Now!” He commanded, his voice not leaving any space for discussion.

“But Damian, I—“

“Don’t call me that!” He scolded her. “Get out of here and go home. I need to get back there and help Batman.”

“And what about us!? I can’t leave and wait for another miracle to bring us together. I know you have things to do, but we need to do something about this! Don’t push me away!”

“I’m not pushing you away, Raven! I—“

“Yes, you are! I’m not going anywhere! Not until—“

“Will you just shut up?!” Suddenly, she felt his hands pulling her closer by her coat, and in a rough move, he sealed her cold lips with his warm ones. Her heart was racing inside her chest, her mind spiraling as she tried to understand what on earth was going on.

Damian was kissing her. That or he just wanted her to stop talking, really. Still, their lips were touching and as something inside her lit up, it was as if all of that anxiety gave in. Her breath was caught up in her throat, and all the words she had planned on using to prove her point were now completely forgotten.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to protect you?!” He pulled away, his hands still clutching her coat. His cheeks were tinged in a light shade of red, as he continued to scold her. She could feel his grip loosening, and slowly, he bit his lower lip. “Just find somewhere safe, Raven… I’ll find you again, I promise.”

His voice came out as a tender whisper, knocking down whatever was left of her previous bravery. Her entire body was growing warmer, now, and even if she had been afraid of letting him go, Raven knew she should follow his words and seek shelter somewhere. He was going to find her once everything was over, he told her, and oddly enough, she knew she could trust him.

A weak nod was all she could give him at that moment, but it proved itself enough for him. He nodded back, and after holding onto her stare for a second longer, Robin turned away and ran back to where the fight was happening. She watched him as he disappeared in the distance, and though she didn’t want to see him go, her warm heart didn’t break.

He was coming back for her; she knew it. He would find her again.

And until then, Raven was going to wait for him.

Once she recovered from all the things that had happened, the raven-haired girl looked away and started to run towards the exit of the subway station. She didn’t look back nor did she doubt his words, instead; she ran away, looking for a place to hide.

———————

Waiting for him, she discovered, was a lot easier now that they had something palpable connecting them. The days went by faster. Soon, winter melted into spring, and for the first time in her life, the flowers seemed more colorful than before. The weather was warm, birds were chirping, and Gotham city seemed to welcome the sun into its dark streets.

Her world had changed after that day. It was only natural, she knew, now that she had finally met the person she was destined to be with for the rest of her life. It was weird and unsettling, at first, but she came to terms with it after she had time to sleep on it and demystify a thing or two about finally meeting her soulmate.

The first and most important thing: she was not in love with him. At least, not yet. Meeting her soulmate for the first time didn’t make her fall in love with him at first sight like some people like to say. It didn’t change her life as much as she had expected it to, and if she were to be honest, Raven was quite happy about it.

She wanted to understand why they were so compatible before giving in to fate. She wanted to understand him without anything clouding her thoughts, and she wanted him to do the same about her.

Above all, Raven wanted them to have a choice. And if they ended up choosing each other, well, then they would think about what that meant later.

For now, as she rested her elbows against the metal rail that offered her a clean view of the lake, she was just focusing on enjoying her Sunday off. There was a book inside her bag, and she was decided to read a couple of chapters before heading home and getting ready for another week of work.

Just another ordinary day, or so she thought, until he arrived.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw as the young man walked towards her, his hands hidden inside the pockets of his hood. His hair was darker than hers, skin tanner and eyes colored in an emerald green. He stood still, some good 11 inches separating them, and though his face was hidden, she knew it was him.

At last, he had found her.

“You know, you’re not the easiest person to track, Roth.” He started, his voice calm as the wind brushed his cheeks. He was looking at the lake in front of them, and unlike last time, he seemed to be at peace. “Certainly took me longer than I expected.”

“Well, I guess that’s a good thing about being a nobody, right? There are a lot of people like me out there.”

“Maybe.” He sighed, his head now turning to face her as she did the same. “Still, I’m a pretty good detective.”

“With a very good self-esteem, too.” She offered him a small smile, to which he simple smirked.

A moment of silence took over them, as both of the young adults allowed that pure moment to sink in. There was no rush or anxiety lacing their feelings at that moment, much to their contentment, for they could absorb every minor detail of what would be the beginning of the rest of their lives.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about my secret identity?” He asked, honestly, and her brows furrowed in awe.

In all of those years that she has held onto his secret, never once has Raven considered the idea of telling anyone about it. It was illogical. Irresponsible, even. Had she spoken to the world about who’s the man behind the green mask, his life would’ve been ruined in levels she could never imagine. It could get him killed. And if anything, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.

“It was never mine to tell. I could never reveal your secret, Damian.” She spoke, simply, and a smile threatened to tug at his lips.

“Fair enough.” He nodded, letting out a long sigh. “If it helps, I didn’t tell anyone about your secret, either. Though I doubt anyone would be interested to know there was a girl out there who’s afraid of popping balloons.”

A sincere chuckle escaped the depths of her core, and that alone brought a smile to his face. Of all the secrets she holds, that one childish thing was the one chosen to be revealed to him. The forces of the universe certainly weren’t kind to him, even if that was probably not a common fear out there. Still, there were definitely more people who were afraid of popping balloons than fighting crime as Batman’s iconic sidekick. His secret made him unique.

His secret has brought them together.

“I guess not even your detective skills could help you on that, right?”

“It would’ve taken me a lot of time if I were to use just that information, but I’m sure I would’ve found you.”

“Oh, and how can you be so sure?”

“I just know it. We were bound to meet, anyway, so there’s no point in debating how.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She agreed, not wanting to press on useless matters. They were together now, and that was all she cared about.

“Also, after that day, even in the middle of that crowd, I saw you first. I didn’t really understand why at first, but I guess it has something to do with this thing.”

“Probably. I know little myself, to be honest. Thought that when I found you, things would make a little more sense.”

“And how’s that going so far?”

“Honestly?” She asked, tilting her head to the right, her short hair brushing her cheeks. “I still have no freaking clue of what to do next.”

“That makes two of us, then.” He sighed, leaning forward and resting his arms over the metal rail. His hood was still covering his head, and even if she knew better, Damian looked like a normal guy at that moment. He didn’t look like the son of Bruce Wayne, let alone Batman’s partner.

At that moment, he was just a normal guy talking to a normal girl about normal things. And for a reason she couldn’t quite understand, that brought her peace. Perhaps they weren’t so different, after all.

Perhaps they could even make it work.

A tender smile took over her lips, and slowly, she took a step closer to him. Raven extended her hand towards him, and her eyes watched as he quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “Why don’t we start from the beginning, then? I know you’ve skipped a few steps when you kissed me the other night, but… Whatever. I’m Rachel, but you can call me Raven.”

His eyes watched her for a moment too long, and it was as if she could see the wheels turning inside his head. Eventually, though, a sly smile took over his lips, and he reached out for her hand. His hand was calloused, but his touch was warm; and together, they shook hands. “Damian. Nice to meet you, Raven.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Damian.”

There was really no telling what would happen, or even if anything would happen at all. Still, at that moment, both of them were ready to try it. They already knew each other’s secrets so, perhaps, they could try to learn another thing or two.

fin.

-----------

a/n: I had this idea while browsing Pinterest for some Soulmate AU ideas and I LOVED writing it! Honestly, this is my very first soulmate AU ever and I really enjoyed playing with this weird scenario. It’s by far the one theme I loved the most to write, and I hope you’ve enjoyed it! Please, tell me what you think!

#damirae #damirae fanfiction #damian x raven #damirae week 2021 #demonbirds #mydamiraefics

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gigiree · 3 years

Text

With enough strength to be gentle

AO3 First chapter. Previous chapter here. Sasuhina month day 20: thunderous as a storm, gentle as a dew drop

“A-are you ready?”

He barely hears her soft tones over the thundering rain rattling his new screen door so hard, it clatters against the wood frame with a staccato groan that’s a bit eerie.

The lighting in his living room is dim and flickering, dozens of candles placed haphazardly on any flat surface because no one ever thought to update electrical grid in the old Uchiha district. That can be credited to the village Utilities’ Department lack of desire to brave the rumored ghosts, the actually decrepit utilities, and the surly last Uchiha who haunts the grounds. They’re alone in that sentiment, but it’s an annoyance that tugs at long buried hurts Sasuke would never admit to.

So he finds himself looking into her earnest eyes, her round face made even softer by the wavering warmth, hesitation clinging firmly to the corner of her pretty mouth and nervousness settled on her scrunched nose.

(And perhaps if he’d known better, he would’ve known that the flush in her cheeks was the fault of a fluttering attraction, but he should be forgiven for missing it, considering the circumstances.)

He smiles, a gentle, crooked quirk of his mouth that’s easy to miss in the dark, but Hinata sees more than most. He knows this small thing to be enough for her to get the message.

He closes his heavy lids and tilts his head forward.

Her chilled fingers brush back his bangs ever so carefully, he might’ve imagined her touch for all the contact she makes. He bites back the anxiety that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. The absolute contradiction to every instinct that’s ever kept him alive in his time as a shinobi, baring his vulnerable parts to someone who could easily stop his heart with a touch.

(Though he’s already admitted as much that she does with just a look, anyway.)

The cold in her touch makes its way to his temples, soothing the lingering headache that stays despite the herbal concoctions he’s choked down.

“I’m going to start now.”

“Hn.” There’s a heavy silence on her end, her tension threading to her hands so obviously, he opens his eyes suddenly, only to realize her face is mere inches from his own. It takes everything in him not to want to grasp her worried, little face and pull her into his orbit. His lips on hers, her hair tickling the edges of his jaw-

“S-Sasuke-san.”

“Don’t apologize. I did this to myself remember. Now get it off me.” He closes his eyes again.

Hinata makes a small sound of embarrassment or resolve, he’s not quite sure.

He wants to make a joke at her expense, but the words are caught on his throat as a sudden lance of pain bores into the space behind his eyes, and it feels like he’s being unraveled.

----

Pain. Exquisitely thin and sharp. It laces through every part of him, every thought, as the dull headache he’d been having is seemingly taken apart, bit by bit until he can distinguish each sensation in it as a singular experience.

The roiling of his guts, chills wracking his strong frame, the tang of blood in his mouth, the muscles of his eyes straining in extremis, sight torn between his two doujutsu, the Rinnegan pushing the source of pain and the Sharingan flaring to see past all of it. He's in danger of losing it, but he remembers her to keep hold on why he'd done this. Prior to this, he would've thought the memories to tether himself to consciousness would've been those involving Naruto, Sakura, Itachi and his family.

Fighting for the end of the world. Fighting for a dream inherited, fighting, endless fighting but...That had all ended hadn't it? He'd been lost in a peace everyone else had seemed to fall naturally into. He'd thought he'd been alone in that. But she was just as lost, if not more so. And she'd crashed into him, pulled forward by her own powerful gravity that she never seem to quite accept. And he'd fallen right into her orbit, hadn't he?

What a blind, hopeless fool he'd been. But he's changed. No longer a lodestone sinking into the earth. She'd forced him to move. He doesn't know if he'll ever be done thanking her for that.

So he does this for her.

He remembers stolen moments between the meandering she's done, little crossings where they'd gotten to know one another. He remembers her shining eyes, glinting with mischief when stealing from him, narrowing with suspicion whenever he'd pop by just to see her surprise so deliciously obvious, scrunching with happiness when he'd sit across from her during a Yakiniku gathering.

Shared glances through a crowd.

A strand of long, dark hair curling on his couch throw pillow. A bracelet with moonlight hanging off a silver chain, echoing the paleness of her gaze. Fireworks. Thin wires barely keeping an emaciated form tied to this life.

Distance to zero and his lips on hers, the cloying smell of red bean on her breath.

Stolen moments and kept secrets, just the both of them spinning lost and lonely underneath an old umbrella. Silly, lost, stupidly good, stubborn, misguided, scared, brave, pretty, sweet, strong, gentle, ever growing...Hinata.

His fingers claw at his hair, at his skin, begging for reprieve and then-

A singular touch to his forehead clears it all, like the first drop of rain in a drought riddled desert. The relief ripples across from the dull pressure centered on his botched seal, numbing, washing away the hurt and the loose ends of unraveled thoughts.

For a moment, it feels like Itachi’s poking his forehead again and there’s thunder and rain outside sounding almost too loud and resonant in his sensitive ears.

But when he opens his eyes, confusion and anger and irritation all sweep through him so incredibly visceral, he can’t help but fall to instinct and react.

It’s all too easy to slap the Hyuuga’s pathetically tiny hand away from his face, push her soft body to the wooden floor and hold a kunai to her slim, pale neck, his heavy form over hers as his Sharingan flares red, sending harsh shadows lancing across her terrified face. “You. Hyuuga. What did you to me? Did Naruto put you up to this?”

The venom coils deep in his words, dangerous and ready to strike. But as far as snakes go, he’s a generous one. Giving chances isn’t something people like him do often. He wracks his brain, but his thoughts are sluggish, dreadful. The last thing he remembers is a tearful Sakura, a pathetic attempt on his life with a poison kunai, Kakashi’s smug remarks, and Naruto’s livid expression reflected in the grimy water below them.

He supposes they managed to catch him after all. But it makes no sense. He’s interrupted by the sound of sniffling.

If there’s one thing Sasuke Uchiha has never been able to deal with, it’s the crying of those weaker than him. They always irritated him. Too loud. To messy. It made him want to run and fight someone worthy the instant they started. She doesn’t make a sound really. Just quiet, trembling breaths.

Her dark brows knit together so tightly, he thinks they’ll never come apart. She was always too weak. A ghost trailing at the back of their class, watching Naruto with flushed cheeks and her cowardice bending her spine in half.

He’s never had pity for people like her. People who can’t help themselves.

Yet when her tears spill over her thick, dark lashes and roll down those ridiculously round cheeks, disappearing into the thick carpet of her hair trailing on the wooden floor, there’s an ache somewhere in him that frustrates him more than anything.

And it sharpens into something excruciating that he can’t quite place when she silently mouths-

“I’m sorry.”

#SasuHina #sasuhina month #an object in motion #sasuke #Hinata Hyuga

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carryonmywaywardcaptain · 3 years

Text

Imagine...finding out there’s fanfic written about you--and even Charlie ships you with Dean

CarryOnCap’s Masterlist

Warnings: Fluff? Crack? A dramatic fanfic within a fanfic that I got carried away with haha.

A/N: This is kind of ridiculous, but I had fun with it! Also, I’ve never actually seen GoT but it seemed like a reasonable reference from what I’ve heard about it.

“Hey, look who I found!” Sam’s voice echoed through the War Room.

Dean glanced at you from across the table in the library, sharing your surprised expression as you both pushed your chairs away and stood.

“‘Sup, bitches?” Charlie grinned, making her way up the steps toward you.

“Hey! We were expecting you guys to come in through the main door. We’ve been keeping an ear out.”

Charlie stepped into your outstretched arms and pulled you into a tight hug. “It was a spur of the moment decision, but I decided to stick around a day or two longer than planned! Sam said I could go ahead and park in the garage.”

She let go of you and turned to give Dean a hug too. He smiled softly with a look that was uniquely reserved for her, cradling the back of her head while she pressed her cheek against his.

“Good to see you, Charlie. You know you’re always welcome to stay as long as you want.”

An involuntary smile crept onto your face as you watched them. You couldn’t help the way your heart swelled at the low rumble in his voice when he said her name. There was an undeniable protectiveness in his tone when he spoke to her--the sister he’d never wanted, as he affectionately called her.

When you shifted your attention to her, you noticed she was watching you. Before you could decipher the knowing glint in her eye, she suddenly twisted out of his arms and glanced back and forth between you and Dean. She began swinging her arms awkwardly before opting to cross them over her chest.

“You okay?” Dean asked, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah! Of course...Totes chill...cooler than a pack of peppermints.” She bobbed her head and flashed a nervous smile, twisting her hair around her finger as she struggled to act nonchalant. “It’s just that I remembered something. A story I read a while back--completely random. Totally unrelated to anything--I mean, now I’m starting to ramble. Hah! So how’ve you guys been? Still saving the world from evil sons-of-bitches?”

“Uh, yeah…” Sam answered, scrunching his eyebrows together. “We stay busy.”

“So what’s on the agenda tonight?” you piped up, changing the subject.

You were hoping to avoid swapping monster stories for a night. Charlie typically assumed the role of introducing you to popular and noteworthy fandoms during her visits to the bunker and, even if the boys weren’t as vocal, the three of you appreciated her knowledge of all things geeky and nerdy.

“I was thinking Marvel. Y/N, you’re obviously well-versed in the MCU because of your obsession with Steve Rogers--and, you know, clearly you’ve got a thing for the strong, righteous, self-sacrificing hero type. Dean, you could stand to branch out from the Batman references and, Sam, you’ve got this whole Thor kind of vibe going on.”

While Sam and Dean began teasing each other and arguing over “Batman versus Thor,” you gaped at Charlie, wondering what she’d meant by her remark about you having a “type.” You couldn’t help feeling like she was trying to insinuate something, but you shrugged it off and decided maybe it was all in your head.

***

After getting Charlie settled into one of the extra bedrooms, the four of you settled into the Dean Cave and agreed to start with the first Captain America movie.

Last Christmas, you and Sam had teamed up to surprise Dean with a couch for the Dean Cave. He had originally only had two La-Z-boy recliners and you’d found him fast asleep in the stiff old chairs on more than one occasion. Dean had been over the moon about the extra seating and the three of you had rearranged the furniture so the recliners were angled toward the tv on either side of the couch.

“Dibs on this side of the couch!” Charlie said, diving toward the furthest end from the door.

Although it was subtle, you knew there was still something off about the way Charlie studied all of you. There was definitely something on her mind she was trying to keep hidden from all of you.

“You know, we should probably have some snacks,” you said slowly. “Charlie, you want to come help me grab some stuff from the kitchen?”

“But I’m already comfy in my spot.” She frowned, wiggling her hips to make a point of sinking deeper into the spot she’d claimed on the couch. “Why don’t you have Dean help you?”

When you narrowed your eyes suspiciously, Sam cleared his throat. “Dean, why don’t I help you grab some snacks while Y/N and Charlie...catch up, er, whatever…”

You heard the boys leave the room and waited until their footsteps faded down the hall before you started interrogating her.

“Alright, Charlie--what the hell is going on with you?”

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” she muttered, scrolling through her phone.

“Bull. We lie for a living and I know there’s something you’re not telling us. So spill.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Okay, so remember the Supernatural books by Carver Edlund?”

“Yeah…”

“The series obviously kind of had a cult following when it was in print, right? Well ever since the unpublished works got uploaded, the following has really taken off. Every once in a while a new one still pops up and the fans love them. And you’re in them now too!”

“I’m...what?”

“I mean it’s just insane and totally got sucked into it too. It’s brought on this whole new wave of fanfiction--”

“What’s fanfiction?” you cut in, struggling to keep up.

“It’s fiction made by the fans about the series. Sometimes they put themselves in the stories and write about working cases and fighting monsters with you guys--”

“Why would anyone want to pretend to do this crap with their lives?”

She stared at you for a moment and frowned. “Because you guys are heroes. I mean, yeah, there’s the whole depressing side of monsters and death and trauma and world-ending apocalypses--but you guys save people. You go on these exciting adventures of good versus evil and a lot of times you win. You save people. The fans really look up to all of you.”

Your gaze fell to the floor as you let her words sink in, but she didn’t give you long before she was rambling again.

“But that’s not even the best part! Everyone ships different OTPs--” she paused, noticing your puzzled expression “--uh, one true pairing… So everyone has a favorite couple they think are soulmates and belong together. There’s stories about Sam with Eileen or Jess, Dean with different people--you get the gist. Sometimes they even make up characters or do these ‘reader inserts’ and imagine themselves with the boys or you but, hands down, everyone’s favorite couple they want to end up together is you and Dean.”

“...what?”

Your eyes grew wide. It was hard enough to wrap your mind around the fact that strangers who didn’t know you were a real person were reading about your life, but learning they imagined you in different relationships? You’d never admit it out loud, but had it bad for Dean. And hearing you weren’t the only one that wanted the two of you together...

“I’ve gone deep into the fic and I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner!” Charlie shook you from your thoughts. “You and Dean are perfect for each other. For serious. I usually stick to the fluffy stuff because, you know, your entire life is kind of angsty and I don’t like to read about you guys being in pain or, like, dying...again. Although I definitely have to admit I kind of stumbled into some of the smutty stuff and, wow, that was something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask more questions, but she kept rolling.

“Right, you probably don’t know what that means either. Fluff is the cute stuff that gives us all feels, angst is kind of just what it sounds like, and smut is, well...the sexy stuff.”

“You mean people out there in the world write about me and Dean…”

“Going at it like an episode of Game of Thrones? Oh yeah,” she responded, unlocking her phone. “Here. Here’s an example.”

Swallowing audibly, you took a seat next to her on the couch as she extended her phone toward you. Gnawing your bottom lip, you began reading the words on the screen:

Y/N took a deep breath, holding it in briefly before she exhaled and began walking toward Dean’s room. Ever since they returned from the hunt, Dean had hidden himself away in his room--no doubt blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong.

When she arrived at his door, she raised her hand to knock. She hesitated, almost retreating at the thought of him turning her away, but she had to try. She had to get through to him somehow.

She rapped her knuckles on the raw umber barrier and opened the door of Room 11 before he could tell her to go away.

She spotted him leaning over the sink, staring at his reflection in the medicine cabinet on the wall. His jade eyes flickered to where she stood in the doorway, their reflection somewhat distorted by cracks that spiderwebbed from where he had struck the mirror.

Her heart seemed to drop into her stomach as she imagined him lashing out, knowing he punched the mirror because he hated the reflection staring back at him. Knowing he always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders when he didn’t need to.

Y/N carefully shut the door and locked it behind her--the click of the deadbolt deafening in the silence. Her eyes never left Dean, who refused to turn and face her. She inched toward him, closing the distance until she could reach out and touch him. Gently placing her hand on his shoulder, she guided him to turn away from the mirror. Still, he refused to meet her eyes.

“Dean…” she breathed, voice barely above a whisper as she cupped his face in her hands. “It’s not your fault.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, face contorting with grief and guilt. The ghosts of his past refused to let him go, but she was determined to make him believe that he was worthy, no matter the cost.

Curling a finger beneath his chin, she tilted his head up, waiting patiently for him to meet her gaze. When his dark green orbs finally met hers, she was surprised to see that they were full of longing and desire. They flickered to her lips, making her breath tremble under the intensity of his gaze. Time seemed to slow until it froze altogether.

Anticipation hung heavy in the air as they both struggled against their desire to maintain the friendship they’d always had and the desperate need to finally cross that line. To succumb to the magnetic pull that had always been evident between the two of them.

Dean swallowed thickly before suddenly rushing forward, crashing his lips to Y/N’s as he pulled her into a searing kiss. He wrapped his strong arms around her, trapping her to his chest, afraid it was all a dream and she would soon disappear. But she gladly melted into his embrace, feeling like she was finally returning home, to a place she’d spent her life searching for.

A moan slipped past her lips as he walked her backward, pressing her up against the wall. She gasped, feeling his--

“The snacks have arrived!”

You jumped in surprise, a small gasp of surprise escaping as the boys appeared with armloads of snacks. Confusion and worry painted Dean’s face as he surveyed your flustered expression. Between his scrutinizing gaze and the content you’d practically been caught reading, your cheeks grew warm.

“Did I miss something?” Dean asked.

“Nope,” you responded much too quickly.

Charlie’s phone had fallen into your lap and, when she began cackling, you whipped your head in her direction and flung the phone at her thigh. You grimaced and the two of you had your own silent conversation as the boys spread the food across the bar Dean had built on the far wall.

“I was just telling Y/N how pumped I am about seeing my favorite OTP tonight,” she giggled.

“Your...what?”

Dean’s arm brushed yours as he plopped down on the other side of you. The accidental contact sent a wave of chills over your skin, making you shudder. You could feel his eyes on you again, but you refused to look at him.

“Oh, I’m so going down with this ship,” Charlie whispered under her breath before continuing in a louder voice. “Nothing--nevermind! Don’t mind me, just thinking out loud...”

“It says here an OTP means...one true pairing?” Your eyes grew wide as you looked to where Sam was reading his phone from where he sat in one of the recliners. “So, uh, ‘in the fandom realm, OTP refers to the coupling of characters--usually from the sci-fi or fantasy genres--by fans who think they make a great romantic duo and envision their lives together and share their imaginings with other fans.’”*

Charlie doubled over, beside herself with laughter. With your lips pressed into a firm line, you glanced at the boys to gauge their reactions. You knew there was no way they could possibly know what you and Charlie had been talking about, but that didn’t stop you from worrying about what Dean might think if he ever found out about the feelings you harbored for him.

“So...you’re looking forward to Cap and his girl in the movie? I’m so freaking confused,” Dean grumbled.

“Yeah…” Sam agreed, making his way to the tv. “I’m just, uh...I’m gonna start the movie now.”

“Good idea.” Charlie peered at you out of the corner of her eye. “Plenty of time to read and talk about all those ships later.”

Although you glared at her, trying to hide your amusement, nothing could deter the smug smile etched upon her face. As Sam turned the lights off and you settled in for another relaxing night with your favorite people, one thing was certain:

You were definitely going to have to take another look at that fanfiction.

CarryOnCap Crew (Forevers):

@abswritesfandoms @amanda-teaches @cosicas-cuquis @crist1216 @droidyouseek @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @flawless-disaster @janeyboo @jenn0755 @ksgeekgirl @maresmiley @memyselfandmaddox @notyourtypicalrose @randomparanoid @rynabarnesrogers @sandlee44 @scarletsoldierrr @shann-the-artist-moon @sheerioasteroidpanda @shynara51 @someday-when-you-leave-me @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @thisismysecrethappyplace @torntaltos @waywardbaby @waywardrose13 @weebid @whimsicalrobots @wintersoldierbaby @wintersoldierissucharide @yesfanficsaremylife

Cap’s SPN Crew:

@adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278 @alexwinchester23 @chevyharvelle @deangirl7695 @dean-winchesters-bacon @fandomoniumflurry @pisces-cutie @supernaturalenchanted @superromijn @waywardnerd67 @x-waywardaf-x

#supernatural imagine #spn imagine #dean winchester imagine #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fluff #dean x read #dean x y/n

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whitherliliesbloom · 3 years

Text

your voice will save me

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #23 - soul ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,416 words ] ★ [ post-5.3 ]

a sequel to a fill i did from last year’s ffxivwrite. i had the idea for this fic for a whole year but never got to write it. aka, it took one year for me to finally give alphinaud closure.

soul- the spiritual part of a person that some people believe continues to exist in some form after their body has died

it’s a long time coming, but alphinaud thinks he should finally tell the warrior of light the words his soul has been yearning to say for thousands of years

Revenant’s Toll feels particularly cold with the nightly breeze, and it sends chills down Alphinaud’s spine as he casts his glance outwards to look upon Silvertear falls, watching as the sky, now free from miasma, is glimmering with a sea of swaying stars that casts distant reflections of light upon the lake where the wings of a great wyrm once stood vigil.

He shivers, grasping at his gloved hand to steady himself, counting his own breaths as he looks upon the tower of crystals with a pang of hurt that leaves his throat dry. The sight of the tower alone reminds him of skyscrapers and the sound of distant rain, and memories that were not his own flash, albeit briefly, through his head like a bolt that strikes at his very heart.

The boy barely manages to compose himself, steel himself with the resolve and cool that a distant, untarnished version of himself had once possessed. Even in the midst of falling stars, a rain of fire and rivers of blood that ran the streets, that man..... himself from an ancient time, Alphinaud acknowledges bitterly with bit lips, he would not allow his emotions to sway him so.

And yet when he hears a familiar voice call out to him from behind, call out to his very soul that has been aching since the beginning of time, he knew that the him of the present was incapable of being as cold and unfeeling as he had once been.

“Alphinaud?” his flower whispers a name into the night, his name. The name of his current form, one that he can barely hang on to as yet another brief flash of a blazing meteor shower tears through his focus. “You called for me?”

“Yes.” He holds his breath, turns around and gazes down at her with a muddied, dishonest smile upon his face. “I....I wanted to talk to you.” there’s hesitation as he speaks, pain laced in his tone, but Illya makes no remark on it as she moves to stand next to the man, crystal violet eyes cast skywards at the dead of the night. “I’m not bothering you am I?”

“You never bother me.” Illya responds swiftly, her fingers resting upon the stone railing and shivering a tad as she finds the surface cool to the touch.

He swallows the lump in his throat, eyes averting her own and body fidgety, restless as he attempts to find the words in him to even begin speaking - because heaven knows there are so many he wants to say to her.

Previous countless mental rehearsals are now forgotten, replaced with only the raw emotions of a flickering, barely visible light within him.

“I.... I just wanted... To call you out here to... Well... clarify some things... and... and to apologize for others...”

His voice is sheepish, timid, completely unlike the assured confidence of her beloved scholar who had been so eager and ready, eyes blazing with confidence during his fight against the specters of light, his magicks woven from his passion like bursts of fire and gusts of summer wind.

But her smile is still patient and kind as she watches him carelessly stumble upon his words, a hand raising up to tuck a long fluttering strand of hair behind her ear as it blew effortlessly in the lake breeze.

“I never did apologize... Well, there are a lot of things I have to apologize for but-” Alphinaud frowns, “I-I.. I could not well carry on without first trying to apologize to you for all of my transgressions.” Inhaling sharply, the elezen clenches his fist and casts his gaze down upon the stone under his feet. “I’m sorry for worrying you so much all the time, especially when my soul had been pulled to the first. I’m sorry for not being there for you when you struggled with yourself... I’m sorry for putting you through such heinous betrayal because of my incompetence as a commander of the Crystal Braves. I’m sorry for all the times I used you, doubted you, hurt you...”

His voice shakes with the sorrow worth many years of regret, of the guilt he’s pent up and swore to himself he’d make amends for. His heart is aching, the agony of his own past sins coming back to haunt a more mature, wiser, older form of himself now. But he knows it is nothing compared to what he has put her through.

“When we first arrived in Ishgard, I promised you that I would do better - be better for the sake of the others and you who I have wronged. I don’t know if I’ve gotten far enough yet to say I’ve fulfilled that promise... And for that too, I am truly sorry.”

lllya parts her lips to speak, but her voice is hushed, watching as what little shred of dignity has drained from Alphinaud’s navy blue eyes with a sea of cyan sadness washing through her own. And when she takes a step towards him, he holds his hand up and she swallows back her protests reluctantly, intent to listen to his heart until the end even if it killed her to do so.

“And... and also... I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

That statement applies to himself from six summers ago, but the distant glaze in his eyes as he attempts to recall memories of a long forgotten city tells the girl that he was referring to otherwise, and she casts him a confused tilt of her head before he finally speaks again.

“In a time long past... in a city of creation and innovation... That man, Apollo...” Alphinaud shakes his head. Saying another name that was not his own would be deflecting the blame, “the unsundered form of myself sought to reach distant heights that I believed not even the convocation could dream to match. And in my vain, egotistical pursuit for ideals that I wasn’t worthy of I...” He chokes back a sob, the thought of his sins against her too much for even himself to even recount. “I hurt you. I told you such blatant, awful lies. I let my jealousy and my own incompetence sweep me away. I-”

“Alphinaud.”

Her voice calls out his name. His name. The name of his current form - his present form. It is the only name Illya knows and will ever acknowledge.

And though her expression is stern, eyebrows furrowed and peach pink lips pressed into a tight line, she still says his name like melted caramel, unbearably sweet and warm in its tone.

“I can accept your apology for everything else. I forgive you. But you’re beginning to apologize for mistakes that aren’t your own.”

“But I am- I mean... it... is me.”

In a way, he acknowledges... Not fully, of course... but the revelations of what had been his past life is proof enough that he, even if a fourteenth fraction of what had once been the man named Apollo, he still must bear part of the responsibility.

He’s lucky enough as he is to have been granted a second chance, just as Apollo had begged and prayed to the heavens for. He cannot even fathom a world where he had not met Illya anymore.

His beloved smiles, hand raised up to press against her beating heart, as if to feel the essence of her twice rejoined soul. She searches for whispers of herself - of the perfection version of the woman she once was, feeling the bright amethyst constellation stone that bore the insignia of the blistering sun warm in her pocket. She hears no words, only a wave of emotions that cascade through her and almost sweeps her away - she has after all ever been the most sensitive with the voices of unseen beings.

But even with the two shards of a whole soul shone brightly within her, and she can almost envision the visage of a dusty, quiet library in her mind, there is not a trace of anger or hurt in her heart.

“I am Illya Skawi. And you are Alphinaud Leveilleur.” Her gentle tone belies the weak little tremble in her voice as her eyes swirl with an ocean of unfiltered emotions. “I am nowhere near as perfect as Chloris, I know I can never be.” Her hands clasp together tightly, held close to her chest as if to guard her heart. “I may inherit her will... but I will never be her.”

Where Chloris had bright, flawless sanguine pink eyes that morphed in hue to reflect her thoughts, Illya inherited a pair of more timid orbs of lavender twilight. Where Chloris had unmarred skin of a porcelain doll, Illya’s skin was covered with a map of the galaxy - the speckle of stars from bullet holes upon her thighs, the milky way that cut across her collar bone and the auroras taking the form of teeth marks all over her abdomen.

And where Chloris had an unparalleled talent for optimism, charisma and hope, what remained in Illya was only the painful, unreciprocated love she had for the world that would be the very bane of her mental stability for as long as she can remember.

Even with her soul reunited with Ardbert’s, she knows she is but a husk of what had once been the fourteenth member of the convocation - of azem... Emet-Selch at least wasn’t mistaken in spelling that fact out.

“And the woman that Apollo loved is not me - not this ugly, fragmented, weak little shard as I am.”

That’s absolute nonsense, Alphinaud wants to retort. Illya is anything but. It may not who Chloris had once been - but it is who the woman he loves is. Whole, beautiful and divine, her hair is woven from moonlight and her eyes are pressed from a bouquet blossomed flowers. Her voice a melody of a songbird, her skin a distant and unexplored, yet welcoming cosmos. She is a ray of hope, not just for him, but practically everyone else he knows... and he could think of no better personification of perfection than her.

The world may disagree, the ancients may cry in protest and the whole, unbroken version of him may think to question his judgement.

But Alphinaud knows, even if he is wrong about everything else and will continue to be as imperfect and sinfully tainted as he is, that he isn’t wrong about her.

“You’re not- You are not....ugly...” the words die at his throat, he’s lacking in the strength to debate as fervently as he is usually capable of doing. “Or weak for that matter. You’re...”

“I’m not Chloris. And you’re not Apollo, either. Perhaps we were once upon a time, but not now, not here.”

The breeze picks up and howls in his ears, carrying the chill of his doubts and guilt away into the night. And as the bearer of hopes and miracles flashes him a radiant smile, he feels his chest clenching with a warmth that he can barely contain.

Illya turns to look back over Silvertear falls, the light from the moon and the fields of crystals casting a halo over her hair as it fluttered like a veil in the wind. Her skin glows with color, warm against the backdrop of grey stone and dark blue sky.

“I did ponder over the circumstances of our meeting... If it was pure coincidence or a mechanism of fate bringing their souls... our souls together again.” Illya hums, fiddling with her fingers as she contemplates out loud. “And I wonder... if the other shards of Chloris and Apollo are so tightly wound together that they’d meet again in other worlds too...”

“They will.” He answers on impulse, as if his entire being already knew the answer. “I believe they will.”

It’s a naive and an impossibly idealistic wish... one with a hint of selfishness and ego too, perhaps... but those are the core of who he is- who his soul is. And if Apollo loved Chloris even half as much as he loved Illya, then he knows, is certain with all his heart that the thread that keeps their fourteen souls tied together for eternity will not be so easily severed.

There’s a quiet that looms over them, with only the sounds of the wind and the chirping of the crickets ringing in the air. Illya doesn’t turn to look back at him for a minute, lost in her own thought and drowning in a pool of her own emotions - thousands of years worth of them.

“That’s good. I’m glad...”

When the girl turns around, her violet eyes are wet with crystal clear tears, they catch the rays of moonlight and reflect off her face as they roll down her cheeks past upturned lips.

“Because Chloris loved Apollo, you know? She loved him very very much.”

Alphinaud hadn’t noticed when he’d started crying either, quiet sobs breaking out of him as he lets out a choked laugh, raising a gloved hand to feebly wipe away his tears.

“He did too. He loved her so much that it killed him.”

His heart is so full to the brim, spilling with unbearable adoration and devotion. When Illya spreads her arms out wordlessly, sniffling back her own trickling, glistening tears, he picks her up and wraps his arms tightly around her, feeling the beating of his heart match in tandem with her own.

In their warm, tender embrace, he hears the echoes of a distant past - yet another vision of a splitting star flashes in his mind. But he doesn’t flinch this time as he holds his entire world in his arms, afraid and determined to never let go.

“I love you. I love you.” Her declaration is all he hears, along with quiet whispers of his name. His real name.

Alphinaud. Alphinaud. Alphinaud. Alphinaud.

This love was hers to bear, and no one else’s - not Chloris, not Ardbert, not the twelve other flickering star blossoms that are out there, undoubtedly fighting with their entire being to reunite with their own other half. And no cry of ancient beings, no fracturing of worlds or falling of the moon or stars will stop her from loving him. Even until the sun sets, even until the end of times.

And though their souls may have been set adrift, he knew that his soul would always be destined to love hers in return.

“I love you too, Illya.”

#ffxiv #final fantasxy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #illya skawi #alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #we've come so far #fanfic #mine #THIS IS A RESULT OF A WHOLE YEAR OF THINKING ABOUT THIS IDEA AND THEN THIS PROMPT CAME OUT #I actually wanted to write this RIGHT AFTER i wrote that fill from last year but #i got lazy hue... as usual #hey this turned out pretty good though so #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH GOD THEY DESERVE THE WHOLE WORLD AND MORE

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jonahlovescoffee · 3 years

Text

hearts don’t break around here | J.M.

a/n: ed sheeran got me in my feels again so here’s a lil drabble lol <3

summary: over and over again, jonah will always pick you.

warnings: fluff and a tad bit of angst, just a lil bit tho.

word count: 768

“i found love hidden in the arms of a woman i know”

Jonah loved everything about you, especially the effect you had on him.

He loved how you managed to make him feel safe just by holding him close when the lights go low, never failing to shake his soul like a pothole everytime. In your arms, nothing else mattered—his troubles and worries couldn’t reach him at all, which was the only time he felt truly at peace. He also loved how you were the only one who could make lyrics flow out of his brain effortlessly just by looking at you.

And he especially loved the way you loved him for him and not because of his wealth or fame.

You were his lighthouse in the night that would safely guide him home whenever he got lost, shining light on what truly mattered in life, leading him back to happiness. Back to you. Over and over again.

You were the flint that sparked the lighter of love when you both first met and the fuel that kept the flame burning brightly ever since, making a naive summer love last through all the seasons that followed, blossoming into something much more beautiful.

He loved you and you could sense it through the way he’d leave flowers on your doorstep from time to time, the way he’d do anything you wanted just to see you smile and how he’d cancel all his plans just to be with you when you hit a rough patch.

But the thing is, you didn’t know exactly how much he did.

You had no idea that he loved you so much that he had gladly put his heart in your hands and let you decide on whatever you want to do with it. You were the clumsiest person he had ever known so letting you handle something as fragile as that isn’t the greatest choice but he never once worried about you accidentally breaking his heart because deep down, his instincts told him that you can take his heart on a one way trip then wander off without him and unlike most women he has met along the journey to stardom, you will still return to him at the end of the day with his heart in one piece.

You were perfect for him and he couldn’t imagine himself ever being with anyone else but you.

Jonah knew you heard them too—the rumours, the insults, all the evil words spewed by the netizens who think that they know enough about you to judge whether you are worthy enough to be his other half. You’d never admit it to him but the hurtful remarks did manage to get under your skin, leaving hidden scars that were unseen to the rest of the world except for him. He noticed how you frowned at your reflection in the mirror, how you cut down on your meals, and how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes anymore when you’re with him.

Not to forget how worry was always evident in your eyes when both of you were tangled in the sheets at night, lips pressed against each other’s, your arms wrapped tightly around him, his hands lost in your hair, fingers and thumbs running through it repeatedly until it looked freshly combed by the time you both pulled away.

“We are in love, aren’t we?” A question that slipped out of your mouth every night, simple and heartbreaking at the same time.

Though his answer always remained the same, it never failed to lighten your solemn expression. “Of course, love. You are and will always be the only one for me.”

It pained him to think that you thought so lowly of yourself to the extent that you needed his confirmation that he still wanted you to find a sense of relief. It seemed like the fear of losing him was not something you could conquer on your own.

So from now until he went, every night, he’d kiss your doubts and insecurities away until you got confident enough to not ask him that question anymore. He’d show you through his gentle touches that you were the sweetest, most valuable thing that he has ever known, and with every featherlight kiss that he planted on your skin, he’d let you know that you were the sole reason that he was no longer scared of getting old, or the thought of passing over, as long as you were by his side every step of the way.

He’d try his best to make you see yourself through his eyes.

And make sure that you’d always remember that hearts don’t break around here.

taglist: @chilling-seavey @neralondon @mia-marais @randomlimelightxxx @hopinglimelight @kvd963 @cutiebandlover202 @savspersonalproperty @slowdownatthelotusinn @angelzacharyy @freakshows199 @my-fangirling-outlet

#wdw #why dont we #corbyn besson #daniel seavey #jack avery #jonah marais #why don’t we #zach herron #wdw imagines #jonah marais imagines #jonah marais x reader #jonah marais fluff

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obeymeplz · 3 years

Text

one of those days ll mammon x gn reader

LISTEN guys... I’ve peeled through every single fanfic and one shot of my boy boy that I can find.

I’m done, finished, kaput. And I need content. So I decided to make my own.

2k words, ft. Belphie my salty homie

Warnings: mean(ish) mammon (because I’m a hoe for angst, highly implicative of smut...?, cussing...?

Enjoy ig ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ sorry if I suck LOL

It was one of those days, and it all began when you dropped your plate of pickled pancakes (it’s an acquired Devildom taste) all over your crisp, white shoes. Beel involuntarily frowned at the waste of food, while the other demon boys snickered at your inherent clumsiness, Lucifer merely rolling his eyes before excusing himself from the table. But someone was missing that morning.

From that moment on, you knew nothing would be going your way.

Your bad luck followed you to second period, where you received a colossal “F” on your scrying test, and then to lunch where Satan and Asmo had to pull you out of a fight with a succubus who had thought it her business to label you a “suck up whore”. This was a name you were used to; from the moment you arrived, every demon and unthinkable hoard in the Devildom believed you to be sleeping with every brother in the House of Lamentation, playing through all of them with zero consequences. Despite the utter falsity of these accusations, they hurt no less every time you had to hear them.

And to top today’s cake with a juicy red cherry, the one single person who could make all your worries melt away with just a smile had been nowhere in your sights all day. Mammon was indeed the sunshine you needed on this dreary afternoon, with his dumb tinted glasses and cocky remarks, yet endearing eyes and wondrous grin.

Staring out the window of an empty chem room, waiting for someone to be available to walk you home, you realized that it was an odd day - such a new world you’d been thrown into, yet so quickly you had familiarized yourself with your new “normal”; and now that normal wasn’t there. There were certain things you knew, day in and day out.

The sun will (sort of) rise.

The sun will (kind of) set.

You live in Hell.

Mammon will always be there.

These things you counted on to be true, because if they weren’t, you weren’t entirely certain how you’d keep your sanity intact.

“For a human who’s supposed to be completely inferior to our kind, you sure do seem to think a lot”.

Belphie.

“Gee, Belphie, you know, “you sure do” have a way with words. Thank you! I just feel so much better”, you scoffed a retort as you swung your legs over the ledge of the window to face the cow-haired boy, clearly having just woken from sleeping through 7th period. He only smirked at you.

“I heard you need a warm body to walk next to, and I figured I could use the company. Home?”

You smiled smally as he helped you to your feet. “Yeah, home sounds nice”.

He reciprocated the smile.

“So, what really has you down in the dumps?”

You shrugged as you tried to formulate a thought that might make sense to him.

“Well… I guess I-”, you had to cut off mid sentence, because something familiar began to tickle your ears — a laugh, one you’d been aching to hear all day.

“Belphie, is that… is that Mammon? Where has he been all day?”, you were asking the question, but your legs were already moving you out the door away from the answer. He replied, but you could only piece together bits as you got further away from him, following the voice of the snow-haired boy instead. Argument, Mammon left, crashed with friends, all night, definitely in trouble. That’s what you processed.

“Mammon-” you rounded the corner, but halted in your tracks, backing behind it when you came near face-to-face with a group of demons much taller and much stronger than you, energies darker than the ones you were used to being surrounded by.

He hadn’t heard you.

“Bro, that was a riot. You gotta swing with us more often my man”.

“Ya know Lucifer wouldn’t even think ‘bout lettin’ me ride with you guys on the day-to-day. ‘Sides, I got things to do”.

“You mean a human to babysit?”, your breath caught in your throat. You heard Mammon scoff.

“No! I do what I want. They’re cool.”

Your heart pounded into your throat (but that’s something you’d never let him know). You were just friends, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever be more. Sure, he was terrible at hiding how much he cared about you, and sure, he was ridiculously possessive over you, but he’s also the Avatar of Greed, so how much of that is him needing you versus his sin needing you? The way you saw it, neither of those things amounted to relationship-worthy love.

The conversation was droning on, and you’d almost forgotten you were listening.

“So, you fuckin that then or what?”

Your head snapped back into full awareness, the tone of your feelings completely changing every second, anxiously awaiting your favorite demon’s reply. Why were you so nervous? He wouldn’t lie about you, he wouldn’t slander your name — not with what people already thought of you because you lived in a giant house with 7 painfully-attractive, desire-filled, and experienced, rulers of Hell.

“Yeah, the rumors true?”

Mammon’s voice came next at a grumble.

He stuttered it.

You almost didn’t catch it.

You must not have.

“Y-yeah. No, I mean absolutely. I mean, how could a human even turn down The Great Mammon? They couldn’t, and they don’t.”

You must not have heard it — but you did, and you almost wished you hadn’t

Before your thoughts could catch up with your limbs, you found yourself rounding the corner yet again. “Yeah, how could they not, Mammon?”, your voice cracking at the end, despite all your efforts to come across smooth and level-headed.

“MC..”, Mammon’s mouth instantly hung open, his chill facade easily melting away. He looked almost identical to a lost puppy within moments.

“Oh you can bet, Mammon fucks me every single night — no feelings involved, because that’s just the kind of big man he is. He’s even fucking me RIGHT NOW. Right, Mon?”, you seethed his nickname through your teeth. Tears were starting to puddle at the lids of your eyes, threatening to expose just how much you really cared for him, and just how unspeakably broken you felt in that moment.

“M-MC. Pl- please don’t —“, he was already approaching you, pushing past the group of boys. You turned on your heel, catching the watching eyes of Belphie at the end of the hall. You ran for him until you were in reach to yank on his arm, pulling him behind you, as fast and as far away from that school, and Mammon, as possible.

“MC!”

Mammon will always be there.

Mammon would not always be there. This was a new truth you heartbrokenly added to your list.

———————————————————-

Your room was icily cold, numbingly so.

You always kept it like that when you were sad, hoping maybe some of the lack of feeling in your body would translate to your heart.

Hoping you wouldn’t feel so shattered.

You trusted him. And he broke it. He broke you.

These are obvious statements, but as you laid solemnly tucked under a heap of blankets, you couldn’t help but run them, and the scene from today, over and over again through your brain.

Maybe you were overreacting?

Mammon had always been the brother, despite his tsundere attitude, who protected you. He never lost his cool with you, and he never treated you poorly. Maybe he made a few callous remarks here and there, but they were gentle underneath, and just his own way of showing you a glimpse of the angel wings he’d lost a long time ago.

Mammon had become your home.

“MC?”

The voice was muffled through the door, but it was undoubtedly him. You weren’t sure if you were shocked, happy, angry, or assured that he had come, but either way, you wouldn’t dare leave your covers to open the locked door. Not yet.

“MC. Please. Open the door. I-I just wanna talk to ya…”

You didn’t budge.

“I will kick this down, ya know”. You were both quiet until you heard some shuffling outside. Your eyes went wide, ready for a foot to come flying through shards of your door. You scrambled to your feet, stumbling over to the rusted knob.

You cracked it open.

“Please don’t. I don’t want to sleep in Beel’s room another week because my room needs renovating for the millionth time.”

Mammon smiled shyly at you, apologetically more than anything.

“Can I.. ya know, come in?”

You pulled out of the way, making just enough room for the tall, lean demon to slip through the crack in your door.

The moment he stepped in, he was engulfed in darkness, nothing but dim threads of moonlight that seeped in through your curtains to highlight the sharp features of his face and body. He’d shed his jacket since earlier, leaving him in his fitted black tee and jeans.

So beautiful.

You mentally slapped yourself for even thinking about it.

You were mad at him.

“So. Please talk. I’m exhausted and wasn’t planning on even looking at you tonight.” You were curt. But you had to be, or else you wouldn’t be able to hold anything back, whether that be anger, or adoration.

He looked taken back — hurt — too. He glanced at your bed and the candy wrappers strewn about the floor. Mammon wasn’t too bright, but he knew enough to know when someone had been crying for well over an hour.

On a normal occasion, he would’ve thrown himself onto your sheets, rolling until he found a comfortable position to scroll his D.D.D. and poke at you for hours.

But tonight, he awkwardly crossed his arms and shuffled his feet, clearly unsure of what to say first — or at all, for that matter.

“I-“

You raised a tired eye, cueing him to spit whatever excuse he could possibly say out.

“I get a bad rep sometimes.”

What?

“For liking ya.. Hanging with ya.”

If this was an apology, it was the worst one you’d ever heard in your life.

“Oh? Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a burden to your bravado. Let me continue to take myself out of the picture.” You pointed at the door for him to leave, ready to break down the moment he walked through.

“No! That- that’s not what I meant.” He made eye contact for a mere moment, silently begging for you to see his sincerity.

“Is anything ever what you mean, Mammon?” The use of his full name in a mix with that tone clearly set him back, but he shook it off hurriedly.

“Yes! I mean, I don’t care. Usually. I’d-I’d just had a rough day with Luci. Rough life, more like, and I was tired of feelin’ like shit ‘bout myself. Nazriel’s question jus’ threw me off. I-I wanted to seem cool, so I said what I knew would make me, and-“

“And you’re a piece of shit for it”.

You weren’t wrong. And he knew that.

“... and I’m a piece of shit for it.”

There was a pause before he hesitantly continued.

“I wound up bein’ exactly what I was tryin’ not to be. Scummy.”

He raised his eyes to meet yours, blue hues morphing into gold flecks like waves crashing on the beach. Your breath hitched and caught in your throat, only now realizing that the whole time you’d been arguing, you’d both been slowly edging together. Now, you were dangerously close.

“You aren’t scummy, Mammon…”, you began to tenderly look at him.

“Yeah.. I am. But that’s just me, I guess. I can’t mind it.”

He took one step, leaving you toe to toe. Though one of the shorter of the boys, he still towered over you.

“I jus’ can’t be scummy to you.”

You tilted your head, heart and body language softening as he spoke.

“I shouldn’t be, and I don’ wanna be”.

His hands cautiously made their way to your shoulders, and you shuddered at the feeling that made its way through your bones.

“Mammon?”

“Yeah?”

“That apology shouldn’t have worked.”

He chuckled, “you’re right.”

You smiled, a true smile. The first one all day. And what came next, you knew probably shouldn’t. But you also didn’t really care.

“Mammon?”

He hummed in response, and you stood as high as you could on your tip-toes to kiss his cheek. His face deeply rouged the moment your lips met his hot skin.

His eyes were wide as you lowered yourself down, leaving a hand lingering on his arm.

In that moment, his aura shifted, and everything was suspensefully still. Within seconds, his arms wrapped you in a crushing hug, his breath heavy and warm behind your ear.

You sunk your weight into his, relishing the relief from the chill of your room, as you snaked your arms behind his back.

You weren’t entirely sure how long you stood like that, but you knew it must’ve been a while, because his grip was starting to affect your breathing.

“Mon- air”,

He lightened up and pulled back from you.

“S-sorry!”

Your lips turned up at the sight of his cute embarrassment. He scowled at you, knowing what you were thinking, but slowly started to laugh.

He leaned his forehead against yours, the sudden proximity causing you to let out a slight squeak.

“Ya drive me nuts, ya know?”

You searched his eyes, trying to make sure he was saying what you really thought he was.

This was a bad idea. For so many reasons.

But truthfully, neither of you gave two shits.

So he ghosted his lips over yours, his left fang biting his bottom, waiting for the sign to move — the sign that you wanted him, the sign that he would be enough.

The second you tilted your nose to the side of his, he crashed his mouth into yours.

From all the “first kisses” with your “first man” that you’d imagined, this was like none of them.

It was so

so much better.

It was fast, it was hard, but it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t brutal. It wasn’t empty. It was a cataclysm of feelings — pent up tension, pent up love.

As he dragged his mouth over yours, he hooked his hands under your legs, lifting you to wrap around him in one, swift movement. Then, he was on the move, backing himself toward your bed until the back of his knees met the mattress, and he collapsed, pulling your legs to straddle his lap. You hadn’t disconnected from his lips the entire time, still fervently needing more of him. You knew he felt the same. The demon of greed would most certainly never have enough of you. He tasted sweet and smelled strongly of an expensive cologne you knew he probably couldn’t actually afford. One of his hands stayed splayed on the top of your thigh, while the other worked to bring you even closer to him (if that was possible), pressing underneath your shirt to the skin on your back, two fingers edging their way into the beltline of your shorts.

He was careful not to take himself too far, to not lose control, and you could tell, so you worked your tongue past his lips. He sucked in a breath as the complete access to your mouth made room for him to deepen his greed for you. Slipping his tongue to meet yours, he nipped at your bottom lip, working his entire mouth in a blissful harmony.

He pulled back, heaving air, seeping desire from every muscle, just enough to speak to you,

“MC… I-I can’t… I can’t handle this... well... for much longer. I don’ know what I’m gonna do to ya…”, he began to pepper wet kisses down your neck, unable to keep himself off you long enough to even hear your reply.

You weren’t sure what else you were expecting, or if you were expecting anything else at all.

You were making out with a demon, after all.

You moved a hand to rake your nails through his frosty hair, and he leaned into the palm of your touch.

“It’s okay. I want you. All of you...”, it was only a whisper, but you were afraid if you spoke too loud, you’d snap the moment in half.

He did nothing but growl before reattaching his lips to yours, bringing his slender fingers to tug up at the hem of your shirt.

“I’m gonna do my best not to hurt ya…” he mumbled on your lips. You simply nodded, running your hands against his abs. He shivered at the contact, before helping you remove his own shirt.

Somewhere in the midst of him sliding on top of you, and the complete sight of the demon boy you had always longed for filling your soul, you heard the faintest of three words. You almost tricked yourself into believing they never entered the air, that they’d never left his lips.

But they were impossible to ignore.

“I love you”.

The sun will (sort of) rise.

The sun will (kind of) set.

You live in Hell, with 7 boys you dearly love,

but one holds you in the palm of his hand.

Mammon will always be there.

That night, he proved that truth to you over, and over again.

fin.

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