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mostlydeadallday · 9 months

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Lost Kin | Chapter XXXV | A Proper Introduction

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: dissociation, descriptions of injuries, referenced suicide attempt AO3: Lost Kin | Chapter XXXV | A Proper Introduction First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Chronological Notes: Quirrel gets a closer look. hi I'm so sorry it's been six weeks I went on vacation and time lost all meaning

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“Oh dear,” Quirrel said, when Hornet opened the door. “I’ve interrupted something, haven’t I.”

Hornet, for her part, looked very much like she’d like to take a bite out of him. She was glaring, spikes prickling at her collar, and her needle glinted in her free hand—the one not clutching the doorknob hard enough to leave scratches in the metal.

He might have found it in himself to be offended, if he hadn’t sat across the table from her last night and watched her guard fall. If he hadn’t known how much it took to strip that wariness away.

But really, he could have done without the needle.

As if reading that thought in his mind, she lowered the weapon, the tip coming to rest on the stones with a tired clank. She let go of the doorknob all at once and turned, wordlessly, to step back into the house.

She hadn’t shut the door in his face this time. Small victories.

He followed her in, closing the door behind him and throwing the bolt, then shaking the rain from his shell with a brief shudder. It was not noticeably warmer in the house, but the lack of constant cold water streaming down his plates made a pleasant contrast, nonetheless.

Hornet would not look him directly in the eye, and neither did she answer his question, but she did extend one hand to take the catch slung over his shoulder—crawlids, this time, and a vengefly or two, plus some reddish, starchy roots he’d discovered in an abandoned greenhouse, for his own consumption. He hadn’t ranged far, keeping to the nearby neighborhoods in order to return in a timely manner, but there was still plenty to scavenge.

“I found paper,” he said, hooking the strap of his satchel over his head. “And a few other things. Any progress?”

“Maybe,” she said, still not looking at him. Claws clenched into a fist around her needle hilt, mandibles clamped tight beneath her mask.

Something had happened. She had not been nearly so angry earlier. He eased his bandana from his head and set his nail against the wall, gaze never leaving her, though she didn’t relent until he prompted, “Maybe?” and then her shoulders dropped.

“Some,” she admitted, and the steel had gone out of her voice. “They did well with the signs until I began asking questions. They cannot read or write. They said they are still warmer than they ought to be, and that they don’t eat the same things a mortal might, nor do they need food to survive. They did hesitate when I asked whether they might consume something that helps them to heal. But I got no more from them than that.”

Quirrel paused in the act of wringing out his bandana. “I did interrupt, didn’t I?”

“Your timing was… as good as it always seems to be.”

“That does not answer—”

“They panicked.” She broke off a short, sharp-edged sigh. “They always do. I was… attempting to calm them. Doing what you suggested last night. It seemed to be working.” A shrug. “Until you knocked.”

“I’m sorry.”

Another shrug, and she finally met his eye. The anger was still there, but it was no longer aimed at him; a blade lowered, but still in hand. He wondered if she quite knew what to do without it.

“If it wasn’t you, it would have been something else.” She jerked her head at him to follow her. “Besides, as I said before. You apologize too much.”

He laughed a little, under his breath, as she turned her back. “Perhaps I do.”

She didn’t respond, but her spines had smoothed back down, her fists no longer clenched, and he counted that another small victory.

He ought to start a list.

His antennae pricked up as he followed Hornet into the next room, and a tingling awareness rushed over him as the vessel’s mask turned ever so slightly. They did not otherwise move, they had no pheromones to warn him of their moods or inclinations, and yet his instincts did not want him to relax, not in the presence of something so huge and so alien. Their size alone spoke to a terrible strength, not to mention their ability to outlast the ravages of the plague, and yet they did nothing with it, as immobile as if they still wore the chains Hornet said had once bound them.

Fear was useful, as far as it went, but he sensed it would do only harm here, so he took hold of it, firmly, and pushed it away.

Hornet dropped his catch into a three-legged chair in the corner and went to her sibling’s side. Quirrel trailed her a little more slowly, lowering his satchel and settling down just forward of the hearth. The vessel’s stare did not leave him, and so he did not move any closer, not wishing to push into their space any more than necessary.

It felt cruel to compare their behavior to that of a beast, if they were indeed as intelligent as their sister implied, but the only experience he could bring to mind was approaching a wounded creature, something cowed and watchful, suffering silently in hopes that the world would pass it by.

Hornet, after considering for a moment, knelt on the mattress by her sibling’s head, laying a cautious hand on one ivory horn. Those dark eyes did not shift, but a certain tension went out of them, the murky writhe behind their mask slowing subtly.

She looked at him, and he forgot to look back for a moment, spellbound, until she cleared her throat, and he remembered what he was meant to do.

“Ah.” He set aside his things and clasped his hands in his lap, meeting the vessel’s unwavering gaze once more. “I regret that we did not have time for a proper introduction last night. My name is Quirrel. It is good to meet you, my friend.”

Their mask shifted, again, so minutely that he might have missed it, except that it turned their face slightly upward, toward Hornet. Confusion? Disbelief? Perhaps they did not think this introduction was truly directed at them.

Quirrel tried again. “Your sister has asked me here to assist her in caring for you. I was also a resident of Old Hallownest, having only recently… returned.”

Hornet clicked her fangs—a sound he was coming to associate with irritation or disdain. She bent down toward her sibling, tapping their horn once to draw their attention. “Quirrel was a scholar at the Archives. He has knowledge of vessels—much more than I do.”

They tensed.

Quirrel cut his protest short—it still irked him that she persisted in calling him a scholar, when he had been nothing of the sort, and she had been so particular as to how he addressed her—as Hollow visibly stiffened. Their silk-wrapped claws twitched, and their next breath sounded as if it had been dragged in over broken glass.

Curious that this would be what provoked a reaction.

Hornet, meanwhile, had frozen where she sat, shoulders curled, fangs rubbing together in a vexed expression that would have made his shell prickle had it been directed at him. She exhaled, slowly, something that was almost a frustrated sigh, and stroked their horn, murmuring something he could not hear—something that her sibling did not seem to hear, either.

Hollow did not move. Except to begin shaking, almost invisibly, like a string suddenly pulled taut.

This might, in fact, be a very good time to protest.

“You do flatter me,” he said, with his voice as level as he could make it, “but as I’ve said, I am no scholar.”

He held his ground when Hornet rounded on him, only lifting one hand to ask, silently, for leave to continue.

She granted it, though not without a suspicious scowl. “Why don’t you tell us what you are, then?”

This felt like a trap, but he had no choice other than to spring it. Especially with the vessel’s breath still hissing through a throat that sounded tighter every moment, with the darkness spiraling deeper and deeper behind their eyes like a whirlpool.

Take care, he thought, and step lightly, things he had often told himself on his travels, advice that had served him well, though he had no memory of who had given it.

“I would have loved to be a scholar,” he began, truthfully. Still looking the wounded knight in the eye, though every second added to his mounting sense of unease. “I wanted it, more than anything. I dedicated my time, my mind, my very life to the venture.”

He shrugged, looked away, allowed the silence to stretch while his shell stopped crawling. He had seen his own end in his travels a dozen times or more; seeing it in a vessel’s eyes was no different.

“I thought, perhaps, that I would like to be a healer. Matters of biology and medicine were fascinating to me. Or that the kingdom’s history was my calling, or the study of its myths. I was even a passable writer, but novels eluded me, and my essays and treatises went unfinished.

“The story is long, but to make short work of it, I found it impossible to choose a field of study. I was an apprentice longer than any before me—or since. I was on the verge of being sent home when the Teacher herself took note of me.”

Hornet, still stroking her sibling’s horn in a halfway absent fashion, tilted her head. Silent, tense, but she at least seemed to recognize that his story was not making things worse, so she did not stop him.

“The Madam said she saw something of herself in me.” He laughed, still half-disbelieving as he said it. “I cannot fathom what that might have been, but she refused to send me away. She gave me a home there, and a purpose, and the freedom to learn what I wished.”

“You said you were her assistant.”

“I was.” He paused, listening. The vessel had not calmed, exactly, but they were not panicking further, their breathing having settled into a quick but steady rhythm. Otherwise, they had not moved, and did not seem willing to; their limbs were locked in place, their swirling gaze fixed on him whether he looked at them or away.

Interesting. Hornet’s sibling might share her opinion of scholars—or hold an even less charitable one, if possible. He could not be sure he was right, as his denial did not seem to have dispelled their fear of him. Wherever that fear may have begun, he could only do his best to disprove it.

Leaning back, he wrapped his hands around one knee and did his best to appear relaxed. “I worked alongside her on many of her endeavors. Including her final and most noteworthy: the perpetuation of Hallownest.”

The knight did not react to this. The knight did not react to anything, including when Hornet bent down once more and looked into their face, then ran her thumb over the crack above their eye, delicate, feather-light. “I’ve asked Quirrel to assist me while I finish bathing you today. He’ll examine your wounds and collect information that may help us determine how to proceed.”

No change. Only the same rough drag of breath, in and out, and the same glassy roil of void behind their pale, motionless mask.

Quirrel was beginning to see why Hornet had felt the need to ask for help. As well as why she wished for him to see and interpret her sibling’s elusive moods for himself.

Hornet, evidently having waited long enough, pressed her other hand to Hollow’s face and held both still for a moment. “Remember what I told you. You are allowed to pull away if you cannot tolerate being touched, for any reason. And I swear this: Quirrel will not harm you. Nor will he do anything I do not explicitly allow.” This was said with a piercing glance his way, as if he were at all times ready and willing to defy her wishes.

He bowed his head, nonetheless. No good could come of protesting. And both siblings seemed to have a short supply of trust—a supply he was determined not to waste.

As he had come to expect, silence was the only answer.

With a murmured “I’ll start the water warming, shall I?” Quirrel stood, not missing the brief, startled snag in Hollow’s breath, but allowing it to pass as though he had. “Here.” He grabbed his satchel and leaned to place it beside Hornet’s knee without stepping closer. “I left my personal effects in my room, to clear space—this is everything I managed to find this morning.”

Hornet peered up at him from below the rims of her mask sockets. A steady, measuring look, less intimidating than her sibling’s black stare, but not for lack of effort.

She said nothing, already reaching for the satchel as he turned away, and he left her to it as he set about lighting a fire.

“Well, not everything,” he amended after a pause, as he stacked the sticks of shellwood in the hearth. “I did leave behind most of it. That’s everything useful I could find this morning.” Another pause. “Almost.”

He did not turn around as she sorted through his spoils, though he was hard-pressed to interpret some of the sounds of her efforts. What had he brought back, after all? The scrub brushes, the extra soap, the pencils, the note paper, and—ah—

“What is this?”

A glance over his shoulder confirmed that she was, indeed, holding a jar of shriveled leaves aloft between two claws, as if it had personally offended her.

“Tea!” When his enthusiasm went unrequited, he cleared his throat and returned his attention to the fire. “I—er. I know you said you never grew to like it, but I thought to offer you the opportunity.”

Hornet didn’t answer. When he turned back around, she had lowered the jar into her lap and was staring at it, uncertainly. Quirrel thought he had never seen someone look so unsettled at the prospect of tea before.

“I’ll happily drink it, if you don’t,” he offered, with an attempt to return to his previous unconcern. “That is, if it’s any good in the first place.”

She set it down carefully, so carefully that he barely heard the tink of the glass upon the stones. And after a long, long minute, she said only, “I shall have to send you for more shellwood, then. I haven’t much to spare for brewing.”

Relief washed over him, a relief he didn’t quite understand. But he only smiled, struck the flint, and nursed the little flame until it caught.

By the time he returned with the kettle and pulled out enough towels for the two of them, she had spread out the contents of his satchel on the floor and selected one brush for herself, working at a dry patch of void on Hollow’s arm, sweeping off little black flakes that—for some reason—melted away as soon as they hit the floor.

Ah, that had been one of Monomon’s pet interests. Not strictly essential once the Dreamer plan was in place, but tangential, something to occupy herself with as her other plans came to a close, in the long months and somehow even longer weeks and days until her Sealing. He had walked into her rooms more than once to find her staring into a little vial of perfect darkness, that tiny amount comprising all she’d been able to acquire, as if it might hold all the secrets of the universe.

He shook himself. Lost in useless nostalgia, again. Lost in something that would drag him backwards into the dark, until he could no longer see where he’d been standing.

His head felt too light. His belt was empty.

Monomon was gone.

And the water was steaming.

His own face stared back at him from the bottom of the empty basin in his hands. Behind him, he heard the soft rustling strokes of Hornet’s brush, and the vessel’s breathing finally slowing.

Quirrel took a deep breath and steadied himself with a hand against the mantle. He cast about for what he had been doing and came up with a dented ladle, scavenged from the kitchen, apparently, and already washed.

By the time he finished dividing the water into two basins and refilled the kettle, he felt like himself again, or like the version of himself that he had come to know. Cracked and fragmented and missing pieces, with just enough dignity or desperation left to pretend that he was whole.

Not so different, the three of them. Not that he would ever presume to place his own hardship next to theirs, or claim sympathy equal to what they deserved. Only that he knew, in a way, what it was like to come to a place where you were looking down on all that you once thought you knew. To come to the realization that you could only see your past self clearly because you had left it behind, like a shell shed somewhere along the way.

He stood and approached the bed, supplies in hand. Hornet looked up and set her brush down, clearing away the pile of things she’d emptied from his satchel to make space for the basins of warm water and the stack of towels. Somewhere in the shuffle, Quirrel found himself nudged toward the vessel’s wounded side, with a cloth over his shoulder and a lump of soap in his hands.

Hesitating, he met Hornet’s eye over the bed, only for her to silently pass him a basin and aim a meaningful glance at Hollow’s side. Not the shrunken, stripped-bare cavity of their shoulder, but farther down, where the plating was intact, though smudged and cloudy with half-cleared void and yellow grime.

Sparing a glance toward Hollow’s face—which had not shifted to follow him as he stepped out of their sight, though the scales along their neck were clamped tight with tension—he laid a hand lightly on their shell. Their plates flexed the barest amount, a sub-surface flinch that he would not have noticed had he not been touching them. It was an effort not to flinch back himself, at the clear indication that they did not enjoy the contact, but unless they explicitly pulled away, it would be best to let them adjust, to come to the conclusion that this, unlike so many other things, would not hurt.

Hornet, pretending not to watch as she scrubbed at a stain on their chest, gave him a slight nod. She had shifted to lean over their arm as she worked, putting herself between him and her sibling’s talons, and he saw the wisdom of it at once; here, they had no arm to strike out with, if he was thoughtless enough to upset them.

Oh, he was a Fool fit for the Colosseum to be standing here. His heart was beating fast, his hand nearly quivering where it rested on the vessel’s massive shell. He could sensethe hitch in each breath as their lungs expanded, the shallow cracks and chips in their carapace catching on his fingertips, all the little subtleties of a living creature coming sharply into focus, and he felt… alive.

And curious. Undeniably curious. Their shell was not cold, not as their smaller sibling’s had been, only barely cool enough to register as different from his own. Their armor was smooth and faintly glossy, though not metallic in the way of scarabs. He could not help but remember that they were a masterful creation, perhaps the Pale King’s finest, the crowning achievement of decades of work from the best minds the kingdom had to offer—

—and the result had somehow surpassed them all, every plan and every theory, clinging to life when that spark should have been snuffed out a thousand times over.

He pulled back, gathered himself. Recalled what he was meant to be doing, rather than standing there, awestruck and useful to no one.

They flinched again when he pressed the wet cloth against their shell, but less so this time, enough that he felt—not comfortable, but confident that he was not hurting them. Unpleasant this might be, but he had suggested the night before that the best way forward was to work together, with Hornet acting as both a distraction and a demonstration that he was to be trusted, and she had agreed.

Slowly, increasing the pressure by degrees, he started to work away at the stains, senses alert for any change.

There was none. The Hollow Knight lay perfectly still, staring forward, with not a single twitch of their hand or blink of their eyes betraying discomfort or unease. Even that subtle flinch had died away, though the tension did not, noticeable only when he touched the soft skin below the edges of their plating to clean out the void that had dried there. He worked as carefully as he knew how, touch as light as he could make it, ever-conscious of that prickling awareness that they did not want him there.

Hornet was watching, too, and still pretending not to. Watching how he treated her sibling, watching him watch them. He had never expected to feel quite so much like a specimen under a microscope, especially when he was allegedly here to study someone else.

It might be amusing, except that the circumstances were anything but.

There was a brief pause while Hornet coaxed the knight farther onto their back, affording him a better view of their shoulder and the wounds in their chest while he worked alongside her. Their breathing grew shallower, rougher, each one tinged with a shrill hiss—from their lungs, not their throat. A bad sign, that even such a small movement winded them.

Hornet had described this to him the night before, when he pressed her to give a list of their symptoms. Shortness of breath and severe dizziness, she’d said, although the latter could be a loss of balance related to their missing arm, which he would have to observe them moving to determine. He’d witnessed their exhaustion himself, as they struggled to stay awake with him in the room. And the surprising lack of a natural chill—especially compared to their smaller sibling—added to his suspicion that, despite the soul healing and several days’ worth of rest, they were still suffering the effects of severe blood loss… or whatever passed for blood, in a vessel.

That conclusion, at least, was no surprise. It would be a miracle if they weren’t, given the extent of their wounds.

The variation in their injuries astounded him. That shoulder was the worst of it, stripped clean of shell and warped nearly beyond recognition by the pressure and heat. Between the loose, shriveled sacs of emptied cysts, the structure of their body was clearly visible, knobs of joints and ropes of withered muscle shifting as they breathed.

Attempts to drain the infection from its hosts had been few, he recalled. He had not yet been born when the plague began, but when it reached its height just before the Sealing, the method of dealing with those diseased had been as simple as it was brutal: as soon as the symptoms were clearly identified, the unfortunate individual was killed and their body burned immediately. Early experimentation had made clear that seeking to bleed the god-light from a victim’s veins only lengthened the bug’s suffering and endangered their caretakers—whether by the painful burns the fluid could cause or by the infected bug’s maddened attempts at escape.

And yet he had to admit that Hornet’s methods, though unconventional and incomplete, appeared to have achieved some measure of success. A few of the smaller cysts near the lower portion of exposed skin had managed to seal shut and refill, but they were darker than the rest, their membranes slack and thin, a marked difference from the remainder that she had not yet addressed.

At the join between chest and shoulder, where the plating was rough, twisted, but still present, the untouched infection began, a crowded mass of caustic yellow blisters, still shedding heat when his hands ventured near them. They ran between the wide pectoral plates, interspersed with multiple darkened cavities where a sharp weapon had pierced them through, a fractured silhouette of a diamond-shaped blade with a cross-section as wide as his palm.

Frowning, he looked closer. The angle of these punctures was strange. Nearly all of them entered low and from the right, slanting upward, and when he pictured the size of the nail that had dealt these blows—

“Quirrel?”

He looked up, bringing Hornet back into focus. “Yes.”

She stared him down. “I asked for the towels.”

“Ah.” He reached behind him, gathering up the dirty cloths he’d accumulated. “Right. Here.”

Hornet held his stare a little longer than necessary, perhaps a warning, or an attempt to communicate something. He could not tell. Not when his mind was hollowed out of everything but the sudden conviction that these wounds had come from the vessel’s own hand.

How were they still breathing? With these jagged holes in their chest, these scars that pierced through their frame and made a ruin of their shell? They were undoubtedly something more than some wondrous machine—any construct of metal and soul, no matter how hardy, would have wound down and ceased to function long before now. If he had still been in doubt that some invisible, ironclad will held them together, he would have been forced to reconsider.

And what machine would seek to end its own existence? What mere machine would turn upon itself and say No more?

Hornet stepped away to retrieve a new bundle of rags, leaving him looking down at the wounded knight on their pallet, wondering how he was going to explain to their sister that the greatest threat to her sibling’s life might not be within her ability to heal.

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#lost kin fic #lost kin chapter #hollow knight #hollow knight fanfic #mywriting #hk the hollow knight #hk hornet #hk quirrel #hk

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silly-inky · 1 year

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So I'm working on this fan fiction inspired from @penbwl post about a bowuigi prompt (I will repost it here if I am allowed) this is what i have so far, still a work in progress but yeah

*Kamek POV 3rd person*

"Everything is preped and ready your maliciousnous" The old Magikoopa spoke firmly, with a hint of excitement in his voice. Stepping into the Hall as the guards shut the Giant doorsbehind the old man.

Kamek, the right hand man and royal adviser to the king, made his way through the massive throne room, following the Crimson Carpet with golden trims, allowing himself to be guided towards the King.

"Good. I hope that this will run smoothly Kamek, we don't want to miss such an opportunity" The Kings grugh voice boomed throughout the hall.

Sat a top his Large Throne, that was made as intimidating as King himself was. It was made of stone and metal, and encrusted with the most vibrant of Amythests and Ruby's, hints of the Crimson Lether padding, cushioning the Throne could be seen from certain angles where the kings massive frame was not blocking the view. Spikes pertruding out of the top of the throne, Imitating the spike the king himself adorned on the back of his shell. Truly a Bold statement, but fitting for the King of The Koopa Kingdom.

"I assure you that the plan will run smoothly on my part, I have made sure of it. " Kamek promised the King, finally standing before the Throne, after his long journey through the Hall, almost leaving him breathless.

It was so much easier when Kamek was in his prime, still young and spry, but that was years ago now, in fact the last time he could recall even being able to run was when the King was still a child under the Magikoopa's care, his highness was always a bit of a trouble maker, so he was always chasing after him. The quick trip down memory lane made Kamek sigh with slight discontent, although he would never say it to the King, he missed looking after the little prince.

"Anyways!" Kamek said, snapping himself out of his funk "it should be ready for next week your grumpiness"

This plan had been in the works for well over a month, as gathering all the necessary research and practicing the spell was time consuming, even for such an experienced Mage such as Kamek. But non the less it should work, Bowser had full trust in his advisor, and had even more confidence in his brilliant plan.

Normally Bowser's plans where foiled by Mario, being the no good “Goodie too-shoes Hero” he is, but this one definitely was not only fool proof, but dare he say Mario proof!

You see, Bowser had come up with a plan to get into his arch nemesis’s head, well in a matter of speaking. So Kamek did some diging, to make this a reality. The spell that he was to perform on the King would allow him to be able to read the mind of the first person he touches, which of course would be Mario.

How would Bowser do this you ask? Simple, an event, to be more precise the annual sports tournament was next week, the Kings beloved Princess Peach would organise and host these events to try and ease tensions between kingdoms and try and grow relations and bonds with others outside her own kingdom, as well as, some good old fashioned fun never hurt anybody, right?

Anyways back to the point, the plan would be, that Bowser would allow Mario to win a match of something, probably tennis, and when he would go to shake his hand at the end of the match, as a sign of good sportsmanship, BOOM. The spell would be in effect, and he could ascertain information about the Mushroom Kingdom, the Mario Bro's personal life, which could be very useful down the line.

But for this to work, the King had to put his one pride aside, which was not easy for him. As much as Bowser hated loosing, he and everyone else knows he would never show an ounce of sportsmanship towards Mario if he had won the match.

" I can't wait! Oh to hear I get on Mario's nerves when i beat him in the games, that would be brilliant!" Bowser exclaimed with a harty laugh

Bowser then frowned at the thought of even pretending to be civil with his rival, even if he didn't have a plan in place. But in order to attend the tournament he would have to sign a temporary peace treaty, so that way he couldn't harm any of the Mushroom Kingdoms residents (on purpose anyways) or other people at the event. But hearing Mario's agitated thoughts would make up for that.

"Will the Koppalings being just attending, or will they take part in the event with you this year your Moodiness?"

Kamek asked, attempting to break the silence the King had left after his chuckle

"What? Oh. No they will not, they would rather stay at the castle than spend time with their own man, pssh. Jr will be though so do make sure everything is prepared for him as well"

Bowser said caught off guard after his train of thought was broke.

"Very well, should I tell them about your plan?"

Kamek questioned again

"No. As much as i love the little twerps, they tend to get a bit to excited when i do this sort of stuff, we can't have the plan foiled even if done unintentionally"

Bowser said, feeling slightly guilty for keeping his children out of the loop

"Alright, if that is all i will take my leave"

"Yes that will be all, you are dismissed"

Bowser said waving his hand, shooing the MagiKoopa away. Allowing him self to slip back into his thoughts of presumably wiping the floor the Mushroom Kingdoms" Hero"

Kamek let out a sigh after exiting the throne room, as much as he ha faith in the plan, he can't help but feel like something is going to get in the way. No time to dwel on those thoughts though, he has to make sure Jr has all of his needs sports gear, and if any if it needs replacing.

#bowuigi #super mario

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troutfur · 1 year

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Idk if i should limit myself to just canon characters since this is just warmups - feel free to replace a canon character or own original character with this little thingy and write a conclusion. Consider the name a placeholder. Prompt: Snailfoot slid down into the unstable depths clumsily, barely avoiding skidding over a ledge. Traversing the deeper caverns was dangerous, but thy knew the way. They lept across the chasm, leading the rest of their team.

OOOH! Not what I had in mind, but I can work with this! Now I'm wondering what Snailfoot's up to as well, let me see...

Snailfoot barely avoided skidding over a ledge as they led the rest of their patrol down into the dark, stony depths. They lept across the chasm, giving a signal for the rest to continue as they found solid ground beneath their feet again. As the rest crossed one by one, they remained on stand by, ready to help anyone if they happened to slip.

Traversing this deep into the caverns was a dangerous affair. It was a fine enough nesting place in the coldest moons of leaf-bare and the shade provided a much needed respite from the blazing sun of greenleaf. But this was much farther than any BeachClan warrior ever dared to traverse, any but...

"I really should've kept a closer eye on you," meowed Spidernose, settling besides Snailfoot as the patrol resumed on their way. "When did you even have time to run off in here? I don't remember you ever skipping a training session or anything..."

Snailfoot eyed their former mentor, unsure of how to even respond. They gave a cough then continued leading. "I don't think it's all that important at this point isn't it."

"Oh no, I do think it is," Spidernose said. "You might've turned out fine, but what about the next adventurous apprentice who decides to run down here when no one's looking? What would Sparrowstar think?"

Snailfoot waved his tail to signal to his patrol to halt then crouched in preparation for another leap downwards. Though their front legs landed fine enough, their hind legs threatened to slip across the edge of the platform he'd lept to.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Snailfoot said with a sigh.

"That doesn't answer the question still," Snailfoot pointed out. "Is this why I never saw you eating with the other apprentices?"

They shook their head. "It's what I did instead of sharing tongues but it wasn't why I avoided them."

The words hung heavy over the air for a few moments, the air turning silent save for the constant dripping droning on in the background and the pawsteps of the cats on the stones as they followed Snailfoot's lead.

"I'm sorry, Snailfoot. If I'd noticed before I would've..." The older cat gave out a sigh, trying to remember back to the quiet apprentice they'd mentored, a model of outstanding behavior in every way. Back then they'd felt lucky their first apprentice had turned so obedient and quick to learn but now... "I don't know but I always thought it was just that you had to get out of your shell on your own. So, what happened between you and them?"

Spidernose hung his tail over Snailfoot's shoulders, only for the young warrior to shove it away and begin trotting faster ahead. "It was not your fault, anyway."

"Wait, Snailfoot, just--"

"I've let it go!" Snailfoot hissed, baring his teeth towards Spidernose before shaking his head and returning to guiding. "Let's just get on with this. If we delay too much we may not have a Clan to come back to..."

#woo!#this was an interesting direction for this to take #I ended up making it a dialogue prompt anyway hahahah #as I improved the back and forth a very clear character began to pop out at me #man this takes me back to my original fiction days #been a while since I wrote for characters that came out of my brain rather than borrowing someone else's #ficlet #writing request

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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 2 years

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"Home of the Lost: Chapter 27"

I'm going to be extremely busy the next few weeks, so I'm not sure how often I'll upload a new chapter. I'll try every week, but you know, if I don't, it's because of work and school.💜

-----------------------------

Eleanor had been quiet, David realised, as they walked down the boardwalk. "Are you alright?"

The girl nodded, leaning against him. "I miss my coffin."

"Why don't you just say you want to have a space of your own?"

"I don't know," she mumbled, not looking at him.

David sighed. "This is not okay, Elle. What happened to you voicing your opinions? There's no use in being passive."

"Oh, I don't know, maybe being cursed and stuck in a tiny painting for over thirty years caused me to be?"

Eleanor snapped at him, causing David to give her a stone cold glare. "Use that tone again and I'll leave you here."

"Fine, what's it to you anyways? I don't need a babysitter."

"You wouldn't need one if you acted your age. As long as you act like a disaster of a teen-"

"Well guess what, I am one! And I can't help it and I hate it!"

"No? Maybe you should realise you can mentally grow, even though you physically can't."

Eleanor glared at him, completely done with whatever it was he was saying. "Tell Marko and Paul I'm not coming home tonight because of you!" she hissed before storming off.

David watched her go, not really caring where she would go. He just didn't get it. She was so vocal about her opinions before, so sure of what she wanted and what she would and could do. She was self-assured and self-confident. And now, she was a quiet shell of that. Her not daring to speak up to either Marko or Paul about how she missed her coffin to sleep in was worrisome. Sure, the painting ordeal had an influence, but this - David didn't know what, but he was certain something else had happened when she was lost.

On the other side of the boardwalk, down by the beach, Star stared at the result of another one of her nightly massacres. She just stared at the blood, the scratches she'd received at her wrists, the echoes of the screams still ringing in her ears. Was this really what she had become? Had she really run away from home to become this? Had she not once feared that her ex would do this exact thing to her - minus the blood drinking, of course - and that she felt she had no choice but to run? And now, here she was, once again covered in somebody else's blood. And the worst thing was - she cared. She couldn't help but pity the ones she took. She couldn't help but cry quietly as she cleaned up any evidence. She couldn't help but think that if her life had been just a little different, she would be like them. She had tried everything, from looking for natural bad guys (the thieves, the rapists and abusers) to people who were close to death anyway so she would feel less guilty. But it didn't help. Instead, she somehow only felt worse. Maybe, she thought as she sunk down in the sand. Maybe she just wasn't cut out for a life as a vampire.

"Still having trouble feeding?"

Star looked up, David stood next to her looking for from impressed.

"So?"

"I'd figured you'd have appreciated the art by now."

"The art?" Star sprung up, ready to actually spit him in his face. "Killing people is not an art! It's an awful necessity. It's not an art. Never!"

David just looked at her, his annoying smirk glaring at her as if he was actively mocking her. David probably was, she realised.

"You'll hunt with me until you know what you're doing."

"What?! I know exactly what I'm doing!"

"Clearly not," David spat at her, "otherwise you would have cleaned up by now. Otherwise, you wouldn't cry over every single kid you eat."

"I hate you!" Star growled, breathing deeply in and out to try and control her anger - and to prevent herself from vamping out.

David just chuckled, shaking his head as he lit a cigarette. "Yeah, that seems to be the theme tonight."

"Fucking hell, man," Paul panted, falling down on the bed. He couldn't help but let out a breathy chuckle as he looked at the naked form next to him. "You weren'tkidding when you said you needed some."

"Ah, was it too much for you?" Marko chuckled, quite out of breath himself as well. Paul grinned, shaking his head, as he felt through one of the drawers from the nightstand to see if he could find a joint there.

"You ever think about leaving this place?"

"The cave or Santa Carla?" Paul asked as he lit the joint, handing it to Marko.

"Santa Carla."

"Not really. Sometimes."

"I want to go back. To Europe."

Paul was quiet. "It won't be the same anymore," he said after a while.

"We can make it ours again."

"It would be weird without the others. What about Elle?"

"If she wants, she's obviously coming," Marko said, making it sound obvious.

"David will be pissed, no doubt."

"David doesn't matter. What we want does."

"Europe does sound good," Paul turned on his side, giving him a lazy smile. "It's been a while."

"Uncle Max?" Eleanor knocked on the door of the old, white painted house, hoping the vampire was home. Luck was with her, for that moment, for the door opened almost immediately.

"Come in," Max spoke, "What's going on?"

"Everyone's mad at me. Only because I accidentally vamped out, and even though I try to prevent it from happening again, everyone just keeps on getting mad, and I just don't want to go back to the cave tonight."

"Alright. You're coffin is next to mine, so you can sleep in there, alright?"

Eleanor nodded thankfully, giving him a hug. "Thank you."

"No problem, dear. Next time, though, try not to get mad when people try to help you."

She sighed, nodding. She knew he was right - didn't mean she liked it.

"Come on, it's going to be light soon. Are you feeling okay enough to actually sleep?"

"Yeah, I think so. Thank you, grandpa."

Max couldn't help but smile. It had been ages since he'd been called grandpa. He watched as she climbed into her coffin, closing the lid before doing the same.

#the lost boys #horror #marko #david #paul #dwayne #the lost boys 1987 #tlb #star #home of the lost #hotl

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nanaminokanojo · 3 years

Text

BLOOM | Sukuna X You | Part 1/3

collection masterlist

one two three | Bloom Masterlist

His hair was the color of cherry blossoms, that's the first thing you noticed. It was the softest shade of pink, easy on the eyes, reminding you of the tendrils of filtered rays of the sun lightly touching the edges of clouds very early in the morning. Or your favorite angora wool sweater.

The man stole your attention from the book you were reading when you chanced a look from your periphery just to check who sat on the stool beside your usual spot on the bar – the seat at the very end by the wall. Your planned glance turned into a furtive stare at the sight of him from his candy-floss-hued hair, the rippling muscles hidden under his white oxford shirt and the array of tattoos that peeked through his neatly folded sleeves. And boy, since when did men smell like vanilla and spring while also exuding such a virile scent?

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth at the thought, internally shaking your head at your behavior. You should not be staring at people, and though you weren't exactly ogling him, you were still observing him enough to associate him with your favorite article of winter clothing.

"Hey. The usual for you?" you heard Maki, the bar owner, ask, giving you the idea that the man was a regular. How you haven't spotted him before was a mystery.

If it was already hard concentrating on the novel you were reading, you've completely forgotten about it when you heard him say, "Make that single-malt." It's either the gates of hell opened at the sudden heat you felt on your skin at the sound of his voice or the gates of heaven did with how delicious it sounded in your ear, thick like honey and deep with a distinct ring to it. It got you wondering what his mother craved for when she was pregnant with him, and your brain said, "Greek gods," when you lifted your eyes from the current page you were reading and briefly exchanged looks with him as he shifted his line of vision from Maki to you.

You turned your eyes back to your book, making it seem like you were just absently looking about, but in reality, it took herculean effort to wrench your gaze from him. In that brief meeting of your eyes, the features of his face registered in your head like a bar code scanner, etching itself in your mind like a white-hot brand. He wasn't shockingly handsome, but he was beautiful in his own right with those intense eyes that reminded you of drowning pools and the rugged yet refined planes of his face. It was as if an artist painted him in passionate anger, slowly fell in love with the piece and began redefining his features with gentler strokes.

You turned the page of your book despite not getting any reading done. Well, it has been the case for a considerable amount of minutes now, but you tried anyway, furiously staring down at the new page but not comprehending anything. Your eyes kept scanning the same sentence over and over again but it was not sinking in at all.

"Excuse me, miss," that deep voice you've already developed a strange affection for assaulted your senses again, making your head snap up to the direction it was coming from. Hell, you think you'll do its owner's bidding just hearing it at the rate you were going, reacting automatically as if you were programmed with a voice prompt or something.

You were about to look at him but Maki caught your attention as she pushed the smoothie you ordered towards you, placing it precisely in front of you on the hardwood surface with her fingers. She arched a brow at you, causing you to stiffen on your seat.

You've been coming to the quiet little bar since you grew old enough to drink. In fact, you considered it your regular watering hole, going there whenever you can even in the day as it doubled as a gastro-pub. You've already come to know the staff who reserved the spot for you every single time you told them you were coming, particularly the tough but very lovable Maki. She's basically a friend now, and you knew you were acting off if she was giving you odd looks.

"Thanks, Maki," you said just in time, even managing to smile. She just shook her head at you before walking away to tend to another client.

"I have to know what book you are reading," the person beside you said just as you began sipping on your drink, which, you've noted, was a cherry blossom tea smoothie that reminded you of him.

You let go of the straw between your lips, swallowing hard. Turning your attention to him, you found him sitting sideways, chin propped on the heel of his palm as he regarded you. "Huh?" was all you could manage to say to him.

A slow, crooked smile etched itself across his mouth, the action appearing sensuous with the gradual way his expressions changed. "That book," he said for your benefit. "May I know what it is about?"

You just blinked, still questioning yourself if he was addressing you.

"If you're that engrossed about it, it must be great," he said. "Mind telling me the title?"

"Book?" you asked dumbly. He was really frying your brain.

He pointed at the book you were holding with his lips, protruding them slightly before smiling again. Jesus, you loved the way he smiled. The gesture didn't belong there when you've already thought he was the smirking, grinning-devil type. It was too soft a gesture, but then again his hair was shell-pink – a contradiction to his stridently brawny features.

"Oh." Despite yourself, you found yourself chuckling. "I'm sorry, I was distracted."

"Not by the book, I hope."

You looked away, smiling to yourself as you closed the object in question and slid it over to him. When you looked at him, you were surprised to see him actually reading the synopsis at the back, interest flickering in his dark eyes. You were already expecting him to just read the title, probably the author, too, thinking he was just flirting with you judging by his last words. But he was actually reading it.

"It's about an architect," he stated. "He must be mind-blowingly awesome if you're too transfixed on his story."

"No, Howard Roark is mostly a recalcitrant bastard who breaks rules here and there, doesn't cooperate or collaborate and is stone-faced about most anything."

"But it's what you like about him," he supplied.

You nodded. "He’s a breath of fresh air in a world governed by stuffy archaic principles. The spring to a long, stagnant winter of conformity. I'm in love with him." Noticing the look of amusement on his face, you were quick to add, "What?"

"Nothing." His smile didn't waver though. "Are you an architect, too?"

"Too?" you repeated with inflection then tilted your head. "Ah, you're an architect, huh?"

"Guilty."

"Any projects of note?" you asked, tilting your head in wonder when he seemed flustered. "What is it?"

He shook his head slowly. "You're very straightforward."

At that, you grinned. "Should I take you out to dinner before I get that information?" You sipped leisurely at your smoothie, glad that you throw him off as much as he flusters you.

"You don't have to," he found himself answering anyway. "But I work for a firm, so they get most of the credit. We built that new hotel at Shinjuku."

"Eh? Didn't pin you for a baroque kind of guy."

"You know..." He was all ears now judging by how he leaned closer to you. He leveled his expression to yours then. "So, what kind of guy did you think I am?"

There it is, you thought, the smirk you've been waiting for. Without giving it much thought, you said, "The Howard Roark type, of course."

***

"You seriously don't remember, do you?"

It wasn't that you didn't. You simply had no idea how you got home, considering how you ended up all smashed after enjoying too many margaritas after your smoothie. You seriously just didn't know certain things. You didn't know what happened after you reached your limit. And out of all the things you know you should not have missed, you didn't know his name.

You were sitting on the kitchen counter, nursing a headache, trying to fill in every bit of information your friends were trying to leech out of you in your addled state. You've been expecting it - the great inquisition - especially after you returned in a state lesser than they've been expecting, unconscious, according to the collective stories of your roommates, when you told them you were just stepping out to get some reading done. And on a school night, no less. Very atypical of you indeed.

"What should I be remembering?" you responded to Ieiri. You weren't exactly fond of her worrisome nature although you knew she was just watching your back especially since she has been rather disapproving of your escapades with these guys you somewhat dated back then. You appreciated it, but it didn't mean you liked it.

"Oh, I don't know, Y/N. Strawberry blond? Tats? Drives a Jeep? Ring any bells?" she said, jogging your memory. "He came knocking at two in the morning, carrying you in his arms. I mean he was hot according to Satoru, but do you even know the guy?"

“Cherry blossom,” you absently corrected the color Ieiri mentioned.

“Huh?”

“Him, I remember.” You smiled at the thought, not hiding your delight from them. You were sure they were just annoyed that they weren't in on the action since Satoru, your other friend and roommate, who seem nonexistent recently, was the one who interacted with the man you met and supposedly brought you back to the house you rented with all of them. And Satoru doesn't know basic decorum to actually ask what the man’s name was. "Howard."

"Howard?" Suguru, another one of your friends who was in the literature department as you were, asked. "Howard Roark?" He knew the reference, obviously. You forced him to read the book before it even became one of your study materials.

You nodded enthusiastically. "He's an architect."

"He didn't look like a 'Howard,' apparently," Ieiri said.

"That name is from her favorite book," Suguru supplied, his dark eyes shifting to you as he tucked some stray strands of his long, raven locks which were currently tied in a half-up. "So your guy's an architect, too."

"That, but he isn't 'my guy' and I don't know what his name is."

He grinned then. "If you're openly calling him by the name of the character you claim to be in love with, I'm assuming..."

"No!" Ieiri gasped.

You laughed despite the action making your head hurt. You were still hungover after all, but you didn't mind, not when you knew you had a good night. Probably a great night to allow yourself to be hammered like you have been. You only ever drank to your fill when the company is great and when you were in a jovial mood.

"It's nothing like that. He just feels like spring time. Looks like it, too." You waved your hands in front of you for emphasis. Still, your expressions said otherwise.

You weren't in love with the man because you didn't believe in mushy things like love at first sight, but you knew you liked him, just that you weren't getting your hopes up cause there's a chance you might not see him ever again, assuming your meeting was something transient like the blossoms his hair made you think of. Even if he was a regular at Maki's, if your schedules didn't coincide with one another, it would not be easy to meet. You've been coming to the same bar for years and yet, you've only ever seen him that time. You never really know.

But then, you got your answer pretty quickly.

From: Satoru

See you at 7 tomorrow night. Same place.

That’s how Satoru's message read, sent late the previous night. You almost forgot about the agreement you’ve had with him to get unlimited barbecue after sleeping the rest of the day but you made it out just in time. It was something you did with all three of your friends as a way to bond with them individually.

You glanced at the clock on your phone, feeling the stares of the restaurant staff on you. Well, you’ve been there for more than an hour waiting for him. One hour and thirteen minutes to be precise. All you’ve ordered so far was a glass of lemonade and you were able to finish that in the first half hour, sitting on a table for two when evidently, you were alone. All your texts were ignored and your calls were always being redirected to voicemail.

“Where the fuck are you, Gojo Satoru?” you asked him in one of your messages, hissing low into your phone just so the other diners would not be offended by your words. You got a message another twenty minutes later, the sound of your phone almost making you jump from your seat. However, when you looked at it, it was from an unknown number.

You were about to check the message when one of the waitresses came to your table, pad and pen on the ready. She’s always the one who served you whenever you and your friends would go there for a dose of beef and pork fat, and she has always been nice to you.

“Not to be nosy but I think your friend isn’t coming.”

You nodded, grimacing. “Tell me about it.”

“The boss has been giving you the stink eye, too.”

Looking over the counter, you saw the elderly man really looking at you. He looked away when you met his eyes, muttering to himself. You knew how the owner could get, but you simply loved going there since their food is good and the service is just the same. You smiled ruefully at the woman before you. “I’ll have a sukiyaki set and warm sake, please. Thank you.”

“Would that be all?”

“Yeah.”

“Coming right up.” She flashed you a bright smile before disappearing into the back rooms.

You almost forgot the message you saw earlier, but then, your phone lit up again with that familiar tone. The new message was from the same number.

From: Unknown

How are you?

From: Unknown

I hope you’re okay.

You frowned, not having the slightest clue as to who could be texting you.

From: You

Who is this?

Your order came but there was no response from the mystery texter or Satoru. You felt pathetic looking at your phone every once in a while as you ate and drank. Normally, you wouldn’t even have given anybody, including your best friends, the time of the day, making you wait for longer than an hour without as much as a message. You don’t ever wait for people over the agreed meeting time. You hated it with passion. And you were already thinking of ways to make Satoru pay.

You were about to eat a mouthful of beef when you heard the chair across you being dragged back. Your eyes flicked to the direction, and to your utter shock, you almost dropped your chopsticks if it weren’t for the hand that reached out and held onto your hand, securing the utensils.

Once again, you were sitting on your usual spot at the bar, eyes clashing with those intense ones owned by the pink-haired guy who apparently drove a charcoal grey Jeep and reminded you of spring, the same one who drove you home the other night.

“Careful,” he said, his scent assaulting your senses.

A lump formed in your throat, making you unable to form proper words, so you settled for putting down the chopsticks. You folded your hands together on your lap, recovering from your consternation before you finally looked at him, unable to help it but grin. He looked different that day, more laid back in a white baseball cap mussing his candy-floss hair down, a loose-fitting shirt in the same hue and jeans. He looked so fresh, you felt the air around you cool down considerably.

“How did you…” you hesitated and shook you head. “Hello.”

He broke into that crooked smile. “Crazy how the moment you sent the message, I saw you through the glass walls while I drove past.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but closed it again, not quite knowing how to react to it when suddenly, the first part of his statement registered in your mind. “Wait, message?” You picked up your phone, showing him the messages. “This is you?”

He nodded slowly. “Looks like you’re doing great.” He regarded the bottle of sake on the table. “I had to get your number to check up on you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Y-yeah, I mean, no, not at all. Thank you by the way.” You chuckled, saving his number and naming him Spring God in your contacts. “I wasn’t really expecting you to bring me home.”

“I got your address from your driving license.” He grinned then. “I thought of taking you back to my place, but I didn’t know how that would sit with you.”

Who says chivalry was dead? “I’m sorry for acting crazy, if I did anyway." You chuckled. "I don't remember…and for having to bring me all the way to the house.”

“It’s fine. It was lovely meeting Satoru.”

At that, your face flushed red. You winced. “I’m sorry for whatever he did while I was out of it.” He could be crazy at times, and you wouldn't be surprised if he did something untoward.

He shook his head, letting out a slight chuckle. “He was very nice to me, don’t worry.” He furrowed his brows then. “I also got your name. Y/N. I don’t know if you forgot to tell me or you just didn’t trust me enough, but I’d like to think it’s the former since you didn’t seem to think twice about getting wasted with me like you did.”

You deliberately didn’t tell him your name, but he was making it sound a little nicer. It wasn’t really something you planned on doing again, meeting him, but somehow, he found you. You shook you head, coming clean. “If you put it that way, okay, but really, I thought it was better if you didn’t know.”

“Hmm. Why is that?”

You found it endearing that he tilted his head a bit to the side when he asked the question. Your lips curled upwards at the corner. “I just never thought I’d meet you again.”

“That would be unfortunate.”

You laughed awkwardly at his remark. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

“I’m not offended.”

“Okay.”

You requested for another order of barbecue for him. He declined but you insisted. “Come on. My treat for your act of kindness.” You snickered. “Besides, my supposed date bailed.”

“Date?”

Sighing, you said, “Well, not really. Satoru. We agreed to meet here over an hour ago but he hasn’t been answering my messages or calls. Something probably came up.”

He eyed you thoughtfully. “If you don't mind me asking, is he your...?"

"My what?"

"Your boyfriend…maybe."

You chuckled at the thought, but then you realized you didn't even know his name. "I don't really tell strangers about things like that," you teased.

“Okay, but I thought we’re past being strangers.” He smirked then and you swore you felt your stomach flip.

“We’re in the getting-to-know-each-other phase,” you told him with a laugh, acceding. "Since I didn't tell you my name, I didn't expect you to tell me yours. Plus I didn't ask, so may I have yours?"

"Sukuna," he said. "Ryomen Sukuna."

"Su-ku-na," you repeated, liking the feel of the syllables as they rolled out of your tongue. Finally, the person you've gotten so fond of in just a short time had a name. You didn't know what his name meant but it seemed to match him well regardless of how arbitrary it was to his person. You couldn't think of any better name though. "I like your name. It's pretty." You smiled brightly at him then. "And no, Satoru is not my boyfriend."

Ryomen Sukuna was an absolute puzzle to you. How he could look so badass and pretty much intimidating with his strapping physique and inked skin – throw in the multiple piercings on his left ear which you were noticing or the first time – while also pulling off all these adorable little actuations was a quandary to you. Tall, solidly built men like him should not be reminding you of soft, cute things, but the moment he blinked in confusion, you knew you couldn't get enough of it.

"Nobody ever said that about my name, but thanks," he returned in that deep voice after a moment's pause. And was that a dusting of roses over his cheeks? The surprises you were getting from this man was endless. He really was such a breath of fresh air, so far from the usual stereotypes.

Your face seemed to be perpetually pulled into a smile whenever you were around him, and you didn't think you were doing a good job suppressing the urge to be beaming like an idiot around him. "So, anyway, what made you think that blue-eyed idiot is my boyfriend?" you asked, changing the topic.

"Well, he was a bit hostile at first when he took you from me, making me explain things but then started apologizing after. He told me you could be a handful when inebriated..." He let his voice trail off as if letting you chew on his words.

"You agree with him." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Sukuna pretended to frown. "He also calls you 'his princess'."

You threw your head back, covering your eyes momentarily in embarrassment. "Now I wish you met Ieiri and Suguru instead," proceeding to explain that the nickname was something akin to what a father would call his precious daughter.

"He was rather intimidating, but I guess he's just looking out for you."

"He's still not off the hook for standing me up," you quipped, "But you finding him intimidating is funny."

"Why?"

You scoffed, gesturing over to him. "I think you can snap him in two if you wished, too."

"He was scary," Sukuna insisted.

"He's harmless...most of the time, but yeah, he’s rather protective. That’s one of my dads for you."

He laughed then. "There's nothing scarier than a fiercely protective friend…or a doting father. I can't muscle my way out of that for sure."

"Ah, then you'll find Ieiri scarier."

The night pretty much went well and ended on a good note. Sukuna did most of the talking for the rest of the night. You learned he was six years older than you at twenty nine, one of the head architects at the firm he worked for, has a love-hate relationship with his job cause he wants to draw portraits instead, was a delinquent when he was younger but got away with things cause he was a straight-A student, loved dogs so much that he cries when they die in movies, was closer to his mom, got his tattoos on a sudden whim, and was pretty much a sweet, charming genuine person which contrasted his appearance. What you see isn't what you get. That just isn't how it worked with him.

You loved it when he talked. It was rather entertaining as he had a way of telling stories which made you feel like you were actually there when it happened. Eventually, you forgot the reason why you were at the restaurant in the first place. It was as if you went there for the purpose of meeting Sukuna himself. Satoru was all but forgotten as you dissolved into carefree laughter and playful banters, and you felt at ease and more like yourself around him, pretty much like when you were with your three favorite people in the world.

“It’s not really that funny,” Sukuna told you, watching you laugh heartily at that one episode in his freshmen year when he made a mistake of going on a date with the wrong girl who happened to have the same name as his supposed date. You continued to laugh as if he didn’t say anything.

“It’s just crazy that both of them were there at the same time. I mean, what were the odds?”

He parked by the sidewalk in front of your house, killing the engine. “That’s the reason why I have never agreed to a single blind date ever again.” He pulled the key out of the ignition, glancing at the direction of your house. “We’re here.”

Your laughter died down when you followed the direction of his gaze. The lights were off except for the one lighting up the porch of the house you shared with your friends. You returned your gaze to him then. “Thanks for driving me home. Again.”

“I enjoyed your company. It’s the least I can do.”

You smiled warmly at him, reaching over to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek when he suddenly turned his head a fraction towards you. That minute change made your lips end up against his instead. He was surprised at first and remained immobile against you, but when you pulled away, he chased you back, connecting your mouths, his lips feeling soft and warm yet emitting that air of dominance as it coaxed yours to move in sync with his. You were kissing him back in no time, but you immediately caught yourself and withdrew, utterly flustered.

Your heart thudded heavily as he held you in his intense gaze, his tongue slowly running over his lower lip, making you even more mentally incapacitated. It made you want to just pull him back to you and covet those lips with yours again. You snapped out of it though. You already knew he was capable of hot-wiring and hijacking your brain.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you told him when you were able to form words again.

Sukuna looked at you from under his lashes, smiling slightly. “I’m not.”

Taken aback, you chuckled nervously. “No?”

He shook his head, reached over and ruffled your hair a bit. “Go inside. It’s late.” You nodded and disembarked from the car while he leaned on the steering wheel, watching you. You were already on the pavement, about to close the door, when he spoke again. “Can I come see you again?”

“Sure,” you said without thinking. “Good night, Sukuna.” Man, you just loved saying his name.

“Bye, Y/N. Good night.”

He drove away while you made your way towards your doorstep. Your fingers flew to your lips once you were standing on your porch, smiling to yourself at the realization of having kissed him. Shaking your head, you fished for the keys from your pocket and entered the house, not quite remembering how you got to your room, but you slept that night with pleasant dreams of running your fingers through pink locks of hair.

***

"I'm really sorry. Something came up and my phone died."

You acceded. It wasn’t as if Satoru did something so big. You went to the outdoor kiosks near the parking lot by the football grounds to catch up on some reading while Satoru ate and told you bits of his past few days, since he got held up at their family estate. Having such a traditional, high-ranking family in the country sure had its downsides, and you weren't about to make him even more agitated than he already was. He had it difficult, you knew that, and you weren’t about to be petty over him not coming to your supposed bonding time. He may be happy-go-lucky but you felt tension simmering just under the surface when you squeezed his hand in assurance.

Suguru and Ieiri followed shortly after Satoru fetched you from class, also surprised to see him there. "So, you finally decided to show up," the former said.

"Don't ask," Satoru said.

"Wasn't planning to," Suguru scoffed, his attention shifting to you. “What are you working on anyway?” he asked, flipping the file you were reading haphazardly to peer through the contents.

“I’m making an analysis report on ‘The Romantic Manifesto’.” you answered, looking up from the notes you were writing when your eyes suddenly strayed over his shoulder. You almost did a double-take, glancing at Suguru before returning your line of vision at the spot beyond where he sat.

“It’s due…” your voice trailed off when you realized just what, or rather who, you were looking at. You weren’t so sure whether what you were seeing was real or a mirage, a very familiar, specific and detailed one, but then, you figured it was the former when the person smirked and cocked his head to the side, beckoning you over to where he leaned against his grey Jeep as he raised a cup of what looked like cherry blossom tea.

Suguru arched a brow at you, looking behind him but not really noticing the object of your distraction. “Hey, you okay?”

Ieiri followed the direction of your gaze and nudged you when she saw who you were looking at. "Is that your Howard? Damn, girl. He’s sizzling."

You nodded, but at that same moment, you rose from the table without any explanation, your feet immediately leading you towards the outdoor carpark. When you were within earshot, you said, “What are you doing here?”

You stopped a few feet from him, glancing behind you to where the others had already turned their heads to follow the path you took, flashing you shit-eating grins. It wouldn’t surprise you anymore if they had pieced together who the person was before you. They claimed to be your ‘parents’ but acted like children at times.

“I brought you tea.” Sukuna walked towards you, standing so close that you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds as you inhaled his scent and took in his appearance, looking immaculate in a plain white shirt and faded jeans, but your brain only seemed to register those lips and the memory of how they felt against yours.

You shook your head, snapping out of your trance, mentally cursing at yourself. “Hi.” You exhaled loudly, trying hard not to smile like an idiot while you absently twirled your hair on your finger, suddenly seeing the world through a pinkish filter. "How do you keep finding me?"

Sukuna's smile dropped. “Did I come at an inconvenient time?” he asked gently, trying hard not to sound miffed, but he obviously was taken aback by your words.

“No.” You shook your head, placing a hand over your forehead. You finally smiled at him, letting out a choked snicker. “No, Sukuna. It’s good to see you. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see you here. And you didn't really tell me you were coming.”

He grinned at you then but he still appeared unsure, placing a hand behind his neck. “Right.”

You flashed him a helpless look. “Please don’t look at me like that. I’m just really surprised.”

“Hmm." He moved closer to you, wrapping your hand around the transparent disposable cup. His proximity was affecting you in ways you couldn't admit out loud. "Are you happy to see me, too?"

"Too? So, you're happy to see me?"

"Always."

That's it. You're done for. Trying to avoid his intense gaze and escaping his scrutiny, you glanced over your shoulder to find everyone on your table observing you blatantly. Satoru raised a thumb at you while Ieiri was giggling with Suguru.

"Are those your friends?" Sukuna commented, his minty breath fanning against the side of your face which made you turn a little too quickly to face him again only to be confronted by his face leaning towards yours, mere centimeters away.

“Y-yeah.” You leaned a bit backwards but he moved forward. “That they are.” You stepped backwards again, nearly faltering on your feet, but you immediately gained your balance when he grabbed you by the arm, steadying you.

"Are you alright?" Sukuna asked, looking at you with concern written all over his face which morphed into wonder when you said, "Yeah, you're just overwhelming."

"Huh?"

"I can't think properly when I'm around you," you stated casually, your expressions not giving anything away as per usual. You arched a brow at him when he did the same. "You hot-wire my brain."

"I know what you mean." He smirked despite his confusion. "Is that good or bad?"

You eyed him thoughtfully, biting on your lower lip. "Good for you, bad for me. You can probably tell me to eat dirt and I'd do it in a heartbeat."

He chuckled, looking at you tenderly. "You're too honest."

"To a fault," you agreed, "Suguru tells me all the time. Wanna meet them?"

He ruffled your hair. "Sure."

***

While you weren't exactly expecting to see Sukuna again after the night you met, he became of constant presence around you. You have gone out with him several times over the course of two months. He was a busy person and you also had your priorities, but he always makes you feel special whenever you two would be out and about, behaving like such a gentleman opening and closing doors for you, naturally shifting closer to traffic while you walked, bringing an extra jacket in case you felt cold or a larger umbrella so you don't get wet, bringing you your favorite tea whenever he could.

He picked you up from school for lunch twice, making the most of the hour, and one time, you brought him lunch at work when he suddenly canceled on you, saying he was swamped with work. He sounded really upset so you decided to go to him instead. You brought Suguru with you as a buffer, but Sukuna's colleagues still teased him. He was different in the office – gruff and strict which fitted him more – but he still beamed at you happily when you brought him food, not caring who saw.

Apart from the brief phone calls, you two never really texted. It wasn't really your thing and he didn't like it either, so it could go days on end without you saying anything to each other, but when you do get a chance to speak, it would always be like picking up on where you've left off. He has only ever sent you two messages. One to remind you to take good care of yourself because he was going to be away for a while and another one a week later asking if you wanted to go out with him that coming Friday night.

"Your timing's off," you told him over the phone. You really wanted to say yes, but, "Ieiri, the boys and I are going out that night. Gang tradition."

"Some other time then?"

"Sure."

You hung up after a few more exchanges of words, getting started on reading some notes when Ieiri entered the kitchen. "Was that Howard?"

"Yeah. He's inviting me to go out on Friday, but I already said yes to clubbing with you guys."

She grinned cheekily, wrapping an arm around you as she poked you on the cheek. At times, it feels like Satoru was rubbing off on her. "Are you sure you don't want to ditch us for the hot architect?"

"Hot architect –" You snickered. "Did you just say that?"

"I was supposed to say 'sugar daddy,' literally and figuratively. Sugar and his cotton candy hair. Get it?"

You narrowed your eyes at her, shaking your head. It was supposed to be amusing, but when Ieiri says it, it just sounds weird. "Can I read in peace now?"

She left you alone, but laughed at your expense.

Friday couldn't have rolled around fast enough and you headed out with your friends at the club owned by a friend of yours, prepared to party in a pair of tight-fitting jeans, a crop top and your hair hanging about in wavy layers. You were already expecting the place to be cramped as hell given the day of the week so much so that Suguru had to hold onto you tightly so as not to lose you when you entered until you found the area you had reserved for the night. It was for good measure too since the place was drenched in purple, blue and green laser lights which were disorienting at first. And so, your night began as such.

You were in the middle of dancing, only pausing when you had to down your nth shot for the night when your eyes suddenly strayed to the bar area at the elevated part of the club adjacent to the the leather seats. You looked away but returned your gaze towards said direction when you realized this very familiar guy was looking at you. He was watching you as you danced and let loose, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You craned your neck, looking back and thinking the guy looked a lot like Sukuna, but then he couldn’t be. He was engaged elsewhere, still you continued to ogle him until you were pretty sure it wasn’t the same person. But the longer you looked, the more it was being proven to you that it was him.

That lopsided smile drew itself across his lips, seeing as how you were doubting yourself about his identity. There was no mistaking that look on his face, the way his dark eyes seemed to sparkle whenever he smiled even if the action didn't belong there.

“Sukuna?” you mouthed his name and he nodded, motioning for you to come over with his head. It had been a solid ten days since you last saw him, and for some reason, your heart raced at the thought of seeing him there.

Without saying a word to the people you were with, you squeezed yourself through the crowd, your feet carrying to the upstairs bar, to Sukuna. It took you a while to traverse the space between you, and when you finally stood before him, all you could do was smile up at him, taking in the soft look about him as he regarded you which were at odds to those fiery eyes that had the capability to turn into bright orbs of light when he beamed down at you.

“Hello, Y/N. Once again, fate has brought you to me,” he said rather dramatically, a smirk drawing itself across his pretty mouth.

Laughter escaped your throat, unable to say anything when you realized that you actually missed him, missed looking at him. Unable to help it, you stood on your toes and reached out to touch his hair, the action surprising the both of you. He eyed you, his expressions that of a half-smile and a look of confusion while you retracted your hands as quickly as you felt his soft locks with your fingertips, wincing at the realization of what you were doing.

At that, he laughed heartily, stealing your hand and pressing it over the side of his head. “Go ahead. I don’t mind you touching me,” he told you, staring into your eyes that you felt like all the air in the room was gone.

You blinked at him, processing what he said and joined in his mirth. “You're here!” You shook your head when it dawned to you that you were stating the obvious. “I’m sorry. How are you, Sukuna?”

“Pink?” he offered and chuckled at his own joke which made your face heat up. “Kidding. I’m great. I missed you these past days. How are you?”

“You did?” You felt your insides melting at his statement, made worse when he nodded to confirm it. “I’m fine. Great. Where have you disappeared to anyway?”

He snickered a your question. “Madrid.”

Your jaw dropped. “As in Spain?”

He nodded. “Had to do something there.”

“Uh-huh.” His words were rather obscure, but you didn’t want to encroach on his private life.

“What are the odds that we’re at the same club?”

“The owner is a friend,” you answered, smiling awkwardly as you glanced at the direction of your friends on the dance floor. You saw all of them looking at you. Suguru winked at you, giving you the thumbs up, making you laugh at his silliness.

“The gang’s all here, I see.”

“What?” You faced Sukuna, finding him leaning close beside you against the metal balustrade. Just then, a waiter passed by holding a whole tray of shots, and before you could duck, he grabbed you by the waist so that you were leaning against him with no quantifiable space between your bodies. Your eyes widened in shock and you froze, your thoughts clouded by the familiar smell of rain in a bamboo forest during Maytime. “T-thanks…”

He hummed in response to your gratitude, but he didn’t let you go. “I didn’t know you enjoyed places like this, too.”

“Why is that?” you asked, feigning ignorance to how close you two were.

"I never pinned you for the party animal type. I kinda developed a fondness for that quiet, nerdy girl sitting at the corner of the pub."

"Not exactly. I prefer Maki's place to be honest but coming here once in a while doesn't hurt. Especially with those three." You frowned slightly at him then as you thought of something. “So, why didn’t you approach me?” You motioned towards the dancefloor. “I'm sure the three-headed monster won't mind if you joined us. You alone?”

“Yes, sweetheart, but aren't you supposed to be hanging out with them?" You grabbed his arm before he could refuse you and started leading him towards where the others were.

However, he had other plans in mind. Again, he hooked an arm around your waist until your back was leaning against him. You eyed him sideways, startled by his actions, but unable to counteract it anyway as you’re just stunned speechless all the while. “You can go back to them, Y/N, but I don’t think I should go with you.”

You turned around, gently easing away from his hold. “Why not? They already know you, and they like you.”

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a party pooper.” He leaned towards you, tilting his head to the side while his lower lip slightly jutted out.

"What are you talking about?” You rolled your eyes at him then snickered.

He eyed you seriously then. “Just in case this is a friends-only affair?”

“Satoru already ruined that by bringing his girls into the mix.” You laughed at him when you saw him hesitate. “Come on, Sukuna. Join us. For me?” You showed him your best impression of puppy-dog eyes. “Pretty please?”

When you saw that he wasn’t budging, you changed your argument. “Fine. Dance with me then.” You didn’t give him any time to contradict you as you took him by the hand and dragged him to the dancefloor.

He was just standing still, looking uncomfortable as you started to groove to the beat, so you took his arms and started moving them until he was moving on his own, finally breaking into that smile. He looked too awkward that you wanted to laugh but decided against it, simply raising your hands and feeling the music.

“Aren’t you having fun?” you asked him as you were bobbing your head to the bass.

“I am!” he answered above the music.

“You don’t look like you’re having fun. Are you shy?” You chuckled openly at that.

“No.”

“You don’t dance?”

“I can dance.”

You giggled. “Then show me what you’ve got!”

Without a warning, he started moving in sync with you, taking your hands in his and finally letting loose in such a graceful manner as you both got into the beat and started waving and swaying against one another, his hands slowly running at your sides in sensual rhythms that got you reeling in excitement. You almost forgot that you were with other people as you danced with him. It was fun and it felt good to be that carefree, not minding your friends, drinks flowing in nonstop.

Soon, the group you’ve left joined you and Sukuna. They all greeted him excitedly while the boys exchanged high-fives with him as they were dancing. Satoru and the two girls who were with him also joined in and somewhere along that, Suguru offered everyone cigarettes, and you gladly took one when you saw Sukuna taking one as well. You didn’t really smoke on a regular basis but you didn’t exactly shy away from the so-called cancer sticks.

After taking another shot, you pulled Sukuna out of the dancefloor, hollering at the others as you raised your cigarette, signaling where you were going in case they wanted to come with. You made your way to the smoking area at the veranda situated at the back of the building with the older male in tow. You were pretty much buzzed, calming down from the high you had while dancing, grinning wide as the cool night air met you, making your lungs expand as you breathed in.

Sukuna watched you as he took his place against the banister, following him shortly as you produced a lighter from your pocket, something that you always carried just in case.

“You smoke?” he asked, toying with his own battered stick, twirling it around his long fingers.

“Sometimes,” you admitted, watching his reaction. “And you?”

“Not really.”

“You took one anyway.” You wedged the item in question between your lips and raised the lighter, but before you could light it, it was pulled out from your mouth and the next thing you knew, Sukuna was kissing you, his lips pressed against yours as he pulled you closer by the hips which he seemed to have a fixation for since you came up to him. It was a soft yet urgent kiss that cajoled you to respond, and not long after, your lips were submissive clouds moving to the will of the wind that was his luscious mouth.

Like the first time you felt his lips against yours, electricity ran through your body as if he was touching you elsewhere apart from your mouth. It was driving you off the edge of sanity, and you knew you’d probably jump off a cliff for the male. He grinned at your dazed state when your eyes met after he finally pulled away, showing you the cigarette that was supposed to be between your lips before he unceremoniously laid claim to them.

“You’re going to ruin your lips by smoking. I’m keeping this,” he told you.

You were too mesmerized with the tingling feeling in your mouth while your eyes stayed glued to his as you blinked slowly, your mind and heart racing at a thousand miles per second. “W-why would you do that?” you stammered, feeling your throat go so dry that you had to drag the words out.

“Apart from the fact that it’s terribly unhealthy, it ruins your sense of smell and taste.” He waved the cigarette in front of you before shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. “Scientific fact.”

You couldn’t quite process what he was saying. You were asking why he kissed you, but he misunderstood. “Are you going to taser me with your lips every single time I’m about to smoke?”

“Taser…” He chuckled and narrowed his eyes at you. “I might just if it means these dangerous things don’t touch your pretty mouth.”

“What the –” You didn’t know if you would be scandalized by what he said or if you were going to laugh. The latter won and you tittered. “That’s a good one.”

“I mean it, Y/N.”

Boldness engulfed your whole thought process as you stepped closer to him, looking straight into his eyes. “And if I insist on it? Placing dangerous things in my pretty mouth? What are you going to do then?”

He, too, leaned forward, eyes flicking to your lips. “Then I guess I just have to keep your mouth too busy to even think about smoking again,” he whispered to you, his breath hitting your lips.

You smirked at him then. “I guess I just have to make sure you aren’t around if I do feel like smoking.”

He pouted. You burst out laughing.

You reached over and pinched both of his cheeks. “You’re so adorable.”

Sukuna swatted your hands away, but smiled nonetheless. "You're the only one who says I'm adorable."

"You are. You just don't know it."

“Okay then. If you say so.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear then, your skin tingling where he touched you. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Not really.”

“Good. I wanna do something for you.”

You eyed him questioningly. “Hmm. What?”

“That’s a surprise.”

It was already around two in the morning when everyone had the unanimous decision to leave the club which was still packed. You, too, were getting tired especially after Ieiri ended up hammered and Satoru was emptying his guts through his mouth. Suguru was a bit drunk, too, but he was trying his best to help you take care of them. Sukuna had been very nice all night, even helping you load Satoru and Ieiri into the backseat of Suguru’s car.

“Would you like me to drive you home?” he asked you after shutting the door to the backseat.

“No, I’m gonna be fine. Besides, I can’t just leave Suguru to deal with them both.” You motioned to his Jeep. “You should go ahead, too.”

Sukuna grimaced as he nodded. “I guess that would be for the best. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. You take good care now.”

“You, too, sweetheart.” He stepped forward and pulled you against him, hugging you, enveloping you in his warmth and that scent you loved profusely. “It’s really great seeing you tonight.”

You returned the gesture, smiling up at him as you tried to compose yourself. “It’s great seeing you, too.” You stood on your toes and pecked him on the cheek before giving him a gentle shove towards the car. “See you, Sukuna.”

He waved at you then boarded the car. You watched as it disappeared down the street before turning away to enter the club to get Suguru who was left to settle the bills. You found him seated on one of the couches, finding your way easily since the crowd thinned a bit.

“You okay, dude?” you asked when you reached him. He was pale and he looked like he was going to throw up anytime. “Do you need to go to the restroom?”

He shook his head. “Just get me out of here.”

You chuckled, leading him faster out of the club. You sat him down on passenger side and soothed his back, asking after him again as you started the engine. He said he was fine, laughing when he caught a glimpse of the two who were already passed out on the backseat with Satoru lying on Ieiri’s lap while her head was lolling limply to the side.

The drive was rather short without much cars on the road, but Suguru was still able to squeeze in a conversation, and of all the topics he could broach, it had to be about Sukuna.

“I thought Sukuna will be driving you home,” he began, glancing at you.

“He offered, but I can’t just leave you.”

“That would have been okay.” He glanced at the rearview mirror then, checking on the two, you could only guess. He could be such a mother hen at times. “I think he’s cool.”

“Mhmm.”

“And he’s really good-looking,” Suguru threw in with a chuckle. “Just date already.”

You chuckled. “Why don’t you date him instead?”

“Don’t you want to try it out with him?”

“He hasn’t even asked me to date him.”

“Yeah, but he already kissed you –”

“How did you know about that?” you demanded, mortified. Your cheeks were heating up again at the memory of it.

“Well, you’re in a public place.” He laughed. “So, it’s bound to end in dating anyway.”

“Not necessarily.” You turned sideways to look at him. “He’s older after all, not that I see the age gap as a problem. But you know, he might just be passing time.”

“He obviously likes you. If you date him, it’s a win-win situation. You like him, too, you just don’t know it.”

You scoffed. “How can you say that?”

He blew a raspberry. Typical Suguru behavior. “You can be yourself around him. You’re all smiley face around him, too. I saw you. You can’t lie to me.”

“Really now?”

“Yeah. You look your best that way. And don’t ever think you are just a pastime. I’ll kill him if he treats you as such.” He smiled knowingly at you. “Besides, you should date properly. Enough with your flings with stupid boys in campus.”

“Okay, dad.” You sighed, trying to contain your excitement. “I do like him though. He’s so nice to me.”

Suguru reached over patting you on the shoulder. “Ah! My daughter is a grown-woman.”

You swatted at his hand, laughing at his antics.

-end of part 1-

If you're curious who Howard Roark is, he's one of my fave literary characters from Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead." He's excellently made. That's it.

Can architect!sukuna please call me "sweetheart," too?

If you want to be included in the tag list, please DM me :) I'll be posting every week (or I'll try to anyway). Someone remind me to post the next chapters please?

Additional notes are available in the masterlist, particularly on the reasons why I wrote some things the way I did. I don't know what I'm trying to prove there, but haha!

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART SOURCES FULLY CREDITED TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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cuubism · 3 years

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random malec headcanon #4394950394305

magnus and alec are a pretty well-known, even notorious downworld couple at the time of their wedding. this only grows exponentially in power by the time of their one hundredth wedding anniversary. everyone expects magnus to want to throw an enormous extravagant blowout party, including alec.

but every time alec offers to help magnus with his planning, magnus insists that it has to be a secret, a surprise. so alec just waits along with everyone else for what magnus has planned, maybe a tiny bit hurt that magnus doesn't want to plan this with him, but hey, if it'll make magnus happy...

then, when the day comes, after getting them both dressed up all fancy magnus tugs him through a portal. but alec doesn't find the massive party he expected on the other side. instead, they step into pandemonium, which has been emptied out, lit only by a handful of string lights and with soft jazz playing somewhere.

alec's so confused. "where's your party?"

"there isn't one," magnus says, "it's just us."

and it starts to dawn on alec what magnus is doing, but still he protests, "everyone will be disappointed not to get a magnus bane extravaganza."

magnus smiles a little sadly. "and i appreciate that they want to celebrate with us. but i want to celebrate with you."

alec kisses him then, and twirls him around a little on pandemonium's empty dancefloor.

"why pandemonium?" he finally asks, holding onto magnus's hands, maybe remembering the times when they were younger, when they'd gone dancing here. not that either of them have gotten older, technically, but the world's aged them. so has time. "for old times' sake?"

"it's where we met," magnus says. and alec's confused for a second because he remembers their first conversation being--

"i know we first spoke when the circle raided my apartment," magnus continues. "but i was thinking of the first time i saw you. you were like a shadow. a tall, dark, and hot shadow. you saved my life, do you remember?"

alec takes him in his arms and waltzes them slowly around the dance floor. "i remember the first time i saw you. well, not in person, but before that mission hodge showed us your clave file. it had the most incredible pictures of you. hodge was trying to explain the mission and i couldn't even think straight."

"and then you never thought straight again," magnus says, lips twitching, and alec kicks him in the ankle with the toe of his dress shoe, but he says--

"and i'm better for it. i wouldn't trade you, us, for anything."

magnus looks genuinely touched, shell broken, for a moment, and then teases, "not even for a magnus bane extravaganza?"

alec rolls his eyes. "i got you a gift, you know."

magnus always looks a little startled when he says that, though it's really more surprised pleasure nowadays. "a gift?"

"it's our one hundredth anniversary. of course i got you a gift. i figured i'd give it to you after the party, but i guess that's a moot point now."

he digs in his pocket and produces a small box. magnus's eyes go wide as alec opens it. "we're already married, darling," he says when he sees the ring, swallowing hard.

"oh really? i hadn't noticed."

magnus smacks his wrist, but his gaze is fixed on the gift in alec's hands. "i don't understand."

"i know we have our wedding rings," alec says, "but our engagement and wedding was so... fast. untraditional. i thought you might like an engagement ring. something just for you."

"a token of your devotion?" magnus teases.

"exactly," alec says.

magnus swallows hard again and slowly lifts the ring out of its box. he examines the glittering blue stone set in it with shaking hands. "this stone has deeply magical properties. where on earth did you even get this?"

"i have my ways." alec puts the box back in his pocket and takes the ring from magnus, taking hold of his hand in the same movement. "the color reminded me of your magic."

magnus watches with trembling breath as alec slides the ring onto his ring finger until it nestles gently against his wedding ring. after, he heaves out a breath and pulls alec forward into a kiss, holding alec's hand against his chest.

"i can't believe you've outdone me," he says when they part, resting their foreheads together. "i've been keeping this anti-party secret for months. if we're doing engagement presents now then i'm going to get you something. i don't know what just yet, but i fully intend to floor you as you've floored me."

"i'd expect nothing less," alec says, teasing, "but you here with me is all i really want."

magnus groans and tucks his face into alec's shoulder. "outdone again!" he wails. "how can a man compete when his husband is such a sap!"

alec laughs and holds him close. "i like the anti-party. though if you wanted to have it where we met we could have stayed at home."

"well, i wanted my moment of dramatic surprise, alexander! and it felt sort of redundant to portal right back into one's own apartment."

"alright, fair enough. in that case..." alec disentangles them and takes a step away from magnus, holding out a hand. he can't quite maintain his serious façade and feels a smile break out across his face despite himself. "mister lightwood-bane, may i have this dance?"

magnus smiles back at him, eyes glimmering in the soft lighting above them, and takes alec's hand, new ring glittering on his finger. and alec feels so privileged to have him. "you most certainly may, husband."

#wow this got sappy as all fuck #also this was meant to be a headcanon what happened 😭#malec #malec fic #my writing

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siriuslyshewrote · 3 years

Text

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 - 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 : Heyy I wanted to request something for Regulus Black with the prompts 5 and 30 if that’s okay😊 thank you in advance 🤍

“I’d do anything for you.”

“I always sleep best when you’re next to me.”

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Phew! This turned out far more angsty than I anticipated, but I hope you all still enjoy it!

Regulus Black was an intoxication, and addiction. Every second you spent with him, were minutes craving him when you were apart. His very soul was beautiful, you had told him once.

Structured cheekbones, piercing yet soft grey eyes, sharp jawline that you trailed your fingers over, long black hair which had been cut short the summer Sirius had left home. It was no wonder that you loved him as much as you did.

"I'll have to go, soon." You murmured quietly to the drowsy boy you were curled up against.

Regulus' arms tightened around your waist a little, letting out a groan of disappointment. These were your stolen moments, your sweet moments that no-one else got to see, hidden away in the Slytherin dormitories, curled up in his tiny four poster bed.

"Stay." He whispered a plea. You turned, looking at his face, placing a hand against his cheek.

"James will kill me if I don't give him his map back tonight. They have some prank planned."

You referred to your brother, a year ahead of the both of you in school. Though he was Head Boy, now, and dating Lily Evans, he still couldn't seem to resist his pranks.

"I better not wake up with red hair again." Regulus murmured against your hair, as messy as your brothers.

You giggled against his chest.

"You were a beautiful red head." You grinned, pushing yourself up into a sitting position, stretching with a yawn, grabbing the map and cloak you had discarded for Regulus' touch.

"Just stay for a while longer." He whispered. "I always sleep best when you're next to me."

He was only vulnerable to you, wearing cold, indifferent mask with everyone else. You occasionally wondered why that was, why he had chosen you of all people to love, when you were so close to the brother that he hated.

He told you that you brought out the good man in him.

You shot him a look, running your fingers through his soft hair, that always smelt faintly of the outdoors and slightly of sweat from hours spent flying around the Quidditch pitch. Regulus always craved to be something better, with everything that he did.

"James may be oblivious sometimes, but even he is going to realise that I'm not just studying after hours in the library soon enough." You grinned.

The relationship between Regulus and yourself had been kept strictly in secret for months, if not years. Sometimes, when you saw each other in the schools halls or the Great Hall, caught one another eyes, you wished that you could wrap your arms around his tired form, link your hands together.

That could never happen.

You were the epitome of everything he was supposed to hate, and he you. You weren't supposed to fall for a Slytherin, and you weren't supposed to fall for someone such as Regulus Black, who, everyone thought, was on the 'wrong path'. He certainly wasn't supposed to fall for a bloodtraitor, one in the family who had stolen away his brother to boot.

"One day, we won't have to sneak around." He spoke hopefully, a shine gleaming in his eyes as he thought of the future. "One day, everyone will know that you're mine."

The two of you liked to live in a world of imagination, of better times that you hoped would one day come. As the world around the two of you grew more unsettled every year, you couldn't see the vision as clearly anymore.

"We'll never have to leave each other. I'll never have to leave." You crooned at him, repeating the words you both knew so well.

His hands, larger than your own, cradled your face.

"Things will be different." He promised.

But he was Regulus Black. And you were you.

"And what of your family?" You spoke quietly, smiling disappearing into a small frown. "How could you tell them?"

He smiled his crooked smile.

"I'd do anything for you, Y/N Potter."

You let yourself smile again, at his proclamation, brushing your lips against his, letting the map fall from your fingers.

Your brother could wait for a little while longer.

For a time more, the two of you could live in your little fantasy.

--------------

His eyes had lost the glimmer in them that you were used to, as he gazed at you, emptily, helplessly. His arm was the only thing bridging the gap between the two of you, as you stood on opposite sides of the cold dungeon corridor.

His dark sleeve had been pulled back, exposing his pale forearm - and the marring that had occurred, the snake tattoo that stared up at you with almost a satisfied look in its eyes.

This is what you get when you play with fire, it seemed to say.

The dark ink and the weight it carried had seeped into your soul, as you stood in the dungeon corridor, staring at it. Your lips trembled, back pressed against the damp stone wall.

"Why?" Tears were welling in your eyes, though they never left the poison engraved into his skin. "Oh Merlin, why?"

You were almost unconsciously moving away from him now, backing away like someone would do when confronted with a rabid animal. You hardly registered that you were shaking.

"Please, Y/N, don't..." His voice cracked, trailing of helplessly.

"Don't what, Reg? Don't leave? Do you expect me to just kiss it better for you, pretend everything is alright?"

Anger pulsed through your body, along with the ache of a shattering heart.

"You promised you'd never leave me. You fucking promised."

Veins stood out in his head, and his hair was wild and messy. He was not your Regulus, he was an empty shell.

You gazed at him, openly in disbelief.

"I never factored in that you would join the fucking Dark Lord!"

You screamed at him, revelling in the way your voice echoed in the dim corridor, as your sentence yelled at him again and again.

"I didn't mean..." He was whispering almost at himself, now. As if realising what he had done.

"Do you even care what that bastard man is doing? He is killing people like me, Regulus! Like me, and James, and Lily, and Sirius. He hates James and Lily's baby before it is even born because of its blood. Is that what you think like? Do you think of dirty blood?"

"Please-"

"What have you even become?" You looked at him in disgust, tears dripping off your cheeks. "You disgust me."

"Y/N, please-"

"No." You whispered, wiping at your face , at the tears, furiously. "Whatever this was, whatever we had - it's done. We're done."

"Y/N-"

"Goodbye, Regulus. I hope you can live with the decisions that you've made." You said coldly, turning on your heel.

That night, in the winter months of 1978, would be the last time you ever saw or heard of Regulus Black, for a long time, until you stared blankly down at the Daily Prophet.

Staring at an obituary.

Regulus Black never could learn to live with the decisions he made. And neither could you.

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black imagine #regulus black fanfiction #regulus black fanfic #James potter #sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders era fic #maruaders x reader

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darter-blue · 3 years

Note

just saw you reblogged the sam to bucky texts saying you're all for a stucky fic with sam eagerly befriending bucky and i have to say i'm so glad someone thinks this would make such a fun fic too. thanks for validating my silly headcanon.

Hello hello Bri!!

I did see that, I loved your tags ❤

So... I wrote a little something, but it's probably not what you were expecting. It wasn't what I had set out to write, but well... this is what took over so...

I hope you like it?

(Special thanks to @oh-i-swear-writes for the 'keep me on read' line)

Sam and Bucky - text saga:

Bucky feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and rolls his eyes.

And then it vibrates again.

And again.

He thinks about taking it out of his pocket and throwing it on the ground. And stomping it under his boot. And then punching it with his left hand, just to be sure… (these little flip phones are fucking built to last, Bucky is strangely proud of his tough little phone).

But then he wouldn’t have a phone for Steve to call him on. And lately those calls from Steve are all that’s keeping Bucky going.

He shouldn’t say that. He certainly should never let his therapist hear that. But it feels true. Steve is happy, Steve is safe. Steve is taking time that he needs, to hide away from the world, and Bucky needs to respect that right now.

And he’s there for Bucky, when he needs him.

He’s just not here here. Not quite as close in proximity as Bucky would like him to be. Out here in the world, where Bucky needs to stop hiding. Where he needs to make amends. To reintegrate. To become a person again.

To get another fucking message on his phone.

He does pull it out of his pocket, finally. Holds it up as if its very existence is offensive to him, and then flips it open. Just to be sure. To be sure that it isn’t Steve who’s texting him.

It isn’t.

It’s Sam.

He has fourteen unread messages from Samuel T Wilson.

‘For fucks sake,’ he says under his breath. Then squeezes the phone a little too tight in his right hand. Tight enough to hear a crack. And then he stops. He doesn’t really want to break it. He slowly releases it and checks to make sure its still working, the screen is still intact - it is - And then he stares at the unopened messages for a minute. Wondering if he can will them away with the power of his mind.

Alas no. Hydra had not, in their wisdom, imparted him with any powers of telekinesis. Just plain old strength and speed. And healing. And then fried him full of volts and sent him out to kill kill kill…

No. He’s not thinking about that now.

He does, reluctantly, press his finger to the button to open his texts.

Its a fucking onslaught...

Samuel T Wilson: Hey Buck, just wondering if you’re free for dinner. My sister Sarah’s a great cook… just saying.

Samuel T Wilson: Hey Buck, so dinner is still on offer, never too late to reply.

Samuel T Wilson: Okay, so - and only because its all already gone - it is now too late to reply. But its a standing invite okay? Dinner at Sarah’s every Sunday.

Samuel T Wilson: I forgot to say, you can just show up, you don't even have to reply.

Samuel T Wilson: Or maybe, I mean… okay. So I was just wondering - is it too much? With the whole family? I get that that could be too much.

Samuel T Wilson: we could grab a beer

Samuel T Wilson: or watch the game

Samuel T Wilson: whichever game - I don’t know whether sport is your thing.

Samuel T Wilson: Or we could talk

Samuel T Wilson: Or not talk

Samuel T Wilson: Not talking is fine. Totally fine.

Samuel T Wilson: you have that stoic, stone cold badass thing happening, I get it.

Samuel T Wilson: Listen, its okay, you can leave me on read. I wont push im just… the offer is there okay?

Samuel T Wilson: Oh did I tell you this new kid, Torres, says people think Steve is on the moon? You believe that?

‘Ha!’ Bucky lets out a huff of laughter at the last text. ‘Really?’

He wonders if its true, that people really think that. Then he looks back over the preceding thirteen messages again and shakes his head.

How he managed to get on Sam’s good side he’ll never know. He barely knows him. Which is entirely by his own design, he knows that.

Steve may have asked Sam to keep an eye on Bucky while he’s hiding away in wherever he's trekked to this week… but Sam has better things to do than babysit Bucky’s grumpy ass.

He’s too good a man, too full of light and love for his family for Bucky to let him get too close. For Bucky’s special brand of toxicity to seep into his life and eat at it from the inside out…

Sam is too good a man to be wasting his time on Bucky…

It wouldn't be a waste of Bucky's time though, to get to know Sam. To let Sam in.

Sam is the kind of good man that Bucky could learn from. The kind of man that Steve would trust his shield to. The kind of man that could help Bucky see all the ways this world might be able to use him again. Give him somewhere to fit.

As a friend. A colleague.

As family.

He's thinking about that. Not about what Sam deserves, but what Bucky deserves. How much more he might deserve if he were to be more like Sam - more open and affable and genuine - when the phone rings.

And he's distracted enough that he answers it without thinking.

'Hello?'

'Buck!'

'Bucky,' Bucky says, instinctively, because only Steve gets to call him Buck.

'Bucky,' Sam corrects himself, 'You picked up!'

'I did.' Bucky doesn't have the heart to tell him it was an accident.

'You ah… free tonight?'

It's funny actually, that Sam, who is always so charming and charismatic, suddenly sounds so nervous.

It touches something in Bucky, that such a little thing, spending time with someone as useless and broken as Bucky, might be worth something to a man like Sam. Enough for him to be nervous about it.

'Yeah, I'm free.'

'Really?' Sam says, his voice pitched high and happy, 'Well that's… I mean, are you maybe interested in catching up?' he asks. 'With me?' He adds quickly.

'Sure, we could watch the game.'

'Which game?'

'I don't know, I don't what games there are.'

'Oh, well there's basketball tonight? Wizards are playing the hornet's,' Sam says, growing less hesitant, voice deepening into something richer.

'Wizards aren't real.'

'It's the team name, Bucky, Washington Wizards.'

'Oh right, any good?' Bucky asks, at this point just to keep him talking. Sam has the kind of voice that settles something in Bucky, something deep in his chest. It's the kind of voice that can sooth. Heal.

Its a good voice.

'Friend, you haven't seen a real shooting guard until you've seen Bradley Beal.'

'Well then I guess I'll have to check it out.'

'Want me to come to you? Bring some beers?'

Bucky looks around his apartment. At the total lack of furniture. Or food. Or anything resembling a home.

'How bout I come to you?'

And Sam can no doubt hear the edge in Buckys voice, but he doesn't mention it. 'Sure. Easy.'

'I can bring sushi,' Bucky offers.

There's a pause, and Bucky is ready to take it back, apologise. Maybe sushi is a terrible idea.

'Soft shell crab?' Sam asks, and Bucky laughs.

'It's my favourite.'

'Well alright! Games at seven.'

'See you then, and hey,'

'Yeah?'

'Thanks, Sam.'

'Uh huh. Just bring me my crab and I'll be happy.'

Bucky hears the connection cut out and can't help but smile. Sushi and basketball. Might not be so horrible.

He closes his phone and then flips it back open to call Steve.

Its very important that he a) makes him jealous about the soft shell crab sushi and b) makes him jealous that he's missing out on spending time with Sam.

It might even be enough to lure him back out of hiding. Give Bucky a reason to buy some furniture.

Maybe this will be a win win for Bucky. And Maybe…

Maybe he deserves that.

#sam and bucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #gen fic #sunshine #just felt like some happy #thanks for the inspiration bri #iamthe-wo-manwhocan #bec answers #fanfic #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

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amethystpath-writes · 3 years

Text

Oh no. I made myself cry with this one.

Thank you @gingerly-writing for this heartbreaking prompt!

“Look away,” the villain said softly. “There’s no saving them now, but I can make it quick.”

"No. No, I can't." Hero hiccuped on a sob. Something in her chest was breaking. Her body fell to the pebbled ground and she reached a hand towards the little boy in front of her- her boy. That was her boy. She gripped the ground as much as she could, pulling herself to her baby, but her efforts didn't last.

Villain picked her up, holding her close, arms wrapped around her front, her back pressed against his chest. She just wanted to be near her baby boy; he was writhing on the ground- dying. She needed to be there with him. "Hero, I promise you don't want to see this." She thrashed in his hold, screaming at him, crying, but he wouldn't give. Villain's eyes changed as he whispered in the hero's ears, "Close your eyes."

And she did. She had no choice but to close her eyes, all because of Villain's command. Now, if she couldn't be in her little boy's presence in his dying moments, it would be Villain's fault and not her own. That was all Villain could ask for as she continued crying and thrashing in his grasp.

"Now stay here," he whispered again, and the lightness in his voice carried through Hero's veins, pumping towards her mind by her heart's pulses. The command settled around her brain like a fog until it was all she could understand. "Hold still. It'll be okay."

"It'll be okay," she said almost robotically, and her body stilled. Her shaking hands became stone. Even being calmed, Hero had a conflict within herself. Relaxed as she was now, she knew she should be screaming. Her son was going to die. "It's not okay, not right now. It's not okay even if it will be. It's not okay right now, Villain. My baby's- he's-"

"Shhh. It's okay. I can make it quick." Villain whispered one last thing. "Plug your ears as tightly as you can. I'll get you when it's finished."

"It's okay," Hero wanted to nod, but Villain already commanded her limbs to be still. She did plug her ears like he said though. It's okay. And she believed it. "You'll get me when it's finished."

She felt Villain's arms slide away from her. She barely heard as his footsteps became more distanced. Her son's pained screams were still audible, but more muffled than when her ears were open. It didn't matter anyways. Everything was okay. Her mind said everything was okay. Yeah, maybe it was because of Villain's power, but that didn't matter. Her brain told her with full confidence that it was okay. And Villain would get her when he finished.

"It hurts!" Hero heard her son scream. "It hurts so bad! I want my mommy!" A part of Hero's mind felt like it lurched at her boy's last statement, but Villain's command was stronger. She wanted to be pissed at Villain for making her so still, for not letting her see her baby boy, but she couldn't- because it was okay.

Snap. Hero's heart rate increased at the sound. A single tear fell down her face. A whimper rose in her throat. Her eyes were still closed, ears were still plugged. But it wasn't enough. Her ribs were collapsing in on her. Everything hurt. More whimpers and groaned escaped her, but then there were hands on her shoulder, a voice in front of her.

A hand swiped away the stray tear on Hero's face. "Your emotions are too strong for my ability. I need to think of a stronger command." A pause. "I'm so sorry, Hero."

"Wha- why are you apologizing? It's okay." Her voice was breaking away from its numb tone, breaking in spots. Still, the command was still ever present.

Villain began whispering after a single deep breath. Hero could only listen. "Hero, you never had a son. You never even had a husband. All of these years, you've fought alone, and you've done so well at it. Supervillain is a tough opponent, but you found a partner who is willing to help you bring him down. Your partner's name is Villain; that's me."

Another deep breath. "You never knew the young boy in front of you. He was an unfortunate causality that neither of us could prevent. He passed quickly and with little pain. The boy's family has already received the news. Their grievance period might be long, but they'll be okay, just like you and I will be." Villain took a hand off of Hero to wipe at his own tears. It was becoming difficult to refrain from sniffing.

"Although there was much destruction, Supervillain left very injured. We both think if he returns at all, it'll be with a permanent leg injury, which will slow him down. We can truly best him next time."

Villain sighed. "I release your body from my command." He never would have imagined siding with Hero like this, never would have thought he'd commit himself to being her partner. But...he couldn't be on Supervillain's side anymore, not if- not if he did things like this. Children had no place in war. And parents didn't deserve to suffer for it when it did- unfortunately- happen.

Supervillain was a monster, and just like Villain told Hero, he was hurt. Villain would kill him next time.

"Have any authorities been called?" Hero asked.

Villain cleared his throat and stepped back. At a normal volume, he said, "Yeah. Yeah, you can hear the sirens, actually. You go back to my base. I'll give the reports."

"You sure?" Hero gave a sympathetic smile- if you could call such a thing that. She glanced at the boy's body- the body which wasn't her son. She didn't know that boy. "You seem...more affected by this than usual. I thought you were supposed to be the tough shell to crack." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive. I can do the report, Villain, if you need to take some time to yourself."

He shook his head. "I'm alright. You head back, okay? I got this."

Hero nodded in acknowledgment, and without another word, she began walking away.

Villain felt a heavy weight settle on his body. He'd never live happily remembering he erased a mother's son from her own memory. That was unforgivable, even if it was necessary.

This doubles as an entry for my bthb! @badthingshappenbingo

Original work

Dragging Themselves Along the Ground

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corancoranthemagicalman · 3 years

Note

💜💜🌻💜💜🌻💜💜

Thank you so much 💜 my day was stressful and mentally taxing but overall it was fine :) i am so so flattered/flustered that you want to gift me something in return- i never expect anything when i'm penguin anon. And irl i'm trying to be better at accepting things from people. so if you really would like to gift me something here are some tropes i like: cas gardening (sorry i can't get away from flowers/plants!), dadstiel with baby or toddler jack, general domestic fluff, anything that explores cas & dean healing/character growth 💜 but i honestly don't expect anything in return for my hearts and flowers. They are freely given 💜💜🌻💜💜🌻💜💜

-🐧🌻

I’m sorry to hear it was stressful for you, dear. I’m glad that overall it wasn’t too bad for you, though. I hope this cheers you up? I’m a few hours later with it because I get distracted big time in research. Like figuring out that Dean was 22 when Shrek came out. Which had literally no bearing on this, but was fun to figure out. The hearts and flowers are more than appreciated. 💕🌺🌺💕

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

When Dean was four, he watched his mother hold his baby brother to the blooming sunflowers she kept in the backyard. Mom said they were called Sunriches. They were named that because they were like golden suns. Dean thought the sun was golden, but when he tried looking at it, the sun was just a bright, white color. Blinding. Dad said he couldn’t look at the sun without hurting himself, so he stopped trying.

What he could look at was Mom holding Sammy. He was only a couple of months old, but Mom was excitedly talking to him as if he could talk back. Dad said he wouldn’t be able to talk for a while. That didn’t seem to bother Mom. She was content to describe the flowers to Sammy. They were taller than Dean was. Mom said they wouldn’t get any bigger, but one day Dean would be tall enough to hold Sammy up to the flower petals. He looked forward to that.

Mom looked pretty in her dress, from Dean’s memory of the time. Her skirt swayed in the autumn wind in time with the petals dancing in the breeze. It was ethereal, like a princess talking to animals. Except instead of a squirrel on her shoulder there was a baby in her arms. Dean thought it looked like magic.

A few months later, when Dean was finally trusted with holding Sammy in his arms, he was running out of his burning home.

He didn’t think about the sunflowers they left behind.

Read more undercut or check it out on AO3!

Later in life, when Dean was flirting too close to a stable relationship with a reporter, he idly thumbed at the petals of the Suntastic Yellows. He remembered his mom telling him that they were the tiniest sunflowers. The type they used in bouquets. Cassie had a small pot resting on her windowsill.

Cassie’s hands drew around his waist from behind him. Humming into his neck, Cassie drew him backward with her. He thought about it in an absent sense, walking away from the sunflowers.

“You know,” she whispered against the shell of his ear, “they say that sunflowers track the sun all throughout the day.”

“Oh, really?” Dean smirked, taking her lips in his own. She was wonderful, really. Too wonderful. Wonderful enough that Dean thought about confessing everything to her. Cassie would understand. She was clever and understanding. Hell, maybe she’d even accept him.

It was too bad, then, that when Dean told her what he did—what he was—that she didn’t believe him. Dean wouldn’t have believed himself either. Walking away with his keys in his hand and his heart at his feet, Dean wondered if this is what it would always feel like. If he would always have to walk away from the place his heart was trying to make into a home. Maybe it was something about being a sunflower. Always tracking the sun throughout the day.

Too bad Dean couldn’t find the damn sunlight.

“Dude, look!” Dean grinned during another part of his life, pointing at some old lady’s front garden full of Taiyos. “It’s like Shrek.” He teased his brother, elbowing Sam who only rolled his eyes in return.

“Shrek? Really?” Sam scoffed. “How old were you when that even happened?”

Dean huffed a laugh. “What? You’re telling me you didn’t go watch the cinematic masterpiece known as Shrek with all of your college buddies?”

Sam rolled his eyes again, huffing with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sure, Dean. And then we watched Holiday in the Sun right after, too.”

“Never took you for a Mary-Kate and Ashley fan, Sammy.” Dean grinned, watching the sunflowers swaying in the breeze from the corner of his eye.

They looked peaceful in the witness’ front yard. Untouched by the grueling werewolf that was lurking through the small town. Dean could hear Sam’s sharp inhale from beside him.

“I always thought sunflowers were… homey,” Sam confessed, watching the sunflowers dance with a furrowed brow.

Shooting Sam a crooked grin, Dean stepped forward toward the sunflowers but he didn’t dare touch them. “I’m not surprised,” he began. “Mom used to grow them. She started taking you out into the garden as soon as you stopped crying all the time.”

Sam was silent for a moment, causing Dean to look at him with concern. It wasn’t often that Sam was quiet, but when he was it was always a contemplative silence. “I didn’t know that.” He spoke softly.

“You wouldn’t have remembered.” Dean shrugged, stepping onto the witness’ walkway to begin making their way up to the door. “These are a bit taller than hers were. But then again, everything seemed taller then.”

There was another moment of contemplative silence, but it seemed Sam had nothing left to say. He knocked on the witness’ door, taking care not to meet Dean’s eye. Dean wondered what that meant. Wondered if Sam felt the same way when he saw sunflowers.

Then again, Sam had always been larger than life. Tall and proud.

When Dean was on the aching side of forty, he watched Castiel hold their four-year-old son to the blooming sunflowers he kept in the backyard. Cas had been enchanted by the Little Beckas when he had seen them. While they might not have been the tallest—or the smallest—of sunflowers, he had thought they were lovely. Dean had made a quip about their halo and bought Cas seeds the same day.

Watching Cas and Jack reminded Dean of being four and trying to see what color the sun was. It was blinding, something he felt he should look away from lest it hurt him. But he found that he couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to watch Cas answer every question Jack had.

He was beautiful, Dean often thought, but especially in moments like these. The cuffs of his jeans were muddied and his bare feet were buried in the soil where he sat with Jack in his lap. Dean hated how Cas refused to wear shoes outside, but he had claimed to like being closer to the Earth. Dean couldn’t argue with him. He wouldn’t argue with him; not for what made him happy.

Cas turned to look at him, catching his gaze and drawing him closer with just a look. Dean moved without hesitation, standing beside Cas and kicking at his knee with his booted foot. His approach drew Jack’s attention away from the flowers, who clapped excitedly the closer he got.

“Whaddya think, Jack? Do you like the colors?” Dean hummed, watching Jack’s gummy smile as the kid waved up at him.

“Daddy says that sunflowers face East!” He pointed enthusiastically, laughing and reaching for the blooms in front of him.

Dean frowned, looking from Cas to the flowers. “I thought sunflowers rotated with the sun or whatever.”

Cas hummed, tilting his head with a nod. “They do, in their youth.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Jack’s head. “But when they mature, the sunflowers learn that they get the most light during the morning hours when the sun has just risen from the East.” Bouncing Jack momentarily and causing the boy to giggle, Cas turned to face Dean. “They just learn what’s healthiest for them. It just takes time.”

Inhaling sharply, Dean wondered if this was it. If this was his East. Watching a smiling Jack and Cas whispering about sunflowers that—while not the tallest or the smallest—were a halo of colors. Two colors that came together, that never faded, that bloomed to life in this tiny garden he called home. He was a dark heart and a bright halo, smiling toward the bright, white sunlight of a gummy smile and clapping hands.

With a grunt, Dean lowered himself to the soil, sitting beside Cas and wrapping his arm around Cas’ shoulder. “These little guys are pollen-less,” he spoke to Jack. “That’s why we got the honeysuckles.”

“Honeysuckles stand for devotion.” Cas’ voice rumbled gently. “In the ancient Celtic alphabet, the symbol that the Ogham carved into stone to represent the honeysuckle stood for following one’s path.”

Dean snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sort of counterintuitive. Since, yanno, Free Will.” He quipped, raising a curious brow toward Cas.

Bowing his head in concession, Cas continued. “Yes, that is true. The Druids meant it more like… trusting one’s gut. Rather than sticking to the story.” He grinned, rocking with Jack in his arms for a moment. “But the honeysuckle is rather hard to kill. That is why it means everlasting devotion.”

“Deaths don’t stick, huh?” Dean hummed, squeezing Cas closer into his side. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Cas exhaled a laugh, resting his head atop Jack’s. “The Chinese valued the honeysuckle for its healing properties. It can be a cooling herb to remove toxins.”

Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’ cheek, keeping his lips there for a moment longer before pulling away. “Even if the honeysuckle can’t heal ‘em, the sunflowers like the company anyway.” He smiled softly, watching as Cas’ eyes turned dewy toward him. “And ‘sides, the honeysuckle brings all the bees to the yard.”

Snorting laughter that Jack joined in without knowing the cause, Cas shook his head. “I suppose so.” His attempt to suppress a smile made Dean’s own grin widen. “But the sunflower is more than enough company.”

“Damn straight,” Dean whispered against Cas’ lips, kissing him slowly and savoring the moment.

Between them, Jack made exaggerated kissy faces, causing them to pull apart and watch him with amusement. He grinned, reaching up and holding Dean and Cas’ cheeks in his palms.

“Daddy and Poppa sittin’ in a tree!” Jack sang, giggling as he smushed their heads together.

Mocking a frown, Dean held his other hand out behind Jack’s back. His palm felt so large in comparison to how small Jack was. “Did Uncle Sam teach you that?”

“Yup!” Jack nodded enthusiastically, head bobbing as he continued to hum the song under his breath.

Cas gave another chuckle under his breath, looking from Jack to Dean. “I suppose we should head inside. We're still expecting Sam and Eileen for lunch.”

Dean stood with a groan as his knees ached. He reached out a hand to help Cas and Jack up, standing tall with his family in their little garden. Keeping their fingers intertwined, Dean didn’t have to think about the sunflowers they left behind.

They would be there as long as the sun was in the East.

#ask c #anon #🐧🌻 anon #destiel #destiel ficlet #spn #spn ficlet #flower language #sunflowers #dean winchester #character study #meta????#dunno #im bad at tagging

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nurloxx · 3 years

Text

routine

summary: kira and the kids bake sweet bread for breakfast

a/n: me wishing i could come up with a better title 🤪 also fizzgig finally makes his return

"Kairi, could you be a dear and pass me those nebrie eggs?"

"Yes mama!" The young girl chirped, running off towards the opposite end of the counter. Su squealed as she zoomed past, reaching out with flour covered fingers as wisps of chestnut hair flew in front of his face.

Kira giggled, wiping the corners of his mouth with the end of her apron. "You've been a very good helper so far, Su."

"And me too!" Kairi chimed in, placing a long container down on their "work station".

"Yes dear, you too." Kira patted Kairi on the head, taking a moment to bend down and retie the bow on her own little apron that was starting to come loose. Morning sunlight streamed through the open window, touching every corner of the rather spacious kitchen. The perfect morning to bake something in Kira's mind.

"Alright Kairi, do you think you could help me crack the eggs?"

The young girl nodded vigorously, bouncing in place on the little step stool her mother had brought over for her. Kira beamed, handing her daughter an egg and positioning the mixing bowl right below it.

"Now you don't want to do it too hard, otherwise we might get bits of shells in the batter," She gently instructed. Placing her larger hands over her daughters, Kira carefully went through the motions of breaking open the egg and adding the yolk to the vat of other ingredients. Kairi made a noise of understanding, doing her best to be gentle as she picked up the next egg and lightly knocked it against the rim of the bowl. The slightest of cracks appeared, and the yolk bled into the batter without a hassle.

Kira clapped her hands approvingly. "Well done Kairi!"

Su watched them both with big curious brown eyes, letting out a low whine when he felt he was being left out. His mother saw this and cooed sympathetically, brushing back his mop of messy blond hair.

"Here Su, you look after the sugar," Kira took a small jar of sugar crystals and placed it right between his chubby legs. "and make sure Kairi doesn't eat it all." She whispered the last part into his ear with a giggle.

That seemed to satiate him for the time being. Now with a newfound sense of purpose, Su dutifully cradled the small glass jar of sugar crystals, looking over at his sister every now and again to ensure she didn't try to sneak any from it. Kira couldn't help but shake her head in amusement, pinching her son's cheek and staining it with flour.

"I'm glad to see your taking this so seriously, dear" She tittered, wiping her hands down on her apron and directing her attention back to Kairi. "Now then, I say we should give this batter a good mixing and set it to bake."

Kairi nodded. "Mmhm! I can't wait to eat!"

"Oh but not all of it I hope. Remember, we have to save some for your father."

As it was customary of him to do, Jen had woken up in the whee hours of the morning to get a head start on his work for the day. Filtering through pages among pages of manuscripts and other assorted paperwork his advisors sent from the Capital. It tended to take quite a lot out of him, with him sometimes not reappearing until late afternoon. Early evening if the work load was particularly dense.

Kira figured their little homemade concoction would be a pleasant surprise.

A little while later the children had crowded around the stone oven, Su having been set down near Kairi's feet while she tried to get a view of the bread baking through the small window in the front. The younger of the two attempted to stand on wobbly legs, ultimately falling onto his rump with a faint "oof!"

Kira applauded his efforts regardless. "Hmm, you'll get the hang of it eventually, my little one." She went over and scooped him off the floor, gently bouncing him in her arms. "But that was a very nice try."

"Mama, how much longer?" Kairi asked impatiently, pursing her lips.

"Not for another half hour at least." Kira replied calmly. She motioned towards the messy counter top as she placed Su down in his highchair. "Why don't you help me clean up in the meantime?"

The young girl pouted, but complied. "Ok...." She mumbled, giving the oven one more longing look before stepping away and letting her mother help her back up onto the step-stool. As the two wiped rags over the counter and piled dirty bowls in the washtub, a high pitched squeal of excitement ripped from the youngest occupant in the room.

"Figgig!!"

A succession of short barks followed soon after, and Kira turned her head towards the source.

Fizzgig rolled across the floor of the kitchen, pausing to sniff at one of the legs of Su's highchair.

"Fizzgig! You're normally not awake at this hour." Kira said, speaking affectionate words to her pet in podling while beckoning him forward with a finger.

"Maybe he smelled the bread mama!" Kairi giggled. She set aside the rag in favor of rifling through the pantry and grabbing a few dried strips of nebrie jerky. "It's not ready yet, Fizzygig, but you can have some of these!"

"Figgig! Figgig!" Su squealed, trying in vain to climb out of his chair so he could play too.

"Here Kairi, you take one..." Kira gently moved two strips from her daughter's hand, taking one for herself, and passing the third off to Su. "Now, just like I taught you."

Fizzgig had no idea what they were planning, but as soon as he saw Kairi dangle the bit of jerky over his mouth, he couldn't help himself. With one strong bounce he snatched the treat from her hand and gobbled it up within seconds.

Su gurgled as he tried to get the fizzgigs attention, leaning over the side of his highchair and waving his bit of jerky around like a banner. Kira put a hand to her mouth and tittered softly. Figuring her son could use some assistance, she whistled sharply.

Fizzgigs ears perked at the noise, and he obediently rolled over to his owners feet. Kira pointed to Su's piece of jerky, smiling.

"Up Fizzgig! Up!" She commanded.

Like before, he leaped high into the air and caught the treat between his sharp teeth, eliciting a shriek of excitement from Su. He clapped his tiny hands together fervorously.

"Ag-ain!!"

"Yeah, again!" Kairi echoed.

Kira beamed, holding out her own piece. "Alright Fizzgig, one more and then that's it."

Both children watched in excitement as Fizzgig made one last grab at the jerky, this time doing a small flip mid-air before landing. They cheered in unison, with Kairi rushing to sweep him up in a crushing hug while Su pounded the tray of his highchair with his palms.

xxx.

A little while later, the bread was finally done baking. All three gelfs were still in the kitchen, Kira having brought some toys from her children's rooms to ease their restlessness.

"Kairi, guess what time it is?" She asked playfully. Kairi gasped as she sprung to her feet, abandoning the doll she had been playing with.

"It's done?!"

Laughing, Kira nodded. This garnered an enthusiastic cry from her daughter, who rushed in the direction of the oven before she could even blink. After carefully removing it with a wooden paddle, Kira sliced the loaf into pieces, placing a few on a plate already set out on the table. That would be the portion saved for Jen.

"Be careful, Kairi. It's still cooling down." Kira cautioned, watching her young one blow fervent breaths on her slice until she was pink in the cheeks. She was about to offer to spread some jam on it when Kairi had already popped the whole thing into her mouth.

Her cobalt eyes lit up in awe as she chewed. "Mmm!!! This is really good!!"

Su had also ripped off a chunk from his own serving and pushed it past his spittle covered lips. Kira tittered at the sight, leaning over to plant a noisy smooch on his cheek. "Does it taste good, sweetie?"

He made a noise of approval, tearing off another piece before he could even finish swallowing.

"Kairi, watch your brother for me. I have to go give this to papa." Kira said, taking the plate, along with a glass of milk, and making her way towards the long winding staircase that led to the study.

xxx.

Jen sighed as he dipped his pen into the ink pot for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. It was shaping up to be another long work day, which meant he probably wouldn't be seeing his loved ones until later in the afternoon. Just his luck, he supposed.

"Thra this is going to take me ages..." Jen griped, looking to his left and grimacing at the mountain of paperwork threatening to topple off the side of his desk. With another deep sigh he began to jot down some important notes onto a fresh scroll when his ears perked at the sound of a familiar voice calling to him from the stairwell.

"Jen?"

A warm smile tugged at Jen's lips as he swiveled around in his seat to gaze lovingly at his wife.

"Good morning Kira. Heh, you're up early."

She giggled, a truly infectious sound that always had him seeing hearts, and went to set something down in front of him. That's when he finally noticed what she had been carrying.

"Love, what..."

"It's sweet bread." She answered, briskly decluttering his work area so he could have more room to eat. "My mother used to make it for me all the time as a child. I figured it'd be a nice morning to bake some and surprise you with it."

Jen was clearly touched by the gesture, cheeks heating up slightly as he lifted a hand to cradle the side of his wife's face.

"Kira, this is a wonderful surprise. Thank you." He brought her down to plant a chaste peck on her lips. Kira hummed, momentarily deepening it before pulling away and tucking some dark locks behind his ear.

"I should leave you to it. The sooner you get done with work, the sooner you can come up and relax with us."

With a quick nose nuzzle, Kira turned and started to ascend the staircase. Jen watched her go, already feeling a deep pang of longing in his chest. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted up into his nostrils, and he looked down at his plate.

Wasting no time, he picked up a slice and bit into it happily. For the moment, he put his mind off of work.

Instead, his thoughts drifted to the next time he had a break in his schedule. The perfect opportunity to help Kira bake this again.

merry christmas

#the dark crystal #the dark crytsal: age of resistance #jen #kira #jen x kira #i write stuff

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hainethehero · 4 years

Text

The HARRINGROVE War AU that no one asked for...

"Jetty!"

"Oh fuck!"

"Fucking hell man! We're fucking dead-"

"Shut the fuck up Meyers!"

"Andrews! Get the medic!"

"Fuck- my goddamn arm!"

"Tommy-!"

The sounds are still in his head, knocking around his brain inside his skull. His eyes haven't closed in days and he's pretty sure his skin is falling off his bones. He feels sick and dirty and his hair feels dirty and unkempt. It had grown back so fast in the short period of time he'd been here... in Hell.

His body hurts, bones jarring and scraping against each other with every movement. There's a throbbing on the left side of his ribs, and the stinging pain of a festering wound on his right. It's been burning for days. His legs are sore, right leg wrapped up to the knee and oozing thick, dark red. The bandages around his head have started getting sticky with sickening ointment and congealed blood. His lips sting painfully every time he passes his tongue over them. They're cracked and busted in several places, red and raw where the skin's been opened.

God, what had they done to him?

He feels a presence near him and freezes, even though the bombs ringing in his head don't quite stop exploding.

"Hi Ms. Nancy, how's he been?"

"You're always right on time Soldier."

The woman's voice sounds familiar but he can't place it in his hazed state.

"I made him a promise." The man responds, a dark, echoing loneliness in his voice.

"Of course," Ms. Nancy replies, walking closer to fix something very near to his left side.

And somehow, his body fails him and goes stiff, sitting upright with his eyes wide and frightened. His jaw is locked tight and his fists are clenched, knuckles white. Every instinct in his body is warning him to get away- to run away from the danger, as if he'd be torn apart by the bomb Ms. Nancy was currently setting atop the bed. A terrified whine escapes his throat and a solitary tear runs down his pale cheek.

"He's been getting worse huh?" The Soldier asks, not unkindly, just kind of sad.

"So far, we've only seen nine cases of men recovering from shell-shock. It's not promising... one of them died last night."

"Died? Did it spread?"

"No Soldier. He put a gun in his mouth."

There's a sudden silence that falls over them, cold breeze billowing through the over-arching windows of the stone Catholic church they'd set up the triage in. Even the pained and terrified moans and cries of grown men had fallen into the hush, as if God himself were present.

Then Ms. Nancy speaks again:

"There's been a new shipment of iodine and sodium hydroxide today. From the French. We've been ordered to ration it but I think he needs his wounds cleaned again."

"Thank you."

........................

He hates when the nurse bathes him.

Hates how useless it makes him feel. Hates that he'd become so cowardly, like a child afraid of the dark. Her thin but gentle hands wash over him, soothingly passing the clean water over his skin, careful not to disturb the wounds. But he feels so wounded all over.

By the time he's back in bed, the night has taken over for the day, and hundreds of his comrades have already conceded to sleep. But he stays wide awake, terrified and paranoid that a bomb's going to go off in the middle of the night and kill everyone while they rest peacefully. So he keeps his rifle by his bedside, ready for a fight.

"Goodnight Soldier." Ms. Nancy says softly, not to him, but to the man sitting beside him.

The Soldier's been with him since the trenches. He was a good man, and a steady presence of stability in these crazy days. He could recall some kind of kinship between them, comprised of half-hearted banter, terrible jokes and early morning conversations that were for their ears only. Talking to him had made being in those vile and unsanitary trenches a little better. They often talked about being back home, safe and surrounded by friends who loved them. Their families were another story but that was beside the point.

"Got a letter today," the Soldier tells him, drinking out of an aluminium canteen. His finger twitches, almost as if he's fighting to respond but is paralyzed to do so.

"From Maxine."

Maxine was Soldier's sister...

She told me that my Dad and Susan were planning to move out of California. Stupid, right? She said something about Indiana, and starting over in a small town. Who knows pretty boy? They might even move to that good ol' Hawkins you keep telling me about."

Pretty Boy... that's Soldier's pet name for him.

"A letter came for you too. From your father."

He must've gasped in shock because suddenly the Soldier is staring up at him with those unreal blue eyes, lips slightly parted in surprise. He feels the Soldier's hand on his shoulder and it's warm and comforting. It beds down the shock a little bit; shock at the fact that his father had written a letter to him. He may have been in shell-shock but even his mind could recall the time when John Harrington said that he was dead to him. That until he'd made something of himself, he would never be accepted- would never be his son.

"Steve? You with me kid?"

Kid.

The Soldier always called him that, despite being not much older himself. He preferred that nickname to rookie though, since he'd only just started while the Soldier had been on this tour since late last year. He remembers the absolute feeling of dread that had filled his body when the draft had come around and his name was on that godforsaken piece of paper. His parents had been all too ecstatic to ship him off on his merry way. He'd been writing to them, feverishly begging for their mercy. Hadn't gotten a letter back since he'd started writing to them.

"Wh- ...what d...does it say?" he hears himself ask softly, throat shaking with emotion. "Can- ...um, can you read it to me Bill?"

Billy- no longer the abstract Soldier in his mind- sighs and leans over in the chair, elbows resting on his knees. He's holding a piece of paper in his hands, fists closed tight, his knuckles white.

"Please Bill..."

"Hold on pretty boy," Billy whispers as gently as he can, blue eyes staring hard at the neat, professional penmanship of who must've been John Harrington, Steve's father. It was concise and void of any kind of human emotion.

"Steve,

Stop sending us letters. It upsets your mother and I'm much too busy to sit down and write replies."

Billy feels his heart break into pieces for the poor kid and he doesn't have the heart to put him through such harsh words. He folds it up quickly and clears his throat.

"Y'know what? I brought Max's letter by accident."

"W- what?"

"Must've left it in the command wing. It's fine, we can always get it some other time."

Steve looks at him, big brown doe-eyes confused and sad at the same time. "What if it's an emergency?"

Billy scoffs. "Trust me, they ain't fighting a war back in ol' Hawkins. Your folks can wait. You on the other hand, need to get some sleep."

A soft smile creeps up on Steve's pretty face and he blushes soft pink. "Well at least tell me what's been going on Boss."

That was his pet name for Billy.

"Where's Tommy?"

Billy's expression suddenly changes and he's no longer pained. Just angry. And lost and so fucking confused. War brought out the worst in men, and it was always hard to fight alongside the corpses of men he'd spent weeks, months in the trenches with. They were all family, and losing even one of them was the worst pains Billy had ever faced.

Steve's hopeful expression turns ever so slightly and now he looks awfully worried.

"Bill? Billy where's Tommy?"

Billy glances up into the kid's eyes and sees nothing but hopelessness there as realization dawns upon him. Steve bursts into wailing tears and crashes back onto the pillows, hands covering his face. His wails trigger some of the sleeping men and they wake up in a shock, disgruntled yells and curses filling the large hall.

"Settle down Soldier," a tired looking nurse hisses, looking more panicked than mad. She gives Billy a pointed glare and goes about on her way to putting the terrified men back to sleep.

Billy sighs and shushes Steve as gently as he can, petting the boy's soft hair until he quiets. He feels a weariness wash over him and crawls into the bed to lay down next to the kid. Steve wastes no time in burying his face in Billy's neck, silent sobs wracking through his frail body. Billy wraps him up in his arms, a scalding hot wave of protectiveness flaring inside his chest.

"It's okay kid, I've got you. I promise," he whispers in Steve's ear, stroking his back in slow, deliberate motions. The pretty brunette cries and cries until he cries himself to sleep, snuggled into the larger soldier, as if he was the only protection he needed.

Billy just holds him through the night.

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bitchfitch · 3 years

Text

Copper artfight resource

big soft boy. if a cup of spicy hot chocolate was a massive apex predator/ obligate carnivore.

mikely stabbed him the first time they met and he fell in love Instantly.

an excerpt:

Death crept through the lavish halls of a rich man's home. Old cracked paint flaked beside sun faded tapestries and over well worn wood floors. The raged leather soles of of his boots softly thumping along with the creaking of old wood that accompanied his every step. He found the room easily, following the sound of a fading cough and short not quite gasping breaths that failed to draw enough air.

He ducked through the door and the dying man greeted him with age hazed eyes and a broad grin.

"Copper!" his exclamation carried joy even if his lungs couldn't support more than a creaking whisper, "Bastard, it's so good to see you again," he stopped to catch his breath, his eyes closing as he did so,

"And you as well," Copper returned the smile as he sat in the chair beside the bed, "But to be honest I'm a touch surprised, both that you can see anything through those cataracts, and that you would… Appreciate my presence,"

The rich man chuckled, "Not many people have hair that color, even fewer are as tall as you. I may not be able to see much, but I can still see that,"

"I suppose you're right," Copper huffs with a hand going to his dark red mess of a mane "Still, you must remember the terms of our deal and what my presence means for you now?"

"I do," he nods, "I'm going to die tonight, going to see Min again,"

"Min?"

"My wife," he smiles as he speaks of her even as his words become more labored, "That quill you gave me, I wrote a letter to the girl I had fallen in love with when we were young. I didn't know she couldn't read, so she had to get someone else to read it to her, but when she'd heard what I wrote she came all the way into the valley to slap me and call me an idiot," he laughs, "Told me we should've eloped when we were both still fresh, before she'd found another man to call her own,

I'd not even thought that she'd have gone on like that. It made sense, she could have, and did, do so much better than me. But luck of lucks saw that husband of hers dead not long after. I felt bad for being so happy, but I couldn't stop smiling when she and I married,

That quill- You, gave me the happiest life I could have imagined. I'm glad to pay my end of the deal now, because it means I get to see her again,"

"It's a rare treat to find someone with no regrets, thank you for your story," Copper smiles softly, genuine and warm,

"Oh, I've got regrets," the rich man say "Many, but I don't care to dwell on them, not now… or… Well, one, there's one,"

"Hmm?"

"Min and I, we had a fight right before… She was so mad at me last time I saw her. Do you think she still is?"

"I don't know, but you will have plenty of time to make it up to her soon,"

"Yeah, yeah that's true… It's close now is it?"

"Moments if I had to guess," Copper shrugs, "The clot in your lung is migrating and will soon block off blood flow to the area completely. After that happens you won't be able to get enough air and will… fall asleep, then you will suffocate over a few minutes. It won't be the most pleasant of deaths, but it won't hurt badly," he simplified things greatly, not caring for the slight inaccuracies so long as they helped keep the rich man calm and peaceful in these final moments.

"Any final requests?" Copper cocks his head,

"I think… yeah, I think I want to be alone for this. Thank you,"

"Of course. Rest well then, and may your sleep bring great growth" Copper stood from his seat, the blessing leaving him without thought as the rich man closed his eyes a smile still tugging on his old, withered face.

The door to the rich man's room shut with a light thud as Copper drifted down the halls, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He rarely visited the dying, usually he only came to the deceased caught between their death's and their afterlives to guide them across, and this was why. He knew where the clot was, it would only take a moment and a little bit of concentration to break it up enough that the rich man's body would be able to handle it on it's own. Sure, doing so would probably only buy him a few more bed bound days, a week maybe, but healers can rarely be trusted to leave the sick and dying to the whims of nature and he was no different.

He wandered through the empty halls decorated with treasures that, do to a single deal made half a century ago, would soon be his, and found his way into a shrine room. Shelves upon shelves of precious jewls and metals, fine fabrics and sculptures filled the room. Though the alter beneath the stained glass window held only sea glass and shells that glittered from around a poorly made tapestry that depicted a stormy ocean.

The threads were too loose in some places too tight in others and there were places where it was clear the weaver ran out of one color and had attempted to dye more only for it to come out just wrong enough to be noticed. It was clearly made by inexperienced hands and now stood displayed still in it's loom in the place of honor on this shrine. Pride in its existence radiated from it and that made it stunning despite it's flaws.

Distantly, he felt the rich man die, quietly and peacefully.

One of Copper's aspects would guide him across and later while Copper slept he'd dream of the conversation that aspect and the rich man would have, and he would dream of the conversations his other, near innumerable, aspects would have, and have had, and have been having with every other human who has crossed into his domain since he last slept. Then he would wake, and forget almost everything said during those conversations as they meld together into a messy but beautiful tapestry. All the threads visible and traceable in their places but ultimately he saw it not for the individuals, but the grander thing they made together.

He picked at the stones and shells scattered on one of the shelves, his dulled claws scraping against the rough surface. He should probably go find someone to deal with the body…

The soft creaking protest of a floor board that no longer fit in it's place being tread on called from behind him. Copper turned, curious to who or what would be intruding on this moment, but he was left slack jawed with a greeting trapped behind his lips as he saw the man.

Surrounded by gold and silver and precious gems that glittered in the low moonlight that flowed through the windows, this man outshone them all. He was tall for a human, coming up to just below Copper's collar bones, with broad, strong looking shoulders. His sharp features highlighted by the silver light caressing his warm tan skin and haloed by that same light echoing through the broken strands of bleach blonde hair that fell from his neat bun to frame his narrow face.

Light agitation turned to wonder and awesrrucked silence as Copper struggled for a second to find words, but once again those words died when he met the man's eyes, they were probably a deep brown but the low light turned them onyx. His gaze was sturdy, not cold or calculating, not bored. Determined but practiced.

The strange, beutiful, human man wore the expression of a butcher or a slaughterer, he did not draw perverse pleasure or joy from what came next. He was so obviously merely doing a job as he moved faster than Copper's confusion addled mind could react to that that alone struck more fear into Copper's core than if the man were hissing and snapping with rage.

The ice hot cut of an iron blade dug past the flesh between his ribs and into his chest even as he recoiled. On pure instinct he growled an awful rumbling sound that made the butcher- the hunter, flinch as Copper managed to stumble away, nearly falling to one knee as his own lung struggled to inflate. He could feel his magic burning along the wound as it tried, and failed to pull it closed. His hand going to his bloodied side in a vain attempt of staunching the flow.

The hunter advanced, cautious and silent, his blade, slicked with Copper's own viscous black blood, raised as he followed the retreating god.

Copper hissed as his back collided with a shelf, cornered he pulled his attentions together just enough to attempt to teleport away, only to feel his magic jolt painfully within him as it failed completely.

The hunter advanced, already readying another swing.

In that moment Copper forced himself to focus on the warm summer night air, on the flickering candles and the heat of the hunter's body, most seals could be overpowered, he just needs to rush it hard enough.

Heat leaves the room, the hunter stumbles with a pained gasp as the heat leaves him too. Copper doesn't see if the hunter falls because the seal gives as he uses all of that stolen energy to burst against it.

He drops to his knees on the cold stone floor of the cave he calls home. His blood singing through magic seared veins, his hands shaking as he braces one against the floor below him as his world swims, both from blood loss and the disorientation that always came with pushing his power that hard,

He struggles with his wound, gasping with effort as his magic finally starts working again. The wound tieing itself closed beneath his palm, a thick black scar forming as he comes down from the mountain top high of fearing for his life for the very first time since before the advent of this universe.

Copper slumps against the water-carved wall of his home, his head falling back against it with a deep buzz running beneath his skin, and he Laughs, deep and hearty and Alive in a way he has not felt in centuries.

---

A day passed, and Copper's wound still ached every time he bent wrong, sending a pang through his chest as his heart picked up at the memory that accompanied it. Truly, he could only go a few moments without thinking of the death dealing adonis that had, very litteraly, struck him to his very heart. He needed to find the man again, to see if a second meeting would make his blood race the way the first had.

Perhaps he would even find out why he'd been attacked, but if Copper was being honest with himself, he didn't care to know. The Hunter was a mystery, and like many mysteries, he was one that could be enjoyed as is, and did not need unraveling quite yet. Still, Copper couldn't wait around for fate to bless him with a second chance meeting. He needed to find The Hunter on his own, and that meant doing a little investigating.

The moment Copper had had time to rest he laid in his bed and let his consciousness drift to the aspect that could interact with the grand tapestry. The Hunter had not hesitated for even a moment, had not flinched at spilling blood, and so there was no denying that he was experienced. That, perhaps, killing was something that either came easy to him or that he was very well practiced in the art of it.

The hunter was young, maybe mid twenties to early thirties, which narrowed his search, and the location narrowed it further. That valley was a hard month long trek through ice capped mountains from the next nearest settlement. The Hunter probably lived and prowled within its confines.

Copper focused on the last ten years worth of threads from that area that ended in white knots, the tragic, violent deaths. This would be where he found what he would need.

Going by date he gently tugged the ends through the weave so that he could examine them closer. He was careful to not pull anything more than an hours worth at a time, dreading upsetting the careful balance of the fabric and the places of the souls that he examined within it. It took a few tries, a few years worth of deaths until he found the first one that he could catch a glimpse of The Hunter from.

And oh how Copper dreaded what he saw. Five years before he'd met the man, an older boy, maybe sixteen with sharp, fearful and wild, onyx eyes and short, jagged ink black hair cried with blood stained hands, one still holding a blade, the same one Copper would become familiar with, it was still slick with the red of human blood as the boy stumbled back against the wall as the man he'd just killed gasped his last breath.

Copper found the conversation he'd had with that spirit, a man who'd heard screaming from within a home. He'd gone to help only to be found by the Chief's boy before he could find the source of the screams. Copper had reassured him, had praised him for his bravery, had not paid enough attention. He'd guided the kind man to his afterlife while the chief's boy who would become The Hunter silently wept beside the man's body, struggling against the tears as someone called out for him.

Tucking the tread back into place with one hand and pulling another free with the other. He grimaced when he realized it was merely a visitor's thread. Someone from Copper's own home universe who'd come into this one for one reason or another only to find their end here.

The visitor's soul had not been theirs to keep stored away amongst those of their creations and so had already been returned home. Where it would have dissipated into the background energy to eventually become the fuel for something new. No life was stored in this thread, it was merely a place holder.

Copper found more threads like that in his search, nearly twenty pale threads all from the last few years lined side by side. Tragic human deaths surrounding them but none of those human deaths involved The Hunter. That was odd, very few places in his tapestry looked so strange and knotted, and most patches that did were of wars and disasters not… whatever this was.

If he had been tangible in that moment he would've been nipping at his claws as he tried to piece together what something so strange could mean. But no answers came to him.

He found the next, and most recent, human victim of The Hunter, a man now, still too young, but undeniably a man by Copper's math, cold and stoney eyed, tangled bleached hair and a badly bruised and swelling jaw. Copper would have been surprised if The Hunter didn't have a few cracked or missing teeth from the injury, the mandible itself might be broken, a serious wound that needs setting and cleaning imeaditly. Copper's mind supplied him with the diagnosis without him meaning to think of it, so focused was he on that wrecked face and the lack of answers it presented that his mind tried to give him what few answers it could, even if those answers were worthless.

The woman The Hunter had killed had sat silent and glaring at The Hunter who silently watched her die, his blade dripping with her blood. She'd not spoken a word to Copper. Fuming as she stormed through the gate without any guidance from him.

He wished he had insisted on actually speaking to her, on finding the answers. The iron eyed Hunter was a far cry from that sobbing boy, and yet they shared a thread.

More visitors, more tragedy, and no more answers came from the grand tapestry.

He needed to return to that valley, surely if tragedy struck this often they'd welcome a healer? Even if they didn't, the Oracle made her home at the very center, and while Copper tried to avoid his sister's emissaries, The Oracle would be able to tell him what he needed if all else failed. Besides, her daughter was such a cute little thing, it would be a joy to hold a chubby baby again. Would the daughter still be a baby? maybe she was toddling about already, having her first little prophecies as she explored the world she would be entrusted to protect.

Oh Copper couldn't wait to visit.

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chronicallylatetotheparty · 3 years

Text

Two Gods, One Braincell Ch.3 Heavenly Bonds

Summary:

Bold of you to assume my friends and I won't smite you.

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Kagami blasted another group of demons with a bolt of lightning. Zooming higher into the air she saw Adrien's wall of green flames blocking off the exit into the lower valley. Where the mortals' village lay exposed.

Adrien himself was a speck in the distance. Only her dragon eyes could pick him out. With a sweep of her tail she sent a gust of wind towards two demon archers. Making them tumble off the cliff they aimed from.

A growl escaped Kagami's throat. Where were the protectors? Surely a horde of this size would warrant-

Suddenly, a glowing green hexagon appeared directly in Kagami's path. Forcing her to turn sharply. In the next instant a red fireball crashed against the other side of it.

"Hey there, goddess! Long time no see!"

Blinking in surprise, Kagami saw a god standing on a smaller hexagon than the one that had protected her. He wore green, shell-like armor and carried a shield. Short, dark brown hair contrasted the golden glow of his eyes.

"You're late," Kagami scolded Nino.

"I got held up!"

Setting a stance like a javelin thrower Nino formed another hexagon and launched it into the trees below. There was a demonic yelp and then a new tree popped out of the canopy.

"Well, that takes care of that fire-breathing jerk." Nino dusted his hands. "So ungodly."

"There are significant enemy forces," Kagami pointed out. "I suggest you summon backup."

A teasing smile spread across Nino's face. "Oh? The great Kagami calling for reinforcements?"

Not for the first time Kagami was grateful dragons couldn't blush. She was nine tenths sure he was thinking about all the times she rushed in without a plan. "We could always let Adrien handle it."

A dreamy look clouded Nino's features. "Mm, I haven't seen my god let loose since he punched that demon king in the face last millennium..." Shaking his head, Nino slapped both cheeks lightly. "N-nope! This mountain range is supposed to stay a mountain range for the next hundred thousand years. There is no crater scheduled anytime soon!"

"Then you better hurry up!" Kagami called over her shoulder as she zeroed in on another batch of demons.

"Goddess is still so impatient." Nino shook his head fondly as he pulled out a bright red strand of hair. "Monkey King, I summon you. Lend me your aid!"

Nino blew it in Kagami's direction, glowing as it went.

Deciding that she didn't want to start a forest fire with her lightning -she didn't have control over flames like Adrien did- Kagami shifted. Instead of her usual kimono she wore armor of a different style than that of Marinette and Nino.

Concentrating, Kagami pulled out her sword. A tsurugi forged from her mother's own fang, instilled with Tomoe's unyielding nature. With a single swing there was nothing left of her target but ash and the smell of lightning.

"You get to be a monkey! And you get to be a monkey!"

The god jumped from one opponent's head to another. Whacking them with his ruyi jingu bang, which was indeed turning them into monkeys. He wore only pants and a golden circlet as a crown. Brown fur accented his muscular body in contrast to the fiery hair atop his head.

"Kagami!" Kim exclaimed, just noticing she was there. His tail wrapped around the sword arm of his current mount and made it punch its owner repeatedly in the face. "Stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself! Heard you got in trouble with the council! Ha ha! Nice!"

"Kim," she greeted. Kagami didn't know if he was praising or teasing her, likely both. Such was the friendship of a trickster deity. "Didn't you mess with one of Alix's prophecies again?"

"Yeah! It was great!" Kim leapt straight into the air just as his mount's allies reached him. Weapons clashing in the space he just vacated. Swinging his staff in a circle as he fell Kim turned all of them into monkeys at once. "She was so mad!"

Flipping through the air, Kim got a gleam in his eye. "Say. How 'bout we pick up where we left off?"

Casually dusting the demon sneaking up behind her Kagami felt a grin forming. "Whoever gets the most enemies wins?"

"You know it!"

Quickly dispatching the remaining demons in their immediate area they split up. Kim calling a cloud to carry him and Kagami shifting back into her dragon form.

Scanning for more enemies, Kagami did a double take as she saw a fire-breathing dragon with leathery wings chasing a horde of demons. Her ears twitched as they detected the faint tones of a flute. So, it's her is it?

Locating the source of the music was child's play. Kagami silently shifted behind the goddess as she was preoccupied with her illusion.

Nine tails denoted the fox's age. She wore an orange coat of fur which Kagami knew was actually the goddess's own fur. Dark hair flowed down her back, the ends fading to the same shade as her tails. A flute half as tall as its owner shaped her spell.

"Really, Alya?" Kagami demanded. "A western dragon?"

Alya jerked in surprise. "My gods, Kagami! Don't scare me like that! Oh, hells." She hurriedly played a tune so her illusory dragon wouldn't disappear.

"You could've chosen anything else but no. You had to choose a western dragon." The nerve, the betrayal!

"Aw, c'mon goddess. Y'know dragons are terrifying!"

"Flattery will not appease the storm of my anger!"

Rolling her eyes Alya placed her arm on Kagami's shoulders. "Listen, I know you don't like the drakes-"

"Selfish, smug little horders think their nonsense riddles are so clever. Most of them cannot even speak!" Like her mother always said: An eastern dragon's wisdom was divine! You'd be lucky if a western dragon didn't eat you after waking up from a centuries long food coma.

"Right, right. But in my defense they're perfect for instilling panic into large groups." Alya waved at the fleeing demons to illustrate her point.

"... Your technique does appear to be effective," Kagami admitted reluctantly.

Sensing an opening Alya pounced on it. "Besides, you're always saying how we should never give less than our best. I'm just using my talents to their fullest."

Kagami knew Alya was appealing to her sense of pride. As a fox, Alya knew how to be sneaky. In more ways than one. Still... "I suppose I cannot fault you for that."

Nine tails twitching in excitement ruined Alya's air of nonchalance. "Goddess, I knew you'd see it my way!"

"No doubt." Kagami pointed toward an outcrop of stone. "Direct the enemy there."

Alya grinned. "You got it, goddess."

Working together they cleared the area and joined the others. Kagami was only mildly surprised to see Nino had summoned Marinette. She was, after all, a fellow war goddess.

"No fair!" Kim cried out, absently bashing his opponent. "You had help!"

"There's plenty for everyone, Kim!" Marinette's yo-yo cut like a razor. Demons bursting into pink sparkles whenever they got too close.

"You go, goddess!" Alya struck enemies with her flute, turning them into foxtails.

Nino mostly sent shields to block fireballs and arrows. Expertly directing his hexagons. But he was also distracted by a certain god.

Adrien moved with feline grace. A longsword wreathed in shadows cutting down every demon in his path. Instead of his usual robes he wore black armor with glowing green designs on it. Two cat-like eyes stared from his breastplate in imitation of the ones in his head. A sharp toothed grin spread across his face.

In short he was gorgeous. And she wasn't the only one to think so.

"Stupid deity of destruction," Nino muttered. "Why's the god gotta be so beautiful?"

Kagami nodded appreciatively. "Half the time he's using that innocent face to get what he wants. The other half he doesn't even realize how attractive he is."

"I know!"

"You think that's bad?" Alya shoved a demon onto Kagami's sword. "My goddess has literally weaponized cuteness!"

Pausing, both Kagami and Nino looked at each other. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility for a creation goddess.

Placing a circular barrier around them, Nino voiced their thoughts. "Uh, babe? She hasn't actually-"

"No, I was exaggerating!" Alya played a short tune that blinded their opponents with bright light. "But Marinette keeps her hair down all the time now!"

There was a collective chorus of sympathy.

"It suits her."

"I noticed, yeah."

"Was thinking about it this morning."

The other three stared at Kim.

"What? Marinette gives the best hair advice." Kim ran a hand through his fiery red hair. "This doesn't just happen."

"He's right you know." Adrien spun his weapon in a circle, clearing the ground around him, before tossing his hair. Golden locks falling perfectly back in place. He grinned and Kagami was sure his face glowed like a sun god. "Marinette does give the best hair advice."

Then he charged back into the fray. Green flames spread from his feet, burning nothing but the demons and their weapons. The unrestrained joy of a destroyer performing his sacred duty radiated from Adrien in waves.

"... I'm gonna kill him," Nino declared.

"Babe, no."

"My best friend is trying to kill me, Alya! Ever since I admitted he was aesthetically appealing! It only makes sense that I get to him before he finishes me off!"

Alya placed both hands on Nino's shoulders. "First of all? That's an exaggeration. Second, you know he just wants to be appreciated. Destroyers get the short straw when it comes to the mortals' worship."

Nino sighed. "I know, I know."

"Plus, like, if he wanted you dead not even Marinette would be able to stop him," Kim pointed out.

Again, the other three stared at him.

"What!? What'd I say!?"

"Let's just get back to the battle," Alya suggested, ignoring Kim.

"What? Oh, yeah, nope. Battle's over," Marinette informed them, suddenly appearing in their path.

"Come again?" Kagami scanned the valley and sure enough there wasn't a demon in sight.

"Aw, it's over already?" Kim slumped his shoulders before straightening suddenly. A grin forming. "Guess that means I won."

"Don't be absurd. I obviously got more than you," Kagami corrected.

"Yeah, god," Nino agreed, serving as unofficial referee like he usually did. "Kagami totally trounced you."

"Pfft, okay, sure. But I'll get the next one!" With that eloquent rebuttal Kim cupped his hands next to his mouth and hollered. "Alright, you wannabes! Where you at! It's time to go!"

A monkey screeched what Kagami assumed to be obscenities from the safety of the forest.

"Do you wanna be weeds? 'Cause you can definitely still be weeds!" Kim strode purposefully to collect his new subjects.

"Foxtail is not a weed!" Alya yelled after him

Leaning in, Kagami whispered. "Isn't it a weed, though?"

Mimicking her stance, Nino answered. "I think that's besides the point."

"What're we whispering about?" Adrien asked.

"Adrien!" Nino glomped him. Prompting the pair of them to fall over.

A laugh escaping with Adrien's breath. "Nino!"

"Are you trying to murder me? Because it feels like you're trying to murder me!"

Adrien patted his best friend's head. "There, there."

They continued in that vein a while longer. Kagami wasn't sure friendship was a strong enough word for what Adrien felt for Nino. Then again, the others insisted there was nothing more important to Adrien than his friends. Hmm.

Once the gods stood back up, letting Adrien greet Alya properly. (Why platonic kisses? Just why?) Kagami guided Nino a little ways from everyone else.

"What did I do? I swear it was an accident!"

"What? Nino, I am not mad!"

"Oh, thank creation!" Nino placed a hand on his chest as he let out the breath he'd been holding.

Kagami raised an eyebrow. "Did you really think I was upset?"

"Well, geez, what's a god to think when you put on your None-Shall-Stand-Before-Me face?"

"There's a face?"

"Yes, there's a face!" Nino squeaked in disbelief. "It shows up whenever you get an idea and won't let anyone talk you out of it!"

Kagami pressed her lips together in an effort to mask her amusement.

From Nino's deadpan look she wasn't very successful. "Out with it then, goddess. I get enough embarrassment from Adrien and Alya."

Right! "I was wondering if the relationship between you and Adrien is in any way romantically inclined."

Nino coughed. "What now?"

"I want to confess my love to Adrien," Kagami simplified, giving Nino an annoyed look. "Do you have dibs?"

Blinking several times as his mind shifted gears a grin started forming on Nino's face. "Oh, yes!"

"You have romantic feelings for him?"

"I mean no! I mean-" Nino took a deep breath. "Adrien is just the platonic love of my life- Wait, no, that's not it. There are no coupley feelings between Adrien and me!"

Kagami's lips quirked upwards. "I can see why Alya enjoys your company."

"You can keep teasing me or you can go confess to Adrien!"

"An excellent point." Turning on her heel Kagami strode toward the gaggle of gods. Eyes set on a certain destructive cat.

---------------

I'm late, I'm late, I'm late! @kagamiappreciationweek2020

... I feel like I should point out that I never promised a "Plot" or anything. I promised shenanigans and shenanigans only. Any "Plot" that manages to sneak in is purely coincidental.

Tumblr: Making your own slang in fantasy settings has to be done well, otherwise it comes across weird.

Me: You make a good point! *proceeds to do it anyway*

#kagami #adrien agreste #ml fanfic #kagami appreciation week 2020 #nino lahiffe #le chien kim #alya cesaire #ml au #god au

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