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tarithenurse · 3 years

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Nightingale - 24

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: Bit of everything – fun, challenge, angst, feels, fluff, confusion, fear, violence. A/N: A long chapter for once o.O As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag!

Ch. 24

Kakashi's mind is pendulumming between serene quiet and something similar to a wasp nest. One that has been kicked. As someone who's used to logical thinking, he finds the status quo unsettling...but also strangely invigorating despite not carrying any direct risks as supposed to many of his past experiences. Perhaps, at least this once, something can dull the ache he has known for years? Looking at the monument with its sharp lines defining the stones – a design befitting the weight of loss and memories – guilt rears its ugly head.

"Surviving while others pass on can be a burden sometimes," the creaky voice of the Hokage interrupts, "but perhaps our very duty is to do more than just survive. It's to live...because they cannot."

"Hmm." I refuse to forget them even if I one day move on.

The silence between the two men is not enough to stop the rustle of the wind as it rushes between the leaves.

Four days have passed since Kakashi found out he was the warden of Uguisu and he has been doing his best to pay attention to both her and Team 7 and keep their focus on training – a task that's annoyingly easy with the former. Where the trio barely contain their curiosity, the woman has become withdrawn. A logical reaction, the jōnin reminds himself often, but one that leaves him awake most of the night with a head full of worries and nightmarish scenarios.

"She never got to mourn her loved ones, Kakashi. A lone survivor, stranded in the middle of a war-to-be. Our new comrade will need time before she can recognize friend from foe," the old man wisely ponders."

"Haï." I can't push her. Only wait and be ready.

...

Two out of three genin are paying attention to the exercises, refining their techniques to minimize waste of chakra. The last, however, is obviously ogling the fifth person in the clearing and as a result earning his sensei's disapproval.

It isn't the first time Uguisu joins when she's finished her lessons at the Academy. In the beginning, she would sneak closer in the cover of the forest and sit down in a partially obscured spot where she could observe from. To Kakashi, it had brought a sense of familiarity. From the kids, once they noticed her, the primary reaction would be insecurity and it had forced her out of hiding and eventually into training along side them even if her focus had been on other techniques.

The kunai zips past the fox boy’s face and slams into the trunk of the stump with a thud.

“Hey!”

But the boy’s complains fall on deaf ears. “Stay aware of your surroundings at all times...without losing focus of the task at hand, Naruto.”

A mix between a scoff and a laugh slips from Sasuke, causing his team mate to cringe.

In a way, it feels like Kakashi has been in charge of the four “students” for years because he has already figured out their strengths and is trying to find ways to amend their shortcomings. And as the session comes to an end, bringing about sweet free time for the kids, the sensei has made a decision concerning Uguisu’s training.

“Iruka tells me you’re a diligent student,” the jōnin admits as they watch the trio leave, “not much for him to do but fill in some voids and have you polish off the theory. That’s good.”

“Thank you, Kakashi-sensei.”

It’s strange how a title he’s heard before without blinking can morph and affect him all of a sudden. The heart beats a little bit faster. The air is a slightly stuffier under the mask. And something in his pelvis tightens enough to tell him he’ll have a different task at hand later.

“Yeah...well...” He pulls out a little bell from a pocket and ties it to one of his belt loops. “I’m maybe more critical.” She arches an eyebrow as an unspoken demand for an explanation. “Genjutsu. Ninjutsu. They’re not the problem...taijutsu is. It made sense for Orochimaru to teach you according to your role off the battlefield and so close combat really isn’t your forte, is it?”

Uguisu scowls. “I can defend myself.”

“I’ve seen. But can you attack?” Gut tightened, Kakashi hates himself for what he’s asking of this woman who has been through hell and finally is beginning the long way back.

Maybe to the untrained eye, the change in her stance wouldn’t be noticeable – it is to any shinobi worth their salt. A slight inwards rotation of the right foot, knees bending a smidgen, hands flexing before summoning the hardness needed to land proper blows. Show me what you’ve got.

Planted solidly, he easily dodges the first blows by bending and twisting, but then Uguisu buckles down to the task. Step. Jump. Parry. They are reflexes rather than active decisions. All too obviously, she prepares for a roundhouse kick which Kakashi can avoid by back flipping away.

“You’re wasting energy with the big movements. Keep it tight and clean -” the jōnin instructs and exemplifies -“to minimize your opponent’s chance to read your actions beforehand.”

Returning to a defensive role, he observes as she tries to implement the pointer. Precise...yes. Pushing a flurry of jabs aside, Kakashi steps around her with ease. And at least she’s quick to orient herself, he admits while scrambling backwards because the student has followed him.

“The perfection of your defence -” he leaps over the woman before continuing -”is what you have to bring into an assault.”

The thin line of her mouth is probably the result of biting back some snarky comment, and Kakashi smiles behind the mask. Fear can lead to fight, flight or freeze...but anger and frustration, on the other hand. So to taunt her, frustrate her, he presents the body language of a bored person and offhandedly blocks and dodges anything Uguisu throws at him.

“Umph!”

Although the strength behind is lacking, the kick still sends the man stumbling backwards, sucking in deep breaths of air to replace what was forced from his lungs. It carries the scent of damp earth, bark, and cotton.

“Ha!” Uguisu triumphs briefly.

“It’ll take more than that.”

A single sign is all it takes for a second Kakashi to appear next to the real one in a puff of white smoke.

“Cheater,” she smirks, seemingly unsurprised by the added figure.

You’re smiling now... Already, he hates himself for what he’ll be doing and the only comfort is the sparring that precedes. Throwing himself into the battle (and keeping the copy on the sidelines), the jōnin coaxes and coaches is student through the moves she has trained on the dummy targets day in and day out.

Slowly, her confidence grows. Not perfect, but better.

“Come at me like you mean it.”

She manages a wry smile. “Intent to kill?”

Yes. A glint of steel in the lowering sun is the only warning the warden has, but he doesn’t mind as long as they follow his plan (one of them without knowing). Kakashi chooses to cheer the woman on instead, finally having to defend himself in earnest although she isn’t on the top 20 of dangerous opponents.

As if in a dance, they circle and move with each other. Step, and leaps, and rolls create a pattern in the trampled grass while continuously bringing the sparring partners closer to the Shadow Clone. Now! The smoke bomb obscures the entire area and forces the combatants to separate until the cloud has blown away – somewhere, Uguisu is using the pause to regain her breath and calm the nerves while the jōnin applies the disguise he’s prepared.

The smoke slowly dissipates, revealing how Uguisu has backed off and prepared herself for anything – almost anything as it turns out when she lays eyes on the adversary and her face contorts in fear. Don't freeze. But how can she not when the mask and wig resembles Orochimaru?

"Take a moment to refocus. Calm down." At least the voice isn't that of her former tormentor. "Breathe."

A kunai shakingly reflects the low sun, knuckles are white from the tight grip on it even as the woman's immediate reaction morphs into bitter resolve.

Kakashi barely manages to dodge the trio of shuriken and is granted no respite as he finds himself under a powerful assault. Pent up hatred swirls and coalesces to drive the blue-haired fury forward – and he lets her for a while. Counting each unused opportunity, the jōnin keeps tracks of how many times he could have fatally wounded her for a while.

"Enough!" A kick to the midriff sends Uguisu tumbling backwards, landing on her butt. "If you want to beat him, you've got to keep your wits!"

She's panting and sweating from the fruitless efforts, but the pallor of fear still clings to her skin. "Haï."

Looks like she means it. Kakashi's own view is restricted more than normal, but he recognizes the way a fighter would evaluate their target: dark eyes are identifying the weak spots, the disadvantages of the opponent. He can see, she has formulated some sort of plan as she pushes to the feet.

"Cheap trick," the woman comments, "but I get your point, sensei."

This time, both of them give as good as they get and the disguised man tries to push every single button he can in an effort to test Uguisu's mind and skills. Hmm, he parries a kick, technique's lacking. Too often, the strikes aimed at him are deflected, resulting in a waste of energy and a gain in frustration. As he begins to outmatch her efforts, he can see the fear return along with the dangerous openings. Using one of those weaknesses, Kakashi strikes quick as a snake, his fingers brushing the delicate skin on her throat before she evades him.

Twice more, similar near-finishes happen.

Finally fed up and pushed to her limits, Uguisu charges. Ignoring any inkling of self-preservation, she attempts a feigned attack towards his right flank followed immediately by a punch which could have broken his nose if he hadn't moved in time. Guiding the woman's movement into a spin, the jōnin leans into her back, a hand on her shoulder to illustrate a potentially fatal situation.

"Never rush in mindlessly." His voice is muffled by the Orochimaru-mask.

Under his hand, Uguisu is tense and shivering, her breath superficial even if she tries to control it enough to say, "I might've left myself open, but at least it's a draw."

"Huh?"

A slight pressure to the inside of Kakashi's left thigh makes him look down between them to find a kunai resting against between the creases of his trousers at the groin. Femoral artery. A slight jangle catches his ear from their other side.

"You used your frustration to distract me and let you close enough," he comments with an unseen smile.

"Hm-m. Now let go and get rid of that hideous stuff!"

...

Uguisu is silent as they walk side by side back to Konoha. I might have gone too far. Still pale, lips reduced to a thin line, the woman appears to be swept away by thoughts, and her warden is loathe to leave her alone in her current state.

"How 'bout a bowl of victory ramen?" he offers quietly.

Nodding silently, a strand of blue hair disentangling itself so she has to push it behind the ear, the girl follows.

It's not until they're sitting with each their own bowl of steaming hot noodles that the usual healthy colour returns to her cheeks although she remains quiet.

...

Kakashi can't sleep.

Again and again, he replays the evening's test and categorizes everything he has learned throughout it. As suspected, close combat isn't the woman's forte although there's hope for further improvement. What worries him the most, however, is the emotional burden she carries. It'll become a lia-

A gentle tap on the windowpane disrupts his thoughts and he turns to see a familiar silhouette perched outside which he waves to welcome in. The jōnin wants to reach out to her when she has settled in the window sill, wants to take her hand and apologize for the hardships and the trauma lingering. Instead, he lies quietly with the hands behind the head and watches her squirm for a while.

"Can I sit on the bed?"

Even without the small, shaky voice, he would have agreed in an instant and scoots over. Uguisu waits until he's in place once more, then she comes to sit in silence.

One minute. I wouldn't have to stretch my arm to reach her hand.

Three minutes. When does her breathing calm?

Eight minutes. Is that...? A thin path down her cheek glitters in the moonlight breaking through the clouds randomly. Shit. This is my fault. A logic thought protests against the claim to blame but is immediately drowned.

"Ugui-"

"Please, don't talk," she interrupts.

He shuts up not just because she asks him but because she reaches out and grabs his hand, sending a bucketful of nerves into overloading as they race to relay the input. Warm. Soft, despite the expected patches of callouses that match his own. A slight tremor runs from her to Kakashi and only diminishes as he caresses her knuckles with a thumb.

"Is't..? Would..?" Her blush is unreasonable adorable when combined with the meek stammer.

Pushing the pillow sideways, Kakashi tries to contain a giddiness. "You don't have to ask, just make yourself comfortable."

"Carte blanche to do anything I want?"

"Well..." He contemplates the possible risks. "Yeah."

Uguisu insists that he keeps the pillow as she lies down on the side with an arm under her head instead. Knees tucked towards the chest and a hand still clasping his, she finally seems to find a sort of peace. I should apologize. But as he formulates and discards a variety of sentences, the woman's eyelids grow heavy and soon, she's sleeping. It's a light sleep, disturbed by dreams that furrow her brows and the slightest movement by Kakashi – when he tries to reach over and pull the covers around her, she's startled awake.

Through the night, the jōnin doses on and off, comfortable with the sound of the second heartbeat travelling through the mattress and into his ear. Finally calm.

...

Maybe it's the cold, emptiness of his hand that wakes Kakashi...at least it's the first thing he registers, quickly followed by the awareness that the mattress is only giving in to the pressure of his own weight. When he opens the eye, the weak dawn is battling against clouds and the mind of the jōnin takes time to theorize that they grey layer won't recede during the day. Something else adds to the shadows still filling the room: Uguisu is standing by the window.

"Mrug'shu?" At least the curses are clearly articulated in Kakashi's mind.

A sad smile tugs at the woman's cheek, softened by the light. "Go back to sleep, 'Kashi...and...thank you."

"Always."

The window swooshes as it slides back and forth in the rail, cutting off the connection between the two of them. Whyyyyy? Rubbing his face hard and scratching the white hair until his scalp tingles, he's left with no answers and only the scent of cotton that lingers in the sheets next to him. That's it...the unbeatable Copy-Ninja has been defeated. I'm done for! If anyone was watching him, though, they'd see the mask pulled askew by a goofy smile.

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otpnessmess · 4 years

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Oooo. How about 44 with mari and dick

44 - “It’s 2am, why are you here?”

I got inspired by this, it’s a great prompt and I had fun trying my hand at Dickinette for the first time! Hope you enjoy it! - Lis

A loud knocking on her bedroom window woke Marinette up from the deep slumber she had fallen into after an exhausting day of work. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she turned to the window and had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

She had got pretty used to Nightwing dropping in through her window, but it usually was whenever she was awake and expecting him after patrol. If he had come at this hour to ask if she wanted to watch a movie or go somewhere, no matter how much she loved her goofball of a boyfriend, she was going to kick his ass right back out the window.

In her lethargy, Dick’s knocking had become more insistent, finally getting her to get out of bed with a groan and turn on her bedside lamp.

“I’m going...I’m going, jeez.” She opened the window and stepped back to let him jump through. “It’s 2 in the morning, Dick. What are you doing here?”

She had expected him to look at her with puppy eyes and give her a very good excuse for why she should let him stay over the night. What she definitely didn’t expect was her bedroom floor to get stained red by the blood dripping from where he was holding his side.

That erased any trace of tiredness Marinette felt at the moment, but before she could do anything, the black-haired man shot her one of his charming smiles, as if trying to reassure her.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise. I think it’s superficial so don’t worry.”

A deafening silence stretched between them as Mari stared at him in disbelief.

“So you drop into my apartment at 2am, dripping blood everywhere, and you ask me to not worry!? I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that.”

Waiting for no response she took him into the bathroom and made him sit and take off his suit before she started rummaging her cabinets for supplies.

“Are you going to tell me where you got that? And exactly why you’re here and not in a hospital? You know there’s only so much I can do.” Her tone might’ve appeared harsh to anyone else but Dick knew it was just masking the worry and anxiousness under it.

“I already told you it’s nothing serious Minette, just a cut. Plus, getting to the hospital as either of my alter egos would’ve been quite problematic, I don’t want to expose my identity, and they would’ve asked how I got this.”

He winced at the feeling of the antiseptic touching his marred skin but, being used to hurting himself many times before due to his vigilante work, he stood still so Marinette could clean the cut and bandage it.

“And what about how you got this?”

He could see the furrow in her brow as she made sure the bleeding had mostly stopped before wrapping it, and the slight tension on her shoulders. “A robbery gone wrong, I never saw the other guy behind me. I managed to turn before he could stab me but the knife still got me.”

Mari hummed at that and relaxed her posture a bit as she had almost finished. Once she was done with the bandages, she grabbed his suit and dropped it in the laundry bin unceremoniously before washing her hands. “I’ll wash and fix that in the morning. How do you feel?”

Dick stood up and touched the injury to test it. When he didn’t feel as much pain anymore he smiled at his girlfriend. “Good as new, though it feels a bit sore. Thank you for this.” He moved to hug her but stopped in his tracks when she chuckled and jumped backward.

“You should probably wash your hands and arms first, I’d rather not get blood all over my pajamas. Take one of the pills in the purple jar for the soreness and, when you’re done, why don’t you come join me?”

With a kiss to his cheek, she walked back to her room, leaving him to finish fixing himself. Five minutes of scrubbing dried up blood off his skin later, he was slipping into bed to cuddle his favorite person in the world.

Feeling the tiny woman snuggle closer to him as he wrapped his arms around her brought a soft smile to his face.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, my petite flower:”

She gave a soft laugh and leaned against his chest. “Give me a kiss and you’re forgiven.”

At this point, she seemed to have regained all her tiredness back as her words were nothing more than a mumble against him. He happily obliged and planted a kiss on top of her head. Next he knew, her breathing had evened out and she had once again fallen deeply asleep in his arms.

With one last look at her serene face, Dick turned off the bedside lamp and closed his eyes as well. He’d have to make it up to her in the morning but, for now, the least he could do for his angel was to let her sleep in peace.

#dickinette #liswrites #lisanswers #ask #maribat #ml x dc #dick x marinette #prompt fill #prompt

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miraculouslycool · 4 years

Text

Adrienette April 2020 - Day 6: Aspik and Marinette

Read it in AO3:

@adrinetteapril

"Second Chance!"

"-the sentimonsters are patrolling the roof-" Multimouse's warnings blared through his ears even though they were covered by his mask.

"Direct attacks won't work, I know." Aspik grumbled.

Multimouse raised an eyebrow at him. "What time is it now?"

"32." He said, deeply frustrated with himself. "I just don't get what we're doing wrong."

"We should go underneath." Multimouse said suddenly. "That is, if we haven't tried that already."

"No, no we have not." Aspik said, slumping down the roof.

"Aspik, are you okay?" Multimouse touched his shoulder, kneeling in front of him. "You look exhausted!"

The concern in her eyes, which he had already seen 31 times was enough to make him cave already and just...rest for some time.

He wished he was Chat Noir again, but Ladybug knew that Mayura could easily exploit that weakness and neither of them wanted to end up destroying each other instead of their sentimonster look alikes.

"I'm fine." He said, gruffly, and immediately regretting it when he saw Marinette's face fall. His voice softened. "Really, I'm okay. We can't stop now, Ladybug and Chat Noir are relying on us."

"I just don't want you to feel like you are taking the brunt of the work." She said. "Do you want to switch the miraculouses for some time?"

"No!" Adrien said so suddenly Multimouse flinched. "No, it'll be okay. I've done this before, as have you. We'll be fine."

He gritted his teeth. He couldn't - He wouldn't let Marinette go through what he has to go through. They had nearly been thrown off the building thrice now. She would forget, but he would remember. He remembered missing her by merely inches before he swiped his wrist.

"Let's go." He said determinedly, shaking himself out of one of many awful memories.

--------

Multimouse cloned herself into two, and she and Aspik sparred against the sentimonster versions of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Hawkmoth had been getting more creative with his plans recently, she thought as she dodged Sentibug's punch while her clone tried to grab her from behind with a headlock.

Marinette growled to herself as she watched Mayura stand on the top most spire of the roof serenely hiding her face with her fan. She didn't look exhausted like last time. Was that why her sentimonsters were stronger? And there were two of them?

She willed her clone to merge with her as her necklace beeped with its timer. It was going to be impossible to get to Mayura if these two were going to block them -

"Senti Charm!" She called and a huge gun, even huger than the one last time fell into her arms.

"Is that all you got??" Multimouse scoffed. Of course no one knew, but she was Ladybug as well. It was going to take a lot more than huge weaponry to make her scared.

Sentibug didn't speak, only fired. Multimouse vaulted on to the incoming red bullet, landed on the red gun and back flipped behind her.

"Cataclysm!" She heard an aggressive low voice that did and did not remind her of Chat Noir.

But that was not what made her recoil in horror. SentiNoir was charging at Aspik - ADRIEN, with a Cataclysm powered hand.

"ASPIK!" She shouted in horror, frozen and unable to move. That cost her dearly, as the next thing she knew, a red shot fired at her and she was flying off the building.

She caught herself at the ledge, but her hands were slipping away.

"Wonderful job, Ladybug." A cold voice that sent chills down her spine grew louder.

"Mayura." Multimouse spat as she saw her come into view, her fan unfolded and smirking downright evilly at her.

"How does it feel to be nearly falling to your death?" She teased.

She wasn't like Hawkmoth. Hawkmoth outright berated them with a barrage of insults and threats.

Mayura managed to do all that without raising her voice.

"You... won't get away with this." Multimouse vowed, her legs scrambling behind her to find a ledge to grab.

"Too late. I already have." Mayura's foot raised, and she went flying when she came into contact with a green fist.

"Aspik?!" Marinette breathed in relief.

"I got you." His scaled eyes were wide with fear and anger he gave her his hand and pulled. "I got you, Marinette."

Marinette froze.

He knew?

He KNEW?

Adrien knew she was-

She saw his eyes widen before he swiped at his wrist. "Second Chance!"

---------

Aspik passed out the minute he felt the flash of light.

"Aspik? Aspik!" He felt a pair of strong arms catch him before he fell.

"Aspik, stay with me!" One of the arms snaked around his head.

"Hnnngggg" he moaned, and his eyes lidded open.

"Oh, thank goodness." Marinette sighed in relief as she held him to her chest.

"For a moment there, I thought I lost you!"

He buried his face into her shoulder. "For a moment there, I almost thought I did." He muttered into her neck (which felt so warm and smelt of cinnamon and bread) without thinking.

"What?" She looked at him and he flinched, immediately moving away from her.

He sat up, not willing to lose the easy intimacy he found in her. "The last time I- Mayura was about to kick you off the building! She was about to kick you off the building and if I hadn't -" her arms went around his neck and her face pressed into his shoulder.

"It's okay. It's okay, I'm here." She said soothingly rubbing his scaled back. "You saved me. You didn't lose me."

"I almost did." He sobbed into her neck, hugging her lithe yet strong body to his own.

"Aspik, we can take a break." She still hadn't let go of him. "They're not leaving anywhere. From what it looks like, Mayura doesn't want chaos like Hawkmoth usually does. You don't have to put yourself through more strain until you are ready."

"No, I have to." He got back up again. He had to. He got up for Ladybug 25,913 times. He had to do it for Marinette too.

"Aspik, please, listen to me. We can go somewhere else, you can hide and detransform and just rest-"

"You don't understand!" He snapped at her unexpectedly.

Marinette flinched but refused to give up. "Then make me understand!"

"I'm the only one among the people who Ladybug chose who actually failed her!"

To his surprise, she didn't look horrified or disgusted. "I'm sure you tried-"

"I tried for months to save her from Desperada and I failed! I failed her 25,913 times! None of the other heroes let her down! And now I haven't improved the slightest because I failed you 32 times already, Marinette!"

Knowing her secret identity was a secret he couldn't keep bottling up anymore. He had to know. She had to know. He couldn't violate her trust like that. Screw the rules.

Like he had expected, she froze. He didn't expect her to edge away from him with a terrified look on her face.

"You, you know-? Oh no. I did something, didn't I?"

"No, no you didn't." He tried to reassure her.

"No, no, no, now you are going to be in danger, Aspik! Because of me!" She wailed, holding her head in her hands. "Why can't I do anything right?!"

He gently pulled her hands away from her face. "Hey, listen to me, Marinette. This is not your fault. I promise." He gripped her hands in his.

"Then how did you know if I didn't-" he placed a finger against her lips.

"I recognised you the day you saved me, Marinette." He breathed.

"...Adrien?" He didn't know, but she had finally caved.

"Yeah, it's me." He sighed. "Sass, detransform me." He detransformed.

"Mullo, detransform me." She mumbled, and Marinette appeared in front of him.

"Adrien...I..."

"Marinette, I promise that you can trust me with your identity." He said fiercely. "I won't...we don't even have to tell Ladybug or Chat Noir. I just...I couldn't bear knowing who you were and not letting you in on that. It feels too wrong."

Marinette's head was spinning. Of course, she didn't mind Adrien knowing who MULTIMOUSE was, but Adrien's words made her wonder if he was really at fault for Chat Blanc knowing who she was.

She still didn't know how he knew, but she was certain Adrien wasn't at fault. He wouldn't. He tried so many times to save Ladybug who was nothing more than an acquaintance to him, why couldn't she trust him, her FRIEND, with a secret of her own.

"I know you won't." Her voice shook with emotion. "I do trust you Adrien. And you can trust me too. Ladybug and Chat Noir don't have to know. No one has to know."

"I just wish you got to fight with someone more competent than me." He hung his head, and Marinette was starkly reminded of how glassy his eyes were when he gave Ladybug back the Snake Miraculous. "If Viperion's identity hadn't been compromised this battle would have been over a lot quicker-"

"Don't. Don't put yourself down." She interrupted him. "You went through what must have been months of...of trauma and-"

"And I still failed."

"You didn't fail at remaining loyal to Ladybug. You didn't fail at being patient. You didn't fail at persevering despite your failures. And that, is what matters the most, Adrien. Ladybug recommended you to Chat Noir for a reason. And not just because Viperion isn't around. What matters isn't that you lost, it matters because you still kept fighting for Ladybug. You still kept fighting for me.

"She is right, Adrien!" Mullo said sweetly, then seemed to shrink in on herself. "I-I mean I don't know you that well, but you are capable of this!"

Sass landed on Adrien's shoulder. "I have never had a wielder who went as far as you did." He said thoughtfully. "That takes immense courage."

"If you won't believe me, believe the 1000 year old creatures." Marinette joked.

Adrien gave her a watery smile. "We need a new plan. Both of us going for the sentimonsters isn't working out."

Marinette hummed thoughtfully, the gears in her head whirring. "Then one of us has to go for Mayura while the other handles the sentimonsters."

"I'll go." Both of them said at the same time.

"Adrien, if Mayura's Chat Noir gets you it'll be over! It has to be me fighting them! Look, I can clone myself, I won't be at it alone!"

Adrien tensed, and Marinette put a hand on his shoulder.

"If anything happens to me, there is always Second Chance. We need you intact for that. You should be the one to go after Mayura."

No offense to Sass, but Adrien hated that he wasn't Chat Noir. He hated that he was the priority as the snake. He hated that he had to rely on time to protect her, and at the cost of his memories still remaining intact. Nothing mattered more than her being safe.

He wasn't even sure if 'her' meant Marinette or Ladybug.

Maybe he meant both of them.

He didn't know.

"Alright." He said resolutely. "Let's do this."

They transformed, but this time, looks were exchanged differently knowing that the other knew they knew who they were.

"Wait." Multimouse grabbed his wrist, right over the miraculous. "I know it probably won't happen, but promise me you won't let me forget who you are, Adrien."

Adrien pulled her closer to him into another hug as the tears blinded his vision. This one lacked any of the urgence their previous one had. This was comforting. This was steady. A reminder that Marinette still wanted him at her side after knowing who he was. A reminder that his second secret identity atleast, was burden he could share with someone whose real name he knew.

Marinette didn't let go of the hug. She didn't know how much he needed it, but she would stay as long as he wanted. Until he realised that he wasn't a failure or a second thought. Until she realised that she had two boys in her life she could trust completely.

Until the concept of his trust in Marinette the civilian, compared to Ladybug the superhero didn't overwhelm her.

#miraculous ladybug #adrien #marinette #adrienette #Multimouse #aspik #snekmouse #my fics #adrienette april 2020

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ms-maj · 4 years

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Into Philadelphia

Back to the songfics! Sorry folks…only not really :)

The many many many many thank yous are owed to @bettycooper for making this much, much better. Cat is a rock star. ‘Nuff said.

We’ll slip away, we’ll slip away

I’ll count the days, I’ll count the days and weeks until it’s summer

Baby do you wanna take a ride, wanna take a ride

Into Philadelphia

Think I maybe wanna take a ride, do you wanna take a ride

Into Philadelphia

Straight into the belly of the dream

Into Philadelphia- John Faye

“Do you think maybe you want to get out of Riverdale this weekend?” His voice is soft over the phone, not like he’s trying to hide what he’s saying, but because that’s how he always speaks to her. Betty leans against the frame of the window, feet tucked up on the seat beneath her.

“I think that I definitely want to get out of Riverdale for the weekend.” Even though Jughead’s miles away at Stonewall Prep, his laughter fills her room—their room—and makes the familiar space feel more like a home than it has in a long while. “What did you have in mind?”

Jughead has been at Stonewall for three months, seventeen days, and too many minutes than she could bear to count. She knew this was his shot, even if he was a parvenu awash in an endless sea of the bourgeoisie. (See, she could be a pretentious twat too.)

They try to make the most of their weekends together, but occupying the same space as her mother, her boyfriend’s father, and said boyfriend’s younger sister proves that nearly impossible. Hurried kisses. Fumbling, fast, furious hands grappling with too many layers, and skin seeking skin even if for the most passing of moments. Besides, the omnipresent doom that seems to pervade Riverdale doesn’t give them much time to just enjoy each other’s company.

“Do you trust me?”

“While I realize your question is completely rhetorical, it still baffles me why you think for a second you’d have to ask me that?”

If she closes her eyes hard enough, she can picture his hand swiping across his brow. “Fine. Bring a bag when you pick me up on Friday. We’ll leave straight from here.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Cute. I should probably get going. I have two essays to write and calculus…why am I taking calculus?” Another soft laugh filters through the phone before turning into a sigh.

Betty smiles sadly. Even their phone calls are shorter and fewer in between. “Okay, go be studious. Is there anything I should know about where we’re going or what we’re doing?”

“And here I thought your trust in me was immutable. You wound me, Cooper.”

Keep reading below or here

“For packing purposes, Jones. You can’t tell me to bring a bag and not tell me what kind of stuff I should pack in it.”

“Well, less is more.”

She gets off the window seat and makes her way toward the closet, opening the doors and thumbing through the contents. “I assume we’ll have to leave wherever it is we’re going at some point. Will that require leggings, jeans, or perhaps something a little nicer?”

He hums as if considering. “I suppose you could bring something nice…even if it only sees the floor.”

“Now, now,”’ she tuts, “ before I let you go back to the maddening world of academia, do you need me to bring anything from here?”

“I’ve got everything I need except you,” Betty feels the warm affection bloom in her chest, the space in her heart carved out exactly in his likeness.

She tries—almost successfully—to mask the threatening tears with a cough. She can hear the sadness in his voice as he tries for her attention. “It’s not what you think, Juggie. I’m fine. Everything is fine!” The words ring even more false out loud than they do in her head.

“Which is exactly why we’re going away. Because I hate this too, Betts, but…”

“I know; I know. I’ll let you go. I know how much you have to do too.”

They can’t sleep together yet, but there’s solace in knowing it’s coming soon and in isolation for once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s cold in Riverdale. She assumes that wherever they’re going will be cold as well considering it can’t be too far away for a weekend trip. Betty’s glad she didn’t have to convince FP to let her use the station wagon. Apparently, whatever Jughead has planned was given the “okay” by at least one parental figure. Not that this says much, but she’s certainly not going to kick a gift horse in the mouth. She’s also glad they’ve got the vehicle with consistent heat.

Time seems to be ticking by even more slowly than it had while waiting for classes to end at Riverdale High, but in the parking lot of Stonewall Prep, time is a paradoxical construct. At least that’s what it felt like anyway. Jughead’s classes were typically over by three, same as hers, but every so often, she found herself waiting for hours—unanswered texts followed by a flurry of apologetic kisses when he finally climbed into the cab. She’s certain his new classmates just like to make her suffer by proxy.

Today, fortunately, she waits only about twenty minutes before she sees him jogging across the lot. She slides over the bench seat as he approaches the driver’s side. Tossing his duffle bag into the back seat, he slams the door behind him, pulling her favorite red and black checkered sherpa tighter around him.

“Cold?” she questions with a raise of her brow. His hand is on her neck, icy cold digits curling into the baby hairs at the nape, and she shrieks, trying to push him off of her but he pulls her closer instead.

“I know just the way to warm up,” and his lips are on hers. She could agree that, like this, time is most certainly a paradox. She could happily stay in this moment forever, to live in this feeling again and again and again for all of eternity: Jughead’s hands roaming her body, his tongue coaxing breathy moans that stoke a fire she cannot wait to be engulfed in.

Jughead pulls away, Betty chasing his lips as he smiles, and presses his lips to her nose. “Definitely warm now. You ready to get the hell out of dodge?” The hand that held her neck now cups her cheek as she nods, his thumb rubbing across the apple before he grabs his seatbelt. Betty does the same and settles into the passenger seat as they make their way away from Stonewall.

“Do I get to know our final destination yet?” His hand crosses the seat and lifts hers enough to lace their fingers together, bringing their joined hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles while he shakes his head no.

She scoffs, in mostly mock irritation, but doesn’t pull her hand away. Instead, still gripping one another tightly, their hands fall between them, reinforcing the physical tether which seems to be missing as of late. It’s hard to be this young and this in love under the most normal of circumstances, what with the raging hormonal impulses of teendom and the ever-pressing nature of change they’re not physiologically adept at handling yet, but against the backdrop of separate schools and merely existing in Riverdale, it seems more fraught than it should.

Behind them, the sun is starting to set. A flood of orange and pink fills the car; it wraps and settles around them, Jughead’s warm skin glowing in the dusk. He’s telling her about essays, the calculus exam, and how much harder it all is, but that it’s equally rewarding. He’s smiling, the easy, real smile she can never get enough of, and she feels instant guilt for every second she’s been angry at his being gone.

More than anyone she knows, he deserves this. She knows that, which is why she’d been insistent and honest about his need to go. She could never have begrudged him this opportunity—even if it hurts like hell when he’s gone.

It’s in these moments of serene calm and quiet, which come so few and far between, when Betty can feel the steady beat of Jughead’s pulse against her own, that she knows—not that she doesn’t always know, but sometimes that deep dark, insecure piece of her psyche is disquieted and she can’t help but wonder if he thinks she’s worth it.

One particularly hard week when the stresses of trying to parent her mother and her friends and live up to the insanely high expectations everyone seems to have of her, she asked him as much. Did being with her make his life any easier, any better? She’d felt like a lead balloon, sinking and pulling everyone down with her, and she refused to let him become another Cooper Casualty. He held her while she cried, while she insisted that he pack up the rest of her room and send her on her way, because this couldn’t be good for him. He simply wiped the tears from her cheeks, carried her to their bed, and recounted all the ways she was, indeed, perfect for him.

She smiles at the memory and feels his hand squeeze hers tighter before his fingers slip from her grasp, and she watches as they flex around the steering wheel as he merges onto I-87.

“Are we going to New York?” Betty asks, sitting up a little straighter as she looks toward the distant skyline.

He shakes his head. “We are not. Now, no more guessing. Just enjoy the ride. For once.” She laughs but lets herself get lost in his carefully cultivated playlist. The yellow lines blur on the pavement, rushing them toward somewhere, and something, new.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s still a good twenty miles before they actually arrive, but she now knows their intended location.

Philadelphia.

Betty can vaguely remember a conversation they had when they were maybe twelve, after they’d been learning about the Revolutionary War, about wanting to see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, but nothing more than that.

“Listen, I know. I hadn’t really been sold on it either, but I don’t think you’ll hate anything on the agenda.”

This catches her attention. She leans as far forward as the seatbelt allows while keeping her eyes fixed on him. “Agenda?”

Now, she would never say that her boyfriend wasn’t a planner; he was an idea man who knew what he wanted. Sometimes, though, he was more an adept juggler who was able to think critically and course correct when something went awry. (Well, mostly.)

“Yes, agenda: schedule, to-do list, docket. Things we are going to do and see in Philly.”

“I know what you meant, thank you. I’m just confused. Why wouldn’t you tell me where we’re going? I could have helped you!”

His brows knit as he carefully merges into the growing traffic on I-95. “Did you really think I would go through all the trouble of keeping this a surprise if I didn’t have a few tricks up my sleeve?”

“Why here? Why Philly?”

“Why not Philly?” He was starting to sound defensive, and that wasn’t Betty’s intention. It was only genuine curiosity.

“I’m not mad, Juggie. I’m excited, truly. It just seems like a lot to undertake when you’ve been so stressed about school, and I know I haven’t been as helpful—”

“Don’t. This is about both of us getting a much-deserved break. I didn’t say I didn’t have any help. You’re right, I couldn’t have done all of this alone. But I just wanted to do something for you.”

“Jug,” she reaches across the space between them and rubs his shoulder. “You always ‘do’ for me. I don’t need vacations, or gifts, or anything but you .”

“I know,” his eyes flick from the road for a second to catch hers. “I know, but I need it to be just us, even for a little while. I know it sounds silly and selfish, but Betty, I just want you to myself. For once. Just you and me”

“Okay, but for the record, I’m not going anywhere. No matter how weird things get back home, whatever psycho-killer comes to Riverdale next, or how hard it is being apart. Being with you…” her voice fails, or the words she’s trying to get out do. His hand finds hers in the ever-growing city light, thumb brushing the knuckles of her left hand as she tries to find the words.

They’ve talked about it—the future—in abstracts mostly, but she can’t help but feel absolutes when he says things like “long haul” and “you’re the one I choose.” And under the towering buildings and twinkling lights, that future doesn’t seem like a pipe dream.

Jughead’s hand slides off hers and back to the wheel as he tries to navigate the strange city. Betty smiles, confident he knows what she’d been trying to convey, and takes a moment to really survey her surroundings.

The farther they drive into Philadelphia, the more she sees what she’s heard about the city. It certainly has the modern, monolithic skyscrapers she associates with cities of this size, but there’s something about just how many old buildings fill the spaces between them that makes it feel almost quaint. These little pockets of the past, preserved in a concrete wasteland, she can’t wait to see in the daylight. Especially as they move toward Center City, where the vestiges of colonial Philadelphia are sandwiched between the harsh neon lights of the WaWas and Wegmans.

The streets narrow, some are actual cobblestone, as they pass through the heart of Philly. It’s not long before they pull under a large red gate, Jughead maneuvering the old station wagon into the spot marked “42C.”

They spend their first night exploring South Street, eating their way up and down the eclectic stretch of history and hysteria. Jughead fills her in on the plans for the next day, and in their first night of true privacy in far too long, they do some personal exploration of their own.

It’s brisk. Nearly colder than brisk. Snow falls lightly around them, softly twinkling as it catches in the golden light of Love Park. Jughead wraps an arm tightly around Betty as they make their way through the immense Christmas Village that dominates the large swath of Center City. It’s slightly overwhelming—the sheer amount of people, things to look at, things to eat— but watching Betty’s eyes shine under the twinkle lights is worth every, single, second.

“So, tomorrow we’re going to see Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, right?” she asks through the dark veil of her lashes, snow starting to dampen them, all rosy-cheeked from the cold.

He nods, glad he’s wearing the heaviest of his sherpa jackets and disregarded the advice of his roommate who said it was too casual for slacks. Betty isn’t in a skirt. She’s bundled in layers of wool, nestled under the crux of his arm, but it’ll catch them soon enough. Jughead hopes they’ll be home before then.

Home.

The word looms heavy in front of them though they dare not confront it. Tomorrow, they’ll be back in their respective beds, only miles apart in reality but what feels more like worlds apart. He tries to push it from his mind, to be in the moment with the woman who followed him without hesitation, even if it meant being surprised, but the idea of returning to a cold, empty bed in a cold, empty hall persists.

He thinks she is, surprised that is, about coming to Philly. It surprised him too: a place to stay free of charge so long as he made an appointment to visit two colleges while he was there. Luckily for him, Betty Cooper is excited when he sheepishly tells her they have to go to Temple and Penn in between touring Boathouse Row and The Franklin Institute. Stonewall has these satellite studios in Boston and New York too. He wonders where else he can take her; what else can he experience by her side?

It used to be in these moments when he’d panic. The idea of anything actually lasting in his life still causes palpitations from time to time, but the anxiety is never about whether she’s by his side or not. She is. In every nightmare scenario, she’s with him, save for the ones where they’re actually being forced apart, but there is no place and time it’s not the two of them against the world. It’s this epiphany that brings him to today. He smiles to himself as he pulls her closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as she gushes about their visit to the Mütter Museum and Philadelphia Museum of Art earlier in the day.

“We’re also going to eat our way through Reading Terminal Market,” he waggles his brows emphatically, and the laughter bubbles out, shaking him along with her. Jughead Jones might be the only person in the world who gets to experience this Betty. The real Betty. The one who laughs at his corny jokes, who ensures he knows he’s worthwhile and worthy of love, who solves mysteries at the expense of her family and her sanity, and who only knows sacrifice yet sees so little reward. It wouldn’t be like her to ask for one, or for the break they both so desperately needed, but he couldn’t bear to hear her voice breaking on one more phone call. Not when, at least on his front, she has nothing to worry about.

“Jug,” her voice is like warm honey as she pulls a gloved hand from her pocket and entwines her fingers with his as it hangs over her shoulder. “Think maybe we can get some food right now? I don’t want to leave again tonight after we get back.”

“Oh no?”

“Nope,” she says popping the “p” and turning her face toward his. “I just noticed there was a fireplace in the living room, and the last time we tried anything involving a fireplace, we ended up having a movie night with our entire extended family.”

He remembers that particular night. He does not plan on repeating it. Her lashes flutter against his neck as the heat of her breath sends a shiver down his spine. “Right, food. Let’s do that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snow’s been picking up. What started as a soft, gauzy curtain now fully blankets the city in a sparkling white chrysalis. They’re on the couch, wrapped up in blankets and each other, watching as the snow falls onto the courtyard outside their window. The frost gives the glass an almost frame, their bodies reflected in the twinkling firelight perfectly centered in the pane.

He and Betty have shared many moments since that day in her bedroom, most good and some not-so-good, but every second has made them what they are today. He’s the first to admit that, in the beginning, he was certain things would end between them before either got too invested. (Well, before she got too invested. He was one-hundred percent all in from the get-go.)

Being away has made him realize a few things. First, while money can buy a lot of things, it has no bearing on taste. Case in point, the cafeteria at Stonewall Prep. Gourmet it may be, but it doesn’t hold a candle to Pop’s. And second, as dysfunctional as his family unit is, and it really, really is, he knows love. His father loves him and is actually getting better at showing it, and though the fear of him falling off the wagon never really goes away, it’s lessened to a manageable degree. Jellybean is home and doing mostly well—as well as any thirteen-year-old who’s seen and done the things she’s already been forced to do can be. Alice is Alice, but at least she’s around. Not that her doing so provides him, or Betty for that matter, any comfort, but it gives some semblance of normalcy they’ve all been desperate to recapture.

And Betty? He smiles against her lips, hands twisting in her golden hair as her eyes flutter open.

“What?” Her voice is breathy as his fingers slide from her mane of curls. Jughead scoots toward the arm of the chair, reaching for his discarded jacket, while she adjusts the blanket over her shoulder, an inquisitive quirk of her brow reiterates the question she just asked.

“Do you remember when I was being especially dramatic?”

“Oh, which time, Jug? There are literally so many possibilities.”

Lunging forward, he wraps his arms around her waist and hauls her into his lap. He doesn’t tickle her, just readjusts the blanket that slid in the move and drops his arms to settle right above her hips. Betty’s are wrapped around his neck, fingers twining the hairs at the nape of his neck between her slender fingers.

“You were being dramatic?” she questions. The fire glows behind her, amber and ember amidst the growing tundra outside.

He exhales one long, slow, steady breath. “When I asked you to marry me.”

Betty’s forehead creases as their eyes meet. A confused laugh escapes. “Jughead, what are you talking about? You’ve never…”

Words cease falling from her lips as he slides his decidedly not-empty hand along her side and holds the small box between them. Betty’s hands fall from around his neck and immediately find their way in front of her face.

“This is not some impromptu proposal. It’s not because we’re finally alone and in the heat of some moment I ask you to marry me. I’ve thought, been thinking, about this almost every day since I left Riverdale High. Not necessarily asking you, per se, but more like the realization that an entire lifetime of achievements and accomplishments means nothing if you’re not by my side.”

“Jug,” her voice is a lost whisper amongst the crackling logs and howling wind. He takes the ring from the box, a dainty opal in an antique setting, and gently pulls her left hand from her mouth.

“There is nothing I want more than a future with you. I told you once we were on borrowed time, and I have never been happier to be proven wrong in my life. I bought this ring three weeks ago and tried to convince myself I wasn’t going to do this until after graduation–that there was something fundamentally wrong with getting engaged in high school. And I get it; I do. We are completely surrounded by marriages marred by too much time and not enough knowledge. But I know the you inside of you, and I love her as much as she loves the deepest, darkest parts of me. Marry me, Betty Cooper. Today. Tomorrow. Some fixed point in the not-too-distant future. Don’t make me wait.”

He steadies the ring at the tip of her finger, holding his breath until he feels her hand sliding forward. The “yes” she all but breathes against his lips is swallowed by his kiss. She pulls away long before he’s ready to admire the stone against her skin. The smile on her face is worth every second of doubt. Turning, she shifts to be sat between his legs, leaning her head against his chest.

Her sigh is one of contentment as she holds her hand up in front of them. The ring looks more right on her finger than he ever dared to hope. He can feel the millions of things racing through her mind across the silence. Entwining her newly embellished hand with his, he pulls them to her chest and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. Tomorrow, before they’re forced back to their separate realities, they’ll discuss it, but tonight, tonight is for them and their love. Which they prove to one another over and over again.

#bughead fanfiction #bughead #songfic writing challenge 2019 #well aware it's 2020 #and still more to come #cat is a rock star

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gwoongi · 5 years

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𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 ✰ taehyung (1)

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 kim taehyung / reader genre: zombie apocalypse au words: 6793

You just wanted humanity to survive.

warnings: violence, swearing, sexual content, gore and blood, death, taboo themes, drug and alcohol use

a/n: hi!! this has been in the works for literally. a year. maybe even longer. it has caused me so much pain and stress + im so happy to be putting her out into the world!!!!! thank you for all your endless support and i hope u all like this fic!!!!!!! :D ((it is a revised version of my older “the last of us” fic on cosykims!))

[ Moodboard || Playlist ]

01. denver ↝ 02. holiday with me ↝ 03. sad forever ↝ 04. surely ↝ 05. scorpion ↝ 06. shakespeare

“...city centre is now closed until further notice, after a bomb was detected near the subway station at 3:45pm. Reports say that the bomb was not a hoax, and was indeed planted there by foreign intel…”

“After three major bomb alerts in cities across the country, the senator has released a statement saying the following: Relations with foreign powers are continuing to get worse. Bombs are being planted around our country, and the threat of nuclear war is among us. Currently there are no dramatic changes, but our channel will keep everybody within the area notified.”

“...I repeat, this is not a drill. North Korea have finally declared nuclear war on the western hemisphere, challenging other powers to ready their weapons and start to fight. Curfew is now under way, and everybody must report to nearby shelters in the case of an emergency. May God be with you all.”

“...thanks, Janet. What we are seeing here is the aftermath of what appears to be catastrophic damage done by a foreign bomb in New York City. Thousands of people are suspected to be dead and bombs are still being detected in the radar. This is no longer a fantasy - this is the reality of our country. God Bless America.”

“...months after the fighting has ceased across the Globe, the Government have set up control areas to prevent the possibility of an infection, of which was caused by the toxic chemicals of the bombs dropped just three months ago. Citizens are to be evacuated within three miles of controlled areas and gas masks are being supplied to everybody South of Nebraska….”

“...what appears to be a virus has spread throughout controlled quarantines this evening. Reports from the state suggest that the word ‘zombie’ might fit the description of this virus. This is not a joke, I repeat, we are dealing with a nationwide crisis here. Everybody is to stay within their homes.”

“...the world is ending….hundreds and thousands of people are expected to fall to the virus caused by the aftermath of war...flesh-eating zombies….may God be with us all….oh God...oh God!”

Three Years In 01:12am.

Contrary to popular belief, there were many good things about the apocalypse. One, you wagered, was the fact that there was barely any pollution in the air; in fact, on an evening, you could see the whole galaxy without a telescope, breathing in the life of speckles of white, shooting ivories and the smile of a lonely moon. Two, there were no official rules to life. Unlike life before, no human is illegal, now. Border control is non-existent, and immigration and tax and how much money you’re going to make come payday is no longer important to anybody still alive. And three, if you were lucky, it was always silent.

Before, you used to sneer at silence. The way it mocked you, and humiliated you after a high-school presentation, or after the punchline of a joke. The way the silence slowly picked at your bones and flesh in the attic bedroom of your grandparents’ bungalow in the northern part of the city, secluded in mountains and barren trees; the silence laughing at the way you stared out that small box window, praying for a miracle to make noise.

But now, silence is your new best friend. Silence indicates that nothing is near, and danger is less likely. It heightens every sense, and keeps you awake at night. Against any loyal survivor or camp-member, you valued silence as the number one ally.

Sniffing once, you caught your nose running, stepping over a large pile of rubble that had fallen from the roof of the warehouse you were currently based in. Careful to not awaken any of your fellow campers, you made your way towards the large wire fence, pulling a cable tie around the sliced wire to tie it together - an unpractical reinforcement, although quieter than chains. And as designated leader of the camp, you admit that it’s hard to keep everybody sane and grounded. Safety was of paramount importance, but you can’t fake it. You can’t lie to your campers by saying everything is safe. Because nothing is safe anymore.

Scraping scrap metal across the tarmac, the distant sound of boots made you glance up, noticing the familiar scuff of red leather and you turned away, not having to look up to know it’s the new guy, Kim Taehyung.

“Need any help?” his voice called across the loud silence, his fingers toying with a loose strand of polyester attached to his jacket.

“I’ve got it, thanks,” you replied, fiddling still with the ties around the looped chain.

Taehyung moved forward anyway, indifferent about the tense tone of your voice. He missed the hint entirely, coming closer when all you want is for him to go away. “It doesn’t look like you’ve got it. Here, I’ll hold the fence.”

You flinched when he appeared by your side, your face meeting his helpful gaze with a sharp glare. Regardless, you sighed loudly and relaxed, letting him hold the fence in place as you wrapped around the cable tie, clamping it closed before moving to the next hole created by cutters.

“Are you always this pushy?” you asked, avoiding his stare as you worked to close all the possible entrances (and exits).

“I just wanted to help,” Taehyung confessed quietly. “I felt pointless in there, not falling asleep. Plus, Jiyong snores. I wanted some peace and quiet.”

At that, you scoffed and smile. “Well, I can believe that. He’s always been a snorer, ever since high-school.”

Taehyung made a noise of acknowledgement, finally accepting defeat and crouching quietly beside you, wordless but inquisitive. It had only been three days since he joined the camp by chance; he was one of the lucky ones who approached your camp and made it inside. A law you lived by, inside your cluttered and hazy and scared brain, was that you never accepted outsiders into the camp. Sticking by friends you’ve known and trusted for years seemed safer than blindly trusting someone you had never met before. But, as Seunghyun pointed the sniper rifle at his tuft of brown hair hanging on his forehead, Yena had bounced down from the watch-tower with wide eyes - “he needs a Doctor, Y/N. He’s bleeding from his knee. We have the supplies, we can save his life.”

You just wanted humanity to survive.

And so the gates opened and he lay down on a medical bed inside the warehouse, and Yena and Jisoo helped patch up his wounds. Now, here he is; lingering in the shadows of the warehouse, limping across the length of the grounds, begging for jobs to keep himself occupied.

“You work a lot,” Taehyung noted. “I never see you sleep at night. Insomnia?”

“One person always stays on guard during the night,” you explain, tugging at the wire to make sure it holds. “I volunteer because there’s always something that needs to be done around here. If you think you’re safe, you’re wrong. Nobody else wants to do it, so I will. Just to keep myself busy, mainly.”

Taehyung nodded. “I get that. Before I came here, I just walked. I never stopped walking from where I was, constantly looking for somewhere safe to go.”

“Ain’t that the way,” you replied. With nothing left to do with the fence, you eventually turned to look at him, staring at his face outlined by the dim gas-lighter by the door to the warehouse. “You been on your own for a while?”

“No,” he answered, hesitantly. “I was with my sister when the virus first broke out. We were both at NYU. We got separated in the manic and I joined a small group of science students on their way to find a cure. Clearly, that didn’t work out. I figured it was safer on my own, you know? I had no idea where she went. So, I walked.”

“And your leg?” you asked, looking at his knee, still wrapped in soaked bandages. “You got hurt pretty bad, huh? Biter get you?”

“Unfortunately not. I got jumped by a couple bandits on my way here. I got away when a few walkers came by, but barely escaped. Then, I came here.”

You stood up as he spoke, him following your every move like a mirror. “‘Walkers.’ You can tell you’re from New York.”

Moving away from Taehyung, your feet take you to the mid-height fence near the drop towards the forest, a view overlooking the tops of tall trees, a spiralling path faded by fog and the familiar outline of a deserted city near the horizon. Kicking the fence gently, it stays in place, requiring no fortifications or attention. Nothing could climb the steep drop beneath it. Resting your elbows on the beach wood of the fence, you rest your weight and stare towards the city, analysing the corners of each building, jagged lines like a maths puzzle.

“While I was getting patched up,” Taehyung began, after a long moment of serene silence, “Jisoo told me that you guys go out on trips, hunts in cities. How many have you covered?”

“Only one,” you replied, nodding in the direction of the city in front of you. “That’s Denver. It’s so large that we barely covered a third of it in the two years we’ve been here. We planned to keep moving, but we had some...complications along the way. We got trapped up here. Every week we send out a group to scavenge the cities, find whatever we can to prepare us for travels. And last week, Jiyong’s pick-up truck ran out of gas for good, so anything we can find to help get that back and running would be great.”

Taehyung nodded with understanding, picking at the dry skin around his bitten-down fingernails. “I hear it’s in a few days. Shouldn’t you be asleep, resting for it?”

“I can’t sleep,” you said quietly. “Not anymore. And it’s like I said, there’s always shit that needs to be done. The drive to the city is around half hour, I can catch some z’s on the way there and between shifts. Why so curious, anyway? You coming with us, or something?”

He shrugged. “Can I?”

“Have you got anything better to do?” you retort, and he smiles slightly, looking down. “I hear you’re a good runner. We could use the extra legs and arms. If your knee’s up to it, course.”

Gratefully, he nodded with acceptance. “Come to think of it, your group is quite small. Has it always been this selective?”

As the words left his lips, Taehyung felt himself regret that sentence, noticing the way you tensed next to him, hands pausing in their movement of toying a blade of grass that hugged the fence post.

“I’m sorry. That was rude-”

“There were others,” you replied tensely, your demeanour changed instantly. “But like all other groups, we lost people along the way. Good people. Kind and loving people. In a world where life is so short, I can’t afford to lose anybody else.”

You clapped his shoulder roughly, “you’re new, Taehyung, and I don't expect you to understand. But we’re a family here, and the safety of the group is essential. You’re gonna lose people along the way but…”

Your voice trailed off, and Taehyung looked up. He got it. You didn’t have to continue speaking for him to put the pieces together.

Two Days Later. 08:19am.

The lively sound of a rumbling engine stirred Taehyung awake, the noise travelling from the square all the way to the South-Wing, painted in yellow as ‘Zone S’. S for sleep, or S for safety, Taehyung couldn’t quite decipher.

Sitting on the rectangle straw-sheet, he slipped on his socks and signature ruby leather boots, carrying his jacket over his arms as he left the zone and moved towards the square, where the sun bled out onto the dusty tarmac, a glimmer of glittering light causing him to squint as he crossed the width of the kitchen. He smiled at Yena, the youngest in the group, only eighteen amongst middle-aged outcasts, and passed her at the table, ignoring her wavering stare.

“Taehyung. Good morning.”

He forced himself to smile over at Taekwoon, only slightly intimidated by the size of his muscles behind a grey sleeved tee, and the way he effortlessly lifted a duffel bag filled with weapons into the trunk of the Subaru. Taekwoon looked over gently, in an effort not to afraid the newbie, and then he shut the boot of the car and approached him.

“You coming on our trip today?” he asked, and Taehyung nodded.

“Did you clear it with Y/N?”

“Yes,” he replied surely. “She invited me.”

Taekwoon smiled mockingly, laughing out of his nose. “Right. Sure she did.”

Taehyung blinked, unfamiliar. “Where is Y/N? Isn’t she coming with us?”

“Yeah. Protocol around here is similar to certain armies,” Taekwoon explained lamely. “The leader always helps out on missions. Hey, she’s nothing like that old guy out of Wonder Woman, I’ll tell you that.”

“Y/N is the leader?” Taehyung asked dumbly.

Taekwoon turned then, resting a hand upon the hot black exterior of the car. “Does that shock you?”

“Kinda. She looks so…”

He didn’t continue, but Taekwoon nodded in understanding. “We get it. But without her, none of us would be here. I couldn’t think of anyone better leading us. Well, I mean, I’d proper love a Rick Grimes around here, but you can’t have everything. Jiyong and Seunghyun are technically leaders, too, but we just say Y/N is to deprive them the satisfaction of feeling powerful.”

From behind him, the short sound of footsteps made Taehyung turn, meeting your gaze halfway as you briskly passed him, cheeks clammy, freckles on display. He’d never noticed them before. At your entry, the group of hunters gathered around the bonnet of the car as you spread a map down on it with a short slap, a dying red Sharpie in your hand, circling the next part of the city.

“Last week we went to this section, so try and focus on these areas today,” you explained, waiting for Taehyung to shift into a position where he could see the map carefully. “Denver was one of the worst hit cities, so we could either be lucky and find bodies, or unlucky and find biters. Either way, try and avoid making sound. We have the radios and walkies in-case we get into any sort of trouble. If we lose signal, meet at the car before sunset. Remember - don’t risk your life if one of us doesn’t arrive on time. Give it five minutes after the sun begins to disappear, and if we’re not here, go on ahead. We can’t sacrifice our supplies for the sake of one man. It’s harsh, and we go through this every time, but I’m making it clear to the fresh meat.”

Everybody, minus Taehyung and his bewildered expression, nodded with understanding, a quiet murmur overpowering the groan of the dead hanging in the shadows of the forest surrounding the warehouse.

“Is there anything anybody wants to ask for before we head onto the road?” Jiyong asked, his voice in the same usual volume- quieter than a shout, slightly louder than a whisper.

“Gas is a priority,” Taehyung suggested, remembering the conversation about the useless pick-up truck sitting in the back near the barrens.

Taekwoon nodded, “we need gas for the truck, and in-case our getaway vehicle runs out unexpectedly. We’re on our last few drops.”

“The usual, I’d expect. Food is obvious, water, clean water. Clothes, or batteries would be great, too. Never skip over a store because it looks empty,” Doyoung, Yena’s brother and the best shooter within the group aside from Seunghyun, said, looking at Taehyung all the while. “Pharmacy's look emptied, but there’s always the office near the back that’s filled with extra medicine. The keys are usually on a staff member who’s lurking or dead. You have materials that can pick the lock.”

“How do you know that for sure?” Taehyung asked, meanwhile the rest of the group readied the truck. You stayed near Taehyung, eager to hear what he had to say.

“I used to work at my Dad’s pharmacy before shit hit the fan,” Doyoung shrugged. “I know my way around a pharmacy, is all.”

Having little else to do, Taehyung simply nodded and stood still, waiting for the group to finish setting up the car, with Taekwoon riding his motorcycle near the front like a Police escort.

“Ready?” you asked, stopping by his side as the group hollered for everybody to get inside. Yena hurried out towards the gate, hanging by the loose chain ready to open it up. Taehyung sucked in a breath quietly, and looked at you with as much optimism as he could. It came out falsely, but you appreciated his efforts.

“Not really. Will I ever be?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. No response was good.

The city was unusually quiet.

Beside you, in the back of the car, Taehyung stared silently at the scenery as it rolled past, just as the car crossed into the city’s territory. Immediately, he could see the stark contrast between the wilderness and the madness; a concrete jungle, overpowered by lush green and forest ferns, weeds that turreted as high as traffic lights snaking up the drains of apartment complexes, tufts of cloth dancing in the breeze. Despite the damage from nuclear destruction, Taehyung was surprised that nature could take over so quickly. He stared in silence at the sight of rusted vehicles abandoned in the streets, decorated with blood red graffiti, the walls of buildings reading “DEAD INSIDE” or “KEEP OUT”, neither better than the other. As the car crossed through an intersection, down one of the streets, water had eroded the roads; murky green water bouncing off the heavy sunlight creating patterns on the brickwork, faded and dressed in dark ivy.

“Reminds me of Chernobyl,” Taehyung commented on the way there.

As the car pulled up in a relatively deserted section of the city, Jiyong switched off the gas and hopped out instantly, wasting zero time. Taehyung clambered out afterwards, holding open the door as you climbed out after him, nodding as a thank-you, already familiarising yourself with the silence.

Taekwoon began to hand out weapons from the duffel bag in the boot as you stared in all directions, analysing pathways and gaps between buildings. Craning upwards, the canopy of unstable concrete, the decaying body of two large towers collided together, made you feel uneasy, and you turned back towards the group, gladly taking a pistol and extra ammunition.

“Remember the rules,” you reminded. “Stay in your partners. Taekwoon and Doyoung, go North. Jiyong, Seunghyun, go West. Jisoo, you’re okay to go South, yes? I’ll take the newbie with me East.”

Jisoo nodded, loading her gun. “I don’t need a man to slow me down.”

“Just be careful,” you warned, happy to see her confident going alone. Taehyung shifted from foot to foot, shakily taking a pistol from the bottom of the bag and following behind you as you moved towards the East direction, towards the fallen ruins of Denver city.

After some minutes of silence, Taehyung spoke up: “where are we going?”

“Further into the city,” you replied, not missing a beat. “Most of the stores close to the square have been checked already. But the ones further in the city are more likely to stay in tact. Nobody comes in here unless they want to die. Thankfully, it seems quiet today.”

“We got lucky, then,” he decided.

“I hope you’re right.”

A few more minutes in, and Taehyung felt himself cower at the sight of more skyscrapers leaning together, debris falling from the sky and landing in tufts near his feet. He ignored the stained blood from feet as he crossed a gravel pathway, near a sectioned off waterpool barricaded by old cars. Distracting himself, Taehyung invested his attention towards yourself, watching cautiously as you fiddled with buttons on the small radio you picked up along the way.

“Should you really be using that out in the open?”

You paused, scoffing slightly. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I believe you, but, that’s making noise.”

“What about it?”

Taehyung narrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Noise attracts walkers.”

With a final sigh, you turned to him over your shoulder. “You’re going to attract ‘walkers’ in a minute. Just...keep your voice down, yeah? The radio is our only way to communicate with those outside our group. It’s either this, or walking straight into death. You want that?”

“Obviously not,” he replied.

Opting to keep you happy, Taehyung didn’t say anything else. Instead, he followed your heels closely, muttering soft thanks when you lifted up a beam for him to duck under, or pointed out a hole of muddy water that was probably contaminated. In his ears, he listened for the sound of something - anything - to come through on the radio, when a voice cut through the radio static.

“...nothing left. I’m leaving the city, with as many people as I can. We have to leave people behind, but...they’re in no position to travel. Alby is sick, and Jaena’s leg is infected. We don’t have much time left…”

Taehyung moved closer to you, and you positioned the radio so he could hear.

“There’s nothing left for anybody in City Ten. Bandits and hunters come to scavenge stores but there’s nothing we can do about it. We gathered all the medical supplies in our store room in Block 18. Fuck, I don’t know what building we are in, but we can see the large building that towers over all others from our window. Tommy came in saying he has everything ready for us to go. We’re heading North, towards Washington. Some survivors said there was a group of student scientists there with a bunch of NASA officials, working on a cure. They’re calling Washington the safe zone, or something, I can’t remember. Denver is empty.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be here,” Taehyung said in a low voice, and you looked at him briefly before looking back at the radio, as if it would do something visual.

The voice continued breathily: “If you’re still in the city...if anybody even still listens to me, you need to get out. You need to head to-” she paused over the line. “Fuck, they’re here. I hear them.” Her voice got quieter, breathier, like a whisper. You decided to continue on foot next to Taehyung, waiting for her voice to come back through the line. For what felt like eternity, she made no response.

Taehyung heaved himself up over an abandoned car, extending a hand down to you to help pull you up. Climbing up after him, you snatched your hand away when you realised he was still holding onto you, brushing your hand on your jeans and jumping down from the car back onto the floor.

“Hey, Y/N, how about we head over--”

Abruptly, the woman’s voice cut back in through the silence. “Oh fuck! Oh my god, they k-killed him. They killed him, oh my God, they’re coming back for me, stop! Leave me alone!”

Her screams were screeching, loud enough to shatter glass. Taehyung immediately fumbled for the volume, hissing when the radio continued to scream out into the silence of the city. As quickly as her screams became deafening, they became deaf, fallen silent, only static replacing her noises. As if overcome with fear, you toss the radio to the side, causing it to smash into pieces.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung exclaimed suddenly.

“I don’t wanna hear that,” you replied, shaking your head furiously. “Come on, let’s keep going. We’ve already wasted time listening.”

“She’s in trouble,” Taehyung continued, nonetheless following you. “We could try and find her, and help her.”

You smiled bitterly, hiking towards the nearest convenience store at the ground of a large high-rise building, slanted and glass-covered. “Taehyung, you’re sweet. Really, and I so like that about you. You’re a good asset to the team, and I want to keep it that way. But, we can’t afford to save her. By the sounds of things, she didn’t make it.”

“You don’t know that.”

Pausing to observe a blood-covered metal bat rolling back and forth by the open door to the store, you crouch to pick it up and swing it back and forth. “You’re right, I don’t. But I care more about our survival than hers.”

Behind you, he scoffed and shook his head. “You’re heartless.”

“No, I’m realistic,” you counter, holding the door open for him and handing him the metal bat. He caught it with a breath of air. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you about it. We can discuss it back at camp. For now, we have to look in the area and find somewhere to scavenge. This’ll do for the moment. Take the chemist and the clothes, I’ll scan the aisles for food if there is any. If you see bottled water, please get some.”

Taehyung reluctantly sighed, following you through the door and flinching when his boots crunched shards of broken glass on the floor. Shuffling into place, Taehyung scanned the room with a somber expression; the shelves near the door had been stripped clean, with only crumbs and stains marking the off-white colours, faded neons screaming nursery rhymes as he approached the first aisle. To his delight, or more so relief, he noticed food still on the shelves towards the back of the store, and he moved his gaze towards the right side of the store, where a hanging light, swinging to and fro with a daunting creak, read “Clothing”, where a neon should have bled out into cyans and magentas.

“Take half an hour?” you suggested, tossing him a spare flashlight from your backpack. “Meet back here if you can’t find anything useful. Take what we need, not what you want. I mean, clothing is preference, but- you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sounding almost indifferent. “I know. Be careful.”

To that, you smiled. “You too.”

Waiting until Taehyung had shuffled into the shadows of the clothes department, somewhat near to the flickering blue glow of the chemist desk, you gulped and retreated towards the far shelf, crouching to pack in a can of beans and some soup, close to expiry but good enough to salvage. By the end of the search, your bag was near enough filled to the brim; you had plenty of food, and lighters to aid Jiyong’s bad smoking habit, alongside a pack of cigarettes you found at the back of the shelf next to some ammunition and a discarded wallet. A pack of batteries lay like a ripe cherry in a bunch of rotten ones, and you barely wedged it into the front pocket of your bag. Feeling successful, you swung the backpack onto your shoulders and rose from your crouch behind the shelves.

Poking your head over the stacks, the sound of Taehyung dragging clothes across the rails puts your mind at ease, distracting you from the low hum of the undead, which, as if it were possible, seemed to get louder and louder. Probably paranoia, you guessed, minding your own business as you approached the counter looking into the bakery. You stared sadly at the moulded breads and pastries, eyeing them with a new hunger. If you remembered hard enough, you could remember visiting a store just like this one and buying fish at the market, and then buying a custard cake at the bakery with your college friends.

At that thought, you looked away, leaning over the counter to eye the floor, messed with flour and footprints dotted with red shuffling towards the kitchen, where silence screamed out. You took a guess that the red wasn’t your ordinary jam, and you gulped, sadly imagining who the unlucky victim was. Shrugging off those thoughts, you prepared to pick yourself back up onto your feet when a loud shuffle made you freeze in all movement.

Please be Taehyung.

Turning around slowly, you held your breath calmly, facing the store. As you turned to look to your left, the sight of a biter hovering near the glass doorway to the side-store made a chill run up the length of your body. You did nothing. It simply stared.

Perhaps if you moved slowly, it wouldn’t see you. Albeit wishful thinking, it seemed better than nothing at this point. It stood there dauntingly, shaking from side to side with a tremor, lips torn apart and skin ripped, maggots clinging to the rotten flesh. It let out a snarl, teeth curling and stirring creamy foam out of its mouth, fingers curled like dinosaur claws. As it waited, you turned fully, hands spread flat on the counter of the desk, observing all possible exits.

There was the safe route; towards Taehyung where he could help you take out the biter coming after you. There was the risky route; straight back towards the door, where noise would attract both the biter and Taehyung anyway. Or there was the stupid route; towards the biter, ready for attack.

Thankfully, you’d seen zombie movies enough times to know that running towards the biter almost always got you killed. Instead, you moved slowly, almost unmoving entirely. The biter stayed in place, biting air, snarling at the wind. Walking as quietly as you could, you edged towards the clothing section to find Taehyung, already somewhat comforted by the continuous sound of him dragging hangers across the rails. Every step was taken without breath; afraid that even blinking would send it into a frenzy, silence was of new paramount importance.

Inching further towards Taehyung, you flinched violently when the biter growled loudly, making enough noise to pull Taehyung’s head out of the clothing racks, bag practically stuff with clothes he basically didn’t really need. When the noise was followed by silence, he gripped his bat handle tighter and dropped his backpack to the tiles with a soft thud. Taehyung moved slowly towards the open archway separating the clothes to the foods, taking his time looking at the way the lights flickered, and the sound of the wind getting caught in the tiny cracks in the window-panes.

“Y/N?” he called, unaware. His grip tightened on the bat when nothing responded, only a murmur, a groan that sounded guttural. “Y/N?”

Approaching the arch, he turned into the main foyer of the store and froze in place when he saw you; standing like a statue by the counter, facing him with eyes wide. Without saying words, he seemed to know what to do - he looked back and forth between yourself and the biter, staring at the way it swayed from side to side, occasionally jolting as if having a seizure. Looking back at you, he paused when you held your hands in front of you, as if warning him to stay away.

“Don’t move,” you mouthed, afraid of a whisper being too loud.

He nodded, although you barely caught it. “What do we do?” he mouthed back.

Catching your breath quietly, you began to move slowly towards him, dragging your feet across the tiles wiped with tomato coloured red. Taehyung held out his hands invitingly, bat still pointed outwards, shaking slightly. He couldn’t pinpoint whether it was nerves, or fear, but either one drove his hands further outwards, taking small steps of his own towards you, quiet in an effort to not distract unwanted attention.

“That’s it,” he whispered, the smallest of whispers, waving his hands slowly in circles. “Slowly…”

The taste of blood swam through your mouth as your teeth sank down onto the inside of your lip, hands shaking violently as you steadily stepped towards your partner. Closer than breath, he was steps away, when your foot came down on shards of cloudy glass.

It ripped through the silence like a cough in Church.

The biter jolted with a high-pitched scream, too loud for you to turn around to check its expression. Taehyung stared over your shoulder at the way it broke out of a trance, screeching loudly at the sight of sounds. Time was running out; Taehyung yelled your name loudly, causing you to hurry towards him to grab his hand extended outward. As you skidded past his legs, his voice rang in your ears, lips brushing your hair: “Outside! Now!”

Grabbing his bag discarded on the floor, Taehyung swung it over his shoulders as you hurried ahead, ducking through a broken window. With impatience, Taehyung pushed you out, hands on your upper-back thigh, cradling you as you jumped out the hole and onto the road. He barely made it out, tugging at the thin material of your sleeve and dragging you out into the dust on the road. From behind both of you, the doors separating the biter and the store smashed open, alerting at least a dozen others lingering nearby in the dusty shadows.

They were newly infected, still grasping on to whatever shreds of humanity they had left. Running fast, screams loud, hands still rotting the flesh away; the biters ran from behind you down the road, screaming with every step, nudging you both further down the large road to nowhere. You weren’t even sure if this was the way you came; all you seemed focused on was the sight of Taehyung’s feet leaving you behind in a cloud of dust. He was faster than you had anticipated, but, with experience, you endured the heat of the panic and gravitated towards his side.

“Y/N-” he began, looking at you with a breathless expression.

“Don’t talk!” you screamed in reply, pulling at his arm. “Just fucking run!”

Passing identical buildings, acting like copied and pasted images, it was hard to deny that you were exhausted. At one point, it felt like Taehyung was dragging your weight, your legs too tired to hurry along after his frame. The cries of hunger and agony from the biters behind you increased in volume, filling the atmosphere with a heaviness. If the group were close, they had heard the noises and thought better than sticking around.

“Turn! Here, here, here, here, don’t fucking stop running!” screamed your voice over the chaos, pushing Taehyung by his shirt towards a small and narrow alleyway between two smaller stores; a ladder, enclosed by a bar painted an ebony black, smiled in the darkness, and Taehyung thankfully ran towards it without hesitation. The sharp turn caught the mob off-guard, sending them skidding across the road.

Taehyung began to climb up the ladder, and you swiftly followed, veins pumping with fear and adrenaline, hands shivering as you climbed from step to step, height to height. A biter lunged for your boot, sinking its teeth into the heel and you kicked it in the jaw, a growl emerging from its torn jaw as it collapsed back into the hoard.

Finally reaching the top of the roof, you heaved yourself up over the low brick wall, physically feeling the exhaustion in your arms, a dampness under your armpits. Landing with a thud on top of Taehyung, a breath of hot hair released from your lips, strands of hair sticking to your forehead like cake mixture to a bowl. Both of your breaths were in sync; Taehyung lay beneath you, unmoving for the several moments of gathering breath, with the shakiness of his hands vibrating against your waist.

When the reality of lying on top of Taehyung sank in, you shuddered and lifted yourself up off his stomach, your palms scratching on the scorching hot roof. Behind you, Taehyung lifts himself up off the floor, leaning over the side of the wall to peer down at the biters below. Groans fill the air as he spots biters learning how to climb the ladder, and he gulps, saliva hot and solid moving down his dry throat.

“That was fucking insane,” he hissed, turning to you sharply as you pace in ovals on the roof. “What happened down there?”

“Biter came up on me,” you muttered, “didn’t hear it until it was too late.”

The biters congregated down below, a loud compilation of groans becoming disheartening as you fail to come up with a solution to this incredibly difficult problem. Taehyung jerks himself away from the wall, crouching to his backpack to take a swig of water he was planning to save until later. You turn halfway, thankfully taking a sip of the water he hands to you once he swallowed.

“What do we do now?” Taehyung asks, hands on his knees. He’s hunched over. “The group leaves at sundown. Will they wait?”

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head and shove the water back into his hands. “No. It’s the rules.”

“Fuck the rules,” he replies. “We’re a team.”

“Yeah, but we’ve worked this way for a while now. We won’t change just because you arrived to the group.”

Taehyung scoffed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Letting out a sigh, you pace back towards the wall overlooking the city. “It’s not ideal, I know. But if the group wait a second longer and lose their supplies to bandits or biters...it would be a waste of time. Our group are already vulnerable back at camp. We don’t wanna leave people behind. If you can help, do it, but we’re on a roof in the middle of the city and there’s no way in hell we can make it back in time without leaving right now.”

With nothing useful to say, Taehyung let his body drop with a thud on the floor, a cloud of dust circling his thighs as his bag dragged against the side of the wall. Above, the sky transitioned into auburn colours, clouds moving faster than smoke rising out a chimney, carried by the wind towards the direction of the camp. The sound of cicadas and the haunting birdsong, and the constant groan of death, was all to be heard as you clenched your outstretched hands into small balls, cursing the air with your gaze cast downwards; it eventually fell on the sight of a rusted, and unstable balcony a few stories below, a scrap of magenta cloth clinging to the corners, broken glass twinkling in the light.

As time moved, and hours rolled by, Taehyung had napped twice and your eyes would not move from the sight of the balcony, analysing each pattern and grid and rusted area, calculating jumps and falls and possible scenarios in your brain. Eventually, when the sky had darkened with rain clouds and night, the sun dipped behind a large storey building. Maybe the group would wait for you.

Maybe they’d think differently because you were their leader. Or maybe they didn’t need you.

With a fright, Taehyung jumped when you spun around to him, crouched on your knees with an urgent voice. “I have one plan, and if this plan fails, we are doomed.”

“Sounds promising,” he commented, without giving a plan of his own. Taehyung rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm.

“There’s a balcony,” you explained, moving across the roof to show him, pointing down at the brown painted overhang. He nodded with understanding, “it obviously goes into a room. We could sneak through the building and come out through the front. The herd are around the back, or in the alley, and the ones up front are too tired to react in time. We use that time to run back towards the truck. The group might have stayed behind for us, but if not, we can try to see if any of the cars around the area are salvageable. If all fails...we could camp in a building for the night. Start walking to camp. We’d be there in a day, or two.”

Taehyung stood quietly, thinking.

“It’s risky,” you considered, looking at him, bottom lip between top teeth. “But it’s the only plan I have.”

“It’s the only plan we have,” Taehyung replied. “I couldn’t think of anything better. Are you okay to run?”

Nodding your head, you adjusted the straps of your backpack, tightening it so it would manage the drop in silence. Taehyung hesitated, watching you climb over the half-wall and settle to sit, your legs hanging over the side above the short, nonetheless intimidating drop to the balcony. Quickly, however, he followed; Taehyung heaved himself up next to you, watching nervously as you pushed forward and back, with inner conflict.

“Ready?” he asked, gently, without demand.

Without talking, you pushed.

NEXT CHAPTER.

#IM SO HAPPY ITS OUT IMDNFJHAJK #ktaenet #btsguild #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts #bangtan #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #taehyung smut #zombie apocalypse au #bts au #kth #tw: zombies #tlou

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secretblog1212 · 5 years

Text

What Klaus Needs

finally finished this prompt from an Anon, it only took me five years. XD Ticklish Klaus being a needy lee is amazing and I am here for it, here is some content my dudes.

AHH THANK YOU FOR RESPONDING TO MY ASK ABOUT TICKLISH KLAUS!! 💓 i can try to give some ideas I’m not too good at it though so I’m sorry, also the one you said is super sweet and would be adorable! Using what you said maybe like Klaus is starting to annoy/tickle someone in hopes they’ll tickle him and they catch on?? Maybe he tickled Diego and then Diego figures out Klaus just wants tickles?? That would be so cute!! That’s all I’ve got baha but thank you so much if you could write it!! 💓

To put it plainly, Klaus was bored.

He had spent hours entertaining himself in his room, trying on all of his outfits and makeup. Ben and him had talked through all of their usual conversations already, from random ideas to conspiracy theories.

After a truly fulfilling debate on what truly defined a fruit Klaus took to wandering around the lonely house.

A few of his siblings were out doing their own things, Allison had booked a flight to go see Clair and to finally settle the public on her temporary disappearance. Luther was exploring the city for the first time in his life, finding everything he missed out on during his ‘out of the world’ journey. Klaus chuckled at his own thought.

The house was not empty though, he could hear Vanya playing her violin behind her door and practically skipped down the hall towards the serene music.

Vanya, she had slowly become more confident now that she had her siblings supporting her but seemed most at ease when he or Diego were around. Maybe it was because they had tried to defend her against Luther first, or she saw how they had all suffered most similarly compared to all the siblings paths. Klaus had been one of the siblings to not completely orstricise her during their childhood, they had shared many hours hiding away together until their Father found him and forbade their continuing friendship (not that it ever stopped them fully). Klaus was the disappointment of the Umbrella Academy, and his powers sometimes made him wish to trade places with the smaller girl. Was it better to have something and not be able to use it or to never have it in the first place?

He was shaken from his thoughts as the melody sped up within the room. She had been working on her control for weeks and while not always 100% she had gotten farther than Klaus had in decades.

He debated knocking on her door, maybe they could talk like they did when they were young, before puberty hit and he found a different outlet.

The music stopped and pages turned before another private performance began. As ,uch as Klaus would of loved to barge into the room and demand her attention he had, contrary to belief, some self restraint. Instead he walked back down the hall to his… smaller brothers room.

Klaus didn’t even think for a second before opening the door. Five sat on the floor, book propped up on his knees and didn’t give Klaus enough thought to look at him before sending him off with a quick “Not now, go find Diego or someone.”.

Klaus surprisingly didn’t put up much of a fight. He did throw a lovely bird to his brother carrying a kiss from the depths of his heart to his still distracted brother. Five did not react.

Shutting the door and heading further once more Klaus came to his other brothers room. Number Two. He did not bother to knock this time around either, much to Diegos annoyance.

“Diego, my buddy, my pal, mi hermano! Wanna hang? I’m bored to all shit and you never fail to entertain.”

Diego, who had been laying on his bed triedly scrolling through his phone, rubbed his temples. “Not now Klaus,” He sighed, truly looking dead tired. “I just got back from an overnight. All I want to do right now is sleep.”

“Oh come on. Just a little bit.” We never hang out anymore, y’know? What happened to the good old times?”

“Klaus please be quiet, I am going to take some headache pills then fall asleep for about a week, then we can do something.”

Klaus did not appreciate the refusal of his company. With Five it was expected but Diego normally would put up with him for at least a few hours.

“No fun…” Klaus whined. “I chose you Diego and I am not feeling the love-”

“Because there isn’t any.” Diego raised his eyebrow, a smirk on his lips.

Klaus slapped a hand to his chest, agast with this treatment. “Excuse me? Have you been misleading me this whole time sir? The outrage! Complete blasphemy!”

Diego cringed at the volume, was Klaus always this loud? Diego didn’t know but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. He stood up and moved towards the ex- junkie, giving a playful poke to the ribs as he moved him outside his door, shutting it with a soft thus.

Klaus panicked, he knew Diego had seen him flinch, he had seen the smirk he was wearing before he shut his door. The best thing Klaus could think to do was walk back to his own room and think. He wasn’t expecting to feel anything ticklish,he hadn’t braced himself for it at all! But it hadn’t felt… bad? No, he kind of wished Diego would try again later but… no. No he needs to go to his room, he can just ask Ben, he would die of embarrassment if he went to Diego now.

And so he went to his room only to find Ben gone, wandering somewhere. He as left in silence with his thoughts switching back and forth on the exact feeling, repeating the tingles he felt over and over. His face was in flames, he knew exactly what he wanted but it wasn’t like he could comfortably just go and ask someone for.. that. No, That would get some looks.

Klaus was at the peak of his delima. He was never shy to ask about this type of thing before with his partners, and it wasn’t that he couldn’t ask he decided. He just wasn’t sure how any of his siblings would react, least of all Diego. Sure when they were kids they had tickle fights, at least when dear old dad wasn’t around, but now they were well into adulthood.

He had asked Ben a couple of times more recently but he was never able to hold focus for long. It only ended in making him more needy.

And so the craving began.

He couldn’t stop himself, never one for patience, so it was no surprise when he found himself marching over to Diego’s door only half an hour later, knocking before letting himself in.

Luckily the other boy was fully clothed and still on his phone. A pillow hit it mark against Klaus’ face before he could get a single word out.

“Rude.”

“What do you want?”

Klaus hummed to himself before deciding to stretch himself over his brothers lap , stomach up, not unusual behavior but this time with an ulterior motive. “Can’t I just want to spend quality time with my family?”

Said family sat up, hands laying innocently on Klaus stomach, unknowing of the mental screaming fit that ensued.

“It’s rarely that simple. I don’t know what you want me to do if you’re bored, I’m tired to you’re out of luck, go harass Five or something.”

Klaus did not move, he was so close but the words he anted to say would not come out. Instead he settled for, “Nah, He’s probably reading some book. BORING.I would much rath-” He stopped in shock.

Never one to keep his hands still, Diego had begun to drum his fingers over Klaus stomach.

Torture. Mean. Evil. Rude. Klause felt personally attacked.

Diego only tilted his head, “You ‘kay? Not acting yourself.”

Klaus cleared his throat, “Yeah, yeah fine. Just um. Nothing. “ He said, barely able to force the words past his lips. He could practically feel himself vibrating, but Diego just gave him a skeptical look and his hands, his fucking hands kept horribly drumming along to some pop song.

Diego watched as Klaus sat stiffly, a blush slowly spreading across his cheeks as he fought an internal battle. Diego had realized what Klaus had wanted as soon as he practically threw himself over him. He used to do the same thing till they were deemed ‘Too old for childish nonsense number two and number four, stop that this instance.”

He could drag this out a bit longer though.

“So wha’cha want to talk about Klaus?”

Klaus wasn’t even sure if he could talk at this point. He could feel every bang of Diego's fingers against his ribs, they were practically vibrating through his entire body. He knew he couldn’t last much longer.

Before he could think of something convincing to say Diego’s hands changed into claws, digging into his ribs. Klaus practically screamed at the unexpected change. Questions flew through his mind, how did he know? He thought he was being subtle. He wasn’t prepared yet!

“Ruhuhude!”

Diego felt his lips pull into a smile looking at his brother, it was the first time in a long time he had heard him truly laugh. The thing was, Klaus didn’t even try to pull away from the feeling besides the usual squirming, and even that seemed less intense.\

Klaus curled into a ball before frantically uncurling after a few seconds. His head tossed left and right.

God, he had forgotten how much he needed this. How fun and free it made him feel.

Diego decided it was time to switch spots, re experience his brothers ticklishness. Of course he remembered his worst spots, his hips and ribs, but he forgot how he would squeal if you lightly tickled over his belly, or cackle and kick when you went for his feet.

It only took minutes for Klaus to feel weak with laughter, he didn’t want it to stop though.

When he opened his eyes he saw Diego looking down at him , a smile across his face. He must of been waiting for Klaus to open his eyes because as soon as he did the teasing began, and boy did it start strong.

“Y’know, I forgot how much you liked this. I mean, you haven't’ told me to stop once or pulled away.”

Well shit. Klaus hadn’t even thought about masking how much he wanted it after it had started. It was much too late to salvage now. Instead he flung his head back and kept laughing. What else could he do? Deny what Diego already knew, he wasn’t Five. No, Diego was the one who used to tickle him most when they were kids, it would be dumb to think he wouldn't remember. Why hadn’t he just gone to Five, at least then he (probably) wouldn’t of had thought Klaus was in desperate need to be destroyed by tickly fingers, he could of convinced him that the entire thing was his idea!

But now he had every coo and tease ever heard of being thrown at him. He knew that the words couldn’t attack him themselves but it sure felt like they were! Each sentence made the pokes and scribbles double in ticklishness. God was this Heaven or Hell? Klaus could only guess a mixture of both.

His face was bright red, both from laughter and embarrassment, but the fingers didn’t stop. In fact once found his wrist and pried his arm away from his body. Shit. Shitshitshit.

“Shihihihihit! Diehego Noho.”

“Awe, is it finally getting to be too ticklish for you Klaus? Because I could go for hours more. I think that would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

Klaus shook his head, hair a tangled mess, while trying to pull his now pinned arm down.

“What about this spot? I remember your armpits used to be pretty bad..”Diego said, he was so cocky and full of confidence that even just looking at him made Klaus tingle. His voice was smooth and almost patronizing in the best way possible.

Klaus couldn’t will himself to respond as his brother slowly brought his wiggly fingers down. All he could do was giggle and shake his head. A completely hopeless case.

“I’m not even touching you yet Klausy, why’re you laughing already?” can you feel it coming? I bet you can.”

Four felt his face getting impossibly redder. Then, when his eyes were squeezed tight and his face tucked into the crook of his elbow that wasn’t quite strong enough, Diego made contact.

Klaus screamed, there is no other way to describe what happened. He could hear Diego laughing after him but couldn't make himself focus on much of anything except the fingers digging into his upper ribs and dancing in his hallows.

No matter what he tried, rolling over, kicking, rolling the other way, trying to pull his arm down, holding Diego's wrist, even at one point trying to fling himself off the bed, he could not separate from the point of contact. He thought he was going to go mad, and he loved every second of it.

Diego’s hands found his hips next. Nope. nopenopefuckingnope.

This must of gave Klaus some super strength or something because he was suddenly able to rip his hand from Klaus grasp and hold on to his evil, cruel brothers wrists in hope of regaining some control.

Diego jst laughed some more. “Did you think I would forget your worst spot? How could I forget Number Four and his deadly ticklish hips?

Klaus felt himself getting more and more flustered, when they were young he could of been tickled from an hour and barely be phased, now he didn’t even know if he could last a second longer.

“Dihihiegoho! Noho- noho mohohohore. Ihihi canhan’t!”

“You can’t? I thought this was what you wanted Klausy?? Just a minute longer, then I’ll stop.”

Klaus wasn’t sure how he survived. He knew it was only a minute, literally. Diego counted down the seconds, but it had felt like an hour. By the time Diego removed him horrible, mean, absolutely rude fingers Klaus was wheezing for breath.

Diego moved to lay back down, “Next time you want tickled just ask, okay.” was the last thing he said as Klaus got his feet shakily under him.

Klaus did all but run out of the room. He could feel that there would be a lot more laughter filling the halls of the Umbrella Academy in the upcoming weeks. He didn’t feel any shame for being excited for it either.

#klaus hargreeves #ticklish klaus #tua #tickles #ler diego #diego hargreeves #just living my best life #they deserve to be happy #this was way too long for what I thought it would be but im not sorry #oof #the umbrella academy #tickling #tickle fic #fic

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rougepetale · 6 years

Text

Eisuke never let me go (SFW)

Fandom: Kissed by the baddest bidder (Love 365)

Pairing: Eisuke Ichinomiya x Reader

Warning: Temporary character death (Would this also be a trigger warning ?)

Note: Thank you Anon for requesting this! I hope I gave it enough fluff at the end!

It was a beautiful day, Eisuke was having a good day, a rare day of no stress. He wanted to go out, enjoy life for a while.

Who would have known that today would have changed both of your lives forever.

“FREEZE!”

You and Eisuke were walking in a parking garage towards his car when you both were approached by a lone masked gunman.

Eisuke slowly raised his hands up and taking a step to shield you with his body. “We’re unarmed.” He called out.

“GET ON YOUR KNEES!!” the masked man screamed.

Eisuke frowned, “I’d rather not, this is a very expensive suit” he replied, if he could keep the focus on him you’d stay safe. Eisuke studied this man’s body, he was a mid-twenties Japanese man, he wore all black except for his ugly running shoes.

“I SAID GET ON YOUR KNEES!” the man screamed again, advancing towards you two. You gripped his suit, you had never had a gun pointed at you. You could feel your heart beating loudly, almost drowning out what the man was saying.

“Eisuke” you whispered, he ignored you, “Eisuke… maybe we should listen” you begged.

He reached back and gave your hand a squeeze, he was angry that he didn’t have Soryu around him, he had a job to do in China and wouldn’t be back for a week. “Now, my good sir, what can I help you with?” he asked.

“You! You ruined my life!” the man screamed, “Y-you sold my wife to some man!” he growled, removing his mask. You remembered that Eisuke had helped a girl escape her abusive husband, back when you still believed that Eisuke was a bad man. Back when you didn’t know he was trying to find his sister from his black market.

“She put herself up for auction.” Eisuke defended his actions, “She delivered the divorce papers the night before, if I’m not mistaken.”

He released the safety. Eisuke tensed, this was getting ugly and fast.

*Click*

You could feel a spike in your heart rate, you could tell that there was no coming down from this. You struggled against Eisuke’s iron grip keeping you behind him.

“You stole everything from me!” the man growled, he was inches away, Eisuke stared the man down, he wasn’t going to bend to this man. He knew he did the right thing, one of the few right things in life that he had ever done. She had escaped the brute of a man and was bought by the man of her dreams, somebody who would love and care for her like she deserved.

Before either one of you could react the man pistol whipped Eisuke, sending both of you to the ground. You groaned as Eisuke fell on the floor beside you. He wiped his chin of blood that was pouring from the gash that was inflicted upon his person.

“Is that really the best you can do?” he asked, attempting to stand the man kicked Eisuke. Eisuke curled around you, not caring if he broke every bone in his body. His entire priority was to keep you safe.

“You damn filthy bastard!” the man screamed, kicking Eisuke again and again.

Eisuke nearly passed out from the pain. It was a wonderful respite when he stopped. “I would rather torture you even more.” He cocked the gun, “But, I have somewhere I have to be.”

You watched as if everything was in slow motion, the man pulled the trigger. Your body reacted before you had any conscious idea what happened.

*Bam*

“NOOOO!” you screamed out, a shrill ear piercing scream. You had covered Eisuke’s body with yours.

The sound of a gun going off had security running down towards the sound.

The man was glued to his spot for a second, he wasn’t going to shoot the girl, but now he didn’t have a chance to change things. Dropping the gun, he ran.

Eisuke had braced for the impact of the gun, so long as you were safe. When the bullet didn’t pierce his skin he opened his eyes. A strangled gasp was ripped from his throat when he saw your unresponsive body on top of his, bleeding… dying…. “Security!” he wheezed out. He gripped your body tight to his. He searched your face.

Gasping for breath you struggled to stay awake. The bullet pierced your lung and you were struggling to take in a breath. You saw Eisuke’s worried face, good… he wasn’t shot. He was fine.

Eisuke.

You smiled at him, everything would be fine if he was alive. “E…. Eisuke… I love you” you were able to get those words out, you two didn’t nearly say them enough to each other.

“______!” he cried out, he saw the light leaving your eyes. No. no. no. no!

“Please… please don’t leave me!” he cried, cradling your body to his, he couldn’t lose you now.

You opened your eyes to a beautiful sunset on the beach. Huh? Weren’t you in a parking garage with Eisuke? EISUKE?! You scrambled from your lounging to look around. He was lying not but a few feet away, soaking up the sun.

“Eisuke!” you squeaked out, going to him you noticed that he was sleeping peacefully. “Oh… I shouldn’t wake him.” You whispered. You could vaguely remember something about a high stress and your chest vaguely hurt for some reason.

Shrugging you decided to go into the ocean, it was cool and inviting. A perfect way to end the day. But before you entered the ocean you checked your phone, it was making a rhythmic beeping sound.

*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*

Yet you didn’t have any messages, you were surprised that none of the guys were around. Shrugging you threw the phone on top of your beach bag and entered the ocean. Its gentle waves seemed to be pulling you in.

The waves were mesmerizing, so cool, so rhythmic, so clean and clear. Looking back you saw Eisuke still asleep on the beach, poor guy he must be exhausted.

You were now waist deep in the ocean. For some reason you could still hear your phone. You must have had the speaker on.

Diving below you felt like you were slowly floating down.

Huh, there was something shiny down there, was it… gold?

*Beep*………….*Beep*…………………..*Beep*

Deeper and deeper you swam, yet going nowhere. Your muscles were feeling tired now, your lungs burning for air. Still, you persisted.

*Beep*…………………………….*Beep*………………….

Doctor, we’re losing her…..

………………………………………………………

Code Blue! I repeat Code Blue!

You were rapidly sinking now, faster and faster. The water was getting warm and your body began to relax, the bright light was inviting.

“______!”

You looked up to see Eisuke swimming frantically towards you, his eyes wide in panic. What? What was wrong? He was trying to swim towards you, his hands stretched out as he desperately tried to grab you.

Everything was fine though, the ocean was pulling you away from him, doing all the hard work.

You didn’t want to swim any more, your legs and especially your chest was aching. Eisuke looked scared, you saw blood leaking from his cheek… when… when did he get hurt? It all felt vaguely familiar.

“_______!” he called again, which should be impossible in the ocean but somehow he was able to call out to you.

CLEAR!

………………………….

You felt a pain in your chest. You cried out in agony, curling into a ball in the ocean. Eisuke was no more closer to you than a second ago.

……………………………………….. CLEAR!

Another excruciating pain ripped through your body.

Soon you felt arms wrapped around your body

………….*Beep*……………….*Beep*……………..*Beep*

Opening your eyes you looked at Eisuke, he had the most serene look on his face. “______” he cooed, “C’mon…. lets go home” he said.

You looked back and forth between him and the shiny floor, the floor looked so inviting, you didn’t want to swim, you wanted to sleep.

“Why, Eisuke… why don’t we rest?” you asked.

“Because sweetheart, we won’t be able to return.” He replied, tugging on your hand, “You can’t give up now.”

“Eisuke… I don’t think I can swim anymore.”

“C’mon babe… you can do it” he encouraged, his smile encouraged you to swim with him, “That’s my girl, c’mon, we can sleep when we’re on the beach.”

It seemed like forever for your head to breach the surface of the ocean. By now your body was completely exhausted, Eisuke dragged you to the beach, “C’mon you can nap once you’re on the beach.”

You crawled upon the beach, breathe heavily. Collapsing you rolled over the face Eisuke.

“You did good sweetheart” he praised, “Okay, rest now,” he brushed some of your wet hair from your face to behind your ear, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“____?” a voice asked, you knew this voice. You attempted to open your eyes but they felt so heavy, you felt your hand being picked up and being squeezed. “Sweetheart?”

You knew that voice, trying to find your voice you attempted to mumble but it came out as a gurgle of sounds.

“SHE’S AWAKE!” you could feel people crowd around you, “Don’t crowd, give her some air.”

With much effort you opened your eyes, Eisuke’s face was the first one you saw, he looked tired, with the bags under his eyes he looked to have aged.

Beside Eisuke was Soryu and Baba. Your eyes drifted to the side and you saw Mamo and Ota. You looked back to Eisuke and reached up to cup his cheek. Tears brimmed at both of your eyes. Eisuke pressed his cheek into your hand.

“C’mon guys, lets give them some room.” Baba said, helping usher everybody out. Ota didn’t want to leave but Baba was able to usher them out.

Eisuke sat on your bed, kissing your wrist. “_____” he whisper your name, “I was so worried.” He admitted.

You struggled to talk, he brought a glass of water to your lips and you greedily took in the nourishing liquid, finally feeling like you could talk.

“Eisuke, what….what happened?” you asked, your voice didn’t sound like yours at all.

“Oh sweetheart, you were shot.” He rubbed your knuckles watching you with sorrowful eyes. “You died _____” he admitted.

You gasped, remembering that you were swimming towards something shiny…. Was that the afterlife that you were swimming to? Eisuke sighed, “I wasn’t sure that’d you pull through.” He got into your bed and laid beside you, his hand on your stomach, “I am so glad you did…. I wouldn’t know if I could live without you.” He kissed you gently.

“Eisuke….” You whispered, your arms still felt like led but you managed to rub his face, “you saved me… you pulled me back.” Of course Eisuke didn’t know what you were talking about, and that was fine. You closed your eyes and sighed, you didn’t catch the look of pure panic cross his features.

“____” he implored, “Open your eyes sweetheart, I haven’t seen your eyes in a week” he said. You opened your eyes and looked at him, all you wanted to do was sleep, and you felt so exhausted. He was afraid you would slip from his fingers if you closed your eyes again.

“Eisuke, I’m not going anywhere, but I’m tired” you said, “I promise I’ll wake up, I have you waiting for me.”

It was two weeks before you were checked out, within those weeks you learned that Eisuke was suffering from two fractured ribs from the masked gunman, you also learned that Soryu and his men had taken care of this man and his family.

You were sitting next to Baba taking a sip of wine when he started talking, “You know he insisted that he sleep next to you every day. He didn’t leave your side.”

You looked dubiously at Baba, “Really?” you asked, looking over to Eisuke who was talking with Soryu. “I didn’t know, all I know is that I have an escort whenever you left the hotel, Eisuke wasn’t going to let something happen to you again.

Eisuke could feel eyes on him, turning he saw your shocked face, he smirked and walked towards you kissing you on your lips, “What is wrong my love?” he asked.

“Baba here was telling me that you didn’t leave my side when I was in that coma.” You said, patting Baba’s leg.

A dust of pink graced Eisuke’s face, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet, “Baba should have kept his nose out of our business.” He pulled you to your room, during your recovery Eisuke never once tried to have any sexual relationship with you, treating you like glass.

He guided you to the bed, he peppered your face with kisses, making you giggle. “Eisuke! What are you doing?” you asked.

“Kissing you, what does it look like?” he asked, he pulled the cover up close and snuggled into your body heat.

“Eisuke, I have a request of you.” You asked, between kisses and snuggling.

“Say it, and it is yours” he promised.

“Kiss me and never, never, never, let me go.”

#death of a character #voltage inc #voltage otome #kbtbb eisuke

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xxccxy · 5 years

Text

A Tale from Thelua

For years, I had been looking up to him. He was perfect. From manner to swordplay. From leading the conversation to making decision. I had always thought that it would be him who would fill the throne. I had always thought that it would be me who served the kingdom in the knighthood.

Maybe that was why I could dream of marrying her. Lisanna.

Yet I was wrong.

…

A Tale from Thelua

[22] pain

…

He woke up to the color of golden that was his wife’s hair, nose buried in the crown of her head, and a hand around her waist, keeping her close to him. He always woke up long before she did, with an excuse of going to start tackling the paperwork early in the morning. Of course, the actual reason was to gaze at her sleeping face. Serene and innocent look adorned her sleeping face, often differ from how she made herself look like during her wake.

But it wasn’t what made him like her. He wasn’t even sure what did. It was barely three months since they got married and lived together. He didn’t always with her, and their interaction was limited to the unexpected encounter during the day, usually it was she who found him during her exploration around the castle, before they sleep, and when they really need to interact during the party.

Yet lately, he sought her out. Lately, there had been something in him that urged him to go and see her, to talk to her, to make her smile.

And to shield her from any worries and sadness.

The image of her crying appeared in his mind, the one in his hideout after she talked with his brother. Gone was the woman whose determination set; “that’s why I’m going to ignore it.”. In front of him, she faltered, as if something inside her was broken. In front of him, the unwavering, strong-willed woman was gone.

Part of him wanted to ask almost immediately as soon as she came to him, but once she cried, he knew he had to wait until she was calm. Asking her after the party was the best choice he had, but even he wasn’t sure if it wouldn’t hurt her even more. That was why he sent her to return first to their room – to calm her down. Crowded place would do nothing to her state and they could be called to attend the guest anytime.

Once he returned to their room, he failed to ask her. Maybe he was too tired last night that he forgot to ask her about it. Then again, judging from how unusual she was, it might be the best that he didn’t ask. He thought he could cheer her, yet even in his attempt of doing so, it turned out to be a serious talk.

“Why?”

She asked, and even if he could ignore it, he still caught the question biting him, thick in suspicion.

Because I love you.

And he said it.

“Would you believe me if I say that it’s because I have fallen for you?”

That sentence was heavy. Yet somehow it rolled out quite easily. Speaking of the truth had always been easier than lying.

Lucy, Lucy…

The woman stirred, snuggling deeper into the pillow. Few strands fell into her face, tickling her cheek and lips. Rosy cheek and rosy lips. Eyes of the melted chocolate, skin as flawless as the cloud. Golden hair that reflected the sun. A smile like a blooming flower.

“Would you believe me if I say that I love you?”

He sighed. A long, quiet sigh.

You didn’t answer me.

Sometimes he wondered if what he felt was real. If anything, what he felt toward her now was different from how he used to feel toward Lisanna. Shallow, impulsive, light. Compared to that, this was heavier, and although they were married already, it felt even more complicated.

Perhaps it caused by how she carried herself around him. She hardly expressed her feelings; the one she had for him. There was no hate in her, but there hardly love either. Even if she regarded their marriage as a good fortune, even if she had vowed to be faithful only to him, wouldn’t it only become a torture?

Natsu slid off the bed, carefully, quietly, and walked out of their room. His feet brought him to his study, and he eyed the piling documents on his desk with disdain. It was still early in the morning, he thought, and decided that he better go and train his swordsmanship and broke a good sweat to clear his head first. It had been a while since he last wore the mesh shirt and the brown boots. He guessed that he would have to re-adjust his grip on his wooden sword as he held pen more often than a weapon lately.

There were hardly people when he reached the training field. He thought he could surprise the other with his visit and earned himself a good spar, but it seemed that they had chosen to sleep in some more. He made a reminder to give them a piece of his mind later that day, and perhaps, getting more chance to escape the piling documents for a longer time.

“My lord,” someone called, just when he thought that he had the entire field for himself, “fancy seeing you here around this time.”

Natsu laughed. “No need for such a sarcastic remark there, Gray.”

His private knight sighed. “I have placed a new document on your desk just now, my lord, and God knows it will reach the ceiling by the end of this day.”

“Now, now,” Natsu threw a wooden sword at him, which he caught it with ease, “I will do those papers if you can win against me.”

The knight smirked. “And grant me a day off.”

“Only if you can win. Remember it, Gray.”

“Of course, my lord.”

And as soon as the words came out of him, the knight charged at Natsu, aiming to his open sides. Gray was one of the best knights, one of the reasons why he was chosen as his private knight as well, perhaps ranked third after the first prince and the captain of the knight. He was the son of the captain, and almost inherited the position if he wasn’t chosen as private knight. The captain, while being at the age already, refused to retire as he preferred to teach the recruit rather than doing nothing in his retirement.

Sometimes he acted as Natsu’s right hand. Sometimes he didn’t treat Natsu like he was his superior, probably because he was older than the prince, but Natsu was fine with it. After all, Gray was one of the few friends he had and the only one who could beat some sense into him.

“You should do something about the mistress,” Gray said suddenly as he swung the sword. “The rumor about them doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon.”

“You knew,” Natsu replied, blocking his attack. Gray shot him a look that said, ‘everyone knows already’. “Though I’m afraid there is nothing much I can do about it,” he continued.

The next blow that he was forced to block was heavier than before. There was a glare coming from Gray and Natsu leaped back to distance himself. “Nothing? Really, Natsu?”

Natsu wiped a sweat from his forehead, watching as the other man’s frown deepened. The knight clicked his tongue in distress and charged at him once again.

Dust was kicked into the air and Natsu held his ground while defending himself from another heavy blow. It was a miracle that the wooden sword didn’t break from their blow exchange. The sound echoed in the empty field, competing with the sound of the spectator that suddenly present.

Natsu glanced around, momentarily forgetting the spar he had with Gray as his eyes spotted a particular person among the crowd of the cheering knights. It earned himself a good hit on his arm, but before he registered the pain it caused, he had moved on pure reflect, swinging his blade aimed to Gray’s side and knocked him with a swift, hard blow. It had Gray stumbled to the side, wooden sword fell out of his grip and the tip of Natsu’s wooden sword came to a contact with Gray’s neck.

There was a moment of silence before the crowd erupted a loud cheer and clapped. Beneath him, the knight was smirking.

“Did that one got you awaken, eh, my lord?”

“It’s my win,” Natsu said instead. “The papers have to wait, it seems.”

He quickly glanced to the spot where he saw him earlier. The man was gone. Natsu threw the sword to the nearest knight and quickly left the training field, guessing where he had gone to. That man wasn’t the type who will train so often with the other knight, so Natsu had to guess some places that he often used for training. He wouldn’t be in the private training field as his troops would be taking that place to train.

Yet he was unable to find him anywhere. The man couldn’t have gone, disappeared into the thin air. But it was always been like that. He always turned in some place he would least expect him to be when he knew that Natsu was looking for him. Like a game of hide and seek, yet he was waiting to be discovered. Perhaps, he bitterly thought, again, he knew that he was looking for him and decided to wait for him somewhere.

Somewhere Natsu would least expect him to be. Somewhere that Natsu thought he would never come even for visiting him. From the garden, Natsu’s eyes swept to the windows located in one of a room in the castle’s second floor.

His study.

The man was inspecting his desk when he opened the door and giving Natsu a smile upon noticing him. “Took you long enough, little brother,” he said, putting one of the papers back to the desk. “You haven’t changed.”

“Brother,” Natsu greeted, walking to the desk as Zeref sat on the sofa near the bookshelf. “I thought you didn’t have time to play as you prefer to train with the other.”

You always did…

The man laughed. “I send them all home to rest. After all, it’s not all about fighting and training, is it?” He said. “They also need to meet their loved ones.”

Natsu sat behind the desk, finger interlaced on his lap. “You too, brother, and apparently, you’ve met yours.”

There was a long silence that followed Natsu’s statement. He studied the man which was his own brother whose smile disappeared. Suspicion and the detachment returned, completely masking his once gentle face, yet there was something, something that was different in his eyes. Somewhere, there lacked the cold compassion that always guarded him together with his impassiveness.

Natsu felt like staring at himself when he locked eyes with his – those dark onyx irises reflected him, yet it felt like he wasn’t staring at him. He was staring past him, meeting the gaze of someone else. He could guess whose gaze that his brother was looking at, whose gaze that his brother was searching in his eyes. But Natsu refused to spell it because he knew who.

And then, without so much as moving, it broke. The mask slid away and once again, Zeref smiled. A genuine smile. A smile from his heart. Yet, along with closing his eyes, the voice, the sigh that came out from his mouth was accompanied with something so deep. Something that Natsu thought he would incapable of feeling.

Pain.

“I did.”

…

Chapter Index

#Nalu #atalefromthelua #nalu fanfiction #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction

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tarnishedhalo · 6 years

Note

Ship meme: The whiskey three

Married Life || Accepting { @therealgamble, @whiskeyandtwoshotglasses}

If We Don’t Die, It’ll Make a Helluva Story

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor

The night before…

“Jesus, Riley, do you have to be such a slob?” “You were the one that said I couldn’t bring B-”“Say her name one more time-”

“Guys…honestly, is it so hard to-” It was all fun and games before the whiskey got knocked over and the tee-shirt was used to mop it up.

forgets to run the dish washer

It’s a land of empty mre packets and plastic utensil forests. There’s empty 3.2 cans, packed in such a way that they’d been claimed as tactical gear…and somehow, the brass bought it. All to avoid Punto Negro the Second of its Name.

Hunter still refuses to tell Gamble the story, and as predicted, uses security clearance as his excuse. Riley just laughs.

pumps gas for the car

It’s a known fact that Gamble drives. Riley pumps the gas because it’s better than waiting ~but it’s so he can stretch and pull tension out of his spine, his leg~ and Hunter…Hunter is the one that sits in the back, dreaming of margaritas and warm sands. Until they hit the roadblock. Then there’s a burst of thirty second activity. Before the car moves an inch, Brian’s now in the back, black case at his feet, looks like a suitcase. They know better. Hunter’s behind the wheel because he’s the one that speaks the local language. And Riley’s the one muttering it’s never going to work until Gamble kicks his seat.

It’s a fire-drill every few dozen clicks, lather rinse and repeat as it was before. Their shirts stick to their skin, rivers of damp down their spine, their brow, every part of them that isn’t covered with dirt.

drives when they’re going somewhere

It’s old hat by now. Squad forward to the release point.

Bravo is silent because there’s none, which makes some things better, some worse.

“Kumbaya, kids.”

The claymores are in place, camouflaged. The moon is low giving limited visibility so they have to rely on Gamble who is far too cheerful. The patrol they’ve set up against is destined to make its rounds and Riley and Hunter have established a crossfire. It will be a kill zone for forty-five seconds. Then green smoke between their position and the objective.

“You should see the look on your faces.”Riley knows Gamble’s keeping up moral in his way and because he knows neither Riley nor Hunter can smack-talk back. It’s both a comfort and an annoyance.

Gamble lets out a low, sharp whistle over the comms and time starts. Patrol is at Nine and Twelve. A deviation from what recon had gathered but it makes no difference. There’s barely sound as the first shots don’t ring out, weapons suppressed.

“My granny leap-frogs better than you two old ladies. And she’s been dead twenty years. Don’t make me come down there and show you how it’s done.”

They move, covering each other while Gamble watches over, picks off the extras with well placed shots.

They hit the door and kick down the door, smoke obscuring everything, even breath. The masks do little to filter out the acrid taste but at least they aren’t crying.

“Five…four….three….two….white.”

Moments later, out they come, dragging the limp frame between them. Riley hands over his rifle, Hunter slings his over his shoulder. The objective gets slung over Riley’s shoulder and it’s a running back’s rush as the PJ eats ground. The Brit’s not far behind him, pulling a pin with his teeth and lobbing the grenade into the building’s open maw.

rearranges the furniture

There’s four of them now, crammed into a space barely bigger than a couple of jail cells, and the civvie’s getting antsy. Keeps asking questions none of the Whiskey Three have answers for. Gamble’s given up trying to allay the engineer’s fears and has started ignoring him. Riley just keeps pouring drinks. Hunter thinks both of them are pretty shitty when it comes to intel.

He pulls a cable spool over to make a makeshift table, used chalk and a sharpie to make a board. Pebbles for pieces. Talks to him in his own language over the longest checkers game in history, because, as he reminds the other two…

This man is afraid. Was rescued from his own murder because he was willing to betray his god and his family to do the right thing. He’s still human.

Later, when the night gets cold because the desert’s a bitch that way, Hunter pulls the spare sleeping bag closer to the portable heat source, and gives the guy an extra blanket, and space to pray.

He notices though, that their guest isn’t the only one. Gamble’s got a well worn picture of Tabby that he may or may not just have brushed a thumb over, and he knows without a doubt that it’s a rosary Riley’s murmuring over. In moments like that, Hunter bites his tongue and doesn’t ask him if it’s Mary or his sister that he’s praying to. Low hanging fruit, and all.

falls asleep with the TV on

Three days on and things have scraped the bottom of the barrel for boring. And Riley’s going out of his mind. Waiting was always the worst part of the job, the hours and hours of nothing but watching sand-flies crawl up the crumbling mud walls, and the heat shimmer parching the dirt outside, micro-waving the horizon.

Muzzani and Hunter have grown tired of checkers, and are dozing off the afternoon heat. Gamble’s turn on the radio.

“You ever think about retiring from this? Getting a joe-job and-”“Naw. Where would you two be without me saving your asses?”“But we could be home right now, cold beer, game on the tv, yelling at the refs for shitty calls.”

“And who would you put in our place?”

“You make a valid point.”“Sure as shit I do.”

Riley shacks up in a corner, back against the wall, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He refuses to complain, but some part of him knows he’s starting to get too old for this. He pulls his lid down over his eyes and closes them for just a minute…

gets to use the bathroom first

It’s the only time that Hunter’s had to himself, and of course, he’s stuck inside three and a bit canvas walls. He steals from it a moment of serenity from Riley’s constant complaint and Gamble’s murderous sarcasm. Even Muzzani’s hopelessness and fears. It gives him a moment of focus and clarity, to remind himself that they just need to wait a little longer.

Patience, after all, was a virtue, even here.

Patience is also what he calls the camel-spider lurking near the toilet paper.He doesn’t mention Patience because you have to laugh about something.

decides the temperature for the ac/heater

From temperatures that can soar upwards of a 105 degrees during the day, down to less than 40 at night, each one of them believes this is hell, and there’s nothing they can do about it.

sets up holiday decorations

“Uh…what are you doing?”

“Herding sheep. The fuck does it look like I’m doing?”

“….where did you even get flowers?”

“Muzzani and Hunter helped me out.”“And you’re stringing them together with…suture thread and a needle from the med kit?”

“It’s tradition.”“For…what?”

“It’s June 11th. Kamehameha day. So I’m making a lei.”

“You…need…fuckin’ therapy.”

leaves the lights on

Gamble’s set up the left side, Riley the right. They aren’t exactly landing lights but you do what you can. The road flares glow with a sickly pale red light, but it’ll be enough for the chopper to pick up a visual. It’s a bittersweet sensation; on one hand, it means finally going home. On the other, it means giving away your location and things have been going too smoothly, too quietly…

They’re all thinking it, but no one wants to be the asshole who says it out loud.

uses the bathroom with the door open

Man was raised in a bar, can’t be bothered to walk the hundred paces to make it from the door way to the latrine. Just unzips and lets it go, shakes. All with one hand, rifle steady in the other.“Do you do that at home?”Riley flashes Hunter a grin, even in the dark.

Gamble bites back on the first, second, thirty-fifth thing that comes to mind.

fixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber)

Sand scours the few exposed bits of flesh as the chopper blades whip it into a frenzy, not that they notice. Their luck didn’t hold out like it promised to. The night is filled with the staccato burst of automatic fire on both sides, Hunter’s running point with Muzzani and they’re half way toward the dark silhouette and the open doors that mean extraction.

Gamble and Riley are laying down cover fire and they’re running low; four heart beats later, Gamble’s shouting for them to haul ass and…nothing happens. He’s gotten about a third of the way when he notices he’s running alone.“Shit. Shit. Shit.”The pilot’s signaling, Hunter’s screaming…And fucktard’s not moving at all.

Keying his radio, Gamble barks a change in plan, from gun-run to cas-evac. And as soon as they get back to civilization, he’s going to kick Riley’s ass.

He turns back to drag his friend from the shadow of the building.

#Thanks!G #The Whiskey Three|Gamble and Hunter and Riley #excerpts from the 'drabble' I'm writing for Gamble-mun's other prompt #tw: violence #tw: strong language #tw: stupidly long post under cut #therealgamble

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precuredaily · 6 years

Text

Precure Day 010

Episode: Futari wa Precure 10 - “Honoka explodes! A wonderful birthday!” Date watched: 19 April 2018 Original air date: 4 April 2004 (this is actually Honoka’s birthday, so that’s good timing) Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/z0BY3sb

This episode finally puts Honoka in the spotlight like she deserves! It's her birthday, her parents are in town, she's happy, Nagisa's happy, everybody's happy! And a happy Honoka is a good Honoka. Until.... her dad gets a call from a client who absolutely has to see him that day, and while they're at the art gallery some bank robbers show up, and then Gekidrago decides to get involved. But you know Honoka's going to find a way around that, and her resourcefulness is sharp today! So what happens? It starts with Nagisa visiting Honoka's place so that Mepple and Mipple can be together as an apology for not believing he was sick in the previous episode. Honoka gets a call from her dad who lets her know where to meet tomorrow. She is visibly excited because she hardly ever sees her own parents, due to their work. They're art dealers and they travel all over the world making business deals a lot, but they always come back to see Honoka on her birthday. And so they turn up at the airport the next day, with a mountain of presents in store for her. After almost literally smothering her with their love, they decide to take her wherever she wants! Unfortunately, her dad's phone rings and it's a client who wont' take "no" for an answer. (hey, Mr. Yukishiro, you guys seem wealthy enough that you can afford to skip out on this one if they don't respect the day you designated off limits) Honoka, being the way too nice girl that she is, tells them to go ahead and take care of business, it's okay with her. So they go to an art gallery that's displaying jewelry, and Honoka waits in a chair while her parents head to the back room. Meanwhile, Nagisa decides to make Honoka a present, since she can't afford to buy anything. After some work, she ends up making a silver charm of Mipple and Mepple, but she chooses to wait to give it to her tomorrow so she doesn't interrupt Honoka's family time. Back at the jeweler/bank/gallery/whatever, three masked men show up to rob the place while Honoka is out of the room. She gets back and after ascertaining the situation, she lays the verbal smackdown on them. I personally love this. If you remember in episode 5 when she scolded the creepy boys, this is even better. Honoka berates them for stealing instead of doing honest work, whatever their reasons. As the episode progresses we figure out that these aren't hardened criminals, just a trio of dudes who got caught in a ton of debt from a sleazy boss and a busted company, and Honoka's speech begins to turn them. Before they can call the police to turn themselves in though, Gekidrago breaks into the gallery, which is on lockdown, and traps everybody in it. He's after the Prism Stones of course, although we don't know how he knew where to find Honoka or Mipple. Honoka, clever girl that she is, tells him the Prism Stone is somewhere in the gallery among all the jewelry. Not being the sharpest tool in the shed, Gekidrago sits down to examine every piece of jewelry in the place to find them. Meanwhile, Honoka and her parents separately signal for help, catching the attention of the police and Nagisa. Nagisa rushes to the scene, but it's barricaded off now and naturally she won't be let in. However she conveniently overhears one of the officers discussing an air vent that's too small for an adult to crawl through, so somehow she finds that and gets to Honoka just as Gekidrago realizes he's been tricked. They transform, kick his butt in perfect synchronization, and Marble Screw the hell out of him. He's able to resist it, even as they ramp up the power, but all the scattered jewelry on the ground begins to glow and fire little beams at him as well, and it's more than he can withstand. He gets blown sky high in a fabulous light show and everything returns to normal. Nagisa quickly hands off Honoka's gift to her and wishes her a happy birthday before disappearing back into the air vent. Honoka's parents apologize for the day being ruined and claim that they're horrible parents for being unable to protect her. Honoka says she loves them anyway, and that it's alright, and that's the end. Honoka's parents.... they're nice. They don't do much, but they're nice. From what little we've seen, Nagisa probably has a better family, but the Yukishiros' hearts are in the right place at least. They just want to do right by their daughter and feel bad when they can't.... honestly you should probably travel less, but that's just me. For the show's purposes, their absence is a tool to increase Honoka's isolation and ramp up how different her life is from Nagisa's, and it accomplishes that. Obviously this episode shows us a lot more of Honoka than we're used to and what we see is fantastic. She's way too nice for her own good, but she's not a serene angel. She can get mad, she can snap, and when she does, she can scare adults into submission. Her taking control of the robbery, turning the would-be robbers into an audience for her lecture, is a demonstration of Honoka's commanding capabilities. Her resourcefulness when she immediately thought of a way to distract Gekidrago while she figured out how to signal Nagisa, and then the method of doing so, were very clever. Although, let's talk about that signal for a moment. Honoka sent Mipple up to a window, to pose as a stuffed animal, in hopes that the news cameras would see her and Nagisa would tune into the news in time to see Mipple and know from there where to go. Fortunately she did, but the plan hinges on a lot of unpredictable things going just right. I don't know what else she could have done but still. At least it worked, and Nagisa showed up in the nick of time. EDIT: I forgot to mention, Honoka has a few lines before Nagisa shows up about how life has both good and bad times, and taking them together is what makes us human. It's a perfect summation of the core theme and motif of this series, of taking opposites together and making something better out of them. The fight scene is kind of brief, but is beautifully choreographed. Every move they make is perfectly mirrored between them and they land a lot of good hits on Gekidrago in not a lot of time. There's no Zakenna this week, which I thought was neat. Later shows become so reliant on the monster of the week that the generals feel almost superfluous except to exposit about their ~evil plans~ so for one to just step up and fight the girls directly is refreshing. Him tanking the Marble Screw, as he's attempted to do in the past, gets you afraid for a moment. This time it looks like he can actually withstand it.... and then that deus ex machina with the jewelry happens. It comes out of nowhere, makes no sense, Honoka explains it away with a nonsensical anecdote about jewels having hearts, and it never happens again in the entire series. Oh well, there's only one more episode of the lumbering lunk left, so come back tomorrow for Nagisa's crowning moment of awesome. Until then!

#Precure #Futari wa Precure #Pretty Cure #FWPC10 #PCD010

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felsight · 6 years

Note

Lies ( for any of your muses! )

Send my muse a word and they’ll tell you something about their past related to that word. ll I went with Malasarian for this one even though he’s technically a minor muse/npc here bc it totally still counts right? tbh I’ve been thinking of this scene a lot and I’m taking the opportunity to write it out lmao that being said, this isn’t the official version of this scene as its merely an idea until BfA releases.

Under the cut for length.

J’aaris looked down at him, concerned clearly plastered across his face. The Lightforged Draenei had no control over the worry he let slip into his features as he placed an arm around his boyfriend, trying to support him as they both attempted to run from the fires that now engulfed Teldrassil. It was clear by the pained expression Malasarian wore, despite his attempts at hiding it, he was far from okay.

The elder druid had been found by J’aaris mere moments before. One of the world tree’s branches had completely destroyed their home as it had withered under the flames, snapping off only to land on the building. A good portion of the house had been utterly demolished with the weight of the branch. Malasarian had managed to mostly dodge it. Mostly meaning everything except the leg that now bent at a disgusting angle, lacerations oozing blood down the Kal’dorei’s leg and robes at an alarming rate.

“I-I’m fine-” Mal started before he was silenced by a sharp, sarcastic snort from the Draenei.

“You’re very clearly not fine, my dearest. Why do you lie?” J’aaris interrupted.

Through Malasarian’s anguish, he managed a fond smile at his lover. “Maybe if I say it, it will be true.” He flinched at how desperately he wished that were true. They both knew Malasarian had a very slim chance of survival. Maybe, maybe, if he got to the docks in time, if he got to a healer somewhere in Ruth’eran if they hadn’t retreated to Lor’danel or beyond into Darkshore already. Malasarian thanked Elune that Nythlora wasn’t here to see him as broken as he was.

A sharp pain had shot through Malasarian’s shattered leg and the druid fell to the ground, out of the paladin’s arms. His vision had went blindingly white as it coursed through his body, leaving him breathless and sobbing harshly. He felt the light touch of J’aaris’s hand softly caress his face and he felt warmth running through him as Light filled him, easing his pain somewhat. It helped with the pain from the gashes, at least, but even broken bones required more than just holy magic to heal. They required physical hands-on healing.

J’aaris had placed his arm around Malasarian again, helping him up slowly. “We must hurry.” the Draenei said, looking around to see the fire was quickly catching up to them. They didn’t have much time. He bit his lip, considering just picking up Malasarian and booking it through the rest of Darnassus into the portal that lead to Ruth’eran Village. No, he couldn’t. That would damage the druid’s leg more than it already was and J’aaris would not risk hurting Mal more.

Coughing broke through his train of thought and the paladin was brought back to the present. A thin trail of blood had escaped the druids mouth, worrying J’aaris even more so. He had to. It was likely Malasarian wouldn’t be able to walk correctly again as it was if he made it. He shook his head at the though, determination setting his features.

“Love, put your arm around my neck. I’m going to carry you.” He instructed.

Malasarian did as instructed and the draenei lifted him with ease. Mal had groaned and buried his face into the paladin’s armor, the movement causing more pain to bolt through him like lightning. But at least they were moving at a quicker pace now. J’aaris was as gentle as he could be while running, hooves echoing loudly on the stone pathways beneath him.

Yes! There! The tent that held the portal to Ruth’eran finally came into view. Relief washed over J’aaris and his gait quickened. So close, so close, almost there-

He fell with an agonized roar as an arrow had dug itself into the draenei’s calf. Malasarian had tumbled a few feet from him as he fell from his lovers arms, gasping and desperately clutching his leg. No! Nonono, they were right there! They could make it, he could still save Mal! More arrows followed, one of them marking Malasarian. The Kaldorei screamed and writhed as it lodged itself behind his knee on the broken side.

In a desperation, J’aaris had frantically looked around for the source. Not far from them stood a Forsaken woman, face covered in a chainmail mask as she hitched another arrow into her bow. Even through the mask, the white glow of her eyes pierced through the two on the ground. He caught her eye in that moment. So full of anger she was. And yet so full of content as she aligned her arrow with J’aaris’s chest. He heard the whistle of the arrow as it flew through the air and braced for impact but it never came.

……She missed?

No. The reality of what happened set in as he glanced backwards to Mal.

NO.

NO!

The arrow had been aimed for Malasarian in the last moment before it was let loose, striking his lung dead on. The paladin scrambled over the few feet of stone. He was pulling the druid into one arm, the other was clutching the arrow. In one swift motion the arrow had been dislodged and tossed to the ground before Light immediately followed, enveloping the paladin’s hand as he attempted to close the wound.

A feeble hand stopped him before he could place it over the gushing of blood. He barely registered the ragged breathing, the raspy voice. All J’aaris could hear was the screaming of his own pulse in his ears as Malasarian lifted a weak, shaky hand to the draenei’s face.

“Y-you will be f-fine..” J’aaris spoke, stinging tears were bitter down his face.

A ghost of a smile played on Malasarian’s face. “Why must you lie?” he mimicked the draenei’s tone from earlier.

“Let me help you.”

“No. There is no time.”

“Please. I beg you. I can’t lose you too.”

“How can you lose something that is not lost? I am always with you.” He spoke confidently, even as his body visibly relaxed and his head lolled back. J’aaris’s breath caught in his throat at the all too familiar sight of a lifeless body being cradled in his arms. He had experienced a very similar occurrence back on Argus, except then it had been his late wife.

It happened again and J’aaris couldn’t handle it. He gently placed Malasarian’s body on the ground before he stood. With all the might he could muster up, the draenei let forth a bloodcurdling roar as he turned towards the Forsaken, charging her at full force. The woman evidently hadn’t expected to be bull rushed and J’aaris had used the opportunity to his advantage.

Kicking her legs out from under her, he bid the Light to him, fingers crackling and golden sparks flying as it came. A hammers likeness had been conjured in his grasp. Without hesitation, without flinching, he brought it down upon the Forsaken’s head. The force of the impact of solidified Light coming into contact with her skull rang out with a nasty cracking noise. Bone gave way and it wasn’t until the woman was unrecognizable, nothing but a pile of sticky red goop, that the Paladin finally stopped.

He couldn’t get his breathing under control. He was seeing red, and not just from the blood that pooled around him and coated him. He was shaking. Was he still crying? Probably. With the death of the Forsaken, he could hear nothing but the sound of the inferno around him and the quick panting breaths that escaped him. There was nobody around. Nobody but the Draenei and the two bodies that lay around him.

Before he finally made his escape to safety, J’aaris had found a Moonflower nearby on the riverbank. He placed it softly behind Malasarian’s ear. They had always been his favorite, as common as they were in this elven land. With the flower, arms laid neatly over his chest, Mal almost looked asleep. Peaceful. Serene. This would be the last memory J’aaris would carry with him of his now former lover. This would be the memory that haunted him even as he vowed his revenge among the Horde that had ultimately caused this atrocity upon the Kaldorei capital.

#ll Soft Kitty Warm Kitty (Malasarian)

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sroloc--elbisivni · 6 years

Text

RvB: A Red Team Celebration

@redvsbluesecretsanta

Merry Christmas, @mercuryblacksleg! Hope you like your Secret Santa gift!

Summary: Red Team doesn’t exactly do holidays traditionally, or tastefully, but they never fail in their enthusiasm. Featuring Lopez the Christmas tree, lights on a Warthog, and a thirty-foot menorah made out of flamethrowers. Gen fluff. Light Grimmons, light sarge/grey.

“Uh. Excuse me, but what the fuck.”

Donut looked up from where he was stringing popcorn onto a needle to see Grif and Simmons staring from the doorway.

“What?” Donut said serenely, threading another piece of popcorn before holding up the string to eyeball it. “It’s traditional. Here, Lopez, hold this for me?”

”No.”

Donut sighed, sticking the end to Lopez’s head with a piece of tape instead, just below the star. “Hmm. Now I know size doesn’t matter, but this could really use a few more inches.”

Grif was still staring, but now his hand was creeping towards the popcorn bowl, so Donut had to smack him away. “Honestly, Grif, I know you love choking it down, but you can walk to the kitchen. I’m using that.”

Simmons, his head poking through the door from behind Grif, blinked. “Is—what happens when he walks away?”

“He won’t. After Sarge got done with him, it turns out he won’t be able to walk for days!”

Lopez rotated his head, disturbing the tinsel around his neck and sending a few pieces scattering on the floor. The ornaments Donut had taped on a few minutes ago jingled, but didn’t fall off. ”Help me. Please.”

“Oh, Lopez, don’t be ridiculous. We can’t add the lights yet. Sarge hasn’t finished painting them all red!”

Grif came back from the kitchen, holding popcorn. “Okay. I’m probably going to regret this, but one question: why.”

“I told you. It’s traditional.”

Simmons made a face. “No, trees are traditional. This—I don’t know what this is, I think it might be cruelty to robots.”

”Thank you.”

“Not that it really matters, since Lopez doesn’t care.”

“I will pour motor oil on the things you love.”

“Do you see any trees around here?” Donut waved one hand to indicate the room, as well as the general idea of ‘island in the middle of nowhere.’ “And aw, Lopez, that’s sweet!”

“What is?”

“He said he loves us.”

Simmons pulled off a dubious expression very well. Half of his face being metal really helped.

“Huh.” Grif stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth, looking thoughtful. “Got any more of those lights?” He moved the bowl out of Simmons’ reach before he could grab some.

“Sarge took all of ours, but I think Blue Team still has some from that whole Caboose debacle.”

“Cool. See you later.” Grif took the bowl of popcorn with him.

Donut went back to stringing on popcorn, humming Christmas music. That didn’t mean he missed Simmons’ hand sneaking towards the bowl.

“Ow! Donut!”

“Oh, stop whining. It wasn’t even anywhere tender.”

Carolina hadn’t really stopped for the holidays in a long time, before Chorus. There was always somewhere to be, things to do, people to hunt down, information to find, training. Always something.

And then she had stumbled into a corner of Armonia where someone had carefully framed a computer chip on the wall, a piece of masking tape stuck onto it reading “ תוֹרָה.” On the table beneath it had been a single lamp, powered by a jury-rigged battery.

Carolina remembered standing at the doorway of that little room for a long, long time.

Now she was standing at the doorway of the base, and had been for a long time, but for a very different reason.

“Sarge,” she said, finally. “That...I appreciate the offer, but I don’t--it doesn’t need to be that much fire.”

Sarge looked up from where he was using a sledgehammer and stakes to make sure the last flamethrower was secured completely to the welded-together scrap metal. Carolina could barely see him in the gathering dark. “What?”

Carolina sighed, and took a deep breath to raise her voice. “It doesn’t need that much fire!”

“WHAT?”

Carolina cupped her hands around her mouth. “IT--DOESN’T--NEED--” She stopped shouting and looked again.

Sarge was working on the last of nine upright, oversized flamethrowers he and Simmons had spent most of the day modifying after she had asked--naïvely--if the base had any candles laying around, because she wanted to put together a menorah. The answer had been no. Or, more accurately, the answer had been no, and then Sarge getting a very worrying glint in his eye.

And now there was a giant menorah of scrap metal and flamethrowers put together on the lawn in front of Red Base. She could just barely see where Simmons was hanging onto the far left one, hitting it with a wrench.

It was ridiculous. It was probably going to blow up in a few hours.

And it was...actually kind of sweet.

“YOU KNOW WHAT? NEVER MIND.”

Grif came up behind her, munching on something. “Has anything blown up yet?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Carolina tipped her head to the side, watching as Simmons almost fell off. He and Sarge shouted at each other for a few more minutes before Sarge climbed down.

“HEY!” Simmons squawked. “I’M STILL--NO NONONONONON--”

Simmons did fall off this time, as Sarge started cackling maniacally, and ended up rolling onto the ground. Carolina could admit that at least all the Reds and Blues knew how to fall properly.

“I’m okay!”

“Nerd,” Grif mumbled, around a mouthful of something. “Oh, hey. Here.”

Carolina looked down to see him offering an unopened bag of potato chips. “What’s this for?”

“Simmons said you eat fried potato things. Right?” He sounded a little bit uncertain.

Carolina took the bag of chips, trying not to laugh. “Thank, Grif. It means a lot.”

“HEY! ARE WE GONNA LIGHT THIS THING OR WHAT?”

“Wait! I’m getting the cookies!” Donut rushed past with a dish of cookies that Carolina was reasonably sure--when she squinted--were frosted dreidels.

Well then.

Grif gestured with his own bag of chips. “After you.”

The remote starter Sarge had put together worked perfectly, so after Carolina had stumbled her way through the songs she could just barely remember, the buttons were pushed so first the center, then the far left spout went up in flames.

Donut clapped excitedly. Grif swiped a cookie. Sarge cackled.

“Wait,” Carolina said, as realization hit her. “Where’s Lopez?”

“I hate all of you.”

Dr. Grey made a thoughtful sound as she examined the setup. “Is that…comfortable?”

“No. This entire situation is despicable. If I had a nervous system, I would be ready to rip it out just to end the suffering.”

“Lopez says he’s snug as a bug in a rug, Dr. Grey!”

“If you’re sure,” she said, already moving on. “Ooh, Donut, those look lovely.”

“My aunt Agatha’s own recipe,” he replied, cheerfully. “And let me say again just how glad we are to have you here for the holidays, Dr. Grey.”

“Oh, just call me Emily. After all, I’m not here to patch you up!”

“Well I’d be happy to take a checkup from you anytime.”

Grif had already absconded with a plate of cookies to sit by the TV, where Simmons was arguing holiday movie selections with Caboose. No one was sure why Caboose was there. No one really knew how to get rid of him.

“No—Caboose, we’re not going to watch Love Actually. It doesn’t even count as a Christmas movie.”

“Yes it does. It is snowing. So it is Christmas.”

Carolina, from where she was watching the whole thing, snorted into her cocoa.

“It’s not—Grif, back me up here.”

“Hey, I said we should watch Die Hard.”

Simmons sputtered. “That’s even less of a Christmas movie.”

“Ooh! Stranger Things!”

“No!” Simmons put his head in his hands. “Look. Can’t we all agree on one terrible stop-motion animation Christmas special?”

“That shit is nightmare fuel,” Grif complained.

“We’ve almost died like, ten times in the past year, and that’s what you’re calling nightmare fuel?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I do not want the little elf to pull my teeth,” Caboose said seriously.

“I hate all of you,” Simmons said, flatly. “I mean it this time. I really do.”

Grif shrugged and ate another cookie.

The door to the base slammed open, heralding Sarge’s entrance. “Treason! Disaster! Subterfuge!”

The room looked up at him.

“Those filthy blues have covered our warthog—the great and mighty transportation of the Red Army—in lights! Of the worst color—blue!”

Grif quietly collected the plate of cookies and tried to sneak towards the door.

“Private Grif! What kind of desertion are you trying to pull?”

“Desertion?” Grif said, tone innocent as he could manage. “No desertion. Just going to investigate. Sir.”

“Hmph.” Sarge looked like he wanted to argue, but Grif figured the combined opportunity to get rid of him, plus the idea of figuring out what was going on, was too good to pass up. “Well. I suppose even you have to be useful sometimes, Private Grif. On accident. Barely.”

Grif rolled his eyes and grabbed another couple of cookies off of Donut’s tray before vanishing out the door.

It was quiet and dark out—aside from the five lit flamethrowers on the menorah. Carolina had pointed out that they only needed to burn for half an hour, but when they had all stared at her, she had added, “…but they can always go for longer, I guess.”

Grif took his cookies well away from the giant columns of fire, heading for the Warthog covered in Christmas lights.

He hadn’t been the one who changed them all to blue. He would have done it, if he’d thought of it, but he hadn’t. So sue him.

Point was, Grif hadn’t done it. And the only one who’d been out here since they’d gone inside after lighting up the menorah had been Sarge. So either it was the Blues pulling a prank—which, Tucker and Wash were alone in their base with Caboose gone, so Grif would bet they were busy—or someone else.

Grif was betting on the someone else.

He put the plate of cookies on part of the frame while he climbed up into the back, legs dangling off the edge. His heels kicked, almost absent-mindedly, and Grif pulled a gingerbread cookie off the plate to bite the limbs off while he watched the dark.

It was almost easier watching for this without a helmet. Seeing the world through a visor, you got used to distortion, little ripples flickering around everything. It was harder to pick out what didn’t belong.

Bare-eyed, he could see the soft flicker of camouflaged armor moving towards the Warthog.

There were a few loud creaks, and the Warthog shifted as weight pressed on one side of its frame, but the air next to Grif still looked pretty empty.

“Dude,” Grif said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t care what kind of superpowers you’ve got. If you want one of these, you’re gonna have to take the helmet off.”

There was a long pause, and then Locus’ familiar armor shimmered into view, and his hands reached up to pull off his helmet.

You look like shit, Grif kind of wanted to say, but he didn’t, because he knew that feeling. So instead, he grabbed another couple of cookies and shoved the plate over.

Locus took one, hesitantly, and turned it over to examine the sprinkles.

“Blue?” Grif asked, just to fill in the silence. “Really?”

“Green seemed…too obvious.” He glanced back at the Warthog in all its twinkling glory. “Your handiwork?”

“What, you’re gonna pretend you weren’t watching?”

The silence spoke for itself. Grif snorted.

“Yeah,” he said, running one hand over the lights. “It’s something…back home. It was this whole thing, when I was a kid. People would put lights all over their cars, and on Christmas day there’d be this big parade. One giant party on the beach.” It felt weird, admitting that, even though he knew he’d said more embarrassing shit when Locus was helping him recue the guys.

Locus didn’t say anything, just chewing on the cookie.

“Look,” Grif said, finally, after the silence had gone on way too long. “Do you want to come inside? We’re gonna argue about stop motion for probably ten more minutes and then put on the Muppets Christmas Carol. There’s popcorn and shit. It’ll be fine.”

“That seems…unwise.”

Grif shrugged. He hadn’t been sure it was going to work. “Suit yourself.”

But he didn’t make any move to go anywhere for another few long minutes.

When there was a faint scream from inside the base, though, he sighed and rolled forward, landing on his feet. “Anyway. I better go back in. Offer’s open if you get cold. And keep the cookies, Donut’s been baking like a nutcase.”

Locus looked up from the single cookie with a bite out he was still playing with, and nodded.

Grif made it five steps away before he heard his name called out, and turned back around to see Locus watching him, almost sheepish.

“I…thank you.”

Grif shrugged. “No problem, dude. Merry Christmas.”

When he made it back inside, the alien and the rat puppets were already up on screen, yammering about something or other, so it seemed things were right on schedule. Lopez was in the corner, muttering death threats, so whenever Sarge reactivated his leg servos Grif was going to go on a long walkabout. Donut had settled on the couch with Caboose, Sarge and Dr. Grey were cuddled up together in a chair (ew ew ew ew ew) and Carolina was resting her feet on an old engine and working her way through another cup of cocoa.

Simmons was on the far end of the couch, so Grif detoured to grab some cookies and a blanket before flopping down at his feet, leaning back against the couch and making Simmons jump.

“Dude, chill.”

“You chill,” Simmons muttered, darkly, but didn’t flinch away again.

Cookies. Cheesy movies. Giant flamethrowers and lurking reformed bad guy outside. Blanket and Simmons to lean against.

Not a bad setup, all things considered.

Grif gave it ten minutes before asking, “So, Die Hard?”

Simmons’ hand, where it had been creeping into Grif’s hair, yanked away to bring a pillow thumping down on his head.

#hope this fits what you asked for!#might've forgotten about doc until i was almost done and then gone 'whatever'#Red vs Blue #rvb fanfic #rvbsecretsanta17 #this was fun #internet blew out for most of the day sorry it's kinda late #sroloc writes stuff #red vs blue fanfic #red vs blue fanfiction

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jessemccowbae · 7 years

Text

3:07 AM. Gibraltar.

It all came down to him. Just like it always did. Like it always would. Kind of how stylin' yourself a gunslinger tended to work.

That... thing, wearing his oldest friend like a fucking costume, snarling its hatred in his voice, parroting insults drawn from his memories. Draped in black robes, as prone to dramatics in death as he had been in life, but there was no mask here. Just a sick mockery of a familiar face, the features just a bit too exaggerated to be real. The dark smile too wide, the eyes too deep black.

"So here you stand," he -- it -- growled, slinking forward through the blown-out ruins of their sad lone little Watchpoint, the remnants of daily life charred and shredded. His eyes refused to register the bodies, but he could sense them -- Reinhardt slumped against the kitchen wall, Fawkes flung haphazardly over the back of the sofa, sweet Angie crumpled at the creature's feet. It kicked her aside as it walked towards him; her head tipped limply to the floor, and Jesse's stomach lurched.

"And you can't do it. You never could." The thing chuckled lowly, shaking its head in pity. "Sentimental piece of shit. You haven't accomplished a damn thing. All you've got is a pretty story. Clinging to the past that never existed."

"...you can't have him." He barely recognized his own voice, it was trembling so hard. "You -- you can't goddamn have him--"

It barked out a harsh laugh. "And what are you going to do about it? What did you do to protect them? Stood there and cried like a child?" It twirled the guns playfully around its fingers. "At least when you were a child you had an excuse. You're a grown fucking man and you still can't protect them. Not from me. Can you? Do it. Look me in the eye and do it."

His gun was in his hand somehow -- he didn't remember drawing it, but he could feel its weight as his hands trembled. He tried to raise it, rush him, move, do something, but his body wouldn't move, just stood there quivering like a scared fucking rabbit --

"You -- you can't have him you -- give them back give them back --"

"You can't have him either, can you?" said a sing-song voice -- Angie's head lifted, her expression serene but her features stretched the same way, somewhere just the wrong side of human. "You never had him. You never had any of us. That's why you couldn't do it." She stood up, lurching towards him with that same pity in her too-blue eyes. "How could you come back here and try to take what wasn't yours? Why would you do that to us? When you couldn't protect us from it?"

His stomach wouldn't stop rolling. The thing was still stalking towards him, the room growing darker.

"No. No you can't -- you can't do this I -- give it back --" His knees buckled, rage and terror colliding in his gut, blood rushing in his ears like a jet engine. "--my home and my friends and my goddamned LIFE BACK!"

He'd finally shouted loudly enough to wake himself, covers thrown from the bed, sheets soaked in clammy sweat. Jesse gasped deeply as he pushed up from the pillow that he'd apparently been quietly suffocating in.

He sat slowly upright, taking deep, shaky breaths, struggling to bring himself back to reality. He reached for his phone on the nightstand. Barely past 3 AM. Fuck. They were just getting earlier every time.

He reached up to rub at his eyes -- and whiffed entirely, his right hand moving to his face as the stump of his left elbow swung up and nearly smacked him in the nose. He cursed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Three goddamn years later and he still forgot --

Like he forgot what he did. Like he forgot that he'd abandoned them. Forgot he was the most shameful fucking coward in this building. Like -- fuck.

He couldn't do it. He was still a fucking coward, and he'd fucking own it if it meant not having to look them in the face every day like he'd ever had any place among these people. He wasn't the boss's pet anymore, he didn't have any damn excuse. He fumbled through the dark room to his closet; all his important shit was still in his bag, the rest was just clothes and toiletries. If the trains still ran as late as they used to he could make it to Madrid by eight or ten, and at least a couple of his cover IDs were still good to buy plane tickets with--

There was a piece of paper taped inside the closet door, covered in brightly colored lines.

'F r E i n D S H i P'

He stopped. Took a breath. Took another. And dropped to his knees with a faint, desperate half-laugh.

Was that really gonna be what did it? All het up to storm out the door, and that's what it was gonna be? Worrying that someone was gonna have to tell the tender-hearted decomissioned Bastion unit and their pet bird that their cowboy friend had left?

Apparently so.

Might break Zen's heart too, now that he thought about it. Probably think that he'd failed him somehow, all the times that he'd listen to Jesse talk himself in circles. Poor fella seemed to have taken on fixing Gabe's fucked up kids as a personal mission in life.

He waited another few minutes for his breath to slow, wiping the lingering half-formed tears from his eyes with the back of his good hand. Somewhere closer to having collected himself, he finally stood, going back to the nightstand and reaffixing his prosthetic. He felt a little unbalanced without it, if nothing else.

Toss on a t-shirt. One more deep breath.

No one else awake. Wasn't sure he could look them in the eye right now anyway. Thankfully, there was still half a bottle of bourbon in the mess hall he knew wouldn't judge.

#overwatch rp #jesse mccree #prose #aaaaaangst!

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asaforestonfire · 7 years

Text

Grim

Hey I wrote a weird fic thingy in like, 6 hours and have not edited it at all and prolly won’t cause I’m lazy but hey, here, take it:

In your youth, you would rest on a blanket in the depths of a lab, protected by the watchful eyes of stuff kittens provided to you by the kind hearts who cared about you. White sheens of hard shells crafting soft features of felines with two too many eyes in the dim lights of pulsing green checkerboards that surround your bed. When the glean would fade, the quiet clinking of hard joints against each other cease to fill the room, the calm serenity would be replaced. You would hear them. The voices. The choir of chatterings and soft screeches that would combine into an unnatural melody of promises.

The sentinels lovingly made to guard the young wizard, covered in old sheets and clutching onto her portal to the realm of her friends, shift in the night. Their curious white eyes turn cold when you writhe, small hands plugged over your ears. You want them to fend off the noises, to repel them back, to let you sleep. But they cannot. They sit. They watch. You are young when you learn to ignore them, to simply repel their voices and quiet them to nothing more than a soft buzz. The eyes stare. The figures stay stuck to their seats. The bottles slowly block them out.

Your adolescence goes by in a blur. You are reminded of the moments in your youth, the few words made out among the cacophony of cries bleeding into your sleeping mind, when you first handle the controls below the wide grey screen. Delicate hands travel across the panel in a method that only someone familiar with the technology could perform. The screen lights up, blue light causing your vision to falter for a moment, before fixing itself. An young man sits in a room, red sky behind him as sparks fly off a metal pipe, welding mask over his face and arms exposed. You take brief note of his figure… only to hear the sounds again. They never came up when you were awake and out of bed, you assumed they were resigned to night and when you were teetering on consciousness. It hurts. The voices, they hurt beyond imagine. You can barely hear your thoughts above anything else. You slide down the front of the panel, hands cradling your head and knees moving to protect your face. Without your touch, the screen blinks out, leaving only the pulsing green you are familiar with to fill the darkness.

A month later, you try again. The novels you have written have already stacked tall against the far wall, and your drawings are tiring with nothing new to go on, so you turn to the last source of curiosity. Your hands move in another pattern, different from last time. The target today: a kindly woman sits in a home, leaned over a counter and idly writing in a large book, annotating pages with dense text. For some reason, you are captivated. You lean against the console and watch her for hours, admiring how nice her home looks, the gentle smile on her face, her pretty handwriting… until the screen cuts out when she enters some room you don’t recognize. Frustrated, you try to go back to that setting, to return to what had seemed so simple and pleasant, only to wind up staring at someone with similar features, but in the middle of felling a large beast. You hop back as the screen flares with a gunflash. The man takes a moment, confused, before looking at what you feel like is yourself. You are… unnerved.

Later that night you cannot sleep. No matter how many bottles stack you can never seem to drown them out. They cry out to you, they call you by name, demanding you help them, save them from their agony. They promise you a life free from your residence, to provide you the ability to meet those faces. They reach out and quell the sickening green you are too familiar with, and brush against your face. You feel them around you. You feel… nothing.

The barrel of the blunderbus kicks up into the air and you recoil, complaining that he’s getting to excited and reminding him there’s no reason to fire in the middle of the damn house!!! Sure you did finally manage to mix something that didn’t explode, but all you need is a fucking hug instead of the full 21 gun salute. In seconds you are wrapped in his burly arms, and spun around, getting stupid mustache hair in your mouth. You don’t care though. You’re more than happy to hug him back and giggle as your spun. It’s been years since you saw him on that screen, and now, he’s taken you on as an intern for his business. From the first moment you create a decent adhesive, you start propelling forward in the field of chemistry, advancing rather quickly to the point that you outpace the entirety of the initial team he had assembled. You feel… accomplished. When he pats your head or takes you out for lunch you are entirely focused, kept completely in the moment. You don’t see the void in your dreams.

Normally, normally though, you have taken to manifesting in the empty void, surrounded by nothing and everything at once. There are thousands of eyes peering at you, blinking, unfeeling, curious. But then there is nothing. You are alone. You are crushingly empty. You are nothing.

You have returned to your old home, snow surrounding the brown brick building covering the sprawling complex below. A tinge of pain runs through your body as you step through the light dusting of white, body tensed beyond belief. The silver of your flask touches your lips, a swell of courage courses through your veins, and you suddenly remember everything you had spent so long forgetting. The wrinkles on your face deepen, exasperating by the second as you trail down the winding steps to your childhood home. You need to do this. You need to ignore the unflinching eyes of your former guardians and clean the space. There is work to be done, and you will do whatever you can to ensure it moves along smoothly.

They keep calling to you. Every. Single. Night. They reach out to you and try to wrap their whims onto your soul, always trying to sway you with promises of knowledge and protection, of love and desire, of a spot in their court so long as you accept their gifts. You know, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt, you are not who they want. Yet they call.

Sometimes they strike a nerve, others they manage to catch you in a good mood. But recently, they have talked the only language you listen to. They promise you meaning.

The home has finally become a real home. After your trip to meet the one woman who made you feel calm, you returned home with a new purpose. Her face is too bright for you to look at sometimes, her smile illuminating the dark that had haunted you for so long. She grasps at your fingers and babbles to you as you drive her home. Even without the knowledge you have been provided, you would have known she would do great things, anyone this perfect had to be meant for something greater. In the moments you spend, cradling her close to your breast as you walk the path up to your door, the flask you had carried since you left the labs, falls and rests in a snowbank behind you. She deserves the best, and you will do your damndest to provide it for her.

She’s read her way through half the library at this point. You are amazed at how hungry she can be at such a young age, so concerned about how this works and why that functions like it does. Whenever those bright purple eyes look up at you from your lap, and those cute lips part to ask you why some acids are lethal and others simply erode certain substances, you can feel yourself regain some of that spark you lost. On her third birthday, you present her a sentinel, this one able to bat away the various daytime beasts who end up making your sunshine jump. She cries when you tell her he is hers.

Two years later, he turns up dead on the beach. There are bags under your eyes. The sun is hidden behind dark clouds as you carry the kitten back to the home, a stagger in your step and a few tears staining your cheeks. You wanted to find him a place to rest while the casket can be made, somewhere out of her view, but she noticed. She sits at the counter to do her school work, today scribbling a series of symbols on a piece of black construction paper in red crayon, only to drop it on the floor. She cries. You quake. The darkness slowly creeps into your vision.

Nothing works any more. No matter how much you try and make up for it, how much you beg for them to let you make it better, you can’t. So you drink. Not to keep them quiet, but to forget. To try and find some way out of this shitty fate for her, but no. No every day just makes her more distant and you more tired. She’s stopped going to school, you both knew she never needed it but once you got to drinking often, and she finished elementary, there was no way she could even leave. You’ve trapped her. You know you have, but fuck it! You were doomed from the start and they taunted you with it. They still fucking offer you options, to take their hand and join them but no. No if you are going to be a shit role model may as well make sure it’s not for everything. So you drink, you cry, and you let her hate you. You try to make her not but she always does.

The meteors have started to fall. You watch them on the screen, sitting around your cats and trying to pass the time. It’ll be over soon. She’ll be fine soon. Everything will be okay soon.

They still talk with you. Now you simply talk back. You wander the landscapes they set up with their dreams. Feet traversing the same paths they had arranged you to, you reflect quietly. Their songs are quite peaceful now.

Her land is nice. You missed the feeling of monsters falling to your fist, or the feeling of making the shot that felt absolutely impossible. It reminds you of the smell of mustache wax and burnt gunpowder. You make sure to leave her enough to keep her swimming in resources for as long as she needs. The ruins are calm, the consorts kind, and the lights nice and bright. You take the time to memorize every inch of the surface of this planet, you want to have something new to travel.

He is kind. You never saw him in your viewport, but god you feel like he is everything you could have ever wanted. Tall, kind, able to bake, resourceful… a bit creepy but only in so far as being almost too much of a gentle man, even the pipe smoke somehow makes him appealing. He makes you feel safe. The old man picks you up on his ship, and the meeting is brief. You share a quiet conversation, wine on your breath making his smile waver, the wear on his gun causing your gaze to turn. It is almost over.

You spend the rest of the ride chatting with the partner chosen to guide you into the last moments of your life. He is surprisingly well spoken, passionate about these funny little mundanities, but set against the goofy nature of his interest in pranks. You remember… the woman from the view port. He must be her son. That explains the tranquility. He asks about your interests, you crack a few jokes about the only interest of yours being the interesting field of managing to never see the bottom of your glass. He gives you a slight worried glance, but politely laughs along. Then you say your daughter, and he smiles. That smile rivals hers. It’s a different kind of warmth, more, the kitchen when his wife used to cook, but warm nonetheless. You ask him about his son and the warmth is almost overpowering.

He pours you a drink, you smile. For once, you feel at peace. He holds your hand, pipe by his side, and you hold his, wine in your off hand. And then you feel it. You feel them. They’re back and they’re here and. The darkness comes creeping in above you. No, no no no. You were told this would happen after you were gone. They sing to you in dissonant tones, a thousand different voices screaming at once. You recoil into a small ball, curled up on the ground, hands covering your ears. No. No no no no no no no no no no.

It is dark. You sit back in the void, cradled in the tentacles of Yogthragth, surrounded by the circle. They remind you that they had warned you, and that there is still something left. They offer you a chance to buy some time before the timeline collapses. The light is lost, now all there is left is to return to nothing.

Ink rains from the sky, coating the checkerboard fields enough to render them unrecognizable. Tendrils of thorny black lift your prone form from the ground, setting you on your feet. There is a castle to find, and a grave to lay in.

A sword pierces your gut. A sea of ink flows from your mouth as you hunch over, fist clenched around the mutt’s throat.

Then. It all goes black.

Your vision,

The battlefield,

The planet,

Everything.

As you fade, you think you see them, the sentinels, watching over you with their curious eyes. The darkness overtakes you, and the mutants who had watched idly, take their leave, watching over you again in a different line.

#alcohol /

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