#work the fields with trembling arms and heavy thoughts that slow her down | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miomines · 2 years

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Consider: somehow, one of the archons manages to severely wound Meili in battle. She's thrown onto the ground and her opponent is preparing to strike the fatal blow. Just before their weapon pierces her chest and destroys her heart, she's aggressively shoved to the side by none other than her little gem. They have taken the hit in her stead, and all she can do is watch as their precious blood paints the ground a striking shade of gold.

"how dare you" i say while opening google docs

cw: character death :)))

Meili never thought her end would come by the hands of the one she once called a brother. Her catalyst is torn to pieces, strewn across the field. She desperately hopes that this battle has not been loud enough to gain any extra attention. The Vortex Vanquisher pulses with energy and she can see as it thrums through him in waves. He twists the spear into her side, worsening the wound before he kicks her down.

She can't help but note that, as he positions the spear over her heart, that this is the same pose that happened when she stole his spear. She feels cold and hot at the same time and she can't feel her side. As Meili looks up at Morax, at Zhongli, she can't bring herself to feel anything other than solemn acceptance.

Meili closes her eyes as he readies to plunge the spear through her chest. Six thousand years and for what? She's accepted her end but it hurts knowing who is the one to kill her. Her brother in her memories is a different man.

She cries out in pain, her vision white hot, but the pain is only in her side. She tumbles over with a gasp, a pained wheeze before she pushes herself up on shaking arms.

The scene before her doesn't register right away.

It takes her a moment to realize she's screaming.

She stumbles, her limbs too weak, too heavy, but she forces them to move so she can be at their side. Her child. Her little gem.

She hears the spear clatter to the ground as she gathers them into her arms. She lets out a choked sob, desperately grasping to the geo elements for it to flow through and heal. She barely registers the shadow, the extra presence as she desperately tries to heal her precious gem.

It's only when they try to take her child from her arms does she notice and it takes everything inside her not to bite off his head. When she raises her head to look him in the eyes, she's nearly disgusted at the complete fear that's shown in those eyes. How dare he… It was his fault! His spear! He's the reason why she doesn't even have her catalyst. She tears her eyes away to continue her attempts at healing.

It's not working. They curl up in her arms as she sobs. She failed them, she failed them, she was supposed to protect them and now they're dying in her arms and she can't do anything and fucking Morax is still here--

"A catalyst!" She hisses up to him, her body trembling in fear and pure rage. "Get- Get me a catalyst!"

He sputters and looks grief-stricken. "There's- I can't-"

"I need a fucking catalyst!" She shouts as she takes a piece of her broken weapon to throw at him. "I need to heal them! They- They're going to die and I need to heal them!"

Meili sobs at his expression and she can't help but hate him.

It's your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault--

She hiccups as she looks down, holding her little gem closer to her body. They weakly paw at her arm and she can nearly feel as they get weaker and weaker.

"Little gem," she cries and rests her forehead against theirs. "My little gem, my precious little one.." She trembles as she cups their face, as she watches her tears drip down onto them. "I love you so much. I'm sorry Mama can't heal you, little gem, I'm so so sorry I love you so much-"

"Mom," they croak out. They blink slowly and she can feel their breaths slowing down even more.

"Little gem," she sobs. "Don't leave me, little gem, stay with me, please…"

It's a futile attempt and they both know it. She can't help but hold them closer as she sobs. Her child is dying in her arms and she can't do anything about it--

They tap her arm weakly with a finger and she desperately tries to quiet herself. Their blood stains her hands and if it wasn't for the fact that it was their blood it could almost be considered pretty.

They try to smile at her as they start to drift. Their words are merely a breath, barely tangible, a quiet "love you" before they still. They go limp in her arms and she sobs, clutching them as tightly as she can.

A touch to her shoulder makes her whip around and she glares, even as she continues to sob. "How dare you! You try to comfort me when this is all your fault!"

She takes the fallen spear and just throws it at him. It doesn't do anything and she wishes she used it to impale his throat when she stole it.

"You only regret it because their blood is golden! You only regret it because it affects you! They were worth more than their golden blood! They were precious on their own!"

She hiccups as she cries, hunching over the lifeless body of her little gem. She wishes she was stronger. She wishes that she could've protected them. She wishes that it was her instead.

Meili struggles weakly as she's brought into Morax's arms. She punches at his shoulders and screams, tears still running down her face.

"It's your fault! You don't deserve to mourn them!"

She feels him nod and all that does is make her cry harder. All she can do is break down in the arms of the enemy. In the arms of her child's murderer.

Her precious little gem is gone.

She failed them.

#sagau #s(pain)#•meili #•zhongli #•sagau #•bad end #dragon's lament • bad end #•answered

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oneshotnewbie · 3 years

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THE EMILY ONE SHOT WAS SO GOOD OH MY GOD CAN WE PLEASE HAVE A CONTINUATION

A/N: Guys, I am so sorry for my absence. I've hadn't time two write in two weeks because we are renovating our whole house and I've had to, besides my work and dog to care, do 80% of the shit my mother was up to. But now I am almost finished with it and can say that I came back to my usual routine where I can write more frequently. Thank you for staying with my blog ♥

---

You woke up to different voices, all of which moved around you and discussed quietly to themselves. Like a thick fog around your brain, you heard everything but all information evaporated like a strong wind into nothing.

The attempt to open your heavy eyelids and perceive the world around you failed. Your body also thwarted your plans; it was numb and completely unable to obey your commands. Your dry and chapped lips formed a sentence but your vocal cords failed and only let out a scratchy groan.

"I think she's finally waking up!" remarked someone next to you who held their hand on your head and slowly ran their thumb over your hair. You only realized in retrospect which perfume this person wore and that it was Spencer before you let your head fall closer to her side and she let out a small laugh. "Emily will go crazy when she hears you woke up and she wasn't here."

A light and weak smile came over your lips and you moved even closer to the warm body next to you. The brunette had meanwhile sat down with half of her body on your bed to show you that she was there for you and put an arm protectively over your hip; careful not to hit your wounds and cause you pain.

Your eyes slowly began to adjust to the bright light when it turned into a color that you could stand. You looked around and realized that you were in the hospital. The bare grey walls and the smell of disinfectant that you had previously blocked out, crept into your nose and made it wrinkle.

"Where's Emily? Is she okay?" you asked raspy and looked at Hanna who was sitting on the end of the bed and was stroking your lower legs. She looked down at the duvet before smiling up and nodding. "Calm down, she is okay. You saved her."

"We're so glad you're okay, babygirl." Spencer chimed in and gave you a kiss on your hair before she rested her cheek on the side of your head.

At the perfect moment the door was opened with full force and a totally dissolved and completely finished Emily came running through the door, followed by Aria who had some food and coffee in her hand and all three of you were startled, the brunette behind her was also shocked by your sisters action.

Emily's shiny eyes were red and dull, her perfect complexion was totally ruined by the salty tears that adorned her skin and she looked as if she hadn't slept for nights and, according to the force with which she had opened the door, more Coffee in her system as Spencer in a week.

"Sorry. I- had no idea - ah intention." she stumbled over her own words as she quickly ran to the closet in your room and threw her jacket in to the others. "Em.." tried Aria to get her out of her totally confused situation when she noticed that you were no longer lying unconscious in your bed.

Your sister had apparently not yet noticed that you were already awake and you were watching every movement she made with your tired eyes. "I saved your life and you treat me like air?" you coughed in a harsh and low voice. Hanna was immediately at your side and poured you a glass of water while Emily stopped moving, her back turned to you and still standing at the open closet. "Where is my 'hey sister' and a 'thank you for saving my ass'?"

The older Fields was afraid to turn around. She was afraid of it and that it was all just a hallucination she was in due to sleep deprivation. It was the internal strife between good and bad that kept her from turning to your bed.

The brunette gripped the closet door and wall unit with her hands so tightly that even the blood escaped from them and made her skin look white. She shook her head barely noticeably, but that didn't help either - Emily had to turn around to confirm for herself whether this was just a dream or reality. "Emmy?"

With a deep breath she turned and looked into your tired eyes. Your skin was pale - almost grey from the loss of blood and dark circles formed under your eyes. Your powerless body hung on machines and at this sight her hair on the back of her neck stood up.

In this moment, her mind brought her back to the moment you stopped breathing in front of her eyes. Tears started to form and stung in her eyes, mixing with the view in front of her as she slowly began to walk towards you.

"Y/N." she sobbed while she pressed a strand of hair behind her ear and stopped in front of your bed. Struggling, she raised her shaky hand and gently placed it on top of yours, tapping it fearfully a few times before your hand drew hers into yours.

Your warmth, which trembled into her body through this touch alone, brought relief with it. Like a house of cards, Emily collapsed and fell around your neck. Her tears ran quickly from her eyes and all the pent-up feelings she had been carrying over the last few days left her body. "I am so sorry."

"Don't be, its okay. I am fine."

While you gently stroked her back and she tried to press closer to you without hurting you, Aria, Spencer and Hanna started to pack their stuff and said goodbye to you in silence. They wanted to give you the time and privacy to talk.

"You could have died and I would have never forgiven myself." sniffed the older of you as she straightened up again, wiping away her tears as her eyes met your gaze. You disappeared in your thoughts for a short moment, all the memories from that evening coming back.

The pain that had eaten you up from the inside out and the coldness that took over your body. The cold path beneath you and the slow and unbearable moment where you couldn't fight anymore and lost conciousness. You notices how something in you tried to defend itself against these thoughts as you started to shake and your voice was muffed from all the tears you tried to swallow. "But I didn't, I am still alive."

Trembling, you tried to get into a comfortable position while trying to avoid your sister's gaze. Clearing your throat and with the play of your fingernails, Emily knew that you were trying to hide how you were really doing and how you were coping with the situation and so she stopped talking about her feelings and hugged you wordlessly. Your protective wall broke in her arms shortly after and your strength faded far away.

"We gonna get through this together."

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fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 3 years

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abshwvshsh imagine Paladin Danse with Baby Fever.

Got alittle drabble?

*I got like an idea where Paladin Danse and Alex(fallout oc) go on a mission and end up finding an orphan baby and as Alex is taking care of it, Paladin Danse is like 😍😍🤩🤩. So yea lol.*

(I totally deviated from the prompt but I was hoping this would be satisfactory as well? 😅 if not, I'm more than happy to write for the original prompt, just send me another ask)

Perhaps this feeling was simply a product of the desertion he felt after exile.

You were so very kind to him. You were there for him when he had hit the lowest point fathomable, when his life as he knew it was ripped away from him and left him with this deep melancholic emptiness. It took time, of course, but like always- you were patient with him, truly there for him.

If asked, Danse wouldn't know exactly how you did it, but piece after piece you managed to put back together what he once felt was broken beyond repair. Maybe it was the way you valiantly fought to reassure his life's value, maybe it was the long days you spent at his side so he may not feel lonesome, but most likely it was the love you professed that let him know that if someone as wonderful as you could have such profound feelings for something like him...then yes, maybe he was truly worth more than he believed.

Nonetheless, there were still some times that Danse would sit in your cozy little home, a far off look in his eyes as he thought deeply about something you just couldn't quite put your finger on. Once, you would've been able to just look at him and know what troubled him- a trait he didn't care for in the slightest- but lately...he wasn't quite as easy to read.

His identity would forever be something he struggled with no matter how much progress the two of you made, this you knew and understood, but whatever was on his mind as of recent didn't seem to have the same effect. For instance, these moments you'd catch him in..he wouldn't look nearly as tense, which may be a fruitless observation to note- but hey, every little detail meant something with Danse. In addition to this, the proud ex-paladin would usually seek your comfort if his mind raced to such dark places and now he would only sit in silence.

Instead you were left puzzled, watching the man you love sit and continue on with his mental strife- only moving every so often to fidget with the glistening metallic band on his left ring finger.

You never would've guessed that the reason he was so deep in though stemmed from the child sitting on your kitchen counter, eating one of Danse's prized snack cakes with Shaun. The child happened to be one of the settler's kids, a little girl around six years of age- so far too young to help out in the farm, and too young to leave unattended..so naturally, with you being the bleeding heart you are, you agreed to help out the girl's parents and watch her every so often while they worked. Besides, after your marriage to Danse..and Shaun coming home, there wasn't very much adventuring going on anymore. It wasn't a big deal though, Shaun rather liked having company (even if he preferred hanging out with Duncan more) and having a younger child around didn't bother you in the slightest.

Unbeknownst to you, watching the way you cared for the two children really struck a nerve within Danse. It was almost enchanting to watch you fuss after them, leading his mind to wander off to the most fantastical places.

"Okay, Shaun, do you think you can handle taking her back home? Her ma and pa should be finished working out in the field by now. I'll send Dogmeat with you." You spoke, receiving a rather exasperated expression from your little boy as he gracelessly slid off the counter, feet landing with a soft *thud*.

He proceeded to hold a hand out to his much shorter, younger friend to help her down. "No problem mom..." He all but grumbled as he began to lead her out the side door. A blur of brown and black fur at your feet let you know your faithful companion was at attention and ready to escort the two children- a happy bark followed by the closing of the door eased your mind shortly thereafter.

Had it been anywhere else, you probably wouldn't have let Shaun leave without you or Danse..but given that the girl's parents lived two doors down- you didn't really worry. However, you DID worry about the ex-paladin.

With a casual sigh, you sauntered your way into the living room- only a little surprised when you realized your entrance hadn't done much to catch his attention. Regardless, you pushed on and decided to sit right beside him- smiling just the slightest bit whenever his gaze finally shifted away from his wedding band and to you instead.

"Alright." You began, making no qualms about scotching closer over to him until he instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "What's eating at you?" You simply prodded, head resting on his chest.

Danse visibly stiffened, as though under the impression that his silence went unnoticed. He couldn't have been more wrong- he knew better than to think anything would get passed you. Even if it had, the thrumming of his synthetic heart against your ear surely gave him away.

Before he dignified your question with a response, he shifted around so that he could properly face you- still holding you yet able to move his head in such a way that he might be able to see the way you'd react completely to what his next words were going to be. And…maybe to get your attention away from the heavy beating in his chest.

That's really when you noticed it. The fleeting look in his eyes, the unsteadiness of his breath, the slight pink shade decorating his nose and cheeks..Danse was nervous.

"This..I apologize but this going to seem completely out of the blue.." He finally spoke, sighing as he closed his eyes just for a brief moment- trying to collect himself so that his nerves might not get the best of him. This is a matter that he had been wrestling with for some time now, the last thing he wanted was to get so anxious that he couldn't speak.

Alas, calming down seemed to only get harder for him. True, it had only been a few seconds since he spoke but the way you looked at him, so concerned and so..sweet, made time slow down and his damned heart incomprehensibly race.

"Whatever it is Danse, I've got you.." Great- now that concern he picked up on was lacing your voice as well.

Was it truly necessary for him to complicate things to such extremes? It's not like the topic was completely alien to either one of you..and damnit, you're the one person he felt he could speak his mind freely to..so why wasn't this any easier?

Then came the words you never, ever, ever, would've expected to hear from his mouth.

With his eyes soft, and his voice even more so, Danse spoke. "I know we have Shaun, and don't get me wrong- I truly do love the boy as a son, my son...but have you ever considered what having a child of our own would be like?" It was in that instant that Danse realized how abrupt his words may have came out, that tender gaze of his slowly retreating to look anywhere but you. "Forgive me, it's um..it's selfish of me to anticipate you being ready for such a thing, especially considering what we have both went through this past year.."

Unable to focus on much else but the drumming noise inside your head from the profound beat of your heart, your trembling hands grabbed at his and squeezed.

"You know..you have a bad habit of cutting me off before I can tell you what I think, sir." You laughed, trying to distract from the tears threatening to well up. Sure, it may have been a slight over reaction but..with Danse wanting a family..it was one hell of a step in a good direction. "What happened in the past..well, it should stay there. The two of us have something most people never get, we have the ability to start anew and leave our troubles behind us, Danse. So...god, I don't think much else would make me happier than having a baby with you.."

Once the ex-Paladin got over the initial shock of your words, he all but mauled you in a breath-stealing kiss- his arms wrapping tightly around you to the point of making the promise of breath a distant memory. Nonetheless, you couldn't help but enthusiastically kiss the man back...at least until-

"MOM! Gross!!" Shaun shrieked, having opened the door at quite possibly the least opportune time. Great.

Danse pulled back with a shameful blush on his face, averting his eyes from the young boy who was now fake gagging as he walked off to his room.

“Guess we oughta see if Mac is up for letting Shaun stay over with Duncan..hm? You know, just to get a head start..” to this, the ex-paladin’s adorable blush deepened tenfold.

Fantastic....or rather...outstanding.

#so this was no small drabble #ayyyyy #I love him so much #fallout 4 #fallout #paladin danse #paladin danse x sosu #paladin danse x reader #Danse

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mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Nightfall

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After a near-death experience on the job and dark nightmares that follow, Reader and Spencer find comfort in each other. Category: ANGST / FLUFF (hurt/comfort?) / ***OPTIONAL SMUT ENDING (18+)*** Warnings: A nightmare sequence that includes brief mentions of a chainsaw, dismemberment, and blood/gore, heavy crying, basically it’s just very sad and dark, but comforting and soft at the end | SMUT includes: handjob, cum eating, shower sex, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex Word Count: 1.6k | 3.3k

Full Request: “Could you do a spencer fic where the reader wakes up from a night terror due to nearly dying on a recent case, and leaves the bed and Spencer panics because he can’t find them in the bedroom, and it becomes a mutual comfort fic where Spencer’s trying to calm both him and the reader down with just lots of angst and fluff?...” — @willowrose99

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

NOTE: Y’all, I can’t believe this is the final 1k request!! I’ve had so much fun writing these, so thank you for sending them in, reading, reblogging them, and for celebrating this milestone with me!!

This one’s a little... dark. And extremely sad. I actually, like, sobbed writing this, so I apologize in advance. It also gets a little horror movie-esque during the nightmare sequence, so I apologize if that’s not your thing (I’ve been watching a shit-ton of horror movies lately and I love it lol) ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy this final request! Thank you again for celebrating with me, it means the world ❤

***

It started with flashes of light, faintly resembling fireworks as they shot through the nightfall, albeit silently. They were constant, red and blue and— They were police lights... But he should have heard sirens to accompany them, right? Why weren't there sirens? If he tried hard enough, though, through the loud thumping in his ears, he could faintly make out a high pitched whine. Or... was it a cry?

Crying.

No—sobbing.

Screaming.

It was at this point that Y/N had awaken, screaming almost at the top of her lungs as she startled forward in bed. Though it took a few painstakingly long seconds to realize where she was and that she was safe, at home with Spencer and bathed in the deep sound of silence, she still felt the hum of the chainsaw and it's loud groaning as it descended closer and closer above her neck. It was loud, haunting, and even as she furiously rubbed at her eyes, the images and sounds wouldn't go away.

She stumbled from the bed and trembled the entire way to the bathroom, so enraptured in terror that she was entirely unaware that Spencer had only merely jumped in his sleep at the sound of her screaming.

Meanwhile his dream continued, that high crying sound fading into some sort of tune that resembled a music box... As he made his way through the flashing lights, they also seemed to dissipate, eventually leading him to one single streetlight in the middle of a field. But underneath it stood a large pile of dirt, something glistening on top of it as it... spun?

He approached the dirt, only to notice it was, in fact, a music box that he was hearing. Each note grew louder and louder as he crouched down to get a closer look, and without warning it started to smell like... rotting flesh. It was unmistakable. But... why? There weren't any bodies around, only the music box rotating on a pile of...

It was a grave.

And right as he finally recognized the tune coming from the music box, which served as some type of headstone, Spencer was pushed back, the dirt rumbling until something shot up from the grave, sending the music box shattering in front of him into pieces.

It couldn't be... I saved her, she's not... It can't be her...

The tune was her favorite song. And as the music box sat broken in front of him, he realized it was also a gift to her from her late mother.

But it couldn't have been her...

The streetlight flickered heavily as whatever shot up out of the grave started to come into better view. Arms outstretched, until the left one gave off a glow that pulsed at its ring finger— A glittering diamond ring that he'd picked out years ago and had sat on her hand ever since.

But it couldn't have been her...

The arm fell clean off the figure with a loud thud, and then it dissolved into a pool of crimson, the glittering ring laying right in the middle, untouched and untainted by the gore. The rest of the figure trembled heavily until he heard the tune again— Only now, it was her voice. It lowly hummed the melody as a head came into view, slowly revealing her face.

But... It couldn't have been her...

Spencer trembled as her voice continued to hum, each note becoming more warped and drowned out until suddenly, the streetlight stopped flickering and remained blinding.

There was no mistake anymore.

Under the harsh white light, Y/N's tattered, dirty and bloody body was sitting up in a pile of dirt like it might have once been sand at a beach. Her left arm was a pool of boiling blood next to her, and the ring still laid there, as sparkly and ethereal as ever—the only good thing that remained.

"Why didn't you save me?" she drawled, her voice deep and warped. The terror grew and grew in the pit of his stomach as he watched her head, a thin, red line at her neck getting larger and larger as it tilted... Farther and farther to the left, until finally, she laughed, and it snapped clean off her body and into the pool of blood that once was her left arm.

All he could do was shake violently, his mouth open in a silent scream as the wind nearly knocked him out.

When Spencer woke up, he couldn't breathe.

His eyes shot open and his hand clutched at his chest as he tried to catch his breath. And even as he blinked rapidly, gradually realizing it was all a dream and that he was at home, his breath slowly coming back to him, the shaking he was experiencing was still very real.

The first thing he did was reach for her hand, her body, anything to let him know that she was with him.

And all he found underneath his fingers was a cold sheet.

"Y/N?" he whimpered out, turning frantically to see if he could spot her. His heart beat frantically in his chest to the point where it's all he could hear, panic starting to settle in his bones even as he scrambled out of bed and went searching for her.

On shaky legs, Spencer travelled throughout the house, a purchase they'd made only a year ago. It still hadn't entirely felt like home, but after being married for four years whilst traveling everywhere for work, they'd come to terms with that fact that home was wherever they were together. But right now the Reid house felt more foreign than usual, because things were bad, and Spencer couldn't find his wife anywhere. His home was with her, and without her, without home, he was empty.

When he stumbled into the bathroom, swinging the door open and turning on the light with fumbling, shaky hands, he heard a yelp coming from the direction of the bathtub. And when his eyes landed on his wife, huddled in an empty tub and visibly shaking just as badly as he was, his world corrected just a little bit.

"Baby?" he whispered, silently asking if it was alright to approach her.

All she did was stare blankly at him, her body trembling as tears silently streamed down her face. Her bottom lip was wobbling, and it was then that he knew she wouldn't be able to speak.

"Y—You had a bad dream, too?" he whispered again. She nodded, still shaking, and the tiny sob that cracked through her closed lips gave him permission to move forward.

He was still anxious as he got in the tub with her, cuddling up next to her and letting her fall tirelessly into his open arms. He hugged her tightly, resting his chin on the top of her head and feeling tears of his own start to well in his eyes as her breathing labored. This time he could audibly hear her breathing, just as shaky as her body was, and even though she made no sound, it didn't take a genius to understand that she was silently sobbing.

The wetness from her tears soaked through his thin tee shirt, and with every second she hugged him tighter and tighter, her breathing getting heavier until she eventually let out one, huge screaming sob that shattered his heart in two. His own tears fell hot like streams of liquid fire down his face as they cemented into the top of her head and spread throughout her own body, expelling themselves through screeches of emotional pain and a tight grip.

It was a vicious cycle that only slowed when Spencer fell backwards, causing them to fall down and Y/N to choke out a sob-infused fit of uncontrollable laughter. It was chaotic and cathartic, a vessel of release that felt very much like home to them despite the coldness that had infiltrated their dreams and made them feel hopeless and scared.

Just being there together, holding each other as they cried, slowly washed that hopelessness away until their cries became laughs, which then dissolved into a sweet, comfortable silence that further cemented the fact that they'd only been dreams.

This? Right now? This was real.

Spencer's hand gently combing back his wife's hair as it fell in her face and threatened to stick to her mouth? That was real.

Y/N's clutch on her husband's tee shirt that was sure to leave wrinkles and tear stains, the thought of the moment when he'd inevitably joked that she 'leaked' all over him making her laugh? That was real.

It wasn't long before the two of them drifted off into near-unconsciousness, laying down uncomfortably in the porcelain tub but too afraid to move that they'd endure it for the night.

Y/N loosened her clutch on Spencer's shirt, taking to placing each of her hands on his chest instead as she nuzzled her face into his neck. Her cheeks were itchy with dried tears, and the dampness of his shirt from the same thing felt oddly comforting pressed coolly against her palms.

"I love you, Spencer," she whispered.

The gravel in her voice slightly made his heart sink, but it rose again when she pressed the most loving kisses to his neck, conveying all the love and appreciation and warmth that they could. He glanced down at her hands, the glittering ring on the left one looking rather dull compared to his nightmare. But then she twitched her hand, and under the soft blue tint of the bathroom light, it glinted in a quick flash.

He placed one of his hands over hers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before whispering back, "I love you, too."

***OPTIONAL SMUT ENDING***

Waking up in a bathtub was bound to be painful, but after such a deep, dreamless sleep, Spencer and Y/N found it somewhat comforting. It was strange waking up wrapped up in each other in a bathtub after a solid hour and a half of emotional wreckage the night before, sure, but once they realized where they were, the goofy, half-asleep smiles they adorned couldn't be of any greater comfort than a warm, soft bed.

Their wordless greetings began when Y/N ran her thumb gently across the planes of her husband's chest, letting him know she was awake. He did the same, running his thumb along the inside of her other arm. Soon after, it was her whole hand, tracing his entire torso up and down for a few cycles until she reached the hem of his shirt and slipped it underneath. She closed her eyes and sighed, kissing his neck while feeling goosebumps start to rise on his skin.

Her kisses became deeper and more sloppy when he reached out and clutched her other hand, lacing their fingers together and bringing them up to his mouth. He sighed over the back of her hand, and it didn't take very long for Y/N to feel his hips twitch against her, a familiar hardness bringing a cheeky smile to her lips.

Spencer felt it against his neck, and as his whole being went into a state of utter bliss as he wondered how one single being could have this great of an effect on him.

He was hyperaware of her wandering hand as it slipped out from under his shirt in favor of slipping into another fabric. The moment her delicate fingers grazed his dick, he groaned against her hand, giving it open-mouthed kisses that well-mirrored the ones she was currently giving his neck.

After a bit of fumbling around to get him free of his pajama pants and boxers, Y/N's hand was firmly wrapped around her husbands hard, ready cock. She swiped her thumb over the tip and spread around some of the precum there before humming into his neck and starting a quick, dry pace that allowed her to feel every dip and ridge of him. Spencer's head tilted back to give her more access to her neck, causing his forehead to softly thump against the cool porcelain of the tub.

And then she made sure to pay special attention to the underside of his tip, gently rubbing circles into it with her thumb as her tongue did the same to the weak spot on his neck. These two things together, naturally, had him tensing within a matter of seconds, his throat expelling a deep groan as his dick expelled his thick, warm release over her hand.

Y/N only groaned against his throat as he finished,=. And when he did, she brought her hand to her mouth and started to lick it clean as she sat up and straddled him.

"Good morning to you, too," Spencer sighed with a small laugh as he watched her sucking off her fingers. Though her shorts were still on, she started to rock against his thigh, using her other hand on the side of the tub as leverage. "I can help you out, you know," he offered, starting to sit up.

She had other plans, but the scratchiness in his voice—no doubt because he'd just woken up but also due to the crying last night—took those plans and threw them out the window. She'd let him do whatever he wanted, something that was a usual occurrence, but when it came to his morning voice she couldn't resist.

So she waited as he sat up, his hands immediately finding their way to her shirt, which he lifted and threw out of the tub. And then he used his thumbs to gently swipe over the peak of her breasts, leaning forward to kiss her neck ad mumble "I love you," into her skin. She sighed and grinded on his thigh again, each swipe of his thumbs over her hardened nipples giving a new jolt of pleasure with each grind. She gripped his hair softly, combing through it and twirling pieces of it around her fingers, her eyes fluttering closed and her mind going numb so as to completely live in the moment and focus on the way he touched her and loved her unconditionally.

Spencer brought one of his hands down to pull at the waistband of her shorts, and against her leg, Y/N felt him grow hard again. So she lifted her hips and let him slide her shorts and underwear down, and once she got them off her legs she tossed them out with her shirt and worked at his own clothes. Due to the small space in the bathtub, things were most certainly clumsy and impatient, but once the clothing barriers were gone for good, leaving them both completely bare, it was an easy feat to stand and get easy access to each other.

Y/N whined into his mouth as he pushed her against the shower wall, her hands exploring the planes of his hack and his ass while he reached behind her and turned the shower on. Water rained down on them, freezing at first, but it got warmer each second as they made out and let their hands roam.

Soon, though, one of Spencer's hands came down to grab Y/N's thigh, and she wrapped that leg around his waist, pulling him closer as she brought her hand down to line him up.

"You don't want me to use my mouth?" he whispered into her mouth in between kisses as she ran the head of his dick through her pussy.

"Mmm... Later," she sighed back, circling his tip over her clit a few times before deeply kissing him and using her leg to pull him closer. "Right now I need you inside me."

Who was he to deny her anything? So he slowly pushed into her, dropping his head to rest on her shoulder.

The water was arm now, mostly cascading down his back, but it rolled to the front of him, accenting every forward snap of his hips with a loud smack. His thrusts were quick, but each time he went forward, he stayed there for a moment, not only to make sure he didn't go too fast and end up slipping, but also to gauge his wife's reactions— feeling her nails scratch lightly down his shoulders, the rumble her throat as she groaned at each slow circle of his hips as they connected with hers... His primary goal was to draw out every little noise and reaction from her until she was crying out with pleasure, honestly his favorite sound in the world.

The only thing that came close was when she begged.

"Baby, please," she whined, her hands reaching down to grab his ass. "I need more..."

Spencer groaned into her neck, granting her wish and setting a quicker pace drilling into her. She clenched her whole body around him, not only to draw out more pleasure, but to keep a good grip so they wouldn't fall. In the few times that they'd had sex in the shower prior to this, they'd always taken precautions by bending Y/N over the edge of the tub as he fucked her, though the floor usually ended up almost completely soaked with water by the end of it. Which, of course, was why they'd hardly ever done it.

But when you and your significant other wake up in the bathtub after a rough night, sometimes you just have to take advantage of the opportunity.

Everything seemed to work out, though, because it didn't take any time at all for them to get there. With one orgasm already under Spencer's belt and the constant thrumming of his dick against Y/N's g-spot, the two of them were only seconds away from losing themselves in blinding bliss.

Sure enough, his hips started to stutter, and she held his ass close to her as he stilled and came yet again. She cried out in high whines as her walls fluttered around him, and even as she came down, her grip on him remained, the sudden urge to be as close as possible to her husband outweighing any concern about overstimulation.

Even as he pulled out of her and started to kneel, Y/N kept her hands on him at all times, settling them finally in his wet hair as she sighed. "What are you doing?"

"You said later," is all he offered in response. "It's later."

And then he licked a long line along the inside of her thigh where his cum had started to drip out. The sight below her almost turned her on more than the touch itself, what with the way the water covered him and sprinkled his face as he looked up at her. Eventually though, the water in his eyes was too much, so he stuck to keeping them down as he gently ran his tongue through her pussy and cleaned her up, bringing on another impending orgasm for her in the process.

Y/N brushed his wet curls away from his face as he did it, gently tugging on them and rolling her hips slightly to get more friction. But he held them still, his way of telling her that he was going to take his time with her and that it would be worth it in the end.

And worth it it was. Anything he did would have been worth it, but Y/N couldn't deny the loud cries of intense pleasure as his tongue rapidly flicked over her clit, never slowing or picking up the pace. He kept at it, over and over and over until she was shaking above him, her grip in his hair so tight that it elicited moans of his own.

Once he could tell she was done, her grip becoming a little too tight, Spencer pulled away, pressing wet kisses along her body as he made his way back up to his feet.

"There," he said, kissing her cheek and then nuzzling into her neck once more. "And now we're even."

Y/N laughed, wrapping her arms around her husband and holding him tight as they stepped further into the water to wash up.

***

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Vampire Chris drunk on blood?

CW: Drunkenness, drug addiction, blood drinking, vampirism, creepy abusive comfort, WWI-period-appropriate xenophobia and brief vague possible homophobia reference, dehumanization, war whump

"Now, that'll get you blotto faster'n French liquor," Kirk says, sinking back against the muddy trench wall, careless for the dirt caking itself into the hair at the nape of his neck.

His helmet lay beside him upside down on the ground, and his brown hair was free to explode in its wealth of curls, a kind of halo around his head. He had one arm out, sleeve rolled back. His hands were caked in mud and smeared with drying dirt - above the line of his sleeve, though, the skin was paper-white, almost clammy.

It was this white skin that the vampire's fangs were buried in.

"Shit, Holden, y'gotta have 'im bite you, too." Kirk's grin widens. The shells had gone silent but every man flinches, now and then, hearing a phantom sound or feeling a rumble beneath their feet.

At least it's finally stopped goddamn raining.

The venom rolls through Kirk's veins, soothing his jangled nerves. He can barely feel the trembling in his hands and it feels like his mind, when it's in him. He's a farm kid from western Nebraska, the second son and not needed so much as the first to bring the crops in. So here he is, learning to love the feeling of teeth in his skin.

Maybe when he gets shipped back home he'll stick to the cities. They say the vampires have their dens there, where they can hide. You can buy venom enough to quiet your mind for a day or two, the city boys tell him.

They're in it as deep as he is, now.

Feels like half the American army is itching for venom these days.

"No thank you. I'm not gonna get sent home and start chasing fangs like the rest of you." Holden squints, looking up into the dark sky, the rolling clouds that seem far too close to the ground. "It'll rain again soon."

"When isn't it going to rain again soon? Oh, right, when it's already bloody raining." That's a Brit, they just call him Tommy. No one knows his real name.

He claims to hate them all, but since half his unit was blasted apart two days ago, he's hung with the 'Yanks' close enough. Kirk thinks he's fond of them, even if he won't admit it. Or just scared to be alone. He can understand that. He's terrified of the thought himself. "Shove the little vamp over to me, Kirk, I want some."

The vampire pulls his fangs free, licking over the wounds he's made until they close. He's a skinny little thing, pale as paper with bright red hair they stuff under his helmet when he's running medic checks in No Man's Land, trying to make him less obvious. Sure, he can't die from gas, but he can be blown to bits by a whizz-bang fast as any living soldier can.

"Please," The vampire says, turning big green eyes up to Kirk. "I, I, I'm tired, please, can I sleep?"

He's got heavy dark circles under his eyes. It's kind of cute.

"No," Kirk answers, curt, shoving the vampire away by his head, watching him fall into the mud. His uniform is marked with it, now, a dab of dirt over the 'V' sewn next to his medic's cross. There's a satisfaction, in Kirk, just in seeing the little thing laid low.

He won't die in this war, and Kirk probably will, but before that happens he can at least hurt something he can see. You can't see old Fritz when you fire on him from a distance - but you can see a vampire flinch in the dirt. It's not much.

It's something.

"Must be daytime," Holden speaks up, still staring up at the clouds. "You can't tell, weather like this, but if the fangs're tryin' to sleep, must be day."

"He sleeps when we're done with him, and not a moment before." Kirk's voice is a murmur, eyes half-closed. He's drifting in it, the way the venom dulls and deadens the eternal ache in his back and legs. The Germans could come roaring over the bags right this second and Kirk wouldn't give a damn at all. Let them kill him, at least he can go with venom in his veins, not as a basket case carried off the field. "Not a second before. Go on, bloodsucker. Get over to Tommy and help him get some shut-eye, huh?"

"I've been drinking all night, pulled some rations off someone," Tommy groans, rubbing his fingers at his temples. "It's done no good at all." It's a funny little gesture, so oddly normal and casual. Reminds Kirk of home.

His throat tries to close, homesickness bowling him over. The wish to return to his mother's worn smile, sit down to dinner and have her ask him about his day, when his problems revolved around the harvest and the hard backs of the pews in church-

He takes a breath, forcing it back, and gives the vampire a vicious kick in the ribs, listening to his high-pitched cry and how he curls around himself with a smile of his own.

Oh, he'll die, probably. The others from his town already have. But he can remind himself he's still alive, for now. One way or another. He can cause pain he can't feel himself, for once.

"I said get over to Tommy and smooth out his sharp bits, bloodfuck."

"Yes, um, y-yes, Kirk," The vampire says, pulling himself onto his hands and knees. His fingers are smashed into the mud deep enough to nearly disappear. If they could only get a few days of sunlight to dry out all this dirt, it wouldn't be such hell.

As it is, his socks've been damp for weeks, his boots feel like they're caging his feet in a swamp. He's worried about trenchfoot and trying not to think about it. He stole these boots off a dead German when his own started to fall apart, anyway.

He could've probably gotten new ones, but... it had felt good, taking something from Fritz after Fritz took so much from him.

Kirk tries not to remember that the German soldiers he fights have never caused him a single moment's harm on purpose. They're only fighting for the same reasons he is - because someone higher up who doesn't give a damn about them said to.

Kirk had been all gung-ho for the war until he'd been sent over here to fight it. All those articles in the newspapers, all the speeches given by men standing in town squares... it had all made it seem so patriotic.

They never tell you, Kirk thinks bitterly, that you'll be sent into a slaughterhouse. They don't tell you you'll spend your day breaking a vampire's fingers one by one just to watch them heal back into place and listen to his little cries.

Just to pass the time.

"Trade me your flask while the fangs takes care of you," Kirk says, and Tommy hands it over easy enough.

He watches Tommy grab the vampire by one arm and yank him over, vicious and violent, making the vampire boy cry out again. The sound is starting to grate on Kirk's nerves. It makes him sound too human. He hates being reminded that every vampire used to be a person.

He drinks whatever's in the Brit's flask, and it burns down his throat just the way he needs it to. Wipes out his worries, relaxes shoulders that seem always to be tensed up nearly to his chin.

His mama's a teetotaler, back in Nebraska. He'd been one, too, until the first bombardment. Now he drinks anything he could get his hands on, and the officers mostly looked the other way.

"Bite," Tommy orders. Kirk raises his eyebrows when Tommy doesn't roll up his sleeve but pushes the vampire's face instead towards his neck, turning his head to the side to bare it.

His eyes meet Kirk's, and he smiles, bitterly. "Works faster this way," He explains. Kirk just watches as the vampire's fangs glint in the eternal dim twilight, hesitating before they bury themselves in Tommy's skin.

The little monster's back arches, pressing them chest-to-chest. A low rumble comes from somewhere deep inside, the animal sound the vampire makes during a good feed. He doesn't do it much with the regular unit any longer, they mocked him for it and one day he stopped.

The vampire's throat works as he drinks, and Tommy's arm slides around the monster's thin shoulders, forcing him closer. He's nearly kissing his forehead, this way.

It's an embrace, and altogether more intimate of one than Kirk thought he'd ever see from the cold, standoffish Brit. He feels a blush creeping up his neck and his cheeks as Tommy lets his head fall back, groaning softly in a kind of contentment as the venom hits. The sound isn't quite like a groan at all, it's more like-

"Fucking hell, Tommy, are you an invert?"

"Invert suggests I give a damn what bites me," Tommy replies, without opening his eyes. His slurred speech deepens, goes slow. His hand curves around the vampire's shoulder, holding him tightly. "I'm after oblivion, lads. I don't care what parts the fangs have that give it to me."

"Fang-chaser," Holden says, good-naturedly. Clearly not bothered the way Kirk is. Maybe that's just his farmboy past talking, that he's even unsettled at all. Maybe Tommy's got a point - who cares what's between a vampire's legs if you're only interested in the damn thing's mouth in the first place? "Fucking fang-chaser, that's what you are. End up in a den getting your hips bit like Oscar Wilde."

"Who's Oscar Wilde?"

Holden laughs. "You should try reading a book or three sometime, Kirk."

"Sure, sure, whenever I get the damn time in-between running over this blasted nothing. In any case, Tommy's definitely a fang-chaser."

"Guilty as charged... just like you two." Tommy's hand slides up into the vampire's hair, gripping tight and gently pulling backwards. The vampire's fangs slide free, and it laps at the wounds, rapidly. Tommy groans again. Kirk finds himself unable to look away at the bob of Tommy's throat. How good does it feel, in the neck? He's never thought to try it. He thinks about it now. "Turn me in to face discipline for unnatural relations with the fangs and I'll do the same to you."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it. Fucking Limey bastard." There's no real animosity in Kirk's voice. He's too distracted, drunkenly considering the vampire boy's mouth. Wondering if he knows how to kiss. "You shared your liquor, I shared our bloodsucker, we're both of us in it to our necks."

"Not me," Holden says, innocent and pure as the driven snow. As if he weren't the one to give Kirk the idea to use the venom in the first place.

Kirk throws a clot of mud at him, which he dodges, laughing. They're all laughing, soon enough, except for the fangs.

The vampire lays there, his head pressed to Tommy's chest and forcibly held in place by his arm. His eyes are slightly wide, unfocused, and Kirk leans forward.

"What's this, then? What'd you do to the fangs, Tommy?"

"Hm? Nothing. Oh, I'm pissed as can be, do they feel the liquor in your blood?"

"I'm guessing they sure do. You drunk, fangs?"

The vampire's eyes drift over to Kirk, move too far to one side, come back again. He swallows, thickly. "I... I think I, I, I am," He says, and tries to push back against Tommy's chest, to free himself.

The Brit's arm crushes him back into place, his other hand moving up to run through the vampire boy's dirt red hair, petting him like one of the ambulance dogs. Kirk and Holden laugh at the vampire's weakness. "Stay right where you are," Tommy murmurs. "Or I'll run you through with my bayonet and let you squirm all day."

"Christ," Kirk says, blinking. "That's a bit rough, isn't it?"

"He's not alive, what does it matter?" Tommy lets out a bitter little laugh. "Might as well get a preview of our own ends, shouldn't we?"

"You two, maybe." Holden crawls into the dugout, the little bed-space, a kind of cave dug in underneath the upper layers of the trench. He lays down on his back, closing his eyes, hands behind his head. "I'm going to go back home and never think of you lot ever again."

"I pray every night to make it home," Kirk says, nodding along. "Not sure anyone's listening, but I got to try, don't I?"

"What happens to the fangs, anyway?" The Brit looks up, rocking a little back and forth. As if the bloodsucker were a baby needing soothing. The vampire boy has relaxed against him, the liquor-laced blood he drank lulling him into a complacent bonelessness. Kirk watches the vampire boy's fingers start to tap over the Brit's chest, a strange movement he's seen the boy do before in his few relaxed moments between the scream of the shells. He hums, low in his throat, tuneless.

"Huh?" Kirk blinks. "What d'you mean, what happens to him?"

"After the war's done. What are they gonna do with the bloodsuckers? Can't exactly pin a bloody ribbon for valor on them and send them on their way, now can they?"

"Nope. I don't know what happens. Maybe they'll just stake them all and have done with them."

The vampire shudders, giving a little whimper. Tommy leans down, lips moving against the vampire's hair. "Ssssshhhh. Not to worry, little fangs. War's not over just yet, now is it?"

"N-... no. Not, not, not, not yet." The vampire's eyes close, pink-tinged tears creating pale tracks in his dirty face. He's a sad drunk, then, Kirk figures.

Aren't they all, these days.

"Maybe you'll outlive us all, and make fools of us for keeping you." Tommy speaks with a patronizing affection, as mocking as it is tender, petting through the creature's hair still. It's... unsettling to watch. Kirk had figured the Brits and French probably killed all their vamps, since they were all disturbed by the sight of the vampire medics when the doughboys first arrived in Europe.

This, though... this makes it seem like Tommy's known a vampire or two himself, in his life. And he's sure as fuck not unfamiliar to what venom is good for outside of giving relief from agony to the injured.

Kirk frowns, thoughtful.

He's turned into a thoughtful drunk, too, thanks to this goddamn war. Sad and thoughtful. What a fucking waste.

"Sleep," Tommy says, almost gently, to the drunk little vampire. "I've got you. Sleep, little one."

The vampire's eyes slip closed. He doesn't breathe - there's no sense of his chest rising and falling. Kirk has to look away before the sense of wrongness, watching Tommy cuddle a corpse, makes him sick.

He takes a long, long draught from the flask, and relishes the burn that reminds him he's human, and alive.

His own eyes slip shut, and he prays for an hour or two of sleep before the next screaming shell bursts overhead.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

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lattechans · 3 years

Text

𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: any romantic relationships between an elf and a human have dire consequences but you're still willing to try

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: elf!hyunjin x female reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, fluff and a hint of angst

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: praising, piv, marking, nipple play (all in all pretty vanilla love making)

𝐚/𝐧: this is for the collab project created by @binniesthighs and wow i don't think i've ever written anything like this before but i'm quite proud of it! maybe i'll write fantasy more often from now on...

₁₈₊

you were taking notice of the scenery around you; the outline of the kingdom hazy from such a great distance. this place has become like your second home after many years of traveling. as a child, you were always a wanderer, so it surprised no one when you, as an adult, decided to go off and search for the ancient elven realms that only a few humans knew about.

the first time you met an elf was entirely by coincidence, and was the main reason you chose to look for more. hyunjin was his name, and he was the most ethereal being you had ever laid your eyes upon although you found all elves to be eerily beautiful creatures – hyunjin was different.

he had shoulder length dark brown hair, his eyes warm like caramel compared to those of his parents or the other elves, who looked more cold.

only one person truly knew about you and hyunjin, and she was the reason you were able to meet like this without constant concern for others finding out the true colors of your relationship. the two of you could only go so long sneaking around the kingdom, hiding together in the halls or stealing kisses in the library when someone could see you at any moment.

hyunjin knew that if the two of you were caught together like this, you’d be banished from the kingdom without hesitation and he would never be able to see you again.

you see, the elves had no problems with human visitors, nor even friendships. in fact, the royal family was once known for welcoming humans into their family; the queen had married a human decades before you or hyunjin were even born.

however, the times changed as the queen was betrayed by her husband, who stole one of the most treasured relics in the kingdom and killed many of the creatures who lived in the kingdom as he had fled. ever since then, no romantic relationships were allowed between elves and humans as they were believed to only bring wickedness and evil to the kingdom.

it goes without saying that ever since then, elves and humans alike had been punished for such relationships and although, for the humans the consequences were only banishment and shame, for the elves – the consequences were much worse. a true heartbreak would eventually kill an elf. this is why you needed a secluded place just for the two of you, safe from suspicious eyes.

a few months ago, you had approached the lady you had to thank for all this even being possible, aelvavorna, or aelva for short. she was one of the greatest wizards known in all of the realms, her powers stretched even to the human realm. however, even with such great power she preferred to help those in need and keep a low profile, right here in this kingdom.

the surprise wasn’t that you fell for hyunjin. practically anyone from the human realm would be mad not to pine after both his handsome features and his kind, generous demeanour. the surprise, in your mind, was that he somehow fell in love with you.

and aelva understood your relationship as soon as she met the two of you. in fact, aelva was glad to help the two of you; finding the rules of the elven kingdom when it came to elf-human love.

you vividly remember how she grabbed a heavy book and a small metal box from a table and placed them on the great stone table in the middle of the dimly lit room. “i have an enchantment that can create a safe refuge for you and your love.”

she explained the workings of the enchantment to the two of you and opened the metal box, revealing an odd assortment of rings and jewels, most of them old and tattered, and collected from where you'd never know. from the box, she selected a pendant with a dark blue, rectangular stone on a silver chain. she held it aloft for the both of you to see.

“whoever wears the pendant will be the one who can open the door, and who determines what lies inside,” she explained in a whisper.

“who will be the one to keep it?”

hyunjin took your hands in his without hesitation.

“will you?”

“yes.”

aelva fastened the pendant around your neck before pulling out the book of spells and handing it to hyunjin to hold open. she touched delicate fingertips to the pendant that hung against your collarbone, her other hand coming to rest on the book hyunjin held.

with the little light filtering in through the windows from the sliver of moon hanging high in the sky, aelva began to chant in a tongue you’d never heard before, reciting the spell she read from the page. you felt a quick surge of heat that made you gasp, and in moments, it was over.

she studied you carefully, a smile on her lips before giving her final instructions.

“the one who wears the pendant needs only think of what they’d like to find behind the door—a room, a country, anywhere—and when they turn the handle, that is the place they will find inside. only the wearer of the pendant and those that take her hand may enter; all others will not be able to find the door hidden in plain sight. but bear in mind, the pendant creates only illusion. nothing you find beyond this door is real, except for the two of you. but you will be safe here.”

you remember squeezing aelva’s hand, a tear rolling down your cheek. “thank you.”

“anything for true love.”

just before you left, hyunjin leaned down to kiss your lips with a promise. “i’ll meet you there tomorrow night.”

and so he did, not only the next night, but many, many more nights to come.

and now, in the shadow of an ancient tree, the last traces of sunlight were finally falling below the horizon, you watched as the streams of light glimmered across the fields, shining lights of green and yellow trailing behind them.

the tiny creatures living together in the elven kingdom illuminated the landscape as you leaned back against your lover’s chest, letting your head fall back onto his broad shoulder as you looked up toward the sky. his hand, warm and trembling, brushed down the side of your neck and shoulder, pushing the sleeve of your dress away so that he could kiss the bare skin underneath.

you sat between his legs, the smooth material of his dress shirt soft against your back, and you sighed as one of the fluttering lights bounced off a flower just a short distance away. you reached back, placing a delicate hand over hyunjin’s on your shoulder, and sighed. “i wish this could last forever.”

you felt his exhale against your ear. “so do i, my love,” he whispered before pulling your hand up to his lips for a chaste kiss. but alas, your time was running short. you both needed to return home, and if you weren’t back soon, you’d surely be missed.

hyunjin’s fingertips grazed the tiny flower buds he had carefully woven into your hair, placed just so to adorn you. but as the minutes dragged on, though all you wanted was to stay cradled in his arms, you knew it was time to leave the meadow and head for home.

hyunjin helped you to your feet and took up the bag you had brought with you, filled with delicious pastries and fruit, all the while, holding your hand tightly in his. as you walked through the meadow that was located on a far away hill, the glow of the grass and setting sun faded away behind you. it was only a short walk before you came to the door which was only known to you and hyunjin.

as if it had sprouted from the ground, the great door, seemingly wood and iron with an appointed arch over the top, stood in the downhill. as you stepped to the other side, you entered the same meadow that was connected to the kingdom, however, the huge door disappeared behind you.

a simple spell that hid you and hyunjin’s romance from the peering eyes of anyone else. you reached for the small pendant hanging on a chain around your neck and tucked it safely under the collar of your dress.

before parting, hyunjin wrapped his arm around you, his hand resting at the base of your spine, pulling you close for a languid kiss, slow and silent, neither of you wanting to let go. the danger of the kiss making both of you feel lightheaded. a breath passed as he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours for only a moment, knuckles brushing your cheek. you exchanged no words, but you felt it, his love and passion that you returned tenfold under the cover of the kingdom now wrapped in the night .

you dared to stay long enough on the quiet alley to watch him disappear around the corner before hurrying the opposite way yourself. your heart full but aching.

more months passed this way, your rendezvous with hyunjin becoming more and more frequent. with this secret hideaway you shared, it was easier to spend time together, to crave each other’s presence in a place where no one could separate you. each time you met, hyunjin held your hand in his as you pictured the location you chose to visit on the inside. never did hyunjin make a request, even when you asked him to. it was his gift to you, he said.

“where to tonight, my love?” he asked, a dreamy tone in his voice that lit a small fire in some deep fragment of your soul. you wrapped your fingers around the pendant, concealed under your clothes during the day, and sighed.

you knew exactly where you wanted to go tonight. holding the thought in your mind, you reach for the emptiness, only for the door to erect out of thin air, turning the handle, the fantasy materializing in front of your eyes.

you found yourself in an unfamiliar room with a comfortable air about it. the walls and carpets were dark, rich reds and deep green floral patterns warmed the atmosphere before you. heavy wooden furniture was arranged just so, dark mahogany woods twisting in ornate patterns that looked like the roots of trees that had grown out of the floor. candles burned on the dressing table and a mirrored vanity, tossing shadows across the room, leading your eyes to a bed covered in velvety bedsheets.

“but this is—” hyunjin breathed.

“your bedroom. i wanted to see it.”

with the door safely closed behind you, you led hyunjin to his bed – the illusion of his bed – and sat beside him on the plush bedding. he dropped down beside you, running his hands over the designs on the blanket, an exact replica of the one he slept under every night.

everything in the room was exactly as it would be if he returned to his home at this exact moment. though it was almost uncanny to be sitting there, he felt a fluttering in his chest as he gazed upon you, your form against the backdrop of his most private space.

you, on the other hand, could hardly stop from observing the room, curious as to every detail, even if this was only a false vision of the real thing.

it was as close as you might ever come, and you decided to make it count. an urgency washed over you, the intimacy of peering into hyunjin’s bedroom overcoming your senses with a haze of lust. you reached out to his face, suddenly desperate to touch him, to feel his body, to be near him in the most carnal sense of the word.

you breathed his name before he took you in his arms and pulled you close, your lips crashing into his as instincts began to overcome him as well. this was where you belonged, in his arms, in his bed.

you opened up to him, letting your jaw fall open as he forced his tongue into your heated mouth, breathy moans and gasps escaping the both of you as your body rolled against his. his hands roamed down your back and around to your hips as you clung to his neck, both gripping the other as if you would never let go. clumsily, hyunjin’s slender fingers fumbled with the laces down the sides of your dress, messy in their desperation to remove the layers of clothes separating his body from yours.

“please, my love,” he whispered, hitching your breath in your throat as you realized he wanted you as passionately as you wanted him.

you rose to your knees and began untying the various fastenings of your dress until it fell loosely around your shoulders. hyunjin sat up to help pull the fabric over your head, leaving you in only your white underclothes, an image he held in his mind during lonely nights in this very room, when the two of you could not be together for one reason or another.

he marveled at your body like it was the first time he was seeing it, though this was far from the truth. the glow of your skin in the candlelight left him breathless, the curves of your jaw, your neck, your nearly exposed breasts, and your thighs almost too much for him to handle.

his hands traced the line of your shoulder, down your arms to your wrists, where he took hold and pulled your hands up to his lips, kissing the tips of your fingers as his dark lashes fluttered closed, drinking you in with his lips instead of his eyes.

clothing was discarded piece by piece, flung into a pile somewhere on the floor until the both of you were bare, chests heaving for breath as he kissed you, longing for your taste on his tongue.

you dragged your fingernails over his defined shoulders and chest as he kissed your neck, his teeth digging into the soft flesh he found there.

his hands wandered your hips and thighs, indecisive fingertips squeezing the curves of your legs and the globes of your ass until he couldn’t fight the instincts in his head any longer.

hooking his strong hands under your knees, hyunjin flipped you over on the bed, claiming a position on top of you where he had better access to your body. thick erection pressed tightly against his stomach, he leaned forward and captured one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking the tender flesh of its underside as his hand cupped the other side of your chest.

with nothing to dampen your moans, you cried out in pleasure as his lips moved to cover the hard bud of your nipple, his teeth digging in just enough to bring you to a place of dizziness.

“my love, ” he moaned between wet kisses, lips pressed against your skin with a shudder.

he sucked harder still as his dominant hand pinched your opposite nipple and massaged the mound underneath it in circles. you writhed under him, calling out his name as he ravaged your chest. your fingers burrowed into his locks, your body scrambling for anything to hold on to as if you would float up without doing so.

your ankles came to lock around his lower back, heels pressing into his spine as he nipped at your most sensitive areas, the ones he had come to know so well.

just as your neck was starting to feel unbearably hot from the pleasure, beads of sweat rolling down both your forehead and his back, he finally released your breast with a pop of his lips, gasping as he came up for air. he leaned back on his thighs, sitting upright to survey the traces of love bites and fingertip bruises he’d left across your chest, carefully kept below where the neckline of your dress would cover the next day.

as both of you caught your breath, he stared down at the pendant that gave you this power, which rested perfectly between your breasts, glinting as it caught the light from the nearest candle. it sent hyunjin’s head spinning as he touched his throbbing cock in one hand, preparing himself for you.

“let me fill you, please.” his thighs tensed between your legs, spread wide for him, straining to hold himself back. a glistening bead of pre-cum formed at his tip, but he didn’t break eye contact with you as he spread it over the blushing head of his cock with his thumb.

“please,” you whispered, hardly able to make a sound, as hungry for him as he was for you.

hyunjin released his grip between his legs and instead reached under your knees, folding your legs into your body, knees on either side of your chest. you felt him pressing forward, putting his weight first in his hands against the back of your thighs, spreading you wider in preparation. you wept for him, slick and trembling from his ministrations on your chest and the sight of his impossibly thick cock. you knew he would fit inside you, but only just.

with a sharp inhale, he teased his cock at your hole, the head swiping at your sensitive skin before he started to push himself inside you, inch by inch as he groaned. you felt the delicious burn as his thickness stretched your walls, both inside and out, to accept him.

“that’s it, my good girl, let me fill you,” he grunted, sweat dripping off the tip of his sloped nose and onto your chest as you whined in pleasure. he pulled out slowly before thrusting inside again, this time forcing himself inside you with a singular motion that had you clawing at his shoulders, mewling as his cock filled you completely.

hyunjin moaned deliciously as the pushing and pulling began, the dragging of his thickness creating intense friction between your legs. the sheer size of his cock splitting you in two had your head thrashing from side to side as he began to lose himself, lips moving almost on their own.

his eyes rolled back in his head with a gasp as his hip bones touched your thighs as he continued to pound himself into you. his thrusts came harder and faster yet, the muscles in your thighs trembling from being spread so wide for so long. the wet squelching of his cock sliding in and out of your heat couldn’t drown out hyunjin’s cries.

“y/n, oh my g– mine, my girl. mine” his words fell from his lips like a prayer, begging for salvation but not forgiveness, finally pushing you to release. your thighs bucked up against the strength of his legs as your neck and back arched severely off the bed, head thrown back in a scream as you came on his thick cock.

despite how you gasped, hyunjin didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, until you were filled with him. slick dribbled from your hole, wetting his cock even more as he slid in and out of you, pushing himself past his own limit.

“my love, i love you, i love you,” you panted, reaching to squeeze the muscles of his sturdy arms, impossibly flexed as he thrusted deep inside one last time before coating your insides with his load, his entire body shaking.

he collapsed beside you then, lungs gasping for breath, eventually pulling you into his chest, glistening with sweat and heat. his forehead dropped onto your shoulder and he curled into you, silent sobs wrenching from his lips as he began to cry. numbly, you lifted your arms to encircle his waist before sinking down to the mattress, your bodies slotting together as you held each other..

as soon as he could gather himself again, hyunjin spoke.

“i just want to spend forever with you but–” he didn’t have to say what it was. you didn’t want him to, afraid that admitting it aloud would cause your world of illusion to disappear.

“what will we do?” you asked, your heart breaking at the sight of him. tears welling up in your own eyes.

after a moment of silence, hyunjin slowly placed the pendant around his own neck and took your hand, pulling you up quickly. with one deep breath, he reached for the door the same door you came in from, pulling you alongside him as he lifted the iron handle of his door.

you followed, and with a flash of light, you stood on a green hillside at sunrise, grass under your bare feet, your bare body now covered with a white dress of his creation. you looked up at him and found him dressed not in robes, but in a simple white tunic and pants, the wind touseling the fabric.

he held both your hands as you gazed out behind him, the breathtaking view of the similar countryside dotted with stone fences and thatched roof cottages. everything around you felt calm, including the look in his eyes. “why here?” you asked.

“because,” he replied, “in a place like this, i’m just hyunjin, and you’re just you.”

tears welled in your eyes as he reached up to stroke your cheek. perhaps it was for the last time, you thought with a twinge in your chest, maybe this was the end for the two of you. you couldn’t go on like this. but his lips fluttered lightly over yours, pulling your eyes up to meet him when he released the kiss. his hands found your face, and you waited for the final goodbye.

but you found forever in his eyes. hyunjin tucked the pendant into his shirt and offered you his hand. you took it and began to walk alongside him, over the rolling hill, toward where the sun was now peeking over the horizon.

he squeezed your hand in an unspoken promise.

he’d leave everything behind, the kingdom, everything – to stay here with you. he would wander these pastures by your side for the rest of his days, hand in hand.

maybe this world was merely a fantasy, but it was the place you could be together. it was real as long as you were together.

#celebratethemthighs #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin smut #hyunjin scenarios #elf hyunjin #skz fluff #skz smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #skz scenarios

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pan-de-queer · 2 years

Note

50 for scarlet widow from the kissing prompts pls and ty ily

an: i’m a slow writer now 💀 it also became angstier than i planned sorry babe alskdjaslkdjs ilysm 🥺

50. A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.

When they first started dating, Wanda thought she knew exactly what she was getting into dating a superhero. She’d been so sure of the boundaries she could set when it came to separating their personal life and hero life. But Wanda should’ve known that her girlfriend would always manage to prove her wrong.

Natasha tries to smile the injury away, but the stretch of her cheek pulls at the gash running to her jaw and Wanda knows that no amount of widow training had ever prepared Natasha for this (for being careful, for being cared for, for being loved).

(Wanda was never trained to be loved, either.)

There’s a lump stuck in Wanda’s throat at the sight of her girlfriend’s purpling eye and the cut running from her cheek to her jaw, the wound shoddily cleaned and badly drying. Wanda’s hands are shaking and there’s a sting in her eyes that she does her best to blink away.

It’s not the first injury Natasha’s ever had, but it’s the first injury past a bruise that Wanda’s ever seen on her girlfriend. It’s the first close call they’ve had since they started dating.

“It’s just a scratch,” Natasha murmurs, cold fingers wrapping around her shaking ones as Natasha pulls her closer.

Wanda fumbles to grip her hand back, voice soft and watery as she stutters out a breath. “You promised you’d be careful.”

“I know.” No apology, no explanation. “I’m still here. I’m okay.”

And Wanda doesn’t know what to say. What to do.

She wants to scream and cry and laugh and hold her so close she never loses sight of her again.

She wants to do all of that. Say so much more than that. But her hands are moving before the words can form and her lips are searching for Natasha’s, searching for the warmth and solidness and reality that she’s here. She’s here and alive and okay.

She kisses her rough, hungry and desperate to feel the solid warmth beneath her lips, her fingers, her arms.

Natasha understands (she always does). And she kisses her back just as sure, just as desperate to comfort, to reassure, to love.

She knows this won’t be the last time this happens. Knows she’ll always worry when Natasha has to work separate from her (will most likely worry even if Natasha is working right next to her on the field). But she also knows that she needs this. This messy reassurance that Natasha will always find a way back to her. That Wanda will always be waiting for her.

Their kisses slow, languorous and wet with tears. Wanda pulls away for a second, only to trail up a warm cheek and kiss the outline of the darkening bruise marring one closed eye. Her kisses move south then, dropping a quick kiss to Natasha’s lips before skating down. Down to her chin, the cut on her cheek, the metallic taste of a fresh scar, to her jaw, the trembling feeling of her pulse point beneath her lips, the sweat on her neck, the heavy exhale that shakes her throat.

Kisses that remind her that she’s here. She’s okay. They're okay.

They’ll be okay.

#mcu #scarlet widow #black widow #scarlet witch #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #i opened three tabs about knife wounds for this thing #i didn't use any of them :))))#snowonebutyou #for my bully babe #ask and u shall receive #asks #i feel meh about this but ik u will say otherwise 🙄

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justanobsessedfangirl · 3 years

Text

The Sound of Silence - The Maze Runner Newt Imagine

Request from @ausblack: was wondering if you could write a newt x reader where she’s like the new greenie and the only girl. Everyone think she’s mute because she never talked and Newt decides to take care of her since he’s the only one she seems comfortable with. One day another glader attacks her making her scream and for some reason Newt recognizes that it’s her, he gets protective and helps her out. Eventually she speaks her first words to him and they both get together in the end

Masterlist

Warning: Some mature language

Author’s Note: Sorry I haven’t posted in...a while. If it helps, you can think of me as a turtle. I’m damn slow and it’s pretty frustrating to wait but I’ll get there in the end! I hope I did this idea some justice because I thought it was pretty cool. Thank you for the request, I’m always open! (just remember the turtle analogy.)

Word Count: 3.6k

You stood in darkness. There was nothing in the darkness except for a quiet hum that rumbled the floor and the walls and the ceiling. It was power, some type of power that was running through this room and making it rise.

You stood in darkness. And you waited.

You weren’t alone, because your fear was so strong it had formed an icy hand, which wrapped around your throat, so tight it was hard to breathe. It took every ounce of your concentration to inhale, and exhale, and inhale again, and all the while the box hummed and rose, and you stood in darkness.

The hum cut off abruptly, the room halting with it. You strained your ears, and, through the loud beating of your heart, you could hear voices. Four heartbeats passed before the roof opened and the room was flooded with light.

You cringed away, raising a hand to block the brightness. Through squinted eyes, you saw boys encircling the room, level with where the roof would have been. Their voices floated down, gasps and shouts of “It’s a girl!”, and the sounds of shoving, bodies against bodies.

You took a step back, but there were boys above you there too. They were everywhere. One jumped down, making the whole box shake, and then you were turning around and around, looking for a break in the boys, a spot you could run through, someone to help, anything, anything, anything--

“It’s alright, love. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You whipped around to face the boy. He had his hands raised, and his eyebrows were knit together in sympathy. He had a kind face, with soft brown eyes.

Even so, any words you had were caught in your throat, caught by fear’s hand, trapped. Trapped, just like you. Your breaths came faster, your heartbeat quicker. Your hands trembled.

Across from you, the boy took a step back and looked up at the others. “Right, all you bloody slintheads need to back up!” He looked at one of the boys closest to the box. “Alby?”

The boy, Alby, nodded, then shouted, “Everyone, back to work!”

The crowd didn’t move. Your heart stopped. Your blood went cold.

Then, with a chorus of grumblings, the mob slowly dispersed. Boys peeled off this way and that, revealing grassy fields and large mountains in the distance. You peered closer. No, not mountains.

Walls.

“It’s a strange story, love, but we’ll tell you all of it,” the first boy said.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of the walls.

“I’m Newt. D’you remember your name?”

No. You’d realized in the darkness that you couldn’t remember anything. You felt strangely detached, like you were watching some other girl with no memories who was abducted and brought to a strange place. You felt pity for her. You felt sad for her. And you kept drifting along, only half-listening to the boy next to her, the one who said his name was Newt.

Newt stepped closer. You watched the girl watch him, watched his mouth move, watched the girl take light, careful steps to the edge of the box and climb out. You watched her stumble.

It was the feeling of Newt’s hand on your back, steadying you, that brought you back to reality.

“I’ll take you on the tour, love,” he said to you, pulling his hand back. In a soft voice, he added, “Don’t worry. You’re safe here.”

Your lips parted. Words sat on the tip of your tongue. Are you sure and How do you know and Please be right. And, also, lingering in the back, Thank you.

You swallowed and looked away from Newt.

He started walking. He kept a slow pace, both because of his limp and so he could intermittently point out buildings and people. “That’s Frypan, he’s the cook, and there’s the kitchen. Next to that’s the Homestead. You’ll be sleeping there.”

He spoke with such authority that you wanted to ask what his role in this little society was. If there was a cook, there must be a leader, and you hadn’t seen any adults around. But your tongue wouldn’t move, so all you could do was tilt your head to the side and look at Newt.

He scanned your face, then nodded. “I’m Second-in-Command. Alby’s in charge, but he won’t raise a fuss about you sleeping in the Homestead. We…” Newt ran a hand through his dirty blond hair before making eye contact again. “We haven’t…” He sighed. “You’re the only girl here. We don’t really know how the rest of those shanks will react.” Noticing your instinctive recoil, Newt hastened to say, “But you’ll be okay. Most of these lot are good guys. And the ones that aren’t...Well, they know the consequences. We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

There was that fear again, running its hands along your arms, past your shoulders, to your neck. It squeezed painfully around your throat, so painfully that tears threatened to spring up in your eyes. You gave Newt a quick nod and looked away, into the fields he was leading you toward.

He read you like a book and quickly switched topics. “These are the Gardens. When I don’t have other duties, I like to come out here. It’s good work, but it’s also just a good place to be. It’s peaceful.”

A short, round boy darted out of a row of tomato plants, cackling madly. Lumbering behind him was a tall boy with a shock of curly blond hair, who shouted, “Come back here, Chuck!” The younger boy, Chuck, gave no indication that he’d heard. He disappeared back into the plants, with the tall boy following him.

Newt sighed. “It’s mostly bloody peaceful,” he grumbled.

The smallest of smiles twitched your lips up. You forced them back down, reminding yourself that you were scared, that you couldn’t trust anyone here, and that the way Newt grinned down at you did not make you feel safe.

“We’ll have you start working here tomorrow, all right, love?” Newt asked.

You chewed on your lip, staring over the plants. Your eyes landed on the tomatoes, right where the boisterous duo had gone through. Flutters of anxiety filled your stomach.

“I’ll be with you. There won’t be anything to worry about.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Besides waking up with no memory, that is,” Newt added.

Your lips betrayed you again. Newt grinned, and the butterflies that had been flying inside your chest slowly started to settle down.

Newt led you through the rest of the Glade. You saw the Deadheads and the Blood House, learned about the various jobs and Keepers, and, through it all, you didn’t say a single word. Newt never pushed you. Instead, he watched for facial expressions. He responded to any tap on the arm or flick of your chin. He lingered in the comfortable silences.

As you sat in your room in the Homestead that night, knowing that Newt was asleep in the next room over, you felt your shoulders loosen, just a little. The fear was still there. It still held your throat tightly in its grasp. But you felt a trickle of hope springing in the cracks.

You woke the next morning to a knock on your door. Opening it, you saw Newt.

“Ready to get to work, love?”

You nodded. The smile you gave him was uneasy and weak, nervous and gone in a flash, but it made Newt’s eyes shine with happiness. He smiled the whole way to the Gardens. Under the shining sun, you weeded plants, hoed new rows, and picked vegetables.

Newt stuck by your side. He explained more about the Glade; all you had to do was point to a person or a place and he’d run through it, even if he’d already explained the other day. A few times, you found yourself picking out things you already knew, just so you could keep hearing his voice.

“And then Chuck convinced Minho and Thomas,” Newt said between laughs. Behind him, the sun sat heavy on the horizon, haloing him in gold. “He convinced Minho and Thomas to take the rest of Gally’s clothes and--” Newt broke off, devolving into laughter.

You hadn’t met Minho and Thomas yet -- they’d been busy in the Maze all day yesterday and in the Runner’s Hut all last night -- but you’d heard a lot about them from Newt by now. You’d also heard about “Captain” Gally, and you figured he probably deserved whatever ended up happening to his clothes.

Beneath the cover of Newt’s voice, you felt comfortable letting out a small laugh. It was the first noise you’d made in the Glade.

Slowly, Newt’s laughter stopped. He stared at you, eyes soft, his lips pulled up in a small, pleased smile. He didn’t say anything.

You looked down at the basket in your hands, trying to stop yourself from blushing.

After a second, Newt said, “Before we go to dinner, there’s one last place I want to show you.” He took the basket from you and handed it off to Zart, the Keeper of the Gardens.

The pair of you headed off towards the far wall, away from the buggy Gardens, the dark woods, and the noisy kitchen, where a hungry horde of Gladers clamored to get their dinner.

“It’s not one of the really important places,” Newt said as you walked, “so I didn’t show it to you yesterday.” His hands swung awkwardly at his sides, as though he wanted to reach one out, maybe to guide you, maybe to hold you, but couldn’t decide whether he should or not. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted him to or not.

All you did was nod.

Newt continued, “But I think, maybe, it could be good.”

As you neared the wall, you felt your stomach drop at the sheer size. You craned your head back and back and back, trying to see the top, trying to see if any ivy led all the way up. How could there ever be a way out of those walls?

A warm hand touched your arm.

Your head shot back down, eyes landing on Newt’s. The faintest pink burned on his cheeks, a glow from the sunset, maybe, or... You shook the thought out of your mind as he pointed to the wall.

Carved into the wall in front of you were names. Immediately, your gaze landed on Newt’s. Next to his, Alby’s name was done in blocky letters. Thomas and Minho had made their marks. Chuck’s name was squeezed between the two, as he often was in real life, when he’d inject himself into their days. You recognized enough names to figure out that every Glader had been here once and had left a permanent memento of themselves. Some of those mementos, like the ones with a single sharp line running through them, had already outlasted their creators.

“I thought, I don’t know...I thought maybe seeing other names would help you remember yours.” Newt rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the ground.

Your heart felt warm in your chest. Yearning took over. You reached a hand out, tracing the closest names, looping through the letters, dotting the i’s, crossing the t’s. You wanted to remember.

Please remember. Remember for Newt. Remember for me.

You pulled your hand away and pointed to Newt’s side, where his knife was strapped. He unsheathed it out without a moment’s hesitation. When he handed it to you, his fingers brushed over yours and you could swear your heart stopped. You had to fight to keep your composure, especially with the feeling of his intense stare as he watched you carve the first letter of your name into the wall.

You felt, rather than saw, Newt step closer to you. Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, his smile almost took the breath out of you. Your hand stilled as you finished the first letter.

Newt repeated it, sounding almost awed. “Keep going, love.”

Forcing your eyes away from him, you continued carving. Each letter of your name was done with precision, right below Newt’s. It felt fitting to do it there, like he was some guardian angel looking over you, keeping you safe. Being around him made you feel...the English language wasn’t sophisticated enough to describe it. You felt warm. And calm. And the kind of happiness that made your cheeks hurt and your jaw ache, even when you weren’t smiling.

When you finished, Newt said your name, his voice reverent. “Y/N.” He repeated it. He glanced down at you. “Am I saying it right, love?”

He’d gotten closer than you’d thought. His breath nearly hit the tips of your eyelashes. If you moved only a few inches you’d be touching him.

You nodded.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nodded again. He was so close you felt dizzy. You would’ve agreed to just about anything he said at that point.

“Are you able to speak?”

Your nod was more hesitant this time, slowed by dread for his next question.

“Why don’t you?”

You wanted to look away but his eyes had a hypnotic hold on you. You shrugged half-heartedly. How could you explain that every time you tried to speak your throat closed up? That your mouth went dry and you forgot every word you knew? That your heart started beating erratically, and your palms began to sweat, and it felt like walls were closing in, and you felt the fear again?

Newt nodded. He took a step back, the tension in the air dissolving. Jutting his chin at the wall, he said your name again. A smile crept onto his face. It was that soft, sweet smile that had gotten you through your first days in the Glade.

It got you through the next week, too. A week spent trying other jobs, where your lack of communication proved rage-inducing for a certain captain and ultimately landed you back in the Gardens.

It was rare that Newt wasn’t by your side. Today, though, he and Alby were caught up in meetings with the other Keepers, trying to figure out how to discipline a Glader who’d been making inappropriate comments and trying to instigate fights.

Newt had told you the basics the other day. You hadn’t wanted him to go into detail. He’d seen that on your face and quickly switched to telling you about the first crops they’d tried to plant, which had been such a disaster that the Creators sent up multiple books on farming the next month. The conversation was much lighter from then on.

Being with Newt was so easy. Most of the others pushed you too hard to talk, which only made your throat dry up and your tongue feel like lead. You wanted to talk with them, sometimes, but...you couldn’t get the words out. You couldn’t think of them when it came time to speak. You had a mental block, barricades set up to keep you from feeling too comfortable here. Part of you needed to feel the fear that came with trying to speak. If you stopped being afraid, you’d start getting complacent.

The sound of the Walls grating to a close struck the same feeling in you, even though you were safe in the Gardens, well away from the terrors of the Maze.

“Y/N.” Zart’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. “Good job today. Some of the other shanks left a bunch of tools out, could you bring them to the shed? I have to track down Chuck.” His normally placid expression morphed into a scowl as he shook his head, his blond mop of hair flopping over his forehead.

You nodded. The two of you split off among the rows, Zart’s cursing fading as you approached a scattering of trowels and rakes.

You pursed your lips in disappointment before stooping down and trying to gather everything. You ended up with two rakes and a hoe tucked under your right arm, a few trowels held close to your chest, and a sharp hand pruner held carefully in your left hand.

Boys.

You huffed as you headed for the shed. It was a crudely constructed building that was made in the first few weeks of the Glade’s existence. You’d heard some other boys say that the first Gladers originally slept here, but Newt hadn’t mentioned it so you weren’t sure how true that was. If they had slept there, you didn’t envy them. It was smaller than your room in the Homestead, which was a far cry from large. You supposed it was in a nice enough location, though; it stood on the edge of the Gardens, close enough to the woods to catch some shade, but not so deep that you were alone.

As you neared the shed, you saw that you actually weren’t alone. A figure paced next to it, head bent low, features hard to make out.

You purposely tried to walk louder as you came closer, hoping you wouldn’t scare him. At the sound of a twig crunching under your foot, his head shot up.

You’d definitely seen him before; he had thick, dark eyebrows and a strong jaw. The bruise forming under one of his eyes was new, as was his now crooked nose. You were pretty sure his name was Connor.

“Y/N,” he said, stilling in his tracks. He made no move to help you carry the tools.

You nodded, gave him a tight smile, and headed for the door. One of the rakes almost slipped from under your arm, but you squeezed it tightly and took a few hurried steps.

Connor crossed in front of you. You veered to the side. His arm shot out and grabbed your shoulder, hard enough to jostle it and send the rakes and hoe tumbling to the ground.

“You think you’re better than me or something?” He was speaking quickly, too quickly, you didn’t have a chance to respond or adjust the trowels that were slipping through your grasp or push him away. In one quick movement, he turned and slammed you into the shed wall. Two trowels dropped. You clutched the rest closer, your breaths turning into nervous pants.

“Is that why you don’t talk? You think you’re better than me? Than us?” Conor loomed over you. He glowered at you, his eyes afire with rage. “Answer me.” He slammed you back again. Your head cracked into the wall and you let out a soft whimper.

“So you can talk.” His grip was vice-like on your shoulders. His nails dug into your flesh like he wanted to tear you apart. “So why don’t you talk? Why don’t you fucking talk?” Again, he slammed you into the wall.

Were you crying? Were you talking? Were you making any noise at all?

Were you even breathing?

“You make this place even harder to be in. We don’t need some fucking mysterious mute bitch when we have to solve the Maze. Don’t you get it? You’re a distraction!” Every few words were punctuated with a slam. The air whooshed out of your lungs in a pathetic cry for help.

You’d never tried harder to talk.

But now there was so much fear in you. Not existential fear -- real, in-your-face danger.

One of Connor’s hands released your shoulder. It ached in relief until his fingers wrapped around your throat and he leaned in close to say, “Fine. Don’t talk.” And he squeezed.

Each second was an eon. Your lungs screamed for air. Blackness lingered on the edges of your vision, closing in, closing in, closing in, leaving only a pinprick of light. Your legs went numb, as if they’d just fallen asleep, and the feeling worked its way up your body, down your arms, to your hands, where the last trowel and the hand pruner were about to fall.

Hand pruner.

You had no more air, you had no more energy, and yet your body was moving and you were thrusting the sharp end of the hand pruner into Connor’s gut.

He let you go with a cry, curling over and holding his stomach. Air rushed into your lungs, only to leave a second later as you screamed, “Help!”

Connor groaned and straightened up enough to launch a clumsy fist at you. You twisted to the side. Your foot caught on a gardening tool, sending you sprawling to the ground, clambering away on hands and knees, still gasping for air.

A wet hand grabbed your ankle. You kicked, connecting with something solid, and yelled out, “Someone help!” The hand left your ankle for a second, then you heard something heavy moving in the grass, and the hand clamped down on your calf.

You tried to wriggle away. People were coming from the Gardens, you could see their black silhouettes as the sun set behind them. You heard your name, shouted by your rescuers and growled by Connor. You kicked at him again. His other hand caught your foot, using you to pull his body further onto your legs.

He was heavy. He slammed a fist into your back, knocking you flat.

“Get off of her!” Your rescuers closed in. They wrenched Connor off and surrounded him. Warm hands, soft hands, gentle hands, helped you stand. Connor’s blood rolled down the backs of your legs.

“Are you okay?” Newt asked, his voice frantic. He held you, his touch like feathers on your arms, as he scanned your body up and down, looking for any injuries. “Is that--” he started to ask, staring at your legs. Mid-sentence, Newt turned away, calling for a Med-jack.

“It’s not mine,” you interrupted him. The words were hoarse and quiet but audible, and Newt whipped back around to face you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

His touch slid down your arms, his hands enveloping your own. “I knew that was you yelling,” he said. His eyebrows lowered and his face grew serious. “I knew it was your voice. I knew it was you, love.”

Words hung on the tip of your tongue. Words you’d meant to say your first day in the Glade. Words you’d wanted to say every day since. Words that you could never get out. “Thank you,” you finally said.

Newt smiled, so wide and so bright that your heart started beating like you were sprinting. “I’ll always be here for you, love.”

The distance between the two of you was quickly fading. “I know you will,” you said, and then, again, “Thank you.” A second later, your lips met. And you felt like thanking him all over again.

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inkformyblood · 3 years

Text

i have not yet learned to hold you

Cody and Obi-Wan flee from the newly formed Empire and the shadows that wear Cody’s face. They travel as refugees, war-torn and clinging to each other.

Day 04 Undercover/Undercover as a Couple

Pairing: Codywan TW: violence/intrusive thoughts

@codywanweek

It would be so easy to break his General’s neck.

Obi-Wan was slack against Cody’s shoulder, his breathing ragged as if he was trapped in a nightmare. His head lolled with every rumble of the transport, swaying with every jerk and shudder that passed through the decrepit ship, but he didn’t wake, wouldn’t wake.

He had fallen asleep barely moments after they had sat down, tucked into a corner where the air clung to the thick scent of engine oil and the metal burned as frost unfurled across it. But he had slumped against Cody, uncaring of the danger that it put him in, trusting him after everything he had tried to do—

Obi-Wan was in danger, and it only grew every second that Cody remained by his side. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

It had been simple enough to slip onto the transport — merely two exhausted figures amongst many — but even that small use of the Force seemed to have drained Obi-Wan. He had sagged the moment the man with the datapad stepped away, content with the deception Obi-Wan had planted in his mind. Cody had reached for him without thinking, old instincts overriding the newer urge to slip his concealed blaster from his holster, press it to Obi-Wan’s temple and shoot.

The ship shuddered, wordless cries of discomfort echoing through the darkness before they were silenced, tinged with exhaustion, and Obi-Wan groaned, the sound becoming trapped in his throat before he settled once more.

He looked tired.

The war had left its mark on them both as the years unfurled with no sign of slowing, but this ran deeper. The way Obi-Wan moved was slower, more deliberate, and he had curled himself around Cody as they had walked. Landing at the spaceport had been a risk even though the ship they had managed to steal from Grievous' supply had barely had enough fuel to break through the atmosphere. Death and destruction was everywhere, from the weary faces of the children watching them as they had passed, and watching them even now — their eyes too old for their faces — to the scorch marks from blasters littering the buildings Cody could identify with barely a glance.

The sound of footsteps, careful but deliberate, drew Cody out of his dark thoughts, his head tipping to one side as he listened. They weren’t the heavy methodical movements of a soldier, instead stumbling, pausing whenever the ship trembled around them, but they were drawing closer.

As carefully as he could, Cody reached over, tucking Obi-Wan’s head further into the hollow of his shoulder, the other man’s breath damp against his skin. The urge burned through him again, a passing thought that raked its claws across his mind that he could cut Obi-Wan’s throat and sit like this as his General bled out against him, but he pushed it down, curling his free hand into a fist and cutting half-moons into his palm. He smoothed the edge of one of his scarves down, tucking it beneath Obi-Wan’s chin before drawing a section over his mouth — so easy just to press and feel him gasp and choke — to hide his face.

Obi-Wan, for all of his notoriety, wasn’t as easily identified. Cody, however, had one of the most well-known faces in the galaxy, and the twist of laughter in his chest was a surprise. He had thought he had forgotten how to laugh in the face of the events of the previous days.

One of the scarves, identifiable by touch alone in the dim light, was woollen and striped a combination of 501st blue and 212th orange, and Cody pulled it up over most of his face, catching a linen scarf as it slipped and tucking it back into place. It wouldn’t pass a close inspection, but he could only hope it would do for now. Obi-Wan deserved whatever scraps of sleep he could get.

The woman who moved into view was unremarkable, a Wroonian woman with skin the same colour as sea-foam and her dark hair pinned up, but several curls had sprung free. Her smile was hesitant, but warm, revealing a dark gap of a missing tooth. “For the journey.”

She offered them a small flask, the liquid inside sloshing, and Cody could only stare. He could smell the sweet tartness of the berries, one final summer harvest, and his mouth watered, the words catching in his hollowed-out throat before he could speak. “We have nothing to give in return.”

“I ask for nothing, only offer kindness.”

She stretched out once more, the flask held by the edges of her fingers and Cody knew.

How many people had she offered the same kindness to on this ship, and how many had accepted the final whisper of a home now gone? There was still liquid, so each took only a mouthful and moved along in gratitude.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he wordlessly reached for the flask. She stepped back, turning to look back down the ship, and Cody could have wept at the unexpected gentleness of this woman whose name he did not know, and who he would likely never see again.

“My love?” Cody pressed the edge of his forefinger to Obi-Wan’s cheek, his hand curved to keep the flask steady. The endearment felt strange, lacking the familiarity of the Mando’a Cody repeated in his mind but had never given voice to. It had always been something for after the war, and yet here they were, and the war was over, and Cody couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it. Obi-Wan deserved someone whose every thought towards him was filled with love as sweet as honey instead of ideas of how to kill him twining through at the edges.

Obi-Wan woke in fractions, a slow blink of his eyes — the brilliant blue now clouded and filled with a grief that was still raw and present — then a gentle sigh, pressing his face further into Cody’s neck.

“What’s happening?” His voice was quiet, barely audible above the rumble of the engines, and Cody turned towards him, trying to shield him from everything, including himself.

“A drink. If you want some.”

Cody watched the woman, waited for the gleam of her eyes to turn away before pulling down the scarf enough to take a mouthful. It burst on his tongue like the final days of summer on Kamino when the sea would rage, and he could slip away from training for a moment as the lights and cameras flickered and died to pluck fruit from the carefully regimented gardens. Only one drink, one memory, and Cody pushed it to the forefront of his mind, sweeping the thoughts of death beneath it. Obi-Wan’s thoughts brushed against his mind, the sensation akin to a kiss ghosting over his temple, and he hummed in quiet, exhausted joy.

Their fingers brushed when Obi-Wan took the flask, and Cody’s cheeks burned in answer. They were pressed together from ankle to hip to shoulder, and Obi-Wan’s head still rested on Cody’s shoulder, but that single touch as Cody felt Obi-Wan draw comfort from his memory threatened to break him utterly.

Obi-Wan pressed himself up, one hand firmly planted on Cody’s thigh, just enough to drink before passing the flask back.

Cody waited until he was settled, their faces tucked back behind the flimsy fabric shields before extending the flask back. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. You’re lucky to have each other. May your peace find you on the road.”

“May your peace travel with you.” Obi-Wan’s voice had grown in strength, and the woman paused, her eyes widening in delight as a grin burst across her face at the traditional response. She bowed once before moving back up the ship, her steps lighter now.

“Always full of surprises,” Cody murmured, pressing his cheek to the top of Obi-Wan’s skull, feeling the other man laugh more than hearing it.

“I’d hate to ever bore you, my dear.” Obi-Wan drew his hand away from Cody’s thigh, and he missed the single spot of contact, his skin feeling like it was burning where Obi-Wan had touched him deliberately rather than convenience. “It’s a lovely memory you showed me.”

“I hadn’t thought about that in years,” Cody laughed despite himself. His grief was still too raw to examine, the wave of sorrow in his chest barely tampered behind his focus. He could grieve later, allow himself to sink to the floor and scream for his fallen vode but only when they were safe. “It’s strange how your memories work, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan hummed in quiet, exhausted agreement, curling in closer to Cody’s side and, as delicately as he could, Cody raised his arm to wrap it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“If you—“ Obi-Wan paused, and Cody watched him think out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t sense the Force, but all of the clones had spent enough time around the Jedi to pick up a base knowledge. Cody had only watched his brothers turn and walk away from him, wiped clean as neatly as any droid would be, and die in a thousand different ways since the war started and even before.

Obi-Wan had felt every agonising second of it.

“Your pain isn’t any less than mine.” Obi-Wan’s voice was hushed, barely louder than a whisper, and Cody turned, catching a glimpse of eyes as blue as the ocean out of the corner of his eye. “We’re both grieving our losses.

“But I wanted to ask, would you let me share a memory with you?”

Obi-Wan had shared fragments with him before after Cody had agreed he could, never before. It was a strange sensation to be in the middle of battle to glance out over the smoke-covered fields and know where Obi-Wan was, feel the wind rush past his face, letting Cody hold out his hand to catch his saber once again.

But that had been purely tactical, and Cody couldn’t let himself dwell on the fact Obi-Wan never asked anyone else, only him.

“I’d like that.”

It stole over him like the slow slip of the sun beneath the horizon, flickering into place between one blink and the next. He could feel the warmth press against his skin, sweat prickling against the hollow of his throat as it dried and the sticky sweetness as juice ran down his chin. The fruit caved in at the slightest press of his teeth, and for a moment, decorum was abandoned, cool, wet pulp smearing against his cheeks as he ate. The man next to him laughed, leaning back so that their shoulders bumped together and his cheeks were stained the same vibrant purple that covered his hands. Cody didn’t know this man, and yet, he did. Qui-Gon reached out and smoothed a hand over Cody’s shoulders, drawing him close in a hug, warm, and he hoped it would never end.

Cody blinked, the sunlight falling away and the harsh metal walls of the ship closing around him as he was forced back into the present.

“I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan cupped Cody’s face, his thumb smoothing over his cheekbone, pressing their foreheads together in a kovyn. Their breath fogged as Cody gasped, tears burning at his eyes.

The desire burned through his chest to draw his head back and slam it forward, yearning to hear the snap and crunch of bone and the burst of blood, warm and tacky, against his forehead, but he pushed it down. He pressed into the embrace instead, closing his eyes and feeling Obi-Wan’s heart settle in time with his own.

They couldn’t stay like this for long. Already the groan of the ship’s engines had begun to change in pitch — a clear signal that they were coming into land.

“Don’t—” Cody caught Obi-Wan as he started to straighten, unable to bear the separation. “Can we stay like this, just a few moments longer?”

It was dangerous, like trying to catch lightning with his hands, but he wanted a moment longer of peace and love, a selfish and ruined want that coursed through him like a heartbeat.

Cody couldn’t meet Obi-Wan’s gaze, but he caught the edge of his smile, so full of a love that neither of them had admitted to, and knew that whatever happened, they would be together.

#codywan #codywanweek2021 #codywan week 2021 #star wars #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #my writing

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autumnslance · 3 years

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"In the five years following your sudden disappearance from the Carteneau Flats, your ever-faithful chocobo spent each waking moment galloping across the realm in search of [his] lost master. [His] myriad adventures are nothing less than fantastical and heartbreaking...but that is a story for another day." - Legacy Chocobo mount description.

((Animal love, loyalty, and those bonds woven by fate. So there’s some animal angst and injury, but also a happy ending. Crossposted below for those who prefer Tumblr:))

“I need you to stay here,” her person said, rubbing her beak and scratching the white feathers of her neck.

She kweh’d softly, not liking the request but because he had asked it, she would obey and listen for the whistle binding them together, when he needed her to come to his aid.

The not-a-moon hung low and burning in the sky. The land’s aether tasted funny, the smells of nature were all wrong. Any creature with sense hid as fiends roamed.

People had little sense, she’d found. Especially her person; in his armor, his axe pulled from his back, he would throw himself into the fray with a shout to fight anything that harmed others. Normally, she would be right there with him, beak and talon and wings alongside his weapon, helping him.

“That’s my Snowlight, my good girl,” he crooned, leaving a kiss on the end of her beak before turning to join his comrades.

She had been injured in their last fight, trying to keep him safe, and so she couldn’t join him in this one but he still said she was good and that was what mattered.

She kweh’d encouragement after him, satisfied he turned back to wave one more time, before joining all the other people leaving to fight.

—-

The not-a-moon broke apart and released Horror. There were flames and pain and ear-splitting roars.

The stables were on fire.

Snowlight was too injured to fight, but not too injured to herd the frightened silly-headed carriage chocobos out of the flames. Not too injured to find the coughing stablemaster, knock a fallen beam aside, and herd him out, too. She even found one of the barn kittens, confused and afraid, carefully picking it up in her beak like a chick.

Snowlight was a good girl. Her person helped others, and so would she.

The Horror was over the field where she knew her person was. It was malms away and he hadn’t called but her heart fluttered wildly and she ignored the grooms and handlers to dash through the burning woods.

He needed her, she couldn’t let him—

The world went white, then red, then white again, and finally black.

—-

The world’s aether tasted thin and strange, like weak juice left out too long.

She pulled herself out of the little hollow of debris and ash, casting a cure on instinct at the twinges in her wings and legs and neck, the injury on her side--the one that had kept her in the stable to begin with--throbbing again. The cure helped.

Snowlight blinked, trying to get a sense of where her person was, the location of the whistle attuning them to one another.

She couldn’t find it.

She shook out her feathers and limped on to where she thought maybe she had last felt it, in the direction he had left with his friends and all the other people, toward the setting sun--though it was currently obscured by angry clouds and more ashes.

Familiar places looked strange, though Snowlight couldn’t really put a talon on why or how. The forest was oddly silent, slow to wake from the disaster. The Elementals seemed especially distant.

She foraged for berries and greens, then slept. She was cautious of water she found but had to drink; the rain that fell later helped a great deal, though it was also heavy with dust and grief. She foraged more, and then slept more under a rocky outcropping.

The pass to the north felt wrong, cold winds blowing from the hills. So she kept heading west, through the less familiar hills, to get to the gloomy place.

Snowlight could always find the gloomy place, especially when the wind blew right. It felt like a scab on the world, the magic—and Something Else—waiting under the lake’s surface. It was an easy place to find, if weird.

It took a couple days for Snowlight to reach the gloomy place; slower than usual, but she was still recovering from her injuries and the paths through the woods were not easy to navigate. There weren’t as many fiends roaming around, at least, and the ones that were could be easily avoided.

The other creatures were waking and coming out of hiding again, too. She was a little less lonely, with the small birds singing.

The gloomy place was more of a mess than usual, a crystal spire piercing the air and giving off waves of suppressed magic. The corpse in the center of the lake continued to sleep but she gave the shore wide berth, both for its slumbering guardian and for the poison filming the water.

Snowlight continued west and a bit south, still not sensing her person, nor had he called for her on the whistle. She couldn’t teleport without the pull of the whistle. Her feet hurt but she kept picking her way through the ruins of machina parts.

She went to the camp for food, but it was empty, the aetheryte exploded in size and twisted in shape, the tents and supplies torn and burned. There were no people anymore.

Snowlight kweh’d sadly, rummaging through the wreckage for anything edible. She was rewarded with burnt gysahl greens, tasting faintly of staticky aether, but it was enough to raise her flagging spirits. After considering the twisty former aetheryte for a long moment, she decided one of the half-fallen tents at the edge of the old camp would be all right for sleeping in. There was still enough man-smell to keep wild creatures away.

—-

“Well ain’t you a beauty,” the big man with the rough voice said. “Fetch a good price at market.”

“To hell with the market,” the skinny man whined. “I’m starved and it’ll feed the whole bloody camp.”

“C’mere—” the scarred lady reached for Snowlight.

She beat her wings and shrieked. The trio swore and threw up their hands to protect their faces.

Snowlight was almost to the terrible place, full of twisted aether and death. The last place she knew her person had been. This trio had come upon her as the noon sun struggled to break through the thick clouds. They smelled of blood and offal and desperation, and she did not trust them.

The whiny man ducked close, so Snowlight leapt and kicked him, throwing him into the lady with a shout.

The big man managed to snag her neck, his arms squeezing. “C’mere you overgrown chicken I’ll—”

Snowlight shoved back and up; she couldn’t fly far with the aether currents so warped, but it was enough to startle him, and now he clung to not fall even the few fulms she had lifted him. She bucked until he slipped off and then she flew away as fast and as far as she could.

There was a whistling noise and a sharp pain in her flank but she swerved and pushed faster, hearing the hissing whistle of more arrows. She fought against the weird currents and her own weary wings, risking crossing a high bank that abruptly dropped into a narrow ravine, almost like a frozen wave of earth instead of water.

On the other side she landed heavily and ran, feeling warm liquid trickle down her leg, the arrow still lodged but loose enough to shift and pinch with every motion. Even so, she pressed on.

She was close.

Spots crossed her vision. She no longer heard the mean people; only the wind. Panting, she stopped finally, swaying on her trembling legs.

Where was he?

She spent a bit of strength to cast a cure, the arrow forced out as the flesh healed. She had to rest, but the mean people might still chase her. And she had to be close to where he was. Surely it was simply the damage caused by the Horror that was obscuring the connection, his call.

He had to have tried to call her. He couldn’t go this long on his own.

There were more people dotting the ruined plain, but they were easy to avoid now that she knew she had to be sneaky. She picked her way through smoldering magitek and torn earth and twisted structures that felt Wrong and smelled Strange. There were bodies, but none of them the one she looked for, thankfully.

A whiff of his scent caught in her beak and she kweh’d happily, seeking more. Still he did not respond, it was merely the scent of his previous presence. Perhaps he was among the people.

She drew as close as she dared to the tents. To the warm, gentle pulse of the Seedseer.

His scent was not among the camp.

Snowlight pondered this as she tried to retrace her steps to where she had caught that whiff. The field was scorched, the ground rippled from the blasts of competing magic. The aftertaste of the old mage lingered on her tongue, though it had a more bitter endnote than she recalled. Snowlight kweh’d again, digging for the scents of her person and his companions, catching hints and traces, but not finding them. Not finding him.

A voice called. She looked up and saw a yellow-clad man pointing in her direction. She turned and jogged away before the Adders could come close. While they would likely be more friendly than the bandits earlier, she had not the time for them.

She still had to find her person.

—-

Snowlight found hiding spots, keeping away from the Adders and adventurers still lingering. The taste of healing magic hung over the camp, competing with the blood and pain.

The camp was the best place to find food, though; this terrible place had none naturally anymore, blasted away or warped beyond recognition.

Snowlight was a good sneak; her person had often said so, when she played the hide and seek game with him. She would hide something he used and he had to find it. It was always great fun. She had also used it to swipe food before, risking a scolding but it was her person’s own fault for trying to deny her treats when she needed them.

Her sneakiness came in handy as she maneuvered herself into the Adders’ flock and helped herself to some of the feed provided. The destriers were too tired themselves to snap or fuss and besides, she could easily fight any of them into submission and they knew it; she was an adventuring bird, after all.

She was careful to keep the others between her and the soldiers, to not let them notice or catch her. It was tricky, given her bright white plumage compared to most army chocobos. But Snowlight was a good sneak, and managed to avoid getting caught. She had things to do, after all, and had to be ready if her person called.

She still couldn’t sense him. She still had not heard his whistle.

Snowlight slipped out of the flock, leaping the makeshift fencing while the handlers were busy. Then she returned to searching the broken plain.

The Adders were getting ready to break camp; there were few bodies left amid the wreckage of the battlefield, few new wounded found. They had worked tirelessly for over a sennight, the Seedseer and the conjurers sparks of the natural world amidst the carnage.

Snowlight returned again to the place where she had scented her person and his friends. She circled around it once more, a periphery she had scratched into the ashes as she tried to figure out where they had gone. How they had gone.

“They aren’t here,” a gentle voice said.

Snowlight warked and jumped, whirling to face the weary Seedseer as she leaned on her staff. Even exhausted, power thrummed through the padjal’s frame, a barely held summer storm. She smiled at Snowlight.

“I think I recognize you,” the Seedseer said. “Yes...I can’t quite recall…” She frowned. “I don’t remember their faces. Their names. But I know you were with them, once.”

Snowlight listened, keeping still. It was only polite in the padjal’s presence. As the Seedseer paused, though, Snowlight asked a tentative “Kweh?”

The Seedseer shook her head. “I don’t know where they have gone. One moment, they were there. I know I must have seen them. But all I remember are their silhouettes in the light. And then…” she trailed off, a perplexed look on her face. “I only know they’re gone. I’m sorry.”

Snowlight chirred in frustration, ruffling her wings. She didn’t understand, and usually the padjali were easier to comprehend than other people. What the Seedseer said made no sense.

“I know, it’s difficult,” the Seedseer said, voice cracking in grief and weariness as she reached out a hand. “But come; we can take care of you, and—’’

Snowlight was a good girl. Usually. The Seedseer was to be respected. Usually.

Snowlight shrieked and reared, flapping her wings as she backpedaled from the startled padjal.

“Wait—” the Seedseer called as Snowlight whirled and dashed, avoiding the soldiers who followed the padjal, who tried to catch Snowlight on their mistress’ command.

A soldier stood in her way. Snowlight warked a single warning before barrelling over and past him, ignoring the shouts.

They were hard to hear through the rushing, pounding feeling in her head, the ache in her heart that already felt like it had run for malms.

She ran up a tilted piece of machinery, a giant wall that had fallen from the not-a-moon and flapping her wings took off, flying toward the boggy saltmarsh to the north.

Her person wasn’t there, but neither were the soldiers, or the Seedseer and her painful words.

Snowlight would rest. She would eat. She would recover. Then she would keep looking for wherever her person had gotten to.

She had to. Snowlight was a good girl.

—-

Snowlight was so tired.

Her plumage was not as bright as it had once been; she had not had a proper grooming in a long time, and injuries and life in the wild had left her more ragged than she had ever been. Her person had often called her the prettiest chocobo in Eorzea, though she looked nothing like that now.

He still had not called. She still could not sense him. She still searched, though; the Seedseer was wrong, and he was just lost. He had lost the whistle in that Horror. He was waiting for Snowlight to find him.

Sometimes, curled up under a tree or in an abandoned building or an old cave, she would sleep and dream of the days they had rode together. Of their adventures, their games, his laughter, his scritches. His warmth as he leaned back against her side while the campfire crackled, his voice as he talked about so many things. She almost never understood, but he had such a nice voice. She missed hearing it.

The dreams were happy, but waking from them was sad. Snowlight stood, ruffled her feathers, and kept looking.

She had sought him out in the ruined reaches of the western marsh and the terrible place, through the gloomy place and its unsettling waiting feeling. Through the Wood, the Elementals barely whispering anymore, rarely waking from their slumber. She crossed the scrublands and burning sands, even risking the golden plains and the lizardmen who rode across them. She picked her way among the rocky mountains, and into the frozen land in the north, the wind and ice aether unrelenting even in the height of summer.

Snowlight was not yet certain how she could cross the strait to the island; it was just about the only place in the realm she had not looked over the last five summers and winters. The Seedseer’s words echoed in her memory again but Snowlight shook them away.

Her person was somewhere. She just had to find him.

She was back in the Wood. She would have to head west past the gloomy place and the salt marsh. If she didn’t want to be caught, anyway; she would have to find a way across the sea that did not involve people.

Sometimes she found people in trouble; beset by fiends or bandits, lost children crying alone, hurt people needing a cure. Snowlight had once been a good girl, and her person had helped people. So she scared off the fiends, fought the bandits, cast a cure on hurts, and guided the lost to safety. She sometimes, warily, took food and rest from those she helped. But then they would try to keep her—or worse, turn out to be mean themselves, and so she left as quickly as possible. Some wanted her for her plumage, some for riding or working, some for food. She wanted nothing to do with them as they were not her person.

So simply best to avoid people now.

Snowlight was tired, and so missed the snare that entangled her feet, triggering a second that caught her wings.

She flailed and shrieked. There was a prickle on her neck and she felt very woozy. It was getting dark again, but that couldn’t be right as the sun had just come up.

“Finally got ‘er,” a man’s voice said from...above her? When had she fallen to the ground? She warked and tried to struggle as careful hands gripped her. “She’s a tough ol’ bird for sure, but once she’s broken in…”

The world went black, and Snowlight dreamed of running across an open windy plain, her person laughing and whooping on her back.

—-

“Gods take you, you miserable bitch!” the stablehand yelled, clutching his bitten hand.

Snowlight just chirred a warning low in her chest, her feathers ruffled up as she glowered at him, beak clacking another warning.

No one here called her a good girl. Snowlight did not feel like being good, when they kept her hobbled and more often than not in the stable. The most experienced hands would put a lead on her halter and let her run alongside them for too brief a time in too small a pen each day. Most of them were kind, and she usually felt bad after snapping at them with her beak, or scratching them with her talons.

But none of them would let her go to find her person, and her person had not come for her here, so she didn’t want to stay.

A quiet presence stepped up behind the stablehand. He turned to the slim young woman. “Nevermind this one; she mighta been some adventurer’s bird once, but she’s gone wild. Don’t like anybody, this ‘bo.”

The woman simply took the lead and approached the stall.

Snowlight turned her eyes to the woman, and her rumbling ceased. There was something oddly familiar here, but Snowlight wasn’t sure what. Tall for the kind of person she was, midnight hair, and…

Snowlight tossed her head and kweh’d, confused but excited. She had caught a scent, a scent she had only ever smelled on her person before! This woman had the same underlying tone; a warm spice that left Snowlight trembling. She barely noticed when the woman snapped the lead onto her halter.

“Good girl,” the woman said quietly, pitched in a way only Snowlight could hear—just like her person used to do, and though this woman’s voice was higher and gentler, there was something in the way the words were shaped, something in the timbre of her voice, that felt right and familiar.

It had been so long since someone had called Snowlight a good girl.

The stablehand was boggled as the woman opened the stall and led a quiet, nearly docile Snowlight out and to the exercise pen. Snowlight paid him no mind; she was trying to figure this out.

The woman led Snowlight to the pen and let her jog on the long lead. She didn’t get fussy or scared when Snowlight stretched and beat her wings. It would be easy to escape any other handler who allowed that.

But Snowlight knew the woman was an adventurer, and adventurers were strong and tricksy. And there was a quiet strength and unrealized power in this woman.

She felt like Snowlight’s person did.

The woman offered her some gysahl greens and scratched her neck just the way her person used to, finding exactly the Right Spot. Snowlight sighed.

She was so tired.

“Been awhile since you trusted someone,” the woman said. Her accent was definitely the same as Snowlight’s person, and the same tone if higher. Her scent was the same too; not just soaps and the smells people put on themselves, but deeper, in blood and bone. When Snowlight peered at the woman, here in the daylight, there were ways she moved, the way she smiled, the color of her eyes, that were the same as his.

The woman let Snowlight run a little longer, putting her through paces using the same foreign words her person used to, the ones meaning “slow down” or “speed up” or “stop” and “go.” She gave Snowlight more greens and pets and then led her back to the stable.

The other handlers were confused, whispering, uncertain. One came close and Snowlight snapped at him out of habit. “Shh,” the woman said. She didn’t scold or jerk the halter, just laid her hand on Snowlight’s neck. “We need to brush you down.”

Snowlight did feel itchy after exercise. Still, she didn’t want the others muddling things up, not when she was trying to figure out this woman and why she felt as right and familiar as Snowlight’s person had.

The woman took her time, giving Snowlight a thorough bath and brushing. She did not let the woman trim her talons though, or check in her beak; not yet. There were limits.

Snowlight’s stall was clean and there was fresh feed and cool water. The handler she had bitten earlier shook his head, hand now bandaged. “Dunno what you did, but thank you. Poor old girl was running wild for years, near as we can tell. One of many who lost their riders in the Calamity, is my guess. She’s had it rough and won’t let folks near—until you.”

The woman shrugged and smiled.

“Well thank you. You’re welcome to return and help anytime.” He was only partly joking.

The woman simply nodded, retrieving her bow and quiver from the hooks where she had left them, before she turned to go.

Snowlight lifted her head from the feed bin to kweh a goodbye to the woman. The woman turned and smiled, waving to Snowlight.

When Snowlight fell asleep that night, she dreamed of her person, as usual. But the woman was also there, her laugh joining his.

A couple days later, Snowlight was kicking a ball toy in her stall, bored until it was time for the handlers to come take her to exercises again. She stopped kicking the ball and perked up at hearing a certain step, catching a certain scent. She kweh’d toward the quiet presence entering the stable.

“Hello,” the woman said to Snowlight. “Did you want to train again?”

Snowlight kweh’d and ruffled her feathers happily. She liked this quiet woman who reminded her of her person. She thought perhaps they were from the same clutch. After all, Showlight could tell when two chocobos were related, and while people were different they had their own families too.

The woman hung up her weapons and picked up the lead rope. Snowlight allowed the woman to guide her out into the exercise pens and they played for well over a bell. Then the woman bathed and brushed Snowlight again, before bringing her back to the stall, freshly cleaned by the other handlers.

The woman stroked Snowlight’s beak. “Good girl,” she said.

Snowlight preened.

The stablemaster was nearby and shook his head. “No one’s been able to get near that bird for moons. You come along and she’s docile as anything.”

The woman shrugged. “I didn’t do anything special; just treated her nice.”

“All any of us tried,” the stable master sighed. He peered at Snowlight. “She ain’t changed her attitude to the rest of us, neither.”

“I should be back in a few days,” the woman said. “I can help again then.”

“We appreciate it,” he said. “Maybe she’ll calm down with repeat visits from someone she trusts.”

The woman nodded, and gave Snowlight one last scritch before heading out once more. She turned and waved again when Snowlight called to her. That was nice.

—-

It had been nearly a moon since the woman’s last visit.

Snowlight had gotten used to the woman coming by every few days, looking and smelling and sounding so much like her person had; it was like having a part of him back as they trained and played and cleaned up together.

But now, after those handful of visits, the woman had not returned, just like her person had not, and Snowlight was so tired.

She no longer snapped and scratched at the handlers, but now they could not coax her to eat more than the bare minimum, or play, or train.

They were good people, really; they just weren’t hers, and she wasn’t theirs. The people Snowlight wanted simply hadn’t come back.

Snowlight dozed in her stall, ignoring the sunny day and the other chocobos and handlers. Then a certain sound caught her attention, a familiar step. She blinked awake, catching a familiar scent, and kweh’d.

The woman rounded the corner and smiled as Snowlight bounced and trilled excitedly. The stable master followed, smiling too.

“Can’t say you don’t deserve it, though you sure this is the bird you want?”

The woman nodded, a giddiness to her usual calm presence that made Snowlight even more excited, too, though she did not know why. “I think she and I get along just fine,” the woman said to the stable master, turning finally to Snowlight. She scritched Snowlight’s neck. “I even have a name picked out. My brother and I used to come up with them as children, when dreaming of having our own chocobos.”

“Well much luck to you both,” he said, holding out his hand.

Snowlight trembled with excitement when she saw what he held; a whistle, just like the one her person used to have. The whistle that had tied them together, made her always able to find him--until she couldn’t.

The woman took the whistle, then looked back up at Snowlight. “Do you want to be my chocobo?” She asked, almost sounding nervous.

Snowlight thought about it. She had a person--once upon a time. He was gone now, but this woman was so much like him, possibly from the same clutch...So maybe it was all right. Maybe this person wouldn’t leave Snowlight behind--and if she did, Snowlight would do her best to find her.

After all, Snowlight was a good girl.

“Kweh-Kweh!” Snowlight agreed, bouncing excitedly. She would be an adventuring bird with a person of her own again!

The woman grinned, and after a few moments, the spell was complete and the aetheric bond formed.

Snowlight’s new person led her out of the stable, accepting the fine reins and saddle the stable master offered. “After all you’ve done for Gridania, not to mention taking on Ifrit himself, it’s the very least we can do,” he insisted. “And I’m just happy to see this girl get a fresh start and a good home.” He patted Snowlight’s shoulder. “What are you gonna name her? For our own records.”

Her person smiled. “For a white bird my brother and I could never decide between our favorites, so we combined them,” she answered. “I’m going to call her Snowlight.”

“A fine name,” the stable master said.

“Kweh-Kweh-Kweh!” Snowlight cheered, the last shadow of doubt faded; her new person even knew her name! This was the best day since…

Well, since her first person had chosen and named her.

Her person swung onto the saddle, thanking the stable master again. Then she leaned forward. “All right, girl; let’s go!”

Snowlight dashed out of Bentbranch, her person laughing on her back, to begin their adventures together.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Chocobo #Seventh Umbral Calamity #Kan-E-Senna #Warrior of Light #Lyn Writing #Snowlight #Zaine Striker #Aeryn Striker

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gingermintpepper · 3 years

Text

Gloxinia and Meliodas' First Meeting.

Time Period: Sometime during the Holy War

»»————-　♔　————-««

He remembers the Lord of the Faefolk.

Elizabeth lays limp in his arms.

The world explodes around him, typhoon’s cacophonous touch laying waste to the landscape but he does not feel the slice of the wind. Raindrops pierce through the clouds, bullets of water that seem to attack the thin veil of his cloak but he cares not for them. All he knows is the gellid flesh pressed against his chest, the drooping wings whose feathers seem to swell with water, bright white eyelashes slack from exhaustion, delicate eyebrows devoid of that determined furrow.

He’s running out of options, had gravely miscalculated during his battle with Calmadios and now was left without a place to return to, without a roof with which to weather this storm under. He had no place where Elizabeth could rest and recuperate from her wounds.

Even amongst the wanton destruction Meliodas had wrought in his time in the physical realm, the memory stands stark in the backdrop of his mind. A routine perimeter sweep after they had managed to gain new territory from beating back the Goddess Clan in the south. The normal agenda after such events - visiting the human nests, establishing the new order, weeding out dissenters and surviving pests, setting up scouts; it was all necessary yet monotonous activity so no one particularly fancied running such errands. It was only because Meliodas had drawn the short lot that he had to do the grunt work himself.

He hadn’t expected to find Fairies in the human nest, small creatures with their delicate wings healing humans and helping repair their odd little hutches. He’d not so much as heard about encounters with Fairies since coming into the realm - only knew of the whispers of the so-called Fairy King’s Forest and the great magic that was contained within. Meliodas thought it all nothing more than the mangled stories of drunk demons. He hadn’t felt any significant magic in the physical realm besides the heavy cloud that was the bestial Giant Clan and so he had dismissed even the notion of Fairies as such.

Yet there they were, smaller than even him in their diminutive stature, little faces scrunched in joy and determination even as the nest around them was razed and half ablaze.

And so Meliodas thought, ‘If the Fae are real, then surely their King is no illusion either.’

Zeldris must have heard by now he thinks. Would know that he made good on his word to abandon their people for the sake of Elizabeth and, ultimately, for ending this useless conflict.

Was he laughing at him? Was he gleefully watching his heinous older brother suffer for choosing a lover over the future of their clan only to immediately lose her to his pride? Meliodas alone had made the decision to defect while surrounded by his troops and three Commandments. His confidence in his strength had cost him dearly, but with Elizabeth at his back, he had felt invincible.

The rain continues to pour around them, but Meliodas cannot feel its freezing touch. Elizabeth’s warm blood is beginning to seep through her clothes. He doesn’t want to hold her tighter, fears that squeezing her will only make her bleed out faster. What good is his strength if he cannot help those most important to him in their times of need?

Lightning tears the sky asunder, thunder racing so close to its heel that the world around him seems to quake. He’ll have to land - he can’t risk attracting the bolts with Elizabeth in his grip. He is a demon but he can’t help but pray.

Prays that the chill descending on Elizabeth’s skin is only the rain. Prays that Zeldris finds some way to end the conflict too. Prays that he hasn’t ruined the only thing that could save Elizabeth’s life.

It surprises him even now. The ease with which the Fairies revealed the location of their home to him. Meliodas was quite aware that they knew him to be a demon. Even without knowledge of the rank or class that he occupied, his magic alone was nothing but purest, deepest black - yet, even as they trembled with their breaths caught in their throats and their little fingers halted in their actions, they dutifully told him what it was he wanted to know.

He remembers thinking then that the Fairies were a weak bunch - that they were a naive people who surely teetered on the brink of extinction for the easily exploitable trust they so readily gave.

Then came the fog.

He’s not surprised that even during this tempest, the fog is thick.

The last time he entered, the mist showed him illusions that confounded him for hours. The road disappeared beneath him, he’d ended up on a mountain and then at a lake and throughout it all quiet laughter echoed in his ear, disorienting him. Angering him.

Today there is only the quiet of deep, deep fog and the dampened splashing of rain as it struggles to cut through haze.

Meliodas lands on the muddy ground and takes off sprinting. He slips in an errant puddle, the ground slick and treacherous but even then he does not let go of Elizabeth. The air’s knocked from his lungs as he lands on his back. His shoulder burns but he cannot heal himself. He does not know what effect his miasma would have on Elizabeth in this weakened state. He does not want to find out. With trembling fingers, he adjusts her, frowns as the muscles beneath her fair skin refuse to twitch even when he lets his touch linger on the plush flesh of her lips, her cheek, the puncture in her stomach which gushes, gushes, and was he always able to glimpse the pink of her stomach? Was it wrong that he found that healthy colour as beautiful as the rest of her? But her skin is cold, cold too cold and her blood runs hot and Meliodas curses even the rains, roars his frustration so the lord of the lands knows that he is in no mood for games.

“Gloxinia!”

A part of him wondered if the Fairies had conned him; if they had only pretended to be shy things and had taken the opportunity to lead him to his death instead of guiding him to the Forest like they claimed they would. He’d think much higher of them if that was the case.

As it stands, Meliodas only wishes to tear the heads from their breakable bodies for the tasteless jest. Already, he’d found himself at the bottom of a lake, in which swimming in any direction only dragged him further down, a mountain trail which had led to him being apparently attacked by some manner of beast and a desert which stretched for so many hours that Meliodas had begun to sweat through the leathers of his gear. Terrible caterwauling the likes he had only heard in the deepest annals of the Underworld dogged his steps, and when the screeching stopped, the laughing began.

In each direction he was met with nothing but a wall of fog so thick that he could not even see the colour of his shoes and with each step without a discernible goal in sight, his resentment only grew.

And then, oddly, he caught the strong smell of flowers.

An unmistakable flash of red like spider lilies blooms in the corner of his periphery.

The tumultuous rain quiets to a mere whisper and the fog dissipates leaving only a dew laden field of bright, bright flowers.

The Fairy King is no less spectacular the second time around, celestial wings aglow with multicoloured magic which seems to glitter even in the midst of this gloomy, terrible squall. He stands with his hands at his side, thin lips pressed into a fine line. He is unarmed, alone. Unimpressed.

“You have returned,” he says dully and Meliodas does not have time to be offended at the lack of respect.

He tightens his grip on Elizabeth’s thigh, does his best to keep from snarling. “Heal her!”

A perfect eyebrow threatens to scrape scarlet hairline. “I beg your pardon?”

Meliodas growls, refuses to rest Elizabeth against the forest floor yet cannot risk jostling her for the sake of emphasis, “She hurt herself protecting me. I want you to heal her.”

Gloxinia’s neutral expression becomes a faintly bemused smile. “Is that a request or a threat, Demon Lord?”

Meliodas glares (and Elizabeth is growing cold in his grip, cold, cold, he is running out of time-) “Both, Fairy.”

The fog begins to creep in not unlike storm clouds on the placid horizon. The sound of thunder begins to descend upon them, red and purple flower buds disappearing beneath the cloak of the Fairy King’s enchanted mist. The fae smiles and it is a cold, cruel thing which sits comfortably on cherubic features, “Then I bid you farewell.”

Meliodas feels the wrath overflow, feels it in the way his vision goes black at the edges, in the way he can hear Elizabeth’s failing heartbeat. Anger at Gloxinia for refusing him, for dooming Elizabeth to death. Anger at himself for being unable to protect her, for failing her, “I will raze this forest to the ground, Gloxinia! Help her or I will slaughter every one of your kind!”

And that despicable Fairy only looks down at him, golden eyes more damning than any bolt of heavenly lightning, “It matters not, Demon Lord, she will already be dead.”

Then he is alone.

Elizabeth’s heartbeat grows so frail that Meliodas cannot hear it over the rain that has rushed in. Fog blinds his eyes, anger stifles his mind and the breaks and creaks in his bones finally overwhelm him. He crumples, mud splattering all over Elizabeth’s once white battle silks. She will die. She will die and it will have been his fault. Is this how Zeldris felt he wonders? This despair - this deep, gaping emptiness as the warmth of his lover cools to ice beneath his numb fingers.

Meliodas has never cried. It is a foreign concept to one as high born as he but his heart sinks to his stomach and threatens to slip free from his chest altogether. He bends his head, furrows his brows, squeezes Elizabeth’s flesh as he listens to her slowing heart.

‘Please,’ he wants to whisper. ‘Please, please have mercy on a sinner. Just this once.’

A pungent scent like foreign herbs fills his nose -

“[Droplet of Life]”

There is a glow, some bright unfathomable light and Meliodas sits up like he’s been burnt. Elizabeth’s heart suddenly beats in her chest, loud and melodic and it is the sweetest sound Meliodas has heard in years. He looks up to find cold eyes looking down on him, the Fairy King’s red hair spilling over his shoulders like reeds against some sheer cliffside.

He frowns, squints at Meliodas then appraises Elizabeth. Without so much as another word, he straightens himself and makes a gesture with two of his fingers. The fog lifts entirely, revealing a twisted up pathway between massive, primordial boughs. Flowers of every specie litter the ground preceding the entryway and Gloxinia turns his back on them. “Spend the night here,” he says and though Meliodas twitches at the unmistakable authority in that light voice, his gratitude and surprise renders him mute. “This storm will rage for four days and five nights. Regain your strength then leave.”

And then he disappears into the forest, leaving Meliodas and Elizabeth in the stillness of his eden.

#This has so much headcanon in it it's not even funny #But it's also completely up for debate how Glox Meli Eli and Drole met soooo #Yeah I'm exploiting that #gloxinia #gloxinia of repose #gloxinia nnt #meliodas #elizabeth liones #melizabeth #nnt #seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #ginger writes #long post #Meliodas was a complete tool as a Commandment and you can take that hc from my cold dead hands #zeldris #he's mentioned too so that's fun #I love writing for the holy war y'all it's not funny

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naralanis · 3 years

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little bumps in the road (pt. 11)

Previously on LBitR...

Lena is completely mortified, and untangles herself from Kara with a swift jump backwards with far more force than is perhaps warranted to push away a powerless Kryptonian.

“Lena?” Kara says, looking confused as Lena recoils as if she has been burned, eyes hurt. Lena takes another step away.

“Sorry,” Lena gasps out, hating how small and hoarse and weak her voice sounds. “I’m just gonna--I’m OK. I just need--” she walks backwards until she collides with the door, and immediately starts fumbling for the handle, taking long, miserable seconds to locate it. “I just need some air.”

Kara opens her mouth to say something, already taking a step in her direction, but Lena doesn’t give her the chance--she’s already bolting out of the room and slamming the door behind her, practically stumbling onto the motel’s nearly deserted car park.

She knows Alex will stop Kara from following after her, and for the moment, she is incredibly grateful for that--she doesn’t think she’ll survive another breakdown in Kara’s presence.

Lena sinks to plonk rather ungracefully right on the curb, between their Jeep and Alex’s atrociously parked motorcycle. Lena wants to go away, to put some distance between herself and the Danvers sisters, but she has nowhere to go, so she just rests her head on her knees and curls tight into herself.

She breathes in, deep and as slow as she can, and then out, once, twice, again and again. Lena hates feeling this weak, this helpless. Her mind is all she has, and if she can’t control her own thoughts, her own memories, then Lena’s got absolutely nothing left. Something is terrifyingly wrong with her--she knows it, can feel it so deeply and keenly in her bones, in her own subconscious.

Lena sits at the curb for quite some time, distracting herself by watching the cars speeding down the road from the space between her knees; fixates on the hum of the ice machine right behind her, and times her breaths to the slow, lazy flickering of the word VACANCY in a not-so-bright yellow neon.

The more she tries to think back to the Kryptonite incident--to place herself in the event, to remember what happened when and where--the more her brain hurts. It’s almost a physical pain, like her thoughts are loose cogs rattling around, bouncing and denting her skull. Her thoughts feel physically heavy, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can carry them.

She hears Kara and Alex talking in the room--their voices are muted, and Lena can’t quite make out what they’re saying, though she doesn’t really try. Instead, she focuses on other sounds--car doors slamming, an engine backfiring, and just. Breathes.

The sun is close to setting when she hears the door to their room opening--she doesn’t need to look up to know that it’s Kara approaching with tentative steps. Kara’s red converse--stained with chocolate ice-cream--come into her field of view momentarily, before the blonde plops down next to her with a world-weary sigh.

“Turns out, bees like chocolate ice-cream,” she says matter-of-factly. “I dropped some on my shirt earlier and they were really after me. I had no idea bee stings hurt that bad!”

It’s clearly meant to humour Lena, and it works, somewhat. She lets out a little half-laugh, but the image of Kara actually feeling pain from something as innocuous as bees strikes an altogether different chord.

“So,” Kara continues, lightly bumping Lena’s shoulder with her own. “You good? You’ve been out here a while.”

Lena wants to say that no, she is very, very much nowhere near ‘good’ right now--she’s afraid she’s starting to lose her goddamn mind and she has no idea how to stop it, how to get back in control.

“I’m fine,”she says instead, looking down at the pavement between her knees, studying the fissures on the concrete.

To her credit, it doesn’t look like Kara believes her at all; but, also to her credit (not to mention Lena’s immense relief and gratitude) she doesn’t push the issue either.

“Alex was saying you figured out what’s wrong with me.”

Kara’s voice is nonchalant, a little forcibly disinterested, maybe, and she punctuates her question with an idle pull of the stubborn little weeds that managed to sprout from the cracks in the pavement. She tears at the leaves slowly, and for a moment all Lena can sense besides Kara’s presence (and her ill-concealed curiosity) is the sound of ripping leaves and the faint smell of freshly cut grass.

“Lena?” Kara prods gently.

“Alex didn’t tell you?”

Kara shrugs, looking at the little mound of leaves she’s torn, piled neatly on her thigh. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

Lena nods. “Yeah,” she confirms with a deep exhale. “I figured it out.”

Lena doesn’t need to look at Kara to know that she is smiling from ear-to-ear. It’s like she can feel the brightness of that grin the same way she feels the warmth of sunlight.

“Yes! That’s awesome, Lena!” Kara quips happily, nudging her shoulder again. “How do we fix it?”

“It’s actually quite simple,” Lena says, glad to have the opportunity to make her errant brain focus on something else. She’s already drawing up schematics and working through formulas in her head--she can’t wait until she has the proper equipment to actually work on it and distract herself from whatever spiral her mind’s sinking into.

“The Kryptonite bonded with some of your blood cells--well, traces of it did, anyway.” She explains. “We basically just have to figure out a way to filter them out; then you’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great news!” Kara laughs, hands clapping together in sheer excitement. “Rao, thank you, Lena.”

It’s the sheer sincerity in Kara’s tone that breaks her.

Lena feels the sob bubbling up her chest and her throat, but it wrenches its way out before she can even think about stopping it--her chest feels tight, and her eyes are burning, and withing seconds she’s sobbing in earnest, trembling and biting at her sleeve so she doesn’t wail like a child in this parking lot.

Kara, blessedly, doesn’t say anything at all. While Lena hugs her own knees to her chest, hides her face in her arms, Kara merely sits there, occasionally rubbing soothing circles on her back as Lena cries herself hoarse.

She cries until she’s spent, until she’s empty--of tears, of feelings, of thoughts in general. Her eyes are stinging and her cheeks are wet with tears, and Lena none-too-gently wipes at her face with her sodden sleeve, sniffling and trying to compose herself as Kara remains silent.

Without a word, Kara reaches under Lena’s chin and turns her head so their gazes meet. She looks blurry to Lena through the film of tears still clinging to her eyes, but the blonde merely clicks her tongue and wipes at a few of her errant tears with her thumb.

“You shouldn’t thank me,” Lena says through a shiver once her sobs subside; Kara wipes at her fresh tears slowly and tenderly, and Lena doesn’t feel like she deserves this gentleness. “You shouldn’t thank me, you shouldn’t comfort me. I’m the reason we’re in this mess.”

“Maybe you are,” Kara says, though her tone is gentle. “But so am I.”

Lena snorts--it’s inelegant and a little ridiculous, but she can’t help it, and she’s not feeling particularly elegant at the moment. “I’m the one who shot you full of Kryptonite,” she points out.

Kara sighs. “And you’re the one taking it out of me. That’s that.”

“Kara... it’s not that simple,” Lena whispers. She knows she sounds defeated, but that is exactly how she feels. She wishes it could be that simple. She wishes they could erase everything and start over, or maybe never start at all and save themselves the heartbreak.

Kara shrugs. “Maybe not,” she concedes, hand returning to rub circles at Lena’s back. “But right now, it has to be. I need you, Lena--not just to get this Kryptonite out of me and to help me punch your brother into the sun, but I want--I need my best friend back. I need you.”

Lena wants to ask how on Earth Kara is able to make it that simple. She wants to point out that there is simply too much between them--too much they haven’t discussed, too many likes, too many accusations... there was so much anger and distrust between them, and now... well.

Lena’s running. Kara’s powerless. They have nothing left to lose. Except, maybe, each other. That thought is incredibly depressing, but, inexplicably, it makes Lena break into a shy smile--her lips tug upwards almost of their own volition.

Kara notices her tentative grin, and responds by taking Lena’s hands, hooking their pinkies together over that cracked curbside. The gesture has the same effect to Lena as one of her sunshine-warm hugs--it envelops her entirely, calms her like a soothing balm.

Lena’s whisper is soft, but she knows the Kryptonian doesn’t need her super hearing to hear it.

“I need you, too.”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

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ofmagicandmusic · 3 years

Text

Ninjago Angst Week Day 1: Abandoned

Nya lived a happy life with her family, till one day everything changed.