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honeyypotato · 2 years

Note

Hello writer :))))

I would ask for a fluffy with Reinner X female reader, where he meet her for the first time as she stumble on him by accident and he holds her, have a great day or night 💖💖💖

Hello hello anon! Sorry it's been a minute😅

You’re not gonna believe this, but you’re the first request I’ve ever received, so thank you so much! :D This is such a cute idea, I’m def the kind of person who would just smack head first into him like this hajksdfhl

I went with a modern au for this one :) I had an idea and I just had to run with it lol

I hope you like it!! 💕

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Running Into You

Reiner x fem!reader

Tags: Fluff

Word count: 2,730

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Honestly, this week couldn’t get any more awful.

Your car had broken down on Sunday, which wouldn’t have been a big deal if you didn’t live a solid thirty minutes from your job, and the earliest the auto shop could look at it was next Tuesday.

To make matters even worse, this was the fourth day this week your boss had asked you to stay late at work, blabbing on about how one client needed extra of this, and another wanted three dozen copies of that…

But now it was so late that you were the last person out the door, waving a hasty goodbye to the half-asleep security guard at the front desk.

On some extra stroke of very bad luck, you’d had your hand on the exit door when you realized it was pouring outside, and you hadn’t brought your umbrella. You usually knew the forecast, but you hadn’t counted on staying until nearly midnight.

You check your phone; you’d practically memorized the city bus schedule by now out of sheer stress, and you didn’t have time to contemplate the weather. The bus was arriving in ten minutes, and the stop was a good three blocks away at best. You sigh, and mentally prepare yourself for the storm as you pull your jacket over your head and step out into the rain.

Clutching your jacket and bag tighter to your body, you manage a speed walk through the rain, cursing your office’s policy for workers to wear formal business clothes only. The skirt you were wearing was definitely not meant for any sort of movement beyond sitting in a chair. You weren’t going to get started on your shoes.

You’re halfway to the bus stop when you check your phone and realize you weren’t moving fast enough. As the rain starts to pick up you pull yourself into as much of a jog as possible, trying not to think about how ridiculous you looked with your jacket pulled over your head. Spotting the bus stop in the distance, with its little sheltered bench, you put your head down and break into a run, ignoring the wet fabric of your skirt sticking to your legs. If you could get to the stop before the bus, you had a minute to collect yourself before having to sit in your soaked clothes for the long ride home.

Bright lights shine out of the corner of your eye and you know the bus is arriving. You push yourself to run even faster, and you start to let out a sigh of relief when–

THUD.

Your forehead collides with something firm, but kind of soft. The thing you ran head first into lets out an “Oof.” You stumble backwards, knocked off balance in your less-than-sturdy shoes.

You squeeze your eyes shut, the noise of the rain bleeding into static, preparing to meet the wet pavement behind you when you’re surrounded by warmth. The impact with the ground never comes. Opening one eye, you’re pressed against the same chest you realized you’d bumped into, and there were strong, gentle arms around your waist and upper back. Your hand was gripping at one of the person’s shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself from falling.

The person pulls away from you slightly, checking to see if you’re okay, and you tilt your head up, your gaze meeting the wide, dark amber eyes of who you now realize is a very attractive blond man, his face inches from yours. Immediately your face flushes red and you’re both stuttering out apologies as he pulls you back onto your feet.

You peel yourself off of his chest a little, and his hands slide your waist in an attempt to steady you and himself, the stranger you practically sprinted into.

“Oh shit, I’m so so sorry, are you okay?” The man’s face is as red as yours, brows knitted in concern.

“I’m fine, but are you okay? I ran into you pretty hard.” Without thinking, you lift your hand to rest on his chest. You could’ve sworn he pulled you a little closer at your touch–

“Hey, lovebirds. You gettin’ on the bus, or can I go?”

You tear your eyes from the man’s at the voice, the sound of the rain crashes down on you as you come back to earth with it, realizing that the bus driver was waiting for the two of you.

“I–oh–sorry–yes!” You squeak out, pulling away from the poor man you’d run into, and politely motioning for him to board the bus.

“Oh, after you, please.” He’s still blushing furiously, and you had half a second to wonder what such a handsome guy had to be embarrassed about before you noticed the bus driver, who was having none of this, was reaching for the lever to close the door.

You practically leap onto the bus, sinking into one of the seats near the front, where the chairs lined the windows. You found yourself actually grateful that it was this late, there was no one else on board besides you and the man you’d run into, who had settled into a seat almost directly across from you.

Reiner watches your gaze shift to him as he sinks into his seat, concern knitting his brows together as he notices how battered you looked from the rain.

As for himself? He was a little shell shocked, to say the least. He’d lost track of time at work, something that happened more often than he wanted to admit, but it had never gotten this bad. He was new to the city, and he hadn’t gotten a chance to get used to the bus schedule yet. When he realized he was late to catch the last bus of the night, he’d sprinted out the door, barely looking where he was going. He’d run into you pretty hard, and he wasn’t a stranger to the laws of physics. He was much bigger than you, it had to have hurt at least a little when he’d run into you. You’d nearly fallen over completely; if he was a split second slower you’d have been flat on your ass in the puddle behind you.

His eyes find yours again, and he blushes, feeling the flush in his cheeks once more. It wasn’t helping that you were by far the most attractive woman he’d seen. He wanted to say something else–at the very least apologize one more time, but the silence in the air was too thick to break through. Instead, he watched out of the corner of his eye as you settled into your seat, brushing wet hair out of your face before leaning your head back against the window.

You’d just gotten as comfortable as you could possibly be for your situation when an odd metallic screech, followed by an awful clicking and tearing noise, ricocheted around the interior of the bus. Your eyes snap open as the bus driver curses softly, his foot slamming on the gas pedal, revving the engine, yet the bus crawls to a stop. You groan to yourself; you weren’t even ten minutes into the commute. Through the rain that was beginning to coat the windshield of the bus, you can see smoke rising from the engine.

Despite the fog outside, Reiner could feel the tension inside the bus begin to fade as the driver climbs out of his seat, wrenching the door open and stumbling out into the rain.

“Well, it looks like it’s gonna be a bit of a long ride, isn’t it?” He murmurs, eyes flicking to take in your pained expression.

You let out a sharp laugh. “And here I was thinking my day couldn’t get any worse.”

“Heh, luck certainly hasn’t been on our side, has it?” He smiles faintly, “What else happened to you today?”

“My boss keeps asking me to work late.” You shake your head, as if to say you should know better than to accept the task. “I’m the only one in our office that can do my job, so it’s not like I can ask someone else. But my car broke down, so I’m stuck taking this bus to the office until next Tuesday. It’s not easy commuting in formal business clothes.” Your face contorts, sticking out your tongue as you shift in your seat against the wet skirt clinging to your legs. Reiner almost laughs, but a second later your expression drops. “I didn’t expect to be this late, and now it’s raining buckets.”

“Man…I’m really sorry, that’s gotta be rough.” You meet his eyes, and you can tell that he genuinely feels bad for you. “Hey, by next week things should be back to normal for you. It’s almost the weekend, you don’t need to do this for too much longer, at least.”

Normally, you’d brush his comment off, but there was a deep softness in his eyes that brings you back to the way his arms felt around you.

“What’s your name?” You found yourself asking. “I think we’re gonna be here for a bit, might as well get to know each other.”

“Reiner. Reiner Braun.”

“Reiner…I like it. It’s nice to meet you, I’m y/n y/l/n.” You flash him a small smile, and you can see his face relax slightly when he realizes your mood has alleviated a little.

“Pretty name for a pretty woman.” He smirks, and your breath catches before your mouth pulls into a smile again. You’re caught speechless for a moment, not expecting the handsome blond to be so forward.

“A pretty woman who just ran into you full-force.” You chuckle.

Reiner was enjoying just how gorgeous your smile was. Suddenly, running into each other didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

“Heh, maybe you should try out for the local football team. I bet they’d be lucky to have you.”

His comment turns your chuckle into a full laugh, the mental picture of you in a football uniform wiping all thoughts of your rough day from your mind. But your eyes widen when you realize you probably ran into him pretty hard.

“Y-you’re not hurt, are you?!” You tense in your seat, hoping he wasn’t injured.

“Sweetheart, I barely felt a thing. I’m more worried about you, if I’m being honest.”

You blush. “O-oh, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” But the shiver that runs through your body the moment the words leave your mouth has Reiner thinking otherwise. Since the driver had turned the bus off completely, the chilly air outside was slowly replacing the heat inside through the open door, and your thin, soaking wet clothes weren’t much protection from the cold.

“Hey, you cold? Take my jacket.” He switches seats to sit next to you, draping the rain jacket he was wearing around your shoulders before you could protest.

You smile up at him. “Thanks, I guess this is a lesson to always have an umbrella on me.” You curl into the jacket, more than grateful you’d bumped into someone so kind.

Reiner smirks at you, a little swamped by how large his jacket is, but feeling a little better that you were okay.

“Give me your hands.” He murmurs, and you raise an eyebrow at him, but shift to place your hands in his, gasping slightly at the soft touch of his skin.

“You’re so warm…”

He releases your hands and holds his arms out as a better idea dawns on him. “Heh, you’re freezing, c’mere.”

You find yourself blushing for the tenth time, but you curl into his arms, your head resting in the crook of his neck against soft skin and the smooth fabric of the collared shirt he wore. He rests his cheek on your head as his arms wrap around you, and you feel him smile into your hair. A wave of exhaustion washes over you as you settle against him, feeling oddly safe, and you close your eyes.

—----------------------------------------------------

“Alright, you two. New bus is here, let’s get you home.”

You blink your eyes open at the driver’s words. He’d called for a backup bus, and a tow truck had arrived for the one you were stuck on. You feel Reiner shift against you, and you guessed he’d fallen asleep as well. He grumbles a little, but before you can shift off of him he stands, lifting you in his arms. Squeaking in surprise, you loop your arms around his neck, and ss he exits the old bus, you realize it’s stopped raining.

The two of you settle into your seats curled up next to each other on the new bus, ignoring the look the second bus driver throws your way as the first bus driver boards as well. Soon enough, you were back on your route home, chatting with Reiner about anything and everything, wherever the conversation took you. He was a sweetheart, if not a little shy at times, but at the same time wildly smart and witty. You found he could make you laugh easily, and your bad mood from earlier was now barely a whisper in the back of your mind as you chatted with your newfound friend–but judging by the look in his eyes, it would become much more than that. It turned out you lived a few streets away from him, and you were surprised you’d never run into each other until he mentioned he had only been in the city for a few weeks.

You step off the bus with him at your stop, and as you walk along toward your apartment you feel his fingers intertwine with yours. You fight against the wide smile tugging at your lips, but ultimately give in, leaning against his arm a little. You found yourself wishing that your apartment wasn’t so close to the bus stop, wanting to spend more time with him.

“Oh, I should give you your jacket back.” As you reach the front door of your building, you move to shrug the jacket off your shoulders.

Reiner stops you. “Nah, you hold onto it for now. You can give it back to me when I see you next.”

You turn to look up at him, and find him holding his phone out with a blank contact screen open.

“Hah, I’m counting on it, Reiner Braun.” You grin as you quickly type your name and number into his phone, triple-checking to make sure you didn’t mess up your number.

As you hand his phone back to him, he pulls you into what you immediately decided was the best hug you’d ever received, sinking easily into his arms. You feel his nose brush your cheek, and as the hug breaks you find yourself placing a hand on his cheek. Your heart flutters as you gaze into his honey-colored eyes, a soft smile on his lips. He tilts his head into your hand slightly.

“Reiner…is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?”

He breaks into the widest smile you’d seen from him all night. “Not at all.”

A heartbeat after the words leave his mouth, your lips are on his. You slide your hands into his hair, looping your arms around his neck as he pulls you closer by your waist. You’re completely enveloped by him, losing yourself to his soft lips. You move slowly with each other until the kiss is broken only by your need to breathe, and you stand together for a while longer, noses brushing. You don’t ever want to leave his arms, but it’s so late, and you have work tomorrow.

You pull away from him slowly. “Reiner…I don’t want to say goodnight, but I’ve gotta get up for work tomorrow.”

“Hm, what time do you usually go in?”

“Seven, it’s pretty early.”

“I’ll meet you at the bus stop then.”

You grin as he dips down to press a kiss against your lips, your hand gripping lightly at his arm, wanting to pull him into your apartment but knowing you’d never sleep if you did. You say your goodnights, and as you step inside your building, your phone buzzes.

Hey :) It’s Reiner

You’d never felt warmer. You tug his jacket a little closer around you as you walk to your apartment, and you smile to yourself, wondering how such an awful day turned into the best one you’d had in a long time.

#reiner x reader #reiner braun #attack on titan #reiner brainrot #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner x y/n #shingeki no kyojin #aot #reiner x you #reiner fluff #reiner braun x y/n #snk reiner #aot reiner #honey writes #I've reread this like 100 times aaaaaaa I hope u like it :o

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indianamoonshine · 3 years

Text

Strawberry | Chapter 13 | Common Tongue

Summary: This chapter is titled after a Hozier song. Take that as you will.

Rating: M. If I see anyone minor interacting with this or hear of anyone reading it, I will block your ass.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople @literallydontlook

“I’m a virgin,” you had said to him one night.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing because, to him, you were the same with or without having slept with someone. Din knew that - had you chose him - it would be an honor. He would think no differently of you either way, and that even if the two of you never had sex, he was glad to have met you.

Now he thinks he may be addicted.

Part of him really wishes that you hadn’t gone this far; that the innocence would have lasted until whenever it was that he forced to leave. Because now he was in over his fucking head.

Behind the shed, you’d grabbed his hand and palmed yourself against the cotton of your underwear. The song of cicadas did a humbling job of masking your little pants or the way you whimpered beneath him. And, sure, Din did everything in his power to break traditional norms, but he wasn’t going to fuck you behind a shed for the first time. His heart broke when he separated himself from you and you whined underneath your breath in protest.

“Come on,” he huffed, lungs attempting to keep up. “Let’s go.”

Three minutes.

That’s how long it took to run from the main house to the cabin. Three goddamned minutes was a record. You don’t recall running that fast since becoming an adult. If your high school gym teacher has witnessed the velocity in which you just sprinted, she’d be amazed.

It was good old fashioned motivation.

Fortunately, Din’s barely taken his hands off of you so he managed to catch your clumsy ass when you tripped over the lip of the front door. The two of you had chuckled against the other before he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you giggle. You place a hand upon your cheek in feign distress. “But I think I may need to lay down…”

Your tone, which is laced with suggestive demure, has Din raising a brow. “Oh yeah?” he growls.

You nod sweetly, lips still pressed against his. “Mm hm.”

You’re so goddamn beautiful.

When he presses you against the plushness of the sheets, he admires the way your hair fans about you and frames your face. Your cheeks are flushed and your lips plump from his kiss, the natural pout of them more pronounced now that he’s bitten and sucked at the flesh. The brilliance of your skin glows beneath the yellow light, neck joining the expanse of your bust which heaves with endurance. He kisses down your pulse point until he reaches the neck of his t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

“Can I?” he whispers against the hollow of your neck, fingering the edge of the fabric.

“Yes.”

You’ve never been this exposed to anyone other than the occasional friend (when changing) or your sisters (also when changing). It’s been so long since you’ve gone outside of yourself - into the very thick of reality - so when he asked if he could reveal you to it, the urgent “yes” surprised yourself.

Still - it’s another kind of anxiety; not violent, but in the way. When he’s stripped the shirt from your body - carefully, as though he were unwrapping a priceless antique - it’s a natural instinct to cover yourself, confident of the way you weren’t.

“Take all the time you need,” he whispers against the flesh of your neck. “I’m a patient man.”

It should’ve been enough and maybe in an alternate universe it was. Maybe that version of you threw all misogynistic beauty standards out the window into the night, but in this present day-in-age, you took a minute to go over the mental checklist. What if you weren’t to his standards? What was the situation like down there? What would you do if he wasn’t all that you decided him to be?

How long would it take to heal from that?

Before your mother died she took your hand and made you promise: I will do everything I can to feel joy, as fleeting as it may be. There are lessons to be learned. She’d made you chant it in a monkish way, as though preforming a ceremony in the sterility of a hospital room strung with cheap tinsel and a sad, plastic tree at her bedside. You’d understood what she meant then like the way a student might understand the components of Ancient Greek; not until it is utilized can its full potential make any sense at all.

The philosophers - and your mother - be onto something.

Something like a muffled version of his name slips lazily through your lips. And while it’s dissected, pulled apart with a lazy and tense breath, it’s the first time his name has sounded poetic. Din never thought of himself this way; that his person could ever inspire such an organic response as the way you unwound beneath him. He’s laid with women before - three, he thinks - but he’s not positive he’s ever experienced a woman before.

Xian was good at what she did and she knew it; Din wasn’t oblivious to that but it lacked a certain something. The other times his body has been weaved together with another’s was faceless; just hookups he’s tried so desperately to forget. Hazy nights in which he woke up to in the morning, their backs to him, and identity indistinguishable. Eventually he just stopped trying.

It wasn’t until now with your fingers clutching at his hair that he realized how the act - the very dance itself - could be purifying. How it could wash away the very worst of similar experiences and how it made something that always felt cheap now priceless. The body is a temple, his elders would always say, and it never made any sense to him. The body is a fortress made to withstand hurricanes and torpedos. It was no place to kneel, to worship, to inspire anything other than sheer refuge.

How ironic, as kneeling was the very thing he was doing now.

Irony wasn’t the word. Fateful, he supposes, as he tastes the fruit that’s always been so forbidden to him. Your thighs clench around his head and the fingers that have been stroking his hair grip the sheets, white knuckling the starched weave, until a gasp is caught in your throat. And then there is nothing but the pressure of ignition until it crumbles around you, fizzing the air with something akin to champagne bubbles.

There is no nasally whine that follows afterwards like there always had been before you. No wild “yes!” that pollutes the air. Just the instability of a weakened chest, the grasping at air, and the delicious feel of your hand enveloping his after having pulled it from your sex.

You weren’t a stranger to penetration though this was was with exceptions; no one had ever done anything to you with foreign or, well, domestic objects. At the age of eighteen, your friends at the time had dragged you to the building on the east end of town that never officially existed until legality said that it did. La Boudoir Rouge was the place ‘vodka aunts’ went to cure the blues, bought mysterious items, and then hid the pink bags in the back of their closets.

So, yes; sex was a foreign exchange policy you’ve never found yourself involved in, but you knew the dynamics. You’d bought equipment and even enjoyed it more than you’d initially expected. Penetration wasn’t at all strange to you.

This made it easier, you think, as Din finally slides in. There was a stretch of course, and it took you a moment to get comfortable enough to brave any movement. Din drops his forehead upon yours, letting out a strangled breath through his nose, as you struggle to come to terms with the size. He’d given off an energy but…

“It’s so big,” you gasp once he reaches the spongey part of you. It feels stupid, it falls short on a botched intake of breath, but it’s the truth.

Din’s composing himself, silent in his endeavor to mold himself within you. His arms are pressed on either side of you, body flush against yours with his pelvis meeting your pubic bone. There’s another moment of silence before he kisses at your temple.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

A smile graces your lips, though your eyes are clenched. “That’s an understatement.”

The pace is fast, sweat inspiring. It drips down your neck until it falls in the valley of your breasts and Din wants so badly to lick it from your skin, but he’s too distracted by the way you clench around him. It’s ironclad - it’s the best goddamn pussy he’s ever had.

He wants to tell you that but he’s unsure of how you’d react. You’ve been letting out delicious gasps and moans reaching an octave you’d never reach sober, but not you’re coherently vocal enough for him to say it outright.

And then you breathe it in a pathetic whine: “It’s yours, Din. It’s yours.”

He almost stops, but his body is hellbent on seeing this through. Whatever the fuck this was; a spiritual experience maybe. Perhaps he’d died after the last mission - broken and buried underneath mounds of dirt - and now rests in paradise where he fucks his way through eternity.

A raw, animalistic response possesses him, the fistful of flesh from your hips is replaced by the swell of you cheeks. He embraces you softly, but sternly enough to incite a whimper.

“What was that, chica bonita, huh?”

You throw your head back as he slams his hips against yours with more force, the excitement conjuring a great wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins. You try to speak but it fails to materialize.

He was balls deep and you were still shy by your interjection.

“What’s mine, sweet girl?” he whispers, mouth tickling along your collarbones. The contrast of gentle words and barbaric thrusts is something he’s never experienced during sex. Ever.

You let out one more mouthwatering whine before saying: “My pussy is yours, Din. Take it. Please, please…”

Suffice to say, that’s what does it. The two of you cum at the same time, like a synchronized dance, clutching one another so tightly it leaves red ribbons. Your fingernails had dug into his forearms and his at your waist in which his hands wrapped around. He lets out a deep, broken growl as you whimper, shaking like a leaf, and he pulls out just in time to paint your belly with pearlescent threads.

He collapses on top of you, knocking the wind from your fragile body. You’re absolute jelly beneath him, crumbled into bits, and would never be the same. Let’s stay here forever, you want to tell him.

Din presses his face into the hollow of your neck, listening to the rapid pulse beneath flushed and thin skin. Then he kisses the blood flow beneath once, twice. “My gorgeous girl…”

Stay with me. Stay with me.

You wrap your arms - which have settled from the convulsions - around his neck and hug him tightly against you.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

#din djarin x reader #din x reader #strawberryfic #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din x y/n #din x you #mando x y/n #mando x you

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thewayshedreamed · 4 years

Text

Death Dance

Thank you for the prompt submission, Nonnie! I really liked this one.

Prompt: Can u write a Nessian fic involving Cassian seeing Nesta with her hair down for the first time? 🙏

A/N: This starts with an excerpt from A Court of Wings and Ruin, page 408. That scene was my inspiration for this prompt <3

acotar masterlist

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Cassian had been born for this—these fields, this chaos and brutality and calculation.

He didn’t stop moving, seemed to know where every opponent fought both ahead and behind, seemed to breathe in the flow of the battle around him. He even let his Siphons’ shield drop—to get close, to feel the impact of the arrows that he took in that ebony shield. If he slammed that shield into a soldier, his other arm was already swinging his sword at the next opponent.

I’d never seen anything like it—the skill and precision. It was like a dance.

I must have said it aloud because Mor replied, “For him, that’s what battle is. A symphony.”

Her eyes did not stray from Cassian’s death-dance.

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“STOP!” Cassian bellowed.

At his instruction, the clashes of steel ceased. Two flaps of his grand wings, and he was airborne, traveling the 100 or so yards to where Nesta stood. He landed firmly on the ground in front of her, sending vibrations through the earth beneath her feet. His brow was furrowed, nostrils flared, and his shoulders were tense as he assessed her.

“Problem, Commander?” she asked him dryly.

He huffed a breath through his nose, squaring his shoulders for the verbal sparring that he knew was coming.

“Nesta, who was your target?” he demanded.

“Cassian, I don’t understand the problem. You have trained me for battle, shaped my skills into what they are. Now, you scold me for employing them?”

It was true. The General Commander had started training her all those months ago, refining her physical competencies in battle as well as her strategy. Although resistant to his help when they originally arrived in Illyria, Nesta had been a talented pupil, her skills increasing at an exponential rate. Her wit and propensity for strategy served her well, and her mental tenacity helped fuel her progress through her lessons in technique.

Today was a day of group trainings, including battle drills designed to expose the legions to various strategies and threats alike. Nesta woke with an excitement on drill days, the opportunity to practice her skills pulling her from her bed earlier than any other day. She came alive in combat scenarios, as they allowed her to employ her newly honed skills without giving her the time to ruminate too much over which strategies to utilize. Only times of crisis were strong enough to compete with the brutality of her thoughts.

Additionally, she felt a compulsion to never find herself in another situation like the war with Hybern.

“Your skills are fine, and you know it. But you aren’t alone, Nesta.” His wings twitched, exposing his irritation. His voice was all rasp and intense focus; nothing of the pure and genuine male that existed off the battlefield.

“I’m fully aware, but I was disarming them easily. I don’t see why I shouldn’t take care of it.” She tossed her long braid over her shoulder, the end of it landing on her leathers just above the small of her back with a soft slap.

“You are engaging every enemy, but they are not your intended target. You need to evade them and allow your legion to support you as you move,” he reminded her firmly. “So I ask you again, who was your target?”

“How am I supposed to make peace with leaving my comrades behind me, unsure of their fate?” she spat.

His nostrils flared, his patience fraying by the second. “You have a responsibility to ensure your specific skill set is where it needs to be when it needs to be there. You are not a hero for clearing the field ahead of them, only to exhaust yourself prematurely or get yourself killed,” he seethed. “Your death leaves them unprepared for your intended target and increases the odds that they die as well.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered his words.

“So should I have left you there, too? Bleeding out on that battlefield?” she hissed.

He recoiled as if she struck him, obviously surprised to hear her mention the moment they shared during the battle with Hybern. This was the first and only time she had done so.

He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Who,” he asked through clenched teeth, “was your target?”

“You,” she said through a snarl.

“Correct. Move through this field, allow your fellow soldiers to support you. Save your energy for when you get to me.” he ordered, leaving no room for protest. He took off without waiting for her reply, the wind from his wings blowing back the loose strands of hair around her face.

He repositioned himself in the target location, his shield in place. Once he lowered it, they were to begin. Nesta fell in line with the other soldiers, steeling herself for when that red shield disappeared. She was still angry, but she felt a sense of calm wash over her as her focus shifted. Cassian waited for the opposing soldiers to move to their positions, then he dropped the shield.

Nesta ran, opting to pull a long dagger from the sheath along her thigh rather than pulling the sword from across her back. She knew she could move faster without the weight of the sword in her hand, and if she were meant to evade those she confronted, she felt her dagger would lend enough defense until another soldier arrived.

She never imagined that she would feel so at home on a battlefield, that these drills would become almost therapeutic. She moved forward, deftly knocking her first opponent off their center of gravity and causing them to stumble. She didn’t hesitate to move forward as instructed, daring to glance back quickly to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She was pleased to see her comrade engage the soldier, halting any plans they may have had to pursue Nesta.

She slipped into an eerie sort of calm, evading soldier after solder in her pursuit of Cassian. She could see him where he stood, waiting. She’d yet to best him in combat, and honestly didn’t hold that expectation in the absence of using magic, but she knew she was being assessed purely on her ability to get to where he was. She continued to move, only glancing back when absolutely necessary, and she was filled with a sense of honor that her back was covered every time.

She continued to feel a certain serenity surround her as she moved from one opponent to the next. She glided through them with grace and precision; as if she had learned this battle as choreography. After successfully blocking the blows targeted at her, she was already extending her dagger to the next, carrying herself through the field. There was a certain rhythm thrumming through her; her heartbeat akin to the cadence of a battle drum. She let it guide her and propel her forward, tugging her closer and closer to her target. She let it pace her, her footfalls coordinating in time with the fall of her daggers and her transitions between soldiers. Her movements came together in perfect harmony, an art form all their own.

She moved so briskly through her opponent's forces that her last obstacle to Cassian seemed to be caught off-guard by her arrival. She had him disarmed in less than a minute, promptly turning to lock eyes with the Illyrian warrior that awaited her.

He met her gaze with sheer focus, finally raising a scarred brow to her in challenge. She felt it like a blow straight to her chest; felt compelled to make her way to him. The steady beat of that battle drum pulled her once again, urging her feet forward toward the General Commander. She meant to break into a full run, but she felt a sharp tug on her long braid, snapping her head backward.

She risked a small glance at who held her. She didn't rotate her body being that she was unsure of how much that would compromise her ability to evade the attacker, but she turned her head to the side and dared a peripheral look their way.

The very last solider she'd disarmed had managed to grab hold of her braid, almost all the way at the bottom, near her lower back. She cursed herself for opting to wear it this way rather than her usual crown braid, but it seemed like an incredible amount of work for an activity that provided minimal appreciation for intricate braiding.

She saw her ally engaging with the enemy who was gripping her hair, so she knew it was not their failure to cover her that got her in this position. She had likely stopped too soon, not allowing enough distance to be created between them before pausing to assess Cassian. In those seconds, the soldier had regained access to his weapon and reached for her. It didn't surprise her, considering who had trained him. Even small opportunities could change the direction of a war, and he capitalized on her misstep in a way she had to respect, if she were honest.

All of these things burst through her brain within a couple of seconds before she started to scan it for a possible solution. Had she ever learned how to get someone to release her without getting hurt or killed in the process? The thought was pointless, because even if she had, it wasn't serving her at the moment.

And so, she moved.

— — —

From the second Cassian had lowered his red shield, his eyes were glued to the female meant to engage him at the end of her pursuit. She had arrived in Illyria with almost no skills and even fewer battle instincts, but when he had introduced her to training, she came alive. The idea that wars were ever fought without women like her was almost comical to him as he watch her graceful figure glide straight through enemy lines.

He couldn't, nor would be, discount her improvement or her skills in general. She had worked tirelessly for months, never wanting to find herself in a position similar to the day she was Made. She was strong, beautiful, and lethal with the blade in her hand. It was almost as if she were always intended for this.

He was relieved to see that she had taken his feedback into consideration rather than engaging every single soldier in hand-to-hand combat to spite him. It wouldn't have surprised him if she had being that she loved nothing more than to irritate him, but he felt touched at how seriously she was taking her training.

He watched her move through the crowd, entranced by her movements. He stood with his arms crossed, shield and Illyrian blade across his back, assessing Nesta and the others. Her team was supporting her beautifully, and he couldn't fight the smallest smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. She was almost to him now, disarming the man in front of her and pausing to look his way. He had just schooled his face into one of neutrality, thank the Cauldron, but his expressive brow quirked up of its own accord as he continued to monitor her.

That is, until the very last opponent she faced resorted to cheap shots, latching onto Nesta's hair. He gripped it as if she were the personification of his pride, floating away from him on the wind. He held a firm grip down at the bottom, yanking her head backward in the process. It took every ounce of his training to fight the vicious snarl that threatened to erupt out of him at seeing someone touch her in such a way. She paused, but she wasn't motionless for long.

Cassian knew his eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape as he watched in disbelief. As fast as lightning, Nesta turned on her heel, blade in hand. The Illyrian steel went through her thick braid like a knife through warm butter, sending the offender stumbling back.

Her golden strands unraveled as she whipped around and broke into a full run toward where Cassian stood. Her hair billowed around her face, framing it in a way that took his breath away. His breath was suddenly ragged, heart pounding through his chest as she ran toward him. When her steel blue eyes raised to meet his hazel ones, he had to take a step back and steady himself from the blow of emotions that roiled through him.

He knew it then, had suspected it for some time. That one word that changed everything, and by the way her eyes widened slightly, he suspected she knew it, too. She was almost to him; had already prepared the daggers in her hands to ensure she was ready whenever he deigned to attack.

Before entertaining a coherent thought about his actions, he raised his right hand in front of him, palm toward her. She slowed to a halt about 6 feet away from him, the look in her eyes a combination of determination, frustration, and something else altogether. He couldn't breathe.

He could see his own chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his blood singing to close the distance between them. He wanted to lie to himself and claim the call of battle as the reason for his compulsion. Battle, however, was the last thing on his mind.

The wind circled the both of them, and Cassian thanked the Mother for the soothing gesture across his wings. His blood was raging, sweat pouring along the inside of his training leathers. His wings twitched with anxious energy as he continued to look at her.

Her hair was blowing around her face, a few strands slanting across it. She was a vision, the strands looking as if they were perfectly placed to frame her delicate features. Her blue eyes bore into him, made even more stunning by the contrast of the brown whipping around them. He was both angry and relieved that he'd never seen her this way before. Had he, he would have never been able to train her properly, her hair and beauty wonderfully distracting. She was the one to break the silence.

"What now, Cassian?" she scowled. "I've made it, haven't I?"

Her voice was much quieter than before the drill, almost breathy. She was looking intensely at him, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. He tracked her movements as she ran her hand through her strands, from her forehead to the crown of her head, to attempt smoothing them.

"Nesta." he managed, his voice a whisper.

She continued to look at him, that unidentifiable emotion worn all over her beautiful face.

He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to say what he needed to through his nerves.

"You're my mate."

——————————————————————————

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shuahoonie · 4 years

Text

you [tom holland] - eight.

PAIRING: tom holland x female!celebrity!reader

SUMMARY: ah, to be young and in love. it sounds great if only you and tom were actually dating out of pure love and not for the sheer reputation of your careers. it also should be great if you two actually got along, but life isn’t that easy.

WARNINGS: mostly swearing! some fluff here, some angst there. it’s haters to lovers / fake dating au so take that information as you wish! also, their relationship is improving yall 🤧

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

SONG INSPO: mxmtoon - used to you

A/N: surprise! I actually updated after five/six months??? a lot of things have happened during the time that I was gone. most of it revolved around my mental health and uni. not a great time to have a career crisis whilst living in the middle of a pandemic lmao.

the last time i updated, i gave you guys the gift of fluff. maybe i should tone down a bit? or maybe not? i’m also sorry if this took ages. had an awful writer’s block. oooh, also i wrote an interview excerpt for this chapter. i added a link if you wanted to read it but no pressure! it’s just a lil’ sumn sumn :) anyway, enjoy reading!

hope you guys are safe & healthy! keep practicing social distancing and please wear your masks! sending all my love ♡

UPDATES EVERY SATURDAY 11 PM CST WHENEVER I CAN

gif credits: @tommybabyholland

Your friends have told you countless times to bite the bullet, however, you’ve seemed to swallow it instead. Here you were, lying in the same bed with Tom Holland, mere inches against each other.

If anyone told you that you would be lying on the same bed as the guy you swore you hated a few months ago, you’d probably laugh at their face.

You were definitely considering that maybe this whole fake dating thing wasn’t such a horrid idea after all.

The room was dimmed to almost pitch black now. You could see a small streak of light peering from the curtains, probably from all of the street lights outside, allowing you to at least see something. You were exhausted but somehow you couldn’t sleep at the same time.

The only reasonable thing that you could put your blame into was your heart, which was beating quite rapidly, by the way. You didn’t even know why you felt this nervous around him, it’s not like he’s a complete stranger.

You’ve known Tom for a good two months—two and a half if you want to be specific. You picked up on his little quirks: his eyes crinkle when he laughs genuinely, he doesn’t like that much sugar in his tea. He likes his dog, Tessa, very much which you were already a goner for. He also hums when he’s happy which surprised you one day, not knowing what to do with that information.

You also found out that his hands were always cold, which always startles you as your hands were extremely warm. Like right now, you could feel his fingertips grazing upon yours. As if your heart can handle even more of your emotions right now.

You were confused as to why you were extremely nervous around him all of a sudden. Is it because this is the first time your sharing a bed with your pretend boyfriend? Is it because the last time you shared a bed with someone who you had no relation to is with your ex-boyfriend?

It was driving you insane and you really had to get it together. You were both lying on your backs so all you could stare at was the empty ceiling. You took a quick look at Tom, who was already sleeping.

Ah, so he snores. You made a mental note to yourself, wondering how you can use that information and pester him with it. He didn’t have loud snores, just soft ones but still loud for you to hear.

You turned your body and lain on your side, choosing to face Tom. He really looked peaceful sleeping and the sight of him be at peace was enough to calm you down.

With that, you found your eyes slowly start to droop down. The image of Tom sleeping soundly was the last thing you saw before you drifted off to sleep.

You noticed three things as soon as you woke up. You still had your eyes shut, only because you refuse to accept that it was already a new day.

The first thing you noticed was the annoying alarm tone that kept ringing on the bedside table. One of these days, I’ll end up throwing and smashing my phone.

The second thing was how hot warm you felt. You felt the heat radiating beside you and you weren’t exactly used to it. You like the feeling of sleeping in a cold room while also burying yourself with blankets.

The third thing you noticed was the pair of arms wrapped around you. As you slowly opened your eyes, you were greeted by the extremely close proximity that you shared with Tom.

You found yourself cuddling Tom. Your head was resting in between his chest and his arm—the same arm that was wrapped around you. In the meanwhile, Tom’s other hand was resting on the side of your face, building the illusion that he may have caressed the side of your face.

You, on the other hand, had your left arm resting on top of his chest while the other was tucked underneath the pillow.

You wondered how the hell you ended up in this position, but knowing how you move a lot in your sleep, you probably initiated this in the first place. You also wondered how Tom can sleep through this annoying alarm, especially since it kept ringing every ten minutes.

Tilting your head up a bit, your eyes met the sight of his lips. However, from this angle, you could also clearly see the freckles speckled on his face. With the beaming sun and its fight to fill the room with light against the corners of the curtains, it only made things worse for you. Tom, with his body outlined by the light, absolutely looked angelic—as if the universe only favoured him and him alone.

You slowly reached for his hand and removed it from the corner of your neck, carefully resting it on top of his stomach. After successfully doing so, comes the real challenge. You slowly released yourself from the grip of his arm and tried your best to get out of the bed without waking Tom up.

Your logic? It would be rude to wake someone up from their sleep—especially when they can’t be bothered to be woken up by the alarm anyway. You also wanted this moment for yourself. You thought that it was best if Tom had no recollection of waking up to you two cuddling, acting as a true couple when there are no cameras around you.

You walked to the bathroom to get yourself ready. You had a whole day of photoshoots and you also had to squeeze in a couple of interviews after. You didn’t want to miss your best friend’s wedding so you had to do whatever you can in order to balance your social life and work.

You already knew that you were going to be exhausted for today and you love your job, you really do, but sometimes you wished that you could catch a break without losing sleep for the next couple of days.

After taking a long hot shower and doing your essential skin routine—knowing that this is the only form of relaxation you’re going to get for the next couple of days— you slipped into a pair of mom jeans and a loose shirt. You packed this much because you knew you wouldn’t get the chance to drive home anyway.

Just as you stepped out of the bathroom, your phone buzzed in your hand and saw a text from your manager.

Zoë: On my way to the hotel! I will be there in 20 mins or so. Be sure that you’re ready so we can get going.

“Oh, you’re already good to go?” You looked up from your phone and saw Tom yawning and rubbing his eyes. He was still wearing your sweatpants and he was still shirtless.

You nodded. “Zoë’s picking me up.” You replied as you tidied the bed. It took you a couple of minutes before the words you said just sunk in. “Oh god, Zoë’s picking me up.” You repeated with wide eyes.

“Yeah?” Tom chuckled, seemingly lost as to what you were trying to point out.

“She doesn't really know that you slept with me.” You said but as soon as you realized what you just said, you knew you fucked up. You saw Tom smirking at you which only prompted you to hit him with the pillow. “I didn’t mean it like that, you weirdo.”

“Oh, sure.” He teased as he put on his shirt. “I mean I’m pretty sure that I’m not the one who practically clung to a person while sleeping.”

“Shut up, Holland. You know I move a lot when I sleep.” You muttered as a pathetic excuse to hopefully shut him up.

“To be quite fair, I didn’t know that you do that whenever you sleep, but it’s nice to know that now.” He grinned.

“Oh god,” You groaned. “Let’s just go so I can check out now. Zoë’s going to be here soon and I want you gone asap.” You said as you glanced around the room just so you know you didn’t leave anything behind.

“Wait, what about your sweatpants?”

“Just give it to me the next time you see me.” You said as you pulled him out of the room and made your way to the front desk.

It turns out Zoë had no concept of time. As soon as you finished checking out, you saw your manager already waiting in the lobby. Oh, you recognized her big blonde hair from anywhere. She was sitting in one of the plush sofas, dressed in a white romper and even had her cat-eye sunglasses on. She looked like she’s about to catch her husband having an affair.

“Ah, Y/N,” She said with a huge smile. “Thanks but you should know if that ever were to happen, I would pick something more flashy.”

Oh, I said that out loud?! You practically yelled at yourself.

“We should get going, honey, we’ll grab you some breakfast on the way.” Zoë fixed the stray strands of your hair. You couldn’t be bothered to do your hair knowing that the stylists are going to give it hell anyway, so you just tied it in a low ponytail.

“Um,” You didn’t even know how to say it. Where you even going to bring Tom up? If so, what were you going to say anyway? That you spent a night with your pretend boyfriend? Which shouldn’t be a huge deal but you were sure that your stunt doesn’t involve actually falling for each other.

“Tom,” Zoë’s pitch went a bit higher, surprised to see Tom standing behind you. “What’re you doing here, hon?” She asked quietly.

“Oh, I-”

“He spent the night with me. Tom was exhausted and it wasn’t safe for him to drive last night, so I asked him to stay.” You explained, cutting Tom off. You just wanted to get it over with and you were bound to face the storm sooner or later anyway.

Zoë stared at the two of you for a moment, an undistinguishable look painted all over her face. You took a quick look at Tom who was also observing your manager’s reaction.

However, she chose to drop it. “Alright, c’mon, honey. You have a long day today.” Your manager said after she flashed Tom a smile and turned around, leaving you both relieved.

As you watched your manager leave and walk towards her vehicle, you turned to Tom and said, “I guess I’ll see you soon?”

Tom smiled and nodded, “I’ll see you soon, my darling.” He said softly.

You felt your cheeks start to burn again so you did what you always do whenever you don’t know how to respond or when you’re just plain embarrassed—walk away and practically scream inside your head.

You were walking—sprinting, more like— towards the vehicle and when you got in, you were greeted with a big smile by Zoë. It terrified you.

“Y/N, hon,” She initiated with a soft voice. “You know sooner or later this stunt will all come to an end right?”

“Yeah, I know.” You answered, slightly confused as to why this was brought up all of a sudden.

“Okay, good, good...” Zoë trailed off. “I just—I see how things may escalate and I don’t want to see you hurt, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I know.” You acknowledged, though this time you said it in a whisper. It was day 78 that you came clean to yourself and realized maybe you were developing a tiny crush on Tom.

The people from the magazine were doing a feature story on you. Not only that you were going to be on the cover of the magazine, but you were also going to get a ten-page spread that included an interview. The whole theme of the issue was individuality so your spread had to be rooted from your style, so the outfits, the makeup, and hair had to base off of you as a concept while still adding an editorial element to it.

You were already wearing the third outfit, wearing a pink frilly floral dress and it had hand-stitched and delicately placed flowers for the details—in which the outfit was inspired by your character in your tv series.

You were waiting for your hair and makeup to be done at the same time. The set was going to be in a pool so you also had to have your manicure and pedicure done. Basically, you had no control over your body.

“How are you doing, hon?” Zoë asked as she passed by your chair.

“’m still okay,” You mumbled. “Can I take a sip from my coffee though?”

Maria’s, the nail tech for this shoot, eyes went wide. “Your nails aren’t dry yet,” She pointed out.

“Please, Maria?” You pouted. You were literally about to pass out from exhaustion and you still had a full day ahead.

Maria rolled her eyes and gave in. “Fine, I’ll hold the cup.” She said before she grabbed your coffee from your manager.

As you happily indulged the coffee, you heard Ruby, the makeup artist, let out a sigh behind you.“Y/N, I just did your makeup.”

“Nothing bad happened! I just need to reapply the lipstick, it’s okay.” You quickly defended.

“Child, you are going to be the death of me,” Ruby mumbled loud enough for the two of you. “You’re lucky I like you because if my other clients did this I would’ve grabbed their coffee and then they would’ve gone full diva on me.”

You just gave her a huge smile before she reapplied your lipstick. The hairstylist just finished doing your hair, pinning tiny flowers all over your hair and having them scattered all over. You couldn’t believe that you had flowers all over your hair again—which only reminded you of Tom and what happened last night.

Last night felt so surreal. It was the first time you two didn’t have knives on each other’s necks. It was the first time you felt comfortable around him and the experience was very intimate, it almost drove you mad.

However, your manager’s words echoed back at you. It’s all a stunt and it will come to an end.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” The photographer asked, breaking up your thoughts. Am I?

From pink frilly dresses to big tan sherpa coats, you were finally done with the photo shoot. The shoot went on for hours and all you wanted to do was to get rid of everything that your skin and hair had to endure. However, it doesn’t end there. You still had to do a short interview for the magazine.

You were still wearing one of the outfits you had for the shoot—a black tube-top jumpsuit that clung into your body like second skin, along with tall pencil-heeled black pumps. This was definitely far from comfortable nor is it something that you’d wear, but you did like how it looked on you. “I look like the cold-hearted editor-in-chief in a magazine from a Hallmark movie” was all you said when you looked in the mirror.

You had to excuse yourself from the young journalist who patiently waited for you as your photoshoot ran a bit late. She was drinking the coffee that you had given her—a small token of an apology for the time she probably wasted waiting.

She gladly understood and went on with the interview. You were glad to do so anyway since you’re embarrassed for making her wait. You were asked about Amelia, the character that you play in the show Alchemist.

As Y/N eased into the interview, still wearing one of her outfits from the photoshoot, she was asked about her resonation with her character. “I see only tiny bits of myself as her—that being hard-headed and using self-deprecating jokes as a coping mechanism,” she answered with a small laugh.

You were also asked about your personal struggle between dropping out of school—potentially ruining your future— and your unstable acting career.

She thought she possibly made a huge mistake of ruining her future. Luckily, Y/N received a casting call for the show Alchemist. “I still believe it’s pure luck. I’m lucky that I got the part and the show helped me shape my career, however, I can’t deny that I was really close to giving up.”

Of course, the current state of your love life had to be included.

“Yeah, I am seeing someone.” Y/N admits with a soft smile. “People know who he is and frankly, I don’t think I have to explicitly say his name as who I date shouldn’t be anyone’s business.” Her cheeks were flushed red as soon as the words came out of her mouth. Y/N was kind enough to explain that she didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but she still stands firm with her words.

You quickly and kindly expressed to the journalist that you mean well. You had no intention of being rude or for it to sound rude, but you still hold true to your words. The journalist was kind enough to understand your sentiments regarding this.

The interview ended in a breeze and you were absolutely longing for the time when you can take a nice long bath. You quickly thanked the journalist as she bid her way goodbye.

You can only hope that this cover issue finds you well.

Time went by slowly and yet very quickly at the same time. You haven’t seen any of your friends for a couple of weeks as you’ve been occupied by filming, doing interviews, and photoshoots.

You haven’t seen Tom in quite a while too—which you didn’t mind. You actually used this time to reevaluate your uncertain feelings for him. People at set didn’t seem to notice that he rarely showed up at your shoots—at least if they did, they would just assume that he’s busy since he did have an endless list of projects.

As you were still uncertain about where your feelings lie with Tom, you chose this time to at least try and forget about him. Admittedly, it was difficult since people would always bring him up at some point or he would just be everywhere on social media.

This time apart from Tom did give you a sense of peace. You weren’t in the constant state of practically having a heart attack around him, no matter how cliché it sounds. You hated that he had this effect on you but you had to act like everything’s fine—hoping that you’re doing a damn well job because acting is how you put food on the table.

However, just like the opening lyrics of One Direction’s most gut-wrenching song, Love You Goodbye, mentioned: “It’s inevitable, everything that’s good comes to an end.”

And boy, did it end alright.

Ronnie: pls tell me it’s actually ur day off bc I really plan on having dinner with u. 🥺

You were about to have a long, relaxing bath (infused with epsom salts of course) when you read the text from your best friend. You were longing for this heaven-like bath and there’s no way you’re going to pass it up.

You: technically yes. the shoot ran till morning but all i’ve done since then was sleep. I'm about to take a bath tho & not planning to get out until i turn into a human prune lmao

Ronnie: ok! I'll buy us dinner, any suggestions?

You: really craving for some hearty Korean food rn 🤧

Ronnie: gotcha! I'll get u ur usual, do u want me to buy drinks too?

You were still debating whether to go drinking tonight when your phone pinged, indicating a text.

Ronnie: babes you’re taking too long. I'm getting us drinks.

You: guess there’s no way out then lmao

Ronnie: oh u bet. I'll be there in an hour-ish, maybe earlier.

You: might still be in the bath when u arrive. 😬

Ronnie: nah you’re ok haha. I have keys anyway and I'll make myself at home but u already knew that. 😌

You rolled your eyes but still had a smile on your face. You eventually gave Veronica some duplicates as she was constantly popping by anyway. It didn’t make sense for both of you to keep Ronnie out, waiting for you to come home when you could easily just give her some keys. At some point, you even asked her to move in. She is dancing around the idea though.

Turning your phone off, you stepped into your epsom-salt-bubble bath—ready to shut off from the world and embrace the relaxation.

After strategically propping your laptop at the bathroom counter, you’ve managed to finish two episodes of New Girl whilst you were in the tub. You could’ve used the bathtub tray that Olivia got you for your birthday, but you couldn’t trust yourself with that type of risk—no matter how careful you were.

It wasn’t long when you heard a small commotion coming from the living room. You had your eyebrows furrowed, surely it was just Ronnie who’s dropping by today. Unless she invited Olivia too?

Stepping out of the tub, you wrapped a towel around your body. You shut off your laptop and grabbed your phone before you left the bathroom.

“Ronnie?” You called out above the chatter from the living room. “Ronnie, is that you?”

“Yeah, right here, babes!” You heard her yell back. Upon reaching the living room, you saw Ronnie setting the food down on the table with Harrison putting the drinks down. “Oh, hey! I got us bibimbap and tteokbokki from Kim’s Kitchen. I also asked for extra kimchi because that is to die for.” Veronica exclaimed with a huge smile. “Oh and Mrs. Kim says hi.”

You forced a huge smile in response, turning to your best friend and subtly motioning at Harrison who was standing beside her.

“Oh! oh! Y/N, I hope you don’t mind that I invited them. They called me the same time as I texted you and I figured you wouldn’t mind because we’re all friends here, right?” Veronica smiled nervously.

“A head’s up would’ve been nice, because...” You motioned to yourself, pointing out that you were still in your towel. “I mean it is my home and I should dress however I want but obviously you got your boyfriend here. The least I could do is look presentable.”

Harrison turned red and so did Veronica. “Y/N, Harrison is not my boy—”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ll go get changed.” You rolled your eyes and dismissed the entire thing. What can you do, kick them out? Wait—

“Wait, did you say “them” earlier? Is anyone else coming?” You asked.

“Uh...” Veronica was looking for the right words to say until her eyes met someone else’s and looked right past you.

You turned around and saw Tom standing in the middle of the room, holding plates and cutlery from your kitchen. Pinching the bridge of your nose to prevent the emerging migraine you’re about to endure and closed your eyes, you took a deep breath.

“Uh—Hi, Y/N” Tom waved shyly. That’s all it took. All of those repressed feelings that you were trying to fight off were coming back. With your heart beating furiously, you knew you were a goner and you hated that.

“Hi Tom,” you muttered. You two haven’t spoken to each other in a while since the morning after the wedding. God, this is awkward.

You caught his eyes flickered to your body and put his head down, walking towards Harrison and Veronica, avoiding eye contact. You realized you were still in your towel, turning red. “Uh, I’ll go get changed.” You muttered, practically running towards your room to change.

You were changing into an oversized shirt and into some leggings when you heard a knock from the door. “I’m decent!” You yelled.

The door slowly opened, Tom peering from the other side.

“Oh, hey.” You greeted him as he slowly went inside your room. He was looking around, observing your room. Your bedroom wasn’t special but it’s your favourite place. The walls were painted white—which is why when the sun beams through your windows, it bounces off through the walls and illuminates your entire room. Your room consisted of white furniture and bedding, but you made up for it by putting numerous plants all over your room and using earthy tones such as blankets and decorative pillows as accents.

“Hey,” Tom stepped a bit closer “Sorry about earlier. If I knew you’d feel uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have come.” He apologized.

“No, you’re good. I guess I was just caught by surprise.” You quickly dismissed.

There was an odd silence. Is this what happens when you don’t talk for quite a while?

“Oh, I also wanted to give you this,” Tom said, handing you the sweatpants that he borrowed a while ago. The cursed night that brought you closer to each other, literally. Grabbing the neatly folded pants, your fingers gently grazed upon his—the first time you had physical contact ever since that night. “Don’t worry, I washed it.” He added.

“Eh, I think I’ll wash it again just to make sure.” You joked, trying to diffuse the awkwardness.

Tom let out a small laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry.” You heard him say as you put your hair into a loose ponytail.

“For what?” You asked, brows furrowed.

“I wasn’t exactly the finest “boyfriend” in the world.” He explained, putting air quotes on the word ‘boyfriend’. “I’d say I was busy but I should’ve made time.”

You gave him a small smile. “It’s okay, Tom.” You turned around to place the pants inside the drawer. “It’s not like you’re my actual boyfriend anyway.” You laughed awkwardly.

For some reason, that last sentence left an unpleasant feeling on you. Why are you longing for Tom anyway? Are you that deprived?

Tom let out an awkward chuckle and mumbled a quiet “yeah,”

There it is again. That awkward silence. Will this last for the entire night because this is going to be exhausting?

All of a sudden, Tom looked at you with a smile. “Why are we being weird?” Tom asked, laughing.

“Yeah, I don’t even know either,” You couldn't help but laugh as well. “I’m definitely not used to you being this quiet.”

“Are you saying that you missed it then?” He asked with a smirk. “Better yet are you saying that you missed me?”

You rolled your eyes. There’s the Tom that you knew. “I wouldn’t go that far, Tom.” You replied, fighting off a smile.

“’m just teasing, darling,” He laughed softly. “So, should we just forget everything and just be friends?” He asked, offering his hand.

You were about to reply when you heard a loud knock from the other side of the door. “Oi, are you two making out in there?” You heard Veronica yell obnoxiously from the other side.

“Veronica!” You shrieked out of pure embarrassment. You felt your face turning red, as if like you’re a preteen caught with her crush.

You pulled the door open and dragged Tom outside out of pure embarrassment, only to meet Veronica and Harrison who were leisurely sitting by the couch, trying to fight off their smirks.

“Food’s getting cold,” Harrison said innocently as you glared at the both of them.

“I see that you two are getting close,” Veronica commented eyeing both of your hands that were still clasped.

“I—uh,” You’re at a loss for words. You forgot the calm feeling of how Tom’s hands felt against yours.

You were about to let go when Tom raised both of your hands to show Haz and Ronnie. “I like holding her hand, it’s always so warm,” Tom commented with a soft smile. “One of the perks of fake dating, Y/N.”

Veronica took a good look at you while you were busy staring at Tom. Ronnie knows that stare of yours and if she’s being honest, she doesn’t know whether to feel happy or anxious for you.

“Yeah, that is until your hands get damp.” You teased, rolling your eyes. “Let’s just eat.” You said as you grabbed a cushion and sat on the floor.

“Okay, so what are we having?” Tom asked as he stared at the table full of Korean dishes.

“Well, I ordered each of us a bowl of bibimbap because I have no clue what you two like to eat” Ronnie said, pertaining to Tom and Harrison. She handed them each a bowl. “They’re all beef, by the way—oh except for Y/N’s, she has chicken.”

“Have you had bibimbap before?” You asked Tom who was behind you, sitting on the couch.

He shook his head in response, grabbing a cushion and opted to sit on the floor, right next to you. “I’ve had Korean BBQ before, does that count?”

“Not quite,” You laughed. “Here, I’ll add some chilli paste.”

“Darling, don’t add too much—” Tom argued while trying to grab the chilli paste from your hands. He ended just holding onto your hand instead.

“C’mon, it’s better when it’s spicy!” You defended, trying to squeeze more into his bowl.

“Are you sure you’re not adding that much because you hate me?” You could feel the close proximity of his face against yours.

“Oh, please,” You turned to face him “I could never hate you, Tommy.” You blinking innocently, trying to hide the fact that he’s literally inches away from you.

While you and Tom are practically exploring this whole new territory of closeness, Veronica was quietly watching it unfold in front of her eyes.

“They seem to be getting along quite well,” Harrison commented before shoving a spoon into his mouth.

“Yeah, maybe too well.” Veronica murmured, still staring at the couple in front of her.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Haz asked with a raised eyebrow. Curious.

Veronica couldn’t answer. Is it really a bad thing or was she just being overprotective? She should be happy for her friend! Heck, she should be happy that you and Tom were finally getting along for once.

Veronica chose to just look past it and accept the situation for what it is for now: a miracle.

“I guess not,” Veronica answered, smiling softly at Harrison who gladly smiled in return.

“Dinner was spectacular,” Tom commented with a smile “Well done, Ronnie.”

“Oh—psh!” Ronnie waved her hand nonchalantly, “That was nothing.”

“Yeah, because Mrs. Kim prepared all of it” You argued jokingly. “Besides, I suggested that we should have Korean cuisine tonight.”

“Then I guess I should thank you, Y/N,” Tom grabbed the sides of your face and squished your cheeks. “Thanks, darling.” He grinned.

You scrunched your face and took his hand away. “You’re annoying,” You told Tom while gathering the plates, starting to clear the table.

“I’ll get that, Y/N,” Harrison said while grabbing the plates from you. “I’ll do the dishes, you lot just stay put here.”

“Ooh, I’ll help!” Veronica stood up to help Harrison.

“No, it’s fine. Just stay there, Ronnie. It’s okay.” Harrison replied, his tone of voice suddenly warm towards Veronica.

“You’re so sweet,” Veronica said in awe. “But that won’t work for me, babe. I’ll help you, it’s totally okay.” She insisted, clearing the rest of the table and following Harrison towards the kitchen.

You were about to head into the spare bedroom when you felt Tom wrap his hands around yours. “Where are you going?” He asked.

“I’m just going to grab something,” You replied, “Even if I try to get away from you, I couldn’t. Trust me.” You teased.

Tom nodded understandably, letting go of your hand.

As you were on your way to the spare room, you couldn’t help but mumble “Why’s he being so clingy all of a sudden? Is this what he’s like to his friends?” You chose to shake off your thoughts against your better judgment.

“What’s that?” Tom asked as soon as you entered the living room.

“A bean bag chair,” You answered, dropping it in front of him. “So you can stop hogging my place on the sofa.”

“Aw, you got a bean bag chair just for me?” He asked with a huge grin on his face.

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t buy it just for you, dumb ass.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N.” He grinned. “Whatever you say.” Tom then sat on the bean bag chair, except he sat at the very upper part of it and tried to keep his balance whilst doing so.

This is the most boyish thing you’ve seen Tom do—no fancy clothing, no assistants around him, no cameras, none of it. He looked like an average guy, doing silly and harmless things, who’s just trying to have fun.

With that in mind, you couldn’t help but pull your phone out and film him doing so. Eventually, he caught on and saw that you had your phone out, giving a smile.

Laughing, you said, “That’s not how you sit on it!”

“I’ll sit on it however I want,” He teased. You quit filming and decided to upload the clip on your Instagram story. It was cute, pure, and authentic. Three words that you swore you wouldn’t use when pertaining to you and Tom.

This fake dating thing is getting harder and harder. Seeing that you and Tom finally decided to act friendly around each other, it’s definitely going to provoke the feelings you were trying to suppress from him.

“Okay, so I got bottles of soju.” Veronica announced while wiping her hands with the kitchen towel. “Anyone up for a Paranoia drinking game?” She asked with a smirk.

“Why must we play a game while drinking?” You asked, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I think it’ll be fun, Y/N.” Tom commented. “This is the right moment to build a tight bond with each other.”

“Yeah, because nothing says bonding like alcohol and using repressed feelings.” You mumbled.

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crystalgirl259 · 3 years

Text

The Flame and the Dragon Chapter 35

Chapter 35: The Blizzard

Scorched needles, scarps of wood blackened by rage, and bits of ash and charcoal scattered across the burnt snow where the proud pine tree once stood. Specks of blood and splinters dropped from the Sorcerer's scraped and roughened fingertips like someone had scattered rubies. His nails were shredded and his cuticles were split from clawing at the bark in a fit of rage. His fury had reduced the aged pine to a pile of ashes. All while, the raven remained still on its perch in the snow, completely unfazed by his master's wrath.

The Sorcerer's growl was dangerous and low before he suddenly screamed and spun around delivering a powerful blow to the young sapling unfortunate enough to be in the path of his wrath.

It made no effort to protests the Sorcerer's rage. Blinded by his rage, all he could see were the images his spy had shown. Images of that disgustingly repulsive beast, not even a beast but a half-beast, dancing with the Occulti, his Occulti. He clenching his fists causing his fingers to scream in pain but he was numb to all but his rage. He could forgive Kai for that. Surely the Dragon was becoming desperate and would use any kindness to trick the youth into saying the words needed to break his curse and deny him his greatest triumph.

He could forgive the youth for his naivety and his defenselessness.

He was merciful, but not after treachery. His wrath erupted, sending the curling shadows at his feet exploding in all directions. They shattered and pierced whatever they came in contact with until the clearing was a hollow circle of scorched earth.

"He's dirty! That damned whore! Damn him for giving away his purity, and damn me for thinking any one of their kind was redeemable!" He screamed and stomped his foot and tore at his hair and clothes until he panted like a beast after a hunt. But no matter how loud he screamed or how much he destroyed, it could never destroy that last scene from his mind. That beautiful boy, who should have been his consort and ruling at his side, wantonly giving his virginity to that monster and enjoying it.

He wanted to scream again, but someone else beat him to it.

"Lloyd! Where are you?!" A woman cried and the weak call was followed by a loud stumble against the carpet of snow. Bewildered, the Sorcerer quickly shielded himself among the trees careful not to let a spot of his red clothing betray his location. He watched a young woman rise stumbling from the muddy earth, and choke loudly on air. Like a shadow, the Sorcerer swooped closer and gasped. It was easy to miss from a distance but beneath the thick winter clock and the leaves and mud matting the sister of his Occulti.

The girl bulldozed through the woods and threw herself forward through the snow.

The action caused her heavy cloak to fall open revealing a shower of black hair, shiny even in the shadows of the winter forest. The girl immediately stumbled and almost fell over, but she was able to remain standing by leaning against a nearby tree. She was clearly sick as a dog and should be going home, but she had to keep going. She tried to scream, but instead choked on her own words and coughed in a way that made even the Sorcerer's skin crawl.

"I have... to find... Lloyd," She wheezed, shoving herself off the tree with surprising strength and half stumbled in her haste. She didn't get far before exhaustion and the brutal cold forced her to her knees. "I have to find them! I have to find Lloyd then we can save Kai! I have to get them back!" She spoke passionately to no one, but it was laced with the madness of grief. Again she shoved herself forward but instead her hands clenched her head and formed fists against her hair.

"I have to protect them! I promised I would! I promised them! Mom and Dad, I promised, and look what I've done! Lloyd's probably dead and I can't even think of what Kai's going through!" She screamed and tore at her hands and clothes with the rage and madness that only grief could drive a sane man to. She slammed her fists against the ground and punched at anything she could. All of a sudden, she was suddenly filled with new determination and charged into the blizzard, not aware she was being watched.

A triumphant smile split the Sorcerer's face.

Perhaps, there was some hope left after all. He smirked cunningly and called his pet. The bird abandoned its statue state and flew to its master's wrist.

"Tell me, my pet is he the one? The one our little Occulti spoke off?" He asked, but even though the bird said nothing a flash of its eyes and the Sorcerer had his answer. "And this 'Lloyd' she searches for, is he the other?" He questioned and again the bird was like a prop, only its glowing eyes gave an indication that it was alive. The Sorcerer snickered to conceal his glee, not wishing to betray his location to the still wandering mage. He spun in delight, thinking this was fantastic. It seemed that the Fates favored him after all.

"Follow her, when you've reached them both, alert me; now go!" He ordered as a grin curled wickedly on his face. The bird was off without another word, vanishing in the darkness while its Master laughed at his fortune. "Oh don't worry, girl, you shall see your little brother again soon!" He cackled like a flock of crows taking to wing and threw his bloody cloak over his shoulder...

****************

It had been two weeks since he ran away from home to find the castle where his beloved brother was being held prisoner by that beast. Two weeks he had been living in the woods surviving only because of the warming weather of the upcoming spring and because years of living a nomadic life had taught him to pack and prepare for the worst of situations. Two weeks since he had begun his search for Kai and he had found nothing. He thought it would be easy, with Spring fast approaching, that is until a blizzard appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

It had caught Lloyd completely off-guard and forced him to stop his search and find shelter.

Lloyd whimpered as he bunched his knees to his chest, shivering but not from the cold. The multiple fires he had started to keep the cave air warm, and the thick clothing he had packed had taken care of that. He covered his mouth to silence the heavy, haggard coughs fighting to escape. Quickly, he unpacked the bag containing a herbal blend and dumped it into the pot of water that had been boiling over the fire. He inhaled a sharp, large breathe and exhaled contently.

Immediately, he felt his throat soothe and his chest became less constricted.

He hadn't needed to use the herbal vapors so much before, but the cold weather wasn't doing his weak chest any good. He knew he would have been fine if he stayed in that warm house at night like a good boy. But how could he when Kai had been missing for almost five months, and the castle where the dragon kept him prisoner seemed to completely vanish? The thought made Lloyd's eyes prick with tears, but he managed not to cry. His fingers trembled, he clenched his arms and knees tighter in an attempt to feel some form of comfort.

But there was none. Nothing he did could replace the warmth and security he felt when he, Nya, and Kai were all together at home.

He knew he couldn't go home. Nya would never let him leave the house again until he was eighty. Lloyd didn't blame her, he ran away after all, but he couldn't keep waiting. He couldn't keep sitting around and doing nothing while his older sister worked and searched diligently for their missing sibling. He had traveled deeper and deeper into the woods. No matter how many times he found himself back at the path where they got lost in the storm, however, he couldn't find any trace of the huge castle.

Had it been sheer dumb luck that Kai found it the first time?

Or that they found it at all? Lloyd shook his head, forcing himself to dry his sleepy eyes. He then sat up with new determination, mentally forcing the tears and shivering down deep. If Kai could find the castle to save him and Nya then he could do the same thing to save Kai. He removed himself from the warmth of his fires and carefully approached the edge of the cave entrance, where he could hear the blizzard howling and blowing. The cold air bit angrily against his lukewarm skin, as if punishing him for daring to defy it.

Over the woods, he could see the setting sun was nothing more than a yellow sliver above the trees and the night had gone a deep grayish purple of twilight that bled into the dark blue and black of night.

Seeing that there was no point in traveling in the dark, Lloyd slid back into the crevice in the rocks and carefully covered it with a thick net of branches to keep out the cold. He had found this cave by sheer accident when he had slipped and fallen into the entrance. Through that, he discovered a fairly large-sized cave, hollowed out of the dirt and lined with rocks like a fox den. Lloyd had decided it would be the perfect place to camp while he explored the woods by day.

That proved to be true when the underground and rocks blocked out much of the night's cold.

The small opening allowed just enough air so that he wouldn't suffocate from the smoke of the fires. Sometimes, when he felt really weak and his medicine wasn't helping. He would have to spend all day curled up in his makeshift tent under the thick blankets he had brought until his shivering stopped and he could move again. Tonight had been one of his rare nights where he had just enough energy to go exploring again, but he regretted it when he had received an unwanted follower.

Lloyd shivered and blew air into his gloved hands, and rubbed them together before returning to the fire.

Outside a loud crunch of the snow made him scream, the sound echoing off the cave walls forcing Lloyd to cover his ears until it faded out.

"LLOYD!" Nya's voice suddenly screeched, coming closer to the cave. Before he could say anything, she pulled away from the cover and started sobbing tears of joy when she saw her little brother huddled in the dark. Lloyd didn't get a chance to react before she suddenly hugged the air out of his lungs. They stayed like that for a few seconds, before a look of rage fell over her face and she started shaking the little boy. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING LLOYD?! I'VE ALREADY LOST KAI, DO YOU THINK I WANT TO LOSE YOU?! WELL, DO YOU?!" She screamed, still sobbing through clenched teeth.

However, her rage suddenly vanished when Lloyd finally released all the tears he had been holding in and started sobbing loudly.

Nya sighed and hugged her little brother again, letting him sob into her shoulder until he eventually tired himself out and fell asleep. As soon as she was sure he was out cold, Nya packed up his things and lifted him up in her arms. Once he was secure and safe, she left the cave and began to head home. However, it only took a few seconds to discover that she couldn't find the trail leading back to the village in this monstrous blizzard. She tried turning around and heading back to the cave.

But her face paled when she realized that the blizzard had covered her footprints in fresh snow.

She was now stranded in the middle of a blizzard in the forest with one brother sick in her arms and the other being held prisoner by a monster...

****************

Kai screamed for his siblings in his sleep as he thrashed around in the bed, only to find himself restrained. His eyes suddenly flew open and he found himself being held in place by Cole, the man's green eyes fixed on him with a mixture of fear and concern. A cold stab of fear pierced him, completely unaware of where he was. He recognized Cole's room, but the bedsheets were twisted and half flung off. One of Kai's arms raised over his head the other clenched the pillow in a fierce death grip, with Cole holding both his wrists.

Cole's tail was wrapped firmly around Kai's waist to keep from thrashing about.

Slowly, so as not to scare him further, Cole unwound himself and looked him over for any sign of injury.

"Kai? Are you alright?" He asked, carefully and tenderly. The details of his nightmare came back to him like a cold knife twisting into his heart. A sudden stab of guilt and terror knifed through him, making Kai flip over and smother his face in a pillow and burst into tears. "Kai? Talk to me!" Cole pleaded as he kept shaking him, his voice sterner, but not losing an ounce of concern.

"I'm fine," Kai lied wiping his eyes. "I just had a nightmare."

"I can see that, you don't wake up crying and screaming if you've had a good dream," Cole said bluntly, lying down next to him and pulling Kai into his arms. Despite Cole's attempt at light humor, Kai said nothing. He just looked at the pillow beneath his face. A tear he hadn't noticed ran down his face and he found himself shaking again. He tried to speak but the only coherent thoughts in his head were the pleading, effusing eyes of his two brothers.

Determined to relieve his precious flame of his distress, Cole wrapped tentative arms around Kai.

He then pulled the brunette into his lap and brought him down with him against the pillows. Kai resisted the embrace and tried to protest but regretted it when Cole looked him straight in the eye. His face was a mask that betrayed no emotion, but his serious eyes held unspoken trust.

"You saw your siblings, didn't you? You're worried about them." He said and Kai's flinch of shock was the only answer Cole needed. "Don't look so surprised, you screamed both their names; I've had nightmares about my sister and parents for years after they vanished, so you don't have to hide your worry, and I don't want you thinking you can't come to me when you're upset like this." He promised as he tucked one of Kai's loose bangs behind his ear.

"It's not that," Kai admitted, feeling his chest stir at the words. He paused, guilt shaking him to the core. "I don't know if that was a nightmare or another premonition, but... it made me realize just how selfish I've been; here I am, happier than I've ever been in my entire life, surrounded by people who adore me, wearing the most expensive things I've ever owned! I'm practically living a fairy tale and they think I'm starving to death in some cold, dark tower, being tortured."

"Oh," Cole muttered as Kai covered his head with his arms and buried it in Cole's chest.

"They probably think I'm dead, Cole!" Kai cried as tears streamed down his face. He had never stopped thinking of his siblings, not since the day he had arrived at the castle. It seemed wrong to do anything else. Even when he started to like his confinement, and enjoy the company of the Dragon Lord, he still remembered his brother and sister and was comforted in the thought that they were both safe and hopefully happy. He never stopped to consider that his sacrifice might have the opposite effect of what he intended.

Or that his disappearance had destroyed their lives in a way he never considered.

But he had been so happy. The last few days were like a dream come true and he wanted nothing more than to pretend that it could last forever, and he dared, for once, to be selfish and think of nothing but his own happiness. Of course, that decision would come back to haunt him. Guilt pooled in Cole's gut and he cursed his own helplessness as he watched Kai weep. He hated seeing Kai like this. The brunette deserved to be happy and content, not feel like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and be consumed by guilt and shame for wanting to forget that and enjoy life for once.

Especially since it was his fault Kai's family was separated from him.

Looking back at the darkest and earliest days of when he and Kai met when he had unleashed his bitterness and rage against Nya and Lloyd. Kai's siblings had every right to be afraid of him. He had only agreed to Kai's proposal because the boy fascinated him and not because he cared at all about their fates, even if Lloyd's health had concerned him. It had filled him with shame and he knew he had to make up for it. None of them deserved to be separated from one another.

Especially not because of him.

They deserved better than that ridiculous town trapped in time, and he knew just how to do it. Cole stroked Kai's back and gently shook him. When Kai raised his head, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks damp with tears, Cole comforted him with caring words pressed with butterfly kisses along his neck and temples.

"If you're that concerned about them, then you can always invite them to stay here." He said with a soft smile and Kai shot up.

"What?" He croaked in a weak voice forced through a constricted throat.

"There's more than enough room here, the staff will adore them; you already said you three planned on leaving your town anyway, and I don't think they'll argue if you ask them, and I can bear the bulk of their hatred for your sake."

"Why would they hate you?" Kai blurted, too stunned to think clearly, and Cole raised an eyebrow of annoyed obviousness.

"Given the fact that I locked them in a tower and technically kidnapped you, I doubt they'd be happy to see me or be comfortable with the fact that you're now my lover, but as I said, I can bear the bulk of their hatred until they see I'm not as cold as I act."

"You'd do that for me?"

"I'd do anything for you," Cole replied, pressing their foreheads together. Overcome by emotion, Kai launched himself into Cole's chest and held him tight with such force he nearly knocked Cole over. Tears rained down his cheeks but this time they were happy tears.

"Thank you, Cole! Thank you so much! I don't deserve you!" Kai cried as he buried himself in Cole's torso grateful for the man's comfort and support and his understanding more than anything else.

"Don't ever say that again, don't even think it." Cole scolded but there was little force behind it. Cole pulled the comforter up to Kai's shoulders as they fell back asleep. "We'll talk more about it in the morning."

"Thank you, Cole, thank you for everything." Kai yawned as he dried his eyes.

"You have nothing to thank me for, it's the least I can do since you saved my soul." Cole smiled as he sensed Kai's lingering uncertainty, he continued to hold his lover close and comfort him until they finally fell back into a peaceful sleep. Cole continued to hold Kai, keeping a careful watch for the rest of the night, treasuring the feeling of holding Kai close. When the nightmares bothered him again, Cole was quick to chase them away and coaxed Kai back to sleep with soothing touches and caring words until Kai quieted...

#The Flame and the Dragon #beauty and the beast #ninjago #ninjago cole #ninjago kai #ninjago lloyd #ninjago nya #lavashipping

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quitequietquitecute · 3 years

Text

NIGHTCALL

It had been a while yet since the last war ended and that its aftermath had cicatrized from Konoha's village face... Almost two years now that a new memorial had been erected in the cemetery, containing the -too numerous- names of those whose body had vanished and who had perished in that senseless massacre... As his father's one - like his teammate's and comrade's and a lot of the village's folks - that can be found carved on it.

He was barely twenty, yet his life entailed two tragedies, two major trauma. It took him a lot to recover from the first disaster : his sensei's death.

Unfortunately, he was endowed of a proficient brain, and that, not only to play shogi or to elaborate strategy, although it was what he was renowned for ; but also for everything what had appeal to overthinking : from self-loathing, to self flagellation or to questioning oneself or by redoing the past with all possible issues he could -have- come up with IF he had enough time, if he was fast enough, if he was ...enough... to every "if I had" that was tormenting him, even now, if less often, still vividly.

De facto, he had passed through every phases, beginning with the sorrow, then the wrath and from the denial to the guilt, in the pit of depression, sporadically coming back from a phase to fall back in another, and this, despite a duly consummated revenge.

Obviously, nobody knew _ except one particular person to whom he authorized himself to break _ timid has he had always been and of a lone and calm temper as he was :

It was the next day of his father's death anniversary. It was a dark night. Laying flat in his bed in the darkness, he could not sleep. It was worst than usual. He was not able to grab a scraps of slumber but in the morning, when he should wake up and go to work. It's been almost fifty straight waking hours...

The weariness was weakening his mental state, it was all the more grueling...

When one had heaped so much waking hour at once, they lose the common time track. It felt like yesterday was no more yesterday or there was no more morning, no more evening, no more night or things as day. Just the solar and moon revolution that seems to put you on the sideline bit by bit. It was a fact well established that peoples tend to refer to sleep to define the end and beginning of their day. Yesterday, for him, was like tree days ago for most people, then.

And while he was thinking about the human conception of the time, his mind was finding a bit of reprieve.

Yet the time was not an escape door but a one-way street, converging in a lonely vanishing point that failed him to save his loved ones... Everything was bringing him back ... at that... incurably. He wasn't able, long enough, to think about anything else.

Although exhausted, he woke up from bed, put on some clothes and exited his house for a walk :

Like the night before, whither his stroll brought him to the cemetery. Where he had met Hinata - as gloomy and drained as him - collected in front of the tall white stone.

Both of them then had faced each other and intently stared, lost and dazzled, puzzled to encounter another human being here, standing in the dark with the same goal : moping about the loss of the loved ones, disappeared "that day".

Then, they both took place ahead of the memorial in silence, the woman giving way to the newcomer.

Neither of them said a word. Side to side in a profound internal contemplation. But in the same time... There was like a feeling of communion floating around them from the incidental encounter. To be here. At hand...

He sensed something moist and tepid, a bit callous but still mostly soft, taking a grab of his hand. He then warmly let the small things slide in between his longer fingers which numbly locked on her strong tiny hand. It felt like these was at their entitled place.

The young woman had noticed he was shivering through their touch, she tightened the grip on his hand. Feeling the firm soft pressure, he took a look at her. She was sending his way a sight of sheer understanding. No smile, no wince, no pout ... just a deep, uncanny, almost inquisitive gaze, full of melancholy which she only let go to see by scarce chance to those able to catch it. That was a call to slack off, to come undone, to let off steam and relieve the pressure... and how he was craving for it... but his tight throat was not allowing anything out.

Reading such misery and distraught in her comrade's eyes, she knew it was locked, that it was not yet the time. Delicately, she had rested her head on his shoulder and hugged his nearest limb with her free arm.

They retired in a tacit agreement, seeing the first morning glimmers in the sky. Going back to their sham of pretending to have had a good night sleep.

But they were only leaving physically :

Hinata was concerned, felt pain not to worry and think about the peculiar state she sees her friend in ; that fact had thankfully eluded every of her very own concerns _ Actually. It was a good opportunity to flee her own issues that she was embracing cheerfully.

Shikamaru found himself unable not to think about the Hyuuga's heir ; her gestures toward him and her gaze ; his mind inhabited with everything he could have nor should have said her, frantically occupied to conceive in his mind all scenarii, coupled to the crave to see her again mingled with qualms.

At the end of the day, both of them tried to meet, actively seeking ... never finding each other... Lamblike, they came back home.

...

That was only at 3 a-m. when he can't bear to ruminate anymore that the Nara get out of his bed and excited his family compound. He knew -for he remarqued it during mission with her- that she usually get up around 3 a.m. and 4 a.m in the night. He passed by the memorial. Not here. Neither in the cemetery, would have been too easy. She was not on her training ground neither.

He was heading to the Hyuuga district then. He managed to not awaken attention, not to end with a grumpy byakugan possessor's platoon that would have fun blocking every of his tekketsu pursuing him. He stopped on a building's rooftop then watched around... That was quite extensive, it was like a small town full of little boxes, sober and beautiful but all the same... until he was spotting an opened area in the middle of the domain.

He swiftly jumped roof to roof in his black shirt and pants, looking like a shadow. When he was there he observed the place, finding what he thought would be : a classic but charming and harmonious garden, endued of a small, reeds bordered, nymphea constellated, pond.

On the porch from one of the adjoining house, he saw a black shape. It was the well made body of a woman in her training suit. While she lifted her eyes to the night sky to watch at the luminary, she caught under the light of the moon the crouched and very recognizable silhouetted form of the Nara clan's head. Undeterred, she had jumped and was joining him on the roof, about to say his name, he beat her to it.

"I ... I need to tell you how I feel" He grunted in a breath before he lost the nerve, his voice hoarse.

He took her hand and she followed his lead, whereas he drove her through the night, down the hills ... Nothing could bother them here.

She was here, silent and attentive. So he told her how he wasn't able to sleep, how many days had passed since the last time he was able to rest, how much he still suffered his mentors loss, that it was like he wasn't really here or like he was 'outside' everything, that he cannot make it out and how he was feeling helpless and how it gnawed at him.

At first it was pretty difficult and required a lot of efforts, then he had erratically let things get out in a throbbing rhythm, with no further form or thoughtfulness.

He finally slowly admitted, a bit ashamed, that he thought she was the only one he could talk about. To that, she responded mutely, approaching him and clasping her arm around him gently.

"I know..." She finally whispered with apathetic voice ... Only, understanding too well what he was feeling.

In fact, it was the only thing to do, there was nothing that could be said. There was no remedy but time and habit to that kind of wounds.

The only reason she still held on was because she was stultifying herself in training every single time she was beginning to think about things that was making feel her gloomy or guilty ... even with that, often she was breaking up, lone in the night.

They both knew it.

That's why he was here.

He needed to talk, pour out everything, breaking up a bit ; without fearing sarcasms, trials, harassing, bossing, nagging or being told not to crack, hearing platitudes about being strong and "being a 'man'", being forced to relativize. And he knew he could tell Hinata about his weaknesses, she won't use it against him, to mock him or give him a silly nickname because he divulged anything to her.

She was the ideal person, since she was in a similar status.

She was the understanding embodiment... Whose he needed.

He slowly slacked into her arms after a few time and flabbily gave the embrace back before crashing to his knees. Then his arms tightened around her thin waist while he layed his cheek on her stomach. She fondly caressed his hairs like she would have done to a sad Mirai, feeling yearning and happy to be there for him, living the present.

Half an hour later, she had noticed the tenseness had gradually disappeared from her exhausted comrade's body. Entirely. He was finally asleep... in this awful stance... In this state, no need to try and wake him up... Plus they was not far from his home, so she took him on her back and brought him back to his bed, before surreptitiously slipping away to her own room.

She had not trained until morning and, in place, she slept soundly.

...

When he woke up, in the middle of the afternoon, he asked himself if it was real or just a dream ; not remembering how he got back to... Though, actually he had something else to think about : he would have explanation to give to have missed a council meeting...

He sighed knowing he will not hear the end of it : "... what a drag ..."

He had bitterly learned his powerlessness at great emotional expense. Him whose intellect usually succeeded to resolve the slightest problem, him whose mind always wanted to find meaning in everything : two times, he found stronger than him in the death.

The second fateful date was like a "coup de grâce" and during a long time, it was, for him, as if nothing had logic anymore. And yet everything continued as if nothing ever happened.

So, he was doing the same, he had switched to auto-mode :

To wake up in the morning _ it was the most annoying and painful moment, everything else was a mechanic habit that required no efforts. To prepare for the day _ to wash up ; to have a breakfast without appetite, to dress up. To Leave home for the day : to walk from point A to B ; to work ; to try and listen - enough to give the right answer ; to go back from B to A ; to eat ; to start again ; to resume at the beginning ; to come back home. Sometimes. To cross someone knowing us ; to greet him ; to agree his words ; to smile a bit if required ; or ; to have a visit ; or ; to be invited from time to time, but less and less often and no longer knowing if we are alleviated or sad _ since it was always a bit uncomfortable to be in groups _ but still happy to see people we like seemingly having a good time ; to ignore the ill-at-ease feels and concentrate on present ... to finally come back home ; to lay in bed exhausted, but still being unable to sleep because as soon as we do nothing the brain starts working again ... just to works ... and it's the end of the respite ... insomnia :

Not to sink until daylight and to have to wake up for the "next day"...

And it was endless.

At last.

Except days off.

He often would decide to spend with the woman and the daughter of his regretted sensei, whose he had promised to protect. Eventually, a third variable was added to this equation. The only little eccentricity - although quite humdrum too - in his daily, that was making explode, even for an instant, the sort of bubble that he was trapped in most of the time.

And in those too brief moments ; as during picnics in company of the women of his life that they were arranging on sunny days in the Nara's domain woods. There, whereas he was laying in the shadow, after lunch, in the warm moist air of the afternoon, in a cute small clearing neatly maintained by his clan members, he seemed lazy.

In fact, he was falling from exhaustion and he was slumbering while Kurenai tidied her stuffs with Hinata's help and Mirai was performing roulades and running around sometimes stopping seeing something interesting on the ground, grabbing grass and sticks and mimicking "Auntie Hinata" -or "Auntinata"- knitting grass or just was crawling under their benevolent watchful gazes.

- That was one of those days.

The sun was starting to decrease when Kurenai decided it was time to go. Hinata had guessed when seeing her sensei getting up then start picking up her stuffs while saying Mirai they were about to go home to prepare the departure. The Hyuuga girl was watching the scene but was throwing glances every now and then to the inanimate form on the ground, a bit concerned.

"I am gonna leave you. I go back home with Mirai" The older woman finally said, to make know she was about to leave.

Hinata nodded smiling but furtively glanced to the sleeping beauty.

"Good evening Kurenai-sensei" She bowed.

"Wish Shikamaru a good night for me" She said amused.

"Yes, I will make sure he don't spend his night here." She replied, throwing the sleeper a slightly worried glance.

The toddler was eyeing the goodbyes with interest stamping a bit before letting loose her mother's hand.

"Kiss Auntinata !" She exclaimed before launching herself to the young woman.

Hinata crouched to be able to receive the child's embrace that was jumping on her to give her a big slimy kiss, laughing.

" See you tomorrow Mirai-chan" she said softly giving her a kiss back on her forehead.

" Auntinata make a kiss to uncle Shika for me ?" She asked with a big hopefull smile to the big girl, pulling on her baggy mauve vest.

Hinata was a bit surprised but smiled shaking her head : "Yes, for sure Mirai-chan, I will. When he wakes up."

"Yay ! Thanks auntinata !" then she gone back trotting to her mother, very happy under the tender gaze of the two brunettes.

Kurenai took back the small hand in hers and gave a small head sign to her former student before finally leaving. Hinata had watched them go as long as they were observable. When they were not, having disappeared behind tree trunks and bushes, the kunoichi then lifted her white eyes to the visible part of the sky.

It was adorned with autumnal warm colors but beginning to grow darker with purplish night shades. She sighed and slowly approached of the deadlike Shikamaru.

She had squatted down and then kneeled toward him before gently effloresce him, whispering : "Shikamaru-kun" ... Nothing... "Shikamaru-kun..." She shook him shyly. Few second later. Nothing.

She had lingered on his completely relaxed face, mouth ajar. She smiled a bit amused ; he had a leaf on his cheek, she took it off and gave a light caress to his cheekbone. She saw his mouth close and adorned a silly expression ; one she had never seen on his face before. It make her stop, surprised and flushed by the realization of her own act.

She redone timidly her tentative to wake him : "Shikamaru-kun?"

Still nothing.

He was still soundly asleep and proving it by straightening him up in a siting position, turning him a bit before placing herself under his torso and locking his arms around her neck. He was still passed out. She lifted him up on her back, leaning a bit forward to balance the weight then grabbed his tights to her waist, before running the straighter way to his home.

Being a full-fledged taijutsu practitioner kunoichi, it was not a big deal and they were done to his room few minutes later.

She had dropped him in his bed after taking her shoes off, on the porch. She tooks his sandals and puts them besides hers on his room's engawa.

She sighed and looked at him a moment a bit upset. She knew for a fact it was not that he was supposedly "lazy" that he was dozed off ...

She understood it because she neither had no full rest ; still not able to sleep well even with the passed years _ though she was never a long sleeper _ waking up with a jolt every night around 4 a.m. ... So she gets up and go to train until it's time, then have a shower and do as if she was just waking up... consequently to that continual lack of sleep, she felt worn all the time, mainly when she was not moving ; especially from midday until the end of the afternoon ; then around 7 p.m, the light decrease and she feels like a second breath. So, instead of going bed she go to train until she feels tired again a bit before midnight ; where she fall from exhaustion... only to be waked up with stupor again at 4 a.m, perspiratory and panting.

She had yawned, it was a bit startling since it was usually an hour of the day her mood shifted to its excitement phase in which she needed to unwind. She thought about going to bed herself while staring her sleeping friend. She leaned over him a bit, tenderly stroked his brow line while unconsciously munching on her bottom lip.

She remembered her promise to Mirai with a smile and whispered : "Good night Shikamaru" before tilting forward and planting a kiss on his forehead, very soft and slowly.

Actually, she was not sure she would have dared doing so if he was awakened.

She was about to retreat when without warning, two longs arms pop from each side and wraps around her, attracting her to the bust of the sleepy form. She had let a small 'eep' getting out of her lung in surprise, unable to breath for a moment. She construed the situation. She was awkwardly laying on his upper body, locked in his arms while he seemed to still be as asleep as ever

"A-ano.. shika-" she was cut off when he turned in the opposite direction, without letting her go, making her follow the move and leaving the ground ; before he buried his face in her bosom.

Hinata was flustered and paralyzed, reddening like hell, heart drumming, feeling weirdly thrilled. She relaxed a bit, breathing again. She sensed then the cold nose of his comrade melted with his hot breath on the tender skin of her neck ; she shuddered insanely, feeling ... strangely... vibrant.

She was blushing but quite liked that situation ; if it wasn't for the embarrassment and the lack of congruence of it, she certainly wouldn't mind staying here. Even if it was not morally ‘appropriate’ to... sleep with a men she's not married to ...at least as a Hyuuga member, she must behave a certain course of action.

While thinking to it, she stopped to exert a pressure against him and on the contrary to her morale wrapped her arms around him to hug him back.

She then heard him sighing with pleasure, groaning, almost vibrating, like a cat. She shivered. Heart jumping. Reading it as an awakening sign, she tried sheepishly : "Shi-shikamaru-kun" though ashamed by her own boldness leading to that circumstance, weird but quite pleasant.

He suddenly pressed her more firmly against him, almost possessively, breathing deeply her scents before exhaling a contented sigh.

...

Now the brunette's heart is thumping erratically in the chest, she feels dizzy and about to ... faint...

She opened her eyes : it was dark outside, although it wasn't unusual for her to wake in the midst of the night... the unusual thing was the room she was in and the body onto she was laying off. She lowly realized the situation and remembered.

When she regained consciousness, she displayed a bit her lambs on the surface she was laying on and then felt herself ... Waving ? ... up, down, up, down... She swayed. Then was the warmth below her. An arm around her back. Cuddles on her shoulder she felt through the multiple layers of her clothes.

Daringly, she lifted her reddening head to ascertain her assumptions : he was awake. He took his eyes off of his bedroom's ceiling, sensing her moving above him, guessing she was now looking at him.

The bedroom from who she was in, the body whose she was on ... Were Shikamaru's. Her head on his shoulder, her face beside his neck, her arm wrapped around him and her leg comfortably folded on his hips. She heard her friend's pounding heart resonating in her flesh, deep, but not as calm as it should be. Her own heart was beginning to pump harder too.

Actually, he felt comfortable to know his own pinkened features was concealed by the darkness ; enough to too rashly approach his hand from her face, took off a strand of her hairs from her cheek before he pushed it behind her ear, brushing it softly in the run -eliciting a faint shiver from the girl- then he granted himself the ultimate daring to look at the sleepy face of his partner. He knew she was blushing, guessing it, according to the doe's eyes she was giving him.

They stood there awhile, getting lost, eyes locked in each others, fixedly, closely, almost intimately ; not knowing what to say and not daring to put it to an end ; enjoying -although not willing to admit it- a unique moment, something unheard-of.

" ... I ... " It was Hinata's haggard voice that brought them back to the reality. " ... ano ... you... " Still not knowing what to say, but not allowed to stay there, on top of a man, forever ; even if she was not really bothered by it.

"... Yeah ... I know right. "

He tried a bit strangely, through his usual tired low voice, to help her out of the scabrous situation of wich he was not totally aware of neither, but neither bothered by.

" Just remember falling asleep in the wood " he commented, then, a bit embarrassed, added : " I guess you carried me there. " shifting his gaze away scratching his neck with his free hand, before looking back to her and ending to say a weirdly deep warm "thanks" in an almost... lecherous whisper.

At least, it's how Hinata had perceived it for it gave her body such a shudder, while she was again all captivated by his sight.

Always above his body, she was staring at his lips, awfully near ... Noticing it, she recoiled a bit, ashamed of her lascivious demeanor while on top of a good friend, getting perhaps a bit too 'friendly'. But still, a part of her was feeling like it was totally only "natural" to be so lax around him. Actually he was spurring it, with all his Slacked Might.

Now she thought, was it correct to be that close of her comrade, to feel that nice in his arms, to feel so good under his touches, while she was thinking being in love with Naruto ?

And him... he was more or less sentimentally engaged to that Suna's girl, according to what people was saying about. Surprisingly enough, her throat tightened to that thought ; was she jealous ? ... of Temari... She never felt that way even watching Sakura hugging Naruto. She was deeply confused.

Shaking her thoughts out of her mind, she mumbled :

"...it... it's no nothing... I ... I could not leave you to sleep on the wood's soil...and... and you did no-not wake up so... so... I..." she was hum and haw, it was an odd thing because the last time he had heard her stammer as much was almost seven years ago, in front of Naruto.

It was like ... for him.

A cranky idea dawned all of a sudden, but he did not dare admit it or to make the connection and accept it. No. It was not possible... Was it ?

He seemed in wonder : she read it as it was wrote on his face despite the twilight. Hinata had no idea how to take it, it was unsettling. She never had questionned herself so much over just a slight look... save Shikamaru... ; she finally sorted out.

However, she remembered that when she was hearing his name or something out off a snippet of conversation about him, or just sounding like it was about him _there was few keywords that triggered her concern_ she was instinctively pricking up her ear, her attention called. It begun in her clan and continued quite often.

"There is something inside you, it's hard to explain ... They are talking about you ... but you are still the same."

Oddly, she heard the elders offended, call to mind that young man said too youthful for his task and status ; but mostly extrapolated about him without a care of who he was, lending him ambitiousness and was accusing him of said inexperience and for his disrespect. Nothing legit, for who knew Shikamaru as well as she do.

...Well.

"There is something inside you, it's hard to explain ... They are talking about you ... but you are still the same."

Except perhaps about 'respect' ... when it comes to people that annoys him, he could be quite pungent, she must admit.

Unconsciously, staring at him, she was prettily smiling, remembering those events and almost laughing at her own conclusion.

No. She was the one who had changed. Her confusion was leaving room to some sort of confidence, she was welcoming that realization. She felt like she was smiling the largest smile she had ever made, while he was stunned by the sight. For once, his brain was at a stop.

Time too.

She was computing the hours she had fainted around and woke up and assessed, it was : "impossible" then came with a : " I-I slept at least ten hours ... at once ! " astonished.

Before she had noticed, it was more and more luminous in the bedroom, the faint cold morning light leaving room to pink and gold on the horizon. Taken aback she checked to find a clock and find the dial displaying the numbers " 6 : 53 " ... Her breath was cut from her lungs.

Shikamaru ogled her, smiling, a bit quizzical through her new commotion. He revealed himself playful :

" So. What does it do ? "

The brunette was staring at him awhile flabbergasted, before she get a kick of doing such a prowess and laughed at his teasing mood, hiding her face in his shirt. He didn't thought he was so funny but he just felt like joining her in the mirth listening to her small ringing laugh

"We should do that more often" she said in a jovial outburst, without a second thought.

Then rehashing her own words, she felt flush crawling to her face, realizing what was implied. Shikamaru was as dazed as her, but then it was a smirk that had climbed to his face. She tried to clear thing up and explain ; let's rather say : to sweep the shame-dust under her carpet-tong :

"I-I want to say... that ... we could get lai... ano ... we could lay together... I mean... we could do it... kami-sama... I-I-I mean ... sleep ...with me... hm”

Getting a bit stressed... She was (over) thinking all possible meanings that every words was endowed with and what it could imply trying not to use them and finished to stumble on every word she tried not to use since every one could imply something horny even "sleep" if you intend to... the worst part was she was the one to blame for thinking that way, not even her clumsiness or stuttering, just her own lewd mind.

Now she felt so awkward... and wanted to face-palm.

The Nara was looking at the at least distracting show that his poor shy friend was rendering while fighting with herself ; a war whose manifestation took the form of a revealing slip's chaplet, relentless and iterative.

He was feeling a jarring melt of emotions : he was amused yet bothered for her, compassionate to her trouble and tenderized to her attempts ...

But above all, unsettled to told himself that the only reason that explain it really was the thing he was thinking about : all those tries and seeming fails, was just because there was an optional meaning in her chosen word endowing sexual innuendo that stressed the one he thought so 'pure' and 'innocent'.

He was baffled by her endeavor to not be considered as a pervert, but making it worst. And she had put herself under so much stress that she even end up saying unambiguous sexual proposition involuntarily.

It was over for her. The timid kunoichi felt totally drained and ashamed by her pathetic display of clumsiness, tripping over every possible slip she could have made. She don't remember having such a terrible stuttering even in her youth... How is it even possible ?

" ... I mean ... I want t-yo...ano I-I ... I want to -to have..you ; she was wide-eyed when she heard what she intended to say crushed by a massive stutter, but she don't gave up : " ano...Sorry ... " she took a deep inhale " have a nap with you !" she finally sputtered succeeding to say something.

It was the coup de grace for Shikamaru equally. He cannot seriously listen to those words coming from the Hyuuga heiress, with her timid uncertain stuttering voice and her scarlet red face adorning those white doe-eyes of hers, before she surrendered and hid her flustered features in his black shirt after seeing the face of her genius friend so dumbfounded. He finally burst out of a warm sounding frank bubbling laugh that had her all shakened.

She lifted up to look at him, surprised by his mirth, but, weirdly, even being the cause of it, she suddenly felt a lot less stupid. No. It was not stupid if it allowed her to hear this wondrous sound. She felt light and good, happy and even ... loved ... for he was still holding her in his arm, so she took advantage of it to curl up against him.

With every new realization comes its batch of questions, but for the moment she was quite oblivious, she just lived the present ... but the morning was yet quite luminous and she has no more time ... and the day of the week, of the month, and of the year came back to her with her duties. She searched for the clock again and was appalled by its indication :

To this point, she understood. She had fell in love with her colleague. She knew not since nor when _ certainly quite some time _ but the realization just dawned on her ... just as the sunlight.

" ... almost 8 o'clock ! My ... I-i did not see the time pass. I sh-should go Shikamaru-kun. "

" ...hn... don't go. It's still early... " he grumbled reluctantly coming out of his torpor.

How was it that the time passed so quickly snuggled up against him?

Instinctively, Shikamaru had locked his arms around her, feeling her receding.

" Ano, Shikamaru-kun... I would like to .. but... " He rose a brow to that in spite of himself.

She was blushing bit by bit, together to the fact she noticed : he was now looking at her, he held her tightly, he restrained her departure and to the fact she admitted that she liked it... that he wanted her to stay there...

" ... but I have to attends meeting, it's my duties toward my clan as well as my festival preparation commitments ... "

" What a drag ... " he grumpily muttered loosening his embrace, then a little side-smile adorned his now mid-amused, mid-bored face

" ... I was looking for a good reason not to attend the monday morning meeting... these are the worst ... "

Hinata was giggling to that and he was quite pleased with the fact. It enlightened his mood so far it made him bolder than usual and almost foolhardy ... his face producing the expression one does when they are about to say bullshits. Although it was not is forte, he tried nonetheless :

" ... they could be understanding if they knew I fortuitly found a lovely kind of kami in my bed when I woke up " ... when he heard himself saying it he thought it sounded better in his mind and promptly regretted it, his ears was burning in shame.

No need to tell in what state did it put Hinata.

... to be continued ...

It’s an english translation of my french fanfic : https://originalpairingfiction.skyrock.com/3337900696-Nightcall-L-Appel-Nocturne.html

I update it a bit every 2-3 days. (I’ll reblog it when I do)

I actually tried my best, but it’s not my native language, let me know about my mistakes so I could get better.

28 notes · View notes

artblogofanekophile · 3 years

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4, 5, and 10 for Persephone?

Asks for Persephone! Thank you once again for the ask, Gouds-sama! <3 My apologies for the long wait; your questions filled me with some writing inspiration, but then unfortunately I experienced a block. But don’t worry, I managed to get through it, finally! I hope you don’t mind the lengthy post, but given your affinity for lore, I think you can forgive me~

Without further ado…

4.) If they were in a haunted house, how would they react?

Persephone scoffed, “You think I’m scared of a rackety old shack?” Throwing her head back with a guffaw, she punctuated her incredulity by laughing behind her hand. With an abrupt end to her laughter, she straightened her back and placed both hands firmly on her hips, eyes trained on the Ramshackle dorm with a determined gaze.

“Easiest 20 madol I’m ever gonna make…” she gleefully mused, peering at Ace – the smug bastard waving his bribe enticingly. He could grin all he wanted; victory was going to be hers.

“Well? Go ahead.” He prompted, ignoring the ire of his dormmate’s pointed glare. How did Deuce always end up getting roped in with this guy and his crazy antics?

With a harumph and a steadfast pace, Persephone marched up the twisted path upon the hill leading up to the threshold of the dilapidated building. With each wade through the damp grass, she had to admit that the house’s silhouette, bathed in the blue moonlight, had something of an imposing air surrounding it. Perhaps it was the odd sense of emptiness – as though a nightly chill through one window could make the entire structure moan and shiver.

But that’s all it was, wasn’t it? Empty.

Setting her foot upon the first step leading onto the porch, she gave a faint ‘whoa´ as the wood beneath her wobbled under her uneven footing. Thankfully not enough for her to land on her face – not that Ace wasn’t snickering already, and Deuce wasn’t scolding him for it. It only served to steel her resolve to wipe that shit-eating grin off Trappola’s face!

Undeterred, Persephone soldiered on up the steps, narrowly avoided a collapsed plank, and made it all the way to the moss-adorned welcome mat – at least, she could only assume that was what the message read. Perhaps, ‘ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE’ would have been more apt for this place, though.

The milky light from the moon shone off the loosened oxidised doorknob. Curling her lip in disgust, Persephone rolled the cuff of her sleeve over her hand, using the fabric as a barrier between it and the likely diseased handle. She wasn’t sure how she would explain to Crowley why she needed a tetanus shot when she got back from this if she touched it with her bare hand.

Much to her surprise, her mental preparation to force the door open with her shoulder had proven unnecessary – the door creaked open without so much as a nudge, the rusty hinges wailing out. As the moonlight spilled into the house and stretched across the floor, Persephone’s shadow stood stark in the centre, an elongated facsimile of its vessel.

It wasn’t alone, however. The ghosts of the spiderweb cracks in the windows were drawn over the floor, surrounding the shadow like a helpless fly awaiting its imminent fate. The tattered hems of sheer chiffon curtains billowed in the nightly chill, their translucent forms like dancing ghosts...

She shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts; the house was just as empty on the inside as it looked on the outside! The most she had to be concerned with was a dusty old settee attacking her.

As she ventured on farther into the house, her steps slow and light-footed, none-too-trusting of the floorboard’s integrity to bear the force of her normal gait, she spared a peek into each room and found herself falling into a sense of security. Her suspicions confirmed – the only organism that seemed to be a tenant in this derelict place seemed to be the thick coat of dust that covered everything, and the odd moth raiding the scraps of clothing hung up in wardrobes left behind by other, more advantageous insects.

She could at last breathe a sigh of relief. Ha! What a silly rumour! Why, this old shack was nothing more than just that! A grin spread across Persephone’s face as she relished in the mental image of utter disbelief that would colour both their faces as she strode out of this dusty old place with her head held high!

And then, she heard a low moan echo through the corridor. Her heart skipped a beat.

What was that!?

Quickly, she whipped around to try and trace the source of the bellowing noise, her feet seemingly frozen to the spot. Emerging from around the corner, she could see a cloud of a thin, white mist curl into a ghoulish hand, white with long, spindly fingers that clawed at the wood panelling – and then, at last, a face emerged. Pale as the moon, with sunken eyes and thin jowls, it had an emaciated appearance. Its eyes were a hollow blue, staring with quiet, unnerving bemusement at the look of utter disbelief on her face.

Persephone’s heartbeat was deafening in her own ears. Surely, for how hard she could feel its thumping echo against her ribcage, this spectre must have heard it, too. Its decrepit, cracked lips parted slowly, before uttering only one word that rang off the walls like a torrent wind.

“Boo.”

Persephone’s spine shot up with a shriek, hurriedly turning on her heel and bolting down the hall with no care for the rickety floorboards any longer.

As her terrified scream travelled out of the window and hit the two boys’ ears, Deuce tensed up with concern whilst Ace let out a cocky laugh.

“Well, well, well. Looks like someone got spooked.” Ace smirked.

“Hey, that isn’t funny! She sounded really scared…” With a wave of his hand, the redhead dismissed Deuce’s worry.

“She probably tripped over something or fell through a floorboard, she’ll be—” he was cut off by the sound of the door slamming open and Persephone bolting out of the house like her life depended on it, bounding towards the Heartslabyul students.

Ace blinked, “So, you owe me—”

“Let’sgolet’sgolet’sgolet’sgoLET’SGO!” Persephone snatched both of their hands and dragged them along without time for an explanation. Deuce’s protests for her to slow down were ignored. Sparing a quick glance behind their shoulders, both boys were greeted by the sight of the still grinning ghost peering its head out of the doorway and waving them off.

Riddle definitely couldn’t find out about this.

5.) If they went to jail, what crime would they have committed?

I’m not gonna lie, she probably would be in the slammer for chaining herself to a centuries old willow that was going to be cut down for the sake of making room for project development. Persephone isn’t really a violent person under ordinary circumstances unless she needs to defend herself, so I can’t see her going to jail for a violent crime or something along those lines… So yeah, just being a menace to capitalism for the sake of the environment. What a Queen.

10.) What are their thoughts on horror movies?

Persephone usually likes to make fun of the really cheesy ones and shout at the characters about how, of course they’re going to die if they go into the basement to investigate the weird noise, armed with nothing but a flashlight. Or how everybody knows you don’t run upstairs when the killer’s chasing you! That’s how you end up having to break your ankles by diving out of the window! Much like the little snippet would suggest, however, Persephone’s bravado can only get her so far, and if she’s watching a particularly gorey horror movie, you can often find her hiding her eyes behind her sleeves and grimacing at the excessive sound effects they added in post!

#answered ask #persephone amaryllis #twst oc #twst oc ask #snippet #Neko sharing a piece of writing? Who ever heard of such a thing

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precuredaily · 4 years

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Precure Day 198

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 49 - “The Dreams and Hopes of Precure 5!” Date watched: 17 June 2020 Original air date: 27 January 2008 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/qlReFMY Transformation Gallery: https://imgur.com/a/6k6SzS0 Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

the end is nigh

It’s been an adventure these last few episodes! The team found the 45th Pinky and filled the Dream Collet, defeated Bloody, and then had the Collet stolen from them. They went to Nightmare’s dimension and fought Kawarino, where he tossed them around and Despariah used the Collet to restore her youth. Then, despite all odds, they found hope where there was none and pulled themselves out of despair, managing to defeat Kawarino and rescue the lost citizens of the Palmier Kingdom! Then and only then did Despariah finally stand up and begin her own attack on the girls. They’ve overcome every obstacle placed in front of them up to now, but how will they fare against the literal incarnation of despair?

The Plot

The cold opening is a quick recap of the previous episode and the final scene, with Despariah finally making her stand. After the opening theme, the girls proceed to take on Despariah’s kowainas, and the action cuts quickly from girl to girl as they kick, punch, and chop their way through the ranks. Lemonade remembers that they were able to defeat them previously by separating them from the ground, but when Aqua knocks them off their feet, they land right back on the ground no worse for the wear. Despariah taunts them, but Dream insists they’ll pull through, and they proceed to kick more ass. They do dispel some of the monsters, but just as quickly as they do, more pop up. Nonetheless, Despariah grows concerned, and she confronts Dream to personally push her into despair. She restrains Dream while a group of Kowaina attack the citizens of Palmier, but Mint blocks them, so she sets the squad on the other four cures, throwing them in the air. She hypnotizes Dream as she taunts that their power came from the now-useless Dream Collet, and Dream falls into a dream.

She awakens in Coco’s arms as he tells her to give up, as he doesn’t want to see her get hurt anymore, and reaches for the Pinky Catch. The real Coco, Nuts, and Milk watch from afar but Coco isn’t worried about Dream at all, he’s sure she’ll overcome this. Sure enough, inside the illusion, Dream recognizes Coco as a fake because he would never tell her to quit. Her Pinky Catch glows with the light of hope and several Kowaina in her immediate vicinity are destroyed. Coco proclaims that Dream is always optimistic and striving for a better future. She turns to him and says that his kindness to everyone is what gives her the strength to keep going, and that’s why she loves him. Then she faces Despariah herself and declares that she will make Coco’s dream come true, no matter what, and the other girls line up with her.

Now here’s where it starts to get juicy. Despariah starts to crack under the pressure. Rather than being intimidating, she sounds afraid. She asks the girls why they aren’t afraid of aging or their power waning, and she begins to admit that her new eternal youth hasn’t helped her the way she thought it would. Cure Dream, seeing her opponent breaking down with anxiety, does what she does best: she empathizes. She bravely steps forward and cancels her transformation, facing Despariah not as Cure Dream, but as Nozomi. Nozomi kindly and gently tells Despariah she just wants to talk, because she can tell the villainess is scared, which means she has a heart. Nozomi’s sheer kindness causes the kowaina to begin to disperse as she repels even Despariah’s despair, and the other cures decide to follow her lead and detransform. Thus they stand in front of their archenemy, vulnerable and powerless but happy.

The girls reaffirm their willingness to go along with Nozomi’s reckless abandon and Despariah realizes that their friendship is what keeps them from being afraid. Nozomi invites Despariah to really talk things out, but suddenly Kawarino reappears, alive but on his last legs. He insists that Despariah doesn’t need them, and begins to attack Nozomi, but Despariah blasts him away. She confesses that her newfound immortality has still not brought her peace and she wants to hear what the girls have to say. Kawarino can’t handle this, and begins to despair at the idea that everything he’s done for her was pointless. The Darkness of Despair opens beneath his feet and suddenly a giant hand grabs him. He recognizes the deformed figure beneath the black surface as Bloody and he gets slowly dragged down into the abyss, begging Despariah for help, but all she can do is watch in fear.

Seeing what became of her subordinates shatters Despariah’s already fragile mental state, and the entire Nightmare world begins to crumble as she loses control of her power. She orders Nozomi and co to seal away the Nightmare world with their powers, trapping her in it forever, because if they don’t then her unchecked power of destruction will tear their world apart, too. Despariah and Nozomi share sad looks with each other as they both understand what must be done, and the girls transform again, using the Symphony Set to seal away the Nightmare world. Despariah approaches Coco, Nuts, and the citizens of Palmier, returning the exhausted Dream Collet and apologizing for her actions before she turns away and walks back into Nightmare HQ. Despariah genuinely smiles and thanks the girls as the building is encased in butterfly wings and implodes.

When the light fades, the girls are back in the plaza in their world, at twilight, silent and sad. Dream in particular can’t even look at the others for a while and we don’t see her face, an indirect way of showing how upset she is by the events that have just taken place. No words are exchanged in this beautiful, tragic scene.

The scene fades to night at Karen’s mansion. An idle comment about Jiiya’s absence explains why they’re free to let all the Palmier citizens wander around the facility. Everyone is trying to unwind and catch up and make plans for rebuilding the Palmier Kingdom. Papaya, Coco and Nuts’s teacher, finally asks which of them will become king, and they’re visibly uncomfortable, but Milk explains how they’ve worked so hard together to survive in this world and get to this point, they should become kings together. Everyone agrees and the two princes seem happy.

Later in the evening as festivities have wound down, Komachi and Nuts are talking. She thanks him for pushing her further with her writing and supporting her, and he thanks her for her kindness and perseverance and saving him from his own self-loathing. Both of them have inspired the other to go farther and achieve the previously unthinkable. Nuts even gives Komachi his key to the kingdom for her to remember him by.

Meanwhile, Nozomi and Coco are having a much-needed heart to heart. Nozomi says she thinks him and Nuts as dual kings is a good deal, because they can compensate for each other’s weaknesses, and then the conversation shifts to the promise he made to show Nozomi the Palmier Kingdom. He reaffirms that vow, as she says that she looks forward to seeing the restored kingdom and he wants to build a kingdom worth showing to her.

In both of these cases, the words of love go unspoken, but not unheard.

As dawn breaks, the girls and all the fairies gather on the lawn to say their final goodbyes. Karen and Milk wish each other good luck in the future, rounding off our shipping pairs, and then all the girls begin to cry. However, Nozomi reminds them all that it’s not farewell, and as long as their hearts stay connected, they’ll surely meet again.

Then Nozomi reveals to Coco that she’s finally found her dream: she wants to be a teacher like he was. He inspired her by telling her she was full of potential (a callback to episode 11) and gave her a lot of knowledge, drive, and motivation, and she wants to inspire the next generation in the same way. He responds in kind by saying he wants himself and Nuts to instill hope in his citizens the same way Nozomi instilled hope in him. With that, the girls relinquish their Pinky Catches, which turn back into the butterflies that are the Five Lights of the Palmier Kingdom. They form a ring, which absorbs all the fairies into it before transforming into a giant rainbow butterfly and flying away into the sunrise.

fly away now, fly away now, fly awaaaaaay

To wrap the episode up, we fast forward an indeterminate amount of time to check in on the girls post-Precure. In voiceover, they each express their difficulties in achieving their dreams: Nozomi still struggles academically, Urara still fails auditions sometimes, Komachi gets writer’s block, Rin has trouble coming up with designs, and Karen has doubts about working in medicine. Nonetheless, they all find comfort in turning to each other for help, and their friendship runs deeper than any obstacles. The final scene is the five of them posing together in a still frame.

The Analysis

At this point, Precure final episodes have established a pattern. The first half resolves the battle with the villain, while the second half wraps up any other loose ends in their civilian lives. Such is the case here, but it plays a bit differently from the finales of the Futari wa era. The peril never quite reaches the same depths of intensity, largely due to the immutable optimism of Nozomi and the team and Despariah’s growing uncertainty with her own cause. Comparatively, a longer time seems to be spent tying up loose ends, which I suppose, as with many elements of this series that seem more drawn out, is tied into there being five main characters instead of two. This is NOT a criticism, by any means. I think the story beats covered by the conclusion are appropriate and well-paced and properly wrap up everyone’s story arcs without rushing or overstaying the welcome. Accordingly, I’m going to subdivide this review into two halves, one for the conclusion to both the battle with Despariah and Nightmare, and the other for the girls’ duties to the Palmier Kingdom and the epilogue.

In this case, the fight with Despariah feels especially bittersweet, because for the very first time in a Precure series, the final boss was actually won over by the girls’ ideals instead of just outright blown to bits, but it was too late for her to redeem herself as her power was out of control. Compared to the Star Twinkle finale from early this year (at the time of this writing), which I found rather underwhelming with regard to Ophiuchus just walking away after enslaving half the galaxy, this episode properly redeems its villain without absolving her of the weight and consequence of her actions. Did she deserve her fate? That’s hard to say, it would be interesting to see her use her newfound immortality to walk the Earth, trying to find hope and peace and pay for her sins. On the other hand, it’s a beautiful tragedy for her to gain immortality and eternal youth only to immediately shut herself away forever because her own power has grown out of control and threatens the world she wants to be a part of. It’s similar in concept to the death of Dark Dream in the movie, although that one was much more of a gut punch than this for a few reasons. The redemption deaths are similar, however, in the catalyst for their transformations: Nozomi, the eternal optimist. She has set the bar for team leaders that will be hard to surpass (although I have a few other favorites). She constantly strives to better herself, refuses to bow to negative pressure, and has pulled herself and her friends out of the pits of despair. She turns enemies into friends with the strength of her hope and dreams, but her greatest power is her ability to know when to stop the fight and sympathize with someone in pain. She saw Despariah was losing her grip and instead of seizing an easy victory, she detransformed and approached her as a person. I can’t begin to describe how powerful of a gesture this is, but it’s the absolute best thing Nozomi could do and it perfectly embodies her best qualities.

Regardless of her poor wish, though, it was a good narrative choice to have her steal the wish, whatever she chose to do with it. Since the series was all about hope and despair, throwing all the characters into very despairing situations and then still having them defeat their demons with hope is extraordinary and perfectly encapsulates the message of the show. Coco and Nuts lose their wish and can’t use magic to rebuild the Palmier Kingdom? Fine, they’ll do it by hand! The lost citizens of Palmier Kingdom are actually Nightmare’s members? Thank goodness, they’re still alive and well after all! The Precures are all being forced into despair? But wait, we haven’t even realized our dreams yet, let’s talk about them! At every turn, the series and the climax in particular has been about hope overcoming despair, so subjecting the protagonists to the ultimate despair lets their hopes shine brighter than ever, really driving the message home, and that wouldn’t have been possible if Coco and Nuts had used the wish a little sooner.

While it’s not a particularly deep message, Despariah’s realization that eternal youth has not made her happy is still very important. Who among us hasn’t wished for some grand change in our lives? Now would that change actually make you happier, in the long run? I’m not suggesting there’s nothing you could have or do that would improve your demeanor, but it’s easy to see why Despariah wished for the wrong thing. She misattributed the cause of her depression, rather than trying to make the most of her life, and consequently she damned herself to an even worse fate. She could have wished for help, for companionship, or for the capacity to better understand people. Instead she wished for eternal youth and power, and then learned too late that this wasn’t what she needed.

The only thing that didn’t really work for me was Kawarino coming back, as that didn’t make sense. It was a catalyst to really throw Despariah into despair again after she was starting to make some headway with the girls, and cause her to lose control of her power. If they had at least hinted in the previous episode that he had an ace up his sleeve and wasn’t completely gone, it would have been more acceptable to me. However, it was good to see him react to Despariah embracing the message of hope, and see her assert herself over him. It was also very satisfying, though also horrifying, to see him get dragged down into the pits of despair by Bloody. Seeing how frightful Nightmare is from the outside was important to her development, but it also showed she was beyond salvation and it made her choice to self-isolate for eternity more tragic.

I like the symbolism behind her returning the Collet to Coco and Nuts, though. She knows it’s a hollow gesture and it doesn’t begin to make up for what she’s done, but it is about the only thing she really can do to show her remorse. You can also see that the citizens of Palmier aren’t exactly ready to forgive her for imprisoning them, but they appreciate the gesture. The whole farewell is full of bittersweetness like this.

I gotta hand it to the writers for this, making her repent but still be condemned to eternal solitude by her own hand instantly makes this finale twice as emotional as it would be if she just got beaten normally, and it’s more meaningful, speaking to the complexities of the good vs evil fight and of course the season writ large.

Now, for the cleanup. The second half of the episode is all tying up loose ends and putting the final notes on the subplots. How do they settle the issue of who gets to be king? Make both Coco and Nuts the co-kings! It’s honestly the only way they could do it, since they compensate so well for each other’s shortcomings. It’s a conflict that’s been present throughout the show, but never really dwelled upon until more recent episodes, notably 45. Coco is better with people, but Nuts is more studious and knowledgeable. Both of them bring important leadership qualities to the table. Honestly I always had Coco as the better ruler, with Nuts as his advisor, but making them equals really speaks to the theme of the franchise, that everyone brings different skills that complement each other, and it’s a callback to the first three seasons with the two-person teams.

The thanks and farewells between Komachi and Nuts, Nozomi and Coco, and Karen and Milk are all very moving. They demonstrate the growth they’ve all achieved since the start of the show. Nuts pushed Komachi to be a better writer, Coco inspired Nozomi to be a better learner, and Milk allowed Karen to be a better protector. Capping off their growth throughout the season with these heart-to-heart conversations really resonates and serves as a nice bow on top of their arcs. And as I said earlier, although they don’t say “I love you” out loud, you can tell they mean it. Some may criticize me for including Milk and Karen on that list, because their relationship isn’t as romantic as the other two, being more or a platonic friendship, but nonetheless there’s a deep compassion between them and as I’ve pointed out, they have a close bond that Milk doesn’t share with any of the others. Karen taught her to step back and smell the roses, Karen nursed her when she was sick, Karen has been instrumental in Milk adjusting to life in the human world and Milk helped Karen find her life’s passion. I’ve written a lot about NozoCoco and KomaNuts before, but Karen and Milk have a distinct closeness as well, and their farewell is important too. In fact I wish they’d gotten a true closing scene like the other couples got, but I can understand why they didn’t. They had a lot to cram into this episode. And let’s briefly recount all the other important friendships that were seen throughout the show. Urara and Komachi deepened their friendship over their mutual interest in art and storytelling. Rin and Karen bonded over their shared lack of ambition, and then found goals to strive towards. I really love that even within the circle of friends, they each found specific partnerships and reasons to bond with certain others.

So let’s talk about Nozomi. When the show started, she was presented as a bit of an airhead. She was more than happy to cheer on her friend Rin but she was introduced in the classic “late for school” sequence and we were told she didn’t have much in the way of dreams or a capacity for learning. Boy was she optimistic though.

After meeting Coco and making his wish to revive Palmier Kingdom into her dream, she really changed. Obviously her earnest perusal of that objective is what drew the other girls to her, but helping Coco allowed Coco to help her, and he gave her a genuine passion for learning. He helped her challenge her learning difficulties, and at the end of the series she has internalized that by making it her dream to pass on his teachings as a teacher herself.

This is the perfect capstone to her growth and development throughout the show. I keep coming back to her line from the movie:

“I’m better than I was yesterday! I’m better than I was an hour ago, a minute or even a second ago!” Well she sure improved, and now she’s found something she can pour herself into that will help her keep improving. From the girl with no dream to the girl whose dream is to help everyone reach their potential, surrounded by supportive friends. I just love to see it.

Finally, I really, really love the epilogue. It is perfectly staged and framed and composed. Each girl briefly talking about her struggles as she works towards her dream, the small everyday hardships they face is a reminder that they’re not perfect. They’re ordinary girls just trying to make their way in life. Their greatest strength, whether as Precure or as students, is their friendship and encouragement for each other. The way they each sit down at the table one by one, silently reaching out to their support network, is so encouraging. And the final sequence has a couple of callbacks to earlier in the show, like Urara’s unusual food choices and both Rin and Karen bringing their preferred juice (orange and grape.) It’s a small reminder of where they started to show how much they’ve changed.

vimeo

Now they could end their development here, and I’d be happy, but fortunately we get an entire season that shows where they all go after this that I get to dive into after this, the last such time we’ll have that opportunity in Precure. So look forward to that!

Also, I want to note that the art for the final still frames is gorgeous.

I wish I could say that about the whole episode but unfortunately Kawano Hiroyuki is the key animator and animation director for the finale, and his weaknesses are on full display: flat faces with wide eyes and strangely drawn noses, minimal shading, oddly placed heads, and sometimes weird body proportions as well. When he’s good, he’s good, but when he’s bad, it’s visible. I wish the finale could have had some higher quality artwork but I guess the budget was stretched a bit thin by this point, or they were focusing all their attention on the next series. I don’t have a lot of insight into how this process works behind the scenes. Here’s a few examples of the art that I found a bit lacking.

On the other hand, there are some gorgeous visuals here as well, don’t let me make it sound like it’s all bad either. There’s a few symbolic shots I really like, such as the mirroring of the girls’ feet in and out of transformation, as they face Despariah first as enemies, then as friends.

There’s also the reflection of Despariah in Dream’s eyes that gets an A+ from me for shot composition.

As well as the Kowaina mask superimposed over the fake Coco in Nozomi’s illusion.

And of course, all the fairies of the Pamier Kingdom returning home in a giant butterfly, to cap off our symbolism.

Rewatching Yes! Precure 5 has been a wonderful journey. It’s a great ride from start to finish and an all new direction for the Pretty Cure franchise. It was filled with great characters to follow and I was extremely invested in seeing them grow and develop. This finale truly stands out in the franchise for its discussion of depression and immortality, dreams and hopes, and what’s important in life. It was the perfect conclusion to a fantastic series and I couldn’t ask for a better ending. However, our journey isn’t quite over! The adventures of Nozomi, Rin, Urara, Komachi, Karen, Coco, Nuts, and Milk will continue in Yes! Precure 5 GoGo!

Next time, on Precure Daily, we catch up with everyone after a few months when Nozomi receives a mysterious message, and they get caught up in another battle for the fate of the world. Look forward to it!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 1 kettei! (in the preview)

#Precure #Pretty Cure #Yes! Precure 5 #YPC549 #PCD198

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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Stronger Than Blood (9 - End)

Chapter 9: A Fighting Chance | Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: Meeting another Force-sensitive was one thing, but having them related to one of the most formidable known duelers was a whole other story to tell. While being stranded in another planet after barely escaping the Haxion Brood, Cal crosses paths with someone who’s at a crossroads with their own identity and lineage.

A/N: I hope the Anon who requested enjoyed this fic ;w; and thank all of you for stopping by and giving this fic some love! <3 Y’all are awesome as always~!

Also tagging @ayamenimthiriel

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Force-User! Reader, Force-Sensitive Reader, Sith-Related! Reader

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 | Previous: Part 8 | Masterlist

9 of 9

The two of stalked through the corridors under the red light that filled every corner.

Your boots skidded and squeaked against the metal floor when you hear the rhythmic hooves of the Stormtroopers approaching; both of you hugged the wall until the footsteps receded. Cal reared his head over the wall and beckoned you on.

“Why’d you come for me? I was good as dead anyway!”

“And deny you a fighting chance to do good? Never!”

You thanked the Force that he had his back turned to you and that the alarm light still colored the hallways, otherwise, you could and would not have a sappy excuse for your cheeks burning red.

“Cere!” Cal huffed through his commlink. “Do you read?”

“Loud and clear!”

“I found [y/n], we’re passing through the prison block now, but the castle is on high alert,”

“We’ll try to find a way around! Keep your lines open,”

Upon reaching the foyer of the prison block, where the control terminal stands, both of you were stopped in your tracks when the sight of Darth Vader greeted you.

“Oh gods…!” you gasped in sheer fright. “It’s him.”

Cal ignited his saber, preparing himself to face off this dark lord. Your thumb felt for a button, upon pressing it, electric current flowed to the ends of your techstaff. Both of you brandish your weapons at Lord Vader, who was not the least bit challenged.

“Courageous. But foolish.” He chided.

In his hand rested his silver hilt with black stripes at the sleeve. His gloved hand thumbed for the switch and then a blood-red beam emitted from his lightsaber. Without a second’s notice, he jumped and closed the impossible distance between the pair of you and himself—he was standing by the control podium at the ground level, but he got to the second tier within a single leap!

You and Cal dodge-rolled in opposite directions. By instinct, Cal swung his saber at the dark lord to which Vader easily deflected. While the Sith Lord was preoccupied with the boy, you attempted to get a swing at him with your staff—which he surprisingly halted at the last minute using the Force with his free hand. His fingers curled and tensed as he gradually closed it into a fist, slowly crushing the head of your staff with the Force, no amount of your might can pull it away from his hold.

“Had you been any smarter, you wouldn’t be in this situation,”

“Yeah, how perceptive of you,” you managed to let out that dry snark.

You finally got out of Darth Vader’s grasp, but the end of the staff barely held any more electric current, but it still served its purpose as a melee weapon. To Darth Vader, he didn’t feel outnumbered. Two children with weapons felt more like a task than an actual fight, he knows perfectly well that he could end these two right then and there. But he thought of toying them instead, seeing for himself just how far their skills could take them in this duel.

Cal drew Vader’s attention to him, trying to keep the red saber from finding you. When the dark lord read through this tactic, he struck Cal against the face with his pommel—disorienting him and causing him to drop his saber. He then Force-pushed the boy out of the fight, sending him flying down to the ground level, hitting his spine hard against the metal machine podium.

“CAL!!!!” you shrieked.

This may be a trick for Vader to provoke you into tapping the Dark Side, to succumb to your hate and anger, and use it all on him—just so he can prove a point.

“That anger in you,” he bellowed. “It’s seething. Yes, use it!”

You spotted Cal’s lightsaber behind Vader’s feet, you reached out—actually tapping into the Force itself, devoid of the wrath you’ve bottled up for so long and instead found the balance of it all. Darth Vader stood watch in a silent, emotionless curiosity and awe. The lightsaber zipped past his feet, ruffling the hem of his cape, until it found its way to your grip, while keeping your staff in the other. You ignited it as soon as your fingers caged the sleeve.

“If only you knew the power of the Dark Side, only then would you have been more powerful than you already are!”

“I’ll never be like Dooku…” you gasped, struggling to keep the one-handed grip firm around the hilt. “And I most certainly will never be like you!” you roared.

A few strikes against the dark lord, he deflected them all; he found your technique quite rough and flimsy, but with every blow, a newfound strength resided within you, within every hit—whether it was blocked or received—and it kept you on your toes as you confronted this lumbering man.

You timed the moment when you could use the Force. Mustering whatever strength you could from it, the energy swirled along your palms; at the perfect moment, you released that wave of Force energy towards Darth Vader, it was potent enough to break his footing and bring him down to the floor. Using it on a whim seems to have taken a toll on your body, since it had been dormant in your system and you barely had any practice in controlling it all this time.

While Darth Vader was down, you sprinted down the stairs towards the ground level. Cal was already coming to, you hurriedly helped him up.

“Can you stand?”

“Yeah…” he groaned, clutching his sore side.

“Come on,” you take him by the hand and return his saber to him.

The two of you make a run for it. As soon as you got through the door, Cal used the Force to seal the door and dash towards the corridor. Knowing that he can’t use the ventilation shaft path, with the castle on high alert and everything, the two of you went through the winding, labyrinthine network of intersections, twists, and turns.

A few good turns around corners and curbs, you find yourselves in a control room filled with Stormtroopers and a KX droid. They had you seven to two. Just when their odds were good, you and Cal evened it out to just two Stormtroopers. You bashed heads with your techstaff while Cal severed the KX droid in half as it fell to its knees.

Smoke wisped out of the cauterize wounds and seared cuts that his lightsaber made. The two of you approached the computer terminal.

“I’ll cover you,” Cal went behind you and faced the door, ignited saber in hand, anticipating for a swarm of enemies.

BD-1 assisted you in hacking the computer and you managed to reach Cere via the radio on the terminal.

“[y/n], is that you?”

“Yes, I’m with Cal in some kind of control room. I think we’re in the very center of the building.”

“Hang on, I found your signatures! There should be a turbolift in the center of that room. Get to the highest level, you should be in an outdoor clearing between the two spires. We’ll meet you there!”

“Gotcha!” the transmission ended and you beckoned Cal to the turbolift.

Cal jammed the door controls as the two of you stood on the platform of the lift. The Stormtroopers banged on the door with the pommels of their blasters as you ascended to your meet-up point. The elevator ride allowed the two of you to finally catch your breaths. Your glances met with one another, you playfully tussled Cal’s hair—causing his sunset-orange locks droop by the hairline—both of you exchanged huffing, naïve chuckles at one another until natural light pooled over your heads.

You could hear the throttle of the Mantis whirring loud into your eardrums and its turbines blowing hot air into your face. The ship hovered sideways so its entry ramp faces your direction as it opens. In your collective periphery, Darth Vader appeared in one of the doors that blended well into black walls of the left-side spire. You froze at the sight of him.

Of course he caught up!!! You panicked mentally.

“Get ready to jump!” Cal screeched.

Cal took the lead, both of you ran so fast that it felt like flying. You sprinted as fast as your legs carried you, the hot wind breezing over your cheeks and making your hairs flow.

“Come on, [y/n]!”

Cal leaped over to the ramp no problem, but you were a little behind. There was no safety bannister in that clearing, and so from the balls of your feet, you sprang from the edge and hoped to close the gap between the spire’s platform and the entry ramp of the ship.

You barely made it, your arm hooking over the ramp saved your life from plummeting into a hundred-foot drop from the spire to the obsidian floor and lava rivers. Cal took your arm and then the other to drag you back into the ship. Cal stumbled and landed on his back, while securing you in his arms. The altitude was nauseating that you lost feeling your legs again. When you found yourself pressing over his torso, you rolled over to the side, removing your weight against him, breathing out a weak “Sorry.”

“Let’s get out of here!!” Cal exhaled, lying down on the floor as the door closed.

Greez punched it and sent the Mantis flying through the atmosphere out of the literally infernal planet and back into the cold vacuum of space. The two of you were still lying down on the floor, catching your breaths while waiting for the feeling to come back to your limbs and joints. You bobbed your head to the side, facing Cal who had his eyes closed as he kept his mouth slightly ajar to breathe in and out.

“You came back for me…”

The tone of your voice made your line sound more like a question that stating an obvious fact. Cal bobbed his head back to you; his eyes were tired but the gleam of his clear, emerald green eyes shimmered right back at you.

“Of course,” he panted and brought his hand over yours, giving it a light squeeze. “I’d come back for you. We’re a team. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that?”

You managed a small smile along the corner of your mouth, a weak chuckle escaped your throat and you struggled to shake your head.

“No, I didn’t forget,”

“Good.”

Though Cal reminded you that you’re not alone anymore, that you have a new family, and you’re determined in protecting it. Your fingers twitched and curled, intertwining with his, as the Mantis flew off to safety.

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frogoat · 4 years

Text

Friday the 13th: Mrs. Voorhees Had Help!

I think if you’re in any way familiar with the horror movie genre, you’ll have heard of the Friday the 13th franchise. And even if you’ve never watched the series, Scream gives away the fact that Jason Voorhees isn’t the killer in the first film; it’s his mother Pamela Voorhees who does all the slashing. Or does she?

Lets look at the instances of murder that the film tells us Mrs. Voorhees committed. First we have the two camp counselors in 1958, Barry and Claudette. They sneak away to do the nasty but are confronted and killed shortly afterwards. Note that they don’t appear surprised to see the killer and in fact try to lie about what they were doing, suggesting a familiarity with the assailant. As we know Pamela previously worked as Camp Crystal Lake’s cook, so we can attribute these two murders to her.

Next we have the super nice Annie, who’s been hired as the new Camp Crystal Lake cook. Annie is given a lift to the crossroad half to Crystal Lake by truck driver Enus at the suggestion of Trudy, a diner waitress. Along the way Annie learns of the ‘death curse’ from Crazy Ralph and is warned about going by Enus who recounts the troubled history of the Camp. Undeterred, Annie starts walking from the turn off toward the Camp, only to be picked up by a passerby in a vehicle. This is clearly intended to be Mrs. Voorhees driving as we see her ‘arrive’ in the same vehicle at the films conclusion and it still contains the would-be Camp cook’s lifeless body.

But how did Pamela just happen upon Annie at the right moment? Was she really just passing by and saw an opportunity for a secluded kill or did she get a tip off? Notice the interior shots of vehicle show a radio handset. I suggest Pamela was perhaps tipped off by Trudy the diner waitress, as the two share a common vocation and could plausibly know each other well. Whether or not Trudy knew what would happen when she mentioned a girl had arrived in town talking about a re-opening Camp Crystal Lake is up for debate, though she is does go from sceptical to helpful very quickly when suggesting Enus drive her to the turn off.

Here it’s worth mentioning that despite Mrs. Voorhees being a middle aged woman who doesn’t demonstrate any exceptional athletic abilities on-screen, still catches up and kills Annie. I concede this was likely intended to be Pamela, perhaps without her iconic pale blue sweater and is possibly just the stuntman being glimpsed on-camera. If it is Mrs. Voorhees, then it begs the question who is lurking behind the trees watching Alice in a scene prior to Annie’s dive from moving vehicle. It can’t be Crazy Ralph because we know he was travelling by bike and couldn’t have outpaced Enus’ truck. Therefore, there must be a second person already onsite at Camp Crystal Lake, either an accomplice or Mrs. Voorhees herself. Whomever kills Annie wields the knife in their right hand and has a prominent ring on the ring finger of their left hand. We see Mrs. Voorhees has a ring on the same finger and wields a knife with the same hand in the climatic battle at the end of the film.

Time passes and the camp owner Steve Christie heads into town while the Camp Counselors take a swim in the lake, kill a snake, encounter a motorcycle police officer and meet Crazy Ralph who promptly leaves after delivering his doomsayer speech. Ned spies on lovers Jack and Marcie and is in turn spied on himself. Spotting a person in a hooded black raincoat entering a nearby cabin, Ned approaches the cabin, asking if they want help. We don’t see exactly what happens but we later see his body on the top of the cabin, his throat slit in the same fashion as Annie’s. This obscured figure could be Pamela’s accomplice, Pamela or both killers working together to lure Ned into a secluded spot to kill him.

With a heavy storm about, Jack and Marcie shelter in a cabin and get down to business, unaware that a deceased Ned is just a few feet above them on the upper bunk and a murdered lies inches beneath them. When Marcie leaves to use the bathroom, Jack is skewered through the throat as his assailant holds his head in place. This killer uses their right hand to hold Jack and strikes with their left hand. We also get another glimpse of the plaid long sleeve shirt.

Seemingly at about the same time, Marcie is followed into the bathroom block. Hearing someone approaching, Marcie calls out playfully to Jack and goofs around in the mirror until hearing more movement nearby. This time thinking it’s Ned trying to prank her, Marcie approaches the shower cubicles only to be killed with an axe blow to the head. We don’t see anything to identify the killer but shortly after when Brenda uses the bathroom, we get a glimpse of a hand behind the shower curtain, suggesting they were unable to leave with Marcie’s body until afterwards. Given that it was a downward axe swing, it’s possible the killer here was taller in height, but this one is unclear. Either way, they were stuck in there with Marcie for a while, presumably holding her upright to avoid detection.

Brenda is watched from outside her own cabin as she settles for the night, only to be drawn outside when she hears what sounds like a child’s voice calling for help. This is most certainly Pamela herself providing the voice, leading Brenda to the archery range where she is blinded by the spotlights and attacked. The left hand we see flip the spotlights on is again adorned with a ring and appears to be wearing the same black raincoat as before, which further corroborates the idea this is Mrs. Voorhees. But who grabbed her while she was blinded by the light? We’ll see Pam use the blinding tactic again, too. As is evident later, Brenda is not actually killed here, because we see her moving feebly later when she is tied up and thrown through a cabin window. More on that later.

Alice and Bill go to Brenda’s cabin to investigate a scream only to find the bloodied axe in her bed. Given the short period of time between Brenda’s scream and the duo’s investigation, I think it’s more plausible the accomplice planted the axe immediately after Brenda exited her cabin before approaching her from behind while she was blinded. Finding no one, Bill and Alice try the phones and the car only to discover they’ve been disabled. Given we know someone was already present at the Camp during the daytime and the whole group of Counselors were at the lake at one point, it’s likely this is when the sabotage took place.

Meanwhile, Steve Christie leaves the diner after a brief chat with waitress Sandy and heads back toward the camp in his 4 Wheel Drive with trailer in tow, only for the vehicle to become bogged and apparently have engine trouble. He is given a lift most of the way back to Camp Crystal Lake by Sgt. Tierney before the latter is called away to a crash. Making his way back on foot, Steve is blinded by a person with a torch in front of the Camp Crystal Lake sign before being stabbed. This is evidently Pamela herself as Steve recognizes his assailant, and we know she had worked for the Christie family back in the 1950′s before her son Jason drowned. I’d suggest the diner worker Sandy may have tipped off Pamela that Steve was returning so that she could lay in wait for him.

The generator is turned off, causing Bill to venture out to investigate and restore power while Alice tries to get some sleep. Evidently some time passes between Bill’s departure and Alice going to find him, as he is found hung on the outside of the generator room’s door with his body filled with a number of arrows and his throat slit. As Bill leaves his raincoat in the generator room, it would appear he too was lured out by Mrs. Voorhees before being attacked and killed. Given the sheer strength required to suspend a man on a door in such a way, I believe we can attribute at least some of this task to Pam’s accomplice.

Now in a panic, Alice returns to the main cabin and attempts to secures the door from within and arms herself. At this point, the still faintly alive Brenda is thrown through one of the windows, presumably killing her. Brenda appears to have ropes wrapped around her and is covered in blood. Moments later, Alice sees the headlights of Mrs. Voorhees vehicle approaching from the front of the cabin, causing her to remove her barricade and pleas for help. While it’s only an assumption on her part, Alice remarks ‘Please don’t leave me! They’ll kill you too!’ The obvious question here is if Pam did all this herself how did she manage to throw Brenda through the window (or swing her on a rope pulley, perhaps?) and also drive up in her vehicle from the opposite direction within seconds?

After her mental flashback, Pamela draws a knife from her left hip with her right hand. Here we can see what appears to be the plaid shirt beneath Pam’s sweater. When brandishing her knife at Alice, Pamela makes erratic stabbing motions, rather than the clean slices we saw on some of the victims. Alice discovers poor, sweet Annie’s body in the car, apparently having been left there since her murder. Next, Alice runs into Mr Christie who’s body is suspended from a tree upside down with a knife still lodged in his chest. Clearly a passionate slaying.

With Alice now running and hiding from Pamela, we move into genuine Final Girl territory. Notice that Mrs. Voorhees struggles to break down the pantry door and swings her weapons wildly as though without skill. Compare this with the early more methodical and precise throat stabbings and we paint a clearer picture of the second person. Finally we have the iconic decapitation of Mrs. Voorhees which also gives a clear shot of her ring.

Notice that several of the attacks have involved luring the victim to a secluded location alone before attacking. It’s also noteworthy some of the victims have been moved after death to delay their discovery, often in elaborate ways involving both physical strength and planning. Finally, note that there were primarily two mechanisms of injury: slit throats and far more messy stabbings. I would argue that this indicates a second person present at Camp Crystal Lake that June 13th. Two personalities and two types of attacks. One is more cold and calculated, the other more emotional and aggressive. It could be argued that this is just an indication of Pamela’s psychosis manifesting (and that’s a perfectly acceptable answer) but I think the sheer amount of physical strength, the timeline of events occurring around the camp, the presence of someone hiding at the camp while Annie is being killed and the sheer amount of moving and planning needed to pull this all off indicates an accomplice on-site at the camp. This is in addition to the far more passive assistance from certain members of hospitality industry who likely had no idea what Pamela had planned.

The movie presents at least two occasions where the assailant is forced into hide after a killing, preventing them from moving on immediately to the next victim, leaving us to wonder how they could have possibly moved about so quickly. We also have several elaborate set ups for the victims to be revealed in a dramatic fashion which clearly require time not afforded to a lone killer. The evidence of violent strength only seen on some of the victims, particularly those lured aware and killed off-screen indicates a second participant, one with greater physical prowess than that seen from Pamela in the film’s finale. The real question shouldn’t be was there a second killer. Rather, it should be who was the second killer in Friday the 13th?

But that’s a discussion for another time.

#Friday the 13th #Pamela Voorhees #Mrs. Voorhees #Jason Voorhees #Theory #1980 #Second killer #Scream #Final Girl #Mystery #Horror Movie

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sugarfreecapsicle · 5 years

Text

study buddy

bucky barnes x reader

Prompts: college!au (1.5k constellation writing challenge by @sunmoonandbucky); fake dating!au & unplanned bed sharing trope (star’s multi-fandom follower celebration by @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan )

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, bit of pining, lots of awkward interaction, fluff!!!!

Wordcount: 2k-ish

A/N: oh my god, y’all, I can’t believe two of my favorites have challenges going on at the same time. I’m so honored to call them both friends - both are phenomenal writers in their own right and I am always floored by their respective work. I love the both of your oh so dearly and am so happy you’ve reached such important milestones! You deserve every happiness, and I hope this fic can bring you just a little of that.

Gif Credit (x)

Assigned seating did not end in grade school. The nightmare of desk dictatorship held strong in Fury’s classroom - a man of simple rules and unquestioned respect for his time. Your research into your professors via many forums and sites like RateMyProfessor did not alert you to the nightmare of obeying his law to the letter.

“If I were sorry about my decision, I’d apologize, but I’ve always been an honest man. You chose your seat, you chose your partner, and you chose to break up. That’s a personal problem to solve on personal time. Not mine. See you next class.”

Your conversation on the phone with Wanda and Maria definitely didn’t help lift your mood. Wanda, empathetic and full of irrational resolutions like falsifying a restraining order. Maria, ever practical and smug with her I-told-you-so attitude.

“I don’t know what else you expected from Fury of all people,” Maria chuckled before biting into an apple slice. “Even if he thinks Brock is an asshole, he won’t make an exception without something dire on the line.”

“Maybe you can just switch classes? I’m pretty sure there’s an opening in-” “Wanda, I love you, but I can’t switch classes two weeks from finals.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeeze your eyes shut in the afternoon sun. “I’ll just...I’ll just handle this as gracefully as I can.”

“Godspeed,” Maria deadpans before dropping the call.

“Y’know, I didn’t want to have to resort to this,” Wanda’s trepidation fueled your oncoming tension migraine, “but maybe it’s time to call in your favor with Bucky.”

Your heart drops somewhere on the pigeon-shit sidewalk.

“Wanda....I think you might be right.”

The saying goes that once you’ve hit rock bottom there’s nowhere to go but upward. If calling in a favor to your freshman year crush turned campus heartbreaker didn’t qualify, you didn’t want to find out where bedrock truly could be.

You shouldn’t be surprised to find a technology major in the library swamped with work on a Tuesday, but when that student is James Buchannan Barnes, it’s worthy of flipping the world ass over teakettle. Dashing as ever, stormy eyes, chestnut hair combed just so. Your backpack thuds on the floor beneath the co-op table, and his eyes find you.

“Hey, stranger,” he murmurs with an impossibly charming smile that lights his entire face. “Where have you been since August?”

Fighting a smile around Bucky is futile, so you let a grin appear. “Unfortunately dating Brock and sitting next to him in Fury’s class.”

His smile pulls into a tight wince as you take your seat across from him and retrieve your laptop from your bag.

“I don’t envy you.” Bucky waves and nods briefly at another student passing by behind you, and you turn to notice it’s a shapely redhead you recall from last semester’s art history class. “He won’t budge without legal documentation at best.”

Your fingers twist and curl together in nonsensical patterns in your lap. “Well, I was hoping to get Brock off my case, actually.”

Bucky doesn’t respond more than raised eyebrows and startled blinking.

“Would...could you be my fake boyfriend long enough to convince Brock we aren’t getting back together?” It comes out all rushed and nervous, syllables running together like a skittering mouse across the kitchen floor. Your heart hammers against your chest, determined to break free of your body every second Bucky stalls his reply. You can’t read him - he’s still leaned back in dumbfounded silence.

At long last he leans in, hands steeple between the two of you, calculating gleam in his eye. “If you’ll help me figure out how to pass this English Lit final, I’ll actually date you.”

You both laugh quietly, minding the nearby staff eyeing your space at the table. Pink tinges your cheeks dangerously beyond mere flattery.

“Let’s just agree to fake dating for now, and we’ll see if you can still stand to share space with me after a few weeks.”

“Deal.” Bucky extends his hand, you grasp it and shake to your agreement. Your fingers reluctantly move to let go, but Bucky holds firm and pulls the back of your hand to his smirking lips. “Whatever you need, darlin’.”

Days later you’re still tingling from his public affection in the library. Could you have been imagining the color shift in his eyes when he peered over your hand or was it purely fantasy? Lack of caffeine, mental fixation from stress - more likely than any truth to how deeply in character he seemed to be already.

Bucky escorts you to your classes with his fingers threading yours, a hand at the small of your back, an arm flung around your shoulders. He’s in your ear, whispering jokes and delicious plans for the rest of your time together, kissing your forehead or your cheek when you reach the door. Keeping your arrangement from Wanda and Maria could only be explained by the stress of impending finals, and you’d managed to avoid inevitable party and holiday invitations. If nothing else, this pretending made the idea of being near Brock again less intimidating.

Fury Friday arrived sooner than you’d felt it should, and as set in precedent, Bucky strolls next to you with his hand in yours, beaming and chatting about how he’d managed to bring his scores up enough in Statistics to earn a pass on his final and thereby free up his weekend. Dread skirted in your lungs, a distant siren’s call to your sense of reason as the reality of sitting next to Brock for two hours pressed upon you.

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind or are you gonna keep me guessing?”

He’s too good at this, and Bucky has to know it. “Sorry, I...am not looking forward to this.”

“I can’t think of anyone that looks forward to a Fury class to be fair,” he laughs breathily and puts a soothing hand to your waist. A kiss lingers on your forehead, and Bucky’s spicy cologne takes over your senses in a tight embrace. “Especially with Rumlow as your seatmate.”

His whispered acknowledgment makes your whole body shiver, and he responds with a few brushes over your arms and back to stir away the obvious chilled gust of wind that’s painted your cheeks pink again.

“Knock ‘em dead, killer,” he teases with a single knuckle against your chin. Bucky’s nose brushes just barely against yours, and then he’s dashing down the hallway with a wave over his shoulder. It dawns on you as you take your seat - your neighbor pleasantly absent - that Bucky could be sacrificing too much for a fake relationship, for your sake. Brock could be all bark and no bite, but a small part of you felt he could be a breath away from snapping. Others are milling about the room, so you pull your phone out and send Bucky a text. The little heart next to his name stings somewhere deep in your chest.

You’re not missing classes just to walk me to and from, right?

Your laptop is open and ready to go, humming to life while you bend beneath the elongated desks to make sure you could plug into an outlet if need be. The buzz of a reply sends you hurtling into the composite tabletop, a loud thud followed by tittering giggles around the filling room.

Brock is glaring down at you and your phone screen, mouth in a thin line, eyebrows knitted together. You don’t say a word to him and try to keep his prying eyes from your screen.

Not missing, exactly, but cutting it close. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.

“Didn’t take you long to hop on someone else’s dick, did it?”

His voice churns in your stomach, but you don’t acknowledge him. Had this been any other class but Fury’s you could put in earbuds and block him out. Brock’s eyes are on you, or at least the cold sweat chilling the back of your neck makes you think as much, and he’s seething, boring holes into your form. For two hours. For an entire Fury lecture.

Your shoe catches one of the rear legs of his chair, but you can’t bother to turn around and apologize - not like the seat budged under the star athlete. Bucky grins as you exit through the wide double doors, moves to wrap an arm around you, and you pull him by his jacket to your lips. You’re lost in his cologne, the feel if his mouth on yours, his body heat against the biting December cold. There’s a hum, something of a moan quiet enough to feel and dream of hearing - and you can’t be sure if it came from you or Bucky. With a dizzied wobble, you’re separated and Bucky’s eyes are still closed, arms cocooning you against his form.

“Hey,” he chuckles, voice deep and husky, the grin tugging at the right corner of his mouth.

“Hi,” you’re just as breathy and more than a little wanting. “Ready for the weekend?”

______________________________________

Friday night passes without a mention of the kiss.

The entirety of Saturday passes, and no mention of the kiss.

And it’s all you can think about. Forget studying for finals, forget meal prepping for the guaranteed necessity of pre-made lunches and dinners. That kiss.

You’d caught him off guard, but he didn’t hesitate to respond hungrily. Bucky tasted of honeyed tea and cinnamon chewing gum, carried the warmth of summer sun beneath his jacket. You hadn’t considered prior to the rash decision to just fucking kiss him that your senses would swim in his aftershave, his sheer proximity, the comfort of him. For you, Bucky had never been so tangible.

Truthfully, Bucky had never been tangible for anyone - notorious campus-wide for gracefully bowing out of invitations for dates, one night stands even. People of course talked, spread rumors that he had to be dating a professor in secret, that he had a long distance relationship with a supermodel overseas.

Until that kiss two days ago.

Bucky arranged for time to cram for his English Lit final with you tonight in his apartment, more for the convenience of avoiding scorned women at every corner of your dorm than anything else. He did have more space, privacy and faster internet than the supplied campus Wi-Fi.

Is it appropriate to bring wine to a study session or is that strictly for dinner parties? Maybe some appetizers? Seven o’clock on a Sunday night typically meant binging as many football games as anyone could consume, especially in a college town.

You’re buzzed up to this apartment, cream puffs in hand, and freeze when Steve opens the door to a living room full of people in various coordination of navy and ivory. The tall blonde ushers you in and sweeps your dessert out of your hands before you can locate your study buddy.

“Buck’s in his room,” Steve offers with some mischief. “Says he needs to pass this final, so he’s passing on the game night.”

It’s easy enough to figure out which room with a shut door is Bucky’s when Sam walks out of the bathroom and immediately checks the score on his phone (the space around the smaller television is too busy to see). You knock, probably a little too lightly at first, but the second set of taps nearly clock Bucky’s throat.

He’s beaming, cheeks flushed, smile wide - like a smitten kid. His electric touch pulls you into his bedroom already scattered with his scrawlings and textbooks. The door barely provides enough sound protection from the party for you to feel comfortable at attempting to concentrate.

“I really thought Steve had an away game this weekend, but I hadn’t thought about having a bye week for finals -” Bucky stops, feet strategically between loose paper and dog-eared texts. And god, he’s looking at you like that again and you can’t breathe.

Suddenly you understand the gravity of your feelings, and your mouth goes dry.

This isn’t fake for you. Not anymore.

“Really, I’m glad you still wanted to help me out.” Bucky’s sincere, permanently grinning as he’s rearranging his chaotic floorspace to make room for you. You swallow hard as you eye the sliver of skin between his sweater and his lounge pants, the well-loved hoodie pooling around his middle as he bends from his hips. When he’s upright and inviting you to settle in, you decide that professionalism has to outweigh your own personal crisis - think like Fury.

Hours later, the two of your are in a shambles - Bucky insisted you change into a pair of his sweats and a tee shirt in the event of an all nighter, you’d made a run for fast food, and your eyes can hardly stay open long enough to fact-check Bucky’s recitation.

“I think maybe we should call it a night,” he yawns, interrupting his monologue. You nod mutely and move to get up when Bucky catches your arm. “Uh, I mean, you could...you could stay.”

You shouldn’t, though, for reasons Bucky doesn’t know - but he has an excellent argument: you’re in no shape to get yourself home and with the party still going strong outside his bedroom there’s no way he can drive you home.

Bucky helps you get to your feet and smooths his hands over your shoulders. “Scout honor, no funny business. They’ll all crash on top of each other in the living room and Steve’s room. You’d at least have a little more space in here. I’ll take the floor -”

“Absolutely not, Bucky Barnes.” Your tone even surprises you; the Fury switch quickly dissipates. “I mean, I can’t in good conscience let you do that, it’s your room. We can...we can just share, if you don’t mind -”

“Not at all.” Maybe it’s your drowsiness but he seems eager. “Just washed the sheets anyway, and the blanket’s something Mom and Gran quilted for me as a kid.”

Soft cotton and jersey envelop your aching muscles, and a betraying moan of contentment escapes you when Bucky curls into bed next to you. He’s warm, a furnace beneath the covers, haven from the biting cold.

His stubble, still unshaven from Friday, borders on scruff and tickles your forehead. Hands ease over your back, tentative, hesitant. You can’t deny him and certainly can’t deny yourself this moment.

“Darlin’?”

He’s whisper soft, cotton candy words prickling against your skin. You hum and his hands still against your shirt.

“Wasn’t kidding about actually dating you, y’know. If you want to take up the offer-”

Your fingers are on his lips, you crane your body to get a better look at his beautiful, tired face.

“Ask me again in the morning, Buck. After coffee. So I know this isn’t delirium.”

He sighs and presses a tired smile into your forehead. “Whatever you need, darlin’.”

#1.5kconstellationswritingchallenge #star's multi fandom follower celebration #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fan fiction #bucky imagine #bucky drabble #my fic

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izaswritings · 4 years

Text

Title: building trust

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis: Oscar and Oz stage a prison break. Qrow… complicates things.

(Or: in which Oscar takes over as the voice of reason, Oz is Guilt, and Qrow is just having a very bad and emotional day, and these two are not helping. Rebuilding trust is harder than it looks— it’s all about the small steps.)

Notes: This fic is kind of an unofficial sequel to this story here, (or here) but you can still read this one on standalone if you want. Shoutout to the anon who told me I had to write the prison break fic-- this is for you, anon.

AO3 Link is here.

“This is…”

There is little left to say between the two of them, looking down and out over Mantle’s ruined and smoking streets. It is three hours after Oscar fell from Atlas, and now he is back again on the floating city, standing at the edge of the drop. From this height Mantle is a depressing sprawl of smoke and ruin. On the ground, the situation had been gruesome, but their view of the destruction had been limited. One house burning on a street corner, a few empty streets of rubble, and all the people vanished from sight, huddling away in the shelters. Any bodies slowly being buried by the snow.

As terrible as it sounds, in Mantle the Grimm had been the only trouble, and even then, not much. As Oz had put it, when Oscar had asked— evading Grimm is child’s play after almost a few thousand years of practice.

Ah, Oscar had said, at that. Well, when you put it like that…

Even finding an airship managed to be a far easier task than assumed. Oz knows where the military base is. Oz knows how to hotwire a ship. Oz knows… a lot of weirdly illegal things, actually.

“Your judgment is unappreciated,” Oz had said.

It’s just, this is the second time I’ve helped steal an airship, Oscar said back, and sighed. I can’t help but feel like we’re just going to end up facing a giant robot again.

“Deeply improbable,” Oz had begun, and then a soldier had started shouting and Oz dropped the conversation to yank back the controls and put them in flight.

And now, here they are: Atlas, again, in a private sector cordoned off, as close as they can get to the military custody cells without being detected. Getting off Mantle was, hilariously, the easy part. It is this next part that makes Oscar hesitate.

Oz is still in control—still bearing the pain of exhaustion and bullet wound bruises both, because in all this cascading disaster Oscar has yet to get either proper healing or an actual nap, and their aura is all focused on blocking out the cold—and it is Oz who looks away from the sight of Mantle, hands clenching tight over the knob of the cane, gripping the Long Memory like a lifeline.

This is awful, Oscar whispers, feeling thin. There is no surprise in his voice, in him. No horror. Just a quiet, seething sort of anger, a frustrated ache that this happened at all. That it has come to this.

Oz, for his part, can hardly seem to face it—he closes their eyes and turns their face away, breathing in slow and shaky. Oscar goes quiet, watchful. He can feel Oz’s thoughts as his own, which is why he knows what the other thinks of all this. The tangle of emotion is sobering. Regret, grief, anger… and a bitter taste all across their tongue, the awful bite of betrayal, because deep down they’d both thought Ironwood better than this.

This time, it is Oscar who offers the words they both need to hear. It… it isn’t your fault.

Oz exhales out a shaky breath, but his laughter is soft and bitter. “No?” He drags their eyes back to the ruined landscape below. When he speaks, his voice is distant and wondering. “How far Mantle looks from here. How shrunken. A failure on our part. A sign of neglect, really. A sign to do better.”

Oscar considers him. Doesn’t speak.

“I wonder if he ever saw it the same way,” Oz observes, clinically. He stares down at Mantle as if there is an answer in the smoke. “Perhaps, when he stood up here, looking down upon them… maybe he just saw Mantle as small.”

Still. Oscar is stubborn. How were you supposed to know what he thought about it?

“You are turning my own words against me,” Oz murmurs back, and finally turns away from the ledge. He walks them back to the building, their alleyway. The stolen airship sits half-hidden by a building, and with any luck, it’ll stay undetected. Oscar is praying the chaos is enough to confuse the sensors. “And on the same day, no less.”

Doesn’t make it less true.

A few blocks down, the military holding cells await. They’ve moved swiftly enough Oz doesn’t think Qrow will be at the prison yet—the hope is that he is here, for holding or interrogation or both. And given that this is the highest-priority military cell, and Ironwood called for Qrow’s arrest personally… the chances of him being here are high. Now, they just need to find him.

Oscar looks up at the barbed-wire walls and the very tall building, and sighs. More breaking and entering. Well, all right. Let’s steal a military scroll.

Oz hums, already scanning the entrance, walking up to the gate. “I thought you disliked stealing.”

They only bring out the giant robots for airships. We’re fine.

Despite everything, that actually gets Oz to smile again. “Hm. Sound logic, I suppose.” He turns and surveys the gate, then lifts his hand to wave at the officer stationed by the entrance. “Hello! Can you help me?”

“A kid? But what are you...” The guard’s gun lowers, and then she stills. “Wait. Your face. Aren’t you—!?”

The officer doesn’t get a chance to finish. Oz knocks her legs out from under her, calmly whaps her over the head, and then handcuffs her as she groans. He takes the scroll and opens it, surveying the device. The gate clicks open without any further issues. Oz looks out over the military holding yard and sighs. “Well. And now for the hard part.”

Everything else wasn’t hard?

“Stealing the airship didn’t require breaking and entering, I’m afraid. And this was just sense. Getting in the actual building will be just as hard as getting out.” Oz sighs a breath through their teeth, and glances down at the handcuffed officer, still looking woozy. “Especially if we do not want to be caught. I did not think about that. Hopefully, we will be gone before she gets out of the handcuffs.”

We could… wear a mask?

Oz considers this. “…No.”

But—

“No.”

Well, do you have a better idea?

Oz clasps their hands behind their back, looking up to survey the building. Oscar waits for him to think it out. Oz had explained some of it on the way here—it’s not as guarded as a prison, but it’s still a place designed to hold higher-ranking criminals, enemies that Ironwood places on top priority.

Oscar doesn’t like the look of the place. The sleek walls. The shiny surfaces. The glint of the barred windows seems cruel. After all that walking through Mantle, to stand in Atlas and witness the sheer wealth of difference between them makes something in him harden.

Oz must come to a decision—he lifts the cane and spins it in their hands before tapping it down hard on the snow. “The old fashioned way, then, I suppose,” he says. He heaves a heavy sigh. “We are a bit too small to believably steal any armor, unfortunately.”

I don’t think physically breaking our way into a prison is a...very good idea? Also, um. We are still… injured. Won’t that—hurt?

“Usually, it is not.” Oz starts for the door, cane by his side. “But if there is any bright side to this situation—” Oscar mentally makes a face, and Oz sighs again. “Yes, I know, and I agree—but again. Atlas is on high alert. Grimm are converging on the city. And Salem…”

That old bitterness, half-memory and half just Oz rises up, like static in Oscar’s soul, and together they both glance back at the shroud of dark storm clouds slowly moving in on the city. In the past hour, the wind has picked up to a howl. It won’t be long, now. The thought makes their aura shudder in dread and fury.

“Well. Salem is, currently, a far larger threat. I have no doubt that Atlas’s sensors have picked up on her invasion by now. If there was ever a time this prison would be understaffed and vulnerable… now is likely it. It is, too, why we were able to land the airship up here in the first place. Two days ago, I suspect we would have been shot just getting in the sky.”

They’re nearing the door, now.

“But… yes. We are still injured. Fighting will… likely aggravate the injury, regardless of our aura.” Oz hesitates. “If—I understand if you would rather not—”

No. It’s fine. Oscar settles back, shifting through the information. We need to get Qrow out. And if this really is the best time to do it—and the best way… His thoughts firm, steady and cold with determination. We can’t hesitate. There’s no time.

“…Very well.” Oz turns their eyes back to the door, and hefts the cane in hand. Though not in control, Oscar can still feel it—the shift in emotion, the cool blanket falling over their thoughts. The turmoil, the grief, the anger, the lingering fear Oz won’t acknowledge about seeing Qrow again—all of it, buried beneath a laser-eyed focus. “I will be quick.”

Just… try not to push us into passing out?

“Hm, yes, that would be unfortunate. Not to worry—I know our limits.”

I thought you just said you were out of practice.

Oz calmly holds up the officer’s scroll, unlocks the front door, and walks through. “Well. That was an hour ago.”

That’s… not comforting.

This—with the door open and the two of them already inside—is about when the guards finally notice them.

The ensuing fight is rapid-paced, and terribly one-sided. For someone who claims to be out of practice, Oz is swift and brutal in a way that runs entirely counter to his usual manner—he strikes the guards with merciless force, leaving crumpled and groaning bodies lying still on the floor behind them as they push their way into the prison. It never goes too far—no bones broken, no bruises that will lead to unfortunate death—but it is definitely impressive, and Oscar would be awed, if not for the looming sense of resigned doom that he’s definitely going to be feeling this fight for a while. Bruises for days. He’s not looking forward to it.

Oz, currently in the middle of slipping a scroll from the highest-ranked guard’s pocket, pauses at this. “In my defense,” he says mildly, standing them up to limp towards the next door, “we were already in rather rough shape. You would be feeling it anyway.”

I’m just… not looking forward to facing a full-scale invasion like this.

“…An understandable worry,” Oz admits, after a pause. “But you do not… have to feel it alone, as it were. I am happy to take on the burden should the aftereffects be—unpleasant.” He lifts their head. “And once we have a moment to breathe, our aura should start easing some of the pain. We will be okay, Oscar. We simply must hold on until we can rest again.”

Oscar hums a quiet agreement, watching through their eyes as Oz takes them up the hall. He’s frowning, slightly, brow furrowed. They’ve gotten in, but from here on out Oz is uncertain of where to go.

Oscar leans in, not so much taking control as sharing it, and ignores the rising ache of pain as he flickers their head to the side to look up at the front desk of the precinct. Do Atlas personnel keep records?

Oz blinks. “…Yes, actually.” He beelines for the desk, tapping at the computer keys. “A sound idea. Atlas is keen on efficiency. They should be—” He makes a noise. “Ah-ha. B-block.”

Second floor, holding cell 4E… doesn’t seem far. We should hurry.

“Agreed.” Oz spins the cane through their hand and heads for the stairs. Somewhere, an alarm starts to sound. Oz presses a hand to their side with an uncharacteristic curse, and sprints for it.

They make it to the second floor with only minimal resistance, and Oz heads right for the door half-way down the hall. “Here. This room.” He takes up the scroll and presses it to the scanner. The light clicks green. Oz closes the scroll and takes the handle, as if to push the door open—and stops.

There is a long pause. Oscar waits. Oz stares down at their hand for a long moment. There is the slightest of trembles through their fingers before he forces their hand to still. He takes a breath—tightens his grip—

Oscar gently pushes Oz out of the way, and then he is here again, he is himself again, in control once more. Physicality slams into him, the pain sharp and sudden and impossible to ignore, a stitch building in his lungs from the overwork. Still, this switch in control is almost too easy, which is telling enough, but Oz fumbles in something like shock.

Oscar—

And wow, okay, ow, that fight really pushed all the limits he didn’t even know he had, okay. Oscar grits his teeth and rides out the sudden wave of pain, spots dancing behind his eyes. Beyond a brief and pained hiss through clenched teeth, he manages to swallow it back. “It’s fine,” he whispers, once he feels he can breathe again. “It’s fine.”

Oz hesitates. I should…

“We all need to talk.” Oscar straightens with a pained exhale. “And we will. But there’s too much happening. One thing at a time. Prison break is—” He exhales again, smile twisting wry. “Is, um, probably a bad time.”

Oz is quiet for a very long moment. Oscar waits. They have very little time to lose, perhaps—already he can hear alarms beginning to ring, orders shouting out—but Oscar sets his feet and waits, calm, for the answer.

…Thank you. Oz sounds tired.

Oscar tilts his head and doesn’t bother with a reply, just turns the handle and pushes the door open into the holding cell. Light casts through the open door. Qrow is sitting on a lone bench in a dark cage, his head bowed and shoulders slumped. He doesn’t even look up when the door opens—but the person sitting next to him does.

“A kid?” Robyn Hill looks surprised. “Who the hell… wait. You’re the one from the dinner. With Ironwood.”

“Um,” Oscar says, mentally backpedaling for all he’s worth. What? Robyn? Why? “H-hi?”

Well. This is certainly a surprise. I don’t recall Ironwood putting out an arrest for her.

Yeah, neither does Oscar. Was she arrested with Qrow? Did they take her in just because? That seems... shitty.

At her comment, though, Qrow’s head snaps up. His eyes fix on Oscar and go wide. He straightens like he’s been shocked. “Wh—Oscar!?”

Oscar stares at them, trying to get his mind back on track. Oz chooses this moment to be unhelpful and go utterly silent, which is. Okay. Fine. After a pause, Oscar works his jaw and manages a weak smile. “Oh, um. Yep. That’s me.”

“How did you get here?” Robyn asks, still looking bewildered, but it is Qrow who jumps to his feet and heads towards the bars. “Kid,” he says. “Kid, I thought you were dead!”

“What?” Oscar says, and Oz says, The report, the officers must have told them, and Oscar snaps his mouth shut. “Oh, right. Right.” He pauses, a sinking feeling in his gut, a mingled dread from Oz and Oscar both. “Um.” He doesn’t want to tell them about Ironwood just yet. Not if he doesn’t have to. This just… isn’t the place for it. “It’s a long story.” He moves for the cell doors, holding out the guard scroll. “Let’s get out of here, first.”

Qrow passes a hand down his face, looking ragged but relieved, laughing quietly in a way that doesn’t make it sound like he’s laughing at all. Robyn just shakes her head. “No, wait,” she says, as Oscar unlocks the cell. “I don’t understand. How did you even find us here? This is a military facility!”

“They’re distracted with other things, right now,” Oscar says absently, pulling open the grate. His side aches. He bites back the wince. “They were undermanned. Um, I found keys.”

Robyn scowls at him. “You broke into a guarded government facility all on your own?” She sounds half-way between incredulous and impressed, and turns to shoot Qrow a glare, as if asking for an explanation. Qrow, too, is looking at Oscar oddly, his brow furrowed. He’s holding something tight in his hands, Oscar realizes suddenly—a small object, something reflective, that he’s flipping absently through his fingers.

Oscar meets Qrow’s gaze, calm, and offers a pale smile. “Not… entirely on my own,” he says, careful, and when Qrow goes still, he flips the Long Memory so he’s holding in it in both hands, a silent answer to the question he sees on Qrow’s face. He waits. Qrow doesn’t respond.

Oz is silent, too—a tangle of something like guilt and a pale regret, exhaustion—but all Oscar does is nod, and collapses the cane to clip it on his belt again. “It’s just me right now, though,” he says. Shouting drifts up from the floor below. Oscar turns to Robyn. “Can you fly an airship?”

She looks at him with narrowed eyes. “You gonna explain what the hell that cryptic-ass statement was?”

Oscar actually grins. “Sure.” The shouting grows louder. “Just, um, later?”

She considers him. Then she nods. “I can fly a ship.” She claps Qrow on the shoulder, and for a moment her voice goes awkwardly gentle. “Come on, asshole. Time to run.”

Qrow seems to jolt back to himself. His fingers clench around the thing in his hand. “Right. Right.” He shakes his head, turns to Oscar—and then shakes his head again. “Lead the way, kid.”

Oz murmurs in the back of his mind, muted. He seems shaken.

Oscar looks Qrow up and down. He does seem shaken. Oddly disconnected. There’s blood flecking off his sleeves, his hands. Oscar doesn’t like that look of it—it gives him a bad feeling.

His lips press. There’s no time.

“Let’s go,” he says, and rushes from the cell.

Escape is marginally easier than breaking in—Robyn seems almost too keen to bust some heads, and once they pick up their weapons she fights with gusto. She seems angry, and more than happy to take that anger out on the guards who’d locked them up. Oscar supposes he can’t really blame her. After everything she did for Mantle, the last few hours were probably like something from her own personal hell.

Qrow’s weapon is bloody all the way to the hilt, poorly cleaned. Qrow actually flinches when he sees it. Oscar is getting such a bad feeling about this.

Oz, too, is quiet. This isn’t good.

Yeah, obviously. But Oscar swallows it back.

They are running through the halls now, only slowed by the continuous stitch in Oscar’s side. He’s limping badly, and his cane is getting more use as a crutch than a weapon right now. Ow, ow, ow. He gets the sense Oz wants to offer to take over again, except they both know that’d cause too many problems right now. Oscar tilts back his head, looking at Qrow from the corner of his eye. “What do you think happened?”

…The object in his hand—it looks like a badge, don’t you think?

Oscar almost trips. Oh. Oh, no. “Do you think—?”

I am not sure. I wasn’t aware for a majority of those moments, and you only met him once. But… General Ironwood’s men are—incredibly loyal. It would not surprise me if…

Oscar presses his lips in a thin line, chest aching at the thought. He hadn’t known Clover Ebi well to have much of an opinion, but if Oz’s guess is right—that must have hurt.

“All good, kid?”

He looks up to see both Robyn and Qrow looking back at him, Robyn’s face creased in worry and Qrow’s blank in a way that makes him want to hide. Oh, shoot. He manages a smile. “Um.” How to salvage this?

We are still running for our lives. A rather more pressing issue at the moment, I would think.

Ah, right. “The airship is behind the building?”

Robyn shakes her head, looking exasperated, but turns back around to run. Qrow stares at Oscar for another long moment and then looks away so quick his neck snaps, and doesn’t look back again.

That… is not a good sign.

“Too late to worry about it now,” Oscar mutters back, and shoves out of the prison doors, side burning, breaths wheezing. The stitch in his lung is starting to become something agonizing. To Robyn: “It’s—t-there, that alley, it should be—still running—I hope—”

She is already turning the corner. “Got it. Get on!”

“T-trying!” Oscar wheezes out, and pushes forward. Pain flares up his side like the stab of a hot poker. His leg buckles again. Oscar makes a strangled noise and tips sideways, arm snapping out for the wall—

A hand grips under his arm and drags him upright. Qrow. He catches Oscar mid-stumble and pulls him forward, dragging them up the ramp and turning just in time to raise his weapon. The sharp ping of a blocked bullet rings out. “Close the damn doors!”

“On it!” Robyn is already in the pilot’s seat, flicking on the controls. “Hold on!”

The ground shudders and Oscar lunges for the airship wall, leaning heavily against the seats and gripping the seatbelts for support. His side is splitting in pain. His head spins, his vision going blurry. The bottom drops away, his ears popping from the pressure; outside the window, he watches as Atlas slowly fades into the clouds, the airship rising up into the sky. They’ve made it. They’ve made it!

He can’t breathe. Every inhale feels like it isn’t enough. Oscar curls up over his side and fights the urge to throw up.

Oz’s voice snaps in the back of his mind, sharp and calming. Oscar. Breathe.

“I—can’t—”

A moment of pause. Then: Let me take control.

Oscar grits his teeth. “But—”

You’re on the cusp of hyperventilation, and with our injuries as they are, such a thing will not be pleasant. I appreciate your concern, and I am grateful, but your wellbeing is far more important than my insistence on avoiding my problems. Let me help.

Oscar bows his head and struggles for one lingering second, and then drops control all at once. It’s one of their rockier switches—for a moment their head dips forward and they almost blackout, and then Oz snaps to awareness and inhales sharply, fighting to get their breathing back under control.

He sits them up straight and places a bracing hand to their side, leaning heavily against the side of the ship. He closes their eyes and slows their breathing, taking deep breaths despite the panicked burning in their lungs.

Oscar, dizzy and distant, his head clear now that he’s away from the pain, takes scope of their state and winces. The little strength they’d regained from their rest in Mantle’s pit is all but gone now. The weariness drags at him.

I… I’m sorry.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Oz murmurs back, and their aura flickers up, focused solely on their side. Thankfully, the airship has heating, which means their aura’s healing properties can now be fully utilized. “We, ah… perhaps pushed our luck too soon.”

“That so?”

They still— their shock two-fold, the flash of surprise belonging to Oscar and Oz both. In their exhaustion, they’d forgotten where they were. Across from them, Qrow is standing against the airship door, looking down at them with an expression turned cold and hard. “That isn’t exactly like you, Oz.”

…Oh, crap.

Oz doesn’t reply. For a moment he is very still, and then he forcefully relaxes, clenching and unclenching their fingers. His ache for the Long Memory is so strong that even Oscar can feel it, but Oz doesn’t reach for the cane, just pushes them to sit up straight and leans back against the wall, hands still pressed to their side.

“…Perhaps,” he says, finally, with slight strain. “But it has been a—rather tiring day. Even for me.” A pause. “We… all make mistakes.”

Qrow’s face darkens, a flash of anger like a storm. “Yeah, that’s an understatement.” His fingers are white-knuckled on his sleeve, his jaw tight. He straightens, looking ready to snap—

“Okay,” says Robyn, from the front. She turns back to look at them. “I’ll bite. The hell is going on? What the fuck just happened to the kid?”

Oz visibly winces. In the back of their mind, Oscar sighs. Oh, geez.

Oz speaks very quietly, under their breath. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to—”

At this point, switching might make things worse, Oz. He pushes back, for once—hilariously—refusing control. Rebuilding trust, remember?

Oz sighs, but seems unsurprised, and Oscar suspects he perhaps just wanted to hear someone else say it. He straightens, then winces again when the pain in their side flares, bad enough even Oscar can feel it, though it’s muted by the distance.

“That is…” Oz exhales, hard. “I am Professor Ozpin. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hill. I have heard… good things about you.” He manages a smile. “To make a long story very short, I am—paired with Oscar through an old curse that has had me reincarnate again and again, until Salem is defeated. Oscar is my most recent incarnation. He is also, in fact, still here—I am just briefly taking control.”

Robyn blinks fast. She stares at them for a long moment, as if waiting for the punchline, and when one doesn’t come she sits back in the pilot’s seat and turns her face to the window, looking bewildered. “That’s… okay, then.”

Argh, we look so weird…

Oz’s expression twitches into a wan smile, but Qrow shifts and the smile drops, stone cold. Qrow does not look at all pleased. His eyes are bright with fury. “But why bother introducing yourself, anyway?” Qrow sounds icy. “Let me guess. The moment you give up control, snap! Gone away again, right?”

“What?” Robyn says.

Oz doesn’t react. For Robyn’s benefit, he says, reluctant and forced, “I… also have spent these last few months— mostly unaware, as it were. I have only just returned.” His eyes flicker to Qrow. He takes a long breath. “I… I want to say that I am—”

“Save it.” Qrow’s voice snaps. “Why now? Why today? Why the hell are you back?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Oz stares calmly back, but Oscar can feel his exhaustion, soul-deep and aching. They are both of them at their limit. “I… I am here. To stay. Even after Oscar takes back control. I am simply in control now to manage—the damage.”

Robyn’s eyes flash back, her hands tight on the airship controls. “The kid’s hurt?”

Qrow straightens at that. “What happened?”

Oz—

“They will find out sooner or later,” Oz says simply, cutting Oscar off. “Best to know now.” He closes their eyes and takes another breath. “Oscar sought to convince Ja—General Ironwood to change his mind about Mantle. Ironwood… did not take well to this.” He pauses, then sighs. “He shot us off a cliff.”

There is a long, awful silence. Qrow looks pale. Robyn’s hands are white-knuckled on the controls. “So that’s it,” she says, voice tight. “That’s it. That’s—where he stands.”

Qrow stares. “…Are you serious?”

“…It broke our aura.” Oz presses their hand against the wound, breathing shallowly. “Only a bruise, thankfully, but… if Oscar’s aura had been any more depleted, we would not have survived the bullet, let alone the fall.”

Nothing. Qrow is still. Perhaps it is the shock about Ironwood, or whatever happened that bloodied Qrow’s weapon and left Clover Ebi’s pin in his grasp, but all his anger seems abruptly drained. He slumps against the door, hand covering his face. For a moment the only noise is the rattle of the airship, battling against the storm.

Oz looks away. “I understand if you cannot forgive me,” he says, in the silence. “And I will not ask you to. But Salem is coming. And if we do not act soon, then Atlas will meet a fate even worse than Beacon.” He lifts his head, but still, cannot seem to bring himself to look back at Qrow. “I… understand if you don’t trust me. I have not, after all, proved myself trustworthy.” He hesitates, longer, and then, quietly: “But please. Whatever the plan… let me help.”

Qrow breathes in. Breathes out. Straightens against the door. “I don’t trust you.” Blunt. Sharp. Oz doesn’t flinch, but his eyes close, and Oscar would cringe if he could. “And forgiveness isn’t even on the table, frankly. But.” Qrow scrubs a hand down his face. “Fuck, if James has really—well. We could use all the help we could get.” His hand lowers. His eyes are sharp. “Hey, Oscar.��

Oscar brightens in interest. Me?

Oz says, cautiously, “He’s listening.”

Qrow stares at them, as if trying to see Oscar past Oz’s eyes. “Do you trust him?”

Oscar’s response is immediate. I’m willing to try.

Oz winces. “Oscar—”

Like I said before. It’s never too late to build trust. Not if you’re willing to mend it.

Oz hesitates. Takes a deep breath, then pauses again, unsure of how to voice it. “Ah, he—”

“Stop.” Oz’s mouth snaps shut. Qrow closes his eyes. He looks tired again. “I can tell. Kid’s face is an open book, even when you’re the one wearing it.” His eyes open. He lifts his hand and looks at his palm. Oz was right—it is Clover’s badge, small and silver and flecked with drying blood.

Qrow looks at the badge for a long time, then gently closes his fingers around it. He tucks the badge away in his inner coat pocket, where his flask used to sit. “Well,” he says, to the wall. “If Oscar’s willing to give you a chance… fine.”

Oz falters, obviously taken off-guard. His surprise is tinged with something sharp and golden, a rush of relief. “I—that’s—thank you. I will—”

“I’m not done.” Qrow’s stare bores into them. “I don’t forgive you. At the moment, I’m too angry to really consider it. The kids… who knows. Maybe they’ll be a different story. But whatever happens. Whatever comes next? You’re not in charge. And if you step out of line, if you lie—again?” Qrow leans forward. “This is it, Oz. One last chance.” His voice rasps. “Try not to fuck it up, yeah?”

Silence, again. Qrow leans back against the door. He seems drained. Tired. He closes his eyes.

“I understand,” Oz says. He looks down. “Thank you.”

Another pause. The silence stretches. Oscar nudges him, and Oz takes a breath. “Qrow. I am sorry for your loss. He seemed like a good man.”

Qrow’s jaw clenches, and he looks up, livid—but Oscar is already in control again, blinking fast from the blood rush and pulling a face at the floor. Qrow slumps. “That—!”

“He meant it.” Oscar presses at his side, closing weary eyes. He feels tired, but—pleased, too. Oz is a quiet sigh in the back of his mind, but his emotion is a tangle of guilt and bone-deep relief. A chance. It is more than Oz feels he deserves, but that is what he’s been given.

Still. I wouldn’t exactly label that conversation as having “gone well,” Oscar.

“No,” Oscar agrees, “but it’s a start.” He lifts his head and gives Qrow a weak smile. “Thanks for hearing him out.”

Qrow sighs again. “The things I do for you kids.”

Oscar laughs at that. Then he trails off. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, shoot. The others—” He tries to sit up, and hisses when his side twinges. The pain is fading under the focus of their aura, slowly and surely, but it’s still seizing. “Salem is coming—and they think I’m dead or, you know, that you’re in prison—we need to—can we—?”

“Calm down, pipsqueak.” Robyn. She’s already flicking through the controls. “Finally, something I can do. That conversation was dramatic, don’t get me wrong, and it did explain some stuff, but wow that was awkward to sit through. Give me a sec.”

Qrow puts a hand back over his face. In the back of Oscar’s head, Oz is a momentary burn of embarrassment.

I’ll admit. I forgot she was there.

Oscar snickers once, smothers it at Qrow’s glare, and gives Robyn a smile. “If you can reach them—”

“Got it.”

Static crackles through the airship. A voice bleeds through. No-nonsense and sharp—Maria. “Who is this?”

Oscar sits back, eyes half-lidded, exhaustion lingering, listening to the sound of his friends’ voices. Jaune. Ruby. Nora and Ren and Weiss and all the others. He closes his eyes with a smile, calls a weak affirmative when they demand after him, and lets their relief wash over him, warm, welcome. They’re all alive, they know he’s alive—Qrow is as willing to work with Oz as he can be, and sooner or later they’ll have a plan.

Salem is coming. The storm is almost upon them. But there is a warmth, Oscar thinks, in knowing he won’t face it alone.

Maybe Ironwood never saw Oscar for Oscar, and maybe he never saw Mantle as a place worth saving—who can know? But the people here care, the people here see him, and together, he thinks, they can at least give Mantle a chance.

Oscar.

He pries his eyes open. Qrow and Robyn are talking with the others—hashing out a place to meet, to plan. Soon they’ll all be together again. Soon they’ll figure it out.

Thank you. I know I have said that numerous times today, but… truly. Thank you for giving me a chance.

Oscar hums, and closes his eyes. “Had an advantage,” he mumbles back, exhausted. “Knew you meant it.”

Oz feels lighter. Almost as if he wants to laugh. True. Oscar’s head dips. Oz’s voice is warm. Rest, Oscar. I’ll wake you when we land.

He knows Oz will. There is a peace in knowing that—in having Oz watch his back. Oscar tips his head forward and lies down on the airship seats, and lets the crackling static of his team’s voices and the rumble of the airship carry him to sleep.

#rwby #oscar pine #ozpin #qrow branwen #qrow #robyn hill #rwby ozpin #ozma #rwby7 spoilers #rwby 7 #rwby7 finale #rwby fic #iza fanfic #please reblog if u liked it!!!

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werezmastarbucks · 4 years

Text

Whitmore Guy - xenomorph

Whitmore Guy masterlist

word count: 3076

warnings: things get serious

Four days later Y/N decided she should visit Mal and see how he is. Lord knows how he’s going to cope with all this. Elena suggested, in a flare of her classical empathy stroke, to help out with compelling if they find out the guy’s not doing good. Y/N went chilly inside upon imagining a sociopath derived of feelings, forgetting why there’s a whole in his mind.

Before showing up on his doorstep, she dropped by at the shop and bought him some ice cream. She didn’t recall talking about ice cream with Mal, which was strange, but she put all her faith in that bubble gum flavor would do good. It was her favorite, and the two of them had it all similar, plus, Mal was really into chemical, artificial stuff to put in his mouth. A big bucket of bright blue frozen mass held neatly under her arms, she entered the block of flats and got to the fourth floor. Just as she was about to knock on the door, it swung open, so energetically, as usual, like there was a tornado behind it.

Mal let his scruff grow, and now he looked about five years older, and even more handsome. His hands still had dark small cuts from the debris of the table.

“Oh my god!” he exclaimed. Y/N eyed him carefully. The dude was wearing his jean jacket and sweatpants, and he looked smashing, but also, not pale enough. He didn’t even have swollen eyes or grey bruises around them. He looked perfectly healthy, mature, and happy to see her.

“Y/N, are you reading my mind?” he took the ice cream bucket from her and pushed the door, letting her in.

She entered his place with curiosity. Y/N hasn’t been inside yet; should she happen to give him a lift, she usually let him out of the car outside and drove away.

It was messy as hell, like a normal dude’s apartment. The only neatly organized space was kitchen, where all the cutting boards, knives and plates lay in their places, all the ketlery seemingly kept in one color palette.

His room, though, was an expression of his temper. Bed was full of candy packages, and his clothes, his pastel and black hoodies, jeans and t-shirts scattered around the floor. He wasn’t completely mental though: his jackets and coats were hung in the closet, on hangers. The big TV was on, prepped against the wall right opposite his bed; Netflix was paused indicating that he’s been watching Alien.

“This is perfect”, he puffed, pulling his jacket off and throwing in onto a chair. “I was just about to go out for the ice cream, and there you are, like a little fairy, granting my deepest desires”.

He crashed back on bed, his lively black eyes fixated on her. Y/N stood above it, unsure what to do.

“Are you doing okay, Mal?”

He opened his mouth, looking at her, while he lay in his bed, stomach up, like a cat.

“Yeah, what do you mean?”

Two seconds passed until a bulb lit up in the depths of his brain.

“Oh, yes, of course. Martha’s dead. Love of my life is gone and I will never see her again. But I’m fine”.

Y/N took off her leather jacket and threw it on the same chair, to pair it with Mal’s. Thing was, she didn’t mind mess much as long as it wasn’t completely biologically hazardous. Clean kitchen did that for her.

“Care to elaborate? How did you manage to cope with it in four days? I thought you’d need a lot of support, quite frankly”.

She put the bucket on the nighstand and opened it with her nails.

“Do you have a spoon?”

Mal looked down his bed and then put his arm under the pillow, looked around the room and finally spotted a spoon on the stand under the TV. Y/N took it and stabbed the stone-frozen blue stuff. She sat on the bed, thanking heavens that Mal thought to move to give her some space. He took the bucket from her and unpaused the movie.

“You’ve seen this?”

“You kidding?”

She prepped herself against the pillow and sat comfortably.

“I had such a big crush on Sigourney Weaver when it first came out…” there were traces of tenderness in Mal’s voice.

“Repeat that, slower”, Y/N eyed him as he took a spoonful in his mouth.

“Well, obviously, I mean when it came out, like, for me. Don’t pick on my words, I’m mourning”.

“You don’t look like you are”.

“God, you’re lucky you’re cute and bring me food, lady”, Mal shook his head slowly, never looking away from the TV. “Hold on, he’s gonna start feeding now”.

They both allowed all their concentration into the movie. To be honest, Y/N loved that one.

“I love him so much”, she whispered under her breath as the Xenomorph jumped down from the ceiling, sweeping a guy away so fast it was almost like when vampires did it.

“Yeah?” Mal smiled. “You want some?”

Y/N nodded and took the spoon.

“He’s fast, and he’s perfect. He never talks too much, he just feeds and kills, you know. Even Predators admitted that Aliens were the best hunting prey and that they had a kind of respect for them because how awesome they are. Look at him. He’s so stealthy and pitch black, he’s flawless”.

“You wanna fuck a Xenomorph?” he asked with uncertainty.

“I guess I like all things terrible”.

Mal nodded with understanding.

The plot went on as they were slowly consuming ice cream, like a couple of disgruntled schoolchildren, only, they were both way too adult to be dramatic.

“So, what have you been doing here these days?” Y/N took another swing at trying to open him up.

Mal sighed.

“You know, stuff. Cried a little, cooked, ate a lot, slept. Then I remembered our conversation about movies and how you once said that you watch stuff that makes you happy when you’re down”.

“So, you decided to go with Alien”.

“Nah, sorry, monster fucker, but cenobites are my all-time favorites. I started with Hellraiser, yesterday. Rewatched all parts”.

“Damn it”.

“What?”

“I should’ve come yesterday. What are you going to do now?”

“Uh, Alien franchise?” he eyed her with confusion as he shoved the spoon in his mouth. He was eating it like a bear, without even looking, like it was soup. Mal had incredible stomach for sure, made of titan or such.

“No, I mean, you’ll have to return to work eventually. And live on”.

“Come on, it’s been four days. Give me a break. Plus, I don’t have to return to work – I moved in here because of my girlfriend, and now she’s dead, so technically I don’t have to work”.

“Fair enough”.

Y/N shivered at the thought of never seeing him at the college again. After nearly two months of being as thick as thieves she couldn’t imagine going on completely alone in that madhouse.

Was it weird that Mal seemed so indifferent? Yes and no. Y/N learned not to question the weird long time ago. She was surrounded by them. She was just alarmed at what he might do or feel when it finally hits him that Martha is really gone.

She left it alone. Y/N slid down a little, shook her head negatively when Mal tried to feed her; by the end of the first part they were spread on the bed like two starfish. The second chapter of Ripley’s blood freezing adventures began at about Five PM, and Y/N only realized she was almost drifting away when her phone rang.

“Hey”, she hung from Mal’s bed and grabbed her phone. It was Damon.

“Is he alive?”

“Yep”.

“Is he raging?”

“No, everything’s fine”.

She looked around and looked at the guy; the bucket in his hands was half-empty. Her eyebrows went up.

“Although I think he’s a bit suicidal”.

“Cool, hit me up if anything”.

Damon hung up.

“Who was it?”

“Mal, you shouldn’t eat it all at once, you’ll poison yourself”.

“I’m fine. Was it Damon?”

Mal embraced his bucket in case she tries to pull it away from him.

“No”.

His eyes narrowed.

“Why are you lying?”

Y/N clicked her tongue, falling back and crossing her legs.

“Because I don’t want you to think about him”.

Mal stared at her, thinking about something. Y/N looked at the birth mark on his neck and thought to herself that she lost completely. She couldn’t resist it anymore, the urge to be close to him, to hear what he says, gain the little smiles as she mused out loud. Her inner guts warmed up as she looked at this young man, and there was nothing she could do about this unyielding attraction, about the sheer feeling of liberty she experienced under his testing glance.

“You wanna see her pictures?” he asked suddenly.

“I thought you deleted them all”.

“No, I wanted to do it, but…” he shrugged, “you know how it is, I got really soft over the years we’ve been together”.

Y/N ran her hand through her hair.

“Sure”.

He took his phone, putting the bucket between their thighs. Y/N tried to snatch it away, but Mal caught her wrist.

“I’m eating it”.

“Mal, it’s really bad for you”.

“I know what I’m doing, mum”.

The film was going on, but they leaned to each other, looking at the screen of his smartphone. Mal didn’t delete shit, she thought, and discovered, she was angry. For heaven’s sake, Y/N, she thought, the girl’s died four days ago.

“That’s us in Carolina. We rented a little house”.

Martha was standing in the kitchen in a pretty dress, much like one Y/N had herself. But then again, it was a very fashionable model one summer, so a lot of girls had it. Think rationally.

“You travelled a lot?”

“Yeah, well, mainly in America”.

“And you’re from Ohio?”

“Uh-huh”.

Y/N looked at their picture in which they were sitting on the bank of a river.

“Where is it?”

“New Orleans. She loved that city, Martha. Tried to get me to move in there”.

“She’s got a good taste. Architecture in New Orleans is amazing”.

“She was also very much into home interiors. You know, sinks, bath tubs. I’ve never met a person before, who’d be so interested in fucking acrylic”.

Y/N looked up and they met eyes. Mal looked very serious.

“She was also very kind. You couldn’t tell at first, people used to say she was wicked. But compared to me, she was an angel. Maybe not the most people’s person, but she sure was unique”.

He blinked slowly, and his gaze went blank. Uh-oh, Y/N gathered, there it goes. Well, her arms are attached and she’s capable of holding him for as long as he needed.

“Have you ever been in love so hard it annoyed the hell out of you?” he asked.

Y/N tried to think of all the times she has been in love. In truth, she didn’t fall for somebody too often and easily, and the way this black-eyed boy made her feel was rather unusual.

She’s been in love with her classmate, Ashton, for about seven years, in and out. Never approached him. Never let him know. It was a simple teenage crush, with all the teenage drama, while Ashton was dating other girls.

She’s been in love with Damon so helplessly, so fully, it was painful. There was a time in her life when she thought she never needed anything else, that she could grab the whole bunch of the planet and throw it away, just to be with him. But he was unreachable, unimaginable. He was a titan, and she was a girl in a brown dress. She loved him loyally and openly, and he never budged, because Damon Salvatore, to his honor, only loved one woman in his very long life. And it wasn’t Y/N.

“I’ve been hurt”, she said, “and I’ve been rejected, but not annoyed, I don’t think so”.

Mal nodded coyly, his straight thin nose diving down as he looked at his phone laying in her palm.

“I was never supposed to get into that trap. I’m not the kind of person who is capable of…” he winced, as if remembering something, “loving, caring, all the human things. That was always bad for me. I never even had the urge. And then it turned out she was crafted for me, and I hoped, I – for her. All the things I thought I knew were just crashed, my brain couldn’t even cope. You know, Martha had a stamina, because those first months we’ve got together for real I hurt her a lot”.

Y/N stiffened a little.

“I confused everything I felt. I wanted to hold her, and squeezed her so hard she had bruises. I had this eerie feeling like I was crumbling down in pieces, and then realized it was my guards falling down. She completely destroyed the portrait of the person I thought I was”.

“Who did you think you were?”

Mal looked at her and said in such a tone as if it was obvious,

“A mistake”.

There were people at some point so vile that they completely convinced this pretty boy that he was unwanted, that he was supposed to be unmade. How do you fuck your child up so bad? Y/N wanted to ask what mental issues his parents must have had, and then decided she didn’t have the emotional capacity for it.

She considered it a little and then put her hand on Mal’s head, covering his left ear with her palm.

“Look at them”.

They both turned to the screen. There stood a Xenomorph, its jet black skin glistening like oil, slender flexible limbs standing firmly, elongated head and exquisitely made spine, like a handle of a harp.

“He’s perfect. And so are you, Mal”.

He bit his lower lip and suddenly dropped his head, bursting into giggles.

His large hands encircled her waist and pulled her close. Mal smelled like ice cream, and his skin, having its own scent, was warm under his soft shirt. Y/N couldn’t fight him as he sat back on the pillows, cradling her in his arms and putting his chin onto the top of her head.

“I know, Y/N. Now I know, I’m just saying, there was a time when I really believed all that crap my dad fed me. But Martha came along and, grossly, saved my dirty, black, violent soul”.

She put her head on Mal’s shoulder and outstretched her legs, feeling so cozy it threatened to put her to sleep again. Mal sighed, and his chest went up and down, and she rolled her eyes, savoring these moments, because she knew she couldn’t keep going.

“But then, of course, Damon took my girlfriend away”, he added.

She sat up so harshly he lifted both his hands for a second.

“Mal. You know it was someone else, right? She attacked him, but somebody had turned her before, and compelled her to try and kill Damon”.

Mal did it again. A second ago he was as fluffy as a bear, and now there was poison in the very air he exhaled from his nostrils.

“But it was him who ripped her heart out of her chest, right? Or are you going to tell me I should ignore it, too, like I did with her parents?”

“We need to find that… vampire who’s behind all these killings first”.

“I don’t care about them”, Mal waved his hand, “people die every day. In packs. My girl and what Damon did to her – that’s my focus. Are you going to stop me?”

They looked at each other, worms stirring in Y/N’s belly.

“You really don’t understand what’s wrong with this plan, do you?”

“I really think you keep trying to protect him because you still have feelings for him”.

She fell back on the pillows with a swing – and ceiling swayed for a moment. She could feel Mal’s eyes following her, drilling into her face.

“I really don’t”.

“You’re lying to yourself”.

His voice was dry like sand. Then he took the bucket from the stand and continued to eat, as if nothing happened.

By the end of Aliens Y/N fell asleep and woke up again when it was already dark. Mal turned on a night shade, and was still watching movies.

She opened her eyes and adjusted them, staring into the TV while laying on her side. Having completely come to her senses, she sat up, causing Mal to turn his head to her.

“You really blacked out”, he said with deep admiration.

She rubbed her neck and face, feeling even heavier than before.

“Oh god, why did you let me sleep… how long has it been?”

“A movie and a half”.

“I have to go”.

“Okay”.

Her glance travelled around the room and stopped at the empty bucket.

“You mental patient”, she hissed, “you really wanna kill yourself?”

He just smirked.

She got up from the bed, stretching her limbs and back, and yawned.

“You know, I think I will return to work”, Mal said.

“That’s a good idea, Mal. You’ll keep busy and won’t have to think about anything”.

He nodded.

Mal didn’t get up to close the door after her, so she had to “just bang it harder” herself. As she left the building, the warm summer air started to put things in order in her mind.

She drove to her house and was standing in front of the mirror in her room in thirty minutes. Her hand lay on her throat as she was examining herself. She wasn’t going crazy, was she? She remembered putting on her necklace that morning, a pretty one, wrapping tightly around her neck. Now, it wasn’t on her desk, and it wasn’t on her, so? She took off her shirt and checked for any kinds of marks on her skin. There was nothing. All the things with Mal were so intense, so sexual and strange, she couldn’t put her mind to rest. She didn’t know why she didn’t phone him right away, and she didn’t know why she wouldn’t believe his deeply sad eyes even after he showed her their pictures with Martha.

She also didn’t remember ever telling him about the movies that make her feel happy.

#kai parker #kai parker x reader #kai parker imagine #vampire diaries #legacies #whitmore guy

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