#and buried love for the boy who was only ever meant to be a tool | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leroyzboots · 3 years

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you and i are trying, together.

part two.

The amount of unease that can fit into Tommy's more-than-human-less-than-god body is honestly surprising.

Tommy paces back and forth on the floor of the Lambda lab, his Beyblade whirring between his fingers and his precious immortal dog following behind him with love.

They'd arrived at around half past midnight, but it's now early morning and there's been no sign of the other two members of the science team.

Bubby leans back in their chair, crossing his knee-high laced boots over their knee, and bounces the other one out of anxiety.

"Tommy," he barks; "you're scaring the other scientists."

Tommy glances down and realizes that the Beyblade is whizzing madly in the air around his hands, suspended from nothing.

"D-dammit," He mutters, snatching his toy back and returns it to his pocket.

"They sho-should have been back by now."

Tommy stops pacing for a second and stares down the Coomers with his father's intensity.

"Surely, Benrey could have used teleportation?" Harold chimes in, his knuckles bruised slightly from his repeated stims.

"I think that's what he meant, dear," Bubby replies, patting their husband's shoulder affectionately.

"Yes, exactly!"

Tommy throws his hands into his pockets, huffing out his frustration.

"The f-fact that they're not...back yet! Means something has gone-"

A enormous thud echoes from the the floor, a piece of tile juts out slightly and scatters the scientists nearby.

"Wrong," Tommy finishes miserably, drawing his gun and preparing for Xen's creatures.

Beside him, Sunkist snarls, her hackles raised in warning.

The tile cracks and shoots into the air, with accompanying gunfire from below, and a hatch busts open from the hole.

Tommy aims to shoot, but immediately lowers his gun upon seeing Mr. Freeman's tired but happy face, followed closely by Benrey, the bags under his eyes looking darker than usual.

"G-Gordon!!"

Tommy rushes forward, embracing them both, and the knots of tension unravel in his stomach.

Benrey snuggles just a little closer into Tommy's coat, and Tommy releases Gordon to pull Benrey into a full hug.

Tommy planned on never admitting it to himself, but these two were the people he loved the most.

Benrey..he'd known Benrey for years.

It started when Benrey was just out of training, and Tommy had completed his certification to become a top scientist.

Benrey was 19, maybe 20 at the oldest, his hair pulled into a ponytail that ran down his back.

They weren't close, then, Benrey had been assigned to guard the G-Man's adopted son.

Benrey couldn't die, and Tommy's line of work was dangerous enough to need protection.

So it all worked out.

They barely exchanged more than a few words to eachother until that one night, that one fucking night and Benrey is tripping over himself in tears, blood pouring from the wound on his back and he's clutching Tommy, pawing at his shoulders.

Benrey trembled like he's made from glass and will break if he falls, and Tommy gripped the back of the others security vest so tightly the kevlar nearly rips in half.

And that's saying something.

That night they sat together and they're closer in distance than they've ever been, Tommy's warm and gentle hands bandaged the wound above the numbers tattooed onto Benrey's tailbone and Benrey spilled everything.

Between sniffles and the occasional sob, Benrey confessed, about the tools that somehow hurt him beyond regeneration, leaving a scar, about the men and their evil sticks of lightning that would seep into his bones and fill him with pain so intense he felt like he would break in half.

Tommy nearly broke in half himself.

He felt helpless, and so he went to the only person he knew would make the ones who hurt his first and only friend pay dearly-

His father.

Oh, Tommy had never seen the G-man so angry.

Black Mesa was a research facility, for god's sake, dedicated to the study of alien life and the progression of the human body.

So when Tommy's dad realized that the prototype imprisonment he had resolved several years ago had resurfaced with an even uglier face, he sent scientists who had never experienced fear in their lives tripping for the door in yelps of terror.

And that had been the end of it.

Benrey continued his job as a security guard, people who had previously been made in the facility were hired back on as scientists in new departments such as mixology and cybernetics, and Black Mesa cut its ties with the military.

Black Mesa, Benrey explained later in his own broken way to Tommy in the quiet breakroom during lunch hour, had been trying to create the perfect human being.

There were thousands upon thousands of prototypes that had been created, and Benrey had been the last.

But there had always been something wrong with the ones they created, whether it was serious physical or mental deformities, or simply a sense of fucked up little creature that ended up resulting in the insane amount of scientists with the ability to grow in size, and the security guards that always had a few too many rows of teeth or glowing eyes and severe anger issues.

They weren't always grown in tubes, Tommy learned, but they were always branded with their serial number on the base of the spine.

The one before him, Benrey quipped with a mouthful of sandwich, had been born to a prototype and a normal human employee, before they stripped them out with a memory wipe and sent them into normal society.

The anxious feeling that haunted Tommy in the years that followed had something to do with that piece of information in particular.

Something told him that the military and the alien planet they were studying wouldn't let go of Black Mesa kindly.

Mr. Freeman confirmed that.

He's in the hallway, on his way to get a soda, when he's met with a newer employee, only worked here about 4 or so years.

He seemed kind enough, if a little loud and stubborn. And alright, maybe it hurt Tommy's feelings when Gordon called him a freak, but that was pushed aside with the Resonance Cascade.

Tommy knew that this was it, this was the boot boys' revenge for cutting them out of the picture, but there was something else, distinctly and unsettlingly alien about the Cascade.

The whole of Black Mesa fell into shambles, with creatures of Xen integrating into their carefully built walls and lives, and Tommy kinda freaked, okay?

He'd seen Dr. Coomer around, always greeting him with a wonderful "Hello!!", and was met with a thrill in his stomach when he introduced another prototype as his husband.

Those two had been with him, in the observation room when the project exploded around Gordon and Benrey-

he wasn't supposed to be in the test chamber, what if it seriously hurt him?-

And maybe that was when Tommy realized he was in love with Benrey.

Over time, he felt a sense of conflict slowly building as he made friends with Mr. Freeman.

He seemed to hate Benrey, they hated eachother, but Tommy liked one and loved the other so he became their middle ground.

He was convinced to himself that Benrey liked him as well, until that room, that dark, dark room, and suddenly Benrey is kneeling in a puddle of Gordon's blood and Bubby is screaming, sobbing, blubbering his apologies to anyone who is listening as the soldiers drag them away and Benrey-

He says it, he says those words and it breaks Tommy's heart into a billion pieces-

"Because I love him, okay?! I'm fucking- whoop-de-doo, in love with Gordon god. G-goddamn Freeman, okay?..."

And then Benrey teleports, and he's gone, and Bubby is gone and Dr. Coomer leaves him in the cold dark sewer by himself.

Tommy cried.

Burying his head in his coat, he cried hard and long, alone on the rocky floor.

And then Mr. Freeman crawls out of the pipe, and Tommy can't help it, he holds him.

Gordon reeks of sewage and his bloody hand smells of copper but Tommy doesn't care, and alright, maybe that's when Tommy realized he's in love with Gordon too.

Alright, Tommy can deal with that.

Something Tommy can't deal with is the fact that his instincts are going fucking haywire.

Tommy's always been very perceptive when it comes to time, maybe he can't stop time like his father can, but he's definitely got a certain sense of time and reality as it surrounds him.

Being able to reach out and touch and feel certain areas, but not control them, and all of time is wrapped around him like a blanket.

So when the floor crumbles away below them and Benrey and Gordon fall deep into the recesses of Black Mesa's hellscape, Tommy freaks the fuck out.

A deep, inherent concern lays nested in the pit of his mind like a pile of cottonmouth snakes, hissing madly and snarling that something, something, is absolutely wrong with how this is supposed to go.

Tommy has a sinking feeling that something terrible is going to happen.

Man, Benrey really hates this place.

The scientists of the Lambda lab asked a simple request of the Science Team- go through the portal to Xen, get rid of the Nihilanth, bring back some weird space shit.

Easy as pie.

Right?

Wrong.

Benrey feels sick, feverish on this planet.

As he follows behind the group, his legs feel leaden and heavy, and he tugs at the collar of his uniform, which feels uncomfortably tight around his neck.

He's sweating, unusually warm beneath his helmet, but shivering as though chilled to his bones.

There's a tug, deep in his torso, pulling him along, but it's a nasty, oppressive feeling that makes his limbs feel like noodles.

He swallows nervously, eyes darting across the fetid, blood colored planet of Xen.

The sour smell clogs his senses, and as they trudge deeper and deeper through the portals, away from the floating rocks with little gravity and past strange barrels of highly toxic looking liquid, the heavy pull in Benrey's chest only grows stronger and more sickly.

They push through a final, puke-green portal, and the feeling inside of Benrey swells to near explosion.

A cave, with jagged and dark stone running up the walls in wicked cracks, a deep red flush to the area.

Water is flooding Benrey's boots, a putrid and decaying smell to the liquid, and it only adds to Benrey's fatigue.

The creature before them could only be the Nihilanth itself, and the very sight sends such a fucking shudder down Benrey's spine.

It's disgusting, twisted and pulsating flesh running down what must be its face, beady eyes in a cadaverous socket.

It looks like a fetus, a failed attempt of termination long after the allotted time.

It speaks, and the chorus of voices that accompanies it gives away the fact that Xen isn't just the planet-

It's the entire race.

"So. The humans have finally decided to be rid of us."

Gordon looks tired, beaten, but pulls himself upward and grunts through the pain of his broken shin.

"Get your video game dialogue out of the way," he says, with a dismissive wave of his gun-hand.

"I'm about done with this alien shit."

The Nihilanth laughs, a hideous and painful sound, and tilts its head in curiosity towards the little group of vagabonds.

"But you have brought us the very thing we need, Mr. Freeman."

Gordon groans in frustration, turning back to his friends with his teeth grinding against eachother.

"Why does it know my name?"

Xens' audience shrieks with delight, and the Nihilanth's barely feasible mouth twists into what can only be guessed as a grin.

"Xen knows everything about you, Mr. Freeman."

Benrey sways on the spot, his boots splashing the strange water, and the scene before him blurs.

"Whadda....what the hell are you..talking about, man?"

Xen's creatures seem to roar with laughter, and beside Benrey, Dr. Coomer throws up his fists protestingly.

"Xen has been all knowing, all seeing since time begun. As we grow, so do our minds, until we are forced to repopulate. Regrow."

Beneath their feet, headcrabs scuttle ominously, causing Tommy to jump backward with surprise.

"But human beings became a problem for Xen. Their flimsy bodies failed, burst open upon integration."

Benrey is only just awake enough to process this.

"The scientists of Black Mesa were so eager to learn of a new planet. So Xen took influence, and under the guise of building a perfect human being, created what Xen needed."

Gordon scoffs, his shoulders shaking as he laughs scornfully.

Xen reacts strongly, a collective hiss rising around them.

"Do not laugh at us, human."

The headcrabs stay at a distance, but raise their pincers and click them menacingly as the Nihilanth's speech continues.

"Xen required a human being who could withstand radiation, a being who could lose blood en mass and not perish."

A sense of dread washes over the Science Team, and Tommy instinctively puts himself in front of Gordon.

Bubby ignites his arms protectively.

"Let me guess," Gordon growls, revving up his minigun limb; "you needed me?"

Xen's creatures wail in joy, and Benrey takes that as a yes, and reaches for his gun, when something big and poisonous and slimy wraps around his ankle.

"Xen requires Benrey."

Benrey yelps as the Nihilanth drags him underneath the water, bubbles of Sweet Voice trailing from his mouth as his back bounces on the cragged floor beneath the surface.

The Nihilanth swings him into the air, and Benrey splutters, ears waterlogged under his helmet, which slips from his head and falls to the ground with a splash, Benrey's short black hair now dripping wet.

"Look at you, our once perfect vessel- a mewling, pathetic dog."

Hung upside down by his ankle, Benrey gasps in pain as Xen shakes him repeatedly, and for a brief, sickening moment, Benrey is forcibly reminded of the Finding Nemo movie Tommy showed him-

He feels like a fish in Darla's little bag.

"Bark, bark, bark but no bite. You were made with Xen's own blood and yet you cannot even protect those you are infatuated with."

With that, the Nihilanth throws him to the far wall, and his skull cracks on the rock.

It doesn't heal, and Benrey slumps down, struggling to stand, his eyesight swimming with tears.

"You think the Freeman human loves you? You cost him a limb. You would be perfect save for your one flaw- you kneel before a man you could kill with no effort, and you beg him to love you as you love him."

Benrey shakes, kneeling, and whimpers as he chokes out a sob, not trying to disguise his tears.

"You truly are nothing."

"No."

The word is tiny, barely audible.

Then again, louder, with a crack of his voice but more than enough power-

"No. You're wrong."

Gordon pulls himself to full height, scowling so deeply the age shows on his face.

"Benrey is everything to us. To all of us, but especially me."

"Y-yeah! We're not afraid of you!" Tommy chimes, and Sunkist howls with approval.

"If you or your alien bitches thought we'd just leave him here, you're just as stupid as you look."

Bubby grins wildly, cracking their neck from side to side, his bright and eager eyes flashing beneath their glasses.

"Don't fuck with the Science Team!" Coomer bellows, and Bubby cheers beside him.

"Now I'm only gonna tell you once," Gordon beams, turning away from his family to draw his gun-hand and point it at Xen's Nihilanth.

"Piss off."

Gordon fires, and the accompanying screams of headcrabs and peeper puppies echo across the cave, and Benrey is overtaken with an aching, sweet feeling he usually associates with Gordon.

It's love.

Benrey smiles fondly as his knees buckle and he falls to the ground and submerges in the murky waters.

Benrey wakes up and immediately is struck with a massive goddamn headache.

He closes his eyes and pulls the pillow over his ears, but the pain is there and clearly is not going anywhere, so he's going to have to ask for an aspirin or some shit.

Sitting up makes him so nauseous it's not even funny, so he decides it's not worth it to stand.

A loud snore startles Benrey enough to yelp, and he glances around for the source of the noise.

Sitting hand in hand on the floor, against the wall opposite his bed, are Gordon and Tommy, both bearing signs of wear and both dead asleep.

Gordon is clutching Benrey's helmet so tightly to his shirt it looks uncomfortable, and Tommy is curled protectively around Gordon's shoulders.

They're half dressed, like Black Mesa decided that the HEV suit and a bloody lab coat was not appropriate clothing but also did not have a whole lot of options for back up wear.

Benrey guesses this based on the fact that Gordon's not really wearing pants and Tommy's wearing a t-shirt that says "Birthday Girl".

Something about the fact that they're holding hands hurts Benrey, just a little.

His heart aches for a moment as he remembers the warmth of Gordon's hand and the feeling of a hug from the Beyblade enthusiast who was his best and only friend for a very long time.

Benrey shakes his head, decides he's going to repress it, and yawns.

God, his head hurts.

Benrey figures that if he stands, he's going to trip and probably break something, and since he doesn't trust his regeneration ability right now, he's not risking it.

Instead, he picks up his pillow and heaves it at the two scientists as hard as he can.

Tommy jolts awake, blinking, then smiles widely upon sighting the guard.

"Benrey!!"

Tommy shoots upward, and makes the distance between the wall and the hospital bed in one step, leaving Gordon to slump over and yell in surprise as he hits the floor.

Benrey's pulled into a crushing hug, and he wheezes for Tommy to be gentle.

"S-sorry!" Tommy cries happily, pulling back to take in Benrey's face.

"It's..it's g-good to see you awake."

Gordon stands, still holding the helmet, and wanders over to where Tommy is perched on the edge of the bed.

"You've been out for hours," Gordon adds, gently reaching out with his left hand to ruffle Benrey's hair.

"We were starting to get worried."

Benrey swallows his funny retort for once, instead choosing to spit out some clear blue song in response.

Tommy reads it almost immediately, and excuses himself to get medicine.

Gordon takes his spot on the bed, and just looks over Benrey.

Benrey feels like he's being scrutinized, with Gordon's soft green eyes just roaming over his face.

"Alright. Fucking. Get the questions outta the way," Benrey mumbles irritably, sticking out his tongue.

"I know you're fuckin. Curious about the shit Xen said."

Gordon laughs sweetly, setting the helmet down on the bed next to him and runs his fingers over it fondly.

Benrey takes a note of his new right hand, a grey-black prosthetic that clicks when Gordon moves his knuckles.

"I don't really have any questions," Gordon grins, adjusting his shirt.

"Other than, are you okay?"

Benrey's taken back by this one.

Not only did he cost Gordon his hand and almost his life about thirty billion times, but everyone (including him!) also just found out that Benrey was made with Xen DNA.

He's essentially Gordon's enemy in every sense of the word, and Gordon is asking if he's okay?

"....did the Nihilanth hit your head or somethin', man?? What the hell kinda. Question is that one??"

Gordon's smile softens massively, and it makes Benrey's heart melt into a little puddle in his stomach.

"Benrey, you saved my life a whole shit ton of times back there."

"Yeah, I also almost got you killed," Benrey interrupts, but Gordon doesn't pause.

"I've been thinking about a lot of things while you've been asleep, and I've been talking with Tommy a lot too."

Benrey's happy puddle evaporates into a heavy leaden ball inside of his chest.

"I don't need to hear this, dude."

Gordon looks a little confused, so Benrey keeps going.

"You're. I know you heard the shit Xen said about...."

Benrey pauses, unsure if he wants to say it out loud.

That'll finalize it, forever.

He takes a breath, then with a great effort, says it out loud.

"I love you. Have since we were kids, have since I first met you. Xen was...right. They were fucking right, you're happier with Tommy because he's never hurt you or..fuck. Fuck, man, you don't feel the same and I'm done pushin' it on you. We uhh, clear?"

Gordon covers his mouth with his hand, and for a split second Benrey thinks he's made him cry, but Gordon bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach and snorting in between giggles.

"B-Benny, you idiot, I am in love with you."

Maybe it's the sudden affectionate nickname, or the fact that Gordon said he loves him.

But Benrey blushes, hard, and pink-to-blue sweet voice bubbles out of his mouth in surprise.

"Whuh?"

Tommy walks back into the room, bottle in hand, and pauses at the sight in front of him.

"Oh, are w-we doing conf-confessions now?!"

Before Benrey can even speak, Tommy drops down beside him and kisses him on the cheek, putting him and Gordon's hands in his own.

Tommy doesn't say it, but Benrey gets the point.

"Fucking- FINALLY!!"

Benrey just might die for real.

Bubby leans in the doorway, a smug grin on his face, elbow resting on Dr. Coomer's shoulder.

"Ah, young love is beautiful!"

Tommy and Gordon laugh cheerfully at Dr. Coomer, and Benrey buries his face sheepishly in the blankets.

It takes a few days, but Benrey recovers pretty well from the Nihilanth.

He's thought a lot about what Xen said.

And he's decided that they were very wrong about him.

His love for other people isn't a flaw, it's his best quality.

He can and will protect the people he loves with his life, no matter what.

And he knows that the people he loves will do the same for him.

With time, Gordon learns not to flinch at the sight of his right hand, or gag when he drinks a soda.

Benrey learns to accept hugs and snuggles from Tommy, and figures out the jokes that Gordon likes and doesn't like.

Tommy is always there to patch up Benrey's injuries, and learns better responses that don't involve soda when Gordon needs to vent.

So Benrey feels safe, and knows that he's not the only one who's trying to be better.

Benrey and them are trying, together.

#hlvrai #frenrey #tomrey #freelatta #frenreylatta #leafy fics

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librarianandguardian · 3 years

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Just a feeling- Saul Silva x Female!Reader

Pairing : Saul Silva x Female!Reader

Word Count : ~2300

Warnings : Fluff, brief mention of drug use and burns

Music : Un homme - Jérémy Frerot

Author’s note : Getting pretty stressed because of a huge project at school, so I wrote this to blow off some steam ! I also wanted to say that I do not agree with the way some characters are written and treated in this show. I hope I did not perpetuate these errors, and that I got Silva’s personality a bit right at least. Feedback is appreciated, may it be on the story telling or even the grammar. English isn’t my first language. Flahs-backs in italics. Enjoy ! :D

GIF ‘s not mine, and I can’t find the creator.

French First World songs resonate in the Great Hall, she is dancing. Wild and free. Her loosened hairs fly through the wind. She has traded her Specialist armour for a long flowing dress. Her feet are hammering the ground in rhythm. The crowd carries her all over the dancefloor; she twirls and claps her hands following the music.

From an ignored fairy bloodline, her parents considered her a Specialist Legacy. When her mind fairies powers woke up, everything went wrong ; she was always an overwhelmed child. No one could help her everytime she lost control. Nothing but medication: earrings to contain, and pills to attenuate. It wasn't bad. She lived like that her entire life.

Silva is sitting on a plastic chair, leaning on the table by his side, his gaze lingering. She is an exceptional fighter; dance must be a piece of cake and fun judging from her large smile. To be fair, he barely remembered her from their time at Alfea. Farah told him she was three years younger than him and seemed to have a few memories.

« (Y/N) travelled a lot to the First World prior to college. Her parents were emissaries and brought back souvenirs. Rumours said that her room resembled a cave of wonders.

-Ever went there ?»

His friend chuckled.

« Once. It was full of trinkets, books, movies, postal cards too. Ben caught interest in it, especially the giant botanic encyclopaedia throning on her bookshelf. We both agreed after a while that she might be the ray of sunshine of her Specialist promotion. But I guess she was discreet, if you've never heard of her.»

It took some memory searching, but he indeed remembered one thing. A conversation between a bunch of 1st years talking about a secret party displaying famous First World movies. A few hours later, on the training field, (Y/N) battled fiercely. It caught the attention of many students, who gathered around the platform. Curiosity taking the best of him, he had followed the crowd.

« What's that First World song that I love to describe you with ?

-By the light Clairo, is it really necessary ? »

Her opponent mocked her. She rolled her eyes, wielding her sword before choosing her fight stance.

« You son of... Maneater from Nelly Furtado. Now let's fight please.

-Alright doll, eat me up. »

(Y/N) huffed in annoyance. Clairo was a good fighter, but a little bit too flirty. He launched himself at her. The young woman stayed incredibly calm. Dodging to the right, she left him to stumble before hitting his back with the wooden weapon. He fell to the ground with a grunt. A shy smile spread on her features.

Now that he thinks about it, her earring had intrigued him : an ear chain hanging from the top of the cartilage of her ear to her lobe. Each end was composed of a lavendish round lilac crystal. When she lost control recently, those crystals lit up with a blinding light and burned her skin.

« I change the earring every five year. Every year If any several big crises occurred.

-What about your burns ? How did they clean them up ? »

Her left hand ghosted over her intact lobe, while Harvey healed the bruised flesh. Her eyes stared at the floor of the greenhouse. Saul was holding her other hand.

« They... I stuffed myself with pills. Sometimes enough to sleep through an entire day. Within the Solarian force, it was the only way for them to treat me. None of their mind fairies could calm me down. I don't think you realize how much this, she lifted her intertwined hand, helps.»

The soldier chuckles at the memory. His eyes examined his fingers, remembering how she locked hers, as she found an anchor in his mind.

« My best guess ? Your training forged your head to have a certain mindset in crisis.

-Loads of Solarian troupers could have given you that.

-Yeah. I can't really explain it, she laughed shyly, maybe because you're a teacher, that two of your long time friends are fairies or just because you're good with people.»

Their gazes crossed. The air thickened. Truth to be told, (Y/N) was so lost upon why he managed to calm her down. Farah tried to guide her, but even then, nothing positive came out. Her youth as a student at Alfea only consisted in shared side glances with him in hallways. She sure as hell found the man attractive, but she had other stuff to think about.

A loud giggle snaps him back to reality. (Y/N) falls on his laps while trying to take off her high heels. Her eyes are opened wide and a little glassy. She's definitely drunk.

« Oh by the light, I'm sorry Silva. Aimed at the table ! »

The atmosphere becomes lighter. He catches her when she nearly trips off by trying to get up, one of his arms snaking around to help. Steadying herself on his laps, she catches her breath slowly, though some giggles erupt as she looks around.

« How can you still dance, uh ?»

With a guilty smile, she leans slightly against the table.

« Alcohol ! It's the only thing keeping me up, baby !»

Instant regret shoots through her veins. Some red creeps up on her cheeks, as her hands cover her mouth. The soldier chuckles, enamoured by her adorableness. One thing that strucked him when they met was her lightness. Out of all the solarian troupers out there, or even all the specialists he ever crossed paths with, she was one of the few who stayed so bright and playful. Subconsciously, his fingers dig slightly in her hips.

« It's alright, (Y/L/N).»

She giggles a bit, but thanks him. Farah watches from a far, joined by Ben. (Y/N)(Y/L/N) has been teaching at Alfea for a year now. The entire school seemed to have transformed into a much more joyous place : students got along better, the shyest opened a tad and the roughest softened. Ben's daughter Terra found a supporter of her personal projects and a confidant. Ben himself benefited from her return. Mostly in books and knowledge but that meant already so much to him. Farah gained a daughter ; (Y/N)'s powers were a mess for her advanced age, helping felt natural. But what she loved the most was how confused Saul got with the new Specialist. Their bond strengthened with time, however the first few days rocked the Headmaster all over the place.

«(Y/L/N), what did you do to our office ? Did you... Are these books classified by alphabetic order and colour ?! »

His colleague shrugged, trying to see if he was mad or just surprised. It happened a few days after her arrival. Their shared office went under few renovations.

« (Y/L/N), why dancing classes ? »

She shot up, put her hands on his desk and took twenty minutes to explain how it would make their movements more flexible, strengthen teamwork and be a tool for future mission on the job. Astonished could not describe Silva's feeling.

An admirable change that proved beneficial to the students. These two grew very fond of each other. A lot more than they thought. Words in the hallways started to spread about their growing fondness.

« Okay, I got a question for you, soldier boy.»

Saul tilted his head to the side.

« Are you having fun ?

-Of course I am.»

(Y/N) looks disappointed. Turning around, she pours some water in her cup and chugs it down.

« Really ? 'Cause the only thing I've seen you do is sit in a corner all night. »

He lowers his head, searching for the right words. How does he say that he just loves watching her run around the dancefloor ? How she bounds with students but also keeps their respect ? The fact that she's so organised that she could plan a First World themed party and keep her teacher skills to their best ? The shortest way for that would be admitting his feelings. He zones out long enough for her to talk again.

« It's okay. »

His eyes lock with hers. How did she sober up so quickly ?

« I know you have a reputation as a serious and frowny teacher to keep. And this is a graduation party, so. »

Never mind, she did not. The woman gets up, only to kneel under the tablecloth. He panics briefly.

« (Y/N), what on Earth are you doing ?»

She mumbles before appearing back outside. Her hands are holding a package. Another bright smile shines on her face. Silva knows what's coming, and he has mixed feelings about it; between fear, excitement and confusion.

« Happy Birthday Saul. »

His heart nearly stops. Few people know about his birthday, she is now a part of them. He frankly does not mind, even wished for it for a while now. His hands gently take the package to open it. Before his eyes lies a hard covered sketchbook and a wooden box full of high-quality pencils. The cover has a crow flying in a pearly sky with a red sun. The box is made of ebony and his name carved in silver. She knows an another of his secret. He tears up. The woman worries when he starts to sniffle. Much to her surprise, the soldier puts the gifts on the table before hugging her with all his might. Thank God the students are dancing or already out of the hall to smoke. (Y/N) answers his embrace, reassured.

« Thank you so much dear. »

It's her turn to have glossy eyes. She buries her face in his shoulder. This man is constantly under pressure and she has always wondered what he does during his free time : Does he train more ? He probably reads, right ? The answer came on a regular afternoon.

Silva knocked on her quarters' door. He heard shuffling before (Y/N) opened. She was wearing a bathrobe and a towel around her hair.

« Hi Saul ! Sorry hum. I woke up late and did not expect you so soon so, hum. »

The woman looked around, making her towel fall. Picking it up, she invited him in. He indulged, though a bit surprised.

« I'll be back in a jiffy, you know, putting some clothes on and all. Okay.»

She disappeared in her bathroom, leaving him to explore her room. Many watercolour paintings covered the walls, some abstract and others from the Realms of the Otherworld. However, a few landscapes felt unknown to him. On her desk lied sketches with a horde of different pencils. He discovered portraits of Farah, Ben, Terra, Sky, Riven and finally him. The lines were thin, some shadows sharp for the warriors and smoother for the fairies. A hint of jealousy took over him, quickly brushed away by shyness. The fact that she took the time to draw him was flattering. His fingers grazed over the pencils, wondering if he had time to prepare a little surprise. He puts down the file he came to discuss. A few minutes later, (Y/N) came out, dressed but her hair still wet on the edges. Silva was leaning against her desk, file in hand, a small smile on his features. She mirrored it before asking about the important matter at hand. Twenty minutes later, he left. Her eye caught a change in her drawing material : the portrait of Farah and Ben switched positions. She shuffled them, making sure everything was here, only to find an unknown piece. A cute fox was smiling, a little bubble under him stating :

« Nice Work (Y/L/N). Nice pencils too. Wish I had your talent.»

That last sentence made her wonder if he indeed had an artistic side. Needless to say that his quarters gave her answer. Same reason as his when he came, she knocked on his door one night. Though he did not fully invite her in, her eyes caught glimpses of nice sketches lying on a table, some rudimental equipment next to it.

They stay like this for a few seconds. The headmistress and Professor Harvey look at each other. No words, no need. Terra is chatting with a second year in a corner, bur her eyes catch them. She smiles, looking away shyly, but happy Sky sees the scene too, thanks to Riven who taps on his shoulder. They can't help the smile growing on their faces. Sky's father figure finding support is definitely going to be one of the highlights of their first year. (Y/N) and Saul part. One of her hands pats his arm.

« Wanna dance ? »

He closes his eyes, sighing. There is no lack of desire but the fear of what the students will say.

« I wish but... I don't know.

-I get it. But one day, you will ! That's a promise. »

With one last smile, she strolls back to the dancefloor, leaving him sheepish. He takes the sketchbook and a pencil. He might not dance tonight, but he'll make up to it.

#fate the winx saga #saul silva #saul silva x reader #sky of eraklyon #fate riven #farah dowling #ben harvey #saul silva imagine

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readerinsertfanfiction · 3 years

Text

One and Only - Ieyasu

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: Ieyasu Tokugawa

Prompt: Based on the anniversary cards Cybird released + art.

Warnings: Mentions of Ieyasu’s trauma as a hostage.

Word count: +1K

Original pic | Translation | Masterlist

Nothing in life is certain. When chaos runs rampant and uncertainty is high people turn to superstition for confirmation, as a pillar and explanation to all that is happening in the world. When the Matsudaira son was born, crying the healthy wail of a babe, but cold as ice to the touch, physicians and fortune tellers alike were invited to come and see what was wrong with the child.

“The child lacks a heart,” one spiritualist had told his father, earning a scoff. For who could survive without a beating heart?

“He houses no fire himself,” the physician followed up, as if to say that there was no energy to fight within the man. This worried his father more, who fretted over the continuation of his line and his fief.

“He will know no warmth.” Both the physician and the fortune teller agreed and the parents fretted over the child just born, green-eyed and blond. Fair and doll-like, but cold to the touch as if he were to be porcelain, or a jade pendant himself.

When the heir was abducted the father did little to bring the son back, turning the young boy, still innocent in the ways of life, into a statement and a tool to mark his own loyalty. It was a bittercold pill to swallow for a boy so young who was forced to grow up quickly within an ever changing world.

It was also the lesson the boy took from the situation while growing up as a hostage of several until he reached adulthood. Warmth wasn’t meant for those without a home and certainly not for the him who has no place even at ‘home’.

“Your hands are ice cold!” The exclamation was met with an unimpressed look from the man who was once a boy caged. Through the fall and rise of a family Ieyasu had sworn off his old clan and started a new name; Tokugawa, setting out with the aim of ever-lasting fame.

Tthere, between your hands, his was clasped, rejecting the warmth that emitted from yours, forever cold like the day he was born.

“And what is it to you?” Ieyasu snapped, his hand retreating as he hid them away in his sleeves. Your warmth didn’t linger, but that had never surprised the man. No one and nothing had ever managed to warm him. “Don’t think you can warm me, you will sooner grow cold,” he continued to snipe, eyes averting as he remembered all those maids who recoiled when their hands accidentally touched. To feel such a chill was an unpleasant sensation, he knew by the look of their face and their judgement, though he refused to admit that the sting of blatant rejection hurt more.

“Is this why you like spicy food?” you questioned instead and the Tokugawa leader could only scoff at that, wondering if his love for peppers was because of the lack of heat he held himself.

Ieyasu knew no warmth, the statement rang true. In his life from heir to hostage and from hostage to clan leader Ieyasu Tokugawa had known no warmth. Not that of a home, or that of a family, or even that of another. It didn’t matter what books he read, or what he ate, none of it had ever solved the prediction in which he found himself.

“It is too hot,” you complained, pulling at the collar of your kimono while crawling further into the shade. It was a statement to which Ieyasu could only observe, watching how the rest heated up while he remained cool. It was the only time he found himself thinking that his affliction wasn’t that bad after all, for warmth in this case was an unpleasant sensation.

What he didn’t expect was the thump against his back, your face buried away between his shoulder blades as you wrapped your arms around him. “But you’re cool,” was the only statement you gave as Ieyasu tried to make a protest through a grunt. It was the first time that a sensation crawled up from his neck upwards, a tingling and unfamiliar sensation that lasted whenever he thought of you, even long after you had left.

“You are in good condition.” The physician said when winter came, “your childhood affliction doesn’t seem to harm your joints, or not anymore,” came the following words and Ieyasu sighed, relieved to know that his imbalance wasn’t harming his health.

“In fact,” and here Ieyasu’s ears piped up again, his senses on alert as he expected bad news to follow, his breath stuck in his throat before eyeing the physician that had treated him for so long.

“In fact, you seem to have grown better,” the old man informed him and Ieyasu wondered what that meant, a grumble escaping him as he excused the physician from his room.

But Ieyasu knew, he could tell when he held his cup for tea, to the way the sun felt on his skin, or whatever accidental brush he has with others. He was warming up, but the man had no clue where this warmth was coming from.

“Keep warm,” you told him so affectionately, a scarf draped over his shoulders as you fixed his collar in one smooth motion. Again, that prickling feeling of something crawling up from the places where you brushed over the fabric of his clothes. Again, the feeling of warmth flowing from your fingers where it accidentally touched his neck.

With one gulp Ieyasu realised what the cause was to his fading affliction, and why it was. It was a breathstalling realisation and his hand hovered, fingers wavering just a distance away from clasping themselves around your wrist as he stared.

“Ieyasu?” you questioned, and the man could tell the surprise painted on your face, the wonder in your eyes as he never initiated touch himself. But he wanted to touch you, though he wasn’t sure how to ask and for what.

“Nothing,” he had said instead and let his hand drop, leaving the answer and question between.

Realisation wasn’t the start, Ieyasu knew, it was in the progression of. By the time Ieyasu finally realised what the new sensation meant he was already halfway through, his heart taking leaps and turns as the urge returned more often and following each other up faster.

“I’m cold,” he sighed when he felt your nose burying away into the crook of his neck, ignoring the bland statement he made as you wrapped the man into your warmth. “You will grow cold,” he tried instead, the trauma of all the accidental touches he had before still stark in his mind. You refused to let go, instead pulling tighter as you reached for his hand, now not so cold.

“I won’t let go even if you are cold,” Ieyasu stated instead, knowing when it was his loss. Though, Ieyasu knew it not to be a loss, not for the him who had received all that he had not from you.

#ikesen #ikesen ieyasu #ikemen sengoku ieyasu #ikemen sengoku #ikesen x reader #ikemen sengoku x reader #Ieyasu Tokugawa

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years

Text

excerpt from acogs: agathon

been a while since yall have seen acogs content, hm? this has to be one of my favorite pieces of it, certainly one of my favorite backstory pieces. i'm so endlessly proud of this part and i just. ahhhh. please enjoy nikolai's innocent childhood bisexual love <3

wc 2100

When Nikolai was ten, he met a boy.

He had brown skin and golden eyes, and the wonder in them could’ve only been matched by Nikolai’s own. His hair never seemed to lie smooth, no matter how much he pushed it down, contrary to Nikolai’s, which always stuck flat to his head and forced his tickly bangs into his eyes. It still does.

He carried the sun around with him, captured pieces of it in his eyes, infused its warmth into everything he touched. Nikolai heard the sun in his laugh, saw it reflected in his smile. In his confused, cagey, ten year old heart, he understood he was around something special.

Agathon, that was his name. Agathon. So smoothly it rolled off the tongue.

He and his family, all seven of them, arrived in Nikolai’s town with their canvas covered wagon, their camels—this was when Windcarpets were less trusted than they are now—and right into Nikolai’s heart. They came from a remote village on the Urkon-Cairic border, a family who made their living from weaving rugs and clothes.

Nikolai was interested in them the day he saw them, but he always thought they paled in comparison to Agathon. His parents were kind to Nikolai, always offered him honey cakes and tea when he visited, and Agathon’s siblings shared their toys. Agathon’s eldest sister taught him to play the lute.

But Agathon…oh, Agathon.

Agathon took to Nikolai immediately. His first words to him were, “You have spots on your face!” which Nikolai later understood to be the light smattering of freckles that appear across his nose in the summertime, put there by the sun.

He and Agathon spent their days talking about everything and nothing, as ten year olds did, racing each other through the long grass to the west of their desert town. Where the Pelia ended on the north side, at the edge of the village, they would drink and dip their feet and shriek when the water was too cold.

In the winter, on the rare days when the cold rains came and they all had to go inside, Nikolai would beg his mother to let him stay at Agathon’s house until she gave in. The two of them slept side by side under layers of fur that only got used once a year, for occasions like this.

Agathon’s father would read them stories by the fire. Nikolai’s house didn’t have a fireplace, and he was always fascinated by this one. Those were the soundest nights of sleep he ever had, his head nearly buried under fur with Agathon’s hair in his face, his father’s soft voice lulling him to sleep. Nikolai took to calling him Father for a while.

Nikolai rapidly felt himself falling into something he was too young to know. All he understood was that his chest seemed to be expanding every day, a little more, filled with a little more sunlight and warmth every time Agathon laughed at one of his jokes.

Nikolai didn’t ever want to say goodbye to him at the end of the day, he wanted to stay for dinner and stay in Agathon’s room, sleeping on the floor by the fireplace if it was too hot for the furs. They would stay up all night talking and waiting restlessly for morning to come, where they could wander farther than their parents knew and would’ve never let them go had they known.

His mother never invited Agathon to their house, but that was okay. Nikolai didn’t want her sourness, her constant scolding bringing darkness to the light in his chest. One touch of Agathon’s hand and he swore he could fly into the very sun that beat down on them every day.

Nikolai once pressed his lips to Agathon’s cheek on impulse, no self-restraint so young, and he remembers the swoop in his stomach before Agathon turned his head and smiled at him with all the warmth in the world. Nikolai didn’t know what it meant, but he knew enough to sigh in relief and accept it when Agathon grabbed his hand. They ran through the grass field together that day, instead of a race.

And then, like most things in his life, his mother ruined everything.

That’s not something he realized until he was much older and she was dead. Hell, even recently, thanks to Katya, he’s been examining her ghost differently. Agathon was the first in many, many incidents she stripped away his privacy, his privileges, down to the way he thought about himself and his desires. Everything became about pleasing her just enough to keep her off his back.

Nikolai had been working up the nerve to tell Agathon how he felt for a few months, because even then he knew that sort of thing wasn’t always met kindly, when his mother broke the news. They were moving, going north to the capital city Thiria, leaving the town he’d lived in his whole life. Agathon wasn’t coming with them.

It would take a year, his mother said, but she would establish herself and her ideas enough to get her son elected by the community as queen. Nikolai had never had a day of sword training in his life, he couldn’t be a king, a fighter, but he had a silver tongue. He would be a queen.

The clever system of choosing queens and kings in every Actium country puts a pressure on the person to be worthy of the throne. If they are both a good diplomat and a good fighter, they choose whichever label they like best. If they are neither, they should not be on the throne. How simple.

After he’d be elected, his mother would buy herself all the fine clothes and indulge in all the food and get all the attention she’d lacked in her lonely life. Nikolai was merely an instrument. Which is exactly what happened.

It’s an accident that as he grew up in the throne, he started to care about Urkon and the people who brought their problems to him every day. When he learned about the ticking time bomb in his front yard, the one that wouldn’t ever explode but always had a small chance, he breathed through it and went on.

He grinned and bore the knowledge, at eleven, twelve, thirteen, that Urkon was so much more than his little western village and Agathon’s old home. He dealt with farmers who needed a land dispute settled, ambassadors from the west and east and north, he had servants waiting on him, silk and velvet, stuffy city air.

He goggled at just how much his mother didn’t care, but how much effort she put into pretending.

He has risen from nothing, as they all do, to luxury and power, bringing with him an unconscious air of the inexplicable magic that stems from the Staarenclock. From the cerulean diadem that drips from his hair while he sprawls on his throne, to the shining black paint on his fingernails, to the jewelry that rests on his neck, he attracts, he seduces, disappoints.

He’s never tried, and until he was queen, he never noticed. When he did, it became a tool to sate his momentary desires, a temporary fix for his long term ache, a way of fooling people. No one believes a pretty queen is capable of anything.

Good.

Nikolai doesn’t remember much from after his mother’s bombshell announcement, which is partly good. It’s a lot of gaps in numbness and anger he can never get back, and she’s not around to fill in the details. He remembers holding back tears so many times with Agathon, not wanting to ruin their last precious weeks together.

Nikolai went kicking and screaming. He doesn’t want to know how he looked to the villagers, to Agathon’s family. He remembers the tears running down Agathon’s face, the gold fading at long last from his sunshine eyes. Nikolai’s mother was dragging him away, he was no longer close enough to touch him and shudder through the warmth seeping into his skin. Just the knowledge that he no longer could made him ache for it all the more.

Agathon was screaming for him, too. The pair of them must’ve been the most dramatic thing the townsfolk had ever seen, acting like they were dying. Nikolai remembers the agony on Agathon’s mother’s face, the effort it was taking her to hold her son back from running to Nikolai again. He broke free anyway, sprinting toward Nikolai and tripping over himself.

They were locked in each other’s arms for one last time, ugly crying into each other’s shoulders. “I love you,” Nikolai said, as he had seen Agathon’s parents tell each other while they cooked side by side, laughed, shoved each other playfully when bickering. He knew it meant something. He knew it meant everything.

His mother picked him up and carried him on her shoulder the rest of the way, but he watched Agathon mouth it back.

He only had a year with Agathon, but being ripped away from him was like reaching into his chest and pulling out an artery. He had never known pain like that. He told his mother over and over that first year when she was working her way up in Thiria that his heart wouldn’t stop hurting, he missed home, he wanted to go back.

Of course, he didn’t miss the town that much. Thiria was intimidating, but there was so much to do, always something to occupy him. The one thing he missed more than anything in the world was Agathon and his sunshine smile.

As a child, his feelings were so much rawer. He didn’t bother repressing them because he didn’t know how yet, and his mother wasn’t deep enough yet in her madness to teach him to.

Two years later, when he was queen with his mother the real queen behind him, while he tried and failed every day to buck off her hold, he met Saige.

He had forgotten and moved on from Agathon somewhat, of course. He learned from both his mother and practicality that he couldn’t spend all day crying in bed and begging to go back, threatening to steal a camel or a Windcarpet when he got truly desperate. Agathon wasn’t in his head every moment of every day, but he took one look at Saige and it all came back.

The day he met her, he had heard nothing about her but the king who had been put through hell and needed no one but her war of vengeance, and she heard nothing about him but the queen whose mother always seemed to be there.

The day he met Saige, he got his mother to leave them alone for a while. Looking into her brown eyes, her little smirk, her friendly smile, a little piece of his chest ached, but in a different way than it did for Agathon. Hers was the ache after a dislocated joint snapped back into place. Hers was the stretch in the morning, an ebbing headache, the ache of waiting for a healing wound to finally close over. Something that punched the breath out of you, but in a way that was right. Like it was supposed to happen.

The day he met her, he heard Agathon’s parents in her voice, bickering, shoving each other, watched her move and saw them bumping hips as they did the dishes together. He saw Agathon mouthing his final words to him when she spoke.

He’s never told her this, but Saige healed him. It only got better after that day. After stumbling, falling, she guided his feet and helped him find his footing. She did not replace Agathon, because that would be a disservice to both of them. Nikolai found space easily in his heart for her. It was as though she had just been waiting to move in to the space he had prepared for years.

He loves her. He would burn down the world for her, as he hopes she would do for him.

He doesn’t tell Kayani that, however. He skims over the depth of his feelings for Saige—he’s at peace with them, he has nothing to be ashamed of, and he’s pretty sure she knows, but it’s for them. Not Kayani, not anyone else. Not that.

When Nikolai’s done, Kayani is still watching with rapt attention, a bit of shock. He looks up at the moon and inhales. He didn’t realize he’d been rambling so long. Saige is still asleep, thankfully.

“Did you ever try to find him again?” Kayani asks.

“No. It was never the right time, even after her death.” He thinks of it, now. Trying. But the thought makes his chest ache, so he puts it away.

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring @sleepy-night-child @florraisons @faithfire @croctears @inkovert @kait-writes

#writing #Lila’s wips: acogs #writeblr #fantasy #fantasy wip #my fantasy wip #my wip #bean's excerpts

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permian-tropos · 3 years

Text

discourse about fiction? what discourse? I am just a humble fiction writer? anyway I wrote a very short story about dolls

Once upon a time there was a little boy and a little girl clinging to each other’s hands as they stood in the doorway of a sickroom, where an old man lay motionless on the bed. A stranger twice or thrice the size of the children in a long dark coat and a black bag full of unspeakably strange tools stood beside that bed, as he’d done every two days out of the last few weeks. This time he said, “There’s nothing I can do for him but close his eyes,” and swept out of the house without another word.

After the funeral, the children were left to themselves for a while and they both found they were bored of the games they used to play. They put away the toys they once loved in an old toy chest and buried them, turning the contents of the chest over like they were tilling a patch of soil. Now on top of the chest, that had once been at the very bottom, was a doll of a man in a long dark coat with a black bag sewn to his hand.

The little boy took the doll with him to play first, out in the sandpit in the park, and when he set the doll into the sandpit, a most marvelous thing happened: it stood upright on its own and with wide button eyes it peered around at the world of giants it had found itself in.

“Who are you?” asked the little boy in amazement.

“I’m a doctor,” said the doll proudly, “and a miracle worker. In fact I’m famous for it; I’m the man who fights Death, the greatest evil!”

“Wow! That’s a good game!” The little boy clapped his hands in excitement and began building a magic city in the sandbox so that the doll would have places to see and adventures to go on. The stories they told were like nothing he’d ever imagined before, because of course this was the first living doll he’d ever owned.

Every day the boy ran out early in the morning to play with his doll, and eventually the little girl felt left out. She didn’t know what was so special about the doll yet, but she knew the little boy was having so much fun, while the games she tried to play alone made her angry for reasons she couldn’t explain. Every night she slept quite badly because she saw frightening shapes lurking in the shadowed corners of the room.

One morning she grabbed the doll out of the toy chest and hid it somewhere the little boy wouldn’t find it, and even though he looked all over and cried and stamped his feet, eventually he got in trouble for making a fuss and had to run off and play with his old dead toys for once. The little girl took the doll with her to the sandbox now, and set it down in the middle of it. She gasped when she saw the doll sit up and stretch its limbs.

“Who are you?” she asked it.

“I’m a charlatan,” the doll sneered at her. “I take my wicked bag of tools to sick people’s houses and I poke them and prod them until I get bored with them, and then I leave them to be buried in the ground. I’m Death’s best friend.”

“That’s just what I thought you were!” the little girl exclaimed, and grabbed him in her fist and shook him vigorously, rattling his button eyes. “You’re the bad thing in our house. But this time I’m bigger than you. I’ll stuff you in a marble bag and won’t let you get out.”

She did just that, and tied the cord tight, and put it in her pocket for safekeeping. She played all day in the sandbox, and found that the games didn’t make her angry anymore. At night, she finally slept without tossing and turning, knowing the bag with the wicked doll was knotted up tight in the pocket of her dress.

Well, eventually secrets come out, and the little boy found that the little girl had hidden the doll in her pocket.

“You’re so mean!” he yelled. “We were having so much fun!”

“I’m not mean! Don’t you know it’s an evil doll, and it brought Death into the house? You can’t let it out. As long as it’s stuck in the bag, it won’t hurt us anymore!”

“It’s not evil at all!” insisted the little boy. “When we play, we’re fighting Death!”

The girl tried to grab the bag back from him. “You don’t know about scary things like I do. That’s why it lies to you and tells the truth to me. Because you don’t know the difference.”

“You’re just jealous! I want my friend back!” the little boy cried, and he pulled the doll out of the bag, but the little girl grabbed it by its legs and hung on tight, and the boy fought her and tried to pull her hair, and she scratched him and kicked his shins, and eventually--

With a loud rip.

Of course, the doll was torn in half.

The children both sat down and cried, not knowing what had come over them, because they’d never fought like that before.

Sometime later, on a windy, gray day, the two of them stood side by side in long black coats, laying flowers on the dry earth in front of a granite headstone.

After the visit, they went behind a gnarled old tree in the cemetery and there they dug a shallow grave with the toy shovel they normally used for the sandbox, and laid the doll to rest in a folded paper coffin.

For days and days the boy was sad and silent and wouldn’t talk to the girl at all, and she felt confused and wretched about what had happened. A plan formed in her mind to mend their friendship so they’d play together again someday. She stole a needle and a red thread from a drawer and snuck them out to the cemetery, then dug up the soil under the shade of that old tree. The doll was where they’d left it, lying in two pieces in its slightly crumpled paper box.

Though she wasn’t very good at sewing, the girl sat for hours and stitched the doll back together, making sure that its top half wasn’t twisted wrong or the stitches were too sloppy. When it was whole again, it had a red scar around its belly. The girl laid it on one of the tree’s bulging roots and waited with bated breath. She was still a bit wary of it, and held the needle like a weapon ready to pin it down if it tried to run away.

But when it finally, miraculously, began to move its arms and legs, she couldn’t bring herself to attack it. She’d never brought something back to life before. She might as well have been playing God. Realizing something so frighteningly vast made her eyes prick with sharp tears.

The doll asked her first, before she could speak, “Why did you sew me up, little girl?”

“What’s the point of you?” she asked. “Why did you lie to one of us? You can’t be all good if you’re a liar, but I feel bad for what I did to you anyway. I don’t know why I feel bad!”

The doll straightened its coat out a bit and then opened up its black bag a crack. A very nasty, scary smell came out of it, and the girl pinched her nose and flapped her hand to clear away the air.

“What’s that awful stuff?” she said.

“That’s Death,” the doll told her. “All that time I playing with the boy, I was going out into the cities he built and I gathered up as many little pieces of Death as I could find. I carried them all inside this bag, but I couldn’t destroy them like I so arrogantly promised him I would. Eventually someone had to seal them away somewhere safe where they couldn’t get out. You did the right thing and so did he. You mustn’t cry, pumpkin. I love you both very much.”

The girl kept crying anyway, not sure if she was sad or relieved. She picked up the doll and hugged it to her chest, and shed snotty tears for a few minutes, before wiping her face and asking, “Why do you love us, though?”

“Dolls only come to life because of someone else’s love,” he explained, long-sufferingly wiping a bit of phlegm off his hair. “Before that we’re just cotton and rags. There’s nothing special or loving about cotton and rags, but think about this: when you wrap them over an open wound, they become a bandage. Things can become other things. Dead materials can turn into loving, living beings.”

Even though she didn’t really understand what that meant yet, she nodded. “What shall I do with you now, though?”

And the answer to that question is really up to you; whatever they thought to do together, it was well worth their time.

#untitled plague game #long post #my fic

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

Text

When Our Hands Next Meet

Series summary: Soulmates are given memories of their past lives when their hands touch. For Virgil and Logan, each memory is happier than the last.

This series was created for @analogicalweek and made in collaboration with the lovely @birdsongisland! Please go look at the wonderful piece they did with this and support them with reblogs so their work can be seen!

All the credit to birdsongisland as well for beta reading this!! It wouldn't have come out half as well without them ^-^

Chapter 3: Lay With Me

Chapter Summary: Having a soulbond means sharing dreams- and nightmares. Logan and Virgil comfort each other with hopes for their future.

Day 3 Prompt: Nightmares/Dreams

Warnings: implied death mention, nightmares, claustrophobia. If there are others please let me know!

WC: 2109

AO3 link

Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi @logans-library @im-an-anxious-wreck @edupunkn00b

It was hot and dark and close and loud.

The sharp clanks of pickaxes piercing his ears combined with the sparks flashing in his eyes made his head spin with overstimulation. His hands and arms are numb as the constant vibrations of his own tool send prickling shock waves up his arms. No matter how tightly he would tie the respirator mask, the attempt to seal out the dust flying in the air was in vain as he could practically feel each particle rip its way through his throat and settle in his heaving chest. Still he worked- legs shaking, arms heavy with blackness threatening to snuff out the weak light of his head lamp if ever he grew too comfortable in his precarious position. The general din of tools slamming against rock, raspy hum of those few who could stand to carry a tune and the bark of supervisors pounded against his skull but for all the distractions he could swear he still heard the ominous creak of the wooden support beams beginning to buckle under the weight of the tons of earth above them.

It was a job with risks but one of the only ones he could find readily available and had taken it without a moment's thought when faced with the choice of that or living on the streets. It barely paid a decent enough wage to build up their savings but if it put food on the table at the end of the day he found it hard to complain. He was often described as a victim of circumstance, doomed to the heavy labor of mining for the coal industry for the rest of his days unless by some miracle he managed to find something better. Everything around him was owned by the industry- even the store he bought his overpriced bread from- but everyday he made his way home and was greeted with a warm dinner and an even warmer smile, promises of something better spoken on lips that pressed against his still dusty cheek. So he took a step forward in the claustrophobic darkness and took another swing that just barely broke off anything usable from the wall in front of him and hoped that today when he went home his dreams of something better would finally become a reality.

His next swing was punctuated by a crack that echoes through the low tunnel he was working in, making him squint in confusion at the wall that up until this point had remained stubbornly solid. Another loud crack sounded to his right just as he felt thin trickles of dirt rain down on his helmet from above. He knew what this was- had read about it and been in adjacent tunnels enough to recognize the beginnings of a cave-in- but he knew even before he dropped his tool and yelled out a warning as he started sprinting towards the entrance that it was too late. Desperate screams and warnings swirled around him to mix with the ever more frequent cracks and heart stopping sounds of splintering wood. He wasn’t fast enough, he couldn’t dare hope to compete with the will of earth this deep underground. Dust rose up as the walls began to buckle and cave, debris from the ceiling blinding him and turning him around even as he tried desperately to claw his way out- real exit be damned.

He ended up by one of the only walls still left standing, workers shoving past in an attempt to not be left behind. The exit was already gone as was most of the cave they had been hauling great piles of coal and dirt out of for the past month. He couldn’t see his feet and realized with a start that dirt was pouring around him at a quicker rate than he had cared to notice in his panic, cementing him in place while the support beams above him moaned and splintered. He hardly had time to close his eyes and send out a quick and silent goodbye to the one waiting for him at home before the beams snapped, dirt filling his grave and leaving nothing but a blanket of sudden calm in the wake of disaster.

-----

Logan shot up in bed, breath coming out in sharp gasps as he threw the blankets to the floor and fumbled with the oil lamp on the bedside table. Seeing the warm glow hardly helped setted his nerves, merely reminding him he was in fact in his apartment in bed and not underground with nothing but a few poorly secured sticks holding up the earth above him. Something stirred beside him and he was quick to turn around, placing a calm hand on the cheek of his soulmate who’s eyes snapped open at the touch, panic evident in his sleep deprived gaze.

“You didn’t tell me you were having those dreams again.” Logan murmured kindly, laying on his side as he stroked Virgil’s cheeks. His husband puffed them out in something that resembled a pout, the leftover fear from his nightmare ruining the effect.

“I hate that you see them too. You don’t work in the mines, you shouldn’t have to live them.” One of the upsides- or downsides depending on how you looked at it- of having a soulmate was dream sharing. Whether it was of your most pleasant memories to your most gruesome thoughts, dreams were shared and projected regardless of proximity so that one would always have their soulmate close in a sense. This meant, however, that Virgil’s increased anxiety over being caught in a cave-in with no way of getting back to Logan was easily shared with him no matter how hard he tried to hide it, which infuriated Virgil but made Logan increasingly concerned about being able to leave the town for something better before something actually did happen.

And now they were here, their chests still heaving from the unused adrenaline and looking at each other as if either one of them had the answers they so desperately wanted.

“Do you require space to calm down? I can scrounge up some tea.” Logan wasn’t sure if they actually had any in the house but if they didn’t he’d think of something. Comforting Virgil after dreams like this was always his first priority.

“You experienced the same thing as I did just now. You’re allowed to ask for comfort for yourself.” Virgil gave him a stern look, the effect somewhat ruined by the soft smile still playing on his lips.

“I know but-”

“Logan.” Virgil sighed and reached for his shoulder, flipping them around and somehow managing not to tangle the blankets as he went. “Just come and lay with me.”

Logan had to admit he liked this solution much better, tucking himself snugly under Virgil’s chin and feeling his strong arms wrap around him in the way that always made him feel safe and secure no matter the circumstance. Smiling he snuggled in further and wrapped his own arms around Virgil, trapping his hands in the warm pocket between his back and the sheets. Gradually they both relaxed completely, even as Logan's mind raced and a frown eventually carved its way onto his face. Hoping to hide it he buried his face against Virgil’s chest, earning a kiss to the top of his head for his efforts even if a moment later he was being booped in the same spot by something that he couldn’t quite place in his half asleep jumble of thoughts.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Virgil murmured, prompting Logan to look up and roll his eyes at the stuffed shark not two inches from his nose. Penny the Shark was something they had used back before they figured out how to voice their thoughts as something silly to talk to that didn’t put as much pressure on either of them when it came to speaking about messier things- something Virgil had nervously brought up as a possibility and Logan had immediately agreed to. They hardly needed it now, this far into their relationship, but sometimes it was a nice reminder that there wasn’t any pressure to know how to voice what was bothering you or even know what was wrong in the first place. Plus, Logan mused, it was an extremely adorable sight seeing a half asleep but blushing Virgil hide his face with a bright purple and cartoonishly blushing stuffed shark.

“I’m just thinking of the job I applied for. If I can get it we can start saving up and finally leave. There’d be no reason for you to risk your life in the mines and I could actually help support us instead of you having to do everything.”

Virgil laughed. “And what job would I have if I left the mines?”

“You’re good at whittling.” Logan said immediately. “You can paint- and barring all that you’ve worked heavy labor jobs most of your life, I doubt you’d have trouble finding someone who would hire you for that alone when you’re ready to work again.”

Virgil hummed thoughtfully, bopping the shark up and down and making Logan wrinkle his nose where it kept booping the tip. Loathe to move his chin and ruining his view of the man underneath him he instead freed an arm from its confines and stole the shark away, turning it against his former attacking and viciously tapping his nose with the soft toy. Giggling Virgil ducked beneath it and squeezed him just a bit tighter, bringing him up enough to steal a chaste kiss from the other man, earning a small squeak for his efforts. He grinned as Logan buried his face back into his shirt, grumbling obscenities while cuddling the shark into their sides. Cupping the back of Logan’s head, Virgil gently twirled the hairs around his fingers and hummed softly, staring at the dark ceiling until his eyes began to droop.

“We’ll figure it out, Lo.” He mumbled sleepily. “We’ll have a house with a big porch and an actual yard and neither of us will dream of anything except the kids from your future classroom and the garden we plan on growing in the spring. It’ll just be us with no anxiety or obligations past being happy in our own little bubble.”

He thought he heard Logan make a noise of agreement but he couldn’t be sure, drifting off even as the words left his lips. He had hope things would get better, he always did, with Logan especially he couldn’t imagine a future he wasn’t happy in.

-----

“You’ve been working on that one all day, what is it?”

Virgil looked up from the block wood he had been whittling down to a curve for the better part of the afternoon, finally having gotten the angle right and most of the details etched out. It was a bit crude for his liking and his knives definitely needed sharpening at some point but it wasn’t one he was planning on selling so it was more the thought than the final product that mattered anyway. Holding it up so Logan could see he smiled sheepishly. “It’s Penny. Thought it’d be nice to have something to remember her by.”

Penny the shark had been one of the casualties from their old home, having been burned down in the process of them moving out of it. They were both incredibly grateful that Logan had gotten the job teaching at the nearby university and they had transferred most of their things to the new house before the casualty but as silly as it was the loss still stung, and Logan smiled as he sat down next to his soulmate on their new porch. He hid a grin behind his drink as he watched Virgil’s tongue stick out in concentration, carving out a couple of fins along the bottom of the curve. He knew if he mentioned it Virgil would blush and be flustered and as fun as that was to see he really just wanted to watch him happily creating in his own little world.

It was such a far cry from how things used to be and Logan appreciated how far they were able to come from something he had never been sre they could work themselves out of. But now they were here, with Virgil safe and happy selling creative wares and Logan finally able to teach after years of study and searching for a position. Sitting back he closed his eyes and drank in the peaceful air around them, content to be met with darkness since he was already living his dream with the man he loved.

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#false writes #analogicalweek #analogical week #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #virgil sanders #analogical #tw nightmares #tw death mention #tw claustrophobia #hurt/comfort #logan x virgil #ao3 #collab

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sonatanotwo · 3 years

Text

Reconnecting

Bro wrote me this years ago... I still love it so much. I wrote this kinda based off it... including my attempt at matching the style a bit... though I am awful at present tense, so uh yeah. I never posted it, but came across it again recently and realized it was perfect with Day 3′s theme, SO. Here it is. lol There’s some headcanons here Bro and I have toyed with too... like the Academy... which is located in Colorado Springs (where I lived for awhile XD)... which is just a little over an hour drive south of Denver. :Db There’s a lot more about this headcanon’d time I’d like to write one of these days. XDa ANYHOO...

It hasn't been since Christmas that Virgil's spoken to his brother. It's not really surprising as they haven't really spoken a whole lot over the past few years. Once almost inseparable, it now feels a bit like there’s a chasm between them.

It seemed like life had conspired to draw them apart ever since Scott had been accepted into the Air Force Academy. The last years of high school weren't the same without Scott being there. His brother called him every day at first, but days became weeks and weeks stretched to months. He came to hear more about how his brother was doing secondhand. Scott was busy. Scott was top of his class. Scott wasn't coming home for the summer. He never heard these things from Scott.

Then Virgil went to the Denver School of Advanced Technology.

He saw Scott a few times then, but couldn’t forget the first visit when he'd first been settling in. It had been then that he'd realized that the something that had always existed between them felt like it was missing. Perhaps it was one of those things that became lost when childhood came to an end or maybe the time apart had something to do with it. He hadn’t been sure, but either way he mourned it’s absence. He buried himself in his studies, concentrating on graduating and his plans for the future.

Now here he is, in Dad's jet with Scott at the controls, flying them home. All of Virgil's belongings from Denver packed in the hold, because he’s moving back home. He's a mechanical engineer now and will soon be a member of International Rescue. He's excited to finally begin to learn to fly the ship he'd long ago told their dad he’d pilot one day, but that’s not what's on his mind as he sits in the cockpit.

He'd been surprised it was Scott waiting to take him home instead of their Dad. The reunion had been happy at first, but now an uncomfortable silence had dropped over the cockpit. Attempts at conversing just feel awkward. It’s all so wrong. It had never been like this before.

Here he is finally having to face what he couldn't years before. Soon they’re meant to be partners, going into dangerous situations together to rescue those in need. How can they pull that off? They feel so disconnected from each other. It barely even feels like they’re best friends anymore, at least to him. Virgil isn’t sure if Scott has felt it too. Could it be just him who feels this way? He can’t bring himself to broach the topic, deciding instead to hope it just needs time.

He just doesn’t know what to do or say the whole rest of the trip home. Things feel a little easier once they arrive, but their dad, unsurprisingly, seems to catch on pretty quickly that something isn't right. Virgil notices the way he watches them. They've been home only a few days before he suddenly has them pack up and sends them off to the family ranch for training — just the two of them.

Their first exercise set out for them has them not in the training rooms, but outside, scaling one of the large rock formations not far from the ranch. 'No talking,' is the one rule their dad has imposed. Once that wouldn’t have been a problem at all, but that's not the case now; he’s barely able to read his brother.

Virgil’s now absolutely certain their Dad knows as he pauses his ascent, trying to interpret the slightly worried look Scott’s throwing down at him. He can’t work out what Scott’s worried about.

They’re using new gear Brains sent with them to test. Virgil's been pretty impressed with the multifunction version of the grapple gun Scott's making use of several yards above him — at least he is until unexpectedly the pack releases from the tool, sending Scott falling backwards with an unusually startled cry.

Their panicked gazes meet for the briefest second and Virgil knows Scott needs him. Virgil doesn’t think, he just moves, reaching out and grabbing for his brother's wrist as he falls past. With no chance to brace at all, growing shoulder muscles are put to the test as they're wrenched from the sudden weight of his falling big brother.

Suspended by Virgil’s own grapple line, they simply breathe for a moment, trying to recover from the scare. It's Scott who breaks the rule of silence first.

"So... what do you say we pause this exercise?"

"Agreed," Virgil responds eagerly.

Finding Scott a purchase, he's able to climb down a short ways to a wide ledge and Virgil soon joins him, sitting down beside each other, both still shaken.

"I'll pull the grapple apart when we get back," Virgil offers, worried since it's not often something Brains creates has a flaw.

"Good plan," Scott agrees distractedly, blue eyes locking with his suddenly. "Virgil..."

Virgil raises a questioning eyebrow, but doesn’t get a chance to respond. A hand hooks around his neck and Scott closes the distance between them, forehead pressing against his.

The last time Scott did this — when his brother left for the academy so long ago — is what first comes to mind. Then all the feelings and words come like a rush. The flood of relief, gratitude, trust and love. 'You saved me,’ ‘You’re amazing,’ and 'Thank you.'

He hasn't felt their bond like this in so long; suddenly it feels stronger than ever. Overwhelmed in the best of ways, tears form in Virgil's eyes. 'Anytime,' he replies, echoing his brother's feelings with much the same.

Scott pulls away only long enough to briefly get a look at him before closing the gap once more, this time to draw him into a tight hug that Virgil returns just as tightly. Tucking his face into his brother's shoulder, he feels for a moment like a boy again, finding comfort and safety in his brother's arms.

"I've missed you, Scotty," he admits out loud, knowing Scott can feel just how much, just as he can now sense how much Scott has been missing him. It’s like the door that had closed between them has been thrown wide open. He hopes it never closes again.

"Me too, Virg."

They sit on the ledge a little longer before mutually agreeing their done and head back to the ranch. Sitting on the porch side by side after dinner to watch the stars appear in the darkening sky, Scott makes the executive decision that they're going to head home in the morning.

They're already halfway home when they finally contact their Dad to let him know they're on their way home. At first he doesn't seem very happy with them, but as they try to explain, there's a change in his expression as he watches them talk — he knows and Virgil can see he’s relieved.

Taking over the controls for a while to give Scott a break, a silence falls between them, but this time it could not be more comfortable. While they still have a lot of catching up to do, every one of Virgil's doubts are gone. He has his best friend back and something feels complete in a way it hasn't in a long time. They aren't back at the island yet, but now he really feels like he's home.

#Earth&Sky2021 #Thunderbirds Are Go #Thunderbirds #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Earth and Sky #Big Brotp #~Virgil Mun Writings

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Prompt: imagine if Xiao Xingchen could see what Song Lan was seeing after the eye transfer. Like the visual input went to both their brains... Ps! I love your writing!!

Song Lan knew himself to be a fool, and an ungrateful one.

He’d lost his entire family, the entire Baixue temple that had taken him in as an orphan to teach him all he knew, at Xue Yang’s hands – not just Xue Yang, but whoever was behind him, egging him on. His master had conveyed as much as he’d died in his hands: Xue Yang had done the work, yes, but as hired help, looking horribly bored even as he committed atrocities and only looking even mildly interested when he announced the supposed ‘motive’ behind it.

And yet Song Lan hadn’t listened. Beside himself with grief, with pain, with the loss of his temple, the loss of his eyes, he’d lashed out against his best friend, blaming him for the misfortune – if you hadn’t insisted on going after him, on finding justice for the Chang clan, then he wouldn’t have come here, he would have picked someone else, it’s your fault. Harsh words, vicious words, words he shouldn’t have spoken, and especially not to Xiao Xingchen, who didn’t quite understand the way the world worked.

The way emotions worked – how humans could say one thing one day, and believe another the next.

And now, Song Lan was forced to hunt down the real culprit behind the destruction of his Baixue temple alone, all while searching desperately for his friend – wanting to apologize, to beg forgiveness – and all the while Xiao Xingcheng…

Song Lan had to stop along the road to bury his face in his hands, in grief –

Grief, and frustration.

Xiao Xingchen just had to find the least remarkable place in the entire world to settle in, didn’t he?

Song Lan knew he had, because Xiao Xingchen had given him his eyes, and Xiao Xingchen’s eyes were –

It wasn’t that Song Lan didn’t know that Xiao Xingchen had descended from Baoshan Sanren’s celestial mountain, armed with a sword and a horsetail whip and a mission to help people find justice. He’d been lucky enough to be the first person Xiao Xingchen met, after all, and he’d been helping him understand some of the nuances of the common world ever since – often things that most people should have known, but which apparently weren’t that common on celestial mountains.

It was only that Song Lan hadn’t realized that Xiao Xingchen’s differences from the common world were not merely experience, but also – physical.

His eyes, for one.

Apparently, Xiao Xingcheng had two sets of eyelids: one external, the normal ones that everyone saw, and one internal – as far as Song Lan could tell, now that Xiao Xingchen’s eyes were his, it mostly functioned to keep dust out of his eyes or to make it easier to see through mist. His pupils, too, were unusual: they could resize themselves as appropriate to deal with the dark, and now Song Lan understood why Xiao Xingchen never tripped over anything even when they had traveled in the darkest parts of the night.

The most important aspect, though, was the fact that they were still connected.

Now that Xiao Xingchen's eyes were his own, Song Lan could see what was in front of him, yes, but he could also see – somehow – what was in front of Xiao Xingchen, and it should have made it easier to find him, but somehow it didn’t.

It just made the need to find him all the more desperate.

When Song Lan first opened his eyes and saw the translucent form of Xue Yang, smirking up at him, he panicked. Translucent meant that it was Xiao Xingchen who was seeing him, and that meant Xiao Xingchen was in terrible danger. Oh, Xue Yang might be too injured to do anything at first, but Song Lan watched as his wounds slowly healed, the way he started to offer to help with things, the way he –

Those poor people.

And poor Xiao Xingchen, too!

After the first “night-hunt”, Song Lan bought some paper and wrote the words, “Your guest is Xue Yang and he is deceiving you” on it, then settled down in meditation to stare at the words until they felt as though they were imprinted on the back of his eyes, hoping against hope that the eyes would work in reverse, that he could convey the much-needed message to Xiao Xingchen.

It didn’t work.

Or, rather, it did – Xue Yang’s ghostly form, reflecting off of the remains of Xiao Xingchen’s optical nerve even through the thin cloth he used as a bandage, came up to him.

“Daozhang, why are you rubbing your eyes so much?” his lips said, forming the words so precisely that Song Lan could very nearly imagine hearing his voice. “Are you in pain?”

He couldn’t heard Xiao Xingchen’s response, of course, and he couldn’t see it, either, but Xue Yang was a remarkably responsive figure.

“You’re the strongest person I know, Daozhang. If you’re sure you want to ignore it, I know you can.”

That was about when Song Lan had given up, because he, too, knew Xiao Xingcheng too well: his friend was stubborn to the ends of the earth, when he thought it was called for, and he must have known – as Song Lan did not – what were the consequences of giving up his eyes.

He was deliberately ignoring the input from Song Lan’s eyes. Very likely in a misguided attempt to give him privacy.

Song Lan wanted to scream.

It had been about what he deserved, though, for having rejected Xiao Xingchen the way he did: now he had to watch, to be tortured by watching, as Xiao Xingchen was led around by the nose by a vicious and cruel Xue Yang, forced to bloody his hands, all unknowing, all while thinking he was doing good. It was enough to make Song Lan weep, and to fear the day that Xue Yang lost interest in this game – the day when Xue Yang had enough, and the last ghostly image he would see would be the bastard’s sword raised up over Xiao Xingchen’s unwary head…

It didn’t turn out like that, though.

Xue Yang the murderer, the irredeemable – he stopped on his own.

Song Lan knew why, probably before Xue Yang himself did. He recognized the way Xue Yang’s eyes softened when he looked at Xiao Xingchen, the eager way he ran to him, the smile that involuntarily appeared on his face when he did something that pleased him – a happy smile, nothing like the cruel smirks from before.

Song Lan recognized it, because he’d seen the same in himself.

Xue Yang was in love.

How could he not be? Xiao Xingchen was kind, gentle, righteous – he was born to be loved, not tormented. Little by little, he crept even into Xue Yang’s barren heart, and found a way to make his home there, just as they had made their home in the little coffin house that looked the same in every town that Song Lan visited on his desperate quest to find them.

And little by little Xue Yang put down his guard, and started sharing stories…

The one that affected Xiao Xingchen the most was the one about the little boy, with his love for candy – Song Lan knew that, seeing as he did Xiao Xingchen finding candy to leave every day on Xue Yang’s pillow. Probably with a secret little smile, wanting only to make his friend happy.

The ones that affected Song Lan the most, though, were the ones about cultivation. About where Xue Yang had learned it, and how.

Xiao Xingchen had been so pure and good, so upset about the fate of his shijie’s son, that he’d never really picked up the nuances of how demonic cultivation worked or what it did, how it damaged the temperament and corrupted the mind, but Song Lan knew.

Song Lan knew how to do math, too.

Xue Yang would have been little more than that stupid child who’d lost his finger as a result of his love of sweets when his first teacher found him – it might even have been immediately afterwards, when he was wounded and in pain and vulnerable, given some of the comments Xue Yang made about how he’d been stupid to follow the first person who offered him revenge.

That first man had had vile intentions. He’d taught Xue Yang demonic cultivation the way a farmer fed a pig: in order to raise him into a tool for his own cultivation. He hadn’t expected that when Xue Yang was still only eleven, he was already such a delinquent that he’d pick up a knife and murder his own teacher when that teacher tried to hurt him – Xue Yang had never gone into exactly what type of hurt, never even officially confirmed that he’d done the murder, merely that he’d broken paths with his first teacher when the teaching methods were too painful and that the teacher had died shortly thereafter, but who didn’t know about the dark history of the delinquent of Kuizhou?

Song Lan had known about the murder, long suspected by the citizens of Kuizhou but never proven, but he hadn’t known why.

Just as he had known that the Jin sect had recruited Xue Yang shortly after he became famous, but hadn’t known that it was specifically to try to recreate the Yiling Patriarch’s techniques, or that they’d given him as many cultivators as he wished to practice on…

Xiao Xingchen probably thought Xue Yang’s references to test subjects referred to practice dummies, and his references to “breaking” them “too often” as the harmless actions of a child.

Because Xue Yang would have been a child.

A street child, with no mother to raise him; taught by a demonic cultivator with vile intentions; taken in by the Jin sect at eleven, maybe twelve; raised there until fifteen, and required to do all sorts of dirty things for them as the means of keeping his place –

Had anyone ever taught Xue Yang the slightest scrap of morality?

The Baixue temple believed in justice, but it also believed in mercy – in mercy, and in redemption. As soon as Song Lan found Xiao Xingchen again, he would apologize for what he’d done, what he’d said, and he’d ask him to join him once again in a quest to bring justice to the world: to seek justice for his temple, for his teacher, from the person who had wielded the sword that was Xue Yang.

And as for Xue Yang himself…

Maybe there was something there that could be salvaged.

After all, he responded so well to Xiao Xingchen’s kindness – it’d been nearly three years now, and the vast majority of the time had been lived in peace and quiet. Xue Yang didn’t even threaten passerby merchants in the marketplace with knives anymore.

He didn’t practice demonic cultivation anymore, either. Three years without it, and Song Lan could see – through Xiao Xingchen’s eyes – how much cleaner Xue Yang’s qi was: how the meditation Xiao Xingchen coaxed him into trying actually helped bring it into a semblance of order, how he was belatedly forming a golden core the way a regular cultivator would.

Maybe there was still something left of that stupid street child who’d only wanted to taste something sweet after all.

If he ever found them, Song Lan would have to find out.

He sighed to himself, shaking his head at his own foolishness. He could dream about what they could do together – the three of them, and little A-Qing, too, the clever little blind girl that accompanied Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang both – as much as he liked, but first, he had to find them.

Song Lan glanced at the signpost.

Yi City, with the ‘yi’ for coffin home – what a strange name.

#mdzs #song lan #xiao xingchen #xue yang #my fic #my fics #okay this is sort of backwards from your prompt #but it was too late by the time I realized that #Anonymous

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bi-writes · 4 years

Photo

notorious: reboot — chapter eight genesis

This is our genesis, and ours only; once we start this chapter, what will end it?

type: series, alternate universe detail: mob!tom word count: 12.7k warnings: mature language and themes, mature sexual and nsfw content included in this chapter (oral fem!receiving, unprotected sexual content, overstimulation, cum play) series masterlist music playlist by mood, curated just for notorious

There were many things you could tell about a person from looking at their hands. They could be dirty or clean, adorned with jewels or nothing at all, nails painted or chipped or bare, cut or bruised or scratched or completely, utterly soft. Sometimes they wore wedding rings, sometimes they didn’t, sometimes they had ink circling around their fingers. Hands were interesting storytellers, and oftentimes you found yourself finding more about someone from the way their hands were kept rather than listening to them speak. Sometimes people lied. Their hands couldn’t lie, all they could do was simply be.

It was so quiet here. You could barely see anything in the darkness, but there was a sliver of light coming from the candle in the far corner of the room. The wax had melted almost all the way, the wicker barely lit, but it was enough that you could still see clearly what was beside you, who was beside you.

Your head was propped up on a soft pillow, but Tom’s hand was beside it, palm flat against the bed, and you could hear his gentle breathing. You brought your hand up to trace Tom’s knuckles, which were slightly split. They had bled, you could tell that much, and there were yellow and purple bruises dotting the dry, cracked skin there. His nails were well groomed, but you could tell he picked at them because of how his cuticles were ripped a bit, the edges of his nails a bit rugged.

Hands of a killer. So why doesn’t it hurt when he touches me with them?

You turned his hand over, following the callous along his palms. Blistering, dry, and used, Tom’s hands were a reflection of the dirty business you both had chosen to run in. It didn’t matter where you were in this business, it took something from each and every being inside of it. You and Tom were young, but you had been thrust into a world of secrecy and anarchy where your worth was determined by nothing more than where you stood in a line of hundreds, blanketed by tradition, ritual, and kings without mercy.

You had seen too much, but it was enough that you were numb inside at times. Death did nothing to you any longer. Blood was nothing but a stain, and guns were just accessories. Judges, cops, and lawyers were the men and women on your payroll, and funding amateur killers was just a part of your work. Love was a luxury, children became heirs, and money was your lifeline. One mistake could cost you your head, one wrong move could dismantle your operations, and without a throne to sit on, there was no need for you except to bleed you dry of what you had and to leave you for the earth to swallow whole.

Daughters become enemies.

Only ruthless, cold individuals that were truly dead inside could sit on thrones made of bones. You had to be willing to do anything to put the crown on, and even then, it could slip right off of your head in a moment.

Rivals become lovers.

You had never known anything else. You had never tried to be anything else. Your mother loved you, but she didn’t try and take you away from this life; she had thrust you into the world headfirst, and she made you who you were.

Sweet faces become killers. She made you a killer.

You wondered who had made Tom. Staring at the soft tufts of curls on his head, you wondered who had taught him to hold a gun, to point it at his target, and to not hesitate pulling the trigger.

You wondered what kind of burdens he carried on those broad shoulders of his. You wondered what hid between the curves of his muscles, what truly defined the scars along his back, and what kind of blood had been spilled against those crackling knuckles of his. You wondered who had taken the light inside of the little boy he had once been and crushed it. All kings and queens had lights inside of them once, even you.

We lose them, and then we spend forever trying to find it inside of others because of what is broken inside of ourselves.

There was a map on his skin. From the tips of his fingers to his toes, Tom had a map. Scars and the occasional tattoo, indentations and uneven patches of skin, defined muscles that ached and stretched and breathed. Some people were meant to be kings, and Tom was one of them, but there was a part of you that wished that Tom had never seen the metal of a gun or the inside of someone’s body or the way life left someone’s body slow, then quickly all at once.

I wish you never knew what it looked like when there were stars in their eyes, right before they saw a vast nothingness.

There were people inside of you, souls that wanted to be discovered, but you and Tom had buried them so deep that neither of you knew who they were anymore. Tom had mentioned once that he used to watch movies until his eyes were red from the glare of the television screen. He mentioned once that he had felt the vibrations from dancers on a stage, the echo of voices across the emptiness of a theatre, and he mentioned once that there had been light inside of him once when there were spotlights warming up that single spot reserved onstage.

Tom would never know that little boy. Tom would never see what that little boy could become, and he would never get to tell him that he was meant for so much more than this dirty, dirty business. There were songs inside of him, but he would never get to sing them, and for that, a part of you hated whoever had taught Tom to be who he was. They had robbed Tom of every good thing he could’ve been, and now here he was, with scars on his hands, cuts along his back, and a light inside of him that would never, ever be allowed to illuminate whatever soul was buried underneath all of the death and destruction he had built up for so long.

Boys become assassins, and girls become paper dolls.

You wondered if he would hate your mother for the same reasons.

You leaned over and kissed Tom’s forehead before slipping out of bed. You opened the door to your bedroom, going into the kitchen. You were at your apartment this time, and Tom had come with you that night, and he simply didn’t want to leave.

You and Tom had been through hell hours before, but there was something different between you now. There were no secrets between you, and now, it felt strange. For so long, you and Tom had been pretending, lying to each other and falling for each other at the same time.

One and the same.

It was still dark outside. The city lights glowed at night, so bright and awake even in the dead hours of night, and that was how it always was.

You noticed something by the door. There was a white envelope on the floor, as if someone had slipped it underneath the door to get it to you. You bent down and picked up the envelope, turning it over in your hands. The envelope was meant to be white, but it had yellowed from age, and it was dry and crinkly in your hands. There was no return address, just a scribbling on the back in handwriting you thought you recognized but couldn’t decipher.

my baby is all the back read.

You slipped your finger into the opening, ripping the envelope open. Inside was a letter, written on blank copy paper. It was written in scribbly black ink, smeared occasionally, as if it had been written in a rush. You looked around, to see if anyone was around, because it felt as if you were being watched. The apartment was quiet, and there was nothing around you.

You looked back down at the letter, opening it up all the way, smoothing out the folds.

To the only love I’ve ever known,

I don’t know when you’re going to be given this letter. I don’t know if you’ll ever receive it, but if I never write this, then there is a chance that you will never know the truth. I can’t leave this place knowing you might always be kept in the dark.

There is too much I’m going to miss. I tried to do right by you all these years, but now I fear perhaps I’ve just given your father the weapon he’s always needed. He has no ambition, none at all, to do right by his men. Your father is a coward, and he always will be. He takes advantage of even the most precious things in his life, and he has neglected you since the day you were born.

There is going to be a day when he needs you. There is going to be a day when your father will not be able to say no to you, and that day I fear more than anything else in this world, even death. I tried to give you the tools you would need to succeed, but I fear that my time has run out to finish the difficult job I started with you. I’m not finished. I want to keep doing more for you, but my time is running out, and even writing this letter is wasting what little I have left, but I need you to know the truth.

Your father will never understand what it takes to run this kingdom he’s built. I have tried for years to get him to listen to me, but anything I say, he ignores. One day, it’s going to get him killed, but that is the least of my worries. My worry is what comes after, what continues after your father is gone. As much as he wants to pretend it isn’t true, you are going to be the one sitting at the desk. You will be the one left when the dust settles.

I dreamed of being able to sit there myself. When I lived in New York, I was used to being the princess. After marrying your father, I had to get used to being what was left behind. My hatred for him grows every single day, and if I had it in me, I would be done with him. It would be him instead of me, but I’m not meant for those kinds of things. It isn’t in me, and I don’t think I’ve ever been meant for this kind of life. I hate myself for getting involved, and even more, I hate myself for bringing the most beautiful angel into this life.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did this to you. I should’ve left, I always knew I should’ve left. I should’ve taken the only good thing to ever happen to me and dragged her far, far away.

I planned on letting you live a normal life. Your father never wanted you to follow in his footsteps, and I planned on letting you grow and learn and go to college and live the normal life that I always dreamed for you, but you were my only hope. You were the only weapon I had against your father, and I’m sorry. What I did was selfish.

I made you like this because I wanted you to be better than him. I wanted you to be better than all of them. Everyone in this world is lonely, ugly on the inside and out, and incredibly stupid. They lack all the good qualities that soldiers should have, because that is what living in this hell is like. You will always be at war, and I wanted you to always have the tools to survive in the disgusting world that these men have built for us.

I needed you to be better.

Your father tonight is going to tell you that I left. You are going to find the drawers of my clothes empty, you are going to find most of my things gone, and you will never see me again. He’s going to tell you that I went far away, perhaps, maybe even to the fucking moon. Your father is going to tell you a lot of things tonight.

All of them will be lies.

Your father is going to kill me tonight, and I’m going to let him, because if I don’t, you will never become who I need you to be. I’m being selfish again. I fear I might hate him more than I love you.

Don’t trust him. Ever. Even if he seems like he is on your side. He will never learn until it’s too late, and by then, nothing will be able to save him. It’s you, and it will always be you, and I hope he dies knowing it.

He doesn’t deserve you. And he never has. He never will.

I love you more than anything in this world.

mama

You put the letter down slowly, running your hands through your tangled hair. Your hands were shaking a bit, and you felt like there was something stuck in your throat, making it hard to breathe.

She made your bed. Now you have to lay in it.

You picked up the letter again and went into the bedroom. Tom was awake, sitting up against the headboard, an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

“Was wondering where you went,” Tom said lowly, striking a match to light the cancer stick. You came towards the bed slowly, still holding the letter, and Tom finally looked at you, standing there with a strange look in your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“This…this came. Someone slid it…u-under the door,” you said softly, putting the letter onto the bed. Tom switched the lamp on, and he picked up the paper, holding it in front of him. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and let out a slow breath, his eyes running over the page. The silence was killing you.

“You said your mum disappeared,” Tom said finally, tapping off a bit of ash.

“That’s…that’s what my dad told me,” you whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s why I left New York. Why I left…Ri.”

It changed everything. It changed me.

“Your mum says otherwise,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Is this real? Do you believe this? I mean…who would just put this under the bloody door? How could this just appear on your doorstep? Timing is right suspicious, don’t you think?”

“It’s my mom’s handwriting, Tom, I’d know,” you said defiantly, taking the letter back. You folded it up again, putting it into the bedside drawer. You slid back into bed, scooting close to Tom. He put his arm around you, letting you lay your head on his chest. You were silent again, the room was silent again, and it was enough time for you to have a single tear falling down the length of your cheek, your whole body feeling cold all over.

“Your father’s a lying twat,” Tom scoffed, and you stared off into the distance.

“He killed…my mom,” you said weakly, and Tom stubbed the cigarette out, putting a hand to your head and kissing your forehead. It was tender, but it was not warm enough to stop the tears that followed quickly behind, dropping silently onto the pillow. “H-He killed her, Tommy.”

And she killed me.

You weren’t sure how to feel about the letter. Your father had told you your mother had left, that she was gone, and even though you knew that those kind of antics could never be that of your mother, you believed him, or at least you forced yourself to believe him.

Because you weren’t ready to face any other alternative.

You had cried over her, mourned over her, and then you had let her go. Part of the coldness of your personality was trying to steel yourself from losing anyone else. You distanced yourself from Mariposa after, changing your number and refusing to go back, making it your mission to focus all of your pent-up anger and aggression and sadness to becoming whatever kind of heiress your father needed you to be.

Nothing in that letter was really a surprise to you, but it felt like a slap on your face knowing it came from her. Your mother had truly seen through every single lie, and just like your father, she had used you to do her bidding. She made you feel like she was on your side because she needed you to be somebody for her. A secret weapon, a key hidden under a mat, an iron sword that had rusted over and been long forgotten. She had been waiting for the perfect moment to polish you clean, reveal you to the world, and she stepped face-first into death to do it.

She can call it whatever she likes. She can call me a savior, a soldier, a daughter. I suppose mothers use their daughters just the same; this business rubs off on even those we admire. On those that we think we love.

“He made plans with you, yeah?” Tom asked gently. You blinked, coming out of your thoughts. “Plans for Saturday night, didn’t he?”

You nodded slowly, “yes. We made plans for…how it would go, yes.”

Tom smacked his lips a bit, clenching his jaw. “You’re going to tell me every detail, y/n. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how small or insignificant you think it is. I have a feeling your father is going to fuck the both of us over. And we’re not letting that happen, yeah?”

Has it rubbed off on you, Tom?

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Okay.”

Will you use me just the same?

Tom moved your head, making you look at him.

“You and I, love,” he murmured, and you nodded again, putting your hands over his. You shared a tender kiss, and you pulled away with a smile on your face. The lack of distance made you warm all over. Tom knew everything. There was nothing black between you, nothing holding you both down. You had been so lost before, and there was an uncertainty that weighed inside of you. You weren’t sure how to deal with your father, to deal with whatever feelings had grown in you, and although you had worn a straight face, there had been nothing but panic in you.

There was nothing to be afraid of anymore. Tom had you, closer than he ever had you before, and you knew he wouldn’t let go. Tom was going to take care of you, and you had to trust that, because otherwise, you were as dead as you were the day before.

“You and I, Tommy,” you said softly, and skin against skin, you knew he had you, because you could feel the tenderness in his touch. There was nothing to fear anymore. There was nothing worry about.

Because I am yours. And you are mine.

You met his eyes in the mirror. He looked incredibly handsome, freshly showered and smelling sweet, a beautiful suit on him. He was wearing black tonight to match you, and he ditched the tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt underneath, just enough to see a glimpse at the chain he was wearing. You remembered when you and Mariposa used to get ready like this, smiling at each other in the mirror, but now it was Tom, and he wasn’t shying away from checking you out. He was adjusting the watch around his wrist, his dark eyes running up and down your figure.

“You should close your mouth, baby,” you said softly as you smoothed out the front of your dress. “You’ll catch flies.”

Tom chuckled lowly, shaking his head, and you hiked up the skirt of your dress to slip your thigh holster on. He clenched his jaw at that, and he couldn’t help himself. He came close to you, pressed up against you from behind, and you bit back a smile as he smoothed a hand down your back, over the curve of your hips.

God, who said she was allowed to look like this?

“Jesus, fuck,” Tom muttered, watching you secure the gun underneath your dress. “Couldn’t get any more beautiful, and then you pull shit like this.”

“Shut up,” you laughed a bit, putting your dress back down, much to his dismay. “Now you’re just saying things because you want something.”

The word was in the air, but Tom pretended not to see it. He liked the chase. He had never had to chase anyone before, but it was fun. Having you so close yet so far away made him ache all over, but the look in your eyes told him it would be worth it.

Tom grinned at you in the mirror, “of course not, love…never. I’m simply commenting on how absolutely mad you drive me when you do things like this. If it happens to turn you on…” Your smile broke out as he kissed the side of your neck, “perhaps it’s just a bonus.”

You let Tom tilt your head to the side more, let him kiss the skin there. There was something possessive about it, and after a few minutes of wet teasing with hungry kisses, you pushed Tom off of you and grabbed your jacket, laughing to yourself.

Tom guided you to the elevator of your building, and he kept a hand on the small of your back as you walked. He always kept a hand on you now, a sweet, small detail that you appreciated. You both got into the back of the car he ordered, and while you sat on opposite ends, he had a hand on your knee as he looked out the window.

You remembered meeting Tom here. As he helped you out of the car, the familiar doorman gave you and Tom a nod as you passed the line. Tom went for your hand this time, and you looked down in surprise as he intertwined your fingers. You bit back the smile on your face as he led you by the hand. His touch was warm. You liked this, more than you thought you would.

People had always talked about you being Tom’s girl, but the label always made you spit at them. You had a name, and you expected them to use it. You didn’t need to be behind a man for it to mean something, for you to matter, and you made that clear from the beginning. Tom liked that, he knew from the start that he adored your independence. It was attractive and fresh, and for once, a woman with personality had stood up to him, and she was absolutely full of fire. It was one of the reasons he fell for you so fast and so hard. You were beautiful like that, always steady on two feet.

A queen, Tom had thought to himself. A righteous queen, and her eyes are hungry, just like mine.

You noticed Mariposa wasn’t at the table. Harrison was sitting there, and he looked incomplete without Mariposa beside him. He looked on edge, staring out into nothing, and he was bouncing one of his legs impatiently.

“Harrison,” you greeted him as Tom shooed his brothers to the side for room to sit in the booth. “Where’s Ri?”

Harrison sniffed a bit, shaking his head, “don’t know. She was supposed to be here a few minutes ago,” is all he answered. You let go of Tom’s hand, and at that, his head turned to you.

“I’m going to go take a lap, yeah?” You assured them. Tom tugged you back with a hand on your wrist, and you were surprised when he put both hands on your face, capturing you in a kiss that caught you off guard. The boys at the table shifted nervously as you kissed, even Tom’s men watching intently as you embraced without shame. Eyes closed, hands in your hair, Tom had you in just a few tender kisses, lowering yourself to sit beside him to give him a better angle. Harrison smirked a bit as he watched, shaking his head as Tom licked over your bottom lip dramatically. Tom pulled away casually to light a cigarette, letting you go finally, and you sat there dumbfounded for a moment, taking deep breaths as you fought the smiling growing on you.

“Be careful,” is all he said, his face unbothered as he reached over and took a sip of Harrison’s drink. You stood up on two feet again and smoothed out the front of your dress, avoiding the knowing looks from Tom’s brothers.

You left the table to make your way around dancing, sweaty bodies and through flashing lights. You were looking every which way for her curls. Maybe she got held up at the bar, or there was a line for the ladies room.

That’s a stupid thought. There are no lines for Holland girls.

You spotted her curls finally, done up in a glamorous bun, strands of her dark ringlets falling to frame her pretty face. She had her legs crossed, showing off the sparkling heels she always wore. You knew they were hers by the scuff at the bottom of the heel. She had been wearing the same stilettos for months, a gift from Harrison, and she never wore anything else, despite having a closet full of shoes. You followed the curve of her bare arm, adorned with a few golden bracelets and her fingers decorated with rings to match. Her nails were long and manicured, a deep red color that she always preferred. She had a fierce smile on her face, fluttering her long lashes as she spoke to whoever was across from her, and you could tell she wasn’t flirting by the way she sat up straight.

Mariposa had two ways of talking to men. The first way was distracting them, and she would twist her curls around her finger and lean forward so they could peek down the neckline of her top. She was beautiful, and they would always stare, and she would always get what she wanted. This time, she still had her jacket on over her corset top, and she was talking, her eyes narrowed and her posture straight and tall to convey her confident nature. She was saying something that was meaningful, and whoever was across from her needed to listen to whatever she had to say.

You came closer, and when she noticed you, her entire face fell, and she paled a bit. You stood at the end of the table, and you blinked when you noticed who was sitting across from her. You almost pulled the gun out from under your dress, but laughing voices from the table over reminded you where you were. There was nothing you could do but hope the candle on the table caught the sleeve of suit on fire and consumed his deranged soul in a fiery death.

“y/n—” Mariposa tried to explain, but you caught her off.

“Johnny boy,” a bitter smile grew on your face. “Mmm…you love being in places you don’t belong, huh?”

His eyes brightened a bit when he saw you. He looked older, much older than you last saw him. His face had sunken a bit, maybe a few more wrinkles there. His eyes were still bright and green and warm, and his hair had darkened just a bit from the dirty blonde it used to be. He still kept his hair a bit greasy and slicked back, and he still wore suits that were too big for him, a watch you knew he couldn’t afford, and a smile on his face that didn’t belong there.

Giovanni was the Sicilian man your father always wanted you to end up with. You called him Johnny to insult him, because you always knew how much he hated being American, and he preferred being called by his name in Italian. You refused him that, always calling him “Johnny baby, Johnny boy,” and each time making him angrier than it had the time before. He didn’t even know how to speak Italian. He was always trying to impress those above him, and your father was the man whose ass he kissed most frequently.

When he should’ve been kissing yours.

Your fears about an arranged marriage were valid. When your father told you the news about your mother and you had hurried back to California, mourning your mother wasn’t the only thing your father expected of you. When you had left for New York, your father knew you as someone that liked to get in trouble but would fall in line if he needed you to be. He had no idea what New York had done to you.

You knocked on your father’s study door, adjusting the leather jacket over your blouse. When you heard his voice, you came in, your boots sounding on the creaking wooden floorboards of the old house, an awkward sound in the deep silence that surrounded the walls of his office. You stood there frozen as the door closed behind you.

Your father was standing up from his seat behind the desk, De Luca beside him, and his lackeys lined up along the walls. Giovanni stood there in front of the desk, his own father holding him there with a hand on his shoulder. You brushed your hair back a bit, coming forward to stand in front of the desk.

“What’s going on, daddy?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. “You called for me.”

“Well, y/n…things have been complicated in business lately,” your father explained, gesturing big with his hands. “We lost 20% of the ports in Italy because of some of the raids, and Giovanni’s father has generously agreed to get to work on acquiring the land back again on a few conditions.”

“That’s great,” you smiled bitterly. “What does that have to do with me?”

The men in the room shifted a bit, and you looked around at them all, turning back to your father when you had read the room enough.

“Oh, daddy,” you let out a breath. “No, you didn’t.”

“You know, y/n, there are things we do for business that make—”

“20%?” You scoffed. “That’s what you value the rest of my fucking life? My life is worth 20% of your Italian coast, yeah?”

“y/n—” Your father was mortified. He had never heard you speak like that, nor talk back to him like that. here were a lot of things you learned how to do in New York. One of those things had been to use your voice. You weren’t a little girl anymore, and you were adamant on standing up to anyone that got in the way of your interests.

Giovanni? That was against your interests.

“No,” you interrupted him. “Find another way.”

“There is no other way,” your father growled. “I made my deal, now it’s your turn, y/n.”

“y/n, c’mon, I’ve known you as long as I can remember,” Giovanni spoke up, coming close to you. He even had the audacity to put his arm around your waist, pulling you towards him. You looked up at him, your mouth opening in disbelief, and you felt his fingertips digging into your back, slipping under the fabric of your jacket. “It wouldn’t be so bad, yeah? Can’t say you haven’t thought about it.”

He was grinning, like he had won something, and you scoffed a bit.

“You’re right, Johnny boy, I have thought about this,” you leaned forward a bit, your face close to his. You moved your arm around to put your hand over his on your back, and you smiled sweetly at him before grabbing onto his wrist and twisting his arm enough to hear something crack in it as you pried him off of you.

Giovanni screamed loudly, and your father put a hand to his forehead as you held Giovanni by his arm still, holding pressure there as you continued to pull at his arm. You turned to his father, narrowing your eyes.

“Make a different deal,” you demanded. “Now.”

“You can’t just—”

Giovanni screamed in agony again as you pulled back his arm, using your leg to kick Giovanni onto his knees.

“Make a different deal,” you said again. “Or I’m going to make sure Johnny can’t even wipe his own ass again.”

“God, Dad!” Giovanni cried, doubling over as you held onto his arm. “Fuck, just do it, Christ!”

“Son—”

“Do it, do it!” Giovanni begged as you heard something crack violently as you bent his arm just a bit more. You were using the heel of your boot now, and using the weight of your body, you strained the length of his arm, the sounds only making your point more serious. “Jesus, fuck!”

“Perhaps, Mr. y/l/n, we can decide on a price instead.”

Giovanni walked around with a dislocated shoulder and broken fibula for months. Your father was furious with you, but he had no right to be. You had been so insulted that your father thought he could get away with something like that, and for a while, you made his life a living hell with his business partners. You had one message to get across to your father.

Don’t ever try and control me again.

You weren’t going to roll over and obey like the rest of his men. You had a purpose, not a position, and marrying you off to a misogynistic bastard wasn’t going to work. It was the beginning of your pursuit to be heard and seen, not used. That beginning had your father thinking twice about whether or not to barter you off like property, and it had started the growing, fiery mutual hatred between you and Giovanni.

You never expected Giovanni to grow a pair and come all the way to New York to entice you, but Giovanni was also absolutely terrible and would do anything to try and get the upper hand on you. He had been for years, and you were foolish to think he’d stop now.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted you, his eyes darkening and falling over the length of your body. He whistled a bit, lowly, rubbing his chin. “New York has done you well, y/n. Is this your new look now? I like it.”

“Ri, I think you should get a refill,” you said firmly, grabbing the glass of wine out of her hands and downing it. You handed it back to her, empty, and she stood up slowly, her fingers wrapping around the stem of the glass as you sat across from Giovanni. “Go on.”

Mariposa looked between you two before walking away, and Giovanni followed her, his eyes watching her as she disappeared into the crowd.

“Hmm…I see you and Miss Muñoz are still friendly,” he winked at you, “and I can’t blame you. I mean…fuck, look at her.”

You scoffed a bit, “you’re still as much of a dickhead as I remember. Whose ass did you kiss this time to get yourself here?”

Giovanni tsked, “y/n, don’t be that way. I came all this way to see you, I thought you’d be happy,” he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I wanted to see my baby girl before she got all done up…all ready to take on Holland territory. I mean, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Gonna marry that piece of shit, aren’t you?”

You tapped your fingers on the table, clenching your jaw, “you know, I don’t remember my father inviting you in on family matters,” you smiled knowingly at him. “I don’t ever remember one of his…lackeys being in on operations like this. I seem to remember that only people that matter, only people that could contribute, got to sit it on important meetings. It’s bad for business when men at the bottom know about things like this, so I’m sorry, Johnny baby, that information is…classified.”

He laughed a bit, licking his bottom lip with a roll of his eyes. “Your father promised me a lot of things he’s yet to deliver on. Maybe bringing me with him is how he plans on giving me what I deserve finally.”

“Promises he had no way of guaranteeing,” your eyes were sparkling. “My father was simply mistaken, and he had to learn from those mistakes.” You stopped tapping your fingers, tilting your head to the side as you met his eyes and didn’t back away from his glare. “I do as I please, Johnny. Nobody tells me what to do, nobody can.”

“And what are you doing here?” Giovanni raised a brow. “You’re nothing but a whore for your father, letting the Hollands degrade you…all for your dad to get New York again, I think that’s what he said.”

You sniffed a bit, shifting in your seat, leaning forward more.

“If you think I’m a whore, then you’re as blind as you were years ago,” you said lowly. “That’s not how it works here. If I ask something of the Hollands, they do it for me. And no, it’s not because I sleep with any of them. It’s because unlike daddy’s business, where boys like you are running errands, there’s only men here, and they don’t ignore women because their dicks are too small.”

Giovanni snickered a bit, “you know, I don’t think I would’ve liked to have you as my wife anyway.”

You smiled a bit, gripping his collar and pulling him close. “You’re right, Johnny. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in that relationship.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you licked over your bottom lip. “You know…cause my dick is so much bigger than yours.”

Poking at his insecurities was always your defense because it worked every time. Giovanni was the equivalent to a child and commenting on the size of him always seemed to get him angry enough to do stupid things.

Giovanni stood up abruptly after you let him go, but he was forced back into his seat when he bumped right into Tom. The color ran out of his face when he realized who he was in front of, and he scooted back into the booth, away from him, and Tom snatched the drink right out of Giovanni’s hands, tipping his head back and swallowing it all. You bit back the smile on your face as the glass hit the table, and Giovanni was visibly sweating.

“Mm…” Tom scrunched his nose. “Vodka and seltzer? What a terrible choice in liquor, mate.”

“Holland,” Giovanni straightened out his jacket, and you saw all the fight drain out of him. Intimidated by Tom’s glare, he held out his hand for Tom to shake. “I’m…Giovanni. I work for y/n’s father.”

“Mmm…so you work for y/n,” Tom corrected him, and Giovanni just pursed his lips. You watched as Tom pulled a chair out and took a seat, spreading his legs a bit as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slid some matches your way. You stroke one of the matches, leaning over to light it for him, and you dropped the match into Giovanni’s glass. Tom took a few puffs of the cancer stick before passing it to you, letting you take a drag.

Giovanni watched the entire time. His eyes darted between you and Tom, watching intently as you both looked at one another, as if you were communicating silently, understanding one another.

“He just came to say hello, Tom,” you said finally, letting out a breath of smoke, and Tom turned to finally grace Giovanni with his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, holding the cigarette between his index and forefinger as he looked Giovanni up and down.

“Oh, to say hello, eh?” Tom was taking up space with the way he sat, knowing exactly how to intimidate others just by the way he positioned himself. “Mate, I can’t help but notice the way you look at y/n. I think…” he leaned forward and blew a breath of smoke into Giovanni’s face, “you should have more respect for my fiancé. Because being disrespectful to my fiancé means you’re disrespecting me, and I don’t bloody care for men that don’t respect me, do you understand what I’m saying?”

Your heart tightened a bit in your chest. You didn’t need Tom to stand up for you, and he knew that, you had been doing it for months yourself. But hearing him do it anyways, it was sweet. You had yet to hear Tom tell you that he loved you, but there was no denying it now, not here.

Giovanni shifted in his seat, brushing his hair back. He nodded finally, fiddling with his fingers.

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t like that,” Giovanni assured him, his voice breaking, and Tom tilted his head to the side.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No! N-No,” Giovanni shook his head adamantly, “I meant…y/n and I, we go…we go way back. We’ve known each other a long time.”

“I see,” Tom laughed a bit, looking between you and Giovanni, his smile so sinister. Giovanni laughed with him nervously. “I see, so…because you and y/n know each other, it’s alright for you to act like a bastard, yeah?”

Your eyes glowed as you watched Tom break Giovanni down like a wall made of glass. Giovanni was scared, and you adored seeing him like this. You adored Tom, who was spitting venom in his ear, all for you. You couldn’t do much except stare at him lovingly.

“I think…you should apologize,” Tom said finally, and Giovanni gaped at Tom, blinking in disbelief. “I think your father would appreciate that, wouldn’t he, darling?”

“Mhm,” you agreed, standing up. Tom brought his hand around your waist as you took a seat in his lap, and he passed you the cigarette as you met Giovanni’s eyes. “Let’s hear it, Johnny. What do you have to say to me?”

Giovanni was proud, so proud. He had an ego even bigger than Tom’s, and he hid behind your father to throw insults at you. But here, in New York, your father wasn’t in charge anymore. What a Holland said was how it went, and there was no viable contradiction to it. Your father was not here to back up Giovanni and his unrealistic desires, and Tom was in your corner now.

I am yours, and you are mine.

Tom squeezed your hip, kissing your bare shoulder before trailing up and planting soft kisses to your neck. You smiled at Giovanni, reaching up and tangling your fingers into Tom’s curls to encourage him. Your eyes were dark and alight with contentment, and Giovanni could do nothing anymore. You were untouchable here, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to bite back at you.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he hissed through his teeth, and you blew Giovanni a kiss.

“Mmm…submissiveness suits you, Johnny,” you purred, standing up from Tom’s lap. You tapped off the cigarette as Tom stood up from his seat, straightening out his suit. “Tell daddy I said hello, and that I hope all is ready for tomorrow. Nine o’clock, right?”

Giovanni grimaced, biting back the words he was dying to say to you, but Tom was still listening, a look on his face that dared him to open his mouth. Giovanni simply nodded slowly, and you stubbed out the cigarette onto the table, tossing the ashes at him. Tom watched as you started walking away, smirking as he took a handful of your ass in one hand, following you. You let him, licking your bottom lip as he squeezed, and you grabbed onto his hand as you backed up into the wall, bringing him with you.

“Thank you,” was all you said, and Tom just pursed his lips, glaring down at you. He wasn’t angry, that wasn’t it. If he was, he would’ve gotten you both alone, in private, and he would’ve told you exactly what he wanted you to hear. This was different. He was seething, his chest rising and falling heavy, but he wasn’t angry.

“Who was that?” Tom demanded, touching under your chin. He wanted answers, clearly. You smoothed out the collar of his dress shirt, fixing it over his jacket. You sighed a bit, shaking your head.

“Nobody,” you said softly. “One of my father’s…I don’t even know what to call him. Tried to marry me off to the guy once upon a time,” you were pulled away from him abruptly as he pushed away from the wall, “wait, Tom—”

Oops.

You sat in silence in the car, sitting on opposite ends in the backseat, but this time, Tom didn’t have a hand on you. He was staring out the window, bouncing his leg, a hard look on his face as he ran a hand through his hair, fluffing the curls out of the product that kept them tidy. Tom had been acting this way all night, something itching at him, something bothering him, and it kept his head preoccupied.

“You didn’t care to tell me about that fucking tosser, eh?” Tom asked finally, his voice hard. You took a deep breath.

“Tom, honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again,” you explained, shaking your head. “I definitely didn’t think my dad was going to let him go on a trip with him, especially here, when we’re getting…married and all.”

Tom laughed a bit, “you know, y/n, I thought we were on the same page. I thought we were going to stop fucking lying to each other when the situation at hand is so fucking sensitive, that I could lose my bloody head!”

You scrunched your nose a bit as he raised his voice, and you smoothed out the skirt of your dress.

“Tom, I didn’t know,” you said again, sighing. “He surprised me just as much as he surprised you. Don’t yell at me.”

You rode in silence again, staring down at your painted nails as the car stopped and drove in the congested Midtown traffic. After a few minutes of Tom silently brooding, you were taken back when Tom reached over and grabbed both sides of your face, pulling you to him and kissing you hard. It was the same way he always touched you, always grabbed you, where his fingers slightly tangled in your hair and his palms were warm against your face and his grip was tight and firm. He pulled away shortly, licking over his bottom lip as he stared down at you. The touch of his rings cooled your face just a bit, but you still felt hot all over from his kiss.

He pulled back completely and sat straight again, resuming his previous position. He didn’t say anything or acknowledge how passionate the kiss had been, and you were grateful, because you were still recovering from it. You turned away from him, reaching up to touch your lips, and you smiled to yourself. Tom wasn’t upset with you; no. Tom was jealous.

When you looked down at your hands again, you paid attention to Tom’s diamond band, still on your ring finger. He had yet to get you an engagement ring or something of your own, but he never asked for his ring back, and you continued to wear it. Smoothing your finger over it, it was almost symbolic. You had taken it right off of Tom, but he was content in you having it and keeping it because he trusted you.

Because he loves me.

You hoped everything of his was that way. Once you took his name, you would have a whole other position to take on, a whole other empire to think about. He would give it to you, but there was no tension or fear between you because he trusted you, and you trusted him. In just a few days, you and Tom were not just business partners with benefits. You were connected to him, and he was connected to you, and nothing in your life had ever felt so seamless, so complete. It had to stay that way.

It just has to.

You turned your head to look at Tom. He was still looking out the window, but his nervous leg had stopped bouncing, and he was still, his legs spread a bit as looked at the city that belonged to him. His jaw was a bit hard, and he kept flexing and unflexing his fingers, curling them into fists and out of them. His mannerisms were calm and slow, but something was bothering him still. Perhaps the same thing that was bothering you.

From the moment you met Tom, you knew he was going to be hard to resist. You were a woman, and women had needs, of course they did. Tom was insufferable, a complete arrogant, egotistical, and excruciating pain in your ass, but God, was he beautiful and God, did he dress well. Tom exuded the money he made, he cleaned up like it, and he acted like it. You had always hated that personality in the men you met, but for Tom, he did egotistical and arrogant far more sophisticated and far subtler. He was good at being bad, he was good at being rich, and there were days when you just wanted to slam the door to his office shut and force him against it.

I mean, aren’t you marrying him?

Truthfully, you had no idea what you were doing. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head. It wasn’t the time to think about those things. You and Tom had work to do, and none of it involved ripped clothes and tangled sheets.

You’re trying to merge kingdoms, not get hot and heavy with him. Focus.

The car stopped, and Tom opened the door. He stood on the sidewalk, waiting for you, and he held out his hand for you to take. You intertwined your fingers, and Tom shut the door behind you, helping you onto the sidewalk. You looked up at your apartment building for a moment, and even though there was a chill outside, you kept Tom there, not moving from your place on the sidewalk.

Tom sighed, letting go of you for a moment to light a cigarette. He took your hand again as he put the lighter away.

“What is it, y/n? What do you have to say?” Tom asked, as if he knew there were words itching to be spoken. You swallowed a bit, stepping closer to him. You reached for the ring on your finger, taking it off and holding it up for him to look at.

“Is this…what are we doing?” You wondered, a bit breathless. “Tomorrow, we’re supposed to…get married. That was the plan, it was always the plan, but…things are different now. There’s no secrets, Tommy, that changed things.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Tom countered, and you pursed your lips.

“You’re an idiot if you think nothing’s changed, Tom,” you argued. “I just…I just want the truth, Tom. That’s all.” You met his eyes, shaking your head. “I just want to know that…even if being married to me isn’t what you want, that…that you’ll still have my back.”

Tom let out a slow breath of smoke, away from you, before taking the ring out of your hands and putting it back onto his own finger. Your face softened a bit, and you swallowed hard, trying to fight down the feeling crawling up inside you.

No, no, no.

Tom reached into his suit jacket, pulling something out of one of the pockets. You looked down as he opened his palm, and you let out a shaky breath as you saw it. There, in his hand, was a thin solid gold band with a single rectangular diamond. He took your left hand in his, dropping the cigarette and stubbing it out before slipping the band onto your ring finger. You had nothing to say as he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles before intertwining your fingers again and tugging you towards the building.

The silence told you enough. Tom had always planned on going through with it, and even though neither of you were sure about the future, you were sure about each other. Tomorrow night, you would marry him, and he would marry you, and even though both of you would be pretending, the vows would be real.

The beginning would be true.

You punched in the code for your door and used the key to unlock it, opening it. Tom held it open as he came in after you, and Tom shut the door as he backed you up against it, resting both of his forearms on either side of your head. You swallowed hard as you met his eyes, barely able to see him with the lack of lights on. The moonlight peeked in through the windows, but it was only enough to see half of his face.

“Tom,” you said finally, “what are you—”

He captured your breath in a kiss, pressing you up against the door. You dropped your purse onto the floor, hearing it clatter as you wrapped your arms around Tom’s neck, pulling him closer to you. He nipped at your bottom lip, enough that you let out a little laugh. All the tension in your body rose as one of Tom’s hands left the door and came up your neck, wrapping around your throat, gripping it firmly.

Oh, you have me, Tommy. I’m all yours.

You swallowed again, something dry, as Tom’s thumb trailed along the length of your jaw and up, tracing the outline of your lips. His touch was soft and hot, and his eyes were watching your reaction. You didn’t move, not at all, not until his thumb went into your mouth and you could wrap your lips around it, your eyes going up to meet his again.

“I’ve seen a lot of things tonight I wish I hadn’t, y/n,” Tom said lowly, chuckling darkly. “And you with that bastard was one of them.”

So jealous.

You gasped a bit as his grip on your throat tightened, forcing you back into the door, his wet thumb rubbing along your chin now.

So possessive.

“Bloody disrespectful that was,” Tom’s lip twitched angrily, and his eyes were so dark, you couldn’t see anything in them. “But you know what pushed me over the fuckin’ edge tonight, darling, eh? You know what it was?”

All mine.

When you didn’t answer, Tom shoved you into the door, your head hitting it a bit hard, and you grunted a bit, letting out a few heavy breaths. You were shivering all over from his touch, thinking about the last time you were underneath him. This time, just his fingers wouldn’t be enough, you knew that much.

“It was you, y/n,” Tom breathed, shaking his head. “You, thinking that I didn’t want you as my fucking queen. And it got me thinking, love.”

You let out a harsh breath as he shoved his knee between your legs, his thigh just ghosting the place you needed him the most. If you weren’t wet before, you were drenched now, hot all over, and completely shivering. Finally, Tom Holland had you at his mercy. He was enjoying every second of it.

Every curve, every dimple, every piece, it’s mine.

“It got me thinking that perhaps you don’t bloody understand what you mean to me,” Tom murmured, licking his lips. “But you will, darling. You’ll understand. I’ll make sure that you understand.”

You cried out in surprise as Tom gripped you by the waist and turned you around, pressing you up against the door again. Your cheek rested against it as he pressed his hips into your backside, dipping his head to the crook of your neck as you felt him, hard and strained against the zipper of his trousers, all for you. Tom kissed under your ear softly, his breath warm as he dragged his tongue up the length of your ear and kissed the edge of your earlobe.

“You’re a princess today, y/n,” he growled. “And tomorrow, I’m gonna make you a bloody queen.”

With everyone on their knees for you.

You were rendered speechless. Tom was whispering in your ear, his hands were falling down your sides, and you were completely, utterly useless. You whimpered as he gripped the hem of your dress and hiked it up, his hand cupping one side of your ass generously, squeezing. He almost moaned himself seeing the holster strapped around your thighs, your gun nice and snug against your leg.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Tom chuckled. “Look at you, darling…” You leaned your head back against his chest as you felt his fingers tug at the lace of your panties, moving between your legs before he touched between your thighs. He whistled a bit, lowly, “shit, baby, you’re bloody soaked…”

That was an understatement. Your panties were ruined.

“God, Tom—”

“You’ve wanted this,” he observed, gripping the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your thighs. “You’ve wanted me, sweetheart, but you never said a word. You don’t have to hide anymore, y/n. If I’m going to be your husband, you’ve got to be honest with me, eh?”

You couldn’t concentrate as his hands moved between your thighs, and you cried out a bit as he spanked you firmly. Your head was spinning, all you could think about was the ache between your legs and how hot your whole body felt. You knew you were dripping when Tom grasped the handle of the gun, pulling it out of its place and unbuckling the holster so it fell onto the floor. The metal was so cool and hard against your skin, and you froze as he released the magazine from it, the bullets scattered across the floor now. He dropped the gun, and it clattered onto the floor.

God, he’s going to make me come, and he’s barely touched me.

“Answer me, y/n. You’re going to be more honest with me about what you want, yeah?” Tom demanded. “If my wife is bloody needy,” you groaned as he tangled his hand into your hair, forcing your head back again, “if my queen wants something from me,” you sighed with relief as he kissed your neck, “I expect her to say so.”

My wife.

“Yes, Tommy,” you cooed, and you felt him smile against the skin of your neck.

“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear, and you had to bite back a moan. You felt so submissive, so out of your element, but you had never adored the praise more than right now. This was the attractive, hot, kingpin that the city was afraid of, and he was calling you his good girl, his princess, his queen, and you didn’t realize how much you loved being worshipped until right now. You didn’t realize how much you needed someone to take care of you.

You closed your eyes as Tom started to kiss over the back of your neck, one hand sliding up your waist again as the other toyed with your clit, circling it gently just to keep you occupied as he felt up the body he loved more than any other. He had his eyes closed, and he was trying to memorize the curves of your skin, how often your breath skipped as he touched you, how warm you were. You smiled a bit as he fingered the zipper of your dress.

“Go ahead, Tommy,” you said softly. “I want you to.”

Good girl.

Tom unzipped the back of your dress, his knuckles dragging along your spine as he did. His touch was electric, each time his skin met yours was like a bolt of warmth that cascaded all down your back. You closed your eyes again as he began to kiss down your back, butterfly kisses trailing from the back of your neck to between your shoulder blades to the base of your spine, a trickle effect of shivers moving through you. Tom got down onto his knees behind you, and you groaned a bit as he bent you at the hip a bit. He put both hands on your ass, kissing the skin there, biting even.

“You couldn’t get any more beautiful,” he said lowly, and you let out a soft whimper as you felt his curls tickle your skin. It wasn’t long before your knees began to give out, an involuntary response as Tom dipped his head between your legs, his tongue poking out from between those wet lips to slip inside you.

“God, Tom—” You gasped, holding onto the wall for support. Tom put one hand on your hip to steady you and used the other to touch you teasingly. He started out slow, lapping through your folds, humming as he collected the sticky, sweet wetness onto the surface of his tongue, swallowing before delving in for more. With two other fingers, he massaged your bud lovingly, coaxing the most beautiful moans out of you. Tom was smirking like a bastard when he noticed your knees were shaking a bit, your body trembling as you gave into the sensation. “Tommy—”

“Mmm…you’ve got such a sweet cunt, darling,” he murmured, kissing your thighs, his voice a bit muffled against your skin. “Bloody wonderful.”

You leaned your head back, one hand leaving the wall to grab at his stiff curls, pulling on them hard. Tom chuckled a bit, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue moving in rhythm as he slipped two fingers inside of you, stretching you nicely, making your eyes roll back in your head as you rocked your hips a bit, feeling a sweet knot forming in your belly.

“Mm, princess, you’re so bloody tight, yeah?” Tom breathed, pulling away to catch his breath. “You’re close, eh?”

“Tom, Jesus!” You squealed, forcing his head back between your legs. “Don’t stop, what’s w-wrong with you?”

Tom didn’t stop. He stood up from his knees, grabbing you from the waist and hoisting you up into his arms. You held onto his neck as he carried you into the bedroom, setting you down on the bed as he shed his suit jacket and kicked his shoes off. You stopped him from moving too fast, slipping your heels off before sitting up on your knees on the bed, tugging Tom to you by the fabric of his shirt, meeting his eyes as you slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt.

Tom undid the clasp of his watch, tossing it onto the floor on top of his jacket. He undid his cufflinks as you finished undoing the buttons of his shirt, and you slid the fabric off his shoulders, revealing his muscular torso. You couldn’t see much in the dark, but your fingers ghosted over flexed muscle and soft skin, and you let out a breath as you scratched down his stomach. Tom was a sight for sore eyes, and despite the scars and marks that you could feel, his skin was the most kissable surface you had ever seen.

“It’s alright, love,” a gentle noise escaped you as Tom gripped your chin hard with one hand, the other unbuckling his belt and working on his trousers. “I know…it’s hard to fathom how fit your husband is, isn’t it?”

“You’re not my husband,” you said defiantly, and Tom clicked his tongue.

“After tonight, m’love, you’ll never need anyone but me.”

“Bite me, Tom.”

“With pleasure.”

You heard the fabric of your dress tear as he pushed it off your shoulders roughly, grabbing the hem of it and shimmying it down your hips. He forced you onto your back so he could pull it off and toss it behind him, and Tom grinned as he looked down at you, scooting back on the bed as you kicked your panties off your ankle. There you were, like an angel sparkling in moonlight, all bare for him to admire.

All fucking mine.

He caged himself over you, getting on top of you, and you cupped his cheeks, kissing him warmly as you both settled back against the pillows. Despite how dominating Tom could be, this was gentle, this was sweet, and there was no rushing now. Tom brought you up to sit, rolling over until you were straddling his waist, his back against the headboard as you both kissed warmly, your thighs still shaking and damp from Tom’s unbelievable mouth. It wasn’t long before your fingers were threading through his curls again as you grinded down on his lap, chasing your high even though Tom had yet to remove his boxers.

He wasn’t stopping you. Both of his hands were on your bare back, his palms pressing you close as you moved your hips, both of your mouths still focused on each other, kissing, biting, breathing. You were chasing a high that Tom had denied you, not caring how desperate you looked as you leaned your head back and moved.

Your moan was feverish and shaky as you came, falling onto his chest for support as your hips slowed their pace. Tom gripped you by the hair and flipped you both over, getting on top, and you reached down between your grinding bodies to feel the front of his boxers, feeling how damp and sticky they were.

“Mmm, did you make a mess, baby?” You teased, and Tom pulled at your hair roughly, and you smiled at that, to his delight.

“Aye, you bloody adore that thought, eh? Getting me off without so much as fucking touchin’ me,” he chuckled a bit, and you hummed as he grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his waist securely. You held onto him as you felt the tip of him against your thigh, warm, wet, aching to be touched. You stared right into his eyes as you lowered your hand, finding his cock and wrapping your nimble fingers around him, your lips parting as you felt him for the very first time.

Tom gripped one side of your face hard as you stroked him, your fingers exploring the parts of him you had been deprived of for too long. Tom was lengthy, hard, and throbbing, and he thought you were being cruel with how slowly and tenderly you were touching him.

“Look at me,” you breathed, and he grunted as he met your eyes again, licking his lips as you slowed your fingers around him. You leaned forward, giving him a kiss beside the mouth before kissing him firmly, hotly, sloppily. “I’m going to make you unstoppable, Tommy. I know what you want, baby, and I’m going to give it to you. You want the world, Tom, and I swear…it’s yours.”

As if I’m not already fucking hard for her.

You couldn’t remember how long you kissed for, but your lips were swollen, red, aching by the time Tom gripped your hips and pushed into you. You arched your back at the feeling, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but that didn’t stop Tom from sinking into you slowly, not stopping until your hips touched. You clawed at his back, your nails digging in hard. Tom didn’t move, but you could feel him pulsing, aching, dying to do something, anything.

“And I,” Tom sucked at the skin at the edge of your jaw, taking the skin between his teeth as he kissed to nibble and bite, “I’m going to give you the fucking power you deserve, princess.”

What I deserve.

You moaned in his ear as he finally lifted his hips, grunting as he pressed his body as close to yours as possible, the tip of his cock grazing somewhere inside of you that had you crying out in pleasure. Tom grabbed your face again, holding it tight as he moved his hips against yours, watching as your mouth gaped open wider and wider as he found his rhythm.

“Everyone is going to know your name, y/n,” Tom growled, rutting his hips up into yours, his breath faltering when he could feel you tightening up around him. “You’re going to be a fucking Holland, aren’t you, love?”

“Yes!” You gasped, dragging your nails down his back.

“Say it,” Tom gripped you by the throat this time, forcing your eyes on his as he quickened his hips, starting to lose control. “Fuckin’ say it.”

Mine.

“I’m a—” You moaned loudly as he dug his fingers into your hips, a forceful grip that had you shaking all over. Tom was relentless in his drive to get you seeing stars, and the tip of his cock was hitting the same sweet, aching spot over and over again inside of you. Once he found it, he didn’t stop searching for it, his focus solely on making those sweet eyes of yours milky and white with pleasure.

“Say it, princess,” Tom demanded, becoming breathless and hot as he moved on top of you. There was sweat lining his forehead, and your nails dragging along his back had become clammy with the sweat dripping down the length of his spine.

“I’m a Holland!” You cried out, biting down on his shoulder, and Tom slowed his pace a bit, picking you up until you were upright with him. You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, leaning your forehead against his as you both moved as one, your hips meeting deliciously, getting faster and sloppier every second you both held onto to one another. Tom was hitting deep inside of you, and you needed to feel more, you had to feel everything, because it had been so long since you had felt anything.

All mine.

Tom smoothed his hand up and down your back, your panting breaths mingling as the pace quickened again, the knot in your stomach building up sweetly and intensely. Tom was fucking you raw, and you were loving every single moment of it.

“I need you, Tommy,” you breathed, and he nodded in response, not stopping the quick thrusts he had built up so well.

“I know,” he whispered, pulling at your sweaty hair, hugging your chest close to his. Skin on skin, the only sounds being Tom’s cock moving between you and your sweet breathless moans as you held onto him. “Be a good girl for me, y/n.”

You whimpered as he said it again.

Good girl.

It was a command you couldn’t help but obey. For so long, you had tried so hard to be anything but good. Good never got you anywhere, and no one cared about good girls, no one in this business listened to good girls. They ignored good girls, tossed aside good girls, killed good girls.

But here, now, in this bedroom, Tom needed you to be good, and it wasn’t because he wanted to toss you aside, it was because he needed you to be good to give you whatever you wanted. Tom didn’t need you to be good for anyone else except for him.

Your whole body froze as you came around his hard length, your hips stilling and your voice faltering as your vision turned a bit blurry for a moment. Everything was so silent and pleasurable for just a few moments, Tom’s hips slowing their pace but not stopping as he reached his own high. You gasped a bit as you felt him, filling you up and almost making you collapse. It was almost like a second high, feeling him like that, and Tom had to hold you upright as you tried to swallow down all the wonderful feelings inside of you.

You both panted hard, sweaty and exhausted, but neither of you wanted to move. Tom’s cock had softened, but you stopped him as he tried to pull out.

“Just a minute,” you breathed, closing you eyes. “Just…wait.”

The truth was that you had never felt more vulnerable or closer to anyone than this moment. You wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible. Tom nipped at your neck as you relaxed in his lap, and you let out slight gasps as he moved every once in a while. Finally, slowly, you urged him to pull out, and Tom was quick to collect everything dripping onto your thighs and slip those fingers into your mouth, watching you hungrily.

“You’re mine, y/n,” Tom said finally, brushing the hair out of your eyes. You looked down at him, perched on his lap, and you nodded slowly. “Your father is going to have to pry you out of my dead bloody hands to get to you, yeah?”

“Don’t say things like that,” you whispered, shaking your head. “The only way we get out of this, Tommy, is together.”

“You and I, love,” Tom echoed, his forehead against yours again. He left a chaste kiss on your lips. “My ride or die.”

“Two sides of the same coin,” you cooed, and Tom leaned in close enough to kiss you again.

“One and the same,” you both said at the same time, smiling wide at one another, so enamored with each other that it was frightening.

You tried to remember how Tom looked like this. His handsome features only lit by moonlight, the sweat along his brows, the smile ghosting his swollen lips. Tom was pretty in this light, almost gentle, and you adored being able to see him like this. No one else would ever be able to admire him in this light, and you didn’t care if it was selfish. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, and you tried so hard to swallow the fear in your throat. Tom couldn’t know how nervous you were, how scared you were. You had to show him that you were capable of doing this for him, that you had it in you to sit on thrones that weren’t made for you and to take on challenges that were never designed for you to succeed. You had to be better. You had to be more.

You need to be you.

Tomorrow would be the first chapter in a book you had never planned on writing. For so long, you were sure about where you were supposed to stand, but now you were struggling where to even put your feet as every step felt shakier than the last. Looking into Tom’s dark eyes, you were certain that this was the calm before the storm. Time and time again, your father proved he couldn’t be trusted, and there was something inside you that knew even the things he told you must’ve been a lie.

“He will never learn until it’s too late, and by then, nothing will be able to save him.”

Your father would only see through you. He would never be able to see you for what you were. You would have to take everything from him because you were certain that he would never give you what you were promised. You would have to take it, and you were relying on Tom to be there to catch you when you did.

“It’s you, and it will always be you, and I hope he dies knowing it.”

This had to be the beginning, your beginning. It couldn’t be anything else. This love, this happiness, it all had to be for a reason, and the right reasons. You had fought so hard to get here, to finally feel in control, and finally, someone was looking at you. Tom was looking at you, and he was in love with you, and you needed to protect it from the world that you were never meant for. You knew it would do anything to tear it away from you, to make you believe that you weren’t worthy of it all, but you had to be better. You couldn’t let this be anything more than the start. It couldn’t be the beginning of anything else. Not the beginning of losing, not the beginning of being alone, not the beginning of the end.

It has to be the beginning of me.

read chapter nine

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chaos-in-the-making · 3 years

Note

If Sesshomaru knew the outcome of everything, do you think he wouldn’t have married Rin? This is a hard question to ask 😭

Part of me says he wouldn’t change things because he wouldn’t want to take Rin’s choice away. She loves their daughters (as does he) so even with the rough situation now, he wouldn’t want to take them from her life.

Another part says he doesn’t want to ever see her suffer, especially because of his choices/enemies.

Oh friend. I don't think you meant to unlock my Parent Feelings, but you totally did. I'm gonna get way deeper into this than you actually asked for, so I hope that's ok!

Hindsight is always 20/20. When you go through something bad or horrible in your life, you can't help but ask "if I had known then, would I make a different choice?" Ans that is such a HARD question, because you are weighing your suffering and trauma against the person that you were at the time you made the decision. The question is, do you REGRET that decision?

When you have the privilege of family planning, and things didn't just happen by accident, you weigh the pros and cons of having children. And by that I mean the risks. The BIGGEST risk factor that Sesshoumaru had to face was Rin dying in childbirth, knowing he can't bring her back, and knowing he can't prevent it from happening. That was probably his biggest fear throughout the entire pregnancy. The cost of Rin's life. So how the HELL did she convince him to be ok with it?? I would say I would like to be a fly on that wall, but I don't think my heart could handle it. Rin would not only have to be ok with trading her life for any child, but also make HIM ok with it as well. How anxious was he when she went into labor? How relieved was he when he walked into the house and she greeted him with health and joy? Just because he doesn't show his emotions doesn't mean he doesn't feel them.

I think if Rin had died he would have regretted his decision. It certainly would have been a regret of his for the rest of his life. But does he regret having children with her and having a family even if it is brief to his lifetime? If the babies survive, and even if Rin doesn't, would he regret having a piece of her to watch over and care for in her stead? Even when Rin grows old and he has the grief of burying her, he could still look forward to the years spent with their children, and maybe grandchildren in the future.

There is so much grief, but also the potential for so much JOY. It's impossible to make that decision for a fictional character, but I think that Rin is the voice that finally convinces him that it is worth it. Oh boy, is it worth it.

As a person who has always wanted to have my own biological children, carry them and suffer through labor just to hold them in my arms, to me it was worth ALL the risks. I'm not even being metaphorical, my son was an emergency c section, I COULD HAVE DIED. I think Rin facing her own mortality for the chance of sharing this wonderful moment with Sesshoumaru, the man she loves with her whole heart, was worth the risk. And it's funny, because it's the same risk that all mortals have, it just FEELS heavier bc he is an immortal being and also has the ability to bring people back to life, but only once. The risk feels so much heavier. And it makes me think of all the child bearing people who have some sort of high risk factor, like a bleeding disorder, and STILL choose to carry, even though they know they are risking their lives.

That takes so much LOVE. Those twins were LOVED and WANTED. Oh my god, I am making myself cry.

But then knowing how the twins lives would be affected bc of his decision, that's another regret. He knew their lives would be hard. He knew they would struggle. And he knew he wouldn't always be there to protect them, so he had to give them the tools to protect themselves, and that takes hard love.

I ask myself, if I had known about my BRCA genetic mutation when I was younger, would it have stopped me from having children? My kids have a 50% chance of inheriting this gene from me, and it raises their risks of breast and ovarian cancer. Prostate for my son. Is that a high enough risk to NOT want to pass on to my kids? And the truth it, I don't know. This is a risk that my kids will have to face when they are ready to start a family. But with the medical advances being what they are, I would very likely have chosen to take the risk, and trust that medical treatment would be more helpful for them in the future. And that's just one example, it's not even the worst kind of genetic mutation. My mother had the gene, and she has not developed any cancer yet.

Do I regret having children? Absolutely not, I have always wanted to be a mother. Would Sesshoumaru regret marrying Rin and having a family?

I think he would regret the years of loneliness without her even more.

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night-filled-mountain · 4 years

Text

Out of nowhere and apropos of nothing, a rambling incoherent list of things about Nott and Nott-and-Caleb that give me Feelings.

On Veth Brenatto/Nott the Brave:

Nott’s entire life is all about seeing/presenting herself as less than she is.

She was bullied as a child, by her brothers and the neighborhood boys.

Then she was a contented housewife and mother, but always saw herself as second to Yeza--a support figure, depending on him, learning from him, not even necessarily deserving of his love.

“Not pretty and not brave and not coordinated and not smart and just...not.”

“He didn’t mind my strangeness...He was a brilliant chemist. I helped him and he took care of me.”

(When she reunites with Yeza, she undermines her ‘dabblings’ in alchemy in comparison to his apparent brilliance.) (Yeza himself disagrees.)

When she does acknowledge her strengths, she also acknowledges their origins, and they are either very sad (“I’ve been chased a lot in my life by boys making fun of me. I’m pretty fast.”) or serve to highlight someone else’s assistance and forethought (“a vial of acid that Yeza handed me”).

The transformation she was forced to undergo was a curse straight out of a fairy tale. It made her what she thought she was, and forced her to appreciate what she had been, but it was too late. (“But you’re so pretty!” / “I was.”)

But her whole life is about other people turning her into things, isn’t it? The bullies made her a victim, Yeza made her a wife/mother/alchemist’s assistant, and the goblins and their mystery woman made her a monster.

She was someone beautiful who could not see her beauty, someone wildly unique and “strange” who could not embrace her strangeness and flaunt it without apology...

...Until she was turned into a goblin.

Being a goblin has been so weirdly freeing for Nott. She felt that she had hit rock bottom, and in many ways, she just...let go. No more struggling to fit into social norms. No more squeezing into boxes of other people’s making. The Nott we know has always fought and shrieked, drunk to excess, stolen anything she admired, openly shared all her most outrageous suggestions, shown off her weird collections without shame.

I’m not saying all of this is healthy! Some of it is clearly coping mechanisms, and dangerous ones at that. And Sam has stated that he sees some of her excesses as being related to her goblin physiology, which emphasizes once again that this role, like all of Nott/Veth’s previous roles, is one that was forced on her. But. But.

So much of it (I would even say that “all of it” is a valid interpretation) is really just...Veth. Just Veth dialed up to eleven, without the constraints. Is she embodying a stereotypical view of goblins, or is she just letting herself be angry, messy, hedonistic, and weird for the first time in a short, sad life in which other people made her smaller than she was until she learned to do the same thing to herself?

Nott wants her true body back. She wants to be a halfling again. But she is not at all sure she wants to “go back.” To Felderwin. To her old life with the husband and son she loves. Of course she isn’t sure.

Because she’s grown so much bigger than that. Bigger and stronger and louder and messier than anything she used to be. Bigger than all the boxes she used to occupy. Bigger than anything Yeza or Luc can quite understand, because they weren’t there by her side, watching it happen.

On Nott and Caleb:

Nott defines herself by the people around her. She always has.

She met Caleb in that jail cell, saw him as small and weak and needy, and jumped at the chance to occupy a familiar role again: mother.

...Except that it was never that simple. That’s the piece that, for me, was missing from their relationship for so long. The piece that fell into place when Nott’s (former?) crush on Caleb was revealed, and made it all fit together. It was never that simple.

She wanted something from him. Veth never seems to have dared to want things from the people around her--she lived to serve her loved ones, to help and protect them. But Caleb? She wanted his magic. She wanted him to help her. And she didn’t tell him, not for the longest time. Call it ruthless, call it manipulative, or just call it a very understandable cocktail of hope and panic and shame--but it was her goal, her desire, and it meant that no matter how much she cared for Caleb and protected him, their relationship was never All About Him. She was playing her own angle the whole time. And also...

She was attracted to him. This was a fact that she absolutely could not acknowledge, because it was transgressive in so many ways. Extramarital attraction. A hideous, monstrous goblin attracted to a “handsome” human. A lifelong sidekick/helpmate/bit player in her own life daring to want a “great wizard” not only for his magic (that, at least, was permissible, because it could return her to her proper place, to her home and family; it could restore the status quo), but for his body, mind, and soul. She looked at him in that cell, in the moonlight streaming through the bars, and she wanted. And gods know it wasn’t because he ever invited her to.

(Though he didn’t scorn the idea either. I keep thinking about the scene with Keg in Shadycreek Run where she mistook them for a romantic couple and Caleb defiantly rolled with it. I even think about that early episode where Liam inadvertently used a German term of endearment for her that had romantic connotations. And the way they always slept cuddled together, and she rode on his shoulders, and they have always, always celebrated every aspect of each other--body, mind, and soul.)

But the point is that Nott’s relationship with Caleb is not one that he defined. She was always the stronger of the two; she called the shots. It was she who chose to be his “mother,” and the twin secret desires that burned deep down in her heart were entirely her own.)

On Nott and character development (ok, I just wanted to break up the bullet points a little, because goodness, this has gotten long):

...And she fundamentally did not know how to handle that. So she kept those desires buried, kept them secret. She tried to move back into her comfort zone, letting others define her and her relationships, going along with their assumptions without protest.

It is fascinating to me that the other players and characters and the viewers spent much of the campaign assuming Nott was a child. And she just...let it happen.

“I’m of child-bearing age,” she said when Jester asked, but even then, some of us (myself included, I confess!) just mentally aged her up to a rebellious teen.

To a man who she regarded simultaneously as a son, a love interest, and a tool for her own redemption, she was seen as a daughter or a little sister...and she went along with it in so many ways. It’s the lie she embodied from the first moment Sam introduced her, and referred to her as “a little goblin girl.”

Nott has always made herself lesser than she is...or let other people do so. She is so used to being diminished and self-diminishing, so leery of her own messy desires, that she would not even insist on her own adulthood until...until.

Nott’s heroic moments--the moments when she fully unleashes her own courage and strength and anger--are always the moments when her loved ones are in danger. She is the classic self-sacrificing wife/mother figure, whose self-dimmed light only shines out when others need it to.

Like when she fought the goblins and helped Yeza and Luc escape.

Like when Fjord threatened Caleb, and the others were all turning on him, and she needed to assert her own right and ability to protect him. (“But I am the parent, you do realize that, don’t you?”)

Like when she led the lizardfolk away from the others on Urukaxl. Like all the times she dove into the water for Fjord. Like when she didn’t disengage from the dragon.

“Nott the Brave” has so many layers--an ironic, self-mocking epithet, a badge of honor, and a promise to be brave for others. Only for others.

Because then it’s not really her bravery, is it? It’s borrowed from her loved ones. She is a coward who is occasionally made into something else by the brighter, stronger, worthier people she surrounds herself with.

“Self-diminishing” and “being defined by others” are the absolute fundamental cornerstones of Nott’s character. And this is both reinforced and very much complicated by her recent status as a goblin and her relationship with Caleb. (...You know how sometimes you don’t figure out your thesis statement until halfway through the essay?)

On Nott and Caleb, part 2:

The M9′s trip to Felderwin changed everything--everything--for her and for him and for the two of them. It was one of the most staggering turning points of the entire campaign.

I’ve written about this before. How one of the central “Will they or won’t they?”s of the campaign was about Caleb and Nott deciding to trust the group, and that was the point where it was resolved...

...and how, in trusting the group, they sacrificed their codependence to a large degree. How Nott’s infamous “Fuck him!” was less about anger, in the long run, than about taking her best friend off the pedestal she’d put him on, about acknowledging his fallibility, and being comfortable openly disagreeing with him.

It was about Nott becoming her own person, and Caleb learning to see her as her own person, and not just his “little friend” or protector.

But. But. It still followed the pattern.

It was about Yeza and Luc. It was about her family. It was the greatest disaster that had befallen her loved ones since the goblin abduction, and her reaction was correspondingly big.

Of course she could be brave. Of course she could be angry and assertive. Of course she could, for once, discount the feelings of her beloved wizard. Because her husband and son were in danger.

When will Nott get to be brave on her own behalf? To be angry on her own behalf? To want, want, want something, something ever so much bigger than a button, openly, unashamedly, on her own behalf?

And I think I might know the answer to that question: When she openly acknowledges something that she has already hinted at, danced around, in conversations with Caleb here and there.

“I ditched my husband in a den of monsters to go adventuring with you.”

She said this to Caleb while they were riding a moorbounder together in Xhorhas, and something about it has resonated hard with me ever since.

That conversation--and the other couple of conversations Nott has had with Caleb that deal with her own conflicting desires--felt strangely like a failure. Like Caleb was sincerely doing his best to help her, but wasn’t quite getting what she was putting down.

He doesn’t know how to stop her drinking, her constant anxiety. How to soothe her fears about the future. He doesn’t know what she needs.

Is it reassurance of her family’s love? That’s been offered to her repeatedly, by Yeza, by Luc, by Caleb himself, but it’s never had much of an effect on her darker moods.

Is it her own body back? That would help a lot, for sure. Like every other member of the Mighty Nein, she’s on a journey to find herself. She thought, initially, that it was purely a journey to find something she’d lost. Caleb and the rest of the M9 think so too, I think. But there’s more to it than that.

What Nott Really Needs:

“I think you have to find those answers,” Caleb said to Nott as she expressed her ambivalence about returning home and resuming her housewife role. “Can’t you just tell me?” she pleaded.

That’s it right there, that’s the crux of her journey. And it isn’t just a journey back to a body or a family or a life she lost--it’s a journey to something entirely new. Nott craves the familiar, the safe, the known; she keeps trying to make herself small and unimportant again, to convince others to define her. But they can’t. She is too much, too big, too weird and messy and wonderful, for anyone else to squeeze her into a box anymore (she always was; she just didn’t realize it). And Caleb is the one to tell her that.

“I ditched my husband in a den of monsters to go adventuring with you.”

“I love you,” she told him on the beach of Nicodranas, and sure, she meant it platonically (probably) (mostly), but it was more than friendship, more even than romance. She loves what he represents. And--the one thing she can never, ever, ever acknowledge, because it is completely antithetical to her journey as she currently sees it--a part of her loves who she has become while traveling and fighting by his side.

“These days I’ve spent with you are the most exciting of my entire life.” That’s something Fjord said to Caleb once. And I’ve posted before about how eerily similar Fjord and Nott’s journeys are.

They both had rocky childhoods marred by bullying and badly bruised self-confidence, then embarked on simple, well-defined lives/careers in which they felt utterly content...and then they both literally drowned, both lost their friends/family/life roles in the process, and both got transformed into something “dark” and “ugly” that they couldn’t come back from.

And the clincher? The thing Fjord was able to admit to himself and others, but that Nott carried around like a deep, dark secret and is still struggling hard with to this day?

They both fell in love with their new lives and roles in spite of themselves.

Yes, Fjord renounced Uk’otoa in favor of the Wildmother...but he still retains his warlock powers. Yes, Nott wants to, can, and probably will be turned back into a halfling--but she will never again be a person who was not a goblin.

She does not want to be a person who was not a goblin.

She wants Caleb, and all he represents. She wants adventure and excitement. She wants to be strong and brave and important, not only to protect her loved ones, but because those things bring her fulfillment. Because they have shaped her self-image in new ways that she cannot discard.

The duality of her names reflects this perfectly. She always uses “Veth” around Yeza and Luc, and wants them to use it for her, but with the M9, she’s still “Nott the Brave”-- or is it “Nott, the Brave”?

Caleb uses both names for her.

Caleb. Uses. Both. Names. For her.

Nott needs to be herself. It’s what all the members of the Mighty Nein need, really--this is a campaign about identity, as Matt has said--but I think it’s coming harder to Nott than any of the others, and that’s why I’ve had such a hell of a time pinning her down as a character...because she has had a hell of a time doing that, too!

Because she can’t acknowledge what may be the greatest possible shame for a stereotypical girl, wife, mother, or monster...

Wanting to be herself. Wanting things simply because she wants them. Wanting to be someone you can’t pin down, either literally (in a cozy little cottage in Felderwin) or figuratively (in any of the aforementioned roles).

Nott wants to define herself. But she doesn’t quite know she wants it. And she doesn’t know how to do it. But part of her definitely sees that getting her body back, while essential, is not enough.

And so she panics and drinks and goes into existential tailspins because no one else will give her the answers. Caleb has come closest, in telling her to seek them for herself...but Caleb has his own baggage, and can’t quite let go of his great ideal of Family, of Going Home Again. Of turning back the clock and erasing the dark corners of one’s past.

So he sees Nott’s happy ending as husband and son, hearth and home. And it isn’t enough. It’s as tidy and false and messy and comfortless as his time-travel fantasies. And that’s where their stories ultimately intertwine...their desires at cross-purposes, their solutions at odds. Nott longing for something that Caleb is giving her (adventure, excitement, a purpose, the privilege to bear both her names and faces and diminish neither, to be fully herself for the first time in her life). Caleb wants something that was taken from both of them. Neither of them yet fully understands that you can’t go back, that the only direction is forward. Into greater messiness, greater complexity, greater understanding of themselves and the things they can accomplish, alone and together.

But they’re getting there. They’re both getting there. And I absolutely cannot wait to see where their stories lead.

#critical role #nott the brave #veth brenatto #caleb widogast #fjord #widobrave #in another world maybe #nott #veth #caleb #long post #incredibly unbelievably long post #what have i done

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milkybonya · 4 years

Text

running away means coming back

Anon: Moonbin x reader where reader is Jinjin’s younger sibling. Reader and Moonbin were dating behind Jinjin’s back, and when Jinjin finds out, he doesn’t approve of them so Moonbin and reader run away until years later when they return and Jinjin isn’t mad anymore.

*i slightly changed this request in order to make it gender neutral :)

Warnings: verbal fighting, a lil angsty at times, mentions of death and food

Word count: 2.7k

In your bedroom, you quickly reach for your phone since you heard it vibrate. Noticing Moonbin’s name on the screen, you sprawl out on your bed and hurriedly open the message.

i’m coming over today ! with the rest of the boys so they can keep Jinwoo distracted ;)

You hear a knock on the door, so you quickly toss your phone away before Jinjin steps into your room.

“Hey, [y/n], my friends are coming over today so don’t be too annoying, okay?” he says, a serious look on his face. You know he’s joking, though.

“I know!” you say, burying your head in your pillow.

“You knew that my friends were coming or you knew to not be annoying?” Jinjin asks, teasing you.

You groan in response.

“Anyway, just thought I should let you know,” he says, closing your door behind him as he leaves.

An hour later, the doorbell rings, and you jump out of bed but immediately stop yourself. If you run to the front door now, Jinjin will definitely get suspicious. You’ve been dating his friend, Moonbin, in secret for a few months now. Jinjin will definitely not approve, so you’ve had to hide it.

You tap your feet, trying so hard to hold back from rushing to see your boyfriend.

You text Moonbin:

Binnie, when will I be able to see you T-T will u come to my room?

i can’t come there right away, or else Jinwoo will know :(( i’ll be there soon, my dear, just wait <3

You can hear the boys entering the living room. Their shouts and yells echo through the house. To keep yourself distracted, you put on some earphones and watch something on your phone instead.

Downstairs, Moonbin is ready to execute his plan.

“I’m just going to go to the washroom, okay?” Moonbin says, getting up from the couch.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinjin says, focused on the game he’s playing with Sanha.

Moonbin quietly runs upstairs and Jinjin is too distracted to ask him why he isn’t using the washroom downstairs.

Your earphones are so loud that you don’t hear Moonbin knock, so he quietly enters your room anyway. You don’t notice his presence until he leans down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m here!” he whispers, grinning and stretching out his arms.

You pull out your earphones and smile back at him, pulling him into a hug.

“You don’t even understand how much I missed you. Jinwoo is so overprotective and I’m so bad at lying, so every time we try to meet up outside he asks me who I’m meeting and I can’t say it’s you but I also can’t lie-”

Moonbin presses his lips against yours.

“It’s okay,” he says after he pulls away, pressing his forehead against yours. He gently strokes your hair.

“I’m just glad to see you. What have you been up to these days?” Moonbin gets up from the chair that he was sitting on to sit next to you on the bed. He tightly holds your hand as you begin to speak.

Downstairs, Jinjin beat Sanha in the game they were playing. He pumps his fist in the air, yelling happily.

“You cheated!” Sanha says, hitting Jinjin with a pillow.

“You were the one who was cheating and I still won!” Jinjin says, also hitting Sanha with a pillow.

After they calm down, Jinjin notices that someone is missing.

“Where did Moonbin go?” he asks.

The rest of the boys try to hide their panicked faces. They’re aware of the fact that you’re dating Moonbin, so they know that he went upstairs to see you.

“The washroom, remember?” MJ says.

“It’s been fifteen minutes, is he constipated or something?” Jinjin laughs. “Maybe we should check on him.”

He gets up to walk to the washroom, but MJ stops him.

“Hey, let’s not. We don’t wanna embarrass him,” MJ says.

“What do you mean ‘embarrass’? We’re all friends here...”

Behind them, Eunwoo is frantically texting Moonbin.

Come downstairs, now!

Something vibrates by his foot and he picks it up. Moonbin’s phone. He left it behind.

“Hey, can I go upstairs? I wanna see your room,” Eunwoo says, making up an excuse so he can drag Moonbin back downstairs.

“That’s a good idea, let’s all go! There’s something new I bought and I want to show you-”

“No, just bring it downstairs!” MJ shouts.

“Why are you yelling?” Jinjin asks, laughing. “It’s too heavy for me to bring it downstairs, let’s go.”

As he starts to walk up, the rest of the boys are forced to follow him. Sanha tries to go to your room to he can warn you, but Jinjin makes sure everyone is in his room first before he himself enters.

There’s no escape.

Back in your room, Moonbin is making you laugh so hard you feel like your lungs are about to burst. He imitated the way Jinwoo always scolds you.

“You’re so right, Jinwoo always does that!” you laugh, clutching your side.

“Why is [y/n] laughing so loud?” Jinjin asks from his own room. It’s right across from yours down the hallway.

“They must be watching some funny videos or something,” Rocky says, nervously laughing.

“No, they never laugh that hard from a video. Let me go check-”

“No, I’ll go check!” Sanha says, holding Jinjin back.

“Why are you all being suspicious today? Just let me go!” Jinjin pushes Sanha aside and storms towards your room. The boys all run after him, but it’s too late.

He’s opened your door.

And there you are, cuddling against Moonbin’s chest while his lips are pressed to your temple.

“Moon...bin? [y/n]? What... what are you guys doing?” Jinjin asks, flustered.

Everyone tries to think of an excuse, but there’s no way they can cover this up.

“You’re... you two are dating?” Jinjin asks, the pitch of his voice rising. He’s angry.

“Moonbin, what the hell? What are you doing with my sibling? I thought I trusted you!” He runs towards Moonbin, but you throw yourself on top of your boyfriend, leaving no room for Jinjin to hurt him.

“Jinwoo, stop! It’s not a big deal!” you say.

“Not a big deal? Are you kidding me right now? How long has this been going on?”

Eunwoo and Rocky pull Jinjin out of the room, and Moonbin gets up to leave.

“Where are you going?” you ask him.

“I think your brother is really mad at me right now. I shouldn’t stay here any longer.”

“Wait!” you say, holding onto his arm. “I’ll come with you.”

The two of you end up in Moonbin’s red car, driving away.

“I don’t think I can ever face my brother again,” you say.

“Me neither,” Moonbin responds, tightly gripping the steering wheel. “Maybe it’s best if we just don’t see him for a few days.”

You nod.

Somehow, that was the start of you running away with Moonbin, not for just a few days, but for three whole years. The two of you drove silently without any specific direction and found yourselves in a quiet village. That was the place that you decided to call home.

A short, creaky metal gate opens up to a small field of grass and overflowing trees, plants and flowers. Past the green mess stands a small, grey home.

Your home.

You spent three years in that place with Moonbin, selling to the market whatever your small plot of land could grow. The two of you were known as the mysterious, young couple, and no one knew where you had came from.

You never told them.

To this day, you’re still scared of going back. Jinjin’s face on the day you left, the anger, it all scared you. He’s your brother and you love him. You don’t ever want him to be mad at you.

Sometimes, you ask Moonbin if he regrets running away. Each time you ask him, he takes your hands in his, pressing his lips to the back of your hands one by one before saying, “this was all meant to happen for a reason. I’m living my best life here with you.”

Yet you can’t help but notice the times he’s cried at night, sobbing silently. You can’t help but notice him talk in his sleep, murmuring his friends’ names.

Running from Jinjin meant that you had to cut ties with his friends, too, and that was the hardest on Moonbin. Yet he always smiles brightly at you and hugs you. He tells you that he’s okay, that he doesn’t need to go back.

He would always work in the shed behind your house, making something. He never told you what it was, so you never asked, but one day when you stepped inside to clean up, you noticed that amidst the tools, there was a shiny ring.

“What are you doing in here?” Moonbin asked, giving you a back hug.

“Cleaning up. What’s that ring for?”

“You’ll see one day.” Moonbin pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Despite how much you’ve enjoyed being in Moonbin’s presence for every hour of every day, cooking and eating meals together, walking to the market together, spending hours on end doing nothing but burying your face in his chest and smelling his natural scent, it’s time to go back, now. You need to come back to reality.

Moonbin has sacrificed so much for you, and you think that three years is enough for Jinjin to have forgotten about his anger.

So finally, you and Moonbin pack up.

A few friends from the village help the two of you.

“So will you finally tell us where you’re from and where you’re going?” one of them asks.

Moonbin chuckles, and it’s enough to make your spine tingle and your stomach do backflips from the butterflies.

“I think it’s best if we just stay as we are,” he says.

Once most of the packing is done, your friends leave, and it’s just you and Moonbin again. He pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“These three years felt like a dream,” he says. “I felt like I was in a movie... running away with the person of my dreams? This only happens in movies.”

“But now we’re gonna go back and you can see your friends!” you say, feeling excited.

Suddenly, Moonbin pulls away from you. His hands rest on your shoulders and he looks into your eyes.

“Are you sure you’re ready to go back?” he asks you, his eyebrows knitted together. The white shirt he’s wearing sticks to his arms and chest, showing his defined muscles.

“I’m sure,” you say, and Moonbin hugs you once again.

“I’ll be with you, okay? I’ll do anything I have to do to get Jinjin to agree-”

“Don’t worry,” you say. “He’s my brother. I know how to get him on my side. Maybe I should have just talked to him back then, but things turned out like this. We should go back now, sooner than later.”

Moonbin smiles and nods. He’s proud of your growth.

You used to be afraid of Jinjin, despite how close the two of you were. Because of how overprotective he was, you were always afraid of crossing the line. Moonbin showed you that no lines ever even existed. He showed you that Jinjin wasn’t always right, and that you should be free to do what makes you happy.

Even just two years ago, you were still scared of your brother. But now, you were ready to face him, and instead of apologizing, you were ready to just have a conversation with him.

Deciding that you wanted to move out in the early morning, you and Moonbin went to bed early. He held you close to him for the entire night, his hands rubbing circles on your back.

“[y/n],” he whispered into your ear. “I love you.”

The next morning, you put your few belongings into the same red car that Moonbin still has and drive down the same dirt road, onto the highway towards your hometown. The sky is blue without a single cloud, and you take it to be a sign of good luck.

The bright sun leaks in through your window at some point, and you close your eyes so you can soak it up and feel it on your skin.

Moonbin’s free hand reaches out for yours, and when he finds it, he tightly holds it.

“We’re going hoooome!” he sings softly. You roll down the window and yell the same words he said out into the wind. Moonbin laughs and squeezes your hand tightly.

Your heart races as Moonbin enters the driveway of your home, parking behind your parents’ car. He turns off the engine and looks at you with warm eyes.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.

When you nod, he quickly leans forward to give you a kiss, but it feels more like he’s passing on his courage and strength to you. The brushing of his soft lips against yours is enough to make you feel ten times better.

You both climb out of the car at the same time, planting your feet onto the gravel of the driveway. Moonbin quickly scurries over to you and holds your hand before you both walk up to the front door.

Taking a deep breath, you ring the doorbell.

Waiting for a few moments, you wonder if Jinjin is home.

The door swings open, and speak of the devil: there he is. His hair is tousled and he’s got one hand in a bag of chips.

The chips drop to the ground.

“[y/n]?” Jinjin’s jaw drops.

He reaches out to touch your face, trying to make sure you’re real. Then he gives in and just hugs you. He squeezes you so tightly that you feel like you’re about to burst.

“[y/n] it’s really you? Where have you been?”

He pulls away and holds your face in his hands.

“You look okay, have you been eating well? What have you been up to? Why didn’t you answer my calls? Why were you gone for three years?”

Suddenly, the poor boy starts to tear up, and you reach out to hug him again.

“Why would you just leave like that? Do you know what we went through? The boys didn’t let me report you as missing, so I thought you were dead...”

“Jinwoo I’m so sorry,” you say.

You should have came back sooner. You wish you had came back sooner, but you’re glad you didn’t come any later.

You decide to address another important issue.

“Jinwoo, Binnie is here too,” you say, softly. Jinjin immediately pulls away from your embrace and stares coldly to your left, where Moonbin stands. Then, he starts crying again and hugs Moonbin.

“Bin, I can’t believe you just left me too! Without a single word, how could you? Do you know how much I missed you? Do you know how worried I was? What the hell were the two of you even up to?”

“I’m sorry, hyung. It was hard to come back. We tried, but it was hard.”

“It was harder for me,” Jinjin says.

He lets the two of you in, and you awkwardly sit side by side on the couch.

Does this mean Jinjin isn’t mad at me for dating Moonbin?

Jinjin brings you both water before he also sits down.

“You know, you didn’t need to run away that day. I was never mad at you,” Jinjin explains.

“What?!” you exclaim. It’s shocking to you, to think that Jinjin, the overprotective brother, was never mad at you.

“It was shocking, yes. It was weird, absolutely. But I just needed time to process things, that’s all. Of course I wasn’t going to be glad that my brother was dating my sibling, but that doesn’t mean I hated the two of you. I needed time, but not three years! A few days would have been fine.”

“Well with that said,” Moonbin says, getting off the couch and sitting on the ground, one knee raised and one pressed to the ground.

You look at Jinjin who gives you a smile.

Moonbin pulls something out of his pocket and presents it to you. It’s a ring, the same ring you saw him working on in the shed every day for the past three years.

“Do you wanna marry me then, [y/n]? We have your brother’s approval,” he says, smiling brightly like a puppy.

Lost for words, all you can do is hug him.

“Okay, okay, we get it!”Jinjin whines as both of you start to tear up.

But he also makes sure to say “congratulations” before he lets the two of you be.

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screamingatanemptyroom · 4 years

Text

Please Fix the Story! Pt 5- Fantasy World

Here is the next part! Starting out in a new world!

I made a master post with chapter links! - linked here

Enjoy!

_________________________

It was the emptiness between worlds.

I hung there, formless, empty, in total darkness as a slow sense of confusion washed over me. From what I could remember transfers between worlds had always been rapid. The longest I had ever spent in this nothingness had been a few seconds. But as seconds turned to minutes, and confusion grew into panic, I finally called out, surprised I could hear my own voice.

“Am I done?” Had this task of transferring between story worlds finally finished? Would I get my memories back? Go home?

There was a flash of joy at the thought, followed by an uneasy feeling as I thought about the person who had followed me the last two worlds.

Liam. Is he really waiting for me in the next one?

Before I could examine my thoughts or feelings too closely, however, words formed in the space in front of me, the bright blue letters glowing in the surrounding darkness.

Have you learned to accept you fate?

“Accept my fate?” I shook my head. “You mean that I’m destined to travel between worlds being useless and bitter side characters?”

You can go home. You can have everything back.

“Wait… I can?”

All you have to do is accept the destiny given to you.

What does that mean?!!I wanted to know who I was, I wanted to end this constant world hopping. But even as I prepared to accept, a severe stabbing pain filled my head. Something had been forgotten, something desperately important, but the harder I tried to catch it the further it fled. As I struggled I felt something deep within my soul rise up, and a single word was shouted instead of the agreement I had initially meant to give.

“NEVER!” It came out a snarl, filled with bitterness and rage, and overwhelming hatred and anger flooded my senses.

I couldn’t give up.

I WOULD NEVER give up.

Even if I wasn’t sure what that meant.

Very well. It was just silent text, but I could sense the disappointment behind them.

Then continue.

Before I could respond, the words faded, and I was in a new world.

_________________________

“Help me!” A young voice filled with fear called out.

I opened my eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight, taking in the world around me.

Trees. Massive trees, in every direction I could see. A thin film of sunlight passed through the thick canopy of leaves, illuminating the ground covered in flowers. Butterflies of every color flittered around me, moving frantically from bloom to bloom. A dense smell of grass mixed with a sweet aroma of the flowers around me filled the air. It was a paradise.

“HELP!” Hearing the voice call out again, I leapt to my feet, feeling oddly unbalanced.

Why do I feel so… small? Looking down at my hands, I saw that they were much smaller than any of my previous bodies, with chubby, childish fingers. My legs were short, the small toes of my bare feet buried in the grass in flowers. I wore a simple green smock that came to my knees, the dress hanging straight down over a flat chest.

I was a child.

Well… this is new.Before I could truly process the new body, I heard another scream of fear and ran towards it, trying to cope to the much shorter leg length than what I had previously taken for granted in the zombie world. As I passed between two large tree trunks, I skidded to a stop, gaping at the sight in front of me.

There was an elven child under attack.

He was about the same size as me, with pale skin, delicate features, and long pointed ears that poked through golden hair. A pair of bright green eyes, filled with tears and fear stared up at me. His small arms and legs flailed wildly trying to strike at the dark monster that pushed him to the ground.

I grabbed a branch on the ground, stumbling a bit from the weight and my lack of strength, and dragged it over. Screaming out, I swung the branch at the creature attacking the boy, knocking him several feet away.

The shadowy monster landed on its feet, turning towards me with a loud snarl. It had the vague form of a large wolf, but its entire being was made of darkness, the edges of its body blurred, as if it were something unnatural pushing against the edges of reality. From in between its black pointed fangs, a dark liquid dropped, burning the grass it touched. The only color that could be seen were its eyes, that were a startling shade of dark blue.

“Get behind me.” I snapped at the child, brandishing my makeshift weapon again.

He stared up at me silently, his eyes confused, his body frozen in place.

“Or you can just lay there and let the monster eat you. That works too I guess.” I felt sorry for the kid, but it wasn’t like I had time to coddle him.

At my sarcastic words he seemed to shake himself, rolling to his feet and stumbling behind me, just as the shadow creature pounced.

SMACK! The branch connected solidly with the creature’s head, the wood sinking into the shadow for the briefest moment before the monster was thrown back into a tree.

It growled softly, getting back to its feet. A slow trickle of blue blood ran from the wound, floating in the air and dissipating into nothingness.

“Bad shadow wolf! Go back to your home!” I held up the stick again, groaning. “Where’s a spray bottle when you need it?”

Before I could bemoan my lack of canine training tools, the creature lifted its head, seeming to hear some silent call. It pointed its jaws to the sky letting out an eerie howl, before leaping into the air and disappearing, leaving only the wreckage and dead plants as evidence that it had ever been there.

I sighed with relief, turning to the child behind me. “Are you okay?”

“You… you drove it off!” His eyes were wide with shock. “You saved me!”

“No big deal…”

“It was so scary.” He clenched his fists. “I was too weak. I couldn’t do anything.”

“Um… I wouldn’t really worry about…” Sensing a character development monologue coming, I desperately tried to interrupt.

He picked up a branch swinging it in the air with a fierce expression. “I swear on the graves of my parents, I will become stronger, someone who can defend the weak!” Looking over at me, he added. “You won’t have to worry anymore, I’ll protect you.”

“Weak? Seriously did you not just see me beat it up…”

“After all, I owe you my life.” He reached over and grabbed my hand enthusiastically. “So I’ll stay by your side until my debt is repaid.”

Uh oh. Adorable elf boy, dead parents, attacked by monsters and vows to grow stronger? My male lead senses are tingling. Better get away.

I smiled blandly, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “I was saving my own skin. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do!” He put his hand to his heart and bowed. “I am K’lliean.”

There was an awkward silence.

Crap! I haven’t gotten the mission or the character’s memories yet. Well last time they let me rename my character… here’s hoping.

“My name is Blaire.”

“Belaire?”

Bright blue words formed in the air beside me.

You have chosen to select the character name “Belaire” All characters’ memories will be adjusted accordingly.

**** Confirm character name? ****

Slightly off… but … “Sure.”

Character name confirmed.

I stayed calm, even with the scrolling text in the sky that only I could see. This had happened before, in story worlds where a cellphones didn’t exist. The text simply appeared on the sky, responding to voice instead of typing.

Now that K’lliean’s memories had been properly adjusted, he had backed away, a look of disgust on his face.

“Stay away from me, you… you…” He glared at me. “Stupid girl!”

“How will I ever recover from that insult?” I held a hand up to my head. “But sure, I’m fine staying far away from you.” Always safer to not hang around the male lead type too much.

“I’m NEVER going to marry you, so don’t even think about it.”

“…” I shrugged. “Ok.” I’m already hating this plot, and I don’t even know it yet.

“I’m going to be a great warrior one day! I’m not some HELPER for a stupid priestess!”

“No one’s arguing with you, dude. Go live your life.”

K’llean stared at me for a few moments, and then looked away suddenly. “I mean… if you REALLY want to marry me, I’ll let you stay by my side.”

“Literally never asked for that.”

“But don’t forget that I don’t like you! I’m only marrying you to help save the forest.”

What in the world is this plot?!!!

I rubbed my forehead, a headache forming. “Don’t worry about it, kid. I’m sure there are other alternatives besides matrimony to save the forest. I’ll figure it out.”

“SHUT UP!” K’llean stomped his foot. “I’ll save this forest, and I won’t need the help from a stupid girl like you!” With that he ran off, leaving me behind to stare at his back in shock.

“Knew the trend of reasonable male leads wouldn’t last.” With a chuckle, I sat down with my back against an enormous tree trunk and spoke to the air around me. “Open mission.”

Words began forming in the air in front of me.

**** NEW WORLD: THE CHOSEN ONE ****

This world is an incomplete epic fantasy novel, centering on the heroine Stella. Stella was an average 21-year-old college student, until she was transported into a world of fantasy, swords and magic. Learning that her arrival was predicted by prophecy, and that she is the Chosen One who must save the world, she harnesses her newfound magical abilities and goes on a epic quest to defeat the Lord of Darkness.

“So far so good. Maybe she’ll be a fun heroine like last time…”

During her journey, Stella falls in love with a elven warrior named K’llean.

“CALLED IT! He’s totally the male lead!” I high fived myself, and then felt embarrassed at the lonely gesture.

K’llean returned her feelings, however, he was already married to the elven priestess, who was tasked with saving the forest by combining their light magic abilities. The high priestess, hurt by K’llean’s betrayal, initially tried to send away Stella, but instead, in a terrible battle against the dark forces, chose to sacrifice herself to save the Chosen One’s life.

“I have a bad feeling about that priestess character.”

This story was discontinued after the author quit the story, fed up with complaints from the readers. There was a huge backlash at the story’s treatment of the elven priestess, a fan favorite character. Additionally, very few readers supported the romance subplot between Stella and K’llean, given that it began in earnest while K’llean was still married. There was general complaint that Stella and K’llean never received any consequence for their betrayal of the loyal priestess, and that her death was simply to pave the way for the “Chosen One.” The story world was abandoned and left to be destroyed.

The author’s main regret is the sad fate of the elven priestess. To complete their wish and stabilize this world, please allow the elven priestess to live a long, happy life. For this mission to succeed, the world must still be saved from the Lord of Darkness without sacrificing the life of the priestess.

**** DO YOU ACCEPT THIS MISSION?****

“…” I stared at the words thoughtfully. “So I just have to find this priestess and make sure she doesn’t get married to the cheating idiot and lives happily without sacrificing her life for them?” My eyes narrowed. “I feel like there’s gotta be a catch. What if I say ‘no’?”

**** DO YOU ACCEPT THIS MISSION?****

The words appeared again. I wasn’t surprised. There was only ever one option.

“Yes.”

My brain was filled with a flood of information, foreign knowledge, memories and emotions belonging to my character. I closed my eyes, groaning with pain, my fist hitting the ground beside me over and over until the skin split, my blood staining the leaves and grass.

“Well… this sucks.” I knew there was going to be a catch, but when I figured it out, all I could do was smile bitterly at my new identity.I should have guessed.

I was the elven priestess.

_________________________

I leaned my head against the tree trunk, sorting through the new information, the rough bark digging into my scalp. A slow trickle of tears overflowed from my closed eyes, as I fought back the emotions that weren’t my own.

The priestess had truly loved K’llean.

She had known from an early age that she was to be a priestess. Her strong light magic, tested from birth, left her with no choice but to serve her people. Part of that role required her to marry an elf with strong magic, combining their powers to allow the forest to be protected. K’llean was one of many young elves that had been approved as a potential partner.

They met in a similar way that I had just experienced, with her saving his life from a shadow beast. From that moment on, they had spent every waking moment together, growing up side by side. And on the night of her adult ceremony at the age of eighteen, she had chosen him without hesitation.

I could feel her memories, of K’llean watching her with a loving gaze.

“I’ll stand by your side, even if no one else does. Forever.”

She had believed him, whole heartedly.

But he was the male lead, so his love, his true love, was only ever given to the heroine.

The Chosen One.

This world was made for her, for her happiness.

How could one priestess stand against it?

When she found them together… she tried to protest, tried to remind him of the love they had shared. But in the end, Stella had everything. Her people’s trust. Her husband’s love. Even her mission, to save the forest, the one she had trained her whole life to fulfill, had been handed over so easily.

She had nothing.

When she burned through her life force in the battle against the darkness, fueling a magic powerful enough to drive to out the dark creatures and purify the forest, she had felt nothing but a weary resignation.

She had fulfilled her task, protected her people.

But she had not left happily.

I covered my face with my hands, sobbing loudly with a pain I hadn’t experienced, but had become my own. It took some time, but eventually the storm passed. My throat was sore, my eyes sore, but my emotions slowly calmed down.

“I give you…us… a happy life.” I felt a sense of completeness at the words, a almost inaudible relieved sigh in my ear.

Shaking my head, I stood up, stretching with a groan. According to my memories, this character should be about eight years old.

I had already met K’llean. It was probably for the best. If I had the memories I had now, I might not have saved him, child or no.

His cold, careless eyes as he watched his wife sacrifice her life to protect his lover and himself was still fixed firmly in my mind. I wasn’t too happy about it.

The main issue was that I needed to be able to protect the forest, and that would be difficult to accomplish without either burning up my life force or combining my magic with another light magic elf… and K’llean had the strongest magic.

No way in hell am I marrying that guy. My thoughts strayed briefly to the man who had planned our wedding in the last world, wondering if I would see him again, before I reigned them in firmly. So I just need to be powerful enough that I don’t need the cheater’s help. He can run off and romance the heroine to his heart’s content. I’m going to be the greatest light magic wielder this world has ever seen!

I rubbed my hands together, feeling excited. This was my first magic world, and I was starting out as a child, meaning I got to learn from the start. Elves in this world aged similarly to humans, which gave me about 10 years to prepare for the large scale battle against the darkness. Magic lessons should begin at age ten, but it shouldn’t be too hard to get them to start early.

Magical powers, here I come!

A villainous laugh filled the air, completely out of place in the beautiful elven forest.

_________________________

“You’re too young.” The Elven leader’s lined face showed his concern as he shook his head at me. “It’s good to be eager, but you should enjoy the freedom and childhood you have before you’re forced to spend all your time studying.”

I glanced off to the side, where a group of elven children were playing. K’llean could be seen in the middle of the group, swinging a branch, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I’M THE GREATEST!”

Spare me a childhood with him.I smiled at the elder. “It is my duty, and my joy to work hard for the sake of our people. I have a sense that I need to start early to be able to protect our forest.”

The leader eyed me suspiciously. “You were given a prophecy?”

I kept my smile firmly in place. “Sure.” It’s not completely a lie. In a way, I do know what the future holds.“If I’m not powerful enough by the time I reach adulthood. I will die, and the forest will be in grave danger.”

No need to mention the Chosen One for now. Don’t want them skimping on the training resources.

I struggled to keep my thoughts from showing on my face. The elder had been one of many who had supported my character whole-heartedly... at least until the heroine had shown up. Then he had cast her aside just as quickly.

While still expecting her to be willing to die to protect him and his people.

This life will be different from hers. I’ll give them no choice but to want to stay on my good side.

Perhaps something in my tone or my gaze convinced the older elf. He sighed quietly, patting my head. “Very well. I hope you don’t regret this decision. Once you start, you can’t quit halfway, even if you want to go out and play with the other children.”

I again looked off at the group of young elves. K’llean was squatting over a boy he had just knocked down, farting in the other child’s face while yelling. “YIELD TO THE MIGHTY ELVEN WARRIOR!”

I turned back to the elder. “I am so sure. You have no idea how sure I am.”

“Then let’s begin.”

#writing #please fix the story #fantasy world #fantasy #magic #world hopping

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