#and its always daylight and hes sick of it. hes sick. so he dives

[martynsimp69]

Hello there martynsimp69 I hope you’re alive after the Events

im coping <- this is a lie

[sweetnzaki]

AN INTRODUCTION TO MINDY ZAKI 🍭

👾 🍭 🍬 🍫 🛼 🥇 🏎️ 💚 🎩 Positive traits: friendly (usually), passionate, ambitious, creative, smart, curious, open minded, easy going

Negative traits: self centered, tough, sassy, perfectionist, manipulative, vain

ESTP * 24 * Human * 5’6 * Candy Maker / Sugar Racer

Little Details:

if the world has its early birds and its night owls… than mindy is an all day dove. this girl goes and goes and goes. she doesn't like wasting daylight or moonlight and often crashes hard whenever she decides her day is finally done.

nicknamed her neon green racing car the veloci-wrapper. she even painted little candies on the back of it as well as her zaki's snackies logo.

obviously mindy is a huge sweets girl, but she's also a big foodie. she adores anything with interesting flavors. 

she was 1000% that kid making ‘potions’ at the table in restaurants with random drinks and sauces. 

grew up doing gymnastics. don’t ask her to do a flip… because she will.

has a little brother! he's one of the few people who knows about her nerdy side. 

a shrieker. screams when she’s happy. screams when she’s scared. yeah she’s one of those girls. 

may or may not make some... 'special' candies here and there for her and her friends… when supplied with the proper ‘ingredients’ of course... if you catch my drift...

this girl always has business cards on her. you'll never catch her slacking on an opportunity to promote her candy.

will just pretty much anything once!

open minded but also judging you at the same time.

really good at partying but also really good at staying in.

mindy dabbles both on the mass production side of candy as well as the more deluxe side. some of her candies she creates with the mindset of accessibility in mind. for example, her signature pitaya-guava lollipops could easily be sold in various convenience and superstores. however, some of her other confections are too fresh and fragile, and therefor are exclusive to her own storefront, special orders and commissions.

has a small tattoo of a chocolate bar with the wonka ‘w’ flipped upside down to look like an ‘m’ for ‘mindy.’

Dive Deeper:

When you grow up a creative, energetic child with an overactive imagination and a very supportive family… you get someone like Mindy Zaki: a girl who’s childhood dream bloomed with her. Like many children, Mindy had a pretty wild sweet tooth from the get-go. Candy was such a spectacle! It could pop like fireworks on your tongue, make any party level up, and was the perfect way to seal any celebration. She loved how much emotion could surround such little delicacies. Her fixation on sweets and confections grew from easy bake ovens and junior candy making kits to taking over her parent’s kitchen with state of the art supplies. Even now, Mindy is still astounded by the variety of candy from country to country… but there was still so much more to be explored! Aren’t people sick of the same tired flavors? Grape, orange, cherry… sure they were classics… but where’s all the creativity? Her drive and passion are truly impressive… and she won’t quit until her candies are blowing Hershey and Mars out of the water.

On the outside, people look at Mindy and see a pretty girl all dressed up and reaping the rewards of a lifestyle that comes with the ‘popular’ crowd. Sure, that’s all true… but Mindy is actually a secret ‘nerd.’ She’s always had a special appreciation for the creativity that Japan had with its candy and snacks. Delving more into their culture and customs, Mindy found herself getting really into anime. Then came manga… then comics.. then superheroes, Harry Potter, Star Wars, and even video games. Naturally, no one really knows this about her. She makes sure that side of her is well hidden… especially from Tiffany and the other Sugar Racers. 

Ah, the Sugar Racers… sweet like sugar, of course! But sugar can be sour, too. Mindy understands this about herself, which is why she gets on with the crew the way she does. Compared to the other racers, Mindy is more on the laid back and open minded side— though she knows she’s by no means a saint. Mindy can be quite self-centered. Everything she does, she does for Mindy. All of the ‘do gooder’ activities and events she participates in around town… yeah that’s just to promote her business and paint her in a good light. Even when it comes to picking on Vanellope… Mindy knows its mean. She knows the bullying isn’t actually benefiting the racers. But it neither hurts nor helps herself… so she just lets it happen. Besides, it’s much better for her to be in with the Sugar Racers than out with the glitch.

Mindy is no stranger to being underestimated. The girl is well aware her niche and colorful little dream is bit outlandish to some… but she’s working her ass off for it. It’s not often that one person has both the creative and the business side to bring a brand to life, but Mindy does. She’s a whirlwind of a one-woman show. One minute she’s rolling out numbers for budgeting, supplies, goals, quota… and the next minute she’s brainstorming new flavor combinations or imagining if candied ice cream drops would be possible. Maybe candied freeze dried ice cream? Her mind truly never stops… and don’t even get her started on packaging! In truth, running a business by herself can get overwhelming at times. It’s not uncommon to catch her speeding a few laps around the track whenever she needs to let off some steam.

Fashion is a huge outlet for self expression for Mindy. She’s definitely the best dressed candy maker you’ve ever seen. Not that there’s probably much competition in that department… Who’s she got to beat anyway? Mr. Wonka? Please. Either way you’ll hardly ever catch her in an un-styled outfit. (If you do, something is seriously wrong. Be prepared to handle her tears.) Mindy is always dressed to the nines and is one of those girls that can pull off anything. Girly, edgy, preppy, street, classic… she does it all! It’s so much fun for her to style hop! However, while Mindy does love fashion, she doesn’t so much care for brands or labels like some of the other Sugar Racers do. She likes what she likes… and it makes no difference to her whether she found something on the Chanel runway or in the corner of a thrift store. She knows she looks good and feels good regardless.

[ruki-mukami-dl]

Admin, a question for you. What are the 5 best scenes with Ruki for you?

((I really had a hard time choosing the 5 best scenes. There are just way too many... 😩

((But in the end I decided on the following:

DARK FATE DARK 09

"I'm asking if you gave them your blood."

"I know that! I'm talking about those Founders!!"

"Answer me!! Did you!?"

"Fuck...Whatever! Come here!!"

"Shut up. You should feel grateful I was so kind to pin you to the bed and not the floor. Seems like I was too soft on you after all. I take my eyes off you for two seconds and this happens. Without knowing how I feel, you just...!"

"I'm making it painful. It seems like you still can't quite learn from words alone after all."

((The cold iceberg, called Ruki, loses his composure. He raises his voice and has quite an abusive choice of words. Seeing him from this side is great. 😤

DARK FATE HEAVEN 02

Yui: "Well...Can I stroke your hair?"

Ruki: "I don't particularly mind but why do you ask all of a sudden?"

[She strokes his hair.]

Ruki: "This is an odd sensation. Having you stroke the top of my head like that."

Yui: "Ah...Sorry, did it feel unpleasant?"

Ruki: "No, it's fine. Just keep going. ...It's been a while since I've got to experience this feeling."

Yui: (...Did he fall asleep? I guess he was lacking sleep as well...)

((I like this 'Heaven' scenario because it shows Ruki's soft side very well. 🥰

MORE BLOOD DRAMA CD TRACK 6: REWARDED WITH BLOOD-SUCKING

"...Heh. Just as I've been told, this blood has the power to manipulate Vampires."

"This is a rather quick-working poison. It makes even someone like me feel a little faint in the head..."

"Haah...It's smooth, coating my tongue, before slowly taking away my ability to reason. And then, it makes me thirsty for more. ...Hah. This is...Livestock makes its Master."

"I thought only fools walked into traps with their eyes wide open, but I think I can...relate to them now...I suddenly do not seem to care about so many things."

"I want more...of your blood. My body...is craving for you...Ughー!"

"I wonder if this is what they call sadistic desires? I want to suck you dry..."

((Addiction and craving for blood — To see that blood can make a dominant and saditic vampire submissive in some way... is very interesting... 🥴🤯

MORE BLOOD DRAMA CD TRACK 5: TRAINING BEGINS

[He drags you towards the edge of the roof.]

"The underground illuminated by the light of the moon is truly beautiful. Does it not remind you of Hell? Hehehe..."

"Dive down, and crash to your death. Exactly as your make-believe wish."

[He pushes you.]

"Why are you holding onto my sleeve? Do you want me to pity you? In that case, you are barking up the wrong tree. I no longer have any humans feelings or senses. Well then, go!"

"You're begging for your life? However, your life is utterly meaningless to me. You're an eyesore...Die!"

"...Hurry up. If you keep me waiting for too long, my mood may go sour after all."

"I'll tame you so just like a dog who starts wagging its tail and running around in excitement from the second it sees its owner...You too, will throw yourself at me at once, pleading for my fangs."

((Well and this scene because it shows how brutal, sadistic and emotionally dead he is. He is a vampire after all. 😉

DAYLIGHT DRAMA CD TRACK 3: MAKE BELIEVE OR NOT

"I promised I would never hate you, and that I would bear your sufferings alongside you. ...However, I felt like those words alone would not be enough. After all, you are infamous for always taking on every burden by yourself. I assumed you would still feel hesitant and have your doubts even after I told you my true feelings. Therefore, as cliché as it may be, I decided I would make a vow to you."

"Come on, you know which hand to show me now, don't you?"

"Just as I thought, it looks wonderful on you. I will never leave you, no matter what happens. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, I vow that I will walk by your side and continue to love you."

"...Although I won't go as far as to say 'until death do us part'. Even if said day awaits us at some point, I will vow my eternal love to you."

((Okay... This one because I'm hopelessly romantic... 🙈

((Thank you so much for this ask, Anon!!! I had so much fun answering it!!! ❤️

Sources translations: @dialovers-translations

[demonslayedher]

I'm glad you reactivated the questions, here are some flowers for you: 💐 Seriously speaking I'm sorry that because of a question I asked you a few weeks ago you watched a series of videos of psychopaths 🥲It made me laugh at first but then I felt guilty 💔 it's all Muzan's fault for leaving us all with curiosity (imagine his parents' reaction once they realized there was something wrong with him even as a human)

Yay, flowers (which I shall kill with my black thumb)! And no, no, it’s fine, I had hoped it came off funny! I like listening to stuff like that while I draw anyway because I’m a nerd anyway and I found it very interesting.

Speaking of being a nerd, you have innocuously unlocked the following essay about Heian period nobility and wisteria flowers: There is nothing to state so in canon, but I find it highly reasonable to say Muzan might had been of the very powerful Fujiwara clan. Step inside my office, Anon.

Okay. So. The Heian period, simply put, was a time of cultural flourishing and beautiful pastimes, the origins of a lot of Japanese style aesthetics, and a romantic courtly like of romancing everybody else in the court. This is assuming, of course, that you were at the very, very, very, very top of society. Otherwise, the vast majority of people were poor and sick and starving and ew, in young Muzan’s world, we do not wish to associate with that. In the Heian court, Kyoto basically is the whole cultural world. Even though there were other cities that could rival Kyoto, the emperor was there, so it was essentially the cultural center of the country. The nobles who lived there got money from owning land in far-flung provinces, but actually having to live in those provinces? What a drag! Having to live away from Kyoto for work, even if it wasn’t an official banishment, often felt like a punishment to the nobles and their families who were used to the social scene at court. And, like affluent courts around the world throughout history, understanding all the intricacies of style and “Heian Rumors” was key to having social clout, and popularity was power. And yeah, nobles would be vicious to each other. While clan dynamics and history are complex and not something I’m getting into here (I don’t consider myself well-versed in it enough), the Fujiwara clan is a BIG DEAL.  Basically, in Heian times, children were typically raised in their mother’s home, thereby heavily influenced by their mother’s clan, so besides a young man’s parents, his in-laws also would had been hugely influential in his life, as they will have a long-felt influence on his progeny. The Emperors typically married Fujiwara daughters. This, in addition to other positions of influence of the Fujiwara clan members usually held with influence over the Emperor, means that politically, there was no messing with them. Now, just because I say Muzan might had been a Fujiwara clan member, I don’t necessarily mean a member of the main branch of the family. Often, due to inheritance management, different branches of various noble clans might be given different surnames. The Fujiwara clan does have different branches, some of which did go one to have close ties with the imperial family even after the fall of their power at the end of the Heian period and all the way through the Taisho, and some branches carry some impressive family legacies but otherwise live like normal or high-class common folk in modern-day. (I know one such Ojousama from a renamed Fujiwara branch; she’s a sweetheart and never brings it up herself but every time I hear other people say things about her family, I’m like, dang.) We can venture from Muzan’s likely expensive medical treatment, multiple marriages (meaning other clans sought to be connected with his family even by marrying their daughters to a sick man), and even preparation for cremation as a baby that he was of a very, very high status. 

Being the sick son of a prominent family may have warped his personality in multiple ways: first, he was probably already used to a culture of popularity equated political power. We see in Muzan’s dealings with humans in the Taisho period that he can be exceedingly charming to get what he wants (a psychopath trait, haha), so he was probably pretty aware of the complex ways of socialites in the court. But, even being aware of that, it probably frustrated him to no end that he was too sick to take part in the social pastimes where he’d gain clout. It’s also possible that he was a bit of a bargain husband for his wives’ families who were seeking to a make ties with his family, as they must not had been politically useful enough to be married off to other powerful matches. This may be some of why he was so ruthless to them, for he never saw them as useful to him in the first place. This probably got a bit worse once he became a demon. Now to be lewd, but he probably got more vigorous in his pursuit of more powerful lovers, and knew how to slay the women’s hearts as he liked (you know, popular Heian pastime, everybody had lots of lovers, it was the norm, though political marriages and legitimate children were still important). That new sense of power probably went to his head. But, ultimately, he must had been limited in clout since he couldn’t take part in any daytime activities, thereby limiting his access to more powerful spheres of influence. His reputation from having grown up sickly must had followed him too. It’s anyone’s guess how much affection his parents had for him and how happy they were about his health at first, and if and when they might had noticed his changes. He was a full-fledged adult by the time he turned into a demon, so who knows how closely they even associated with him. They likely had healthier children who they devoted more care and attention to, and invested more family resources in while assuming Muzan would probably die young.

Who knows what the final straw was in Muzan leaving court? Was it frustration at not being able to walk in daylight that made him flee to the Kanto area in pursuit of the blue spider lily (from near where the doctor lived) long before Kanto became politically affluent? Or was it the rumors at court about how he didn’t age, and that he was eating people?

Of note, a lot of the early legends of demons in Japanese culture take place in the Heian period.

In his book “Japanese History of Demon Slayers,” retired Shizuoka University professor Tetsuo Owada capitalized on the success of Kimetsu no Yaiba to dive into a lot of ties between the series and what it may pay homage to throughout Japanese history and culture. While this was published last September and a handful of his theories have been disproven by the second fanbook published last February, and while I think a lot of his theories are stretching a little too far to make strong connections, it’s still deeply, deeply interesting stuff. He goes into some specific comparisons of demons, like Minamoto-no-Raiko and his posse of four big bad warriors taking on the Tsuchigumo (giant spider demon) terrorizing the mountains north of Kyoto harkening to the case of Rui’s family (and, ding ding ding, this was the primary focus of the official Kabuki/Kimetsu crossover last November), as well as takes little questions left in canon and dives into them a bit deeper. One such question is, why were wisteria lethal to demons? According to Prof. Owada’s research, there is no historical basis for this. Some of the talk online is that: 1. Wisteria are in fact poisonous, and consuming too much of them would cause vomiting and diarrhea (though I’ve also seen people make jam out of them because of the fragrance, so, like???) 2. Beans are thrown around at Setsubun to ward off demons (like so, Feat. Muzan and Kimetsu Beans), and wisteria are of the bean family 3. Wisteria like sunlight, so perhaps like Nichirin, they soak up some of the sun’s properties that are lethal to demons 4. In the language of flowers (Hanakotoba), wisteria symbolize kindness, welcomeness, refusing to leave someone’s side, being drunk with love, being straightforward and truthful, not losing the humanity in one’s heart, thereby containing a lot of meaning contrary to the conduct of demons Interesting, but some of its kind of a stretch. While still finding it a stretch to apply it to wisteria being poisonous to demons, Prof. Owada goes on to say that since ancient times, while the wisteria has some negative connotations of how it was sometimes written with characters meaning “doesn’t heal” (不治) and growing downward with smaller and smaller flowers like symbolize the slow downfall of a family line, it conversely also carries positive connotations of longevity and flourishing family due to the fact that its vines grow upward.

Now, you might picked up at some point that the Japanese word for wisteria is “fuji.” Not to be confused with Mt. Fuji (that’s written differently), it IS the same fuji as in “Fujiwara”: 藤.

Prof. Owada goes on to explore the association with the use of Wisteria crests in Kimetsu no Yaiba, especially on the houses of supporters of the Demon Slayer Corp. His recurring thesis is that the pandemic is partly responsible for Kimetsu no Yaiba’s popularity since demon legends have long since had origins in epidemics, and he supposes the Wisteria crest has a protective effect on the houses, similar to a talisman used in a lot of real life rituals for warding off illness and then often displays in or on the entries of houses to protect the family every year (I have one such item gifted to me, it stays by my doorway, along with a couple sticks of charcoal (but the culture of charcoal is a post for some other day)). The talisman is in reference to a god of Hindu/Chinese origins being treated with hospitality by the So clan, so although other families perished in disaster/disease, he promised to always protect the So clan descendants, so the talisman says “Descendants of the So Clan” so that any household may try to claim that divine protection. The gratitude-exchange of hospitality and protection and sure sounds familiar! Prof. Owada isn’t done yet. While the crest design used in Kimetsu no Yaiba isn’t an actual family crest in in real life, there are lots and lots and lots of family crests that use a wisteria design and have the character for “wisteria” in the name. Any time you hear “—tou”, like Satou, Saitou, or even Gotou, you can typically assume it’s 藤. It’s very common nowadays, but the first family to be granted the use of this name was the Fujiwara clan, when one of the pre-Heian and very powerful emperors granted their clan head this surname, which was a major honor, and it marked the start of the Fujiwara clan’s political dominance (there was already influence leading up to this, but meh, we like clear-cut stuff to simply centuries of history, don’t we?). Furthermore, although we often think of the Fujiwara clan for their influence at court, and we might think of the Minamoto clan for warrior heroes who fought demons, Prof. Owada concludes his argument of wisteria’s protective influence by pointed out a long list of Heian period Fujiwara warriors who also were the heroes of demon slaying legends, stating that their name has also long been tied with demon slayer culture. SO!!! Let me go on with my theory here. Muzan is from the same family line as Ubuyashiki. At some point (I assume after Muzan is long gone from Kyoto), the family is told while their children keep dying, and they accept their mission to bring an end to Kibutsuji Muzan and clear this curse on their family line. My thought is that their ancestor was a full blood sibling of Muzan, one whom was more invested in than sickly Muzan. While perhaps already an off-shoot of the Fujiwara Clan and thereby not entitled to the same sorts of inheritance, they probably maintained close ties with them. But, as it was already not direct by that time, the other Fujiwara clan branches were not affected by this curse. To further spare the clan the effects of this curse, this was probably when that sickly branch took the name Ubuyashiki. (And yes, I have things to say about this name and its possible mythological origins which I find a highly, highly interesting connection. Prof. Owada supposes it is tied with Izumo Taisha Grand Shrine and that is why there are nine pillars, but as much as I love Izumo Taisha and its giant pillars I base my argument in separate Shinto (but also Izumo!) mythology and accept that there are not always supposed to be nine Pillars specifically and Gotouge simply chose that number based on the number of strokes in the kanji for ‘Hashira’ (柱) BUT I DIGRESS). So, the Ubuyashiki Clan is it’s own thing, but is sort of like a cousin to the other Fujiwara branches and thereby continues to enjoy Fujiwara support throughout the Heian period, like some of the Fujiwara warriors going out there and slaying some of Muzan’s early demon experiments, and using their influence to bring in other warriors to the demon slaying cause (pet

theory: Genpei War warrior Kumagai Naozane was a member of the proto-Corp and using Kasugai-garasu was in practice since at least late Heian period). While the Ubuyashiki Clan probably already their own inherited land (and funds that came from it), throughout their history, their cousin clans might also have provided financial support to the Ubuyashiki Clan. But, they probably distanced themselves from the clan due to the curse and not wanting to be tainted. When you bring back in the wisteria associations this puts the contrary associations with a flourishing and dying family line in a new light. Furthermore, the “not healing” way of writing “fuji” also means a lot more in the context of Muzan’s, and later the Ubuyashiki clan’s illness.

[hockeylvr59]

Secret Love Part 13 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: Days 6 and 7 in Iceland. We’re over halfway through this vacation...are we ready for it to end or do we wish it could last forever? Thanks to @nazdaddy​ for the help with the childhood story. 

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2,102

~~~~

When you woke up with a headache the morning of Monday, June 22nd, it took you a minute to realize why your head was pounding. Oh yeah...you’d almost slipped and told Cale that you love him…

Groaning, you tugged your pillow over your head, not ready to face the daylight. Sadly though, as much as your head hurt, your stomach was protesting the lack of being fed the night before. 

“Morning beautiful.” Cale whispered from a chair in the corner where he was looking through maps and his phone. 

“Try that again when my head doesn’t feel like it’s hosting a drum competition.” You mumbled digging through your bag for some pain relievers. 

“Sounds like we should get you some breakfast…” Cale murmured softly. 

“Yes please.” You requested, burying your head against Cale’s chest as he moved to hug you. “Probably shouldn’t have passed out before dinner…” You sighed, popping two pills before swallowing them with a bottle of water Cale handed you. 

Thankfully, by the time you’d eaten a full breakfast, your headache had subsided a good deal, enough that you felt like you could follow through with Cale’s plans for the day even if he assured you that you didn’t have to. 

A bumpy hour long drive (which would not have been possible without 4-wheel drive) later you reached Dettifoss Waterfall. You were absolutely astounded by the number of waterfalls on this island because it seemed like everywhere you went there was another one. This one boasted the reputation of being the most powerful waterfall in Europe and as you watched an immense volume of water go crashing over its edge you understood why. 

Taking more touristy pictures for your parents, you, for what felt like the thousandth time, climbed back into the car. Another hour and a half drive took you to the coastal village of Husavik. 

“I think you’ll enjoy this next activity.” Cale declared as you climbed out of the car. 

“Yeah?” You inquired, cocking your head. “What are we doing?” 

“Whale watching?” Cale replied, a bright grin on his face. 

“Are you serious?” You exclaimed. 

“Well hopefully? I mean the whales will have to cooperate.” Cale shrugged. “But it’s supposed to be a pretty cool experience.” 

“Let’s go!” Your excitement only continued to grow as you checked in with the tour company, dressed yourself in the overalls they provided, and made your way onto the boat. 

As you waited for the tour to start, Cale handed you a set of pills and a bottle of water. 

“I forgot these when we went to the lagoon but I think you might need them today. With your headache this morning, seasickness might hit a little easier.” Cale explained. 

Taking the pills, you swallowed them before kissing Cale lightly. Even you forgot about your proclivity for seasickness most of the time, so the fact that Cale remembered and had brought motion sickness pills kind of blew you away. 

Your families had been on a cruise together when you were 15 and Cale was 11. You’d always been fine out on the lake but the moment you were on a boat in the open ocean for the first time you became sick as a dog. You spent more than half the cruise in bed, and had only gotten through the other half by popping motion sickness pills as frequently as you were allowed. Cale had stuck by your side, watching movies while you slept against his shoulder and refusing to go do anything if you weren’t feeling up to it. It had been one of the last times you’d spent such an extended amount of time together until recently, but it had also been so long ago that you were shocked Cale remembered. 

“Thank you.” You breathed, squeezing his knee as the tour guide started to give a quick safety briefing before the boat headed out into the bay. For about an hour you continued out before finally the boat came to a stop for at least the moment. It took some patience but eventually your tour guide pointed your attention to some moving figures out to the left side of the boat. 

“Dolphins Cale...those are dolphins!” You blurted out. They were absolutely beautiful and you certainly hadn’t expected to see them. They didn’t stay in the vicinity of the boat long but shortly after they left, off to the right the flick of a whale’s tail sent water flying. The boat moved a little closer and you were able to see the whale surface again, water pushed out of the blowhole as it took in air. 

Two more whales made an appearance while you were out in the bay, one fully breaching the water before diving back under. It was a surreal experience...one you were certain you would never forget. You weren’t sure if you or Cale were able to get any decent photos but honestly that didn’t matter much to you because you just wanted to enjoy the moment you were in. 

By the time you started heading back to shore, your seasickness had started to catch up with you. Land was a welcome sight at that point and as Cale helped you off the boat, he helped you steady yourself before assisting you in getting out of your overalls. 

“Let’s get some more food in you sweetheart.” Cale led you over to a restaurant for lunch and then the two of you just walked around the village until most of the unpleasantness you were feeling had passed. 

“Was that worth the pain?” Cale questioned as he opened the car door for you. 

“100%.” You replied, kissing him gently. “That was something I think I’ll remember forever so thank you.” 

“Anything for you.” Cale stated offhandedly, but the look in his eyes suggested he really meant it. “So the only other thing on the itinerary is another waterfall...do you want to go, or just head back to the hotel?” 

“Would you mind if we just go back to the hotel?” You murmured. 

“Not at all.” Cale assured you. Like those days on the cruise where seasickness got the best of you, you spent your evening curled into Cale’s side just watching tv. You’d come so far from the kids you were back then and you knew if you’d told your 15 year old self that someday you’d be in love with that gangly boy who had rubbed your back while you cried because you were missing everything, she certainly wouldn’t have believed you. Though Cale was a man who had grown into his body and not a gangly kid anymore, he was still the kind, compassionate, beautiful soul that he was a decade ago and the way he cares for you has only grown. 

____

It was hard to believe that you had been in Iceland for an entire week. It was flying by so fast and the closer you got to the end of your vacation, the less you wanted to leave. This time alone with Cale was so wonderful and the thought of going home to where you didn’t wake up beside him everyday made your stomach twist uncomfortably. 

“I can hear the gears in your head turning.” Cale declared as his lips pressed against the back of your neck and his arms pulled you closer to his body in bed. “Everything okay?” 

“Just thinking about how I don’t want this to end…” You admitted, snuggling closer. 

“Me either.” Cale agreed. 

Neither of you seemed to be in a rush to climb out of bed. In fact, you just laid there enjoying being in Cale’s arms for nearly half an hour before your body protested the stillness and forced you to get up and stretch. Even when you did get up, Cale was quick to follow and as you got ready for the day he was by your side, the two of you moving around each other with a practiced ease. 

Though you didn’t really have a strict agenda, there had been so much to see and do or so much driving ahead of you that it felt like you had to keep moving or you’d fall behind. Today though felt nothing like that. You took your time at breakfast before heading just a few minutes down the road to the Dimmuborgir lava fields. 

Walking around the volcanic structures, you held Cale’s free hand as he took pictures with his phone in the other. 

From there it was another quick drive to Hverir, a fumarole field with boiling mud pits. The smell of sulfur was expected this time and though you didn’t love it, it didn’t bother you as much as it had at Geysir. You’d never known that so many different environments could exist so close together until this trip and it was mind-boggling to experience all of them in such short succession. 

Having checked off the majority of Cale’s list for the day by lunch time, you headed back to the hotel to eat and grab swimsuits. From there you headed over to the Myvatn Nature Baths, another hot spring. 

Honestly, you’d enjoyed the Blue Lagoon but you and Cale had both been so tired from everything else that you were really looking forward to just spending as long as you liked relaxing this time. 

Checking in, you parted to change again and after quickly showering you pulled on your suit, wondering if Cale would flip over this one like he had the last. His eyes went wide, but he wasn’t quite as speechless as before as he pulled you close. 

“Sunflowers for my sunshine…I see what you did there.” He grinned. Though it was the middle of the day, the nature baths were significantly quieter and less crowded than the Blue Lagoon had been and it made you feel more comfortable swimming close to Cale, perching yourself right beside him as he found a spot to lounge. 

After a while, you settled into a small pool with alcoholic beverages, leaning against Cale’s side. 

“This is perfect.” You murmured. As much as you loved exploring, you were basking in just being, not having to do anything or go anywhere. Cale’s fingers brushed lightly against your hip and you draped one leg over his knee as you turned to kiss him gently. “Maybe I should look into a hot tub for the backyard.” You mused. “Iceland has spoiled me and I’m not sure I’m going to want to swim in anything colder than this ever again.” 

“I mean...I’m not going to talk you out of that…” Cale chuckled. “It may not be the most practical decision, but we could certainly have some fun with it.” 

“Head out of the gutter Mr. Makar.” You giggled. “Do you think about anything but sex lately?” 

“Can’t help myself around you…” Cale shrugged, pressing a light kiss to your nose. “But that should be obvious considering I’ve had more sex with you in the month we’ve been together than in my entire 3 year long previous relationship.” 

“My gain…” You replied. You were never going to apologize for wanting to have sex with him. Nor were you going to apologize for the fact that the sex was really good and getting better every time. Being physical with him felt natural and you were glad to hear that he felt the same way. 

“This is something special huh?” You breathed, taking a sip from your wine glass as you looked out across the large pool to the skyline beyond. 

“This trip? Or us?” Cale clarified, finishing off his beer before setting the empty glass off to the side. 

“Both...but mainly us.” You whispered. 

“Yeah beautiful...this is something special.” Cale agreed. “A year ago, I never would have imagined how good things could be...being with my best friend. Now I can’t imagine life any other way.” 

As your eyes met, you couldn’t help but feel there was something left unsaid, but as he kissed you, you felt the weight of those unspoken words deep within you. 

“I can’t either.” You murmured as your lips pulled back from his. 

Breaking the intense moment, you moved to the larger pool, swimming around until you and Cale were both ready to leave. 

Today had been a wonderful day...you felt relaxed and closer to Cale in every way. Though you would leave the Northern coast of Iceland behind in the morning, in a way you were taking a piece of it with you in the form of memories that you hoped would last a lifetime. 

Swimsuit:

[cherry-ber]

Too drunk to fuck pt 10

♡ Part one| Previous

You couldn't believe it, that not even a month could go by without having to worry about Mark. You woke up several hours after you got that text, and couldn't help the way your heart sinked, you had to get up and shower with the coldest water to be ready for the upcoming long day, calling said unknown number to ask for an explanation.

“Who's this?” ask back as you make your way to the door.

“Y/N? It's Jisung! Do you not have my number saved?”

“Jisung, it doesn't matter right now!” although you knew that it would be a big complain from him later “What happened to Mark?”

“He's alright now... Do you want us to pick you up so you can see him?”

“Well, yes, that's why I called, but what happened?”

“Wait, I'll tell Jeno and Jaemin to pick you up, they must be close to your place now” and he hung up, avoiding the question you made him.

You sat on the sidewalk, waiting for the car to arrive, writing a text for your mom apologizing for leaving suddenly and so early. The streets were barely lighted by the daylight, but when you saw the car lights shining in your way, you knew immediately who it was, you stood up quickly and walked in their way, Jeno rolled the passenger window down and both him and Jaemin smiled sweetly at you, you almost forgot where you were going, and jumped in the back seat. The ride to the hospital was full of laughs, you even stopped in a convenience store to buy coffee and snacks because none of you have had breakfast. Jaemin parked and the tension in the air made its way back to the moment, suddenly feeling too awkward and guilty to hold hands with Jaemin when he started brushing his fingers on your palm while you three walked to the hospital.

You've never stepped in a hospital before, when you were younger you were over protected, you never got [physically] hurted, nor did you go with your parents when someone did have an emergency, and everything overwhelming; families waiting for news of their loved ones, people who looked in pain, doctors and nurses who probably went home crying from too many emotions at their work place, you couldn't even imagine how Mark would look laying in those uncomfortable beds.

“Mark Lee” Jaemin says walking to a lady in a counter

“Are you his family?” she says in a monotone way, not even turning to look at him “only his family is allowed to see him”

“His family doesn't leave here, I'm his roommate”

The lady types Mark's name, not questioning anymore, probably feeling compassion over that young boy being alone all night , having no one else for him than his friends, who had been annoying her since she started her shift. She tells him he's not taking visits, but he's gonna be allowed out in a couple hours.

Jaemin makes his way back to you and Jeno, both unsure of asking, he just sits in the waiting chairs, his body too tired, not from today, rather than everything becoming too much.

“I'm going out for a smoke, do you want to come?” his friend asks, noticeably stressed with the hospital environment, Jaemin looks at you and shakes his head, Jeno palms his back and rushes out.

“You should go, I can wait here” Jaemin can't help the grin forming in his face when he hears your voice, he thinks it's adorable how not even in a time like this he can't be unhappy if you're there.

“No, he's just-” he realizes he's spilling too much “he doesn't like hospitals”

“I mean, who does?” you sit next to him, placing your hand on his thigh “are you okay?”

Jaemin thinks of opening up, he trusts you and he knows you'd understand his emotions better than him anyway, he wonders if it's easier to lie and say he's alright, but tired, and eventually decides that whatever he says is useless anyway.

“Aw fuck, did you tell your parents you were coming?”

“I left a note, I told them Mark had an emergency and to call me when they read it”

“I shouldn't have brought you here, I shouldn't have brought you yesterday, I just keep dragging you into this mess, I'm sorry Y/N” he hadn't even realized himself how guilty he had been feeling, for the longest time, none of it was him, but he made it him anyway, he'd never been violent, neither did he enjoy the things he did, he just did them anyway, but after a couple years of losing himself, he forgot that too, and having someone that cared for him as much as you did, he felt guilty over making you a part of his life, over stealing Mark's chance, your chance to leave him and leave the whole thing, he never meant it, he'd never do that to you “I'll take you back, Jeno can wait here and-”

“You never even told me what happened” you cut him off and he wonders if you were able to listen to the rant on his head “no one has told me what happened and I hate making up scenarios of this, just tell me what happened, I'm gonna find out anyway” your voice was full of anger and fear, but you couldn't handle it any longer, you hated that feeling of being kept from the whole thing, it made you feel like they didn't trust you at all.

“He, uh, a lot happened, actually” he takes a deep breath as he dives in deeper waters of guilt “you saw him last night, we kinda got into an argument before you left, he's not himself when he's drunk, he's a good guy, you know, but, he got a little bit out of his mind, he had been drinking, he had been smoking with Jeno prior to that, and when we left he tried to leave too, he crashed, but that's not why he's here, he, uh, got up, too numbed to realize that he hurted his ankle and got some lines of coke, too many, actually, he got overdosed and they took him here” Jaemin didn't notice the moment tears started rolling down his cheeks, it was guilt that was swallowing him alive, thinking of how he was the root of every single problem they were having “I didn't know that, I didn't know he was doing all that in a single day, I didn't know he'd try to follow us, I would've taken his keys, I would've said sorry, I shouldn't have taken you there, I shouldn't even be talking to you right now”

And you can't help but cry when he does, knowing how emotional and empathetic Jaemin could actually be, knowing how he tends to take credit for everything that goes wrong, hell, he probably blames himself for climate change, and knowing how sorry and scared he must have been feeling.

“Jaemin, it's not your fault. Mark makes hus own choices, maybe all of them are bad, but those are his” you swipe away the tears off his face with your thumbs “you didn't force him to do any of that, and I know you mean so much more to each other than you say, but you can't keep taking everything he does just because he's broken or whatever you're telling yourself” but you noticed mid-sentence that this was something you needed to tell yourself too “I'm sure he's grateful for you, but you can't keep fixing his mess every single time”

He feels like a weight has been lifted off him, knowing that you can see him for him, you can see how he cares for Mark, and understands what you mean, but it doesn't feel right at all.

“Yeah, i know that” he sits straight again, he looks like he never had that breakdown “Anyway, he's alright now, somehow, do you want me to buy you some coffee?”

You spot Jeno coming back, probably just because it was cold outside. “No, but I could use a walk, the environment is weird here”

You stand up as Jeno makes his way to the chair next to Jaemin.

“Can you take a shift waiting? She's feeling sick and we're taking a break” Jaemin asks his best friend “or you can come, he's probably taking hours to be free, he can wait anyway”

Jeno shakes his head, assuring Jaemin that he'd rather be inside, and that Mark could get kicked out any minute if he was awake.

There's not much to see in the surroundings of a hospital, nor in the parking lot, but the pain of all those people, mixed with Jaemin's and your own was getting overbearing. Jaemin takes a cigarette in his mouth and skillfully lights it real quick, you try to remember if you've ever seen him smoking, but you couldn't remember, nor could you remember his car of his clothes smelling like he did. He's quick to finish it, taking big puffs and barely taking it away from his mouth. He noticed you were staring at him.

“Do you want one?” he forgot his whole lecture on why he was guilty over dragging you into his life and suddenly he remembered as he was sure you were about to say yes “please don't say yes, I didn't mean to offer you one, actually” but he takes out another one, places it on his mouth and lights it, too quickly.

You couldn't help it but remember Mark, because the truth was that anyone who met Mark, would never be able to leave without thinking about him, he was too special to forget. Yes, Jaemin was the sweetest person on Earth, and granted, you'd choose him any day over any other person, and that's why your heart sunk when you remembered what the days hiding in abandoned place with Mark were like, full of uncertainty, but exciting anyway, how his strong leather and tobacco scent would pierce into your nose for the whole day, how he'd make you feel when his fingers ran through your thighs. You loved Mark, you've loved him for a while now, but now you loved him in a different way, you told yourself. There was no use in comparing the two of them since they were absolutely opposite to each other, but you'd love to forget what you felt for Mark anyway.

You take Jaemin's hand on your own, stealing a puff of his almost finished cigar, blowing the smoke directly to his face and smile fondly when he laughs it off. Something about Jaemin always felt right. He throws the rest of it, not risking a burnt when as he rounds your back with his big arms. He could swear he sees a whole galaxy in your eyes, the way they shine is absolutely stunning and it makes him feel warm and fulfilled. He gets closer for a kiss, a sweet kiss, but with the taste of tobacco in his mouth, it becomes easy to forget where you are. You can feel someone walking in your direction as you get away from each other. Jeno and Mark are walking slowly to the car, you remember how Jaemin said he hurt his ankle and giggle at Jeno smiling at Mark's struggle. Both you and Jaemin walk to them, but Mark doesn't care at all, you expected him to be less of an ass by then, and he expected it too, knowing well how much everyone cared for him, but too bitter seeing Jaemin with you, convinced that it should be him who's kissing you and taking you out every Friday night.

Jaemin drives you all to Mark's place, you've never been there, and you don't want to be there either way, so you wait in the car while they make sure Mark can survive a couple hours alone, he can't help but feel defeated, owing his literal life to Jaemin but still pretty annoyed about his new relation. Jeno decides to stay with Mark, promising he'll call someone to take a shift later, and now Jaemin has a some more time alone with you.

Your mom was worried after she read that note, following your instructions and calling you as soon as she saw it.

“He's alright mom, he hurted his ankle, that's it”

“Are you sure? We can bring him something and pay him a visit”

“I think he is tired, besides, I want to spend some time with Jaemin, can I come home later?”

She agrees, too enchanted when Jaemin was mentioned, and diving more into the idea of you setting down with him. Boys were never a priority to you, and somehow it made her happy you were with him. You had already hung up when Jaemin came back to the car, not sure if he should ask you out on a spontaneous date or wait until you suggested it.

“Are you busy, like, right now?” you ask before he can decide on what to do

“Not really, why?”

“I don't know, I wanted to go out, but now I'm thinking I'm more in the mood for a movie at home”

“Do you want me to take you home?” you laughed at how naive he could be sometimes

“I want to go to your place” you confess “well if you don't mind it, maybe we could go to my room and cuddle there”

Jaemin thought of the scene: his mom would definitely be surprised, he couldn't remember if his room was clean, but he sure wanted his mom to meet you, he wanted to have dinner together, he wanted to show you the cool stuff gathered in his room. “Well, we can go to my place”

Next

__________________________________________

A.N: i will never say sorry enough times because i can't help but take too long to update this,,,, anyway, thank you so much for reading this, i hope you're having a nice day/night, some people are still in quarantine and it can be messy to our heads, remember to take care of yourselves, much love! ♡

[embyrinitalics]

Calamiversary: Link’s POV II

Here’s some more scenes from Link’s POV—about 2.4k worth! (I rly hope this makes up a little bit for the fact that I haven’t updated in two months omg)

But you know how I said that reading through my old stuff makes me cringe? Yeah this is like, way worse. It’s all unedited, and I wrote these in December 2018, so it’s all old. It’s all embarrassing. 😬 But with that disclaimer, I’m going to put my personal feelings aside and let you guys read it if you want 😂

Also now that I’m looking at this I feel like they’re not in chronological order, like that scene with Revali stabbing him should have come after these ones with Mipha, but   o h   w e l l

Here u go!

  Drowning

At first, all that registers is the pain, white and hot across my throat, and the numb realization that I’m going to die.

Of course, it’s not that simple for me.

The half of me that I’m always suppressing senses my weakness, slamming frantically against my defenses in the span of a heartbeat. I have to choose between saving myself and containing it. So I pour everything I am into holding him in, dragging him down with me in a white-knuckled grip. But he fights back.

The pain is agony, a thousand heated needles covering my entire body and then being driven down to the bone in nauseating synchrony. He thrashes in my hold, tendrils of his hate whipping out in places, and my vision blotches white. I feel the deathstroke across my throat heal; the earth quaking beneath my feet; the malice seeping out of me like blood oozing out of a wound.

I can hear myself screaming beyond the war, part agony and part fury. Part man and part beast. It’s slowly tearing me in two, ripping ligaments and shredding flesh as it claws deliriously towards escape. I grapple with him, desperately trying to hold on even as he starts pulling my limbs apart. But I know it’s only a matter of time.

Then I see her. Her light cuts through the pain, through the fear and the hate, brilliant and pure as the sun. I can’t speak; I can only stare, imploring her with my eyes to end me quickly.

She takes my face in her hands and I suck a sudden breath. Her glowing touch is warm and soft, comforting, and not the violent end I had been expecting—the touch of a goddess, and for a moment I can breathe.

Then her light engulfs everything—the woods, my body, and soon my mind. The relief from the pain and the peace of it is so indescribably jarring that I don’t resist, falling headlong into it.

And then I’m drowning. Drowning in the sensation of her between my hands, of the softness of her lips under mine, of the closeness of her. Drowning in sensations that are brand new and millennia old at once. I’m drowning, burning from the inside out, and even though it aches I don’t want it to end.

I remember myself, haltingly, and muster the will to let her go. I drop my forehead against hers, grappling with how much I want her—and with how far I’ve let myself fall. There’s no amount of leniency on her part that could possibly excuse this. But I’m not concerned with the consequences for myself; only with how my lack of self-control must have affected her.

“Forgive me,” I breathe. “That was—”

But she silences me, her soft, delicate fingers brushing my mouth with a feather-light touch that sends another pang of want rippling through my middle. Her eyes pierce into me, unendingly blue and so powerful I can’t help but wonder if it’s her magic. Then she exhales, drifting closer, her eyes falling heavy-lidded to my mouth just before they close completely. And the feeling of her lips meeting mine, electric, breathless, so warm, sends me diving under the surge of sensation again.

I draw her close, losing myself in her. There’s nothing even close to this—her touch, her taste, the sound she makes when I angle her head to deepen the kiss.

And I don’t know why I’ve denied myself for so long. I’ve always wanted her. And now that I’ve tasted this, tasted her—even all the armies in Hyrule couldn’t keep me from her now.

I smile against her mouth. Slaughtering them would be easy.

Through the intoxicated cloud swirling in my brain, the thought snags unpleasantly, like a potent flicker of light in a comfortable darkness. It’s enough to slow me down, enough to make me think.

Enough to make me realize this can’t possibly be real.

I stop, pulling away slowly to search her eyes. So familiar. So beautiful it makes my heart ache.

But she’s been dead for 10,000 years.

I want to ignore it, dive headlong into the illusion of her. But I can’t unsee it. I murmur, breaking the spell, “This isn’t real.”

She blinks, and suddenly she’s different. Still familiar. Still beautiful. Still alive. And then the pieces are snapping into place, and the woman in my hands isn’t the one I loved so many millennia ago. It’s the Zelda of this era, the one who only knows me as I am—as the Calamity. And we’re reliving one of her memories—one of my memories—

And it’s agony. All at once the peace is gone, the gentle, tremulous bit of happiness the memory had lent me and I had been nursing in my heart like a single spark in an endless night, and the hatred is flooding in. The anger. Everything the illusion had been strong enough to veil.

And I remember what I am. I feel the evil pouring through my veins like a poison. I feel it making my heart pound stronger. I feel it coloring my vision and filling me with desires I must never obey.

And it’s agony.

I’m quaking on the inside, partly from fury and partly from shock. And then I erupt.

“What are you doing here?”

She looks as lost as I feel, green eyes glittering with shock and fright. “I—I don’t know—”

“Is this some kind of a joke to you? You think that just because you have her memories that they’re yours to do with as you please?”

“No! I didn’t mean to do this—”

Oh, I want to break her. I want to hold her down and force her to taste some of the pain I have. I want to hear her scream. But I push her away instead, unwilling to give the monster the edge.

“Well undo it!”

She stumbles into the mantel, turning back with that pretty face covered in tears. And the satisfaction and the guilt churning together in my stomach makes me feel sick.

“I don’t know how!” she tries to reason. “It was an accident!”

I turn away and try to breathe. That glimmer of humanity, after 10,000 years without—and then to have it just wrested away—

“This how you operate when you don’t get your way, then?” I bite out before I can rein it in. “Prick the Calamity, see if he bleeds?”

“I told you it was an accident,” she says again, more quietly.

She sounds so miserable. A very small part of me wants to comfort her. But I’m so furious I can hardly see straight. Forcing me to relive this moment—with her—

What was she thinking? What in the name of the gods made her think she had the right? Hadn’t I been through enough? Hadn’t I endured enough torture over the last eon? Did she really have to reach down into my most private, most intimate moments and drag them into the daylight, too? The last, precious fragments of who I was, that I hold onto so fiercely, lest I lose myself completely—

Why?

“Magic doesn’t just materialize out of nothing,” I growl, closing the distance again, propelled by a fresh wave of anger. “What did you want to know? If it would hurt me to relive this? If I could even tell the difference between you?”

She winces like my words had been a slap. “No!”

“Then what?” I grab ahold of her, desperate for this to be over. Desperate to just—just feel nothing. “Do you want me to admit that you remind me of her? That I’m in agony every time I look at you? Is that it?”

“I don’t want anything! Let me go!”

“Would it please you to know that I am?” I murmur, my voice dangerously quiet, and she goes still. “Every time.”

And now, I realize numbly, it will be worse.

Because now she doesn’t just remind me of what I had with my Zelda.

Now I’ve tasted her, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to again.

  Frightening

“I’m sorry about what happened with the Champions,” she says quietly, catching me off guard. “I imagine it was… frightening, losing control like that.”

Yes. Yes, it was. I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid of anything in my life as I was in that moment, so close to rupturing, so close to tearing her apart with a thought, so close to losing myself completely and destroying everything I love in the aftermath. I want so badly to tell her, to unburden myself. I know she’s hoping I will. And that just… makes the temptation worse. She’s staring through me with unseeing eyes, full of the desire to understand, to heal even a little bit of the damage. I want to pull her closer, taste her again, thread my fingers in her hair and indulge in the warmth of her. I want to lose myself in her touch, in her lips, lose myself to her instead of to the monster working to claw its way out of me. I want to—

Gods!

“You were right,” I manage, finally. “They weren’t to know.”

“How have you been since?” she asks. So eager. So earnest. So gentle. It’s infuriating. “Any lingering effects? Urges to explode?”

“I always feel the urge to explode,” I scoff, grateful for the levity. “But no. The seal is as strong as it ever was.”

  The Zora Princess

We stop to rest and I quietly remove myself. So I can breathe. So they can breathe.

The air tastes clearer once I put some distance between us, like grass and wind and the malice in my mouth instead of the honeyed flavor of their adrenaline. The pressure in the back of my mind eases somewhat without the constant temptation, but the hollow gnaw of the hunger is just as strong as it ever was. I lower myself into the prairie grass, beating back a groan.

The Gerudo and that bird creature are arguing about something. It makes Zelda laugh.

That’s good.

Then the wind shifts and the air tastes of sugar and salt, and I turn towards it slowly. It’s the Zora girl. She’s so short the grass is up to her knees, and her trident has become more of a walking stick than a weapon. She’s so quiet it’s easy to forget she’s there—but she’s one of the Champions, and royalty, if the headdress is any indication. I’m sure she’s stronger than she looks. The fact that she’s confronting me on her own is evidence enough.

I tilt my head at her as she draws close, feeling after that gentle spike in her heart rate as I fix her in my stare. It makes my spine burn.

“Princess,” I greet her quietly. “To what do I owe this honor?”

She leans on her staff, remarkably calm, and I can feel the tendrils of power wafting off her.

“You’re in a great deal of pain,” she says.

My lips move towards a frown as I draw the inevitable conclusion. Just my luck. “You’re a healer.”

“Yes.”

And her magic is a peculiar brand. Very strong, almost magnetized in the way it drifts towards injury. It’s what brought her to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could bring someone back from the brink of death.

I contemplate her usefulness for a moment; but I need to go much further than the brink, and that’s well beyond even her abilities.

  Dreamcraft

I carry her up to the campsite, lay her near the fire and rouse it a bit so she isn’t freezing, and then grudgingly lift the sleepweb from the Zora girl. Her eyes open and then drift upwards, like she’s watching the spell float away.

Her eyes settle on me, finally, all golden and rippling, and she says, “You seem better.”

She’s a strange one. No demanding what I’d done, or where I’d gone, or what had happened. But she’s also sharp. Sharp enough that her bold-faced concern makes me feel manipulated. But she’s not wrong. I had been caught up in feeling terrified to notice, but the hunger had faded into background noise. Throbbing, like something swollen. I frown, trying to puzzle out how that had happened.

I finally admit, because it’s too easy to admit things when I’m with her, “We shared a dream.”

“And that helps?”

I can’t be sure if it’s the emotional implosion that follows one of her illusions merely drowning the hunger out, or an actual, measurable, residual effect of her dreamcraft. Either way, it’s worth studying. Which is horrifying.

“Maybe.”

We sit by the fire in silence for a while. That’s easy, too. Almost like we had been friends once, in another life. I’m watching the flames, and she’s watching Zelda, and then so am I.

“Could you enter her dreams now? While she sleeps?”

The idea of sauntering into her mind uninvited worms unpleasantly in whatever scrap of my conscience is left, vaguely reminiscent of guilt. But she’s plowed headlong into mine more than once, so it seems only fair. For some reason that reasoning doesn’t make the worming stop. I still haven’t answered, and her eyes glide to the side of my head. I call up the fire more, loosing a taut, tired sigh at her persistence.

“Possibly.”

It’s noncommittal and non-revealing, which I assume will grind her advance to a halt. But she slips around it like water in that infuriating way she does.

“You should try it sometime,” she says.

I tilt my head at her. “You don’t find the idea of trespassing on her mind morally objectionable?”

She shrugs. “Not as objectionable as you tearing a swathe of Hyrule up by the roots.”

And that’s logic I can hardly argue with. Her eyes say she knows. And suddenly I find the image of her pretty crimson skull smashed against the stone and its contents spattered everywhere very appealing.

“You need her,” she adds, too simply, too condemningly, and I have to swallow down fury and terror.

Because she’s right.

The night drags and drags and drags, dread and disgust whipping me into a tumble of disquiet and every quiet tremble of fear or pleasure from her tempting me into her head.

[darnloveablecharacters]

Prove Me Wrong, Part Nineteen: Fear

Series Summary:  Caithwistë, born from the only known pairing of an elf and a dwarf has spent most of her life in hiding. When an old friend, (or a certain meddling wizard) finds her in the woods, everything changes. Now, she will have the chance to prove the world wrong about her value. A ‘The Hobbit’ fanfiction based off of the following imagines from @imaginexhobbit: This One is the basis of the story, and This One and This One will be added in later. If you recognize it, it belongs to Professor Tolkien or Peter Jackson. But, as usual, the story and all of the mistakes are my own!

Prove Me Wrong - Masterlist

Chapter Notes: This was legitimately the hardest chapter for me to get right. Good lord so much happens here. I’ve re-written it so many dang times and I know I’ve said this before, but I hope I was right with the decision that this was the best version. Also, I’ve discovered how to make my  own gifs, YAY!

Warnings for this chapter: violence, death, fluff if you squint a bit - basically the same as the last one

Tagged: @imaginesreblogged @chevycastiel1967 @rices4me93​ If you want to be added just let me know!

Caithwistë squeezed her eyes shut against the sound of the Company’s screams. She was pressed between Thorin and Dwalin as the bridge tumbled down the crevasse, creating an avalanche of rock and splintered wood in its wake. Together, they shielded her from the flying debris until they were jolted forward violently and Dwalin was forced off her. Her eyes snapped open and she saw him tightly gripping the edge of the bridge, barely stopping himself from tumbling over. “Dwalin!” She screamed, reaching out to him. She felt Thorin tighten his hold on her just as she managed to grasp Dwalin’s wrist. She could feel that they were slowing down and braved a glance behind her. They were caught between two walls now and she could only pray that the fall was nearly over.

With a final crash, the bridge came to an abrupt halt. The impact forced Caithwistë out of Thorin’s arms and off the bridge. With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet brushing the debris off that had covered her. She looked to the bridge and let out a relieved breath at the sight of the Company, bruised but alive.

“Well that could have been worse.” Bofur said, right before the corpse of the Great Goblin crashed into the bridge. The Company groaned in unison with the additional weight on the destroyed bridge crushing them.

“You’ve got to be joking me.” Dwalin growled.

Caithwistë smiled affectionately at the rough dwarf and rushed forward to help them out of the rubble. She was pulling Bombur to his feet when Kili suddenly yelled, “Gandalf?!” Her eyes shot to him then followed his gaze up the cavern and she sucked in a breath at the sight. Hundreds of goblins were now scuttling down the walls quickly, headed straight for them.

“There’s too many, we can’t fight them.” She heard Dwalin say as she moved forward to pull Glóin out of the wreckage.

“Only one thing will save us. Daylight! Come on!” Mithrandir called out.

The rest of the Company was quickly freed from the confines of the bridge and they ran through the first opening they could find. It wasn’t long before sunlight came into view, and Caithwistë couldn’t help the smile forming on her lips at the near freedom.

“Gollum”.

Caithwistë stopped in her tracks. She was certain that she had heard someone calling out in agony but couldn’t place the voice. She was not given time to process what she heard though, as she was pushed forward by Bombur. “Keep going, Miss Caithwistë.” He said breathlessly and she quickened her pace again pushing the thought from her mind.

Finally, they burst out of the caves into the sunlight and she took in a deep breath of the fresh air. The comforting feeling of their freedom gave her a new burst of energy as Company continued their retreat, wanting to distance themselves from the caves as much as possible before the sun set. It was not until the sun began to dip below the horizon that they finally stopped.

Caithwistë took a moment to catch her breath and turned to Thorin. “Lost your way again, did you?” She said with a smirk.

Thorin rolled his eyes and shoved her playfully, making her giggle.

“Where’s Bilbo? Where is our hobbit?”

Caithwistë’s gaze snapped back to Mithrandir who was glancing around at the Company uncertainly. She peered at the gathering, confirming he was not there and felt sick. How could she have not noticed he wasn’t with them?

“Where is our hobbit?” Mithrandir demanded again when there was no answer.

“Curse that Halfling! Now he’s lost? I thought he was with Dori!” Glóin growled.

“Don’t blame me!” Dori protested.

Mithrandir stalked toward him. “And where did you last see him?” He asked forcefully.

It was Bifur that answered. “I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us.”

Caithwistë sighed in relief. Perhaps Bilbo was safe.

Mithrandir turned to Bifur. “What happened exactly? Tell me!”

“I’ll tell you what happened.” Thorin said, stepping forward angrily. “Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He’s thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He is long gone.”

“No, he isn’t.” Bilbo’s said, appearing as if out of nowhere behind them.

“Bilbo!” Caithwistë cried with tears in her eyes. She jumped forward and pulled him into a fierce hug that briefly startled him. He chuckled and patted her back comfortingly.

“Bilbo Baggins. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.” Mithrandir said cheerfully when Caithwistë released him.

“Bilbo, we’d given you up!” Kili exclaimed with a wide grin.

“How on earth did you get past the goblins?” Fili asked curiously.

“How indeed?” Dwalin asked, watching Bilbo suspiciously.

Bilbo laughed nervously and Caithwistë saw a glint of gold as he stuffed something in his pocket. She glanced at Mithrandir nervously and saw a flash of fear cross his eyes. He had seen it too. “Oh, what does it matter? He’s back.” He said, quickly recovering.

“It matters.” Thorin said, narrowing his eyes at Bilbo and Caithwistë braced herself for the worst. “I want to know. Why did you come back?” He asked softly.

Bilbo regarded him uncertainly before answering. “Look, I know you doubt me. I know…I know you always have. And you’re right, I often think of Bag End.” He said with a shrug. “I miss my books, and my arm chair, and my garden. See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. And that’s why I came back, cause…you don’t have one. A home.” He glanced at the Company, finally stopping at Caithwistë who was watching him with glassy eyes. “None of you do.” He said, and she nodded sadly before he turned back to Thorin. “It was taken from you, but I will help you take it back if I can.”

Caithwistë was speechless as she watched Bilbo smile fondly at the Company. He had already come such a long way. From a flustered hobbit worrying about his lack of handkerchief to a strong friend who would risk his life to help them find their place in the world. She didn’t think she could ever feel more pride than what she felt in that moment. She glanced at Thorin who was now looking at Bilbo appreciatively. It was the first time she had ever seen him regard the hobbit with anything other than disdain.

The moment of peace was tender but unfortunately could not last. Caithwistë tensed when the sound of growling reached her ears. She turned uncertainly back toward the mountain just before a loud howl cut through the silence, setting the Company on high alert.

“Out of the frying pan.” Thorin growled.

“And into the fire, run. RUN!” Mithrandir called.

Caithwistë grabbed the stunned Bilbo’s hand and pulled him down the rocky slope as the Company scattered. She could hear heavy paws hitting the ground as the pack rapidly gained on them. Releasing her grip on Bilbo she turned, drawing her bow, and killed the first warg just as it came into view. As soon as it dropped, another was quickly in its place and she was forced to dive out of the way when it leapt at her. She rolled to her feet with another arrow drawn but the warg had not turned to her as she thought it would, it was headed for Bilbo instead. She released the arrow but aimed too high, barely missing just as Bilbo and the warg disappeared behind an outcropping.

“Bilbo?!” She screamed, running to the spot where they were hidden. She drew Emel-o Orcrist as she rounded the corner and breathed a sigh of relief. Bilbo was alive, trying to pull his blade out of the now dead warg’s head. She rushed to him to help. “Come on Bilbo, we have to move.” She pleaded as they finally wrenched the blade free. He nodded and they ran to toward where the Company was now scrambling into the trees.

They reached it just in time, Caithwistë pulling Bilbo onto a branch as the wargs snapped at his heels. “That was too close.” He muttered.

Caithwistë nodded silently, watching the pack circle underneath the branches. Her arrows would be no good here, there were simply too many. Suddenly the snarling stopped and the wargs turned back, watching as their leader approached.

Caithwistë froze, gripping the trunk of the tree tightly as the white warg and her rider climbed up on a nearby outcropping. She felt ice in her veins, and it became difficult for her to breathe as the memories of Moria began flooding through her at the sight of him.

Azog, the Defiler sat triumphantly on his mount, focusing directly on Thorin. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, stroking his warg gently with a deadly looking claw that had replaced his severed hand. “Do you smell it? The scent of fear? I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin son of Thrain.”

Caithwistë trembled violently as Azog’s eyes moved across the Company, finally resting on her. He smiled menacingly. “You. You should be dead and yet, here you are. I will enjoy having my favorite toy back after I kill these dwarves.” He said with a cruel laugh.

Caithwistë felt someone grip her hand tightly, but she couldn’t tear her fearful gaze away from the Pale Orc.

“Those are mine.” Azog called out, gesturing to Thorin and Caithwistë. “Kill the others!”

The tree shook as the Wargs violently rammed against it but she was still frozen in her spot. “Caithwistë!” Bilbo yelled, shaking her. She glanced at him, eyes wide with fear and he tightened his grip on her. How long had he been calling to her? “We’re going to have to jump!” He exclaimed, pleading with her to come back to the present.

Caithwistë visibly shook herself at his words and nodded. She noticed the relief flash in Bilbo’s eyes as the tree began to fall. He pulled her with him, jumping to the next tree. She landed agilely onto the branch, regaining a bit of herself but Bilbo slipped, and she dove down to grab his arm. She quickly pulled him back onto the branch before that tree fell as well and they were forced to jump again.

They were now in the last tree at the edge of the cliff with nowhere to run. She had no choice then but to draw her bow and try to protect the Company as long as she could. Before she was able to shoot though, a ball of flame was thrown from above her driving the wargs back. She released the tension on the bow and looked up as Mithrandir began lighting more pinecones and tossing them down to the dwarves. They used them to light even more pinecones and were quickly able to create a defensive ring of fire between them and the pack.

The Company cheered as the wargs retreated but were abruptly silenced when the tree shook and began to fall. The descent of the tree halted when it was level with the cliff, the jolt making Caithwistë lose her grip on the branch. Her fall was abruptly stopped, and she glanced up in surprise to see Thorin gripping her arm tightly. “Unalê, do not let go.” He commanded with wide eyes.

Caithwistë nodded and he pulled her up just enough so she could cling on to a branch and push herself back onto the trunk of the tree. Thorin let out a breath and nodded at her but his expression darkened, and he turned back to the pack. “Thorin?” She asked as he released his grip on her and stood. He stepped off the tree with his sword drawn, moving in for the attack. “Thorin, don’t!” She pleaded as he began to run through the flames.

He couldn’t hear her, to him there was only Azog now.

Caithwistë scrambled to her feet and watched in horror as Thorin burst through the flame and Azog’s warg leapt at him, knocking him on his back. He had barely managed to climb back to his feet when Azog charged him again, dealing a fierce blow to his head with his mace but they still weren’t finished. Caithwistë gasped at the sound of Thorin’s scream as the warg picked him up and bit down, hard. Even clenched in the wargs jaws, Thorin managed to slash at her nose and she reflexively threw him toward the edge of the cliff.

Caithwistë blanched when the screaming stopped. A new feeling of pain ripped through her when Thorin hit the ground and did not move.

Caithwistë trembled at the sight. She no longer shook with fear though. Instead, she was consumed by a fierce rage that she hadn’t felt since the death of her father. She drew her sword and swiftly charged forward; sight set on Azog. “Bring me his head.” He was saying, and another orc moved forward with its blade drawn. Shifting her focus to protect Thorin again, she let out a guttural scream as she approached and swung her sword in a deadly arc, beheading the orc as it had raised its own blade.

The orc fell, and she backed up to Thorin with her blade raised, glaring at Azog. “You will not touch him.” She growled.

“So be it, kill her then.” Azog said dismissively.

Caithwistë braced herself for the attack as three more mounted orcs moved toward her, but they were all surprised when a chorus of battle cries sounded out and the Company joined the fray in a fierce attack, led by none other than Bilbo.

Caithwistë only had eyes for Azog though. As they pushed the other orcs away, she dashed forward with a savage swing of her sword and managed to knock the mace out of the distracted Orcs hand. She turned to attack again, but Azog swung at her with his clenched fist catching her the jaw and knocked her to the ground. Dazed from the blow, she tried to climb to her feet but failed as the warg turned to her for the kill.

That was when she heard the first call of the eagles. She fell back and watched in awe as they swooped in, catching the mounted orcs off-guard. The moved in quickly, picking them off a few at a time and tossing them over the edge.

Azog was fully focused on the eagles, and Caithwistë took advantage of the distraction. She pushed herself to her feet and ran to Thorin. “Thorin?” She called to him, stroking his cheek lightly. He was unconscious but breathing which gave her a moment of relief until she realized how labored it was. She shook him lightly, but he did not respond. “Thorin, wake up. You must get up, the eagles are here. They can help.” She shook him again and he still did not respond. “Thorin please, you cannot leave me. Not now.” She begged with tears forming in her eyes.

An eagle landed next to her and she gripped Thorin tighter when it reached out to pick him up. “Let go child, I will not harm him.” The eagle said calmly. Caithwistë looked up at it and it regarded her solemnly. She took a deep breath and nodded, releasing Thorin so it could move him. The eagle wrapped its talons around Thorin gingerly, taking great care to not cut him. “Jump young one, we will catch you.”

Caithwistë nodded again and watched the eagle fly away with Thorin cradled in its talons for a moment, then remembered where she was. She looked back and sent a final glare to the enraged Azog. He roared at her, angered at the loss of his trophy. She sneered at him with her own feeling of triumph before jumping off the cliff onto the back of another great eagle.

As the Company was carried to safety, she made a promise to herself that the next time she met Azog, it would be the last.

Translations: Unalê - My tracker (khuzdul)

yeah yeah, I know I got lazy with the black speech on this one but just so y'all know.... I actually had it all translated but thought for the reading sake, we'll just throw it in italics and call it a day lol.

Authors Note: I’m really sorry for taking Thorin’s rescue away from Bilbo, but helping Caithwistë is just as good, right? Sorry Bagginshield fam, but we all know that moment is crucial for the developing relationship.

[sasorikigai]

‘ you’re my weakness. ’  for Blaze, so basically just a bunch of doggo noises.

send  ‘ you’re my weakness. ’  for my muse’s reaction || @hcvvl || accepting 

💥 || Every midnight, Hanzo Hasashi would silently whisper to the moon, imprinting every wish on a shooting star, as he crosses his fingers and prays that his undying love towards Harumi will eventually find her, wherever she may be. His heart yearns to escape its cage within his chest, aching to be hold in her hands, the same way he aches to hold hers in his. His nightmares are often like a splash of cold water on flushed skin; jarring, uncomfortable, a push back into reality. How he wishes to search for that feeling of warmth again, cling to it. That’s where it all spirals; because suddenly, that splash of water has found itself to be a winter lake, with ice scattered across the still surface. And he is nearly drowning in it. Metaphorically, it’s hard to tell anyone when it starts to feel so numb, and sometimes, in this fevered sickness, it would be strenuously difficult to get out of the bed, wash his hair, to venture outside, to go on his morning run with Blaze, etc. 

It’s that feeling in his chest, his throat; it’s tight and heavy. He’s breathing, but not really. His respiratory system is still doing its job; inhale, exhale, rinse, and repeat - but it’s all shallow like everything else he feels when such delirious madness strikes his cranium and there is an acute ache perpetuates his being. Yet, he still craves that feeling of satisfaction, of accomplishment, of contentment. So Commander Hanzo Hasashi dives into his work - any work that will fulfill him. It becomes obsessive, hour after hour, the daylight waning and he still finds himself, placated in the darkness, even during his off-days stuck in his bare apartment, with the familiar weight on one knee, while his laptop balances on the other. He would refuse nor dare to stop, dare he thinks another thought. He daren’t. For to stop is to comprehend, and sink further into the downward spiral that will wretch his wish towards betterment and redemption. If he takes away the time to think, then surely - he will rid himself of the problem. That’s what he tells himself, and thus, that is what he pursues. 

But it’s always out of reach, just on the other side of the fence. He can see it, and he can feel his fingers brush against it, but it will always remain elusive - for that is the nature of his profession, and it will always be out of reach until the problem is uprooted. So how long can he escape from it? Is that the game he is playing against the unwinnable reality? Hanzo simply buries himself in sand until wind cannot touch him, as more piles of burdensome work becomes another fucking parallel metaphor he cannot escape from, until it all goes away in his tranced fatigue, settles amidst his broad shoulders and chiseled architecture of his being. He will most likely drown in apathy not only towards himself, but of the homicide cases as to not drink down repeated vicious cycle of trauma and misery. 

“You need not worry about me, because we are meant to be two, we always climb that hill together and step by step, we will always find our stride,” the intonation of Blaze’s growling, guttural noises elicit something that reaches into his visceral responses, and how Hanzo willingly consumes the truth. He will continue to be lost in the untold story of the unsolved cases, climbing different hills for a better vantage of the victim and suspects’ surroundings, as if he would walk for hours on end in their perspective, finding a pace in order to let all the contemplative percolation grow, exacerbate, enough for him to simply fall asleep erect against his headboard. “You are more than a canine, a man’s best friend, so to speak - and sometimes, it’s kind of unsettling that you would catch on how I am feeling, as if such sentiments are magically emerging from my tenacious grasp, to be transferred onto you, enough for you to feel what I need.” Perhaps he still yearns to be cherished with tenderness he craves for so long; to be cared for in a way he never thought he will ever deserve. 💥 || 

[buffyversefanfiction]

Tristan Tormented

Volume 1 - Before He Rises

Warnings: I do not own the rights to the television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, its spin-off series Angel, its dark horse comics continuation series, or any of the characters created by Joss Whedon and others in the Buffyverse.

Moderate violence, scenes of a sexual nature, inappropriate/threatening language, lgbt, f/m, f/f, m/m, gen, other +

Follow up series to “Twisted Tristan”

Mandi found herself frantically running through the woods as the sun began to rise in the sky somewhere on the outskirts of New York City desperately searching for any sign of a corpse, the corpse in question being Buffy Summers’ son who had recently been killed by Drusilla. She knew that the rising sun would eventually set once again and if she did not get to Tristan Summers’ body in time then he would rise again as a vampire, a vampire they would have to kill and she wanted to spare Buffy of that heartbreak but as she continued to charge through the endless woods she began fearing she would never get to Tristan in time. Of course she was not alone in her search or in her despair as Spike was held up in an abandoned hospital nearby, having no choice but to stay in the shadows as the growing sun would turn him to ashes if he did not. Spike hoped with all of his undead heart that witch Mandi Jenkins would deal with Tristan before either Buffy or Angel had to deal with their undead child, knowing Buffy would never come back from killing her own son and fearing Angel would do anything to protect any form of the child that until recently he had no idea he had.

Drusilla had found herself a small cave within the woods to find shelter in and hide from the burning power of the sun after burying the child she had claimed as her own, not wanting to leave him alone but knowing her vampirism would only lead to her burning if she attempted to stand in the direct sunlight. She stood within the caves in a rare moment of not knowing for the psychedelic Drusilla as the sun was only beginning to set giving the slayers and their friends plenty of time to find where she had buried Tristan not knowing if she would get to the slayer’s son before they would, wondering if Tristan would be killed once more before he even had a chance to rise.

Willow sat next to Buffy as the two sat within the first class seating on an airplane heading straight for New York City fearing the worst possible outcome as she continued to stare at an emotionless Buffy who was at the window seat staring blankly into the sky, the two not sharing a single word since the redheaded witch was forced to tell her blonde haired best friend that she may have to slay her own son. “I am sick of the sacrifices,” Buffy announced, breaking the silence between herself and Willow as she turned to face her bewitching friend. “I am done with the heart wrenching surprises how the chaos always bleeds throughout my life how people I care about become body after body…all I ever wanted was to protect him from all this and now I have no idea what he is becoming.” “I know Buffy,” Willow replied as she reached out her hand and held her friend’s hand. “I really wish things did no turn out like this that we could have saved him but in a way we still can…” “I do not want to kill him Willow!” Buffy said as her voice began to break and tears began falling from her eyes. “Maybe we can try giving him a soul somehow? I mean it would not be the exact same spell as Angel’s but hey if Spike can get himself a soul then I can surely whip one up somehow for Tristan.” Willow suggested, hoping to find some last-minute fix to get themselves out of the dreadful situation they were heading straight for. “And then what everybody he kills until then is on us for not being able to stop it?” Buffy asked as tears continued to fall down the cheeks of her face. “I hate that I always have to choose between the world and who I love!” “Last time Angelus payed a visit Wesley, Fred, Gunn and a heavily possessed and pregnant Cordelia had him locked up in a cage maybe we can take a page out of their book and keep him locked up until we re-soul him.” Willow told Buffy before coming to a worrying realisation. “Although when Tristan had a soul and was human, he was killing people and attempting to kill you and Angel so even if we do get his soul back…” “He will just go straight back to trying to kill us all, there is already far too much blood on his hands, the vampirism with or without a soul will only help him to cause more pain and take more lives.” Buffy cried, knowing that there was no way out of what she had to do. “He is my son; I took him into this world and because I failed to protect him, I am going to have to be the one who takes him out of this world.” Willow wanted so badly to say something that would comfort Buffy or think of something that could stop her best friend from feeling the pain of losing her child but she knew as much as the slayer herself knew in that moment that there was no magical solution to their problem and that Tristan Summers had to die again, so instead of rambling more or trying to come up with solutions she already debunked in her mind she just continued to tighten her grip on Buffy’s hand, tighter and tighter, letting her know that whatever Buffy had to face she would never have to face any of it alone.

Faith and Angel had also found themselves on a different airplane heading to New York as Angel began his quest to find his son reminding him all too well of the troubles he faced with his firstborn son Connor but despite all the chaos that ensued with Angel and Connor, Connor had never lost his soul which gave Angel the undying hope for their relationship to be redeemed. Angel had only came face to face with his second son Tristan a hand full of times and each time it had resulted in his son trying to kill him, which was before he lost his soul and began his process into joining the undead population. The vampire with a soul wanted to mourn his son’s death, grieve the man he could have been or even learn to love the monster his son would become but all he could feel in that moment was rage, rage towards Buffy for never telling him about Tristan until it was too late, rage towards Willow for accidentally losing him within time and rage towards Faith for keeping their secrets from him. “This would never have happened if I was there to protect him!” Angel announced to Faith, ending the awkward silence between the strained friends. “You were not there, Angel…B, Willow and I tried everything to protect your kid, but the monsters just kept coming.” Faith replied, trying to justify her betrayal while knowing she could not. “I owed it to B to be there for her after everything!” “You owed it to Buffy?” Angel snapped at the redeemed slayer. “What about me? I always had your back and yes you had mine until you helped keep my son away from me.” “It was not supposed to happen like that Angel, Willow opened that portal to the past, but we were all meant to go through it. Nobody meant to take him from you or abandon him to be raised under Drusilla’s delusions but that is what went down and all I can say is I am sorry.” Faith explained, knowing it would not help their fractured friendship. “If I was there or if I had known where he had been sent…” Angel began to say. “It is just like Connor all over again only this time the craziest vampire in all of existence, the woman I tortured before turning has stepped in to play pseudo parent to my child. Holtz has nothing on her!” “I am not giving up on Tristan I saw something in him the moment I met him and vampire or not…” Faith declared, making it clear she had not giving up on Angel’s son just yet. “He is a god damn vampire!” Angel shouted at her, raising his voice so loud that the other passengers on the plane began to take notice. “There is no other way out of this that does not end with a stake in my son’s chest and that is because of you, Willow and Buffy!” Faith wanted to argue Angel’s fear away but she knew she could not, she wanted to apologize until Angel accepted it but she knew he would not and so she just shut her mouth and embraced the silence once more as they travelled to New York hoping to save Tristan just like she had hoped time and time again since that first day they met outside Tristan and his vampire ex Dante’s demonic dive bar but she knew the odds were few and far between and that if she did try to save Buffy and Angel’s son she may even have to go up against his parents to do so.

Daylight was at it always is limited, and just like that the sun rose and the sun set as Mandi found herself lost within the woods located somewhere near New York City but as darkness once again returned she was far from alone as somewhere in those very woods was Tristan’s slayer mother Buffy, his vampire father Angel, Faith, Spike and unfortunately for her Drusilla too. Mandi had spent all day searching for Tristan’s makeshift grave but had found nothing, she had tried spell after spell until she had exhausted herself and still nothing it was like Drusilla had seen all this coming which for once she did not but Drusilla had not lived as long as she did without knowing how to survive and those survival instincts had clearly extended to her soon to be rising son Tristan. Suddenly Mandi began to feel the hairs on her neck rise as she heard a loud crackling noise which sounded like somebody had just broken a tree branch forcing her to turn around and face the noise coming from behind her only to be left shocked to see Drusilla now standing in front of her in full vampire face. “Did you mother never tell you not to go into the woods at night?” Drusilla asked, sounding as sinister as she always did before letting out a haunting giggle. “Talking of mother’s, you sure turned out to be the worst one in history Dru.” Mandi snapped at the female vampire, trying to hide her fear behind her fury. “We came with you that day and it was the worst decision we ever did, following you has turned out to be a mistake for everyone involved.” “Now let us not exchange such harsh words not on the eve of my son coming back to me.” Drusilla replied. “Do not worry I have not forgot about you; you will be my baby boy’s first feed as a vampire!” “Figures you would want me dead; I mean you killed Tristan and then there’s Dante who let’s face it might not have been you, but it was certainly because of you.” Mandi told Drusilla, as she began to think of a spell to use against her. “No!” Drusilla repeated frantically as she tugged on her own hair manically. “Dante was supposed to be here…” As Drusilla continued to cry “No” frantically a quick thinking Mandi began chanting in a long forgotten language summoning a fireball between in the air between the witch and vampire just and just as Drusilla began to notice what she was doing the fireball launched its way towards Drusilla launching itself into her chest and sending Drusilla backwards into the dirt as Mandi quickly began running away from the vampire and further into the woods now only hoping to make it out of the woods alive.

Unlike Mandi who had searched before them to no result, Buffy and Willow did not search long within the woods before they had found the markings of a clearly makeshift grave that they knew had to be the place in which Tristan was buried, in fact they had found it too easily, so easily that they both felt as if someone or something wanted them to find Buffy’s son’s grave. Buffy wondered if it was a higher being helping to take out a potentially great evil or if Drusilla had cruelly planned for her to find Tristan to have to watch her son rise from the ground just to have to kill him as Willow wondered if her powers had grown so strong everything had become too easy for her or if somehow it was fate to find him before he rose but one thing both the slayer and the witch knew was that they had no choice but to kill Buffy’s boy. “I guess we all got here in time then.” Faith said with a clear look of dread on her face as her and Angel appeared from out of the woods in front of Buffy and Willow, walking towards them both until they stood on the other side of Tristan’s temporary grave. “Question is what do we do now we are all here?” “The thing we always do,” Buffy replied to Faith as she pulled out a wooden stake from her jacket pocket at the same time as Angel before the two parents shared a look of acceptance over what had to happen next. “Normally I am all up for staking a vamp, but this is not just any other vamp…we can find another way other than killing him.” Faith argued, hoping for them to come across to her way of thinking. “Sure, he was kind of crazy with a soul but we can make it work, I mean Angel’s the OG of making vampirism work so surely his son could pick up a trait or two from him.” “Things do not just work out like that Faith!” Buffy snapped at her, clearly exhausted with arguing over what had to be done. “Even if I did restore his soul it would not make him any less…” Willow began to say. “Evil?” Faith interrupted furiously. “At some point in time we have all done some pretty messed up shit that would declare us evil but that does not mean he cannot be saved! I say we shove a soul back in the guy and then get him straight to therapy.” “Faith, just stop!” Angel demanded, having heard enough. “We came here to end him not to save him…that time has passed.” “Angelus was always much better at condemning rather than saving, weren’t you?” Drusilla said as she creepily appeared as if out of nowhere. “I had hope to get my boy a snack first, but I suppose any of you will do if not all of you.” “Try me!” Buffy threatened as she marched towards the vampire that had claimed her son. “You could not take me on my worst day and after what you’ve done I am going to show you a whole new kind of torture that makes what Angel did to you look like child’s play.” “I’m not alone though,” Drusilla giggled before turning to look directly at Faith. “I’m not his only protector here! In fact, I hear another coming as we speak.” “What the hell are you talking about Dru?” Angel snapped before turning to look at Faith, only for her to punch him in the face. Faith then pursued to kick and punch Angel multiple times before getting his head into an armlock, snapping his neck, and throwing the vampire to the ground. “Faith this is not the time to go back to team evil!” Buffy shouted as she turned to face the brunette slayer. “I am sorry B, but I cannot let you or Angel kill your child,” Faith replied as Willow began chanting in a long dead language. Drusilla quickly punched Buffy who turned around with speed to catch the vampire’s fist in her hand, twisting Dru’s hand and snapping her arm in the process before she kicked the vampire to the ground as Willow’s chanting caused Faith to go flying into a nearby tree, magically pinning her there, making Faith unable to move. “I am going to enjoy finally getting to kill you!” Buffy revealed to Drusilla as she hovered above the menacing vampire, too fixed on Drusilla to notice a hand rising from out of Tristan’s grave. “Buffy!” Faith screamed while still pinned to the tree. “You cannot kill your child you cannot come back from something like that!” “She has no choice Faith!” Willow snapped at her before seeing before her own eyes Tristan pulling himself out of his narrow temporary grave. “I have no choice…” Willow suddenly felt a piercing pain coming from the back of her head, forcing her to fall to the ground as Buffy and Faith noticed Mandi standing where Willow once stood holding a brick that she quickly threw to the ground. “Mandi!” Faith said in shock, forgetting for a moment she had left Spike and Mandi out here in the woods, as Faith felt the magic holding her back disappear as Willow lost consciousness on the ground. Buffy quickly charged at Mandi, jumping at the witch and forcing her to the ground before delivering a killer punch while on top of her, knocking the witch out instantly as Faith began cautiously walking towards Tristan and Drusilla quickly rose to her feet. “I guess this results in a classic Buffy and Faith fight.” Faith said to Buffy as Buffy rose to her feet, looking at both Faith and Drusilla. “Now, do not be forgetting about me.” Spike said as he appeared from out of the woods to see Tristan stood above his grave, covered in dirt, and directly staring at him with confusion. “Guess we have a vampire to kill Buffy.” “Kill Drusilla like we came here to do!” Faith shouted at Spike. “We can still save him Spike.” Spike looked over to Buffy as he noticed the look on her face which told him that they were to kill Tristan does not save him as Faith realized the only ally she had in this fight was the deranged Drusilla. “Mum.” Tristan said in an almost childlike voice, breaking his own silence since his ressurection, the word mum tugging on Buffy’s heartstrings as she felt her heart begin to break. “I am right here my darling boy!” Drusilla replied to him as Tristan glanced over Spike and Buffy and turned to face Drusilla.

[warofshadowstheorder]

Chapter 07

The morning arrived in typical fashion on the island of Cuba.  A gorgeous sunrise providing a wondrous prelude to the sweltering heat that followed.  Along the shoreline across the sea from Guantanamo Bay stood a small open-air cantina that was a far cry from any romanticized images of Havana, but exactly what someone would expect for a dive bar in a third-world country.

Business didn’t pick up until late afternoon when daylight was fading and tired working men were searching for a place to sit down and relax with a cold brew, but the aroma of the spent cigarettes and cigars was always present.  The selection was limited, as was the clientele.  Tables and chairs adorned the floor with the only real decoration being a 1950s Wurlitzer.  The most recent selection recognizable to foreign visitors was Roy Orbison’s “Only The Lonely.”

The beverage selection and a few empty cigar boxes were on display on the shelf behind the bar.  The exterior had the appearance of the main office of a rundown jungle hotel that had been built during a time well before any modern era.  At first sight, it looked like it could collapse on its own foundation at any time.

The proprietor, a man named Eduardo Gomez, arrived shortly after daybreak and unlocked the door behind the bar, opening it to reveal a small room with a small desk containing multiple drawers and  up.  The cantina didn’t open until much later in the day, but the morning hours were the only time Eduardo had to clean up from the previous evening.  The previous evening had been particularly boisterous, as evidenced by the condition of the seating area at the bar and the bathroom.  Eduardo gave a sigh after entering upon the realization that the darkness had masked the extent of the deteriorated condition in which he had left the cantina.

After a few hours with a broom, mop, cleansers, brushes, and scrubbers, the cantina was back to the best condition for which Eduardo could hope.  Exhaustion getting the better of him, Eduardo gave the place a last once-over before picking up the newspaper he had brought with him and settling down for a break.  The calm sea outside matching the overall environment.

While Eduardo was settling in, the sea suddenly became a little less calm.  A man’s head quickly surfaced amidst some quickly forming ripples near the shoreline.  Odin brought his tired body to the surface and took a moment to catch his breath.  Having stayed underwater for minutes at a time, it took him a few moments to recuperate.

His lungs felt like they were simultaneously on fire and soaking wet as he took several long breaths.  After a while, he brought his head up and saw the cantina.  He stood on his feet and slowly walked to the establishment, being careful to ensure that he wasn’t seen or being watched.  His steps were slow due to the disorientation he was experiencing from his exhaustion, but each one was careful and deliberate.

He eventually made it to the table where Eduardo sat.  Eduardo looked up from his newspaper and was curious about the sight in front of him.  An obviously foreign man dressed only in a pair of briefs was something that he hadn’t seen before.  He was only halfway standing and his legs were shaking.  His breathing was labored and water freely dripped off of him.

Eduardo didn’t know what to say, all he could do was stare at the man before him.  After several moments of uncertainty and hesitation, Eduardo spoke.

“Buenos dias senor, te puedo ayudar?”

Eduardo stiffened as the man approached him.  He was visualizing every possible outcome of the move and hoped that the idea he had of being dead in a few seconds didn’t end up coming true.

Odin extended his right hand toward Eduardo.  Relieved, Eduardo extended his hand to Odin expecting a handshake.  A moment before they would have shaken hands, Odin moved his hand so that the back of it made contact with the back of Eduardo’s.  Odin then moved his arm over Eduardo’s and gripped his forearm, he then relaxed his grip and slid his hand down to shake Eduardo’s.

A look of surprise came over Eduardo’s face when the two of them ended the handshake.  Odin stared forward at Eduardo as he stared back at him and Eduardo struggled to think of what he was supposed to do next.

“Credentials?” Eduardo asked after a few moments.

Odin nodded, then started running his fingers over his arms and torso.

He peeled off pieces of a material that matched the color of his skin, letting them drop to the floor, each fallen piece revealing something different.

Marks of various geometric shapes and assorted sizes adorned his shoulders, back, and torso.  There were marks on both of his shoulders, one over the right side of his chest, one on his stomach, two just above it, a large one on each of his shoulder blades, and another large one at the small of his back.

The most prominent mark on his body was a large black circle with streaks in the center burned onto his skin.

Eduardo carefully examined the different marks over the front and back of Odin’s body.

“Tell me what those ones,” Eduardo said pointing to one on his left shoulder and two on his abdomen, “represent.”

“This one,” Odin said pointing to the one on his shoulder, “is for escape and concealment, and these,” he pointed to the two on his abdomen, “are for water training, and unarmed combat.”

There was a pause while Eduardo registered what Odin told him, he knew that what he’d said was accurate.  Eduardo’s eyes lit up as he realized what kind of man was standing in front of him.

“I’ve shown you mine,” Odin said after a moment breaking Eduardo out of his revelatory state, “now show me yours.”

“Of course,” Eduardo answered in awe.  He lifted up the left sleeve of his shirt to reveal a tattoo of a cat’s eye with a black color and a green pupil.  Odin looked at it and gave a nod to show that Eduardo passed his inspection.

“What can I do for you?” Eduardo asked eagerly.

“I need to get back to the Monastery.  Now.”  Odin said before picking up the flesh-colored patches.

“Give me a minute,” Eduardo answered.  “You will have to forgive me,” he continued as he led Odin behind the bar into a backroom, “but I was just approached a few years ago and you are the first Knight who has come here.”

“I’m honored,” Odin said returning to his natural accent and occasionally looking around to make sure he and Eduardo weren’t being watched, “you do know the procedure for this, right?”

“Claro,” Eduardo replied with the same excited tone, “I’ve been waiting to actually see this done.”

Odin smiled seeing the enthusiasm and obvious excitement of Eduardo as they entered the office and Eduardo closed the door behind them.  Odin’s eyes immediately found the cauldron.  Eduardo opened one of his desk drawers and handed a piece of paper and pencil to Odin, who quickly thanked Eduardo before beginning to write a note.  As Odin wrote, Eduardo reached into another drawer where he brought out a few small bags, a long length of rope, and some rocks on top of a piece of cardboard.

“Here,” Odin said with a tone that conveyed urgency as he handed the note and skin patches to Eduardo.  Eduardo glanced at the note and read it, “Odin Bruce in Cuba, immediate priority” before putting the items into one of the bags, cutting some rope, and picking up one of the rocks he had brought out.  Eduardo folded down the top of the bag, then tied it shut with the rope and tying the rope around one of the rocks.  He then dropped it into the water and the two of them waited.

“So this is your first time doing this?” Odin asked, Eduardo nodded, “then you’ll want to keep your eyes on the water.”

Eduardo followed Odin’s advice and stared at the water in the cauldron.  They both looked in anticipation at the motionless liquid, one knowing what he was waiting for and the other eager to find out.  They got their wish after a few moments.

Ripples formed in the water before a bright light reflected from it.  Both men instinctively shielded their eyes, then looked back into the water as the light dimmed.  When the light had dimmed completely, they looked and saw the reflection of a young woman with long red hair and blue eyes looking up hopefully.

She and Odin smiled at each other as their eyes met, and Eduardo stood in awe of what he was seeing.

“Hello sweetheart,” Odin said into the water, “am I clear to come in?”

“Of course,” Alicia answered, “but do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting here for you?  I’ve been worried sick, love.”

Odin was surprised by the almost vicious tone that Alicia used with him, and looked to change the subject.

“This,” he said to Eduardo who was staring in awe at the woman in the cauldron and marveling at the fact that he could hear her, “is my wife Alicia.  Alicia, this is…” Odin paused realizing that he had been in such a rush to get back to the monastery that he hadn’t bothered with formalities.

“Eduardo Gomez,” Eduardo said slowly into the cauldron, “it is very nice to meet you.”

“Hello Eduardo,” Alicia said, “thanks so much for helping my husband get back.  And I have to say that I love your accent.”

“Gracias,” Eduardo replied.  Both he and Odin tensed up at the sound of footsteps approaching the bar.

“You should go now,” Eduardo whispered, “it would be best if no one sees you here.”

“It was nice to meet you Eduardo Gomez,” Odin whispered nodding to Eduardo, “if anyone comes by here asking about me just tell them that a man matching my description came in, had a drink, and sat for a few minutes before leaving.”

“I understand,” Eduardo said, “vaya con dios.”

“Same to you,” Odin said before shaking Eduardo’s hand, “Stand back sweetie,” he said facing Alicia, “your Aussie baby’s coming home.”

Alicia smiled and disappeared from the cauldron.  Odin placed his hands on the cauldron and slid into it.  Eduardo moved to the side and watched in awe as Odin disappeared into the water without a drop of it leaving the cauldron.

Odin felt himself sink into the cauldron water, falling into it as though he were diving into the deep end of a swimming pool, and sank deeper until he felt a solid surface under his feet.  He pushed off of it and stood up to find himself waist deep in one of the cauldrons in the Monastery.

He rubbed his eyes and saw Alicia standing close by lovingly gazing at him.  Odin smiled back at her and quickly got out of the cauldron.  His feet had barely touched the ground when Alicia ran to him and wrapped her arms around him tightly, not caring about the fact that he was soaking wet.  Alicia captured his lips in a passionate kiss before Odin could say or do anything.

Odin did his best to respond after his ordeal from the night before coupled with the dizzy sensation he always got after what the Knights called cauldron trips.  Alicia was content to have the man of her dreams back with her.  They came apart after a few seconds, and Odin could only open his eyes and smile at Alicia, who returned the gesture.

“I missed you,” Alicia said in a low voice as she brought her head to rest on Odin’s chest, “why were you away so long?”

“Well,” Odin said quietly, “after they took me to the local jail some of the police and agents there talked for a few minutes and made a couple of phone calls.  They shipped me off to some prison in Cuba.”

Alicia looked up into Odin’s face and saw his usual confident expression, coupled with a retrospective look.

“Between the plane trip,” Odin continued, “two bookings, a lot of interrogating, some time in a few different cells, a little time mingling with some inmates, and the fact that I didn’t get my legal counsel until I was in Cuba; it took a little while to get back.”

“Are you serious,” Alicia asked surprised and a little shocked, “did you really go through all of that?”

“I exaggerated a little about the interrogating,” Odin admitted, “it just seemed to go on forever.  I mean all I did was shoot the guy who was probably going to be the next President of the United States of America.”

Alicia laughed against her husband’s chest and held him tighter.  Odin responded in kind, happy to be back in the place he called home with the woman he loved.

“Although I have to admit,” Odin added, “I was tempted to stay for a while and see how well I could stand up to whatever torture or other things they would try on me.”

“I see,” Alicia said coyly, “and what dissuaded you from your foray into masochism?”

“I remembered that Malcolm’s birthday is coming up soon and I didn’t want to risk being there with a limp.”

Alicia smiled at him before they kissed again.

“Olcán told me to give you this,” Alicia said after a moment and handed Odin his crucifix.  She and Odin separated long enough for Odin to take the crucifix from her and put it around his neck.  Then, they were right back to embracing and kissing without missing a beat.

Odin was reveling in experiencing what he had described as “the homecoming” to Olcán back at the pavilion.  The scene was very tender and heartfelt as Odin and Alicia wordlessly expressed the great love they shared.  They eventually separated after several more moments.

“Could you hang on for a second,” Odin asked, “I just need to check in with Eduardo.”

Back in Cuba, Eduardo stood motionless and looked on in pure wonder.  After a moment, he walked over to the cauldron and looked into the water.  He saw darkness, then what looked like a room with a stone ceiling.  He paused, not knowing what to do next, and kept staring at the water.  A knocking sound coming from the bar outside got him back to the present and he worried about having the scene in front of him on display to whomever was outside.

He started to think that there was something he needed to do and struggled to remember what it was.  As he struggled to remember, and became increasingly concerned about leaving the cauldron in its current state, to his relief he saw Odin’s face in the water.

“I made it,” Odin said simply, “thanks again for your help and service to the Order.”

“Let me know if I can ever be of service again,” Eduardo answered still in awe of what he had seen happen right in front of him.  “May the light within…”

Odin nodded, and then Alicia’s grateful face appeared in the water again.

“Drive away the darkness without,” Odin responded, “farewell for now mate.”

At that point, he saw Alicia drop a rock into the cauldron and then tap the water with something.  Suddenly the water returned back to its normal state.  Eduardo stood motionless in wonder.  The sound of the rock Alicia had dropped into the cauldron, the same one that Eduardo had tied around the bag earlier, coming in contact with the bottom of his cauldron snapped Eduardo out of his trance.  He reached into the cauldron and removed the rock, placing it with the other ones he had on the shelf with the rope, paper, and bags.

He felt a sense of satisfaction at finally getting the opportunity to do what he had volunteered to and was reminded of the promises he had made to the group that Odin belonged to.  He was so caught up in the memory of what he had just seen and remembering his responsibilities that it took a soft voice calling out “hello,” to bring him back to the present.

Thinking quickly as to how to explain the splash Odin had made, Eduardo put his hands into the water of the cauldron to replicate the splashing sound the best he could, brought a handful of water to his face, then exited the enclosed space to go out to the bar area.  Seated at the bar was an unexpected but welcomed surprise.  A very beautiful young woman with fair skin, long red hair, and arrestingly beautiful green eyes was standing at the bar.

[kacheecha]

—Sincerely || jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader 

⇢ genre: fluff 

⇢ word count: 1,580 

⇢ theme: gamer! Jeongguk 

⇢ warnings: I know how soft and weak Jeongguk stans can be but just hang in there and try not to tear up your heart with tremendous cries okay? 

⇢ summary: gamer boyfriends can be simply annoying, there can be many types of them, those who doesn't pay attention to you at all because they are busy gaming or those who can rapidly turn off the whole system after hearing that one scary sigh from their girlfriend, will it be easy for y/n and Jeongguk, how their relationship works out with the main interrupter that are video games?

You and Jeongguk met not so long than just a few months ago and the relationship between you and him was blooming unexpectably fast without you two even knowing but you went with the flow having faith and enough trust where the time wanted to lead you.

He seemed to be just right for you, just like your ideal boyfriend was meant to be, exactly the perfect person that you were always dreaming of your entire life, it was almost hard to believe at first that Jeongguk was even real, you always pinched yourself whenever your mind came across the mantra that all of this fairytale was only just a foolish dream, but the pinch was painful it felt totally realistic so you came on your senses making you realize that you are actually embraced with luck and you got no choice but to appreciate it as long you had it on your purse, having a sharp eye to make sure it won't go missing you held it gingerly with so much care and unconditional love.

Your relationship was exquisite, it almost felt like a hopeless romantic movie. You two would go on a cute dates together, ride to the park with your bicycles, sitting on the picnic table, having a snack and a deep converstation about life itself while you were watching the scenery painting colors on its canvas, the evening sun was about to get tired and it slowly subsided down hiding itself behind the trees tucking a blanket over its head and fall asleep, painting breahtaking vibrant pastel colors of red, pink and purple blending it all in for a short period of time until it got replaced with darkness.

But this relationship also held so many boundaries; it was a long-distance, you were too far away from each other, you rarely even met each other, sometimes once a month or sometimes once a year when the college year comes to take almost all the time you've wanted to spend together. It was hard for you two but you decided to live with it, your relationship was strong and you two tried to make it work.

The second boundary was video games, Jeongguk had a sick obsession with video games, everytime when he could jump at the chance to turn on his powerful computer then the first thing he dived into was an intriguing virtual world, where everything was a fantasy and feverishly addicting, he could spend there for hours and hours, forgetting completely that time even existed, the time was limitless.

It used to upset you, it felt like he got more time for the video games than he had for you. Of course you had some useless short fight over it until you realized that it was a stupid topic to argue about and you always forgave to each other and moved on with your life like nothing happened, you still were the same cute couple like you freshly met and everything's beautiful and lovely between you and Jeongguk.

One day you came back from a very draining day in college, before the end of your class you sent a text message for Jeongguk to have a video call with him at 9 pm before your bedtime because you had to get home, prepare a dinner for yourself, study for your upcoming exams and get a quick shower then you have successfully survived this exhausting day so you could finally get into your bed, excitedly take out your laptop and get into a video call with Jeongguk you've been waiting for this almost entire day.

Jeongguk was always on the back of your mind, thinking about him gave you strength, you truly loved him wholeheartedly, he always made your heart run a marathon like it was almost threatening to jump out of your chest.

You missed his curly silky poodle hair, you missed his hilarious jokes, you missed to hear his honeysweet voice; the stories he was completely passionate about, even if it was about video games and you didn't care about them that much, but what made him happy made you happy! You just couldn't wait to see his handsome ethereal face, his face was always so soft that you loved to hold his face between your arm and gently trace your fingertips across his soft skin, but now when the long-distance was bothering you, you had no choice than your touch his face on the laptop screen just like you were touching his face for real and you imagined you could be able to feel the softness under your fingertips again.

You called to him, the excitement washing over you, impatiently waiting for him to answer your call, it took a while, it made you almost anxious, you were wondering if he forgot himself into the virtual world again.

You heard the sudden beep go off and it made you realized that he had finally answered your call. The corners of your mouth slid upwards when you finally saw his face, his coconut brown eyes sparkled and his smile captured your heart that you felt it glowing inside you.

„Hey babe!“ Jeongguk said contently looking straight into the camera staying in eye contact with you for a little while.

„Hey love, how was your day?“ you asked him happily, eager to get to know everything about his day.

Jeongguk chuckled a bit, this chuckle felt like a soothing music to your ears, it was such a pleasant sound to hear.

„It was almost nothing, my whole day was a waste if you could say that, I've been gaming the entire day and the time just flew from the blink of an eye“ Jeongguk's gaze was now focused on a video game he was currently gaming in the computer.

You bit your lip, it worried you that he haven't seen the sunlight of the day, the curtains were pulled down against the window blocking the daylight completely, he have been attached into the computer, being entirely clued into that gamer chair he was sitting and never meant to leave his space, you also noticed dirty plates laying on the table that were supposedly used in the last few hours to delete his hunger, knowing yourself as a such cleaning freak you couldn't stand to stare at this chaos in the background.

„Have you eaten? Are you well?“ you tried to distract him from the video games, you tried to do what it took to draw his attention towards to you again.

Jeongguk only muttered and nodded as a response, his gaze could never break off the screen because the video game seemed to be a number priority to him right now.

You let out a loud annoying sigh, it always made you upset when he barely could even pay attention for you, you were waiting for this call for an entire day and when you hopped on the chance then all your boyfriend could do was to play a video game without paying you a worthy attention and gives you short answers which drove you insane.

It didn't even take a second until Jeongguk caught your annoying sigh, you could see the guilt, worry and regret in his eyes, he quickly paused his game and turned it off. Then he turned towards the webcam, your eyes meeting each other once again, you could feel yourself always drowning into his warm brown sparkling eyes.

Jeongguk leaned in to the camera, so his face was really near to your screen, he managed to make big eyes and he pouted his cherry red plump lips and he looked at you with his puppy eyes. The smile that once vanished from your face grew into a very big ray of sunshine.

„I'm sorry babe, what can I do for you, I'm sorry for upsetting you like that, I won't do that ever again I promise!“ Jeongguk softened his voice tone, he almost sounded like a pouty baby and it made you laugh, Jeongguk smiled and felt extremely relieved as he saw the joy on your face again.

„That's okay my love, I just want to talk with you, I want to hear how your day went, how you've been doing, I really care about you, I miss you so much!“ you poured out your heart to him and it made his smile grow bigger.

You both were sweet talking to each other for hours and hours until it was almost midnight. You kept talking about your life, how's everything going for you in your college, you spoke about the upcoming exams you had to take and Jeongguk was always listening to you, resting his chin on his palm, he looked at you like he was your whole world, the softness in his look made you realize how much adoration and love he actually had for you. You both laughed and threw jokes at each other you had such a wonderful time together.

The time was almost ticking to the early morning, you and Jeongguk kept on talking, it was like a never-ending circle and the converstation was still on. Jeongguk was speaking about his passions which surely included video games that always left him amused, you started to feel your eyelids heavy and you unwillingly fell asleep the soothing music that was his voice.

Before the peaceful sleep could cloud your senses you heard his reassuring last words echoing in your ears: „Sleep tight babe, I love you!“

[areyoureadyforsomemeatballz]

Cast Away (1): The Ticking Clock

Summary: After a mission gone awry, you end up stranded on a deserted island. While you know that you have the skills to survive in the desolate paradise, you’re not sure if your heart will.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,000

Warnings: Swearing (as per usual). Asshole Bucky. Asshole reader. Assholes all around. Brief mentions of a suicide mission.

A/N: Hey guys! This idea has been in my head for so long and I’m excited to see what you all think. As always, I appreciate all comments, likes, and reblogs (they fuel my writing!). Scream with me or at me? Beggars can’t be choosers.

The sounds of someone rifling through the freezer startles you from your thoughts as you finish up breakfast. Odds are, its Tony or Clint this time of morning and you clear the spot next to you for them to sit down.

“Who the fuck ate my last toaster strudel?”

Shit. You abandon your cleaning and quickly shove the last bite of the pastry into your mouth. You scoop up your phone and bury your face in it, pretending to read the details of your next mission.

“Sam,” Bucky shouts from the kitchen. “I told you to keep out of my stuff-”

The hulking brunet rounds the corner and his fiery gaze lands on you. His eyes narrow as he sees the golden crumbs spread out on the plate in front of you.

“I didn���t know that it was yours, Barnes,” you say as you stand up from the table. “I wouldn’t have touched it.”

He holds the box up to you, thumbing a label with his name on it. “Maybe you should learn how to read.”

“Maybe you’re pathological,” you mutter under your breath.

Bucky raises his eyebrow as you brush past him. “Come again, sweetheart?”

You whip around to him with your fists clenched. “I think you heard me loud and clear. Oh, and Barnes? Call me that again, and I’ll cut your dick off and smash your label maker.”

He chuckles, and you force your feet to carry you down the hallway, instead of smacking the grin off his face. You barely hear your name being called as you stalk down the hallway to your bedroom.

A delicate hand wraps around your wrist and your eyes snap up to be met with Natasha and Steve. “You’ve got resting murder face. Let me guess, James?”

Steve shakes his head and crosses his arms. “Why you don’t like each other is beyond me.”

You roll your eyes. “Ask your war pal, Steven. I’m sick of playing nice.”

“You’re going to want to put the claws away, kitten,” Natasha says with a grin before she heads down the hall, glancing over her shoulder to add. “Isn’t that right, Steve?”

You glare after her and turn back to Steve, quirking your brow. Steve coughs and keeps his eyes trained on the wall above your head.

Steve forces himself to meet your eyes and gives you a sheepish smile. “Don’t hate me.”

You lean against the wall and glare at him, motioning for him to continue with your hand.

“You’re running the point team on the mission tonight. It’ll be me and Natasha as one pair,” Steve pauses and your eyes widen in realization. “Buck’ll be a great asset as a teammate.”

“Steve, that’s a terrible idea. Please don’t do this to me,” you plead. “I’d rather be benched! Keep him with you. Hell, you know he’d prefer it too.”

“You’re a great leader, and he needs to practice working with others. I trust you with him.” Steve pats your shoulder and smiles at you. “He’s a good person, you know?

“So you’ve said. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s a shit teammate-”

The sound of heavy footsteps cuts you off and you turn around to see Bucky making his way to you. His face shifts back to a smug grin when he notices that you see him.

“Some spy you are,” he says, the saccharine sweet tone of his voice at direct odds with his words.

“What about you, oh great assassin? Aren’t you supposed to be silent? I heard your clunky ass stomping up the hall from a mile away.”

He grins at you. “Is that why it took you so long to turn around, teammate?”

Your jaw drops. “You knew?”

“Course I did.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I like to watch you squirm-”

“Hey, Buck, why don’t you go suit up? We’ve got to head out soon,” Steve cuts in.

Bucky’s eyes shoot over to Steve as if he’d forgotten he was there. “Yeah, yeah sure thing, Stevie.”

You scoff at Bucky’s change in demeanor and Steve points at the two of you. “Behave.”

Bucky brushes past you, just grazing your body with his own. “Can’t wait to serve under you. Apparently, I’ve got a lot to learn,” he murmurs close to your ear.

You shove him away from you and glare at him as he makes his way to his room. “Barnes,” you shout. “I’ll play nice if you do.”

He stops in his tracks and turns back to you. “Sounds good to me. See you on the jet, kitten.”

You take a deep breath and swipe your hand down your face. “How fucking long were you listening for?”

“Maybe I’m a better assassin than you give me credit for?”

Your lips quirk up in a small smile. “Maybe.”

“There go the claws, I guess?”

“You wish, Barnes.”

The nauseating smell of rusted metal and gentle swaying of the floor throws you off as you scamper down the narrow hall beneath the deck of the battleship. You can just make out the sounds of fighting and the heavy rainfall above you. You’d lost Bucky somewhere in the metal encased maze. You stumble into another room full of waiting hostiles.

You press your finger to your ear as you line up another shot. “Steve! It’s a complete shit show down here!”

Steve’s voice sounds far too quiet in the communication device. “The intel was bad. This ship was supposed to be empty…”

He grunts in pain, and you realize he’s having as rough a time as you. You smash your elbow into the nose of the goon behind you and cry out when he wrenches your wrist back with his meaty hand. He’s torn away from you with bruising force and you’re met with Bucky’s haunting blue eyes.

You nod at him in thanks, not quite able to get the words out. Another wave of militants’ surges into the room and you turn away, fighting back to back with Bucky. He hits where you can’t, and you shoot where he misses.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” he shouts as he tosses you one of his guns after yours runs out of bullets. “Now.”

“What are you proposing, Barnes?”

“Isn’t this your mission?”

You turn to glare at him and shoot a man lurking over his shoulder. “I can’t fucking do this right now!”

You barely catch the roll of his eyes. “Why don’t we just blow this godforsaken tin can sky high,” he mutters as he grabs the last man around the neck and sends him flying into a wall with a sickening crunch.

You nod. “I like the way you think.”

You turn away from him and sprint down the set of rusty stairs, hoping that you remember the map well enough to know where you’re going. Heavy footsteps behind you alert you of Bucky’s presence.

He grips your shoulder and pulls you to a stop right outside a heavy metal door. “I was kidding.”

“I wasn’t,” you say as you brush his hand off your shoulder. “Why is it that these bastards don’t ever protect their weaponries? Not that I’m complaining.”

You pull open the heavy door and start your search for any kind of bomb. You feel Bucky’s eyes on you.

“Aha,” you exclaim as you find a frankly frightening amount of C4. “Tell Clint to bring the plane around and as soon as Nat and Steve are clear we’ll set this to detonate.”

“Are you crazy,” he asks with wide eyes. “You’re going to kill us all.”

You scoff at him and hold up a bundle of detonators that were in another box. “These are extended time detonators, I’m sure you’re familiar. I’m not suicidal, Barnes. These guys aren’t going to stop until we’re dead. You saw those planes on the main deck, right? They will shoot us out of the sky if we give them a chance.”

He closes his eyes and calculates the risks of your plan. “This had better work.”

You hold the detonators in between your teeth as you shove one into a brick of C4. “I knew you’d come around. Get me those pliers?”

He surges behind him to grab the pliers and begins talking quickly into his comm. “Okay, here. Just wait for Steve’s okay.” He passes you the set of pliers.

“No shit. If I pinched these off now it’d be game over. We’ll have around fifteen-”

“I know how C4 works.”

“Of course, you do,” you mutter and place another detonator.

“That’s enough.”

“Oh, so only you can be sassy?”

“I meant the explosives,” he says. “That’s enough to level a building.”

You pause and nod your head at him. “Thank you.”

His head shoots up and he raises his eyebrow at you. His response is cut off as he places his finger to his ear listening to Natasha’s okay. “They’re clear.”

You use the pliers to pinch each detonator quickly and precisely. The two of you race up to the main deck. Lightning cracks across the sky, lighting up the deck as if it were daylight. The floor beneath you feels unsteady as the ship is tossed on the swelling waves.

“Storm is too-” Steve’s voice cuts in and out on your comm. “Evacuate-”

“Fucking shit!”

You look around the deck and your eyes land on a lifeboat on the other side. “Barnes! I have an idea.”

He sees the boat and you both take off running across the drenched deck. A gunshot behind you kicks you into overdrive and the two of you slip as you dive into the small boat. You slam the release lever and the boat crashes into the churning pitch-black water. Bucky starts up the rickety engine and it sputters to life.

“We’ve got to get out of the explosion radius,” Bucky shouts above the booming sounds of the storm. “How long?”

“A minute? Maybe two.”

A mountain of a wave crashes into the side of the lifeboat, pushing you further away from the warship. Behind you the explosion rips through the night. You look up at Bucky, your eyes glassy with terror.

“Copy, Steve,” he says after pressing his comm. “Copy.”

The explosion sends bigger waves towards you and you are thrown towards the water. You brace yourself for the fall, but a steel grip wraps around your waist. Around your little boat the storm picks up and the rising waves begin to spill over the sides.

“Maybe this was a suicide mission,” you whisper.

Bucky slumps over you and you let out a desperate scream. “Barnes? Hey, look at me.”

You shake his shoulders and when you pull your hands away they are stained a bright red. The pouring rain washes it from your palms quickly. You press your hand to him, searching for the wound. He falls to the ground and you lay him as flat as possible.

“Barnes?”

Bucky’s trembling hands tear at his vest, which did nothing to protect him. “You gotta-” he gasps as the vest falls free. “Get the bullet out.”

“Steve’s bringing the plane,” you say as you press down on his gushing wound. “You need to hold on.”

“They can’t. Not with the storm,” his voice sounds far away. “I’ll heal as soon as the damn thing is out.”

You push your wet hair out of your face and brace yourself to feel around for the bullet. His skin is cold. Much to cold for your liking.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur and look up at him. “This is going to hurt.”

He gives you a sad smile. “I’ve had worse.”

He groans as you fish the bullet out as gently as you can. A monstrous wave swells next to your boat, sending a hunk of metal debris flying towards you. It slams into you and you are met with darkness.

The sun beats down on you and you blink your eyes against the harsh light. Your lips are bone dry and your mission suit is stiff from the salt water. You surge up, still in the lifeboat, and groan with the pain in your head. You look around and Bucky is sprawled out across the floor. You rush over to him and look over his freshly healed chest. He’s not moving. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. Your fingers fly to his pulse point where you find a steady beat.

“Gimme five more minutes, doll,” he murmurs and rolls over, taking you with him.

You take a deep breath and roll your eyes, but find yourself feeling relief that he’s alive. “I’m not one of your booty calls! Get up!”

His eyes crack open and he lets you out of his arms immediately. “Why the hell are you in my bed?”

“Look around, Barnes,” you say.

The lifeboat is resting in golden sand that is backed by a dense forest of trees. In front of you are miles and miles of glistening blue water.  

“Welcome to paradise.”

“More like hell.”

[zhydoesart]

sometimes you have to lie to find the truth

Chapter 4: acting and dances

Ships: platonic(??) (not really) Roceit

Warnings: none

AO3

Notes: I drew some art for the fic, and it’s at the bottom of this post uvu I really liked how the second one turned out (also I’ve been watching TS vines for like two hours now, I just finished watching the fourth compilation)

Damien didn’t usually make it a practice of his to stick himself into others’ business or force himself where he didn’t belong, but Thomas hadn’t needed him for a video in several days and he was getting restless. (Well, okay, and maybe a touch lonely too.) He found himself wondering about what Roman was doing to pass the time, and took it upon himself to find out.

Roman was facing an empty stage, and Damien had appeared behind the curtain. After an indeterminable amount of time (Damien couldn’t tear his eyes away from the solitary, regal figure; it might’ve been only a minute or it might’ve been a minute), Roman took a deep breath and began speaking.

“He jests at scars that never felt a wound.”

That line was familiar, and Damien wracked his brain, trying to remember what it was from.

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” Ah–Romeo and Juliet.  “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!” Damien was taken aback by the amount of pure feeling Roman was pouring into his lines. “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she.” Damien wondered why Roman was reciting this scene from this play, as it didn’t seem relevant to anything, and Thomas had taken part in this play in high school.

“Be not her maid, since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.” Now Roman paced the stage, and Damien had to take a step further back behind the curtain so as not to be seen by Roman, since a part of him wanted to continue observing Roman’s performance (and if he was caught, he certainly wouldn’t be allowed to). He had a better view of Roman’s face now.

“It is my lady, oh, it is my love–oh, that she knew she were.” Interesting–Roman was changing up the inflection of the lines, as they were coming out much softer than directed. He stopped speaking and stood, as if listening, in the middle of the stage, before continuing, “She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that? ...her eye discourses, I will answer it.” His expression puzzled, he opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, as if he’d thought better of it. “‘Tis not to me she speaks.”

By now, his pacing had become more of an improvised waltz as he pranced across the stage, and even from where he stood, shrouded by the curtain, Damien could see the passion in Roman’s green eyes.

“Two of the fairest stars in all the heavens, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres ‘til they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head?” Roman’s voice took on a dreamy, thoughtful quality. “The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp, her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night.” Once more, he halted in his constant movement. “See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.”

Here, Roman paused, as if waiting for another to speak, and here Damien had a split-second of deliberation–he had less than a minute before Roman would move on, and right then, he wanted nothing more than to join in, but if he did, then Roman would know he’d been spying–

But he’d already uttered the line.

“Ay, me.”

Both the side on the stage and side behind the curtains froze, then Damien stepped out of the shadows. It was too late now anyway, Roman had clearly heard him, as was evident by the strawberry-colored blush on his face when he turned around.

“Didst thou spyest on me?” spluttered Roman. “No, really, h-how long have you been there?”

“Long enough.” Curious. Roman seemed so confident, so self-assured around the other sides, to the point of sometimes being narcissistic, but here he was, looking somewhat self-conscious and extremely mortified–but perhaps those words simply weren’t meant for Damien’s ears. “My apologies, it was definitely my intention to spy on you.” He recalled how… alive Roman had seemed while acting. “Leaping about the stage like that, you just looked so… uh… beautiful…” He muttered the last word, too embarrassed to say it aloud and too embarrassed to meet Roman’s eyes (although he did dare to look up long enough to see Roman’s–pleasantly?–surprised expression).

“Th-thank you.” The creative side had stuttered more in the past two minutes than Damien had ever heard him stutter the whole time he’d known Roman.

There was an awkward silence where Roman played with the edge of his sash.

“You know.” Roman looked up as Damien spoke. “Those times I flirted with you–it was never genuine.” Damien bit his lip, then stopped with a soft “ow” as he remembered he had fangs.

Roman’s eyes were wide. “Your lip is bleeding.” He took an unsure step forward.

“It’s–it’s not fine.” Damien touched his lip and winced. Worrying is absolutely necessary.”

“If you’re sure.”

Damien’s forked tongue totally didn’t dart out of his mouth to lick off the blood, and Roman’s eyes definitely didn’t follow its path as Damien retracted his tongue into his mouth.

“Dance with me,” said Roman suddenly. It was funny, Roman himself almost looked more surprised than Damien felt about what he’d just said.

“What?”

“I, uh… dance with me,” stammered Roman, holding out a hand to Damien while the other hand nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

Damien considered–he’d never really danced with anyone before, but on the other hand, Roman looked so earnest, and right now, he wanted nothing more. He placed his hand on top of the prince’s outstretched palm.

Roman snapped his fingers, and a song began to play out of nowhere. Damien didn’t recognize the tune, but it had a certain beat to it.

What happened next was kind of a blur. Damien’s main focus was on how Roman’s eyes shone with a certain something… he wasn’t sure what. The way Roman moved was powerful yet gentle, intense yet soft, full of energy even with an underlying calm. He was fire, beautiful, and dangerous, and if you got too close…

The next thing he knew, Roman, lost in the movement, had slipped. Roman flung out his arms in an attempt to catch himself, but Damien feared it wasn’t enough. In a near-instantaneous decision, he made a desperate dive to catch Roman.

Damien heaved a sigh–that had been close, he’d had to do the “stretchy arm” thing, as the others insisted on calling it, in order to catch Roman in time. Looking Roman over, he seemed to be unhurt, and was, in fact, sporting a sly grin as he gazed up at Damien.

“Guess I can always count on my knight in shining armor to save the day.”

There were many things wrong with this situation. First, the tone Roman had used was one he used exclusively for flirting, and while Damien knew of Roman’s tendency to flirt excessively, he was not one of the three the creative side was dating. Secondly, Damien was acutely aware of the hand cupping either side of his face, as well as the blush which probably covered the human half. Thirdly, when had the music changed? …he wasn’t sure how to feel about the way Roman’s eyes kept darting back to his lips.

He let go of Roman rather abruptly, who flushed once more as he realized what he’d just been doing, which led to an awkward coughing session as they both examined the cracks between the wooden planks in the floor of the stage.

Something that felt like a hand latched onto Damien’s shoulder, and he stood stock still. Sharp talons dug into his arm, and the look on his face must’ve displayed the terror he was feeling because Roman stopped himself from laughing just in time.

“It’s alright, Damien, that’s my pet phoenix Aodh.” Roman took a step forward, holding out one arm, and in a ruffle of feathers, the phoenix alighted on his arm.

Damien had to admit that the bird was beautiful, bright reds fading into orange, then to yellow, which reminded him of a sunset. Still, the bird was enormous, and that pointed beak and those curved talons weren’t something to take lightly.

“You have a pet phoenix?”

Roman chuckled. “Do you want to touch her feathers?” Damien wasn’t quite so sure that he did, but he took a step closer to appease Roman.

Cautiously, Damien held a hand in front of the bird. He had no clue what the proper etiquette for petting a phoenix was, so he’d resorted to the way one might hold a hand out for a cat or dog. She looked him over shrewdly, but slowly lowered her head as if to give him permission. Roman nodded reassuringly, so Damien started to gently run his hand over the feathers on her head; they were surprisingly soft.

After Damien left, Roman didn’t teleport straight to his room. He didn’t collapse on his bed, and he definitely didn’t scream into his pillow on and off for ten minutes.

taglist:

@liberalautisticqueernerd831

[keeroo92]

Crimson Tide Ch8

Chapter Eight - Sink or Swim

---Nero---

Nero hated swimming.

Passionately.

He hated how the water flowed against his skin, how even a twitch of his hand would ruin his back float. Hated how his ears popped when he dove, how blind he was during every descent. He hated how his breath ran out in under sixty seconds.

But above all else, he hated when he had to piss.

This is so disgusting…

The water was too murky for any yellow stain to appear, but the warm zone left behind was unavoidable. It reminded him of children in a public pool, relieving themselves as they pleased until you smelled the urine mixing with chlorine. He shuddered in revulsion and did his business quickly, hoping they found a portal before he had to take a shit.

“Right, let’s keep going,” he said. Dante smirked and splashed away, heading toward the horizon where the sun kissed the water. Soon they would run out of daylight and would have to figure out how to rest or search in the dark, but they didn’t have any alternate ideas.

Dante dove first, his body slicing through the waves at a near perfect angle. Nero waited for a count of fifteen before following with a much less elegant sploosh. The foggy water meant he had to guess at where his uncle wound up, but so far they’d been lucky. He searched for any sign of motion, diving deeper until he spotted a flash of something to his left. The young warrior angled his right arm and focused, extending his ethereal blue limb as far as he could until it grasped the familiar leather.

He took hold and shifted, pulling Dante to his side as he propelled himself skyward with his wings. His uncle kicked to assist him, and within seconds their two white heads broke the surface.

“See anything?”

Dante glared at him. “No, but I could’ve stayed down longer. You need to give me more time.”

Nero sighed, rolling his eyes. They had the same argument every few hours and he responded with the same answer he always did.

“Okay, next time I’ll let you drown.”

“What’re you talking about? I’m a fantastic swimmer!” Dante replied, rolling over to display his skill with a clumsy backstroke and consequently sending a wave right at Nero’s grumpy expression.

He didn’t flinch as the water cascaded over his face. What was the point? Only a click of his tongue revealed his fresh annoyance.

“Whatever. Let’s go again.”

“Count to twenty this time, yeah?” Dante called out, already on the move. Nero growled and followed a beat later, his arms aching with fatigue as he forced his body forward.

Dante took a deep breath and vanished into the surf with a cheeky salute. Nero frowned and started the count, ticking off the seconds. The water sparkled in the fading light, and for a moment he imagined he was on the beach of Fortuna, taking the kids for a swim as Kyrie started lunch. His heart ached and he tried to resume his count. That was twenty, right? It wasn’t worth risking. He inhaled and plunged into the surf, wide eyes already scanning the depths.

Dante didn’t get very far on most dives, descending less than one hundred feet to stay within Nero’s range in case something went wrong. It left thousands of feet unexplored, but without diving gear this was the best they could manage. Only twice had he truly needed to help his uncle reach the surface. The first stirrings of worry coiled in his gut as the pressure forced his ears to pop and he still saw no trace of the man. He dove deeper, squinting as panic set in.

Dante was nowhere to be seen. What number was he on? Forty? Forty-five?

Fuck, gotta breathe soon!

Nero released a stream of bubbles as he rose, gently fluttering his wings. His heart pounded erratically and his system flooded with adrenaline as he broke the surface alone.

“Dante!”

He spun, searching the waves for a flash of white. Only the pale greenish-blue hue of the sea greeted him and he cursed. With another deep breath, he forced himself below the water once more. He ignored the insistent pressure squeezing his skull, the ache in his limbs and the exhaustion in his muscles as he descended as far as his body allowed, counting the seconds.

Nothing. forty-three seconds had passed. Could he last to fifty?

No, I need the time to reach the surface. Damnit!

His wings pumped a brutal rhythm and he shot upward, churning the tides in his wake. The dull tightness in his lungs sharpened, his time running out. Fifty-eight seconds gone. His throat spasmed and he coughed, exchanging the last few precious bubbles for water despite his willful refusal to breathe. Sometimes, the body had no choice.

Shit!

He kicked and clawed, desperate to reach the surface as the edges of his vision darkened. Nothing mattered outside his need for air, and he didn’t notice the first stirrings of motion nearby. With a final push, the sweet caress of a breeze touched his cheeks and he gasped, hacking up mouthfuls of water and bile.

I fucking hate swimming.

He shifted to human and laid on his back, staring at the dusky sky as he recovered. There were no stars; the night would be black as pitch. Impossible to navigate. He needed to find Dante, now. Nero sighed and opened his lips to call for his uncle, praying for a response this time. If he was still underwater, it was already too late.

“DANTEEEE!”

Nothing.

Except… was that a roar?

Nero’s brows furrowed in confusion as he shifted to locate the source of the sound. Roars usually didn’t preclude good fortune, especially not in the Underworld. It could only be bad news and he braced himself for disaster.

A lithe shape cut through the waves, heading straight for him. It was massive, at least sixty feet long. Definitely not Dante. He couldn’t see much due to the shitty lighting, only a few shimmering scales and what looked like a yellow fin. Another roar echoed across the sea and he gulped.

Water demon. Great.

He drew Red Queen, gritting his teeth and facing the beast in a fiendish game of chicken. Its beady eyes met his and he shifted, revealing his devil form for a heartbeat. A cheap intimidation tactic, but it dipped to the side, passing by his left with dozens of feet to spare. He was about to call out an insult when the last few inches of its tail crossed his vision and he spotted a flash of crimson leather.

Only Dante…

Without pausing to think, Nero threw out his demonic arm and reeled himself in, hitching a ride on the demon’s tail. If he was wrong, he’d never find Dante now. Not moving at this speed.

“Bout time, kid!”

I’m going to murder him.

He adjusted his grip and peeked over the rubbery spine to find Dante, scarlet jacket flapping in the spray as he held the demon’s fin in a white-knuckled fist. The man had to nerve to smirk as he greeted his nephew. If he didn’t need to hold on with both hands, Nero would’ve punched him. Hard.

“This is Terry! He likes sushi and long walks on the beach!” Dante shouted, struggling to be heard over the rushing wind.

“There aren’t beaches here, dumbass!”

Dante frowned but shook it off with a casual shrug. “Whatever! Keep an eye out for a portal, should be easy to spot in the dark!”

Nero grunted and shoved his irritation away, focusing on the mission. He could deal with Dante later. Preferably on dry land. With a stick. Repeatedly.

He contented himself with imagining various ways of unleashing his annoyance, periodically refreshing his grip or shuffling his feet to gain better traction on the slippery scales. This was the closest thing to rest he’d gotten in days. As the hours passed in a blur of rushing wind Nero struggled to keep his drowsiness under control. He fund himself blinking quickly to focus his vision for another scan of the dark water more often than he liked.

His hands were cramping, his thighs and calves numb from the continuous cold spray. Every nerve felt lethargic and clumsy. It was a miracle he didn’t drop into the waves.

“Oh, SHIT!”

Dante’s shouted curse banished his fatigue, alarm bells ringing at the tone of his uncle’s voice. He didn’t see anything and was about to comment that Dante needed his eyes checked when the beast they rode howled.

And another howl answered it.

---Dante---

Dante gritted his teeth and tightened his grip, bracing for the impending confrontation. He might be wrong, the two demons might not fight, but better safe and embarrassed than dead. The waves rolled over a rounded shape in the distance, rapidly growing larger as it approached. It was pointed straight at their ride, the intention becoming more clear with every passing second.

“Hold on!” Dante cried at full volume.

“No shit, Sherlock!”

Under his thick soles, Terry shuddered as the attacker slammed into his side a few dozen yards ahead of their precarious perch. Blood tainted the salty air as it ripped open the meat of its prey, but their mount wasn’t going down without a fight.

His body curved until Dante spotted his beady eyes glinting in the last rays of sunlight. As the bright orb vanished, the environment faded away and went utterly black. The darkness was so complete it made Dante claustrophobic, a surge of anxiety flooding him at the loss of visual input. All he could do now was hold on tight, listen and pray.

Another howl. Fluids splashing, more blood hitting the water. Growling. Gnashing teeth, only a few feet from his face. Terry’s muscles coiled and extended in turn, a rotation of attack and defense. A slam of flesh. Hissing. Motion sickness – Terry must have lifted his tail.

Hope Nero’s got a good grip…

Gurgling. More splashes, the scent of blood overpowering that of salt. Another slam. Tearing. A squeal of pain.

Come on, Terry! You got this!

Coiled muscles. Tissue splitting. Scales whizzing past his face to hit the bloody waters below. And then, the unmistakable sound of a death rattle as Terry went limp.

Fuck!

Dante didn’t dare to draw breath as the corpse grew still, sinking a few feet into the sea. The attacker keened its triumph and dug in, sickening crunches and slurps rending the air. They needed to move. It would eventually find them if they stayed here, clinging to its dinner like fleas. Dante exhaled, lowering one leg into the water. There was so much blood now, the fluid was warm.

The attacker’s greedy sucking sounds got closer. They were running out of time.

“Let go, quietly,” Dante whispered. Nero grunted his agreement and only the shifting weight of Terry’s remains told Dante when he released his hold. He listened for a reaction, his heartbeat racing through his ears.

The attacker paused; it felt the motion, too.

Double fuck!

The faintest outline of spiked fins and thick plates of toughened skin shifted as it turned toward the source of the disturbance. Dante lowered his second leg, dipping into the heated mix to his thighs. Scales littered the surface, yellow and gray.

Wait. I can see?

Even as he processed the change, the dim illumination strengthened into a buttery glow. The epicenter was over one hundred yards away, partially blocked by the damned attacker, but the shade was unmistakable.

A portal.

All they had to do was reach it.

This is gonna suck.

The beast snarled as the light brightened further and it turned to asses the threat. Dante didn’t hesitate, unclasping both hands as one and dropping into the viscous sea with a soft plop. He took a silent breath and dove, doing his damnedest not to disturb the water as he crossed under Terry’s corpse. He trailed a hand on his slick scales, tracing the curve so he knew when to rise.

Thanks for the ride, pal. Here goes nothing.

He surfaced as slowly as a snail, tilting his head to breathe instead of risking the beast hearing drops fall from his hair. There was Nero, paddling a few yards away with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. He floated to the young warrior on his back, almost motionless.

“Portal. See?” he murmured.

Nero nodded, his gaze sharpening with determination. He leaned into a back float of his own and flashed a thumbs up. Time to move.

Dante adjusted his body and fluttered his hands, propelling himself toward Terry’s head. Or what was left of it. Judging from the subdued splashes, Nero was close on his tail as he crossed in front. He gagged on the stench of exposed brain tissue. Why it smelled so much worse than regular dead bodies, he couldn’t imagine.

Moment of truth. Luck be a lady tonight!

He turned his head to the attacker, grimacing as it feasted. There wasn’t much left of Terry at this point, poor fucker. A few lengths of sinew entangled with muscle fiber, a patch of scales here and there. They definitely would’ve shared Terry’s fate if they had stayed put.

The beast paid them no mind as the two men floated on, either not noticing or not caring enough to kill them. Still, Dante didn’t risk speaking until a football field separated them, counting the seconds and keeping his eyes locked on the gargantuan creature. He’d never seen anything like it. Granted, this was his first time in Armisael. He’d have to be a moron to think the same demons resided on a damn water world.

Regardless. They made it. He let out a sigh of relief, judging the distance as safe and opening his lips.

“Ready to dive?”

“Let’s get out of here,” the young warrior replied.

With a final mournful glance at Terry, Dante inhaled and sank into the depths, Nero a beat behind. The yellow glow was glaringly bright, but it did nothing to dispel the murkiness of the water. He struggled to keep himself from comparing it to piss, with little success.

His ears popped and the vice crushing his skull tightened. The portal had to be close.

Otherwise we’re screwed.

His lungs screamed for air, bubbles streaming from his lips as he forced himself to go deeper. Forty seconds. They might be able to make it back up, but not for much longer. Nero wouldn’t, at least. He glanced at the blue outline of his nephew, making a quick rock on hand signal.

Nero vanished as the yellow light flared. The insistent pressure on his cranium eased, and Dante closed his eyes against the blinding glow, knowing he was crossing. He took a tiny sniff to confirm, coughing in relief as he smelled hot mustard and methane. Now for the extra fun part.

Let’s see what the wheel of fortune gives us this time…

His feet flattened, solid ground forming under his expectant soles. He stepped forward until it felt safe to open his eyes and took in his surroundings, waiting for Nero to join him.

Finally, a damn break!

The plane was the perfect temperature, and the air smelled of citrus. Green grass covered a hillside nearby, a pair of trees rising from its crest. Blue skies without a single cloud stretched overhead, tiny winged demons flitting about like songbirds. Dante’s lips spread into a wide grin as Nero’s heavy footsteps joined him, a surprised gasp slipping from his mouth.

“Whoa… are we home?”

“Not even close, Kin of Sparda. Spardakin. Ha ha…”

Dante’s heart leaped in alarm and he spun, drawing Ebony and Ivory and bringing them to bear against the new threat – a hunched figure, misshapen and demonic. Its black lips grinned at him, beady eyes staring down the twin barrels as it chuckled. Its laughter reminded him of dry paper, crackling and spent.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you,” he commanded. By now Nero had Blue Rose drawn and leveled, an echo of his own posture.

The demon hummed and extended a single, spidery finger to push all three weapons aside. Three simultaneous clicks marked his and Nero’s attempts to fire, and it laughed outright as Dante glared at the water dripping from his gun.

“Ha ha… I knew you’d be such fun. I’m glad the rumors proved true, for once.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What rumors?” Nero exclaimed.

The demon tutted, spinning in a circle and smirking mirthlessly. “Why, the rumors of a new ruler, of course! I live to serve, your majesties.”

It bowed, twirling its hand theatrically. Dante stowed his useless pistols, his apprehension plain as he met Nero’s mystified gaze. He had a sinking feeling this demon was about to redefine the phrase ‘mischievous demonic shenanigans.’    

Fuck.

[scaryscarecrows]

The Cold Ache of Grief

AN: Happy birthday, Jason! Have a slightly happier possibility. Takes place in the Batman v. Superman 'verse, but only technically-there was a mausoleum and I wanted it. Mood music: 'Beautiful Lie' from the soundtrack.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9BL59uiAz8

It’s raining. That’s not new. It’s Gotham. The city is constantly weeping for its lost children, the horrors committed in its streets.

Or, Bruce thinks sometimes, it laughs so hard at the atrocities that it cries.

Whatever the case, it’s raining now, but not in here. Never in here. This building is strong and that might say something, that the walls protecting the dead are mightier than those protecting the living.

The only moisture in here now is by the door, where he shoved it open enough to step inside, and pooling by his boots, where it drips from his umbrella. He props said umbrella against the wall and makes his way across the cold, unforgiving cement, three flowers in hand.

Aster, for Mother-elegance, for she will always be the most elegant woman Bruce has ever seen. Always.

Gladiolus, for Father-strength of character. Bruce would never…he would not be who he is today, for better or worse, without Father.

And Snapdragons, for Jason. Technically they symbolize strength, but the real reason Bruce has them is because Jason always liked them.

He only comes at night, here, after the Bat is done, and only as Bruce. Not Brucie, Bruce. Just Bruce. He’s not sure why. Maybe so he doesn’t have to face them in the daylight, maybe in apology for not lying here with them. Alfred probably knows. Alfred knows everything (and oh, he is grateful that that’s not another flower to bring).

Dick’s been here at some point-he leaves daisies, always, a splash of light in this gloomy place. It was a little while ago-they’re well-preserved, resting quietly on the stone lid, and Bruce doesn’t touch them.

He sinks down to the floor, the chill creeping into his knees, stark contrast to that awful night when…the explosion, the fire, it had made the cement that wasn’t covered in debris burning hot to the touch and only later had he realized the extent of the damage, to the suit and to himself.

He’s sorry. He’s so, so sorry.

But sorry makes no difference, not now. Not ever.

It was a long night, a rough night, even by Gotham’s standards, and he’s so tired. He’s been tired, he thinks, for a long time, but not like this. Not like this.

Not for the first time, he wishes he could just lie down here and sleep forever.

He rests his head against the freezing stone of Jason’s…Jason’s coffin

No parent should have to bury their child.

and closes his eyes. Just a moment. Just for a moment.

Time gets away from him and at first he thinks he did fall asleep, or suffered a hit on the head at some point tonight-he’ll swear that there’s…stirring…under his ear. It’s not possible for it to be vermin, he knows that, he couldn’t…he made sure nothing…

He blinks and shakes his head, but the noise doesn’t vanish like it should. If anything, it grows louder, and-

“BRUCE!”

He scrambles back, falling on his ass in a very un-Batman like fashion, and struggles to his feet. If this is a drug, or the effects of a concussion, or whatever it is he will find the one responsible and make them pay dearly-

“BRUCE, PLEASE!”

And Hell, if that doesn’t sound like him…

But that’s not possible…

The stirrings become poundings, hard and desperate, and Bruce isn’t thinking when he leaps forward and pushes at the lid until finally, finally, the years of stillness give way and it slides, swiftly and with a terrible grinding sound, to the floor. The screaming stops.

And.

And, oh, dear God-

It’s been two years. It’s been two years and yet Bruce can remember every detail of his son’s…of Jason’s…they’d put him back. Back together, as best they could. Gone through the niceties of makeup and staples, put him in a suit he’d have hated.

The staples are gone and the eyelids they held are torn and bloody, the blood running into that damned cakey makeup that hadn’t done a thing in the end, and he’s staring (looking, not staring, the dead stare with no light in their eyes) at the ceiling.

But it’s been two years and he was…

He’s lost his mind. One of them-Scarecrow, Ivy, the sheer stress of the Batman-has finally eaten their way into his brain.

He can’t find it in himself to care.

“Jason.”

The eyes, blinking rapidly against the still-trickling rivulets of blood, snap to him in confusion and horror.

“Bruce?”

He’s well-acquainted with Jason’s nightmares, and God, if that doesn’t…he’s heard that tone before. Frightened, looking to someone to make everything okay.

(And oh, if Bruce hadn’t had a thousand nightmares of being late, of knowing that for once he hadn’t been there to make everything okay…)

They’re silent, Jason’s breaths (how…?) harsh and echoing in the suddenly too-small space, Bruce hardly breathing at all.

“Jay,” he whispers, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief, then reaching into the…the box to wipe the blood off the boy’s face. “good God…just.” He swallows, or tries to. “Just hold that there, the bleeding will stop, just…”

He needs to move his hand so Jason can take the handkerchief. But. But his face is warm, and solid, and…

And before it had nearly been shattered beyond recognition and now it isn’t and he doesn’t understand.

Jason, for his part, is still, eyes moving involuntarily under closed lids, hands feeling around him, fingers pressing against the stone slab under him and pulling carefully at his clothes.

“Bruce?” he whispers, one hand coming up to grasp Bruce’s wrist. “What happened to me?”

And Bruce is at a loss for words.

Jason tries to sit up and Bruce lets him. The handkerchief flutters downwards, temporarily forgotten.

“Where are we?”

His voice is gone. He tries, truly, to say something-truth or lie, it doesn’t matter-but he can’t. He can, however, hug him, that damned suit crinkling in his arms.

No softer than that cape should have thought about that but it’s warm at least it’s warm.

And that, he remembers, had been a thought. That it was cold in here, that Jason had hated being cold more than almost anything else and that he couldn’t let him…

Jason hugs him back, arms loose around his neck, and the blood and makeup smear all over his jacket and he does not care because he’s breathing, and warm, and he wasn’t, that last time, he was cold and still and silent and-

He buries his face in his hair and doesn’t even bother pretending it’s raindrops on his face.

“Oh, God, Jay…”

Jason’s starting to shiver, though whether it’s from cold or if he’s remembering something (Bruce isn’t sure which is worse) is up for debate. Regardless, they need to get out of here, to get home, Alfred can…

He picks him up and he’s as light as he remembers him having been, but no longer so…

“Bruce?” Jason shifts in his arms and he hadn’t done that last time, either. “Are we in the mausoleum?”

He’d never taken kindly to lies. Bruce doubts he’ll start now.

“Yes.”

The shivering worsens, turns to near-jerking and he should have wrapped him in his coat but he can’t set him down, not now, not in here, he’ll be dragged back. It’s like the Greek myth-don’t look back, you’ll lose them forever.

“I thought…” Frantic, shuddery gasps hit his collarbone. “I thought maybe…B, was I dead?” He doesn’t give Bruce a chance to answer before wrapping himself around him, somehow, and whimpering, “I don’t wanna be dead, B, I don’t…I didn’t mean…”

Bruce sinks back to the floor and rocks him back and forth, rubbing a hand over his back and sparing another thought of distaste for the crinkly suit.

“Shh, Jay-lad, shh.” He swallows back the lump in his throat-that will have to wait. “I’ve got you, Jason, I’ve got you, you’re all right. You’re all right, you’re here now, you’re all right.”

Jason may not even hear him-he’s sobbing into his shoulder, grip almost chokingly tight, and Bruce wishes that just once he had come as Batman. The cape can be gotten off with one hand. The mac, not so much.

“I didn’t wanna die.” Jason whispers, trembling and doing everything in his power to avoid touching the cold floor. “I didn’t wanna die, B, I swear I didn’t mean to…”

Bruce wants to be sick.

He swallows that, too, manages to open the coat enough to wrap it around Jason a little.

“That wasn’t your fault, Jason. God, that wasn’t…that was never…” He swallows again, manages to get back up. “I’ve got you now, it’s all over.”

He carries him to the car, unsure whether to be glad or not that he drove himself here rather than asking Alfred.

Alfred…how will he explain…and Dick. Barbara. This isn’t…a phone call won’t…

He settles Jason into the passenger’s seat and covers him with the now-wet coat (his umbrella is still in there…it doesn’t matter) before jogging to the driver’s side and diving in, half-expecting this to be a cruel dream, for Jason to be gone.

But he isn’t. He’s still there, clinging to the coat and clearly trying to calm himself down. Bruce shoves the divider console up and out of the way and figures to Hell with traffic laws, he’s the Goddamn Batman, when Jason closes the distance between them.

“We’ll be home soon, Jay, I promise.”

“Alfie?”

“Alfred’s there, Alfred’s just fine, he’ll make you some hot chocolate, like always, get you warmed up.”

“I don’t wanna come back here, B,” he whispers, and his voice is so, so small.

God, he’s only fifteen, please, no, take me instead, he’s just a child-

Bruce pulls him close, hand pressing against his chest and feeling his heart pounding against his ribs.

“You won’t, Jason. I’ve got you, it’s going to be all right.” He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s going to be all right.”

THE END