#but how he had been betrayed and beaten and suffocated | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hellishattempt · 1 year

Text

all is fair in love and war. . . jason todd.

it is four in the morning but this idea of the joker kidnapping jason's girlfriend, and hurting her in front of him, has been keeping me awake so here we are.

of course this is going to include violence, blood / gore, descriptive injuries, kidnapping, and other things of that likeness. will also include mentions of hospitals / hospital machinery and leukemia so if you are sensitive / easily triggered by those categories, this is not for you </3

summary : you are the resurrected jason todd's girlfriend, living with your mother and little brother in the crime ridden city of gotham. whenever there is danger near you, the red hood immediately swoops in to save you. this has not gone unnoticed by one particular clown of gotham. so he decides to use you to get to the red hood. && this kinda goes along with the arkham knight route of jason's past.

also i kinda hate how i represented the joker in some parts so bear with me. and this is really long. like. way longer than i anticipated. so. sorry?

with that all being said and done, off we go into this delirious one shot.

"i'm sorry" tears were falling from the girl's eyes. "i didn't have a choice."

the boy scoffed. "there's always a choice." he had been led here, sold out by someone he loves once again. first it was his mother, who cared more for her drugs than she did her own son. now, it was his lover. the two women in his life who he was supposed to always be able to trust. and they were the two who had betrayed him. the irony was suffocating.

"he took my brother. he took him." the girl was struggling against her bonds, tied to the balcony above him. her fresh bruises and the cut above her eye showed she had put up a fight. "he's only a boy."

"so was i," the boy's voice cracked. he was twenty - two now, but it was only six years ago when he was trapped in a warehouse much like this one. he was tortured, beaten and abused endlessly for days, weeks, months. a video was taken over the span of the boy's time away. it was sent to his father. the boy's father had done nothing. he was the most powerful man in gotham, and he did nothing. he watched. when he finally did something, it was too late. the boy was dead. the clown had won.

"you would've done the same if it was any one of your brothers."

"i know. it's okay, i'm not mad," his voice sounded distant. she was right, of course. all of his brothers could take care of themselves, and could be scary sometimes, but the boy loved them too much to let them be hurt in any way, even if he doesn't show it.

"i'm sorry," she whispered once more.

from the shadows, that same maniacal laughter from all those years ago rose up from the balcony. the boy faltered, falling into the arms of two large henchmen, who held him tightly. the clacking of the clown's shoes came closer. "ah, young love. so pure. so innocent." he stepped into the light. "so . . . fragile." there stood the clown prince of gotham in his purple suit and bright green hair combed back neatly. his face was painted snow white, accented with his trademark blood red smile. the red looked so much like fresh blood the boy stole a glance at his girl. the cut above her eye had not stopped bleeding. he became sick to his stomach as the thought of the clown's smile being painted with her blood. joker's green eyes were staring down into the boy's deep blue ones. "hello, jason."

the room got smaller. it became harder to breathe. it felt as though he had been slammed into a brick wall. he could still hear it. the scrape of the crowbar. the ticking of the bomb. the crunch of his bones. he could feel the metal breaking him again and again. the ties digging into his skin. the iron taste of blood on his tongue. he had spent six months being abused and tortured by this very villain. it took all of his strength not to just shoot the clown down where he stood.

"it's so good to see you again, little birdie. how's your back? healed nicely after i broke it, i hope. did you get my flowers? i made batsy promise he'd bring them to your grave." the word grave made jason suck in a breath. he had died. and it had been this clown's fault. now he was here, at the mercy of the joker once more.

the joker circled the girl, and crouched down to her level. he ran a gloved hand down her arm. "such a beautiful girl."

"don't touch her!" the red hood shouted from below, struggling against the men holding him.

the clown ignored him. "do you want to hear a joke?" the girl nodded, terrified. she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. "good, good. so, what's red and bad for your teeth?" he grabbed something from the dark with one hand, the other caressing her face. "a brick!" laughing his heartless laugh, the brick came crashing down and slammed into her face. the girl fell to the floor, her scream echoing through the abandoned warehouse.

"(y/n)!" jason's vision rimmed red with fury. he snapped. he wrenched away from his captors, taking both down easily. more of joker's goonies filed into the room. without hesitating, jason killed every single one of them. he would burn the joker down to the ground for hurting her. another scream came from the balcony. jason looked to where she was. the joker had hit her again. distracted, he was easily overpowered. the joker had his people strip him of his utility belt and all weapons. he was helpless.

"now, now, birdie, let's not get too excited here. i know you're just dying for your turn, but don't worry. my crowbar is stored safely away, waiting for your return." the joker walked to the edge of the balcony, tossing the brick between his hands. it dripped with her blood.

"let her go, joker. it's me you want. not her. leave her out of this," jason pleaded.

"ah, ah, ah. sorry, birdie, but no can do! she here is the key to your obedience." the joker just shook his head. he turned back to the girl, "this might sting." the joker continued to hurt her, and jason was defenseless. she grew quieter with every strike, and jason began to worry the joker had pushed too far.

"(y/n). . ." jason breathed. the joker had forced her to stand, and jason got a look at all the damage that had been done. her face was swollen and scratched. the smooth skin now rough and uneven. her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, matted in knots mixed with dirt and blood. her eyes flitted open and jason got a glance at her irises. one was red from the cut above it. her eye was trying to push the blood out, so it looked as though she was crying bloody tears. her white shirt had been ripped open, revealing her lacy black bra. it was jason's favorite of hers because of the way it defined her features. the lace was torn, and the straps were fraying, slipping from her shoulders. right under her collarbone was red and irritated. the joker had written something on her, much like the "J " he had branded on jason's face. jason tried to make out what it said, but the word was too bloody and too rough to see what it was. her side stained the shirt red, the mark spreading to her stomach. the joker had hit something, and hit it hard. her black flared skirt hid the dark stains of blood well, but jason knew they were there. her long legs were scarred from both the beatings and the jagged floor beneath her. her wrists and ankles were bound by a thorny rope, the material digging into her skin. jason prayed to whatever god what out there that the rope didn't cut too far, for fear of any one of her veins being opened. her bare feet were being stabbed by the jagged iron floor beneath her. blood dripped in a steady stream to the floor below her. the joker had hold of her arm, and it was clear he was the only thing stopping her from falling.

"isn't she so pretty? such a pretty, pretty angel." joker grabbed her face. "wait, now hold on a second. she needs a smile." joker pressed two of his fingers against the wound on her side. evangeline winced, losing her balance, while joker raised the two fingers to her lips and painted a smile on her face. "look, we're matching!" he showed off her smile of blood to jason, his trademark smile right next to hers.

jason couldn't look. his love, his one, his person, was in this mess because of him. she was bloody, broken and bruised because of him. if he had just stayed away, she wouldn't have gotten hurt. but she was so intoxicating. her voice, her laugh, her tendencies and quirks were things he couldn't live without now. it all started in that damn library with that damn book. pride and prejudice. they had tried to check it out at the same time. it was a cliche meet-cute, but jason wouldn't ask for anything better. he had let her check it out, and when it had been returned a week later, (y/n) had left a slip of paper bookmarked on the first chapter. on the note, it read her phone number. "this is a bit risky, but there's no way in hell i'm passing up a hot guy who reads jane austen. call me! xx (y/n)". that was over six months ago.

of course jason called her. she had been so damn beautiful when they met. her hair was half up in a knot on her head, the other fell down in cascading waves. her loose clothes hung from her frame, revealing nothing about the shape of the body beneath it. her lips were slightly chapped, and you could tell she bit on it as a nervous habit. her hands had been cracked, dry from the cold weather outside. she had been standing in the sun, so her blue light glasses reflected across those eyes, and they shone in response.

they set up a date. they were going to meet at the local coffee shop, just across from the library. again, it was cliche, but jason wouldn't have had it any other way. they sat in that coffee shop until closing, having been there for over six hours. they talked about everything: their families, their likes and dislikes, past pets, childhood, and even their most embarrassing moments. when the baristas kicked them out for closing, neither one wanted the night to end. jason wanted to stay with her forever, wanted to hear her lustrous voice for eternity. she invited him back to her apartment, and he smiled so wide as he accepted. they stayed up all night- well, jason did. (y/n) fell asleep on the couch at around four am, three fourths of the way through the six hour pride and prejudice movie.

now here stood the same girl, still just as beautiful, but her beauty was marred by blood and grime. (y/n) looked so helpless in the joker's arms. her broken body was like a ragdoll, limp and lifeless. the sight made jason want to cry and scream and vomit all at the same time. she was so precious and didn't deserve this.

"please," red hood pleaded once more. the psychotic clown just smiled back at him. "i'm begging you. i'll do anything. just don't hurt her anymore."

"my, my. you didn't even beg for your life, but you'll beg for hers?" the joker mused, studying jason. jason was on his knees on the floor below him, his hands bound behind his back. he had been stripped of his utility belt and all weapons. his mask was broken and scattered across the floor, and the domino one wore underneath had been removed. his comm link had been ripped from his ear and crushed. no calling for help now. it was just jason and the joker's army.

"she's all i have left." the words were a whisper, laced with ruin and defeat.

"then i will take her from you, too." the joker pulled out a shiny revolver from behind his back.

"no!" jason called out, tears staining his vision.

glass rained from the ceiling as canisters of smoke gas filled the room. somebody was attacking the warehouse.

a gunshot rang out. a female voice cried in a silenced scream. a body fell to the floor.

"(y/n)!"

just then, four vigilantes landed in the warehouse. the joker screamed out, fleeing from the scene and taking the still body of the girl with him. more goons filled the room as the vigilantes prepared for a fight. the henchmen holding onto jason had let go of him, but he hadn't moved. he was delirious, in shock and unresponsive. a comforting hand was on his shoulder.

"jason? jason, are you okay? are you hurt?" it was dick grayson, aka nightwing and jason's older brother. "come on, jay. we gotta get you outta here." he hauled his younger brother to his feet, slinging jason's arm around dick's shoulders. jason vaguely took in the scene, seeing spoiler, robin and red robin all fighting off men twice their sizes.

"she's gone," jason muttered, mostly to himself. "i couldn't protect her, and now she's dead."

"it's okay, little wing. you're safe now." nightwing's voice was calm. "oracle, red hood's been injured. i can't say how bad, but there's blood all over the warehouse. the joker got to him again. you got to get us out of here." a muffled voice responded to dick's call for help. soon, the batcopter was hovering over them, releasing a ladder for the vigilantes to grab onto. "spoiler, robin, let's go! red robin, come on! we got red hood." the other three nodded in response, running for the swinging rope ladder. but jason's weak body began fighting against dick as he hauled him up.

"no! i won't leave without her!" he thrashed.

"without who? come on, little wing. there's bombs rigged all over the warehouse, we got to go."

"(y/n)! i have to save her. he took her. the blood, it's hers, not mine. please, dick. she's all i have."

dick ran a gloved hand down his face. "shit. jason we can't do anything now. the joker's gone. we have to get back to the batcave first, then we can start looking for her."

jason wasn't happy with that answer, pushing himself off dick. nightwing made a motion to robin that he didn't see, and something sharp was in his neck. his body slowed, becoming numb. dick grabbed him once again. they drugged him? hurt flashed in jason's heavy lidded eyes.

"you bastard. he's gonna kill her," jason croaked. but nightwing just shook his head. then the world went black.

jason awoke some time later, strapped down to a cot in the batcave's medical bay. dick and bruce were in a heated argument a few meters away, while alfred was tending to jason's wounds. tim and damian were spectators to the argument, but it was clear they were on dick's side. cass, steph and duke were no where to be seen. barbara was at the batcomputer, running back the tapes of the previous night's events. jason turned back to his brothers, where it looked like bruce was about to give up. he caught a few words, but couldn't hear much.

"-not stable-"

"-locked up, bruce! he's a hu-"

"it's not safe-"

they were arguing over him, jason could tell. sighing, he looked away, staring at the ceiling.

"master bruce is concerned for you, master jason," alfred's soft voice spoke as the man cleaned his supplies. "you keep running off to track down the joker, and he doesn't understand why. perhaps you should talk to him." the butler left without another word.

he doesn't understand? how could he not? i had to save (y/n), surely bruce understands that. i failed her yesterday, but i won't do that again. i'll find the joker, and i'll kill him like i should've all those years ago.

thumping footsteps pulled jason from his thoughts. it was bruce. he took the seat alfred had just occupied. dick, tim and damian had left the room. jason didn't look at his adoptive father, just kept on staring up. no doubt it was bruce who ordered jason be chained down like a rabid animal.

"jason-" oh no. he was using his tired dad voice. "why did you go after the joker like that yesterday? no one is ever supposed to face him alone." that was a rule bruce had implemented after jason died the first time. dick had nearly murdered the joker when he found out about jason, and bruce had to stop him from going too far. he had already lost one son to the joker, and couldn't lose another. one of the first things he told tim was to never try and face the joker without bruce or someone else there. even then, bruce didn't like the idea of any of his children taking on the clown prince, no matter how many stood against him. the joker was just too unpredictable.

"i had to save her." his voice was dry.

"save who, jason?"

jason said the answer as though it was obvious. it was to him. "(y/n)."

bruce's sigh could be heard halfway across the world. "jason, how many times do we have to go over this? (y/n)'s dead. she died three months ago."

the memory played in jason's head without his permission.

(y/n), lying in a hospital bed with a forced smile stretched across her lips. the heart monitor next to her was slowing, as was her breathing. the girl's cold hands were clasped firmly in jason's warm ones. it was just them in the room, the doctors had left to give them privacy. they were supposed to be saying their goodbyes, but no words could be spoken. she had been diagnosed a few weeks before they met, but had abstained from telling him until a couple months ago.

"say something, please." her voice was barely above a whisper, but that was all the strength (y/n) could muster.

"what's there to say? you're going to die tonight, and i can't do anything about it." jason didn't know how to process his emotions, so he had just turned them off. he felt like he was suffocating in this stupid room. "we were supposed to have the rest of our lives together. i had plans for you and me, you know? i was gonna build us a pretty yellow house, far from here. i was gonna marry you, give you a couple of kids, you know? i was ready to drop everything for you. give up my life as a vigilante for you. but now you're gonna die. you're dying right now."

his words hurt her heart. she wanted that life with him. she wanted kids with him, she wanted to marry him. "i wanna marry you, jailbird." jailbird. it was her nickname for him once she learned he was former robin and now red hood.

"yeah? really?" he picked up his head, to meet her starry, watery eyes. she sniffled and nodded. jason smiled a little and pulled a box out of his pocket. he got down on one knee and opened the box. inside, was a beautiful wedding ring, given to him by his stepmother, catherine todd. she was a shitty person, and he didn't care for her at all, but the ring was the only thing she left him when catherine died. "(y/n), i love you more than i've ever loved anyone. i didn't even think it was possible to have all the feelings i have for you. please, will you marry me?"

her tears rolled down her pale cheeks. "yes, of course, baby. of course i'll marry you. i love you so much, jason. i love you so goddamn much."

(y/n) died hours later.

-----

&&. okay so tbh i didn't know how to end this, and then when i decided i wanted the reader to end up being dead i didn't know how to do that either. so the last like eight paragraphs are kinda just a disaster. oh well. hope you enjoyed and i always take requests! i write anything and everything having to do w dc / batfamily, so don't hesitate to ask for the wildest of things. xx atticus

#jason todd #red hood #batfam #jason todd x reader #the joker #dc comics #joker #dc joker #jason todd angst #batfam angst

102 notes · View notes

kawasiki-jo · 2 years

Text

Still Here

Hey guys sorry for the wait, but I'm finding it a lil hard to post for the rant in between writing the full fic, my actual job and creating fanart. So every post will be delayed until I can fully render the fanart. Hope you understand and still continue to read and support the rant ✨

This week's fanart brought to you by the bad boy phase Barcode is going through with Ta 💚

That world tour got me testing dangerous waters✨

Without any more stalling*

link to the full rant: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40049919/chapters/100299408

Macau stills. Goes rigid in fact, as he looks at his father.

Gun raises an eyebrow in question to Macau's lack of action, but Macau can't bring himself to move.

The situation must be worse than he thought, because his father has never- never- asked him to leave before. His voice trembles at the back of his throat, he wants to ask. Wants to demand that his father tells him what is happening. Wants his father to tell him it's not what he thinks it is.

But no words make it out, neither from him nor his father. The bodyguards leave the room with the box and the silence suffocates Macau. He braces himself, gathers his voice.

"Why do I need to leave, Phâaw?"

I won't go until someone tells me what the fuck is going on, the silent proclamation is heard in his tone and his father takes a couple of strides, until he is a few feet away from him.

Macau expects a slap, but his anticipation fails him. He's surprised because he knows his father understood his tone and that it was a direct act of disobedience. He can't be too sure though, because his father's temper was unpredictable. Especially now that he knows the situation is a word away from threatening both Vegas and his life. He's cautious. Readying himself for any surprise lashes.

He'll take it. Just like Vegas has taught him. It was time he started paying for his own actions for once. He deserves to be beaten for what he's done. What he's done to Porchay. It's the least of an atonement he could afford.

His father just looks down at him, eyes cold and untelling.

"I made a mistake in keeping you two."

Disappointment. Shame. Resignation.

The one sentence that leaves his father's mouth was meant to hurt, but Macau knows he's long past hurting. Long past crying over things he couldn't control. His father has never been kind with either his words or actions. Sure, when their mother had left them his father had allowed them to live, and yes there were times in the past when Macau had cursed out the woman for damning them to this fate, but Macau understands. He knows why his mother did it. She had to save herself, even if it meant surrendering her children, who wouldn't when they were forced to face a monster like his father?

He used to have a hard time dealing with the abandonment, from his mother, his father, his friends, sometimes even Vegas, now even Porchay. But he's made peace with it, lives in the silence of his abandonment. It's all back to how it used to be.

His father lights a cigar and finally informs him about the climate between the main family and them. Macau's brain waits for any news, anything his father is willing to tell him about Porchay Or even Porsche. He'll take whatever.

Then it finally comes,

“-Vegas had had the brother kidnapped to threaten Porsche-”

His father says with a snort, mocking Vegas' efforts to break down the bodyguard. But Macau's ears tune the rest out.

Vegas had had Porchay kidnapped.

His eyes water but he holds his tears, he wants to blink or look away but knows it'll be worse. He has no right to feel betrayed, no right to feel hurt by his brother’s actions. Vegas did what he always does. Everything to make sure his goal is achieved.

Vegas had asked him, he should have said something. Should have at least hinted. Vegas would have listened. Vegas always listened when he knew it was important to Macau.

"- but Vegas failed."

and Macau’s attention is back on his father. Vegas failed.

Vegas failed.

Macau’s eyes go wide. What does his father mean? Vegas never fails. it’s impossible, how could he possibly fail? His head is about to explode with how much he’s thinking, every possible scenario, every possible outcome. Vegas couldn’t possibly be dead, his father wouldn’t be here if he was. so failure had to mean something else. Before he can ask though there is a knock on the door.

He holds his tongue as it coats in anxiety while his father permits the person behind the door to enter. It’s a bodyguard with news that they have found Vegas. The east-end warehouse, it’s announced.

Gun nods and orders the guard to ready the car. He’s about to leave when Macau reaches for him and asks begs to be taken along. He’s rejected immediately, his father tugging his arm away from Macau’s grasp. But Macau begs, hand going for his father again.

The slap comes then.

It’s hard and backhanded. Macau staggers back, unprepared. He had let his guard down.

“When did I teach you to beg like a bitch? You sound just like your mother.”

Macau has to blink to process what his father just said. He’s filled with instant rage. What's wrong with begging to see if your family is alive, to see if they've survived?

It's the first time he's letting what his father said get to him on such a level. He's never been cut so deep. His mother? His mother who had begged his father to spare her life? His mother who had begged to be killed just so she could be free from the shackles that weighed her limp?

He yells, words falling out of his mouth like an unleashed curse. He's so caught in his delivery that he doesn't notice the shock on his father's face turn to anger. It's only when he's gasping for air that he realises that his father has a crushing grip on his throat. He's squeezing with intent and Macau is gulping at the lack of oxygen.

He's done it now. He's finally let it out. He's cursed out his father for everything he's seen, everything he's done. He's not satisfied, has more to say and it allows him to fight for a few more minutes.

His father is hauling words back at him. Telling him he's worth nothing to him and that he should only be grateful that Vegas has taken everything for him up until now.

Macau fights back, spewing in between holding on for his life that he's glad he's worth nothing to his father, glad he doesn't live up to the horror that his father is, glad that he's nothing like him.

He doesn't know how or where he's got the courage, the audacity, but he's not going to let it slide this time.

He's breaking his silence, if he dies here it'll be after he's rid himself of everything he's kept bottled up. He will go with an empty conscious.

He's starting to see white spots, the lack of oxygen finally getting to his brain. It's clouding his vision so he shuts his eyes.

The tears flow down his cheeks onto his father's grueling hand. He cries for Vegas, for Porchay. For himself.

Finally, it all goes black.

He's alive. He's breathing.

He doesn't expect it. But he opens his eyes. There's natural light reflecting off the white, it hurts his eyes, stings a little. He stares up at the ceiling as his tears start to overflow. He doesn't want to take his eyes away from the white paint, knows everything becomes real after that.

He can't believe he's still alive. Can't believe he's still here. Still here. He full-on sobs. Sobs for his life. Sobs for what has happened.

He hadn't even gotten the chance to see Vegas. To make sure he was alive, alright, safe and breathing.

He hates his father for letting him live.

There's a knock on the door and he startles. He remains quiet, tears unstoppable. He refuses to take his eyes off the ceiling. He knows it's probably a bodyguard.

There was the sound of the door opening and footsteps. They've come to bring him his meal, he supposes.

The bed dips and his body goes alert instinctually. He finally looks, and it's Vegas.

It's Vegas.

--------------------

Boop-ti-do.

54 notes · View notes

eggtartz · 2 years

Text

"will always, for you.."

notes : hi, if you're reading this! this is my first time posting fanfics on tumblr so forgive me if they don't make any sense, they're just drabbles and for fun! anyways, enjoy and happy reading <3

it wasn't supposed to even end like this. you loved him, God even words can't be enough to express how much you loved him. 5 years might not seem long but for you, to wait for him for 5 years but after everything that you went through, this.. this just had to happen.

"stop, i can't do this anymore. please just go away from here or whatever" how could he, he knew you were waiting for him yet he somehow betrayed you and bailed you out just like that.

"but shin at least tell me what's wron-" he raised his hand and there he is in his full glory. you finally saw the figure of the leader of the black dragons that everyone feared. you never feared him, knowing he would never harm you but this? he was different, he was not.. him. never ever you thought something like this would happen especially knowing shinichiro was the nicest man you ever met. you knew he had a rough background, getting beaten up here and there but who cared? you were going to wait for him.

"please i just can't do this anymore, please y/n you can't do this to me. please understand me." he stood in the dimmly lighted room with the motorcycle he's been fixing all week long for his little brother, manjiro as a birthday gift.

"how could you shin, you tell me to understand you without giving me any explanations you can't expect me to just-"

he threw the gearbox tools across the room. the metal sound againts the metal door, collided making a rather loud sound made you flinch wildly.

"i found someone else."

what?

"did you hear me? i found someone else, she's a friend of waka. you know, i never wanted to be involved with you in the first place. i kept you because you were clingy and i was lonely" he wiped his hands on his already stained white tee and went to the back store. "you should leave, it's getting late." he said without looking at you.

"i.. i thought.. i thought y-you loved me? was that a lie? i was going to wait for you shin, and marry you like you always said you wanted to. you said after settling down in the gang you would come back. to me, to emma, manjiro, grandpa. was that a lie too shin?" you told him while holding to a wall when your knees started to weaken.

"what else did you lie to me shin?"

"go home y/n"

"i wanna know, here now"

"you don't wanna know" "i wanna know!"

"Goddamnit everything, everything was lie!"

was that the truth? your eyes were already glistening, you couldn't read his expressions, he was too far. he was always far. you were the only one that didn't noticed that. what a fool, you were a fool.

you felt suffocated in that tight space so you turn your heels and made your way out. it was 1145pm, it looked like it was going to rain but here you are crying at the abandoned bus stop outside your apartment. what was it in him that changed, half of you knew he didn't mean everything he said and begged yourself to go back and tell him that he's lying. the egoistic side of you meanwhile didn't liked it and decided to just cry away the pain and anger. it was nothing like him, he was not your shin anymore. maybe this is the real side of sano shinichiro that you never saw.

months ago

"look at that manjiro, your brother looked like he was going to cry when he first held you! it's so cute" you squealed after going through the sano family album, putting the album on your lap while sometimes flashing it to manjiro who was eating some dango stick. that's wakasa's doing indeed, you reminded yourself to scold him after this. a knock on the door startled you and you saw an exhausted shinichiro who had bruises and cuts all over his face.

not again.

"another fight nii-chan?"

"yup, don't worry your strong nii-chan won"

he looked awfully happy, despite having cuts at all sorts of places. it's as if there was his family at home that could cheer him up at the darkest days and maybe, just maybe one day you can cheer him up too.. too?

"c'mon tough man, let's get you cleaned up your little sister and me are going to cook dinner. manjiro stop chewing that thing i swear your teeth are going to hurt." you said while linking your shoulder with shin's to the nearest bathroom.

"you know, i can patch myself. im a deliquent leader and-"

"and what? the last time you patch yourself, you almost became a mummy. grandpa is going to faint again after seeing you." he chuckled while you moved here and there to fetch supplies to fix the cuts and bruise. you lifted his right hand to clean a wound when he lift that hand to caress your cheek. no words were exchanged, you knew he wasn't good with his words either but you knew. you glanced at him only to see him staring at you, with dreamy eyes, eyes that were screaming he was in love with you and only you. that you were his safe place, his everything as much as he was everything for you. was.

"im sorry i couldn't be the person you expected." you took his hand back and cleaned it, feeling his gaze burning into your direction.

"now you're just getting ridiculous. are you tired? you should take a nap before dinner, the fight tired you didn't it?" you shooked your head, while finishing up the cleaning on the wound. it wasn't deep but it could be infected and knowing shin he doesn't like the fact that he can't use his hand because there's "some stupid bacteria".

"you know, you can leave. i never want to hold you down love. you know this stuff im doing can be tangled here and there and i just wanna-"

"shinichiro."

you looked at him and slowly make your way to hold his face in your hands, so so delicately because he was still winching with pain from the cuts. he stared into your eyes, was that love he saw? adoration? he couldn't wrap his head about it, he never had a woman interested in him that this feeling felt foreign. to be honest it spooked him, but you never left him in the dark. in every time that you could find, you would search new ways to express your love for him, your adoration for him and signs that you would wait for him.

"i never expected anything from you, i'll wait for you although it's gonna take a while. who cares? im never going to leave you and you know that" you gave him a peck on the cheek and on his forehead. he looked into your eyes again to seek for comfort and hugged you, like it was going to be the last time you were together, like there was no tomorrow for him.

current time

"GOD SHIN, GOD PLEASE NO PLEASE DON'T TAKE HIM PLEASE" you cried so loudly in the ambulance when they bought shin in the stretcher. you can't hold onto your emotions anymore, how could you when you see him so lifeless, so pale looking like he was going to leave for good. your trembling hands kept holding his although it was cold and you kept kissing his knuckles hoping this was a sick dream, that you actually fell asleep at the abandoned bus stop and this was a dream. but no, the Gods were cruel and decided to make this your reality.

an hour prior..

you decided to swallow your emotions and talk to shin again, you were stubborn and refused to believed everything he said. impossible, no he didn't said that. you stomped your way only to see an ambulance pass by. huh? shin's workshop was at the left and the ambulance turned- you didn't waited long and ran, you ran as fast as you could and when you arrived there were a crowd. police, ambulance, it looked like a crime scene you usually saw in documentaries. you saw manjiro and went to him and kneeled next to him to hug him and saw him crying.

what?

"manjiro, what-"

"nii-chan, it's nii-chan. t-they. i-" you stopped him by burying his face in your neck and let him cry on your shoulder. God please don't do this to me.

you saw two teenagers who looked at the same age as manjiro being escorted out by the police with handcuffs as they looked at manjiro with a sympathetic look.

your head was dizzy, your hands were shaking furiously as you hold manjiro's hand, your chest waving with anxiety. where was he? is he, okay? he's going to be okay right? my shin always bounced back.

5 years later..

your steps were heavy as you arrived at the cemetery. you bowed down to the cemetery and lit up some sticks and prayed in silence for a minute and two.

"SANO FAMILY GRAVE"

yes, shin died due to severe bleeding on his head, and yes you still waited for him. after paying respects for him, you put some fresh flowers on them. lilies, he always thought it was pretty but takeomi always teased him for liking flowers as it was girlish. you payed respects for his grandpa and his mother whom you never got to meet. you put a flower on each of their grave. you then moved to next grave which was.. emma's. she died due to the deliquent lifestyle she always been exposed to. you haven't had the chance to call her your little sister, all of them went too soon.

you never acknowledged manjiro's whereabouts, people said he was a gang leader, just like his brother, some people said he was not manjiro anymore. you sighed and stayed there for a bit to stare at shin's grave.

"it's been 5 years shin, i think at this time or something you said that you wanted to retire. that you wanted to continue your entire life with me. im sorry shin, that this had to happen. maybe, maybe in another life i can see you again, i'll definitely, definitely be yours again. but this time you're gonna have to wait for me okay?" you chuckled while crying. will these tears ever bring him back?

if it did then i'd cry a river. maybe, one more chance to hold him, one more chance to be with him would be enough.

you glanced at your watch and saw it's already 2pm and decided to leave. you were going to comeback everyday though until one day, one day you'll stop visiting them.

"BREAKING NEWS, A WOMAN REPORTEDLY HAS COMMITED SUICIDE IN HER APARTMENT"

"y/n?"

"SOMEONE PLEASE CALL THE AMBULANCE SHE'S STILL BREATHING"

"let's go love, we're waiting for you."

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers shinichiro #tokyo rev x y/n #sano shinichiro #tokrev shinichiro #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro x y/n #shinichiro drabble #tokyo revengers angst #angst #sano mikey manjiro #sano emma #tokrev mikey #tokrev

47 notes · View notes

nvrcmplt · 2 years

Text

Sol and Alma are not biological siblings; but are family to one another enough to claim they are.

sol was buried alive under a church’s altar - dying from suffocation and loneliness but with a duty in his name. When he was re-birthed over the course of his deathly struggle; the Village he once knew was now out of his reach. Anger boiled… However - due to his owners love and praise of his name in the streets of his once home; the darkness that plague Sol’s heart and confused mind began to become nothing more than a fog. Sol’’s prior Owner healed the anger in his heart and instead greets his spirits every morning and evening; telling him to look after everyone he loves. His owner often claims to hear Sol’s barks and howls during the sunsets to let his Village know; that he was here and he was doing his job well.

Alma on the other hand was bludgeoned to death; due to his sheer size and muscle, choking him / knocking him out to place into a coffin was too much for the Elder’s of the village. So, instead; they tried him to a tree in a Graveyards space, and fed him nothing for a weeks long ‘cleansing’. Under a Priest’s Bible verse; Alma was beaten with sticks, bats and fire pokers until he couldn’t resist anymore. Alma was then buried near the front gates of the Graveyard’s area. Fenced off and ready to welcome those of the dead in the village that was on the back of Sol’s Church grounds. Alma was furious, cursing his village to years of rotten soil and contaminated waters. His owners cared not for him; and his village cursed the family and condemned them to the same fate. Alma’s anger was only quelled 15 years after his forceful death and duty; when he was able to sink his fangs into the ghosts of his prior family, damning them and refusing them the release of their Earthy prisons.

The pair of the didn’t meet until around 50-60 years after being re-birthed into their new roles of Grave keepers. With their prior villages and around 3 generations on either side, Sol and Alma’s graveyards extended to the point of being conjoined in an open field in a centred farm land. At first they clashed; after all; they were only meant to be one Black Dog in a Church’s graveyard and yet; the sight of another caused them to both freak out; attack and keep attacking over the times they spotted each other. But eventually; they noted the lack of effect it had on either of them; and instead; they slowly became friends.

Sol, who loves humans and thanks them for their continuous praise even though those that knew him are long gone; and Alma, who despised the people who gave him a home and food; only to be betrayed, beaten and killed for their religious whims — they slowly adapted to each others presence and lifestyles; that instead of being a naive pup, Sol is now a little more wary of humans; often playing tricks of them to see how they react to not getting what they usually want from him; and Alma has learnt to not attack or scare all humans on sight in the grave sight.

They have been inseparable since.

They soon began to understand their role as undead keepers, and grateful took their titles of ‘Black Dogs’ and ‘Church Grims’, with pride.

#« ( Alma ) » HC.#« ( Sol ) » HC.#my puppy boys

2 notes · View notes

cheelduh · 3 years

Text

How to get your crush to walk you to the nurse’s office (Highschool AU)

This is part 3, but it can be read alone!

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of a monster schlong, and unedited.

Parts: 1 2

Synopsis: Childe offers Lisa a shady deal to yet again sit next to you. However, all his efforts are in vain after he makes a complete fool out of himself by tripping over literally nothing because of a stupid cold. Maybe getting a cold isn’t so bad if he gets to be escorted to the nurse’s office by none other than yourself.

Note: Pure unedited crack luvs. Can’t wait for Childe rerun tmr I hope I get the ginger and the emo nun! 🥲💖

The eyes on you are suffocating, to say the least, enough for you to consider peeling a layer of your own skin off just to breathe. Every now and then, you get a teasing glance from a classmate, and you're sure you'll be an entire puddle of guts on your desk before home room even gets a chance to begin.

There's no doubt it's Signora that spread the news of your date yesterday as a means to some sick revenge. Knowing this was going to happen, you packed some salt in your backpack to cancel out all her evil. Now all you need is a chance to knuckle ball it in her face.

Fingers crossed, you pray to the archons that Childe didn't slip anything about your...brick slip yesterday. It's a good thing you weren't in a school uniform yesterday because that would've been the end of your high school life right there.

Thinking back to it, you collapse into your open hands. How could you have beaten a bunch up losers up...risking your flawless reputation for a sadistic ginger with an affinity for chaos? And worst of all, why did you care about them shit talking him in the first place?

"You okay dear? Something you want to tell me?" Lisa feigns concern, already knowing why.

With a sigh, you blink an eye open through the gap in your fingers. "Doing just fine."

"Oh it couldn't have been that bad." Her eyes shine in mischief. "I bet Childe was a real gentleman."

"He sure was." Kaeya pipes up from the back, leaning in to show you the image on his phone. It's a picture Childe took of you absolutely oblitering an ice cream cone.

You groan and slump deeper into your chair from embarrassment as Kaeya and Lisa engage in chatter, mostly revolving around your date.

Ignoring them completely, you start to ponder about Childe. Where is he? You were sure he'd be here bright and early to reminisce on your eventful date yesterday, which mostly consisted of a competition of who could win the most stall games at a local festival.

Maybe he'd even tease you about the Monoceros Caeli keychain attached to your phone. The very one he'd won for you, and the reason that started the competition in the first place.

Your cheeks warm when you fidget with said keychain, and you can't tell if the fast pace of your heart is because you're nervous to see him or because of the biology quiz you have second period.

So wrapped up in all these foreign emotions, you fail to notice the shadow that looms over you, a glittery finger guard tapping at your desk.

The student council President, Ningguang, plops down a stack of budget files on your desk during homeroom. She's gives you a light smile, and you know what's coming when you meet her alluring gaze.

"Be a dear Y/N," Ningguang smiles, tight lipped, all pretty with her hair pinned back to crown her face. "Even with all hands on deck, i'm afraid the student council's efforts will not come to ripeness concerning all of this paperwork."

This isn't the first time you've done her a favour by becoming the president's personal accountant, and it definitely isn't going to be the last.

Ningguang is powerful, with wit like no other, and you want to be able to call in a chit when the time comes.

"Of course," You reply with a smile that rivals her own. "I'll have them done by the end of the day."

"Excellent. I knew I could count on you, Y/N." She departs elegantly, probably opting to sit next to Beidou and bicker.

You're halfway on the third sheet for total income, a minute before class starts, when you're interrupted. Childe stumbles through the door quite noisily, a shitstain of a grin plastered on his face that is directed at you.

You sigh and shake your head as he approaches you. Thankfully the seat next to you is occupied by—

Shit! Where's Lisa?

Across the classroom, Lisa gives you a thumbs up with a bar of vending machine chocolate in her hand. You should've known she'd betray you yet again.

Childe slides in smoothly after bumping fists with Kaeya, and he falls short of containing his giddy nature.

"Hi Y/N." There's something weird about him today, because you're sure you haven't seen his cheeks so flushed ever. His eyes land on your phone, which is splayed on the desk, and the keychain widens his grin.

You snatch your phone and hide it in the middles of your thighs, but the damage is already done. The urge to shrink against the wall has never been as strong as it is in this moment.

"Hi." It's a miracle you haven't combusted on the spot. Is it usually this awkward? Everything went so fine yesterday, so why can't you ease into it today?

He takes that as a go ahead and instantly reaches for your hand on the table, but you retract at the speed of light.

"Don't even think about it." You're ready to connect the tip of your trainers to his bleached asshole, nose crinkled at his behaviour.

Kaeya whistles lowly, leaning forward for the HD show that is your life.

Childe's smile is sheepish as he's scratching the back of his head. "So we're not on that stage yet huh? I seriously thought you had a change of heart after you beat up those high schoolers for m—"

You muffle his statement with a hand on his mouth, and send a pointed glare to Kaeya. "You didn't hear shit."

The Captain of the skating team nods innocently, and salutes. "Yes boss."

Returning your gaze to Childe, who looks like he's having the time of his life with your small hand on his mouth, you narrow your eyes. "Stop trying to spread rumours."

He can only hum in reply, but you feel a weird pressure on your palm and—

The smug asshole kisses your palm.

You pull back your hand and wipe at your pants, full of disbelief. "Did you just??? Did you just? Kiss my hand???" Mouth twisted, you have no idea what to think.

Childe's throws his head back, and his laugh rings in your ears. You hate yourself for wavering slightly at the sound before smacking his arm. His laughs turn into coughs, probably because he may have swallowed his saliva down the wrong pipe. Charming.

Where the fuck is Zhongli? It's already been five minutes too long into homeroom.

Rolling your eyes, you opt to continue and scribble down budget numbers and add sums up or whatever you were doing earlier after Childe pipes down, choosing to admire you quietly by leaning his weight on one arm. It's enough to make you squirm, face flushed.

"Can you not?" Clicking your tongue in disapproval, you don't look up as you speak.

"If you give me a kiss, then maybe." Childe's cheeky, ridiculously so, and he points a finger at his cheek.

"I don't negotiate with terrorists." You deadpan, fingers itching to choke something or rather...someone.

Childe pouts, and then his eyes close for a second, almost as if he's exhausted when he gives you a sort of smile. With how he's leaning in so close, you can easily spot the swelling in his eyes and the paleness of his face.

For the first time today, there's no bite in your tone when you ask with a slightly raised brow. "Are you okay Childe?"

"Yeah!" He's quick to answer ecstatically, snapping out of his tired haze by straightening himself up. "Better more than ever now that I've seen you, girlie."

You blush madly, the compliment enough for you to drop your pen on the ground. It rolls over beyond your reach.

"I'll get that." Childe jumps out of his chair and you're unable to stop him as he goes to go fetch your pen like the chivalrous idiot he is. There's a slight pause in his movement, his body taking longer to process the messages his brain is sending.

He recovers from the muddle in his cognition by shaking his head, and casually goes to pick up the pen, then ends the move by falling over backwards in unconsciousness.

"Childe!" You lunge for him, managing to catch him a second prior to his ass hitting the floor with the help of Kaeya, who somehow looks like he's expected this outcome from the very start.

The entire classroom clamps up and turns to look for the root of all the commotion.

"Don't just sit there and watch!" You hiss angrily, waving them off. "Someone get Zhongli!"

Aether doesn't need to be told twice as Venti and him race down the hall together. Venti probably just to use this opportunity of sudden chaos to skip homeroom.

"Looks like a fever." The Captain accesses the situation as a small crowd forms around you two. "There's no way he didn't feel it in the morning."

"The absolute idiot." You groan at his words. "Of course he'd try to have a pissing match with a cold."

"I'm still here you know." Childe slurs, leaning into you for warmth, chest rising and falling softly. "Just a...a little sleepy. Am I dreaming angel?"

You roll your eyes, but don't make any moves to lean away from his touch. "Anyone got a water bottle?" Curling your hands around his shoulder, you shift your gaze towards the crowd.

Somebody passes you an emerald green water bottle with dandelion charms that clink against the hard plastic handle from a nearby desk. It screams stupid, but you don't have time to judge the owner.

Opening it up hastily, you're about to let Childe take a sip until it's snatched away from you at the speed of light.

"Hey what gives!" You call out to Kaeya, who inspects the bottle closely with his one eye. He then nods in affirmation as if his suspicions are confirmed.

"I wouldn't recommend it." Is all he says when he motions for you to take a whiff, which you do so reluctantly, eyes closed.

The scent hits you all it once. It's watered down vodka, except without the watering down. Tears form from the intensity.

"The goddamn bard." You choke out, and it earns you a drained chuckle from the ginger that has his head situated on your forearm.

He has half the mind to nuzzle in further, but the position is convenient enough for you to crush his skull if you wish to do so. So he refrains, albeit reluctantly.

Zhongli manages to make it in less than two minutes, sipping on a cup of steaming tea as he breaks apart the crowd to crouch down. "Is everything alright? I came as soon as I could after I made this tea. I assumed it was just another prank."

Everyone in the room shakes their head incredulously.

"Unfortunately it isn't a prank. Childe fainted briefly." You tell him politely despite the urgency, since you're whipped for all your teachers.

"I didn't faint!" Childe groans, exasperated. "Got a little dizzy s'all."

"Yeah," Kaeya cuts in to summarize the situation. "I'll be happy to take him to the nurses office with Y/N—"

Zhongli clears his throat. "You won't be going anywhere Mr.Alberich. I'm sure you have five overdue assignments in my class. Y/N here can walk him just fine." He then attempts to wink at Childe secretly like the wingman he is, but everyone in the classroom and their grandma notices.

The facepalm you do is not enough to render you brain dead.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh for the nth time today, and it's only eight thirty in the morning. "No worries, Lisa can help—"

"Sorry cutie. I'm manifesting for the biology quiz." Lisa deflects, lighting three candles on her desk unceremoniously with her eyes closed.

You don't understand why no one has confiscated her box of matches yet. This entire school is a law suit waiting to happen.

You succumb to the team effort everyone is trying so hard to display. "I guess I can go." The hall pass is already written, signed, and neatly folded into the chest pocket of your uniform. "How did you even..."

You don't even get a chance to finish before both you and Childe are whisked away to the outside of the classroom, the door shutting behind you with a slam. Your ears perk up at the sound of a lock clicking in place.

"Looks like you're stuck with me." The smug bastard still has the audacity to beam even when he's pale in the face. "Might have to hold my arm. If I fall and crack my skull—that wouldn't look too good on your record." He makes grabby hands, like a toddler.

The smile you give is unnerving, and with the speed of a snail, you manage to loop in your arm with Childe's. "Another word and let's move on to how your hospital record is going to have more than just a cracked skull."

"If you'd nurse me back to health, it'll all be worth it." The quip he sends without a beat lacks its usual goof, but it does manage to get some sort of reaction out of you.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

—

Childe's busy thumbing at his phone while you pace at the foot of the bed, arms crossed with a frown etched on your features. You hope you don't look too worried, don't want to give him the wrong idea.

"Can we just get this over with?" He wails uncharacteristically from his spot on the white sheeted bed after ruling out everything he wanted to do on his phone. His hair is tousled more than usual, as a by-product of his constant restlessness.

"Shut up." You answer monotonously, arms crossed as you lean against the wall. "Let her finish her tiktok."

Barbara—the daughter of the school nurse, has her phone on the window, lip syncing and dancing to some music on beat as she films a tiktok with the utmost of important.

It's concerning that her father isn't here to tend to your needs, but apparently he's in the middle of a meeting with principle Varka. Said meeting had been going on for the past few months, but this school is devoid of logic anyways so nobody really questions anything.

"I'm literally dying here."

"Archons you're such a baby," Shaking your head, you approach his bed with a newfound annoyance. "Barbara has to create a tiktok at least once every twenty four hours or her fan club goes feral and..."

"Tries to jump off the roof as the ultimate sacrifice to her majesty." Childe sighs, and for the first time you sense his irritation. "Got it."

Just in time, Barbara finishes her cute little dance and comes over to where Childe is laying.

Childe doesn't miss the way your scowl has dissipated, and you give Barbara your undivided attention, hearts in your eyes from all the adoration. He has half the mind to call you out on it, no doubt a little jealous over how the young highschool idol can get you to show more emotion than him.

"I'm so sorry! I started those tiktoks out of mild interest but now I have an obligation to my fans." The younger apologizes profusely, getting to work almost immediately.

"No worries." Childe starts, staying still as the blonde examines him. "I'm sure it's nothing too serious. Y/N here is being dramatic, she probably just wants to spend some alone time with me."

You inhale sharply, turn to Barbara, and ask. "If I jumped out of the window right now from this floor, would it be a quick and easy death?"

The younger girl's eyes widen, and Childe stifles his snort.

"Kidding." You raise your hands up to cease her worries, and then motion towards him. "Common cold?"

"Yes," Barbara moves on and writes down something on a slip. "We'll just keep him here until his parents can pick him up."

"My parents can't pick me up." He asserts in a casual tone. "Don't call them."

"We still have to call them. If they don't come, you're to stay in this bed all day." She hands you the note, which is a viable excuse for all the classes he'll miss today. "Give this to his homeroom teacher. You'd also better get to class, your hall pass is about to expire."

"Hold up." You remark, barely paying attention to the note that you've shoved down your pocket. "I'm not leaving him here alone." There's no room for argument, your decision is firmly stated.

Childe hypes you up in his weakened state, disoriented. "You tell em girlie."

"He won't be alone." Barbara flashes you a reassuring smile. "I'll be monitoring him until his parents get here."

"No, no, you don't understand." You argue, inquiring all the doubts you have. "He's gonna try to pull some shit and I'll have to be here to stop him."

"Ease up babe." Childe tries to calm you down, despite the giddiness in his chest at the realization that you want to take care of him.

His subconscious begs him to let you stay, to let himself be doted and cared for the way he's always wanted you to, but he knows he can't let you skip class. Not when you've worked so hard and come so far. "I'll be okay for a few. You can go back to class and then visit me during break."

You bite your lips, head jumbled with all the different possibilities of how shit can hit the fan. "I can't! What if Signora shows up? She'll poison you in this weakened state to get back at me for trying to exorcise her." The hesitation in your features gives away everything.

Childe's eye twitches at the thought of Signora out of all people getting the best out of him, and also the absolute audacity you have to be calling him weak. Clearly all his efforts towards the little shows of dominance (e.g. Shoving Pallad against a locker, spraying a hefty amount of cologne on, being an asshole in general, etc.) have not bore fruit.

"You tried to exorcise her?" Barbara gasps, momentarily reminding the two of you that she's still present.

"Her evil has no bounds." Your expression is hard to read, dead serious. "I do not regret my attempt at cancelling Satan's hell spawn."

Childe himself has been cancelled hundreds of times over the span of highschool because of all his problematic traits (e.g calling Venti a twink) and it is not a pleasant experience.

Though it does give him a sense of comfort, knowing that arrogant bitch Signora is finally getting what's coming to her, even if she is one of his friends.

Serves her right for trying to Pavlov her stupid Chihuahua into biting the closest human being just by the snap of her manicured finger. As if it's persistent yapping and tendency to run in front of cars isn't enough torture to deal with on a daily basis.

Childe's yanked out of his thoughts rather forcefully at the sound of the door opening abruptly, the handle crashing into the wall, shocking Barbara's attempts to reassure you.

He knows who it is because of his top tier gaydar, dreading what's to come.

Scaramouche is a morose son of a bitch with a mean streak that hasn't been broken since he was an itty bitty shit in the fourth grade.

"I can't believe you let yourself get sick!" The navy haired boy exclaims in disbelief, doubling over with tears, clapping his hands to add on some extra effects. "Natural selection finally decided to stop pussy footing around your primate-looking ass."

You press your lips together. "Isn't he supposed to be your best friend?"

Scaramouche sputters violently, using the wall as leverage to hold himself up. "You told her I'm your best friend? Oh fuck. Oh this is good. What else did you tell her huh? That you have a monster cock?"

"First of all, you make me reconsider my opinion on the death penalty, dickhead."

Barbara is mortified. Childe continues on anyways.

"—and I do have a monster cock. But why are you so interested in my monster cock huh?"

Scaramouche scrunches his face up in disgust, amusement nothing but a distant memory. "You don't have a monster cock you plebe."

Childe has an awfully scandalized expression on his face, but smoothly enough it transitions into an unsettling grin that you're all too familiar with. "You didn't deny not being interested in my monster cock though."

It's your turn to be mortified, shaking your head at the banter that goes on back and forth.

"How did you even know he was in here? We aren't even in the same class."

Scaramouche raises a brow as if you're some sort of toddler that's babbling out a mixture of Cheerios and spit, maybe a few digested strawberries here and there. He waves his phone in front of you, "posted it on his story."

"What the—give me that!" You snatch his phone right up, staring at the screen in bewilderment.

There's a video of you doing trick shots with your tech deck on the ledge of a nearby window with a pressed expression while waiting for Barbara to finish up, captioned with: "In the nurses office rn pray for me 🙏, there's this cute girl in front of me should I ask her out?"

You check the poll and ninety five percent say yes. Scaramouche voted no. You have mixed feelings.

Shaking your head, you give Childe, who's unable to sit still, a look of pure exasperation.

Scaramouche claws his phone back from you rather harshly, the bells on his hat jingling, making it hard for you to take him seriously when he sneers your way.

"You should be thankful you're the lover of my comrade." He shivers slightly at the word comrade. "or I would have obliterated you on the spot for that little stunt."

Childe doesn't even pretend to look fazed at the older's threat when he says "as if I'd allow a kumquat headass like you to touch my girl."

You and Barbara hastily jump in to stop the bloodbath that is seconds from happening. "No!"

Luckily, no limbs are teared apart.

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshot #kaeya alberich #childe #childe x reader #fanfic #genshin oneshot #genshin tartagalia #tartagila #aether #venti genshin impact #genshin impact venti #kaeya genshin impact

187 notes · View notes

imnotwolverine · 3 years

Text

Wildland

Kilts’N’Romance one-shot: NSFW, stealing, chasing, reference to abuse and a smidge of smut

Wordcount: 1.879 (7 minutes reading)

I should have never gone, to where the wild ones live.

Darkness was falling and the damp had started to crawl back up from the cool tall grass. It was cold, and yet I felt hot. Cheeks flushed with exertion and anticipation. My heart was racing now I knew that the beast was chasing me. Searching me. The only between us, being a man high boulder that was cold and mossy beneath my fingertips.

I could hear his ragged breath and annoyed curses. I could hear his heavy feet mulling through the tall wet grass blades. And I could just about smell him. This strange beast. Wild one. His nose now probably up in the air, sniffing me back. Would he find me? The thought made my heart gallop even faster.

‘Oh wee one..’ He breathed.

I bolted.

There was a curse in my heart and on his lips as I abandoned my refuge. And all I could do was run. Run as fast as the soaked skirts around my legs would carry me. I had always hated these skirts, and yet it seemed there was a chance that I would, I could, maybe…

‘STOP!’ He called, feet thundering in pursuit. ‘Oi! STOP!’

I ran and ran as I heard his booming voice behind me. The sound covering all the way to the trees that wrapped around this grassy meadow. They would be my chance of escaping, dusk covering me if only I could be fast enough. Agile enough. Swift as a deer in flight.

A large object crashed into my back and there I was. Smashed into the grass that now suffocated me, green blades cold, wet and sharp against my clammy skin.

‘Ah…’ He breathed out of breath. ‘You..Naughty lass..’

I wiggled and fought but there was no way to move this lug of a man. One large leg was all it required to keep me pinned down and helpless in the sharp grass.

‘Think you can steal from a man?’ His voice came closer and I found his face now inches from mine. ‘From me?’

There was a tinge of blue in the eyes that hid behind his dark mane and scruffy chin. And lest my eyes not betray me, he was not quite as angry as he had appeared moments earlier. His sharp jaw clenched as our eyes met and a quiet moment passed.

‘I’m sorry.’ I finally managed, heart racing for a confusing mix of things. I forgot for a moment how wet and cold and uncomfortable I was in this darkening meadow. I forgot how severe this situation probably truly was. I had been caught stealing some of his provisions. This wild one. And it took no fool to realize that there was no escape.

His blue eyes darkened.

‘Sorry won’t do.’

Our eyes met again, though this time his eyes trailed down the rest of my face unapologetically. All the way to the caress of my breasts against my corset. He looked back up.

‘I was just hungry.’ I tried to wiggle from under his leg, but it didn’t work. He only pinned me down harder, his other leg now swinging around until he sat atop my hip, hands working up the curve of my clothed spine. Even there the dampness had come, bringing with it a cold, cold shiver.

‘Could have asked.’ His hand found the back of my neck and I let out a soft gasp. His hands were delightfully warm and gentle as they trailed up through my hair.

‘Please.’ I begged.

‘Please what me lass?’

‘I’ll do anything.’

That made him chuckle, his hand leaving a quickly cooling spot on my neck. ‘Whatsa wee one even doing in these lands? Can’t really go ‘round stealing and begging, no?’ He swung his legs back over and before I knew it his departing bodyweight left me cold and stunned. Did he just let me go? With confusion in my eyes I looked up, hands pressing up to get out of the grass.

He was walking back to his camp.

‘Hey..!’ I stood up and watched his broad back silhouetted by the campfire that was burning a little distance away. He didn’t look back.

‘Hey! You can’t just..’ I felt a shiver run up my spine as I realised what a predicament I was in. Beneath the soaked layers of my skirts, the stolen piece of bread had gone fully soaked. It was hardly a meal at all. And as I felt the bread disintegrate beneath my fingertips, I watched as the man casually sauntered back to his fire. His warmth. His food. His everything-I-had-left-behind as I had run from my husband.

He could have harmed me. Beaten me. Raped me. But despite all the right reasons to do so, he was nothing like the man I had left behind this morning. He just walked. He. Just. Left.

Without thinking I found my feet moving. Not away as I probably should have. As I probably should have never come to these barren lands. No, I continued deeper onto the path of trouble. I followed the trails to where the wild ones live. For somehow this seemed more welcoming than returning would.

He finally turned around, his face now hidden in the darkness. The orange flames behind him cast his silhouette in a warm glow.

‘Coming to steal again?’

My breath choked and I quickly shook my head, tongue flicking nervously over my lips. Was he angry with me? I wasn’t sure. He turned back around and finally settled by the fire.

I followed.

‘Wait.’ He said before I sat down by the fire as well. I halted and felt the nerves crawl back up my spine again. Any moment could be my last, lest I not play my cards carefully. I looked at his feet in obedience and waited.

He sighed. ‘Gods be the devil, what is it with ye lass? You’ll sit in the smoke.’ He gestured to where I had thought to settle down and finally I dared to look up. If there was any devil in this man, it was the kindest devil yet. I sighed in quiet relief and smiled a little.

‘Sorry.’

‘And you stop that too.’ He patted a spot right between the outstretched legs that appeared from beneath his kilt. I sat down there, eyes still hesitating to look him straight in the eye. Was this a smart thing to do? Probably not. Did I want to? I probably did. My heart started racing again as I felt the heat that came radiating off him and the fire before me.

‘What if I don’t want to?’ I whispered.

He laughed. ‘What a way, what a way. One moment a spirit steals my old bread, next I have a lass in ‘tween me legs.’

I finally dared to turn and look him straight in the eye. He was grinning cockily and I felt my tongue go sharp. ‘Well you better enjoy it!’

‘I am..’ His grin smouldered down to a charming smirk.

‘You are?’ I teased, feeling emboldened as I turned a little way more to get a better look at him. Behind all the grime and disheveled hair set a good looking man with a dimpled chin and sparkling eyes.

He shrugged.

‘So you gonn’ be a-staying then little spirit?’

‘Maybe.’

He raised a challenging eyebrow.

‘What?’ I asked.

He laughed and shook his head. ‘You must know that the fire don’t kindle itself.’

And as he said so something moved beneath the layered pleats of his kilt. A dragging little thing that moved between his legs. I breathed in cautiously and looked back up, his eyes now a good shade darker.

‘So I can..’ I brushed a hand up and beneath his kilt. His muscular thigh clenched beneath my cold fingers. ‘..stay?’

He licked his lips and it was clear it took great effort to calm himself. With a breathy laugh he looked up at the sky as my hand travelled further up his leg.

‘Oh lass… monsters live ‘ere.’ His words cut short as my other hand copied the snaking caress on his other thigh.

‘Mm?’

He licked his lips again and kept his eyes up at the sky. ‘Big ones.’

‘Dangerous ones?’

He looked down and back at me. The light of the flames danced over his features, setting him in a beautiful orange golden light.

‘Only when they need be.’

Both my hands were now at the tops of his thighs, hiking up his kilt until there was little modesty left.

‘Ah fek it.’ He growled and in a lunging assault I was smacked into the ground again. This time no cold hard grass, but a warm bit of sandy earth. Along with the assault came lips. Perfectly supple and wet against my neck and chin. And then there were hands that wandered, mimicking the way my hands had travelled up his legs.

I gasped and moaned as there was suddenly warmth everywhere. The sensation of my cold and soaked clothes was swiftly forgotten, making place for a heavy musky scent that infiltrated my nostrils. This man smelled of the earth, sweat, rain. Not of alcohol and abuse. There was no pain in the way he touched me. Even if bounded on something animalistic as he growled into the softness of my skin.

‘Better warm up this cold lass.’ He mumbled in between open mouthed kisses, his lips now finally moving up to my face. First to my ear, then my cheek, all the way up to my nose, where he rested his forehead for a little while, breathing in raggedly as one of his hands cupped around my face.

‘You want this then?’ His voice had become hoarse.

I gasped as I felt his legs shift between mine, realising now how he had settled himself down for more.

‘Tell me no.’ He said out of breath.

‘Yes. Yes please.’ I gasped.

He pushed himself back a little so he could look me in the eye. The flames danced ever more wildly over his face from this angle. Smouldering fire burned in the darkness of his once blue eyes and I did what good women shouldn’t.

I kissed the wild one.

What followed was warm lips and bumping noses and awkward hands that fumbled with damp wool skirts. What followed also, was his toothy smile as he looked down upon me, admiring me in a way men didn’t do often.

‘Yes?’ He asked.

I nodded and breathed out, laughing softly. ‘Ye--’

Something prodded itself against my apex. ‘Ah!’ I gasped, but before I could scream at this intrusion, his lips moulded around mine. He took my breath in a most star strikingly slow pace. And as his kisses sweetened, his cock pierced. Deep and wide and stretching he slowly coaxed me to welcome him whole. To welcome the wilderness that coursed through his veins. That burned in his warm fingertips.

I realised then as I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky. That there’s a reason why you should never go to where the wild ones live. A single star appeared from between the coal black clouds and I smiled.

I should have never gone. For it makes a wild one of me too.

Author’s note: Henry in a kilt. Henry in a kilt. I repeat. Henry. In. A. Kilt.

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14 @aletheladyinred @moonlacebeam

#henry cavill fanfiction #wild ones #wildland #oneshot #henry in a kilt #henry cavill highlander #bring the kilts #and big hairy legs

110 notes · View notes

gentrychild · 4 years

Text

adlhfahdkjfh so this’ll likely be really Long which is why I’m submitting instead of sending an ask but I just read through your Suspected Traitor!Izuku AU and I have some Thoughts. I’m sorry for the rambely-ness this’ll likely be ahead of time.

—

So as much as I love the whole ‘Izuku gets away from UA and tries to heal from all the betrayal’ thing y'all have going on I can’t help but think about what would happen if he didn’t. So this’ll be more an 'au of a au’ thing.

Izuku is a child who has been betrayed all his life. From his classmates and teachers to his childhood friend to the very society itself turning it’s back on him, Izuku has been beaten down again and again. And he’s been told that it’s his own fault. He’s the one that’s quirkless, after all, right? He’s the one that was born into a society where this power you’re born with is everything and he was born with nothing.

And everyone around him only reinforces this mindset, he is bullied relentlessly, his is told he’s a 'deku’ - something worthless, something mindless, useless, a dud in a society of fireworks. He is small and skinny so very weak in everyone’s eyes and they all claim that it is his own fault. The most vocal of them do, at least. Bakugou even uses his quirk on him- something that could very easily cause lasting damage- that could kill Izuku if Bakugou lost even a little bit of restraint.

And gods do I refuse to believe that Bakugou and other bullies haven’t left scars on Izuku- it’s so easy, after all, for someone in the heat of the moment to forget that their quirks can be dangerous, deadly.

And here’s the thing: how many times do you have to be told by everyone, everything, in the world you live in that you are worthless before you start to believe it, just a little bit? How many times do you have to call a child a freak, creepy, a stalker before they start to believe that?

How many times do you have to tell a child that it is all their own fault before they begin to believe that that is the truth?

Everyone says it, afterall, so it must be true.

right?

And this, this right here, is where I believe All Might comes in. All Might, who sees this small, weak, quirkless child(just like him, a part of him may whisper, I was just like him) and wants to stop him, beg him to not choose a career in which everyone around him will want to tear him apart.

And so he does. No, he says, sad and desperate and constantly in pain, no, you cannot be a hero.

And he is tired, and he is sad, and he leaves. He thinks that is the end of it. He will never see that small, weak, quirkless child again.

But the Sludge Villain has escaped and he does- he sees that boy again, he sees that charging in to save another, with no regards to what he should be doing(staying back and quiet and let the heroes watch as a child suffocates and dies because none of them have the right quirks to get him out) and he actually manages to make a difference.

And Izuku reminds All Might of himself, all the way down to how he just wants to protect people, even when they’ve done nothing to protect him, and so All Might, after taking care of the villain, goes and finds this boy and he says, with full confidence, you can be a hero.

And it’s a breath of fresh air for Izuku, for this young boy who has been told all his life that he will amount to nothing, that his destiny as nothing is set in stone. It’s someone, for once in life, telling him that his dream, his desire to help, can come true.

And so they start training, and All Might keeps coming back to him, and he finds himself thinking maybe things can change, maybe things can be different. Maybe I can be a hero.

Izuku gets into UA, he proves himself. He gets his Provisional Licence. His class gets attacked by villains, sure, and they get hurt, Izuku gets hurt, breaks his bones over and over again until he risks losing the ability to use his arms, but in the end? When all is said and done? All Izuku can think is that it’s so damn worth it.

Even if he’s stuck in class with Bakugou, who’s getting better and Izuku will never stop being grateful for that, it’s still worth it because he’s going to be a hero. His teacher is strict but he’s just, he gets to see All Might on a regular basis, and he has friends.

It’s different, everything is so very different, and Izuku is so so happy.

And then Izuku forgets one of his notebooks in the classroom.

He doesn’t think anything of it. It’s the weekend- he’ll just get back on Monday. It wasn’t like he was planning on doing any analysis anyway- this weekend was time for him to relax, time to put away his hobby and training for just a little bit and relax with the few people still in the dorms for the weekend.

Surely Aizawa-sensei won’t mind?

(but he does, and he sees what’s in that notebook, and his blood runs cold.

He’s found their traitor.)

Monday comes and while Izuku thinks he left his notebook in the classroom it’s not there when he looks, so maybe he put it somewhere else? He’s not too worried, long having relaxed in UA, but a part of him does claw and hiss at the idea of someone getting their hands on it- after all, what if they destroy it? He’s had that happen to him far too often for him to ever fully relax when he doesn’t know exactly where they are.

The week passes as normal and he’s starting to get nervous, because his notebook hasn’t popped up yet, he can't find it and what if someone took it? What if someone took it and set it on fire or flushed it down the toilet or tore it up or-

Friday comes and Izuku is held back from class.

He thinks nothing of it because it happens often- happens to all them ever since the villain attacks and while nothing has happened this week, Izuku guesses that sensei must have noticed how distracted he’s been and maybe he wants to talk about that? He’s nervous, because he’s never been good with teachers, but he makes sure to not hunch his shoulders or pick at his hands or anything like that.

He’s nervous, but he’s going to be a hero and heroes work to not show their nerves.

But then he’s lead to the interrogation rooms. Rooms he only knows exist because of the sheer amount of times he’s been attacked and had to debrief on UA grounds.

His hands don’t shake, not yet, but it’s close.

They begin asking questions, questions that make his chest freeze over and his insides to squirm but he answers them truthfully. As truthfully as he can.

It’s twenty minutes in that he realizes why he’s there.

They think he’s a traitor- the traitor? He hasn’t figured out yet, if there would likely be more than one.

They think he’s a villain.

His world is spinning and spinning and spinning and suddenly it’s all coming crashing down.

Oh, he thinks, a numb sort of detachment flowing through. It was never real, was it?

The world could never really change.

But he doesn’t want to believe it, he really really doesn’t, so he tries to ignore it- to shove it away into the corner with all the other emotions and thoughts he doesn’t like to deal with. He keeps answering their questions, remains truthful through the entire thing even though all a part of him wants to do is scream, and he doesn’t let himself believe his thoughts.

Until they bring out his notebook.

Izuku lurches forward, he can’t help it. the handcuffs on the table don’t let him get far, but he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter in the face of his gut-wrenching relief.

He hadn’t lost it.

I thought I’d lost that, and where was it, and thank you so much for finding it Sensei, all spill from his lips and he can’t help his small, relieved smile because his notebook was right there and not at all damaged and he opens his mouth, ready to release a torrent of apologies and thank you’s but-

Aizawa-sensei’s eyes are still cold.

The interrogation continues and Izuku is forced to accept that his teachers believe him a villain.

They use his notebooks- his writings he’d scribbled out to help, because that’s all he’s ever wanted to do- and they force him to face the fact that they were creepy and stalkerish and horrible.

Izuku feels sick.

It’s hours, by the time they bring in Tsukauchi-san. He asks the same questions. Izuku answers the same answers.

He keeps a smile on his face, because he knows that Tsukauchi-san will confirm everything as truth and he can go back to the dorms and sleep. It feels shaky and fake but he smiles and Tsukauchi-san looks like he might just want to smile back.

True, the lie detector detective says at the end. He’s telling the truth.

Izuku is allowed to go back to the dorms. The teachers apologize, sort of. It was necessary, they tell him, logical. You understand, don’t you?

Izuku nods. He smiles.

They give him back his notebook.

Izuku feels sick looking at it.

When he gets back to his dorm room, he destroys all of them.

They were creepy, after all, they stalkerish and creepy and he was a creep for writing them and the teacher had said so and they were heroes so they must be right.

Right?

And a part of Izuku wants to be angry at it all, wants to be hurt and angry and betrayed but.

They’d thought he was a villain. Heroes had thought he was a villain.

So he must have been doing something wrong. Was he not working enough? Not doing enough? Was he socializing too much? Was he just too much of a freak for the hero course?

And so, instead of getting angry, of being hurt and betrayed and getting him out of the place that hurt him, Izuku stays because it was heroes that had accused him of being a traitor, of trying to hurt his classmates, so he must of been doing something wrong.

It must have been his fault.

right?

(and so, here, instead of having their mistakes shoved back in their faces as Izuku leaves, the teachers have to realize, slowly, that what they did, the accusations they threw out in the heat of the moment, have mistakes far more damaging than they ever thought possible.

Because Izuku is a boy that has been taught from the young age of four that everything that happens to him, everything that others do to him, is all his own fault. And so, when heroes believe he is a villain, when they accuse him of being a traitor, that must be his fault too, right?

And so the teachers have to watch, from the sidelines, as this boy they accused goes out and begins to break himself again and again, because, after all, if he doesn’t want to be seen as a villain, as creepy or stalkerish, he has to work harder.

Right?

He has to prove that he’s good, that he’ll do anything to save someone else, to protect someone else, because that’s what a hero does and all Izuku has ever wanted to be was a hero.)

#Ouch #That one hurts a little bit #suspected traitor Izuku AU #submission

2K notes · View notes

pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Chapter 4)

(Gif credit to @iceandabyss)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: The usual :)

A/N: Hi! I decided to post a second chapter this week so we can finally kick-start the plot, and tho I can’t promise double chapters every week yet, the Saturday chapters are a certainty, and let’s call the Tuesday ones a bonus :) Anyhow, would love to know what you think of this so far, and thank you so much for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius

You awaken in the middle of the night as Sieghild barges into the room you sleep in, and without warning her arm, muscled and inked, locks around your waist and she drags you out of the building and towards a small tunnel that leads you both past the walls and near the woods.

She keeps dragging you, ignoring your threats and the kicks you deliver without much strength to them. The way she moves between the trees with such certainty, the way her steps are measured and fast as they step over the frozen ground never ceases to amaze you.

She throws your body with surprising strength against a nearby tree on the first clearing she finds, making you dizzy as your head hits the trunk.

“Ah! W-What are you doing!?” You grunt, but Sieghild doesn’t answer, green eyes set on her task as she brushes your hair away from your face and cups your head in her hands.

“Quiet. There’s worlds past our own.” She advises, and with quickened breaths you rake your eyes over the suffocating trees around you and, in the distance but somehow close enough, you see the faint lights of the Varangian encampment.

Your eyes return to your mother, and before your lips can form the words, the questions, you remember.

“There’s worlds past our own,” Aamir says, dark eyes, black eyes, set on the fire. “And there’s worlds in between.”

You steal a quick glance to the shieldmaiden, but she keeps her gaze ahead, even if the small quirk of her lip tells you she notices your stare of confusion and mirth.

“In between.” You repeat, and the man turns wise eyes to you. The confusion, the scorn, fade within you into curiosity, into that same madness that made you cross the Aegean on an old fishing boat.

“Between the dead and the living,” He explains without hesitation, “Between this life and the next.”

“They sound lonely.” Someone quips, but the man smiles, shaking his head slightly.

“They are filled with opportunity. Life or death, past or future,” His almost black eyes set on you, and your breath catches in your throat, “nostalgia or hope.”

And in her green eyes you see the choice shining. The question, the test, the goodbye and the welcome home.

“I’m staying with the Greeks.” You whisper, feeling as if you have sealed your own fate without knowing what the Gods have in store for you. Feeling as if Sieghild does know, but cannot tell you.

Looking down at you, she smiles through the pain of loss and the tiredness of war.

She looks firmly into your eyes and whispers, “And so it is fated you do so.”

“I can’t help but feel both our Gods have looked away, mother.”

But she shakes her head, the twin braids on each side of her head flowing with the movement. Her gaze is electric, and there could be a sad smile playing at her lips.

“I have asked Freyja for guidance, for help, ever since we arrived in Scandinavia. She has answered, but not in the way your Mistress would.”

Sieghild leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead. You have a feeling she is saying goodbye in more ways than one, and tears clog at your throat.

“What are you saying?”

She ignores your question, expression determined and fierce, “I hope I have grasped the meaning behind the Seer’s words, my child. I hope so with all I am.”

Nothing makes sense, and there’s…there’s tendrils of a voice you cannot quite catch of a meaning you cannot quite understand, and you are suddenly a child again, listening to the strange woman speak in tongues you feel are familiar and yet foreign; you cannot…you cannot…nothing makes sense.

“What seer?”

But she shakes her head, “It doesn’t matter anymore,” She presses her forehead to yours, and your eyes fall closed, “I will not be here come morning, minn dóttir.”

A small part of you feared this would happen, feared that when Sieghild could taste back the spirit of her people, could hear again the war drums of the Vikings; she would choose to stay with them.

And you cannot blame her. If you found yourself surrounded by foreign customes and foreign people, even if you loved some of those people, even if you had grown to know and follow those strange customs...if you were to find yourself back in Greece, you are certain no love and no familiarity could keep you from those lands that made both your blood and your spirit.

Sieghild brings you into a one-armed embrace, and you feel her chin over your head. Still, a small sob leaves your lips, both at the caving feeling of being left alone and at the pain that lacers her voice. You lost Narses, Galla and the rest of your people are dead because of you, and now you will lose her too.

She is all you have had, since you were a child. Since you have memory, her matted red hair, her comforting green eyes, her brutishly gentle nature, her inked skin; they have been your home, your family.

Sieghild finally pulls back from the somewhat embrace, and even if it feels like ages it is only a few fleeting moments where you meet her gaze and look back at her with tears in your eyes and shaking in fear, a child all over again.

Her fingers trace your cheek with motherly affection, “Make the ground where you are defeated become the realm where you will conquer, child.”

“Sieghild?”

She traces a symbol in your hand with her own fingers, you think a rune, but you only have eyes for her face, her motherly smile, her kind eyes, her marked skin.

“Survive. Until spring comes.”

She darts for the woods, leaving you weak and worn against the tree trunk. Bringing your knees up against your chest, feeling the taint of blood of your own and those not still on your hands even after you have rubbed them raw, you hide your face in your arms and let the cries leave your chest.

Sieghild is long gone, Narses is dead, your people are nothing but corpses on some faraway field, the city is afar. There’s no one to see you, no one to hear you.

And if no one hears you cry, you can pretend you were brave.

_____

“We have reached our agreement, and in time I will pay that debt,” Stithulf comments as you approach. If he notices the inquisitive glare you send his way as to why he is telling you this, he ignores it. “However, we also arranged for a payment in exchange for that Viking warlord accepting the possibility of negotiations, and I have to pay it now.”

“What is it?” You whisper, brow furrowed.

The scarred Christian motions with one hand, and before you can react there’s two soldiers at your sides, holding onto your upper arms and with ease holding you immobile. Stithulf approaches, taking advantage of your stunned body that cannot seem to react quick enough, and he sets heavy and burning shackles at your wrists.

“What are you doing?” You hiss at the black-haired Saxon, but he only raises his face high. “You cannot-…”

The sound of the chains moving as they exchange hands hurts your ears, like the shrill screams of a Priestess being burnt to death.

You remember rough and violent hands wrapped around your wrists, your arms, your throat; keeping you defenseless, keeping you from fighting back. You remember tight rope burning your wrists as you were tied and dragged to the pole where you would be set alight.

You have been beaten, you have been defeated, exiled, humiliated, betrayed.

But you never had chains put on you. Chains are…are for prisoners, chains are for slaves, chains are meant for people without freedom. You have killed and died for your freedom, you cannot…you cannot lose it now.

Narses, Galla, so many others are dead. Your home is no more. Sieghild has left you behind.

You cannot lose your freedom; it is the only thing you have left.

You look down into trembling hands and bite down a scream of your own.

Chains.

You have lost it already.

The soldiers at your flanks force you to move towards wherever the Saxon is walking, and the chains make you obey their command.

“You forced my hand, Greek,” He promises, pretending that regret pours out of his lips, “You were part of the price asked, and I had no reasons for wanting to keep you.”

But you still shake your head, tugging frantically at chains that follow your movements and chase after your wrists like hungry snakes. And you cannot get out, you cannot get free, you cannot…you cannot…

“Wh-…no, you can’t do this. Why…why!?” You cry out, not caring how your voice trembles and breaks. The chains are heavy, and so is your breath, “Release me, I am not yours to give away!”

The Saxon moves quickly, a thunder of rage and underserving authority, and the backhand across your face is painful but expected. Leave it to a man like him to hit you when you are bound.

Stithulf forces you to straighten yourself from the hit by grabbing painfully onto your jaw and turning furious eyes to him.

“I will not have you challenge me in front of those Vikings. You will keep your mouth closed for once.” The Saxon grits out, his grip on your jaw brutish and hurting.

You grit your teeth, but still bite out, “With a Christian keeping me chained, there’s not much I can say or do, Stithulf. You know this.”

Your body almost braces for another hit, but Stithulf only laughs to himself. Laughs, and you cannot help but open your eyes to find him, head bowed, eyes closed, chuckling like you have amused him, like you are an old friend joking with him.

“Oh, how I will miss you, Greek.”

You lick the cut his hit gave your lip, and return your eyes ahead as they warriors make you start walking. They lead you to the docks, and you catch sight of other slaves being boarded into the Varangian ships.

You are the only one in chains, though, and the burn of humiliation hurts as much as that of defeat.

Beady eyes you know well catch sight of you, and Leofric, one of Stithulf’s trusted men, one of the pigs responsible for Narses’ sacrifice, for the slaughter of your people; approaches you with a sleazy smile on his weathered face.

“Witch.” He greets, his voice dripping with arrogance and satisfaction. You don’t answer, but he does replace one of the soldiers at your side, his hand on your upper arm disgusting and invasive.

Two Varangian men wait for you and Stithulf to approach, one of them the King, standing tall and proud as he looks over you.

It shouldn’t sting like betrayal that he wants to make a slave out of you, it truly shouldn’t. But…it does, because you are foolish, you always have been. You truly thought he was honest when he talked with you, you truly thought he saw an equal and not a witch to pride himself in conquering.

But no, what was it Sieghild told you when she spoke of Rorik and what happened before the Varangians took Kiev?

“Never trust a man to choose you over anything, much less a man in power to choose you over the illusion of holding onto such power.”

“She is a pagan witch, but she has noble blood,” Leofric states without prompting, ignoring your glare. You feel the eyes of the Varangian on you, but you keep your enraged focus on the man that lists off qualities like you are a mare being sold for breeding. “The Greeks call her Queen, and she is worth quite a lot to more than one Kingdom in the Mediterranean.

Leofric’s hand finds your throat, and your entire body coils as your lips part and a bubble of panic starts on your chest.

“And a good lay, even.” He sneers by your ear, giddy with the power he now holds. Narses is dead, and Stithulf has no use for you; your protections in this land are long gone, and he believes he can do as he wishes with you.

Better men have tried.

Stithulf steals a glance to you, an almost challenge for you to speak up written in his eyes. You keep your gaze on his and let your lips curve into the beginning of a smile, because even if you know it is a lie you feel anything but the desire to squirm out of your own skin, you will be dead before giving it away.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing as he passes on the chains to the Varangians like who offers the leash of a dog, and at the reminder of the chains binding you, the pressure in your lungs is almost the same as that of those first weeks after you survived the pyre those Christians built.

It is only then, with more than iron chains in his hand, that Ivar the Boneless takes his pales eyes to meet your own.

He smiles, terrifyingly and hungrily, and a shiver runs down your spine. Your mocking smile drops as dread settles over your very bones, but you refuse to lower your gaze.

The tug he gives to your chains to bring you closer is as humiliating as before, but you have to follow the commands of the shackles in your wrists, and you stumble a few steps until you stand by him.

“Priestess.” He greets lowly, and your nose furrows.

“Viking,” You hiss back, because of course you wouldn’t keep your mouth shut. You lift your hands bound by heavy metal between you, “I spent too long a Christian’s attack dog, I refuse to die a Varangian’s prisoner.”

He chuckles, cruel and every bit the King you tried not seeing him as. Ivar the Boneless.

“You think you have a choice.” He mocks with a disgustingly fake smile on his lips.

You still lean closer, “You better than any man here knows what I have done to keep myself from being a prisoner.”

It staggers you how easy it is to bring a strange softness to his gaze, so much so that you believe him to be fooling you for a moment before he speaks.

“I don’t want to make a prisoner out of you.” He promises without hesitation, without shame. And your anger returns, pushing back the curiosity, the foolish hope, the weakness.

“Then why am I chained?”

“Was there any other way to get you to do as I say?” The King replies easily, the mocking smile once again on his lips.

Regardless, he loosens his hold on the humiliating leash, and your eyes are drawn to his hand. You catch sight of the now dirtied and bloodied bandage around the hand he injured yesterday, and are reminded of the knife you saw him pull out of some secret sheath in his armor.

And if the same guile that made Narses lay an army at your feet is the same that tries keeping Ivar the Boneless from reacting when you put chained hands over his armored chest, no one can blame you.

Women are taught to play these games. The more binds they put on you, the more tricks you learn.

“But you didn’t try any other way,” You argue quietly, looking into his eyes, and even if your closeness, your caress, are lies, your next words are not, “I thought I could trust you.”

The King does not react, body almost frozen but still challenging and calculating as he gazes down at you. His chest rises and falls under your hand and you take a breath and lean even closer.

It would be easy, you ponder, grabbing the knife and attempting on his life, futile attempt as it would be. You could cut your own throat, they couldn’t stop you, and you wouldn’t have to live to see the day a Varangian makes you his slave.

But that would be too easy. Hushed teachings of strength and composure travel from your memories, your mother’s voice and Sieghild’s mixing together in a choir.

You muster a quick prayer of protection and strength in your mind before you go through with your stupid, stupid, stupid idea.

Gritting your teeth and trying to ignore the tremble of your hand as it finds purchase in your target, you wrap careful fingers around the knife you saw sheathed at his ribs, grabbing a hold of it.

You can see in the barely-there widening of the Viking’s eyes, on the sharp breath and the tension coiled around his shoulders that he knows what weapon you hold in your hand now.

He doesn’t move, the only change you notice along with his breath is the slight adjusting of his grip on the crutch. Your eyes dart to his hand and back up into his own, and a challenge shines in them, a curiosity and something else, something darker and stranger that you cannot help but find alluring.

He is challenging you to put that knife to use.

I did promise that while a Christian held me in chains I wouldn’t act.

You turn around with a small smile, feral as it is, on your lips. The chains stop you from doing any real damage, but a deep enough gash runs down Stithulf’s face, and that is enough for you, even if it means your death. The wound over the Saxon’s eye pours blood, and you allow yourself a laugh.

“I will crawl out of the Underworld if I have to, but I will find you again. And I will send you to Lord Hades bearing the mark of my sacrifice. Let the dead know who you have wronged, let the Furies torment you until I have my chance to.” You snarl in Greek, eyes set firmly, manically even, on the commander.

A mark of blood, a vow to the Gods. You know you will kill him, and as you look into his eye you think he knows it too, even if he didn’t understand a word you said.

The chains yank again, painful against your sore wrists, and you comply. Dropping the knife to the ground in front of the Varangians, you try quietening the deafening beat of your own heart in your ears.

Stithulf keeps his good eye on you, enraged but oddly enough not surprised. Maybe you were wrong, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe Narses’ words about your meekness and your obedience.

The sudden tension not much unlike the stillness before the beast pounds takes over the dock as the warriors, their attention drawn in by the commotion, wait with baited breath for the next action. Both Saxons and Vikings stand in waiting for any movement.

The man with the blondish braid that was standing behind a few steps is the first one to break the silence, walking towards you with ease and bending down to pick up the knife.

He just…laughs.

The man just laughs, and it is in startled silence that you are tugged back by your chains to the King’s side. The man’s warm eyes travel between you, still in chains, and the now bloodied Saxon holding a hand over his eye.

“Almost lost an eye to a chained Christian woman,” The man says, looking at Stithulf with a smile on his young face, “That will be a story to tell.”

The Viking looks back at the Saxon leader with knowing clear eyes, expecting the strike back, expecting the fight. He delights, you realize, in taunting the Christian with the retribution he cannot have.

Whatever argument they were bound to have, or whatever vindication Stithulf was to set upon you, is quickly tampered by the humiliation. Good.

You could swear the man that spoke out, as he turns around, looks into your eyes with something akin to understanding for a moment.

Clearing your throat and past the fear and pain, you croak, however broken your attempts at speaking past the knot in your throat may be,

“N-Not…not a Christian. Never.”

The man regards you in silence for a moment or so, before finally acquiescing with a nod.

“I noticed,” He says with a smile, and looking for a moment at the man that holds your chains, the Varangian that spoke to save your hide leans closer, but you do not feel threatened, “I’m Hvitserk.”

You smile, the first genuine one you felt in so long, but you still don’t reply with your own name. He notices, but says nothing as you are led to the boats.

“Sons of Ragnar,” Stithulf speaks out, stopping both the King and Prince on their tracks. “Be certain I’ll kill you.”

“I’m certain you’ll try.” Hvitserk replies with a mock flourish, turning his back to the Saxons.

The Varangians board their ship, and you have no choice to follow, a vindicated sort of defeat guiding your movements.

_____

Hi, thank you for reading! I would love to know what you think of this chapter, and the story so far in general! Finally we reach the abduction part of the abduction myth lol

Thank you so much for your support, it means a lot to know people are reading and (hopefully) enjoying what I write! You’re the best!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #vikings #vikings imagine #νοσταλγία masterlist #νοσταλγία

145 notes · View notes

nebraska-is-a-myth · 4 years

Text

Your cold dead heart - part 9

I am very behind on recent events on the smp, but I promise after these next few chapters we’ll start catching up to the present with all the shlatt stuff. Just bare with me okay :)

Masterlist

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why do you wear them? The glasses?”

Eret shifts in the bed slightly, it’s not like he's never been asked the question before, he just never thought he would be so willing to tell anyone the answer, let alone a child.

“You don't uh, have to tell me if you don't want.”

Tommy says it so quietly, so full of concern, it's strange to Eret not hearing the boy be so loud and brash all the time. He sometimes forgets how young the boy really is.

“Shit hit the fan back at my old job, had to lay low for a while. Still kind have to.”

The two stay quiet for a while, Eret knows Tommy is curious, it’s what makes Tommy Tommy, but Erets not sure if he can tell the boy what he wants to know.

“What was it like, back in England? I don't remember much of it from before I moved.”

Tommys the one to shift now, they're both under the covers just staring up at the ceiling. Tommy had come in to seek Erets comfort after another nightmare, the teen usually came to Eret on nights like this and Wilbur on some occasions, but now the tears had stopped, neither one could find themselves particularly drowsy.

“It was nice, a lot nicer than here. You would have liked it, all the greenery, trees everywhere, weather wasn't great over there though. Rained a lot more.”

“That I remember.”

They both share a soft chuckle and the room goes silent again.

“I got involved in some really bad stuff when I was younger, much worse than any of this.”

Tommy doesn't respond, Erets almost thankful for it.

“I got offered a position at MI6 when we eventually got caught. I had a choice, either join the secret services and do whatever they say, or get beaten to death halfway through my life sentence in prison.”

“So I worked undercover at MI6, doing whatever the fuck they told me to, too scared of going to prison to ever question what I was doing. Until one day they asked me to do something and I just couldn't, so I ran. I had no money, no friends, nowhere to hide. They had my fingerprints and retina scans, that's how they keep track of all of their agents both in and out of the field, they're shitty people but they're smart. That's how I met Dream actually. I knew of George from the work I was doing, he was on MI6 radar, and well, George knew of me because he’s a good hacker. Knew everyone who was against him. They offered to help me out if I did a few clean up tasks here and there, offered me safety in the SMP, so I took it. And you know the rest.”

“I just thought you pissed off the queen or something.”

”Go to sleep Tommy.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eret is alive!

He is alive and breathing and standing in front of them with sunlight reflecting off his stupid black sunglasses and all Tubbo wants to do is run over to Eret and give him the biggest hug. But then he hears Tommy's breathing pick up next to him. Tubbo turns his head towards his friend and he doesn't know what to do. Tommy's body is rigid and there are tears streaming down his face, his eyes are fixed on Eret but he hasn't blinked in what feels like forever. Something is wrong, something is very wrong. He can't tell whether his friend is having a panic attack or if he’s just in shock, but he knows Tommy needs help. And it seems like sapnap’s noticed too.

“What's up with the kid.”

Tubbo makes eye contact with Wilbur and he hopes the older man understands the panic stricken look he gives him, Tommy is not okay. Wilbur hurry's over to Tommy's side and cups his face with his warm hands, Wilbur hasn't seen Tommy this grief stricken in, well, ever. Sure he cried and sobbed when he thought his friend was dead, but it was nothing like this. This is terrifying.

“Tommy, hey Tommy it's me, it’s Wilbur. Can you hear me Toms, your safe alright. It's just me, your safe.”

Wilbur feels so scared, anything could be going through Tommy's brain right now. His limbs have locked into place and his eyes look so, empty.

It feels like forever before Tommy finally gasps and breaks out of whatever flashback he was having. Wilbur feels a wave of relief wash over him and he holds Tommy's face in his hands. “Hey, it's okay, it's okay, It’s just me Tommy.”

“Wilbur, I, I don't know what's, what's happenin.”

Tommy sounds so broken and so scared, Wilbur doesn't know how to help the boy. Wilbur presses his forehead against Tommy's and he can feel Tommy grip on his shirts just below his body armor.

“Eret, is, is he”

“He’s alive Toms, he's okay.”

Tommy lets out a breath and the two separate for a short moment.

Tommy looks past Wilbur at the man in question, he sees the sunglasses on his face, and the gun in his hand, and suddenly the sadness is completely wiped from his face. Tommy softly moves past Wilbur and he sees sapnap raise his gun slightly.

“How are you alive?”

Nobody answers him for a second, even George is surprisingly quiet for once. The atmosphere changes around them and suddenly all Tommy can feel is anger.

“I said, how are you alive.”

“Answer me!”

“Tommy.”

“Shut up dream, let him speak.” Wilbur steps forward closer to Tommy, now catching on to what the boy is implying.

“I watched you drown! Tell my why you aren't fucking rotting at the bottom of the ocean Eret or I swear to god you're gonna wish you fucking were.”

“We were never going to win Tommy.”

“I don't give a shit Eret! Why are you not fucking dead!”

“There were oxygen tanks okay. An oxygen tank and a tunnel that takes you to the other side of town. The plan was-”

“The plan! You fucking planned this!”

“The plan was to swim out and get here and convince you to surrender.”

A chorus of disbelief erupts from the people of l’manburg and in the chaos Tommy lunges forwards and draws his pistol on Eret.

“I- We trusted you!”

“Tommy I-”

“We fucking trusted you!”

“Tommy put the gun down”

“He betrayed us Fundy!”

“It wasn't meant to be Tommy.”

“Shut the fuck up you bastard.”

Suddenly everything goes silent as Tommy feels the cold metal of a gun pressed to the back of his head.

“I suggest you lower that gun Tommy.”

“Why don't you take that gun and shove it up your-”

“Tommy! I am ordering you to stand down!”

Tommy stares at Eret for a second longer while the silence suffocates him, before swatting sapnaps gun away from his head and walking back towards Wilbur.

George puffs and turns to dream like a nagging child.

“I’m bored, are we fighting or not.”

Tommy is raging, he wants to scream and shout at Eret and punch him until his knuckles break. But he’s not here to fight for himself, he’s here to fight for L’manburg. He’s here for his friends, and most importantly, for independence. So with his anger boiling, and his head held high, TommyInnit goes to war.

“You wanna fight, lets fucking fight.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fundy is the first to fall. He’s hit with a bullet in his right shoulder that sends red hot pain scorching though his body. He feels paralyzed and Tubbo has to help him back behind cover to tend to his wounds. “I’ll be fine, I just need to keep pressure on it, go and help the others.”

“Are you sure, this is a lot of blood?”

“Yes Tubbo, I’m sure. Now go.”

Tubbo is reluctant to leave his friend, but he can hear his team mates shouting at one another, they were running low on ammo, whereas the dream smp seemed to produce the bullets out of thin air. It was barely a fair fight to begin with, they certainly didn't need two of their team members away from the fight. Tubbo runs back out towards where Tommy is firing and sets his gun back into position.

“How many rounds you got.”

Tommy ducks for a moment to check.

“I've got one clip left.” He takes a deep breath and peaks over the edge at the opposing team. “Cover me.”

“Tommy what are you, Tommy!”

Tommy runs out across the barrage of bullets, straight into enemy territory. Tubbo does as he says and fires straight back at the people who have spotted the blonde, Tommy needs to move, and fast. He spots Eret across the war strip and heads out of cover towards them. He’s almost within punching distance when a sudden weight pushes him to the ground.

“Look who we've got here.” Tommy tries to get up but Sapnap just pushes him back down onto the floor again, face first. “Well if it isn't the little cry baby.”

Sapnap presses his heel into Tommy's back and the familiar feel of Sapnaps gun forces Tommys face into the dirt.

“Get off me dickead.”

The other man chuckles and makes Tommys blood boil, he never really did understand why Dream was friends with him. Maybe it was fear, or maybe this was who Dream really was, a ruthless, merciless killer. (Tommy sometimes wondered whether the persona was just another lie.)

“Move sapnap, this one's mine.”

George? What does George want with Tommy?

Sapnap grabs Tommy by the back of his shirt and forces him to his feet, pushing him in George's direction .

Tommy feels the pain before he registers what's happening. Gorge punches hard. Warmth blooms in his nose and he can feel his head spinning, when he’s finally able to look at George properly, he thinks he sees two of them.

“I never understood why Dream took you in, you were dirty and poor and fucking useless at almost everything.”

Oh, so this is why George wanted him.

Tommy raises his arms in defense, he knew how to fight, techno taught him that, he just had to block George until everything stopped spinning.

“I never understood why he spoke to such a pathetic kid like you, why he trusted you. But then he told me what his plan was, and it finally clicked. Dream doesn't give a shit about you Tommy.”

George swings again, Tommy blocks.

“You're just another pawn for him to mess with, another character for the cameras.”

Swing

Block

“You're just a dead weight to him, a burden for him to find purpose for.”

Swing

“Did you really think he cared about you?.”

Block

“You're not loved, you're not special.”

Swing

“When you die here today, nobody will remember you, no one will even-”

Hit

George holds a hand to his jaw and smirks at Tommy.

“You can't kill me, no one can.”

“Oh I won't kill you.”

Tommy lowers his hands for a moment, confusion set on his face.

“Dream will.”

86 notes · View notes

mrsalwayswrite · 4 years

Text

Anchor in the Waves- Chapter 1

Summary: Finan is a slave, forced to row ceaselessly. Betrayed by those he trusted. He believes this will be the end of his life, salt water caking him and an shackle on his ankle. Yet Fate has other plans. When he arrives in Islond for the winter, he meets her. A kindred spirit. Soon they both realize how they need the other. Can they save one another? Or will the waves and whips tear them apart?

Guys! I’m so excited to share this. I’ve always been curious about Uhtred and Finan’s time as slaves and what they endured. So of course my mind decides to run with it.

Note- in the beginning Finan knows Uhtred as Osbert so in the first two chapters, I use Osbert to identify him. Also- Islond=Iceland, Irland=Ireland

I have everything already written so as I finish editing it, I will post. There are four chapters total.

Warnings: There are mentions of beatings, starvation, inhumane conditions, slavery. Nothing graphic though. If you can watch TLK, you’ll be fine.

Irish translations are via google. The translations are in italics.

Tag list: @happyveday @evelynshelby

Days and nights blurred together, one morphing into the next. The only things he knew anymore was the constant taste of salt water, the shackle around his ankle and the unending pain in his body from rowing.

Always rowing.

Finan was unsure how long he had been a slave now. Was it a month? Maybe two? Even more? Time felt meaningless now. All he knew was when he had been sold, bound and blind-folded by those he once trusted, it had been late summer. Now the ship he found himself bound to, was making its final voyage to Islond. There it would reside until the harsh winter ended and the Nordsæ was safe once again. Or however safe the sea could be.

When his feet finally touched dry land, tears welled in his eyes. Never before did he believe the feeling of solid ground could be so comforting. Although he did not have long to enjoy the sensation.

"Move, slave!" The Dane called Hakka yelled, shoving him forward.

Weak from lack of food and constant rowing, he stumbled against the slave in front of him, both barely able to right themselves before sprawling onto the hard ground.

As he stood back up, he scanned around the small village quickly. It looked like the other slaves and himself were being marched towards the large, wooden barns. There were several other buildings about- a large hall, a few smaller cottages and some others that he was unable to guess their purpose from a glance. A few local men and women came out of the buildings, calling greetings to the Danes...to the slavers, while completely ignoring the weakened slaves being driven forward by beatings and sharp words.

Next to, what he guessed was the main hall, stood a young woman in a thin, dirty dress and barefoot. Her dark brown hair hung in a braid over her shoulder. A wooden bucket held in her hands. For the briefest of moments their gazes met…

...then he tripped, just catching himself in time.

"Keep moving, worthless dogs!" Hakka roughly shoved Finan this time, knocking him to the ground. "Get up, slave!"

"Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú!" He yelled back. It was futile to fight back right now, he knew that. Maybe once he had the strength and stamina to fight the slaver without worry, but that was before he had been beaten, starved and forced to row without reprieve. It was foolish to fight back. Despite that, he was sick of being cowed constantly. For a brief moment he wanted to remember who he used to be. (May the Devil choke you!)

That act of defiance earned him a single strike with the whip in punishment. His back burned, but he gritted his teeth and managed to push himself back on his feet to follow the other slaves. He refused to give that bastard the satisfaction of seeing him knocked down for long.

He and his fellow slaves were separated into small groups and distributed between the two barns. Moving slowly, he huddled against the wall, arms wrapped around his torso to preserve what warmth he could. There were gaps between the wooden slats of the walls. With nothing else to do, Finan watched those moving around the small village. The slavers, he recognized, headed straight for the main hall as soon as all the slaves were locked up in the barns. Most likely to drink and celebrate a successful voyage.

He hoped they choked on their ale.

As Finan watched, he noticed her again. It seemed she had been walking through the village, the bucket no longer in hand. As the slavers neared her on their way to the main hall, she stopped, hands clasped in front of her and face pointed down in submission. It caused him to wonder if she was a slave also.

There were no shackles on her, nothing to overtly demonstrate if she was a slave. Her dress was dirty and ragged, clearly something no one took pride in. Finan found himself eyeing her though. She was pretty, he could tell, even from afar. Although she appeared thin, as if meals were deemed optional for her.

The one who owned the slave ship, Master Sverri, stopped in front of her while the others continued by. He said something to her, causing her to shake her head. With a nod, his hand brushed her braid over her shoulder in an almost affection gesture before following the others to the main hall.

Once Master Sverri was out of sight, she shuddered and pulled her braid over her shoulder before continuing on her path.

Finan watched her until she vanished from view then closed his eyes, hoping blessed sleep would find him soon.

Or death.

*****

Stupid. So stupid. If she got caught, a beating would surely follow.

Yet her feet kept moving.

Quietly, she crept along the line of buildings, staying in the shadows from the moon above. The Master and his wife retired to their room hours ago. The other Danes were either in their own homes or passed out drunk in the main hall. There should be no one outside. No one to witness her breaking a direct command.

She hoped.

The ship slaves had been separated into four groups, two groups to a barn. Last year the Master built specific pens to hold the slaves in, keeping only a maximum of five in a pen. In the prior years, the Master usually housed all the ship slaves together in one large pen. Though after the fire last year, he learned his lesson.

The barn containing the pigs and two of the groups was the more pitiful of the two barns. The other barn held a few horses the Master prized. Silently, she crept along the outer edge, keeping eyes and ears alert to any sounds. A couple times she froze at the sudden noise of shuffling or coughing, scared it was one of the Master's men out walking. Thankfully it was not.

Through the slats, she could see the shapes of the ship slaves inside one of the pens. Hopefully she found the right one. She thought she saw him being led here but it was only a glimpse she had been able to catch. If her attention was noticed lingering on him, questions would be asked by the Master's wife.

"Dia dhuit? An bhfuil tú anseo?" She whispered, praying silently in her head this was not a mistake. (Hello? Are you here?)

There was no response besides another bout of coughing inside from the pen. It was impossible to see in the gloom on the barn, especially with the moon to her back.

"Dia dhuit? Éireannach?" She tried again, telling herself if he did not respond, she must leave. She could not afford to get caught here. Her death surely would follow because of what she clutched in her hand. (Hello? Irishman?)

Then a hoarse voice whispered back. "Sea?" A form shuffled over to where she crouched at the far corner. (Yes?)

"Go tapa, tóg seo." She lowered her voice even more, barely above a whisper. She hoped the other ship slaves were sleeping or not paying attention. A sudden fear of being seen and caught threatened to suffocate her. Hurriedly, she slipped the hard biscuit through the gap in the slats into his hand. Soon as he caught it, she turned on her heel and dashed away, not waiting to hear his response. Her fear of being caught outweighed her need to hear gratitude. (Quick, take this.)

Why she felt the compulsive need to share part of her dinner with the stranger, she honestly was unsure. When he had sworn earlier that day, shock had rooted her feet to the spot she stood. It had been over a year since she had heard her mother language. The sound brought a small hint of warmth to her soul, to hear the language she so desperately missed. Even if it was a curse thrown at the Danes that would make her mother blush. Perhaps this was her small way of thanking him for a reminder that Irland was still out there. Even if she had been stolen from it.

Now she had to return to her blanket on the floor and hope no one noticed her absence.

*****

Not until several days later, did she manage to sneak out again. Winter's cold drew closer every day. Already a layer of frost coated the ground every morning. Snow would soon follow.

At the far corner of the barn, the forest behind her and the moon above, she crouched once again, voice barely above a whisper. "Éireannach?" (Irishman?)

A form moved on the other side of the slats and his voice immediately whispered back, as if he had been waiting for her. "An Gaeilge thú?" (You are Irish?)

"Sea. Seo." She passed him a strip of dried meat this time. (Yes. Here.)

Before she could flee, he spoke again. "Cén chaoi a raibh a fhios agat gur Éireannach mé?" (How did you know I am Irish?)

"Mhallaigh tú an lá a tháinig tú." (You cursed the day you arrived.)

He softly chuckled at that, the sound pleasing to her. "Aye, ní mo nóiméad is fearr." (Not my finest moment.)

A smile graced her face, surprising her. It felt so long since anything made her want to smile. Part of her wanted to linger, to hear him speak their native tongue and perhaps smile once more. For a short time, to pretend she was not a slave without a future. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, the beloved Irish accent and the strange underlying charm in it and his words. Yet she needed to get back though. She could not afford to get caught. "Tá orm imeacht." (I must go.)

In the darkness, she crept back to the main hall. Surprising her was the small smile that remained on her lips as she moved in the shadows, due to the thought of him and his last statement. She found herself wanting to see him again.

Stupid. So stupid.

*****

He swore she was an angel to bring him hope.

The cold seeped through the gaps in the slats, causing him to shiver all night. Most of the men stayed huddled together, to share what warmth they could, even if it was futile. Except he stayed in that far back corner of the small pen, where she would appear on the other side, cast in moonlight and with a gift for him. Only twice now she had come to him. The first time he was so shocked by her sudden appearance and the shoving food in his hand, his mind ignored her in order to devour the biscuit. He had not been fed properly in at least two days. This last time he tried to be more grateful and talk to her. Like a skittish deer sensing danger, she tore away sooner than he hoped.

"An bhfuil tú ann?" She softly asked, her form barely visible in the dark. (Are you there?)

Slowly, he turned his head and body, in a vain attempt to be closer to her but also to block the others from seeing their exchange. It was selfish but the pains in one's belly can drown out the sounds of one's morals.

"Aye."

This time another hard biscuit landed in his hand but he did not complain. Food was food. Before she could disappear, he whispered a question, hoping she would stay just a few more moments. "Cad is ainm duit?" (What is your name?)

She sharply inhaled, unmoving; but after a moment her dulcet voice came out in a rushed hush. "Aine."

"Aine." He repeated her name, tasting it on his tongue like a fine ale. "Is mise Finan." (I am Finan.)

"Finan, tá brón orm go bhfuil tú anseo." (Finan, I am sorry you are here.)

Her comment surprised him but it was the sadness in her voice that made him take note. As if she knew something he was not privy to. He had not heard her wander off yet so he ventured another question. "An sclábhaí tú anseo?" (Are you a slave here?)

He half expected her to run and never return, for how easily frightened she seemed. Then again, why should she waste her time with him? Coming out in the cold and darkness, risking herself to bring him food, it lacked sense. He watched her during the day, when she moved about the small village doing her chores, he assumed. There was not much else for him to do, except shiver and listen to his stomach complain. The other slaves barely spoke, all too focused on their own pain and cold. There was one Finan doubted would survive the winter.

A soft sigh from the other side of the slats told him she remained. "Ba bhronntanas mé ón Máistir Sverri dá bhean chéile." (I was a gift from Master Sverri to his wife.)

"Tá brón orm." (I am sorry.)

"Tá orm imeacht." (I must go.)

"Fan!" Even to his own ears, he sounded desperate, it did not matter though. He wished there was a way to show her what her gifts of food and companionship meant to him. He could only guess she risked much to come to him like this. Yet he had nothing to offer, nothing to give besides his words, and even they he deemed meaningless yet still he gave them. "Go raibh maith agat, Aine." (Wait! // Thank you, Aine.)

"Slán." And with that, he could hear her nearly silent footsteps as she raced away from him. Back to the main hall, back to her own world which felt so far from his own. Even if it resided just across the village from him. (Goodbye.)

Quickly, he ate the biscuit, licking his fingers once it was gone to prolong the stale taste. After, he slipped his arms inside of his tunic and hugged them close to his body. With no clear understanding of time besides the rising and setting of the sun, he wondered when spring would come. First, he had to survive winter. With no blankets or warm clothing and lacking proper nutrition, he worried he might not see spring. Even if Aine continued to visit him and lift his spirits for a minute with her kindness. It might not be enough.

The next day snow fell.

*****

Months passed and the snow slowly began to melt. The sun once again brought warmth with it and the ground began to awaken from her deep slumber.

Master Sverri now prepared to sail the seas once again.

He forced the ship slaves to go into the forest and fell trees for repairs needed on his ship. It was while the slaves were going to and from the forest that Aine was able to actually see Finan, more than just a voice and brief glimpses through the barn slats. His hair and beard unruly, his clothes stained and disgusting. Yet sometimes when their eyes met while in passing, there was a spark in them that reminded her...life still filled their lungs and coursed through their veins. In those quick looks, a silent message bonded them- no longer were they alone, they had a kindred spirit in one another.

She stood in the main hall, stoking the large fire in the center. After, she needed to go to the river and get water. The soup for tonight's dinner needed to be started. Gunnhild, Sverri's wife, helped prepare it. She was a strict woman, and if Aine was late to bring the water, the slave usually was forced to forgo her own dinner in punishment for making others wait.

"Girl, refill my cup." Master Sverri commanded, sitting at a long table. A piece of parchment in front of him, and a furrow between his brows as he stared at it. Occasionally, he would make marks on it or curse under breath. He had been sitting there for the past several minutes, slowly drinking his ale and staring at the parchment but had paid no mind to her as she completed chores.

Immediately, she rose from the side of the fire to grab the pitcher of ale from the kitchen and bring it back with her. Without a word, she poured the liquid, extra careful to not spill on the parchment. Even if she was not sure what it was for, it looked important. A harsh punishment would surely follow if she damaged it in any way.

It was when she was mid-pour that she felt his hand slip behind her to caress her waist and glide downward.

She stiffened but continued pouring, unable to escape his wandering hand. Over the past weeks his touches had become more common and bold. Nothing to cause her to fear him, he had never hit or beat her unlike his wife. Yet she knew what those touches meant, how his gaze slid over her body like oil sometimes. It had not gone unnoticed by her or others that if Master Sverri's men tried to touch her, he harshly rebuked them.

The door to the hall opened and in walked one of his men.

"What?" Master Sverri growled; his hand remained on her arse.

The man, Magnus, stepped closer. The dragon tattoo on his bald head always frightened her, but not as much as his leering gaze or hand quick to deliver slaps when the Master was not looking. "The ship slaves are returned for the day. After tomorrow we will have enough wood to repair the hull."

"Good." When Magnus did not leave, Master Sverri raised his eyebrows then waved his hand to indicate his man should speak.

"The men grow bored. More slaves survived the winter than expected. Harald said we should let some fight. Make it a sacrifice for safe seas this year."

"Mmm." Master Sverri removed his hand from Aine, using it to rub the side of his face where his tattoo was and down through his beard.

She took this as her cue to leave. Swiftly, she made her way back towards the kitchen, but not before leaving the jug of ale on the table so the Master would have no need for her to refill his cup. Just inside the door of the kitchen, she paused to listen to his answer.

"After supper tonight. Tell the slaves that the winner will be able to eat the leftovers from our supper. That will make them fight harder. Once the fight is over, we will sacrifice the winner. We can spare two slaves. It will be easy to get more from Yunis. That should bring enough entertainment for now."

Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to alert the Master with how loud it was. All she could think of was Finan fighting in hopes of getting food then instead being killed, all because of others' boredom.

She must warn him.

Ignoring the others in the kitchen, she snatched her water bucket and dashed out. She hoped it only looked like she feared the wrath of Gunnhild and left to get water like every day. When in reality, she was terrified for her friend.

"Finan." She hissed harshly, kneeling at the back corner where they always met. The forms of the men in the pen could be seen so she knew he had to be in there. Her fear for his life outweighed her rationale to be discreet. The other slaves would certainly question why she was here and why Finan was so familiar with her. Truthfully, she feared one of them would inform the Danes about her visits in hopes of a reward. Yet her secret visits continued. Stupid. So stupid.

"Aine?" He whispered back, confusion evident.

"Tá troid le bheith ann anocht i measc beirt de na sclábhaithe long. Déarfaidh siad go bhfaigheann an buaiteoir ithe. Ná iarr troid. Gheobhaidh an bheirt bás. Íobairtfear an buaiteoir. Le do thoil, Finan. Geall nach dtroidfidh tú." (There is to be a fight tonight amongst two of the ship slaves. They will say the winner gets to eat. Do not ask to fight. Both will die. The winner will be sacrificed. Please, Finan. Promise you will not fight.)

His hand reached through the small hole he had made under the slats, gripping hers tightly. "Geallaim, Aine." (I promise, Aine.)

"Go raibh maith agat. Tiocfaidh mé anocht." (Thank you. I will come tonight.)

With that she released his hand and ran towards the river. In one hand she held the handle for the empty bucket. The other one, the one Finan had held, she fisted against her chest, trying desperately to retain the warmth of his touch just a little longer. Even if it was only in her mind.

He had surprised her by knocking away a rotten part of one of the slats, creating a hole just big enough to slip his hand out of but small enough to not get noticed and need to be fixed. It had made passing the food through easier- what she thought the purpose of the hole was for.

Yet that quickly became a secondary notion.

Something shifted between them the first time he grabbed her hand, grasping it gently, as he peered at her as best as he could through the slats where he sat. She had been startled but not frightened. He never once gave her meaning to be frightened of him. If anything, he became a pillar of strength for her. His hand had been shaking slightly from the cold. Without a conscious thought, she cupped his hand between her own and rubbed them together, trying to warm it up even a little. He had teased that there was no need for a fire when a beautiful woman was there to keep him warm.

She snorted and told him to shut his mouth, trying to deflect his teasing. The blush heating her cheeks told the real story of how his words affected her.

Every time after, when she managed to sneak away and bring him food, they held one another's hand while they talked. It was only a few minutes, she feared staying longer and being caught, but she found herself looking forward to it….and missing his touch throughout the day.

Spring was coming though. Soon Master Sverri would leave and the ship slaves with him. Many of those slaves never returned.

Was it selfish of her to hope Finan survived? That she might see him once again, even with the torment he would undeniably endure. Was it selfish?

*****

She clutched his hand tightly between her own, as if that alone would save them. For a long time neither spoke. Words not enough. They held onto each other, a physical representation of the anchor they provided for one another these past months.

Tomorrow he would board the ship and sail away. She doubted she would ever see him again.

"Aine." He breathed out her name, an almost sweet caress in how he said it. "Tú ... tá tú láidir. Mairfidh tú seo." (You...you are strong. You will survive this.)

Tears slipped down her cheeks but she refused to let go of his hand to wipe them away. Instead she pressed her forehead against the slats. If anyone saw her, it would look like she was praying, hands before her, head bowed while on her knees. Yet none of her prayers had been answered for years, so she no longer uttered them.

An almost indistinguishable pressure alerted her that he had pressed his forehead to hers. Something they had never done before. It felt strangely intimate, even though the slats separated them. If she opened her eyes, she could almost see their frosted breaths interweaving, blending into the air around them as one.

"Tá mé ag dul a chailleann tú." She finally murmured, fear making her voice hitch. (I am going to miss you.)

"Agus mise tú." (And I you.)

She needed to walk away, the longer she stayed the more likely she was to get caught. Yet she could not pull herself away. Not now. Not on the eve of their lives being torn from one another.

"Ná bíodh imní ort faoi mo chinniúint. Is é toil Dé anois é. Dírigh ort féin." (Do not worry about my fate. Its God's will now. Focus on yourself.)

"Is fear maith thú, Finan. Tá mé ... tá áthas orm aithne a chur ort." (You are a good man, Finan. I am... I am glad to know you.)

A sound between a chuckle and a sob passed his lips. He inhaled a harsh breath before whispering. "Is dóigh liom go bhfuil easpa ionchais ar fhir. B’fhéidir go gcaithfí é sin a leigheas." (I feel your expectations of men are lacking. Might need to remedy that.)

She gave a quiet laugh but said no more.

They stayed that way for another few minutes, sharing what strength they had between them. For when the sun rose, both of them would no longer feel whole. The whips and the waves to tear them apart.

"Tá rud éigin agam duit." She claimed one of her hands to pull some strips of fabric under her breast-band, where she had stuffed them earlier. She placed them in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it. "Tá sé do so lámha. Déan iad a fhilleadh timpeall do phalms. B’fhéidir go gcabhróidh sé beagáinín le…" She trailed off awkwardly, not wanting to think about or remind him of what was to come. (I have something for you. // It's for your hands. Wrap them round your palms. It might help a little with…)

"Go raibh maith agat, Aine, go fírinneach." (Thank you, Aine, truly.)

"Slán, Finan." (Good bye, Finan.)

"Slán, a stòr." (Good bye, my treasure)

With one final squeeze of their hands, she rose and walked away. Finally, she wiped the tears from her face, only for them to be replaced by fresh ones.

The night and future had never seemed so dark before.

*****

Finan leaned back against the side of the ship, watching the man who sat in front of him comfort his friend. He could see Osbert whispering something to Halig, trying to calm him down, to not draw further attention to himself. His wailing for land had drawn notice and would have been his cause for a whipping if Osbert had not covered him with his own body.

There was something, a secret they kept close to their chests. Halig, though, his strength was failing, both strength of mind and body. He was lucky though, Osbert was always there to encourage him.

Looking away from them, his thumbs gently rubbed against the cloth protecting the palms of his hands. If he closed his eyes, he could almost remember her in the moonlight, her hands holding his own, silent tears running down her cheeks.

What she would never know was after she left, he had to stick his fist against his mouth to muffle his own sobs.

He had sworn earlier that day to Osbert that he would kill the slaver Hakka for he was a right bastard that enjoyed inflicting torment. In his own mind, he also made a promise to himself. If he managed to get free, he would save her. Somehow, he would rescue her from her own captivity.

He glanced over as Osbert leaned back against the side of the ship, eyes closed, bottom lip trembling. Silently, he reached over and placed a hand on Osbert's shoulder for a long second before retracting it.

Osbert had spoken of escape often, under the cover of darkness and the stars above. Once they returned to Islond, there had to be a way he insisted. Finan was unsure but the raging fire that burned in Osbert's blue eyes was enough for him to quickly agree. If there was anyone bound to figure out a way, it was this man.

"Back to work, slaves!" Hakka screamed, readying his whip for any man that did not move fast enough. "Pull! Pull!"

Finan closed his eyes for a brief moment as he placed his hands back on the oar. This would not be his fate.

This would not be his end.

Or hers.

#The Last Kingdom #the last kingdom fandom #the last kingdom fanfic #finan the last kingdom #finan x ofc #finan the agile #uhtred ragnarson #slavery #mz writes

75 notes · View notes

tiifalockhart · 3 years

Text

Reunion

Pairing: Zack x Aerith

Warnings: mentions of death, alludes to depression and grief

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Zerith is one of my all time favorite ships, and I really wanted to write something emotional for them. I hope you enjoy the angst hehe, feedback is always appreciated!

Ao3 || Masterlist

It had been years since his death. The moment she felt a shift in the lifestream, Aerith knew that Zack was gone. Her heart broke, nothing would ever be the same again. All those letters she had sent... All those prayers she prayed... It had done no good in the end.

The emotional burden of loss was terrible to deal with, especially when the locals of Sector 5 questioned her about it. She avoided the conversation, responding with "I'm okay" in her usual bubbly voice. Elmyra knew that she hadn't been feeling the same, she even offered to help Aerith fix the wheel on her flower cart... But Zack was supposed to help her... It hurt too much to even think about, so she declined the offer with a sad smile, saying that she'll manage.

Aerith's heart had grown heavier and heavier with each passing day. Every day, she woke up expecting a letter or call from Zack, anything letting her know that she was wrong, that maybe he was okay. But nothing ever came. It was... Really hard to let go.

But then, she met a new boy. He looked similar to Zack, he wore the same clothes, had the same sword, he even had spikey hair. It was... So familiar, yet so vague at the same time. She learned that his name was Cloud, and offered him Zack's favorite flower, before parting ways with him in Sector 8. She didn't know if she was ever going to see that boy again, but the feeling of familiarity hung in her heart.

She didn't see him for another couple days until there was a loud crash in the morning after the Sector 5 reactor blew. Aerith leaned over the boy, calling out to him to wake him up. He was so familiar... So much like Zack. He even fell through the roof like Zack... What a coincidence.

So, Aerith stuck with Cloud, hanging onto that vague familiarity that she associated with Cloud. She went with him everywhere. They went to the orphanage, her house, even to Sector 6 (which she avoided like the plague). Suddenly, she heard her heart calling out to her, it told her that he was the one. She felt herself falling for Cloud, and she knew that was wrong.

She was still waiting for Zack, after all.

Eventually, she was taken away by Shinra, finding it a worthy sacrifice to keep Marlene out of danger. She knew that Sector 7 was going to fall that day. She prayed that Cloud, Tifa and Barret had made it out okay. When there was no disturbance in the lifestream, she knew that it worked, and they were just fine.

Eventually, she found the energy to come visit Cloud in his dreams, waiting for him as she tended to the flowers in their dreamscape. Even in this mystified world, they were still beautiful.

Finally, she heard Cloud's footsteps approaching. She stood slowly and turned towards him, offering him a sad smile. After discussing his next plans, she let out a heavy sigh.

"Whatever you do, you can't fall in love with me."

Those words held a heavy tone to them, as if she wasn't sure if she meant it. Aerith swore that she was serious, that she was still waiting for Zack. She didn't want Cloud to fall for her, just as she did for Zack.

After their meeting, Aerith awoke to find that disgusting scientist staring at her, his sickening, obsessive glare watching over her. She was safe behind the glass with no evident route of escape. Once again, she was trapped by Shinra.

She didn't worry, though. She knew Cloud was on his way, along with Tifa and Barret. There was nothing to worry about, Shinra couldn't hurt her no matter how badly they wanted to. Aerith simply stayed silent behind that glass, refusing to acknowledge any of Hojo's questions or threats.

Eventually, Cloud showed up, along with Tifa and Barret. They had come to rescue her, she felt so grateful. After a long and tedious process of escaping Hojo's lab, they made a run for it from Shinra, with the help of the Whispers.

Those Whispers were Arbiters of Fate... They were always with her. Maybe now, she could change what had happened. As she turned back on the road and looked up at the Shinra building being engulfed by thousands of Whispers, she silently hoped that this change made some kind of impact on their future, or past.

Everything went semi smoothly (if you ignore the whole Shinra army being sent after them). Aerith knew that they would make it... until she felt his presence. The suffocating evil sent chills down her spine as she turned to face the dead war hero. His wicked smirk, his hand clasped around the sword that had slain many beasts and humans, the way his cat-like eyes flicked between the five of them, holding a distinctive look of... Disgust, perhaps? It sickened her.

By now, she could hear the planet screaming out. It suffered because of him and Shinra, it wouldn't stop screaming as the giant beam of light blinded them. Sephiroth disappeared into it, silently inviting them to face whatever was beyond it.

This could very well be their last battle. This single battle determined the fate of many. Aerith was terrified to face it, but maybe... Even if this was where her story ended... She could save everyone.

She turned to face the other four members of the team, offering them a confident smile even if her eyes betrayed her. "We can beat him." Aerith stated, clutching her staff.

She didn't really know how wrong that statement would be until they entered the void. This was when it became clear. Everything would change after this battle.

And she was right. After fighting for their lives and risking everything, they ended the battle, defeating Sephiroth and Arbiter of Fate. Everything from now on would be different.

What she had not realized was that their past had changed as well. Unbeknownst to them, they now lived in a different world.

Aerith hadn't realized it until they returned to the church for extra preparations for the next step. What came next was unknown, and the team suggested that they take some time to prepare before setting off.

She returned to take care of the flowers one last time, her fingers brushing over them carefully as she smiled to herself. Suddenly, the doors flung open, causing Aerith to jump from her spot and turn quickly.

It was an unbelievable sight.

At the door, a tall figure stood, leaving against the door frame. He struggled to stand on his own, clearly beaten and injured. Confusion was evident on her features as she took a hesitant step towards the figure, before freezing. The world around her stopped completely, just as her heart stopped when realization hit her. A shaky breath left her lips as her eyes widened, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

"A...Aerith..."

His voice... So familiar yet so unfamiliar.

He reached out to her, his hand shaking as it pulled her closer. He embraced her tightly, ignoring how she hesitated, still unsure if she were dreaming or not. Tears ran down his face as he gripped onto her, holding her tightly against his body as he cradled her.

"It's been so long..." He whispered, his voice rough, as if he'd been screaming for hours.

Aerith pulled away to stare up at him, cupping his dirty cheeks and feeling tears of happiness and relief fall down her cheeks. "You're home." She whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders tightly and crying into his neck. "I-I've missed you so much, I... How?" She asked, pulling away and looking over his body.

Zack smiled down at her, his expression softening significantly. "Thought you could get rid of me that easy?" He joked, which only made Aerith cry more. "Wait no- I-I was joking!" He stated, a look of panic forming in his eyes.

"I know." She whispered, wiping her face. "I'm just glad you're home." Aerith murmured, pulling him into another embrace.

41 notes · View notes

smol-and-trashy · 3 years

Text

Another JJBA vore fic? It’s more likely than you’d think (Vento Aureo)

A/N: I was going to write more, but died in the process. There might be another chapter after this... let’s see. Here’s some giorno vore because i hate myself ahah. It’s super OOC. GioGio’s canon fave food is chocolate and pudding sooooo….sorry for writing this. :)

___________

Guido Mista was a man who preferred to live life stress-free. While betraying the mafioso boss wasn’t exactly the definition of living a peaceful life, when had his life since joining the Passione been totally easygoing? Ultimately, he trusted Bruno’s decision and followed suit.

However, waking up in the dark amidst a sea of stickiness was more than he bargained for. Mista tried shifting his arms, but with each bit of movement, the substance would get heavier. His thick brows furrowed; whatever he was trapped in looked like mud, but... he sniffed. It had a cloyingly sweet aroma to it, almost chocolatey. That didn’t make sense though, did that punk the boss sent have a Stand able to turn liquid into food and then use it to trap their opponents? He couldn’t recall. Normally, he would prefer to not think of such troubles, deeming them as unnecessary worries, but being alone in strange terrain can do a number to a person’s mental state.

From what he could remember of the fight, the man they fought had some kind of defensive Stand. It shot some sort of unscented gas in his face before proceeding to punch him each time he tried getting near. He must’ve been off that day because even his Sex Pistols kept missing the man, he tried redirecting them, but they landed in various areas, everywhere but his target. Narancia was having the same problem, which made Mista begin to believe that this man had some kind of bullet defensive Stand instead. The only people who were able to get a solid hit on the user were Buccellati and Giorno. Though, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember who made the final blow. Was I knocked out? Mista remembered bleeding from his head and shoulders but never actually slipping unconsciousness. Shit, he must’ve been more formidable than I thought! Least we got him though!

However, when Mista attempted to reach a hand to check if he were still bleeding or to at least wipe the crusted blood off, he found himself still unable to move his arms. They were submerged in the depths of the chocolate mud, he tried to at least wriggle his fingers, but the substance was unyielding.

“Yo! Buccellati? Narancia? Giorno? Trish? Anybody?” he tried shouting but received no response. If he listened carefully, he could hear muffled voices around him, but no one was actively trying to break open his prison. Maybe they’re working on it? Or maybe I’ve been captured, and it’s one of the boss’ men around me? C’mon guys, where are you?

Suddenly, something metallic came from the sky and ripped the dark ceiling off. Mista’s heart jumped to his throat at the sight of a gigantic white-clothed table with various dishes surrounding his now broken prison. He could hear something shuffle from far above, and Mista looked up, way up, obsidian eyes comically widening as he caught a glimpse of a familiar pink suit and golden hair: everything began to click.

Above was Giorno Giovanna, under ordinary circumstances, he would’ve welcomed the sight of his friend, but the young blond before him appeared to be reaching monstrous heights.

His breath hitched as the metal spoon came closer, slowly digging near his shrunken body. How he wanted to maintain his cool, pretend like he wasn’t in any danger, and that Giorno would notice him with ease, but even for him, that was unrealistic. The teen’s sea blue eyes glazed over him, focusing more on a conversation from above than his dessert. Mista’s stomach turned, for someone as overly cautious as Giorno, especially after betraying the boss, he had to let his guard down at the worst possible moment. Mista couldn’t help but to let out a bitter bark of laughter, he could always count on his stroke of luck to get him into the strangest situations.

“Oi Giorno! Look down!” While his hands were glued to his sides from the thickness of the pudding, he still had his voice. However, Giorno showed no indication of hearing him, not even taking a moment to look down as he took another truck-sized scoop of the pudding, thankfully missing Mista.

“Watch it! This isn’t funny, man!” he snapped, desperation swirling with fear while his heart thrummed against his chest. How Giorno couldn’t see his blue hat contrasting with the creamy brown of the pudding was beyond him.

“C’mon Giorno, please look down! I don’t wanna die!”

He received no response from above, only the spoon coming back down. This time catching Mista and dragging the terrified gunslinger above. Time slowed down as Mista was brought up, moving past the teenager’s partially open chest and finally halting in front of slightly parted lips.

Mista prayed that one of the other team Buccellati members could see his pathetic wriggles on Giorno’s spoon. Both Buccellati and Giorno had always been absurdly perceptive; they had to notice that Mista was amiss. Even though the latter was about to unintentionally kill him, they had to notice something was off!

While he couldn’t see much beyond the oversized blond and globs of pudding, his prayers were answered from a deep, familiar voice nearby:

“Has anyone seen Mista?” Bruno inquired, and Mista thanked God, finally someone had noticed his absence!

“Oh! He’s still passed out on the couch like a baby!” Narancia interjected.

“In the turtle?”

“Yeah—!”

There was a long pause, and Giorno thankfully lowered the spoon back down. Mista assumed one of them was peering inside the turtle’s pocket dimension.

“Oh, it does look like he’s sleeping there. Giorno, you weren’t able to heal all of his wounds?”

“He was badly beaten, he should be fully recovered in about an hour.” Giorno sounded apologetic, while the tiny brunette was about to have another panic attack.

What?! How could he be inside the turtle when he was clearly stuck in Giorno's pudding?

The spoon shifted and rose up again, Mista’s blood froze. He was really going to die, and no one would notice he was gone. While he would be stewing away inside Giorno, they would believe he was healing from the previous fight. How could this happen?

Unwittingly trapped in his increasingly negative thoughts, Mista didn’t even notice he was already pressed up to Giorno's lips. His eyes shot wide, cruelly brought back to his unfortunate reality. Before he could even utter a scream, he was promptly shoved inside the humid maw, darkness flooding his vision.

As the light closed in, framed by rows of teeth and strings of saliva, Mista felt his stomach turn over. The sopping, crowded cavern of Giorno’s mouth was an experience Mista would rather die than relive. He was tossed and thrown about inside the stuffy mouth; trying to avoid sharp teeth from chewing him to bits but it seemed like the more he tried to struggle, the more soaked in saliva he got. Eech, this is so freaking disgusting!

The tongue beneath him shifted and threw Mista towards the back of the throat along with the rest of the chewed-up muck. With a simple flick of the tongue, Mista was sucked down the crushing throat.

He felt like a tube of toothpaste, squeezed until there was nothing left in him. The powerful muscles of Giorno’s esophagus were relentlessly crushing his tiny form. There was no room to squirm, so his cheeks were squished to the slimy, contracting walls. As Mista descended further down into the teen’s chest, he could hear a heavy, even heartbeat causing thumping vibrations all around him like an internal bass.

For what seemed like hours, Mista was slowly descending down the tight gullet. He could hear the groans and grumbles of the acid pit below, and as he was about to let out a yell in retaliation, he found himself released from the suffocating constraints of the esophagus.

Mista struggled in mid-air, one hand grasped on his hat while the other flailing about before dropping into a dark sea of stomach juices and masticated mush. Not taking a second to process his new environment, Mista swam to the nearest wall, banging and pleading to be released. The hot juices splashed at his bare midriff, while the walls constricted around him, unsure what exactly to do with him. He was thrown to the other side of the stomach, gasping for air, clean air, as he clawed onto the nearest wall, trying to maintain some balance, but failing as the stomach lurched unexpectedly and he fell face-first into the juices.

“C’mon man!” he cries out, hoisting himself up and unsuccessfully trying to wipe off the gastric juices.

Mista sharply inhales, the creeping feeling of disgust cried under his skin, but he shoved it down; there had to be a way to get Giorno’s attention. He was not going to go down like this.

Dark eyes nervously avert to his gun, his hands waver over the weapon. He didn’t want it to come down like this, but if there was no release in sight, and Giorno still had no idea where he was—what if he doesn’t realize by the time I become a pile of bones? Swallowing heavily and raising his gun, he takes a deep breath and finally pulls the trigger. Sorry, Giorno.

“Sex Pistols!”

—-

Pressing a hand to his flat stomach, Giorno paused, trying not to let his anxieties spike. If there were Stands who could spread viruses, produce mirror worlds, or even shrink themselves and others, surely there was a possibility that someone’s Stand may have infiltrated his own body. Giorno’s lips curled in revulsion. Activating Golden Experience, he tested for another soul. He knew the rest of the team were now shooting him perplexing looks and whispers at the notion of him bringing out his Stand, but right now, he didn’t care, he had to focus. Sure enough, he detected another life inside him. Giorno swallowed hard, trying to contain both his fear and anger into a mask of passive indifference. Useless, how could I let my guard down? It was an extreme invasion of his privacy and he wanted nothing more but to get this thing out as soon as possible. Now, it was more a matter on how to go about removing the Stand. He knew nothing about it other than it was currently inside him and wreaking havoc on his insides. Giorno had no idea if it was planting any explosives or plotting mind control from within.

He looked up, finally facing the confused, worried faces of his comrades.

“…Is everything okay, Giorno?” Buccellati finally broke the silence, calm, slightly concerned blue eyes stared into Giorno’s uneasy blues.

#JoJo vore #jjba vore #unaware pred #unwilling prey #soft vore #safe vore #vore writer #vore fanfic

42 notes · View notes

failedfirebender · 4 years

Text

Distance - ZUTARA

Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender Genre: Drama, Romance. Words: 2482 Paring: Zutara - Zuko & Katara

________________________________________

Zuko approached Katara; it was late and she had fallen asleep reading on the couch. No, not reading, he realized, writing. The notebook was going up and down, over her chest.

For the last year and a half, she’d been studying and collecting data of all kinds of healing. From traditional ways – including herbs and potions –, to bending ones, with the objective of putting it all together in a massive “healing encyclopedia”, as Zuko liked to call it. She was almost done with it, and had been pulling preoccupying all-nighters for the last week, excited by the view of the finish line. Even when her passion was one of the many things that’d made Zuko fall for her, he was trying to help her get it under control. It was not healthy when it took control of her like that.

He woke her up tenderly, kneeling in front of her and brushing the stands of hair that had fallen over her face. Her nose frowned and a grumble left her mouth. The tips of his lips curled and a rough chuckle slid past his lips. It was such a Katara thing to do.

As she softly awakened, he took a hairband from her wrist, proceeding to stand and make his way behind her. With all the calm in the world, he accommodated her wild curls into a bun and tied it up. His hands fell to her shoulders, helping her sit up, and massaging them kindly.

His girlfriend looked up at him and yawned, stretching her limbs as far as she could. Her hands reached up to the sides of his cheeks and squished them.

“Oh, my hero!” She giggled, her voice still dormant and low. “You saved me from the terrible fate of a back contracture!” He knew she only got all touchy and silly when sleep deprived. If any other human dared touch him like that, he’d burn their hands off. But this was Katara, and thus, her childish behavior only made his grin wider.

He kissed her forehead.

“Let's get you to bed.”

“No, no!” She whisper-shouted, shaking her head, “I am about to finish, just one more paragraph.” He raised an eyebrow. “Ok, ok maybe it’s another chapter, but who cares?”

“I do.” To these words, her sleepy eyes lit up. “Come on, you can finish tomorrow.”

He’d been meaning to talk to her forever. But between his duty as Fire Lord and the encyclopedia project, time had been a luxury they couldn’t afford. Which was good- kind of. Zuko had had more than enough time to think exactly of what he wanted to say, and practice it eternally looking at himself in the mirror. Not that he did, of course. Anyways – and just like he suspected –, all the practice in the world made him feel no closer to confident now the time came.

Perhaps it was the timing. After all, four in the morning was not the best moment to have the conversation that had been haunting him the last two months. Maybe he shouldn’t... But he couldn’t back down now. He knew that if he did, the courage he’d been gathering would be lost for good.

His fingers sunk deeper into her muscles, tracing calming circles and she sighed. But before he could tell, she was pulling away.

“I know...” a yawn interrupted her words, her hand covering her mouth. She was terribly adorable. “...your tricks, and I won’t fall for them.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shot him what was supposed to be a death glare over her shoulder.

He repressed a laugh, knowing it wouldn’t help his cause, and instead lead his hands back to her nape. This time, she didn’t move.

“How is this fair?” he mocked, “The one time she visits, I have to beg my girlfriend for attention.”

Katara, who now had her notebook open over her crossed legs, tilted her head back; her features tainted with guilt.

“I know, I know... I’ve been travelling a lot, but as soon as I finish the book, I’ll settle back in the Water Tribe and we’ll see each other more often.”

The thing was, Zuko’s plans did not include a long-distance relationship.

“The book can wait a few more hours.”

“And you can’t?” Katara’s words were meant to be a joke, a playful smirk was plastered on her face, yet Zuko’s reply was overwhelmingly honest.

“I think I’ve waited long enough.”

Just like that, the waterbender tensed under his touch. With cautioned movements, she placed the book in the small table in front of her and stood up. They looked into each other’s eyes with the couch between them. Katara’s eyes flickered with fear, no trace of the previous sleepiness on her face. Zuko, instead, wondered what he did to deserve the love of such a beautiful creature.

“What’s wrong?” her voice quavered with concern. She knew him too well, how did he even expect her not to realize something was up?

He extended his arm over the couch – her hand grabbed his with hesitation – and led her around the piece of furniture and to his side. Unable to hold back his impulses, he tugged her in, trapping her in his arms. A surprised shriek was suffocated half way out her mouth, as their bodies collided and she melted into him.

They’d been together for four years, and she still had the perfume of fresh winter breeze impregnated in her hair. She still had the same freezing touch that drove him crazy, the same stubbornness and capability of arguing till death, the desperate need to help others and make this world better. He’d never get tired of loving her.

He squeezed her tight once more before letting go, and looked down to her eyes. When moonlight hit them in just the right angle, like it was doing now, their oceans seemed to shine like mercury had been melted in them, like the silver light of a thousand stars was held within.

His hand traced his way down the length of her arm and his fingers intertwined with hers. Katara’s worried frown relaxed as she realized the tips of his lips were struggling to contain a smile.

In that same silence, overflowed with both questions and expectations, Zuko guided them both to the bed in the center of the room. He sat over it with his legs crossed and invited Katara to do the same.

“I am getting really scared over here. What’s going on?” she said, fidgeting with his fingers, “I won’t do anything until you say something.” He shook his head no and chuckled, uncapable of forming any coherent sentence. His eyes went from the girl, to the bed, and back, insisting.

Few were the times he’d been as nervous as he was at that moment. He could feel his caged heart bouncing against his ribs, desperate to come out and fall into Katara’s hands. It was a tired heart, beaten up and somehow strong enough to love harder every day. Zuko hated it when she was away, his heart so passive, his head so cold and calculative. No one had ever turned his world upside down the way Katara did, and he cherished every second of it.

Once she was in front of him, he let go of her hand.

“Say something. Anything.” She begged. “You’ve been weird ever since I got here, you think I didn’t realize?” Her eyes were determined, but also flooded with worry.

He brushed the palms of his hands anxiously against his knees, not finding a good answer for any of the things that she’d said. He was feeling something he thought long lost; his blood boiling as it sprinted through his veins, his temperature way higher than usual, his cheeks blushing and his lips stuck in a smile. He hadn’t felt this nervous around Katara in a really long time. Their first couple months dating made him feel just like that; uneasy, scared to ruin it all by being the confused little boy he was. But he was a man now, and the woman in front of him was no longer a child. They’d both grown, and they’d done it right next to each other.

“You do know the first time we met I thought you were pretty?”

Katara’s eyes widened.

“This is what you wanted to talk to me about? I mean I’m glad to-”

“No, no,” he calmed her down, rising his palms. “Let me finish.” He took a deep breath, barely believing this was the real deal, not himself repeating the words over and over in front of the mirror. “You were just this pretty girl that was making my life impossible by pairing up with the Avatar. You always found a way to mess up my plans. Damn, till today I remember how I hated you after our fight in the Northern Water Tribe.” The memory made them both smile. They’d come so far from where they started.

“To be fair, you kind of wan the spar.”

“But you did save Aang in the end... and you saved me, too.” He swallowed. “You could’ve left me there to die, but you made sure I was safe. At that time... I don’t know if I would’ve done the same.” Zuko could see the engines in her head turning like crazy. They’d been over the events of that night plenty of times and of course, she had no idea of where he was trying to get. “Then there was that day in which we all team up against Azula, remember?” She nodded, patiently, “And my uncle...” the memory made him shiver “When my sister hit him you tried to help me, but I pushed you away. Back in those days, I knew nothing better than fighting alone.” An apology was written in his eyes. “And the catacombs... it’s true, you know? What you said.”

“I mean most of the things I say are, but specifically about what?” The waterbender continued to look completely puzzled.

Zuko bit his lip to repress his laugh. “Show off,” he accused her.

Katara shrugged and the hint of a smile appeared on her face.

“You told me a long time ago that you were the first one to trust me, and still, I betrayed you.” They were long past that, but Katara’s smile flickered. He knew how hard it had been on her to watch him pair with Azula after... well, after everything. “And you were talking about the guys, but you were the first one to trust me ever. Besides my uncle, no one had ever seen anything worth saving within me, anything worth healing... not even myself.” His hand had drifted to his scar, and Katara reached out to it, cupping it in her own. His eyes closed and he leaned towards her touch. “I’ll never ever forgive myself for that day-” She opened her mouth to speak, but he gave her that look that said ‘I’ve been putting my guts together the last two days to say this so please don’t interrupt’, and she shut it. “Not even knowing you did. And last, there was Azula’s Agni Kai.”

There was a pause after those words. Even when the scars that marked his skin healed, the ones in his soul hadn’t completely. Katara took his hand between both of hers and left an encouraging kiss over it.

“I think even when I didn’t realize it back then, I already loved you.” To these words, that had never been spoken before, a million feelings shadowed Katara’s features. “I’ve spent all this time loving you and I can’t do it anymore, not like this.” The grip of her fingers loosened around his hands, and when his eyes met hers, the life seemed to have been ripped out of them. Still, he didn’t let go of her. “I am tired of missing you every single day, tired of waiting for your letters, not knowing if you are ok... I can’t do that anymore.” With every word, her eyes watered up, and he forgot completely about the other one hundred things he wanted to say. He just couldn’t bare it any more. “Move in with me. Come live here, in the Fire Nation, in the palace, with me.”

The words fell out of his mouth gracelessly, way too fast and tipsy, not at all like he’d wanted them to. But it was done, and deafening expectation was now overflowing his body. The feeling was erratic, his every cell on edge, like he’d just shot a question way more dangerous than lightning. Katara’s state couldn’t be described with any other word but shock. Her eyes were about to fall from her face, her lips were parted and, except for one sneaky tear sliding down her cheek, she remained impossibly still.

And then, just when Zuko was about to apologize and take it all back for rushing things, his girlfriend’s hand struck him across the face with strength worthy of a Master waterbender. His hand flew to his cheek as he turned to her in disbelief.

“That’s for making me believe you were breaking up with me!” Her chest was going up and down agitated, another tear fell from her left eye.

Zuko was in absolute shock. He hadn’t realized his words could be interpreted that way. Why did he always have to screw everything up? Couldn’t he be a romantic average boyfriend for once? The moment he opened his mouth to try and fix the mess he’d made, her lips met his.

It was an urgent kiss, fiery and passionate, that made him fall back on the bed, Katara over him. His hands dug deep into her hair and pulled back, the messy curls being freed and falling like an endless river behind her. He loved her, spirits he loved her so much the feelings could barely be held within his body, it was as if though they were trying to escape through every touch, through the bridge between their lips.

Her hands were tangled in his mane and he took the opportunity to shift them, trapping her between him and the bed. Their lips finally separated, but as for the rest of their bodies, he couldn’t say the same.

“And what...” he was completely out of breath, his shaken words got mixed with Katara’s minted breath. Their eyes collided, burning amber against ocean blue. Hers glowed like beacons in the darkest night. “What was that for?”

“That?” a smirk took over her face “That was for all the rest.”

This time, he was the one to close the distance that held them apart. They had had more than enough distance for a lifetime, and from now on, he’d make sure to make up for every second of it.

112 notes · View notes

cassandrium360 · 4 years

Text

“Funny When a City’s All You Know”

After all the angst @hugoisthecoolestaround, @royal-engineer-of-corona, and @donella-the-superior-alchemist have been dishing out lately, I had to write out a fic surrounding Hugo’s ‘betrayal’. I’ve always wanted to write Hugo’s home town, and this is pretty close, so I’ll take it. Enjoy!!

Hugo shut his eyes, stretching his arms above his head. His surroundings disappeared; for a moment, it was peaceful. He let out a long sigh, the sound of his heavy footsteps medaling away into nothingness as he stepped further into the crowded marketplace.

He frowned, resigning himself to take in his surroundings. This place… it was too similar to Bayangor. His shoulders tightened uneasily at that thought. To his left, there were buildings built too near together, foundations crumbling as the levels stacked up high enough to cut off the sun’s presence. Hagglers with cracked stands crowded the narrow avenue, shouting out towards passersby in the mind-numbing way they always had growing up.

Hugo flicked a spot of dirt off his glasses, continuing on. If he looked closely towards the end of the beaten dirt path, beyond the seemingly endless haze of whatever town this may have been, he could see the buildings transition from city blocks into shops, not unlike the ones in the wealthier part of his own city.

Neither crowd seemed to wish to take an orphan into it.

He pursed his lips. Wasn’t finding a place reminiscent of home meant to make you feel better? Hugo looked down as he sidestepped a few citizens. He was good at that. They should get out of here; the sooner the better.

A quick glance to his side made it clear that Varian had long since disappeared into the crowd, likely distracted by something from one of the shops. Hugo let out a small, breathy laugh at that. It was a wonder the group had gotten anything done in the past.

“Guess it’s just you and me, Cheese.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as he resigned himself to continuing, keeping his head low; best not to look for any fights.

Hugo mentally tried to recall the list Nuru had given them before they left, hoping that he and Varian could find at least some of what they needed before the rapidly darkening sky gave way to dusk completely.

A chill ran down his spine, his shoulders reflexively pulling back as it did so. Without turning his head, he glanced out the sides of his eyes, the small area of blurred vision cueing nothing out of the ordinary. His footsteps beat faster, drawing up dust as he brushed past a few others more quickly than before, mind darting behind him all the while.

What was he doing? He was being ridiculous. There was no one behind him. This place wasn’t Bayangor. He didn’t need to watch his back constantly, he’d be safely back with the others in a few hours. He hissed out a breath through his teeth. This place was just too similar to that of the past.

He forced his heart to return to a regular beat, muscles aching against his slowed paces. He was just paranoid, but he wouldn’t let it distract him. Just keep moving, he repeated to himself.

A man roughly checked his shoulder as he ran by him, knocking Hugo off balance. Before he had a chance to scowl in return, his arm was roughly twisted behind him. Hugo’s momentum was quickly turned against him as he was steered towards a sliver of an alleyway between two cement buildings, filled with cracks.

He was roughly thrown to the ground, dirt packed down from years of trampling offering no form of mercy as a pain shot up through his shoulder. His glasses scattered to the side a few feet away from him. He used his elbow to force himself up, ignoring the way his head spun at the simple action. Keep fighting.

He shoved the carefully cut metal frames back onto his face in a single movement, jumping to his feet. As his eyes adjusted to their newly found clarity, his heart stopped, fists unclenching from where they had been drawn a second ago.

Everything numbed entirely, city noise dripping away into a mere patter in the background as he came face to face with her. Donella.

The words that had been brimming in is throat, fresh insults, a confident front towards his attacker, all floated beyond his grasp. He could feel the colour drain from his face as he stood there helplessly.

His mind screamed at him. Run. Attack. Fight. Do something; anything! And yet, rather than propel him forwards, the adrenaline coursing through his rapidly pounding heart rooted him to the spot, vision swimming.

“Long time no see, darling.” Her voice was as cold as ever, sending an icy chill over his mind.

But it was enough. Rushing into action all at once, he surged forwards, dodging under her outstretched arm. The exit of the alleyway was feet in front of him. He could make it out, disappear into the crowd, and buy some more time. Hugo’s eyes were too dry, burning as he forced his legs to carry him onwards.

“You needn’t run. I know your brother’s in the city.”

Hugo’s eyes flashed wide. He tripped forward, leaning heavily against the wall of one of the buildings threatening to come crashing down on them at any moment to catch himself. The rough stone cut against his hand, drawing a thin line of blood down his palm.

The air was suffocating. The dust that had always been present now seeming overwhelming. He placed a hand to his chest as he spun around.

“Leave him alone.” It surprised him how level his voice came out. Unshakable. His instincts seemed to come rushing back into him, hand flying to the dagger looped onto his belt. He wouldn’t loose this fight. Wouldn’t lose Varian. Not again.

“That’s exactly what I want,” she said, voice hard as she ripped the hood off her cloak. “Do you really think it’s fair? To ask him to spend the rest of his life on the run?” Her eyes bore into him. She took a confident step towards him. “I won’t stop; one day I will catch up to you.”

Hugo’s hand shook. He locked his gaze onto his scuffed leather boots. He knew that. Of course he did. This is why he hadn’t wanted to involve the others in the first place. This should’ve been his battle to fight; if he hadn’t betrayed her then… they’d all be safe.

Nuru would be able to continue searching for another solution to her kingdom’s problem. Yong would be able to go home to his family, live out the normal childhood the others hadn’t gotten. And Varian. He would be safe. He wouldn’t have to sacrifice his future to keep running from a relentless pursuer.

Selfish. The word rang through his mind. He couldn’t tell whether Donella had said it aloud or not. It didn’t matter.

“What do you want,” he said, forcing his gaze to meet hers.

“The same thing I always have; give me the totems, betray the group, and at least they won’t be harmed.” Her ultimatum was spoken. It was up to him now.

Hugo closed his eyes, trembling as tears threatened to break through his barricade. He would have to hurt Varian and the others all over again. He would have to… let go of the only family he’d ever known. Were they his family? Did it matter now? He was thinking selfishly again. It didn’t matter what he wanted.

He had to protect him. It was the least he could do.

Hugo threw the dagger to the ground; the clatter it made didn’t reach his ears.

Without opening his eyes, he spun on his heel, pausing in the thick silence for a brief second. “Yes, ma’am.” He walked out of the alleyway without looking back.

I’ll write something fluffy with Hugo one day. Title taken from My Petersbug from Anastasia. I’ve never written for Donella before... so let me know if it worked!!

#varian and the seven kingdoms #hugo the human #varian #tangled the series #tangled #tts #rta #rapunzel's tangled adventure

37 notes · View notes