#but to completely ignore the man and baby she brought to the grave what... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

monroeknoxwrites · 2 years

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ming fan/zhuzhi-lang wip

Post canon, t4t ming fan and ning yingying develop a fwb type deal. It's going great until mf misses a dose of his baby-b-gone pills…

To make matters worse (for him), the day he builds up the courage to tell nyy, she reveals she fell in love. Asks him if they can end their arrangement.

He can't bring himself to say it now. Just agrees and hides the news.

He throws himself into his work, volunteers for full snake babysitting duty. Far away from his fellow disciples where he can sulk in privacy. Except for zzl.

At shizun's request, zzl was put under mqf's care. His injuries were significant and left him in a coma for months on end.

zzl proves difficult during his recovery period. Needs close supervisor once he regains consciousness so he doesn't attempt yet another ill-advised escape. Not that he gets far in his condition.

Outside the ward in his quarters, he reverts to his true form. Its too weak and his injuries reopen. But he tries many times. Once he learns junshang survived as well.

Other than playing guard and caretaker in one, mf occasionally powers up the ward with spiritual energy. He isn't strong enough to keep zzl in the right form, facilitate his healing. It's more like throwing an extra log on a fire someone else expertly built. Adding fuel.

The two spend a month together in complete silence. Neither has the desire to speak with the other and has more important things on their mind.

Supplies are brought in by other disciples. mf refuses all their offers of switching with shixiong, giving him time to himself.

By the third month cohabiting, mf starts showing.

In such close quarters, under his keen eye, zzl notices. He's seen a pregnant person before. Remembers the fascination he felt looking on her all those years ago. The errant thought that his mother must have looked the same.

mf ignores the stares. Just like he tries ignoring the problem all together. An increasingly impossible and stupid course of action as his body gets bigger.

He absolutely doesn't tell nyy. How can he?

One day mf becomes nauseous so quickly and suddenly he can't make it outside in time. He's heaving his guts and the fresh meal nyy sent over into a tea pot full.of cold water. When the last of it subsides, he hears a voice ask "are you alright?”

He glares from his position on the floor, face hovering over a container of his own sick and water.

"do I look alright?" he snaps back.

zzl simply stares calmly back at him. Says no more.

The nausea gets worse. mf starts keeping a bucket nearby and eats only light, small portions.

It happens while he's in the middle of juicing up the ward. He breaks the connection, scrambles for the bucket. His hair comes loose from his ponytail as he does.

After several awful heaves, the last few dry, he notices his hair isn't sticking to his face or in the bucket. He pants, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand, staring blankly at the man hovering at his side.

Holding his hair back.

He broke the ward in his haste.

Panic rises up nearly as fast as the sick. He isn't a match for the snake demon in this condition. If he's honest with himself, he isn't his match at all. He gapes, sour mouth working uselessly. A hand subconsciously covering the growing bugle of his stomach.

zzl tracks the movement. He releases mf's hair and steps back.

"Are you alright?" He asks again, same tone as the other day.

To mf's amazement he doesn't bolt for the door or lash out. He stands a few paces away, staring at him with quiet patience. Awaiting an answer.

In the days and weeks and months he has been trapped in cqm, zzl has had plenty of time to think. Once the initial kneejerk reaction of "find junshang at all costs" proved fruitless, his mind turned to the reality of his situation.

His injuries were grave. Surrounded by cultivators, he had little chance of escaping the qing jing peak, let alone the entire mountain.

What use would he be to junshang half-dead and ill-formed once more?

So he decided to let the cultivators have their way.

They clearly wished him no harm. As much as he felt imprisoned, he was not so single-minded he couldn't recognize what they were doing for him.

He just had no idea why.

The sulky cultivator designated as his guard had no interest in him.

Not even a few words passed between them in weeks, good or bad. The cultivator fed him, provided items for his hygiene, and privacy, revitalized the ward that healed him.

But he barely gave zzl a passing glance. Like himself, his mind was evidently elsewhere.

Time passed slowly in this quiet routine. With little else to do, zzl studied the cultivator. At first it was just common sense, sizing up the enemy and familiarizing himself with their movements, weakness, habits.

Then it shifted more towards curiosity.

He noticed the cultivator had no desire to leave. He refused any attempts at relieving him from duty. His refusals we're so form that the others stopped asking.

Who would wish to spend all their time cramped in a small two room building with a prisoner?

zzl found the beginnings of an answer the morning the cultivator bent to grab something off the floor. This one has a very lean frame and this new angle had the fabric of his robes stretched over a bump on his front.

A bump, he observed, that only grew more each day.

Then came the violent nausea.

zzl inquired if he was alright and silently accepted the curt rebuff it earned him.

One or two instances became a regular occurrence. The cultivator had trouble keeping food down.

zzl thought back to the female cultivator that captivated junshang, that started all these events into motion. The sight of her round belly.

The swift sequence of disbelief, uncertainty, joy flashing in junshang's eyes. He settled in the end on mischief, cooing at her belly about a job done well.

He didn't know how to feel about it then. After everything that's transpired since, he still doesn't.

But this cultivator's predicament piqued his interest.

He observed the deepening worry lines on his face as the problem grew.

Without much knowledge to go on, zzl knew that's what it was at least.

If it were junshang convalescing against his own will here, he'd make conversation. Question the cultivator on the issue. Weave fanciful tales of secret trysts, moments of stolen passion leading to heartbreak.

zzl lacked the imagination or the desire for placing wild guesses.

Whatever his story, the cultivator had let his guard down. Nausea overtook him during one of his routine replenishing of the wards and severed the connection.

zzl admitted his first impulse was to run. Strike the distracted cultivator down and make for the door. At his current strength it would take him mere seconds to accomplish.

Whether he successfully escaped from the mountain itself would another matter.

He dismissed it easily as one does stray thoughts. On light steps, he approached the miserable man retching all the food in his belly it seemed.

Hair was matted to his sweaty face, the ends dangling dangerously close to the bucket.

zzl blinked at it, at his own hand ending in dark razor sharp claws delicately gather the strands. Hold them away.

Once the cultivator finished he noticed zzl's close proximity, his absence from the ward and the horrible mistake he had made.

He stared open mouthed, wide-eyed. zzl followed the movement of his hand — not reaching for a weapon but cradling that ever-growing bump.

With the cautious movements one uses near a spooked animal, zzl released his hair and stepped away. Beyond striking distance for either.

"are you alright?" he asked, expecting much of the same answer. He felt compelled to ask nonetheless.

Panic morphed into bewilderment on the cultivator's face, his own expectations very clear.

That brought them to the current moment, staring at each other in silence save for dying pants.

mf breaks first, a sound erupting out of him that is part cough, part scoff. He wipes the remaining sick and tears away as he stands.

"If you're not going to kill me or run, step back into the ward," mf says instead of an answer. His voice comes out raw but resigned. None of the snappish anger zzl thought he'd receive.

This bout of nausea particularly wore him out.

zzl complies.

Their conversation ends there. mf restores the ward, disposes of his sick, and disappears to find water.

He doesn't reenter the room until dinner.

"Thanks," mf says gruffly while sliding the tray of food across the ward to zzl. "For not killing me."

His voice quiets a bit and he adds "And the— the other thing."

zzl accepts the tray and regards the cultivator who stares at a point just above his shoulder.

junshang's voice sounds in zzl's head, urging him to ask with rapt interest and very little tact, "has your lover abandoned you? Is that why you hide in this shack?"

He mentally waves it away. The pang of separation remains.

"Killing you provides little benefit," he settles on.

The cultivator seems relieved he doesn't mention the hair holding. "shizun feels the same about killing you.”

zzl pauses, bun half way to his mouth.

He hadn't thought of master shen in these past months. It'd be way to write it off as his mind had other things to consider: his captivity, escape, returning to junshang.

But in truth, he avoid thinking about him on purpose.

His feelings for master shen are… Tangled. A pit of snakes where one cannot tell where one's tail ends and another's body begins.

He was honoring a kindness, he told himself. Deflected and denied all of junshang's insinuations.

It was the only time he lied to junshang's face. From his expression, junshang knew anyway.

Had master shen called for his head, while he was at the mercy of cqm, zzl wouldn't hold it against him. He'd only regret not returning to junshang's side. But how useful could he be in the state he was when they brought here?

How useful had he ever been, in the end?

True to his nature, master shen did not ask for his execution. He was the one responsible for his recovery, the mending of his battered and broken body.

He had a vague, half-memory of a hazy green figure visiting his bedside. Warm fingers touching his wrist, muffled words that put him at ease.

zzl stares at the bun. The cultivator who brings him this food--regarding him now with an arched brow--is master shen's disciple.

All of his needs are met by this cultivator. And by extension, master shen…

"Do you think my shizun would poison you after all this time? Waste all his efforts," the cultivator quips, less spiky than he was on their first exchange of words. "Can your kind even be poisoned?”

"master shen has poisoned me before," zzl replies and takes a bite out of the bun.

"Ehh??”

mf waits for the demon to elaborate but he simply eats his meal in silence.

It feels too awkward continuing the conversation after that, so he retires for the evening. The nap from earlier hadn't revitalized him at all.

This troublesome kid…

As he slipped into bed, mf thinks of the strange look in the demon's eye when he mentioned shizun.

Shizun saved him, convinced the other peak lords to spare him.

Does he still hold a grudge? About that past poisoning?

mf reasons this person is a demon so it isn't precisely dishonorable for his shizun, a peak lord of cqm, to poison him. /If/ he's telling the truth.

There's something about the way he speaks, matter of fact and placidly, that mf is inclined to believe him.

The little troublemaker shifted inside just as he drifted off. He runs the spot, scowling with his eyes closed.

Behind his eyelids, he recalls the moment the demon's yellow eyes glanced at his hand doing the same. How the action cause him to back away.

"He could have killed me," mf mumbles quietly to himself, the restless baby in his belly. "You and me both. Embarrassingly easy."

He's silent for a beat, throwing a look at the door separating them.

"But he didn't.”

mf repeats the phrase drowsily to himself a few times until it becomes nonsense and he drifts off to sleep, hand outstretched on his growing stomach.

The next few days pass in oddly companionable silence. They go about their routine as though nothing had changed but there's a different feel to it now.

mf is sick each day. That doesn't change either.

He resents agreeing to that stupid arrangement every time he's hunched over the bucket. As he drinks water trying to wash away the sour taste in his mouth.

He's bitterly angry at himself for botching the pills mqf gave him. After he gathered all his courage to sit through the most awkward conversation of his life.

Mostly he's scared. And a bit sad.

He gave up that stupid infatuation with nyy so many years now he hardly remembers having feelings for her at all. It seems silly even trying. They are friends. The only close friend mf has.

And nyy has a lover now. A real one. Not someone to fill a need.

How can he ruin that by telling her about the baby? Wouldn't that put unwanted expectations on nyy?

If shizun found out, would he demand they marry?

What will people say when he can't hide it anymore? They'll make all sorts of assumptions about him.

If he doesn't tell nyy, will she think he did those types of things with just anyone?

A knock at the door rescues mf from the sinking hole of questions dragging him deeper and deeper.

He shakes them loose and rises to answer. Until a voice on the other side has him freeze in place.

"Dashixiong? Are you sleeping while you should be working?”

nyy's tone is light, teasing, but mf goes cold all over.

He rearranges the front of his robes — a task made all the more difficult with the tremor in his hands. He can feel zzl's eyes on him but he can't be bothered about what he's thinking right now.

Another knock then nyy calls again, voice mildly concerned. "Dashixiong? Are you there?"

"I'm here, I'm here!" mf grumbles as he opens the door. It takes a great deal of will power to meet her eyes.

He's so afraid she'll know. If the bump doesn't give him away.

nyy stares at him for a moment and mf swears it's all finished.

He breaks first. "I'm here. Did you really think I'd fallen asleep?"

"No," nyy says slowly. She glances over his shoulder at zzl, sitting quietly in the wards at the back of the room.

"When you didn't answer right away, I worried our, um, guest may have caused you problems."

mf follows her gaze, grateful for the short reprieve. He scoffs.

"Him? Shizun's esteemed guest is too busy having me tend his every need to cause problems.”

He turns back to find her big eyes scrutinizing him once more.

"Are you really alright?"

mf had been asked that same question a few times now. He'd rather hear it from the unlikely mouth of a snake demon than his friend and shimei.

He doesn't have a ready answer.

"You've been here for months now, refusing to let anyone else take your place."

"It's- It's an important task. I can't trust it to the others." mf fumbles his words.

nyy looks unconvinced.

"Your face is a paler and thinner but," Her eyes dart down. "But you've noticeably put on weight."

A lump rises in the back of his throat. As though sensing his panic, the baby kicks.

Or maybe it senses its mother nearby.

That thought has his stomach lurching. How fortunate he emptied it not long ago.

mf blurts out the first thing that his floundering mind grasped onto. "The pills."

"Pills?" nyy repeats, entirely lost.

"Those pills," mf clarifies in a hushed voice. The pink rushing to his face isn't an act.

Few people within qing jing peak knew about their arrangement, and what reason he needed such pills. He isn't exactly comfortable discussing it in front of others. Least of all a demon.

The irony of that being the demon knew more of the situation than nyy did.

nyy's brows raise as realization hits, mouth in a little "o" of recognition. Then her lips curl in a knowing smile.

"Still so embarrassed about such things. Dashixiong is too cute.”

The sudden heat on his face chasing away the cold sweats leaves him a little lightheaded. He draws the sharp line of his mouth tighter.

"shimei teases me too much. I used them for her, in case she's forgotten.”

The sharp edge of his tone has her smile faltering. He pushes on, mood suddenly soured.

It's a relief from the crippling panic. "What did you need?"

"I was worried," nyy says, concern creeping into her expression once more.

"There's no need. I'm doing the task shizun asked if me and shimei should do the same."

"Are you angry with me? About ending it?"

Jealousy would be such an easier problem than the one he's quite literally carrying with him now.

"No. What is there to be angry about? We were simply helping each other out until we found something better."

That sounds harsh even to his own ears. nyy frowns.

"Liu-shimei isn't better than you, she's just different.”

"Different then." mf desperately wants this conversation to be over.

But once it is, and nyy goes back to her lmy, he still has to deal with the consequences. Alone.

The fear of nyy discovering his secret, the disruption it might cause her blossoming relationship, has very rapidly been replaced by anger.

He didn't make this problem by himself. Yet he has to carry it, and whatever public scorn that comes with it, on his own.

Otherwise nyy will resent him for standing between her and the person she loves, tying them together with this unwanted child.

He doesn't want nyy to hate him.

The whirl of emotions in the span of a few moments has exhausted him.

"I'm not angry. I'm fine," mf says, hand on the door. "Those… items from mu-shishu. They're to blame."

nyy knits her brows, perplexed by the swift changes in his moods. Doubtful of his words.

"If you say so… I'll ask shizun for tea and some snacks next time I visit here. It may help."

With a few concerned glances, nyy eventually leaves. mf closes the door on the outside world for a little while longer.

He walks straight into his side bed chamber, slamming the door behind him. It rattles the tray of food left untouched by zzl's feet.

His hands itch to break something. His heart demands he break down in tears instead. All of him feels like collapsing on the bed and not moving.

nyy returns sooner than mf would like.

She comes bearing the tea and snacks she promised. It's a wonder shizun was able to convince that husband of his to cook for anyone other than him.

Among the treats is a sachet of medicine. There's a note attached to it. nyy claims she only told mu-shishu he seemed unwell. The doctor gave her the medicine and asked her to deliver it without reading the note.

A quick glance tells him she followed his instructions.

It's something to help with the nausea. mf mumbles his thanks to mu-shishu, folding the note and stowing it away. Pointedly ignoring her inquisitive gaze.

mf thanks her for taking the trouble. He readies to usher her out the door when she retrieves a small parcel from her robes.

She addresses zzl. "Shizun asked me to give this to you."

Up to this point, zzl pretended he heard nothing of the cultivators speaking a few strides away. He stares placidly at the young woman speaking to him now.

The young woman responsible for much strife it seems.

zzl had been subjected to his caretaker's poor mood following her previous visit. That brief period of understanding vanished.

The cultivator didn't mistreat him, he wouldn't dare.

He simply performed his daily tasks shrouded by a foul air.

Whenever he wasn't sick, he scowled and moved about their rooms noisily. Steps heavier than they needed to be, motions stiff, tense. His actions carrying an undercurrent of violence.

He didn't slam the food tray down at each meal but it was a near thing.

Usually, the interpersonal relationships of qing jing disciples held little interest for him.

He's convinced this is junshang's influence. His thoughts turning frequently to his caretaker's predicament as a form of longing for where he ought to be.

He can't conceive why else he'd care.

"Send master shen my thanks," he begins, holding his hand open. The array allowed outsiders to step through but kept those inside contained. nyy smiles, passing the parcel along as he finishes. "Though I would appreciate it more if master shen restricted visitors."

nyy's smile slips. Behind her, mf eyes snap to zzl but says nothing.

zzl levels nyy with his unblinking stare.

"master shen has taken such care with my recovery. I believe he wishes for nothing to hinder it."

nyy withdraws her hand.

"I will relay the message," she replies, none of her usual friendliness. She glances at mf, expecting something.

He shrugs, walking for the door. Opening it for her.

nyy stands stiffly a moment. Waiting. Then leaves with a quiet parting word telling her dashixiong to take care.

They lock eyes once nyy's footsteps fade. The perpetual crease in mf's brows remains, the slight tension of his jaw.

Yet the look in his dark eyes is devoid of anger. For zzl at the very least.

zzl watches him process all that's transpired, accepting that a demon knows more of his personal affairs than anyone else (or so zzl guesses). And this same demon, for reasons unknown, relieved him of a problem causing him untold amounts of stress.

It's clear he doesn't quite understand zzl's actions but mf leans hard into the relief. The tight coil of his body loosening in degrees as he goes about brewing the tea shizun sent and after, the medicine.

It does help. Amazingly well. As to be expected of mu-shishu's skill.

mf eats a full meal without struggling to keep it down for the first time in weeks. Though there is a slight side effect of drowsiness.

By midday he's dozing at his desk.

"You should rest," zzl suggests after the fifth time mf jerks awake where he sits.

mf's eyelids feel so heavy, his body sluggish, he nods easily and retires to his chamber for a nap.

He dreams of green coils, thicker than tree trunks, encircling him.

A far away part of his mind tells him he should be afraid. With so little effort these coils could crush him, reduce his body to rupture skin and shatter bone, a bleeding mass.

But he isn't. They don't.

He's dragged from sleep with the phantom sensation of being held safe, secure.

It takes moment for wakefulness to settle and he understands the muffled sound coming from the other side of the wall is voices.

He's instantly on alert.

Shizun cautioned him of other cqm disciples unhappy that their peak was harboring a demon and one partially responsible for the near destruction of their world at that.

mf thought better of mentioning that shizun regularly and blatantly welcomed a very prominent demon on their grounds. He rushed towards the other room but halted his steps in the doorway.

Standing in front of his charge, not acknowledging him, was lbh.

His presence filled the entire room. mf felt the pressure of it the moment he went to step inside. Heavy, thick in the air. A purposeful display of power.

mf catches a glimpse of zzl over lbh's board shoulders. He remains unmoved by the nearly tangible aura pervading through the array.

"I'm trusting you with his well-being," shizun had said. "Oversee his recovering and guard him against outside influence."

How was he expected to guard against the current demon lord and shizun's beloved?

Forget whether shizun would forgive him, he wouldn't live long enough to worry about it! The days of dashixiong bullying weak little a-luo were a distant memory. One he liked to leave in the past and hoped lbh did the same.

"This cousin of mine," lbh spoke the word with anything but familial affection, "Takes issue with shizun's abundantly generous accommodations?"

"This one wouldn't dare," zzl answers, unflinching.

"Yet you see fit to make demands of him. You who imposes on him still.”

zzl deliberately eyes the array, written in white on the dark brown floor then meets lbh's gaze once more.

"Please tell Master Shen I apologize for inconveniencing him during my extended stay.”

The aura in the room grows thicker. Tiny pinpricks erupt across mf's skin, threatening to become daggers, swords.

He clears his throat, the drowsy haze gone — replaced with only dread.

"Luo Binghe," he calls, voice neutral. "Shizun went through a lot of trouble keeping this one alive. He'd be very displeased if anything happened to him."

lbh turns his attention at last to his shixiong not quite cowering in the doorway.

His penetrating gaze sweeps over the protruding belly; digesting this new information and promptly tossing it aside, uncaring. Disinterested.

mf's face flashes hot as those eyes leave him. Shame, humiliation, and anger roil in his belly. Along with the stirring child.

He strides in front of the array, breaking lbh's line of sight with their guest.

"Has shizun declined his request for no further visitors?"

"He has not." His simple answer a challenge, a sword drawn.

Does dashixiong think he can order me around?

mf wouldn't dream of rising to that challenge. He instead says bluntly, "The sooner he heals, the sooner he'll be off our peak and far away from shizun.”

His ploy is transparent faced with someone like lbh. But he hasn't exactly lied. zzl has made it quite obvious he wishes to be far away as soon as possible.

Reinforcing his point, zzl speaks. "I have no desire to take advantage of Master Shen's hospitality longer than necessary."

lbh glances between them, taking in mf's physical change once more.

"Dashixiong requested this assignment himself? I hear he has rarely left these four walls." He speaks the address with a notable lack of respect. A formality done for the sake of another, not mf's position.

But the implication of his words are the greater slap to the face.

Demon lord or not, shizun's favorite or not, mf's temper reaches its limits.

"You—!" he spits, shaking, vein in his forehead bugling.

A placid voice washes over him, cooling his anger as it meets lbh's own simmering heat.

"Young master thinks too much of me, if he believes I have been capable of much else besides healing."

lbh tilts his chin, staring down his nose at zzl, who has remained sitting the whole while. "Who thinks of you at all? Only by shizun's bequest are you even able to speak with me now.”

"Yes, shizun brought him here. To heal. Then he will return to wherever he belongs. I hope shidi understands." mf holds himself back from shouting, voice strained yet low.

lbh retrieves his aura, the room seeming less enclosed and the air less heavy.

"Then I'll wish for his expeditious recovery."

He makes for the doorway, pausing to address mf one last time.

"Dashixiong take care of himself," he says, eyes cruel, "I will inform shizun you may need less strenuous task in future.”

Then the door closes soundly and lbh's presence dissipates, dark clouds rolling away from the sun.

mf screams. He kicks the bucket he had used for his sick, the now clean wood splintering to pieces on the far wall.

"Unruly brat! Just because he does /those/ things with shizun he thinks--" mf cuts himself off with another shout, another wooden item annihilated under his wrath.

A dull ache in his abdomen halts his venting, hands coming to clutch the spot. He hisses and doubles over.

His whole body goes tense.

He's dimly aware of a voice, closer than it had been, reminding him to breath. He gasps, blindly making his way to his seat. Collapsing into it.

His emotions cycle so quick and sharp in recent weeks.

Anger flushes from his system by pain and a cold dread. Not of lbh but for the little one inside. The pain subsides after a long period, his muscles unclench as he draws in steadier and steadier breaths. He can feel eyes watching over him, even if he cannot see their owner.

He turns and, for the second time that day, seizes up.

zzl is kneeling beside the edge of the array, watching him intently. Eyes huge and yellow, set in an elongated face. Much of his body has grown thinner, as had his hair.

Blood trickles at the corner of his mouth, fangs peeling back his paper thin lips.

The smattering of leaf green scales about his face and hands cover his entire skin now, shining in the lamplight.

He notices mf taking him in and flinches.

The red patch seeping through the layers of his robes darkens, spreads. On the very spot where an injury remained, slow to heal with with all those stubborn escapes.

mf logs the startling revelation away, too busy hurdling himself towards the array to give it much thought.

"Stop moving," he barked gruffly. Halting zzl from retreating further into the space.

Slapping his hands on the white lines, he pumps as much qi as he dares. mqf's framework facilities rejuvenation, stabilizing the patient and preventing escape.

It was not intended to protect zzl from the oppressive aura of an absurdly powerful demon. mf knew nothing of how the two compared but in his current state, zzl is no match. Yet zzl had sat there, unaffected, all the while his internal and external wounds reopened.

It's impressive. mf has little time for admiration. He focuses all of his attention on rectifying the damage. zzl sits stock still, long body curled into himself. He opens his mouth and mf catches a peek at a thin, forked tongue behind his wicked fangs.

He says nothing.

Nightfall comes and the exhaustion begins setting in.

zzl obeyed his command, sitting unmoving in the center of the array. Silently.

He would open his mouth, like before, then close it without a word. A few times. Either unsure of what to say or unable to speak in this form.

His eyes never leave mf.

It's a touch disconcerting, the feeling of being watched by wide unblinking eyes. By the time he disconnects from the array, sprawling on the floor, a bit lightheaded, he finds himself oddly accustomed to them.

He takes a moment to collect himself then climbs to his feet. There's a stiffness in his knees, his shoulders and arms. Nothing a night's rest won't solve.

Surveying the state of zzl's robes, a large splotch of crimson on pale green, he huffs.

"Clean robes," mf mutters, the events of the day clear in his rough voice. "Clean you as well."

"I am capable of cleaning the mess myself," zzl quickly responds, voice a hoarse hiss. Speech returning to him at last.

All disciples learn a basic level of wound care. He should check to make sure his external injuries are stable at least.

"Open your robes, let me see your chest."

zzl, whose features had reverted mostly back to normal, gave him an odd look.

"There is… no need." He says, low, a barely audible hiss.

"This day has been long and tiresome. I can have Mu-shishu visit tomorrow to give you a proper examination but for now just let me see your wound."

"Oh."

zzl lowers his head and complies.

He avoids looking at mf as he enters the array, clean robes and a damp cloth in hand. As he crouches to examine the gash that ran across the entirety of his scaly chest.

"Does it hurt?"

zzl shakes his head.

"Liar. How could that not hurt?"

zzl says nothing.

There's a peculiarity to this silence, the way zzl steals a sideways glance at his words, but mf can't put his finger on it. He's too tired.

"Well, you won't die overnight. Here." He hands him the robes and cloth. "Leave the mess in the corner, I'll deal with it in the morning.”

Pulling the dirty robe closed on his bare chest, zzl rasps a quiet thanks. mf scoffs at the modesty and exits the array. His entire body feels heavy.

He leaves zzl with a few words of advice: "I know demons hide their weaknesses but doing that again will get you killed.”

zzl can't sleep.

He really should, there's hardly a place on him that doesn't ache. The open wounds stopped bleeding but they burn, inside and out, the feel of freshly damaged flesh.

In a diminutive form, conserving the precious energy transferred to him, he lies curled on the bed. His lidless eyes focus on nothing.

Instead the same few images cycle through his mind's eye.

mf hunched in pain.

His view of lbh's black and red blocked by mf's white and green.

mf's dark eyes seeing him, truly seeing him.

Shocked flickered on mf's unique composite of sharp and rounded features but the revulsion, the pity, did not follow.

mf, newly recovered from whatever aches in his stomach he was suffering, flung himself to zzl's side. Hit his knees and placed his hands on the array with a resounding slap.

zzl recoiled, body acting on instinct.

Get away. Get away from him. He's seen me, he--

Next came warm energy surging into his body. mf ordering him be still.

He listened. He stayed put.

He had regressed so far he lost speech, fruitlessly trying to insist mf need not trouble himself. These injuries weren't life-threatening.

'Are you unaware young master caused you harm as well? It was not simply your temper putting the baby risk.'

'Do not overtax yourself on my account.'

'Stop…'

Eventually he stopped trying. Accepted the uninterrupted stream of energy flooding him.

It was warm, much weaker than junshang's and master shen's, not as abrasive as lbh's, yet robust. Sturdy.

Like absorbing heat from a sun-baked mountain rock.

He saw mf asking him to bare his chest. To expose more of himself.

The wound, he wished to examine the wound. Where had his mind gone?

He felt foolish, wondering if he had poisoned his mind with junshang's books after all.

The last image was mf advising him against concealing his weakness.

zzl expected anger. That mf would be irritated he had to expend a great deal of energy and time repairing the damage.

In truth, mf was a touch irritable but it had no teeth. Beneath that thin layer of gruffness, wrapped in tiredness and general frustration, he spoke with concern.

zzl reached that final thought and started from the beginning again.

Over and over until daybreak.

So deep in his thoughts, slipping into a strange meditative state, he missed the sound of a door opening and closing.

He senses mf's approach by the slight vibrations of the bed, a moment before he sits upon it with an amused noise.

"Is this really what you look like? A tiny green vine? A cute little sprout?"

zzl's mind stalls.

"Can you change back?" mf draws his thick, shapely brows together, amusement morphing into concern.

zzl slithers away.

"Hey-!" mf exclaims, grabbing for him.

zzl evades capture with ease. He halts at the center of his enclosure, transforming back now that they were far apart.

The robes mf provided last night hang loose on his lithe frame, loose and too short. It's an easy guess whose stouter body they were made for.

mf stifles a laugh. Poorly.

"I grabbed one of mine then?" He closes the distance, eyeing him up and down. That strange tingling sensation crawls across zzl's skin again, not quite discomfort and entirely foreign.

"You're practically swimming in that thing."

mf lifts one of the loose folds, shaking his head. zzl wants to fidget but he remains still.

"I'll find you another one for mqf's visit." He drops the fabric and zzl is keenly aware of the break in connection. "How are you feeling?"

zzl begins to say he's fine when mf retrieves his soiled robes he left by the bed.

"There's no need."

"No need? You think I want to be scolded by Mu-shishu for leaving filthy robes at his patient's bedside?"

He handles the bloodstained robes without a care. Without disgust.

"What would you do with them in here anyway? I'm not lugging a tub of water for you to clean them yourself."

zzl eyes are drawn to mf's belly, rounder in profile, as he exchanges the dirty robes for clean ones.

'If it were mine, I would never allow you to lift a finger.'

The intensity of his thought, the suddenness of it, startles him.

He had no plans for siring children.

He hadn't ever entertained the idea either. In his mind, it was a fact as solid and immutable as his devotion to junshang.

A fact reinforced by the mother he could not remember and the expectant mother he did.

No, in this life granted to him by junshang, he needed neither wife nor child.

But he owed his life to others as well now.

Master Shen. Mu Qingfang. The cultivator by his side day and night.

Ming Fan.

His own words echo within the chamber of his mind, accepting the clean robes. He barely remembers to thank him.

"I'll go request Mu-shishu take a look at you while you change."

And for the first time in months, zzl is alone in the little house.

All told together, zzl spent half of his life alone. He's used to the feel of it. The absence.

But it's this absence, his, that makes zzl aware of how accustomed he'd grown to feeling mf nearby.

And heightened the ache, so strong it's physical, stronger than any wound. The ache to be by junshang's side once more, to make sure he's alright.

See him alive with his own two eyes. Hear him ramble excitedly about his newest book, endure his teasing.

In what he believed to be his last moments, his own blood on his tongue, zzl only thought of junshang.

He regretted nothing. To die for him was an honor.

zzl's thoughts spiral down until he stoppers them like a bottle of medicine. Or poison. He places it in aside, not burying it but disregarding it for now.

He waits amid the silence for mf's return.

And he waits.

And waits.

The shadows grow long and still he waits.

Dusk folds into night but mf doesn't return.

Someone else does.

zzl hears footsteps; the sound drawing him from the silence shrouding his thoughts. He notices they don't belong to the person he's waiting for before he even has time for relief.

The young woman from last time enters. Her bright exuberance gone.

The doctor who tended his wounds, thwarted his first desperate attempts at escape, enters close behind her.

"I was told our guest requires aid."

zzl nods. His wounds were long forgotten during the interminable waiting.

"Good. Then I haven't wasted a trip."

With the female cultivator remaining by the door, he crosses the ward.

"Open your robes."

zzl does as he's asked, exposing his external injury for examination. Lifting his wrist so the doctor can check his pulse.

"Hm, nothing serious. You've been given sufficient care for both internal and external wounds it seems."

He makes no mention of mf. zzl finds it difficult to ask.

Would they tell him anything if he did?

A packet of what must be medicine is passed from the doctor to the young woman. "Brew and serve this to him twice a day: at morning and before bed."

"Yes Mu-shishu.”

zzl's stomach bottoms out.

This one will be supervising his recovery now?

He must have given himself away; the female cultivator regards him coolly, so different from their first meeting.

"Dashixiong overexerted himself caring for our esteemed guest. I sincerely hope you can be content with my presence while he recuperates."

The doctor raises his hand, gesturing for her to calm herself. He addresses zzl from beyond the wards, little box case in hand.

"Rest. I understand the confines of the wards would make it a challenge to do otherwise but no strenuous activity either. After four days of medicine, you'll regain any progress you've lost."

At that, he leaves. The female cultivator see him out then vanishes into the side room.

Without a word spoken on what happened. On how the new normal of zzl's life has changed so utterly in a single day.

#svsss #the scum villain's self saving system #zhuzhi lang #ming fan #trans ming fan #preg ming fan #twt thread #wip

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aria0fgold · 2 years

Text

<> My OMORI AUs <>

❗️ SPOILERS AHEAD ❗️

A list consisting OMORI AUs I’ve created alongside a short description describing the general story of each one. To make it more organized, I’ll add my fanon surnames to the characters.

Surnames:

Mari and Sunny Saezawa

Hero and Kel Valencia

Aubrey Zhuang

Basil Sherwood

Written AUs!

Ongoing:

The Tune of a New Morning

(Set post-True Ending)

With Omori’s newfound sentience, he didn’t want to just disappear after failing his duty. And he got just that, but strangely, he finds himself in a place one could only consider as the real world. He didn’t deserve to be there.

Once again, from the beginning

(Set post Oyasumi Ending)

Sunny gave up, he couldn’t handle the guilt of knowing the truth. Taking pity on him, Omori decided the best option was to just die. However, as he jumped off the roof, the world’s clock abruptly rewound, sending Sunny back to the time where everything went wrong. But this time, new problems arises.

And thus, the snake ate no more

(Set in the past)

Omori, a demon with a hidden motive was taken in by the Saezawa family. He quickly became friends with everyone, especially to Sunny, and though Mari is delighted to have another baby brother, she can’t help but feel as if there’s something off about him.

Completed:

Magician in the Mirror

(Set in the past)

With the stress for the recital building up, Sunny went to the piano room late at night to collect his thoughts. But a knocking on a covered mirror caught his attention. Upon taking the cloth away, he was met with his reflection claiming to be a magician.

The Pawn and the Bishops

(Set in the distant past)

MARI, a young princess once ignored by all became a tyrant that was now feared by many. Accompanied by her most loyal servant named SUNNY, the people could do nothing but endure a continuous suffering until one day, MARI made a grave mistake.

Planned AUs!

Replica Painting/Re:Painting AU - Inspired by the vocaloid song Living Millennium (Iyowa/Ft. Hatsune Miku) & Ib

(Set after Knife Ending 2, Sunny answered the door at 3 days left.)

Months had passed since the death of Sunny and Basil, Hero had been trying to keep everyone together as best as he can. Kel continues to act as he had been but there was a visible crack in his facade, Aubrey’s enraged outbursts got worse, and Hero was nearing his limit. As he was visiting his friends’ graves, Hero met a strange old man.

It seemed that Sunny helped him once and as a means to repay him, created a painting he was planning to give. But it appeared he was too late. The man invited Hero to his art gallery, the Dream Gallery. With nothing else to do, Hero brought Kel and Aubrey to it. There they saw a supposedly blank painting, one with an image of a monochrome boy identical to a young Sunny. His eyes were closed yet it opened, staring blankly at the trio until the next thing they knew, they were in dark room standing in front of the boy with the offer to make things right.

Lost AU

(Set after fight scene with Basil)

Sunny woke up with a jolt, panting and still shaking from his encounter with Basil. Looking around the room, he appeared to be in White Space, though there was no sign of Omori nor Mewo anywhere. With no idea what else to do, Sunny went out to the Neighbor’s Room. His dreamworld friends that was always playing cards and waiting for him was also nowhere to be found.

A lone mirror floated in the room and as Sunny approached it, the glass broke to reveal Omori, a shattered version of him. Something happened to Headspace and it’s Sunny’s job to find out with the help of a hyperactive Shattered Omori.

Royal Swap AU - inspired by The Princess and The Pauper

(Set in an entirely different universe. Modern world royalty.)

Omori, a mischievous 16 year old prince always skipping classes and running away met Sunny, a boy his age playing the violin on the streets. His performance was impressive, but what stunned Omori more was their identical appearance. So an idea popped into his head. They’d swap places.

Painting AU - inspired by the vocaloid song Mary - Figment of the World (Yokomin/Ft. Yuzuki Yukari) & Ib

(Set during Knife Ending 1, Sunny didn’t answer the door at 3 days left.)

After learning the death of Sunny and Basil, Hero became the glue of his remaining friends, terrified to lose them too. Months passed and Sunny’s mom suddenly came to visit, she gave them a painting carefully packaged. It seemed to be something Sunny poured his heart on and his mom thought to give it to the friends he treasured as a memento.

Upon taking the cover away, it revealed a painting of a monochromatic boy holding a wilted tulip and a knife. The three propped it up on a vacant wall and went about their days and chose to have a sleepover near the painting, however, they seemed to have woken up separated in a strange world. Hero saw the monochrome boy calling himself Omori and they set out to find the other two.

Kitsune Omori AU

(Set in the past)

A new family recently moved next door the Valencia family. Kel was excited about the news that the new neighbors has kids around their age that he could befriend, though Hero just saw one of them nearly ate a beetle while his sister ran to stop him, he isn’t quite sure whether to feel excited or nervous.

The Saezawa siblings has a secret, Sunny’s supposed twin, Omori, is a kitsune that only Mari and Sunny knows about. Though that won’t be for long as Omori grows attached to their new friends, but before that, Mari would love to prank them a little bit more.

Android Omori AU

(Set post-True Ending)

10 years had passed since and much had changed. Hero became a doctor just as his parents wanted, Aubrey became a makeup artist with the hobby of painting, Basil became a photographer and still kept up with his gardening hobby, Kel became a professional basketball player and surprisingly picked up the guitar, and Sunny became a robotics scientist with one goal in mind, to create an android of his old friend Omori.

When Sunny achieved that goal earlier than he had expected, he was overjoyed but his excitement was immediately replaced with boundless confusion upon booting up Omori. It seemed that Omori not only retains memories of Headspace, he also held deep hatred for Sunny that he doesn’t even allow him to come close at all.

Omori in Japan AU - crossover AU between OMORI & Detective Conan

(Set post-True Ending)

Omori expected to disappear now that there was no more purpose for him to fulfill. Instead, he wakes up in the middle of an unfamiliar place with a 7 year old body and accompanied by the spirit of Mari that he can now somehow see and communicate with. Luckily for Omori, he can understand Japanese.

Found by a young teen by the name of Ran, they went around to look for his family only to turn up with nothing. Worried for his wellbeing, Ran decided to take him in. He now has to live with an alcoholic claiming to be the world’s greatest detective and a suspiciously smart 7 year old kid while getting dragged around cases that always somehow just happen whenever they’re around.

#omori #omori au #omori aus #omori spoilers #omori spoiler #my aus #omori fanfic #my writing #old pinned

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swampgh0stt · 1 year

Photo

The Mechanic & his Canine Companion

art by: @stardustrobin

“William?” T’aaku’s voice lowered in uncertainty. Again, he tried for a response out of his tablet, but none ever came. The only sound which echoed back was his own words, dissipating into the empty space of the underground complex. Frustrated, he grit his teeth and held the tablet tighter, as if that would force the other man (spirit?) into reacting. “William, this isn’t funny. I don’t know where I am!”

How was he supposed to get his bearings in such a vast, seemingly abandoned facility? Shane had wandered off a while ago, chasing down a scent that obviously took precedence over the aimless roaming T’aaku managed. “Can you say something? Anything!” Even an insult. Even something ignorant, as long as he had the reassurance of that gravely voice on the other end to know he wasn’t completely alone. Never had he wanted to hear the sound of a British accent so desperately before now.

“I hear you.”

T’aaku stiffened immediately, his eyes widening behind the goggles on his face. That was not William. That was not any voice he heard before.

All at once, the scan from his goggles returned with a reading: Remnant. Something large was also occupying the space he found himself in, and harbored just what he had been hunting.

“You do not look like the other men who work here. So I wonder, what is it that brought you to this place?“

The poor mechanic held his breath, trying to focus, feel her out if he must. Without Shane, he could manage should their altercation turn violent… but he would feel much better with his companion at his side. “Chee… Don’t mind me,” he answered back with forced bravado. Fuck it. If William abandoned him, or somehow lost connection, he didn’t need the tablet in his hand anymore and stuffed it into his backpack quickly. “Who are you? You sound like a girl.. Chica, maybe?”

What answered back was an unsettling laugh that bounced off the walls. If not for his goggles locked on the target of the remnant she held within her, he would have no idea where she stood. She was good at throwing her voice, much to his chagrin. ”No. The employees called me Circus Baby once. But it’s been a while since another human said my name.”

As she spoke, T’aaku slowly crept towards her, careful and precise with every move he made. He had never feared animatronics before, they were his specialty! But William had been insistent on keeping his guard up around these. Henry made them, or so he claimed, despite the large neon sign that clearly read “Afton Robotics” outside the complex-- He was insistent that these creatures hidden below the world were not his design.

“You are lost. I can tell. And without my help, you will remain lost down here forever, just like me.”

She wanted his trust, for whatever reason, but T’aaku was never so willing to give that… to anyone. Well, with the exception of some rotting, rabbit animatronic back at his home-- but look where that landed him! Running all across the country, chasing spirits. If his cousins back home could see him now, they would probably laugh. “What’s in it for you?” He answered back, and now he could make out the silhouette of her towering form in front of him. “Let me guess, you want out of here too? You’re a robot, you… shouldn’t want anything, y’know… Fuck.”

“But I do,” she lamented with sincere longing. She could see him with such ease… He was truly alone, something she was very much aware of. And now that he stood before her, mere steps away, she could not stop herself. Her stomach hatch opened on its own with a hissing sound. T’aaku could only watch in awe as suddenly? A cone of fresh ice cream was produced and presented for the taking.

It’s bait, obviously. But he was fascinated at the complexity of this creation. Just how advanced were these things? Was the ice cream even real? His gloved hand reached out to touch, understanding the danger, but caving to his curious nature. He knew it was a trap from the start, that something horrible was about to happen. And still, he was surprised as a metal clasp shut tight around his wrist and yanked him forward.

“Aganáa!” The heels of his boots dug into the concrete floor to prevent himself from getting dragged into the gaping maw of her stomach hatch. Despite the vague warnings William left him with, T’aaku realized he was wholly unprepared for whatever this was. Try as he might to free his arm from her clutches, she had him in a vice that refused to give. Her eyes were illuminated bright in the darkness, LEDs shedding light all around as she stood still and awaiting his death.

With his free hand, T’aaku bashed his fist against the metal clasp, yanking and struggling as she inched him closer and closer. True panic began to set in, his heart pounding against the walls of his chest. He refused to die like this!

Whatever higher power existed must have heard him, as Shane launched himself against Circus Baby. The sudden force from his large body caused the animatronic to lose her grip and fall back unceremoniously, freeing T’aaku just long enough for him to make an escape with his German Shepherd hot on his heels.

#Aftonbuilt #aftonbuilt mechanic #fnaf oc #five nights at freddys #fnaf #horror fandom

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lifeofresulullah · 1 year

Text

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): The Assignment of the Duty of the Prophethood and First Muslims

The State of Arabia: Part 2

Moral Situation

The moral situation in Arabia during the Age of Ignorance was in a completely miserable state. Wretched desires and deeds prevailed over the community; alcohol, gambling, fornication, lying, theft, cruelty, in short, all kinds of immoral acts were widespread all over Arabia.

The strong used the whip of cruelty against the weak. At the same time, the strong were always right and could have the weak and powerless do whatever they wanted. The amount of importance that was given to the life of a fly was not given to humanity. People who were taken as captives in raids were either killed under torture or were sold as slaves in markets like simple items.

Women were regarded as simple and cheap commodities that could be bought and sold. Young maids were encouraged and even forced to commit fornication so that money could be made through them. The Quran mentioned this behavior, which does not comply with human dignity, and prohibited them from committing this ugly action:

“…But force not your maids to prostitution when they desire chastity, in order that ye may make a gain in the goods of this life. But if anyone compels them, yet, after such compulsion, is God, Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful (to them)”

A woman could live with more than one man at the same time. Such a woman would notify the public of her decision by planting a pole on the roof of her house.

A step-mother could inherit her step-son from her husband just like a household item.

The Tradition of Burying Girl Infants Alive

Some Arabs who lived in the desert considered having daughters to be shameful and a disaster. For that reason, cruel fathers would bury their daughters alive upon their birth or would throw them into wells, sometimes without even giving anyone a chance to see them.

They tried to prove this cruel tradition right by putting forward some imaginary reasons.

They used to say:

“They will grow and taint our honor one day, or they will become wretched. Moreover, they will become a burden on us because of their living expenses and we will not be able to meet their needs.”

Sometimes a mother would have a hole dug up in the ground as the birth drew near. As the baby girl, who just came into the world, opened eyes for the first time, she would immediately be thrown into the hole and be covered with soil.

Other fathers would dress up their daughters in beautiful dresses when they reached the age of six as though they were taking them for a visit to their relatives, but would instead take them to the desert. Those poor children would be left in the graves that had been prepared for them and would be buried alive by having soil thrown over them.

Those who did not want to kill their daughters would have the latter dressed in thick, woolen gowns and isolate them from the society by sending them away to herd sheep or camels.

The Quran tells us of this barbaric tradition that the Arabs living in the desert practiced in the following verse:

“When news is brought to one of them, of (the birth of) a female (child), his face darkens, and he is filled with inward grief! With shame does he hide himself from his people, because of the bad news he has had! Shall he retain it on (sufferance and) contempt, or bury it in the dust? Ah! What an evil (choice) they decide on!”

Someone who practiced this barbaric tradition in the Age of Ignorance and later became a Muslim tearfully related the following to the Messenger (PBUH):

“O Messenger of Allah! We are a people who lived during the Era of Ignorance. We used to worship idols and kill our daughters. I used to have a daughter. She used to come to me in joy when I called her.

“One day I called her again. She came running and followed me to a well which was not so far from our house. I held her hand and threw her into the well.

“Her last words to me were:

“Daddy! Daddy!”

The Lord of the Universe (PBUH) could not help crying upon hearing this violent memory. He cried so much that his beard got wet with his tears. Then he said:

“Verily, Allah leaves what you did in the Era of Ignorance there, unless you do it again. He does not transfer it into the Era of Islam.”

At that time, high virtues called compassion and mercy had been removed from spirits, hearts and consciences. Besides, in a heart where belief in the Sultan of the Universe does not exist, in a conscience where fear from that sultan does not exist, there will be no place for compassion, mercy and virtue.

Political System

Arabia did not have a proper political system and social system in the Era of Ignorance. The majority of the people were leading a nomadic life. They were separated into tribes.

A tribe is a community which determines its own social system.

These nomadic tribes were continuously in conflict with each other. They were ready to attack and dishonor someone else and steal his goods at any given moment. Incursion and plunder were their means of livelihood. They used to attack an enemy tribe of theirs and take away their camels and enslave their women and children.

There had not been a time in which there was peace. If a tribe wronged another tribe, that tribe would try to gain revenge by applying the philosophy of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

Wars, fighting and incursion were so rooted in their souls and lives that they would fight each other if they could not find any hostile tribe to fight against. The poet Qutami intends to express this situation with these lines, “If we cannot find anyone else, we will attack Bakrs, who are our brothers.”

They had been living as tribes and clans for a long time and never thought about uniting around a central government. For this reason, the Peninsula was deprived of civilized and social laws. Therefore, cruelty, conflicts, battles and fights continuously occurred. Anyone could do anything he wanted if he had enough power. The powerful and reputable would always get away with everything they did.

Literary Situation

In addition to all of this, it is an unobjectionable fact that Arabs were at the zenith of talent in literature, rhetoric and eloquence at the time Islam emerged. There was no nation in the world that could challenge them on this matter.

Poetry and poets meant everything to them because poetry was the only trustworthy mirror that could reflect the social life, traditions, and beliefs of their ancestors.

Poets were esteemed and received much respect in society, so much that Arabs always preferred that a famous poet rise from their community as opposed to a strong hero. A poet was the only one who could spread their fame, which was the Arabs’ sole aim. They feared a poet’s satires as they feared snakes.

Poets were considered to be heroes by them. Tribes would wage war on one another over the single word of a poet. Likewise, wars that had persisted for years could be resolved by the single word of a poet.

In old times, poetry was called, “an Arab’s notebook.” The Arabs’ moral values, traditions, religion, and rules could only be known through poems that were passed from generation to generation.

There were many factors that supported and encouraged poetry during those times. A strong poet would elicit esteem for both his tribe and himself.

Moreover, fairs that had been organized at certain times played an important role in the development of poetry. Those fairs were a kind of literature exhibition. At those fairs, poetry and rhetoric competitions were organized in the presence of juries. Poets and rhetoricians came from various places to recite their poems and speeches and would do their best to beat one another. They took great pride in defeating their opponents.

At last, juries would choose the winner and the winning poem would be written with golden letters on a linen fabric and hung on the Kaaba’s wall.

Suq Uqaz, which was between Taif and Nahla, was the largest of all the festivals. Mostly, poetry competitions were organized there.

At the same time, these fairs used to serve as a sort of exhibition in which all tribes would come together for commercial, social, and political activities. People who wanted to save the slaves they knew by paying ransom, to settle their problems, to find their enemies, to read poems and to make speeches would go to those fairs.“Holding poetry in high esteem resulted in the deep scrutiny of language.” In this way, literature, eloquence, and eloquence were at their peak in Arabia by the time Islam emerged. An invisible hand was preparing the minds and souls for the preternatural wording of the Miraculous Quran.

Because the Arabs had an eminent talent in literature, the Quran was sent down during the zenith of literature, rhetoric, and eloquence. It challenged Arabian poets and rhetoricians to compete with its miraculousness and conciseness. However, it was not long before that they understood that they had to quit and that it was impossible to compose a counterpart to this unique book.

The style of the Quran is so concise, so sweet, so clear and so fluent that Arabs who were experts in literature could not hide their surprise. One day, a scholar of literature who was from among the Bedouin Arabs, read the verse “Therefore expound openly what thou art commanded, and turn away from those who join false gods with God.”fell down in prostration.

This action infuriated the idolaters. They looked at him hatefully and shouted: “You became a Muslim too?”

“No”, said the litterateur. “I just prostrated before the eloquence and fluency of this verse.”

Imru’l Qais was one of the poets of Muallaqa. One day, his sister heard the verse “Then the word went forth: “O earth! Swallow up thy water, and O sky! Withhold (thy rain)!” and the water abated, and the matter was ended. The Ark rested on Mount Judi, and the word went forth: “Away with those who do wrong!” she went straight to the Kaaba and took down her brother’s poem, which was hung on the wall at the top of all the other poems and said: “Nobody has anything to say any more. Even my brother’s poem cannot stand before this eloquence.” When others saw that the most famous poem had been taken down, they took down the other poems down one by one as well.

The oldest and most famous examples of poetry in the Age of Ignorance were without a doubt the “Muallaqat as-Sab’a” (Seven hangers). Those poems were recited by people and transferred from generation to generation, reaching many centuries ahead.According to a strong view, these poems were collected by Hammad ar-Rawiya.

The poets whose poems were hung on the walls of the Kaaba are as follows:

Imru’l Qais, Tarafa, Labid, Zukhair, Amr bin Kulthum, Antara (a.k.a. Nabigha), Haris bin Hiliza (a.k.a. A’sha).

The religious, moral, political, social, and literary state of Arabia was like this during the time in which our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was going to be given the duty of prophethood.

Of course, there was need for someone who could change this scene that disseminated violence and barbarism. And that person was already decided by the command of pre-eternal Fate: Hazrat Muhammad (pbuh).

He was going to change the world’s physical and spiritual condition with the Divine Light he brought with him… He was going to turn the faces of people from this world to the hereafter, from that which is fleeting to the Eternal Beloved One; by doing this, he was going to provide people with worldly and unworldly happiness.

This person, who was to be appointed as a prophet by Allah, was the person who would declare that man was not unattended, that everything in the universe, from atoms to the solar system, from stars to galaxies, rotated and traveled for a holy aim and that the universe served a lofty aim with all of its constituents.

This person was going to save humanity from the swamp of immorality, in which they were about to be drowned, by teaching them the most beautiful lessons of morality.

This person was the person who would give the best answers to questions like, “Why was the universe created?”, “Where do people come from?”, “Where will they go?”

This person was going to inform people about Allah, who is the Owner of humanity, of what He wants from humans, what He likes and what He dislikes clearly.

This person was going to guide not only a specific tribe or a specific nation but also the whole of humanity with orders that he would take from Allah.

Like the whole world, the Arabian Peninsula, was also looking forward for that person to come in order to complete such significant duties.

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halsinsbiggernaturals · 3 years

Text

Oops - SHOH fanfic

So, I am completely obsessed with @shepherds-of-haven and I read an ask a while ago about how in Lena's original story, Halek was the one who told Blade that his SO was pregnant. And I asked Lena what Trouble's reaction would be, and ended up deciding to write a short little drabble based around it! Except I added Mimir to be a little obvious, since I was afraid Trouble might not have gotten the implication otherwise...

Staring my OC Aerys--a battle mage who loves her idiot cowboy sniper--and set several years after the events of SHOH

It's a warm, lazy summer day, the heat sitting heavily in the air. Most Shepherds who don't have to be working have retired to enjoy some leisure time, and Trouble is no exception. He's elected to take a few minutes to himself under a tree in the yard--or more accurately, to himself and Halek, as he lounges next to the dozing man, charch in hand.

It's peaceful like this, smoke from the charch winding its way into the air, as lazy as the drowsing Hunter next to him. They often spend time together--if you can call it that--like this, neither speaking to the other. It works well for them, and is why Trouble is surprised that Halek is the one who breaks the languid silence.

"Do you know if it's a boy or girl, yet?"

Trouble looks over, confusion etched on his face.

"What?"

"The baby. Do you know if it's a boy or girl, yet?"

"What baby?"

Halek opens one eye, turns to inspect Trouble's baffled expression, then quickly shuts it again.

"Never mind."

"Halek, what b--"

"It's a boy."

This proclamation was brought by the last person Trouble would have expected to wander over to their chat--Mimir, the odd Diviner that Trouble could rarely understand. Still, Aerys seemed to get along well enough with her, which meant that Trouble tried his best, as well.

Tried being the operative word, at the moment.

"What boy? What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing." Halek replies quickly.

"Your boy." Mirmir replies, almost as quickly, earning a wrathful look from Halek, which she ignores with the same serenity that she made the proclamation. "Do you not know about that yet?"

At the look on the Norm sniper's face, she smiles.

"Oh, you didn't."

Aerys, oblivious (for now) to any chaos happening outside of the lounge, is busy attempting to beat Chase at an arm wrestling match. It's a difficult task, not just because of the innate strength of the thief, but because Chase is always keen to employ underhanded tricks to ensure a win.

Next to them sits Blade, watching the two calmly, and waiting to challenge whoever wins. The Commander of the Shepherds observing the fight doesn't reduce any risk of dirty fighting, though--Blade would simply tell her that she should have caught it and mitigated the trick.

So Aerys is focused on the match, enough so that she doesn't even look up when Trouble barges into the lounge, breathing as heavily as if he'd run a marathon before showing up.

He's quick to catch her attention, however.

"YOU'RE PREGNANT?"

Now, Aerys generally believes herself to be an intelligent woman.

The look that she gives Trouble (slack jawed and eyes wide) is anything but.

"I'm wha--Ow!" Chase, much quicker to gather himself than Aerys, is quick to take advantage of her break in concentration, cheerfully slamming her fist into the table. The battlemage opens her mouth to protest, but by this time, Trouble has crossed the lounge and grabbed Aerys by the shoulders.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why in Hael did you tell Halek first?"

"I'm--I'm what--?" The pink-haired mage rises to her feet, desperately trying to piece together the ridiculous situation that has fallen at her feet. "Wait. Halek told you that I was pregnant?"

"Yeah! So--Why did you tell him first?"

"I--I haven't told Halek kak! Especially about--what do you mean, I'm pregnant?"

Trouble may not ever be accused of being a particularly bright man, but if he knew anything, he knew his wife. And after staring at her face, as bewildered as his own, it suddenly dawns on him.

"You didn't know?"

"It is said," Blade informs them, face stolid as he shoos the two of them a few feet away, that he may sit where she'd been, holding out his hand to Chase. "Hunters can tell these kinds of things. They can hear the heartbeats of those around them." He pauses meaningfully for a moment. "Even the smallest of hearts."

"Supposedly, they can also tell if you're lying or not." Chase supplies, a smug look on his face. "Terrifying, huh? Good thing Halek's too lazy for that." He hums for a moment. "Usually."

"Wait, so--" Aerys' hand goes to her forehead, desperately trying to keep up with the conversation. "--So Halek can hear if someone is pregnant, and he told you that I was..." Something clicks in her head, and Trouble flinches from the look in his wife’s eye. "And you thought I already knew? That I was hiding it from you? You think I'm gonna go around telling everyone else first?"

"Ow! Stop smacking me! I didn't--I thought you'd have known--"

"You think women just know these things!?"

"How was I supposed to know!?"

"And then you just busted in here and told me like this! I'm gonna kill you--"

"You can't kill me! Who'll be the baby's father?"

Aerys stops swatting at Trouble at this, and takes some time to contemplate the question, before pronouncing: "Blade."

"It would be my honor," Blade solemnly replies, face as serious as the grave, even as he pushes Chase's hand into the table.

"What? Hael no! No son of mine is gonna be named Dagger, or--Polearm, or something dumb--"

"--Dagger was the name of my--"

"--Your son!?--"

"--Cousin, actually--"

"--Oh yeah, Mimir said--"

"--MIMIR TOLD YOU THE GENDER--!?"

"Hey," Chase's voice rings out over the arguing couple (and Blade), silencing them as they turn to look at him. "Congratulations on the baby, you two." His face beams, even as he rubs his wrist, where Blade had just handily beat him. "I'm happy for you both."

"Thank you--" Aerys' reply is automatic, until her brain catches up with her ingrained manners, and she pauses, the entire conversation/argument finally catching up with her. If the look on Trouble's face was any indication, he was going through a similar revelation.

Chase and Blade calmly watch the couple as they start crying, hugging, and proclaiming their adoration for each other, a content smile on both the mens faces, before they turn to one another.

"That's sweet. Anyway, best out of three?"

"You're on."

#shepherds of haven #aerys wildegarde #ema writes a thing

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amnxsia · 3 years

Photo

ilanga

(n.) a person who will forgive anything the first time, tolerate the second time but never a third time.

A/n: Inspired by my brainrot. Everything that is said in German will be translated and bolded.

Taglist: @shisoaya, @callmepromise, @namischild, @namrekcaivel, @icedkoffees, @erens-piss-cleaner, @sofi-yeager, @peachysimp, @fiaficsxo, @eremiie, @odmlevis, @weepinglevi

Summary: Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction is what brought it back.

Content: dom and sub undertones, smut. nsfw minors dni

Trigger Warnings: manipulation, public sex, dacryphilia, branding, cigarettes, dedegration, slapping.

Word Count: 2241

Forgive anything the first time.

“Jean how many times do I have to tell you, Y/n isn’t allowed to drink.” Eren says staring daggers at him.

“And why the hell shouldn’t she? Just because you’re her boyfriend doesn’t mean you can tell her what she can’t and can do it’s a fucking party for god sakes Jaeger.”

“Ja, warum kann ich nicht etwas trinken Eren?” You say standing behind Jean. with big glassy doe eyes.

“Yeah why cant I have a drink Eren?”

Eren ignores you. Knowing that this is your first strike.

“You know what fuck you Jean, and fuck this party. I’m going home.”

Ignoring whatever else Jean has to say Eren pulls you towards him and whispers.

“Dies ist dein erster Schlag, also viel Spaß Prinzessin”

“This is your first strike so have fun princess.”

Ah there it is, his dominance.

One of the many things that ran straight to your core. Making you clench your legs, one of the many things to love about Eren Jaeger.

Even if you manipulated him time to time you would always be running back to him like a lost puppy trying to find it’s lost owner.

“Jean I’m leaving the party too. Have fun.”

“Whatever.”

You walk out the door, seeing a figure sitting on the curb.

“So bald zurück? Ich dachte, du würdest Spaß mit Pferdegesicht haben und einen Sturm kichern” Eren saying with a smirk.

“Back so soon? I thought you would be having fun with horse face and giggling up a storm.”

“Eren we don’t have to talk in German all the time.” you say giggling while bending down to sit next to him.

“Oh? But I thought you loved it when I talked in German, you would always clench you thighs whenever I would speak, it’s cute that you actually thought I didn’t notice.” Eren says sliding closer to you dipping his hand at your cunt rubbing it very slowing.

“Du bist schon so nass und ich habe dich noch nicht einmal richtig berührt“ Eren whispers in your ear. Shoving your panties to the side and teasing your folds.

“Your so wet already and I havent even touched you properly yet.”

Now sinking a slender finger inside stretching you out, you bit your lip to contain the moans.

Eren smirks.

“What’s wrong baby? just because we’re in public doesn’t mean you have to be quiet, no as far as I am concerned you can say my name no you can moan it, and not in German in English for everyone to hear. I want everyone to know that this pretty cunt belongs to me and only me.” He says while laughing.

“Im sorry.”

Eren stops.

“What was wrong sweet pea?” He says no teasing or playfulness laced with voice just genuine concern.

“I said I’m sorry. I just don’t want other girls all over you .” You say with hot tears streaming down your face.

Ah.

Needy baby.

“It’s okay baby, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll stop bringing them.”

Eren kisses you and ruffles your hair.

“I’ll see you later.”

Tolerate the second

You were doing it again.

Pissing him off.

You said you were sorry the last time, but you also loved how angry he would get if you were around other guys.

Like now.

You were sandwiched between two guys who were getting handsy with you, but you could care less about Eren and his anger issues, you would win this bet and that would be it.

But unbeknownst to you Eren was staring at you with nothing but a loving smile at you. Sitting down in a chair with his legs crossed, he was wearing black all over, sliver rings to compliment his fingers, his hair pulled back into a man bun with a few baby hairs sticking out, and black leather boots.

You looked over to him to see if he reacted in any type of way, but you started to panic when you saw him looking your way with a smile on his face. You get up and usher everyone out.

“Party’s over.”

When everyone had dispersed you focus your attention to Eren who would still looking at you with a smile on his face.

“Oh? Party ist vorbei, wie kommt es, dass es gerade interessant wurde.”

“Oh? Party's over how come it was just getting interesting.”

“Warum benimmst du dich so?”

“Why are you acting like this eren?”

“Because you think I’m fucking stupid that’s why.”

“Excuse me?”

Eren ignores your statement.

“Lass diese Jungs und diese Wette nicht zu deinem verdammten Kopf gehen, denn ich werde dich wieder zur Relalität bringen.”

“Don’t let those boys and this bet go to your fucking head because I will bring you back down to reality.”

“Warum nimmst du teil, wenn du schon wütend wirst? Ich beweise jetzt schon einen Punkt und die Wette ist noch nicht einmal beendet.”

“Why are you participating if your getting mad already im already proving a point now and the bet is not even finished.”

Eren pulls you closer to him and spreads your legs with his knee

“You’ll figure it out tomorrow if you piss me off again.”

But never a third time

Today was the last day of your bet with Eren. And of course you wanted to see what he had planned for you, even if that meant burying your own grave. Today was your 2 year anniversary and later tonight you would be going to a dinner with Eren, family and friends so they could meet him.

This was the perfect opportunity for all of Eren’s wrath to come down on you.

You decided to wear the shortest skirt you could find. You did your makeup, hair, and decided to put some rings on your fingers just like Eren.

After completing your look you walk downstairs to see Eren in a suit with rings on his fingers and a single earring dangling from his earlobe.

“Hey.”

“You look nice today.”

“Thanks.”

The car ride to the restaurant was very quiet, slowed and reverb music was playing from the radio.

Now at the restaurant Eren greets your parents and close friends.

Now everyone is in their seats before a waitress comes up and asks them what they would like to eat.

You look at your menu and say what you want and family says they want whatever you order.

Someone else walks in the restaurant with a smile and a box in their hands.

And it begins

Your mother pats you on your shoulder to tell you;

“Einer Ihrer Freunde hat etwas, das er Ihnen schenken möchte”

“One of your friends have something they want to give to you as a gift.”

Eren looks to the stranger with a concerned face, and then back to you.

“Wer ist er?”

“Who is he?”

You look at Eren trying contain a laugh.

“ein Freund.”

“A friend.”

Before Eren can say anything more the gentleman comes up to you and wraps his arms hugging you very tightly not to tightly just enough to give you affection.

“Hallo, es ist schon eine Weile her, wie geht es dir?”

“Hi it's been a while how are you?” He says with the biggest smile on his face.

“Ich war gut froh, dass es dir gut geht. Ich habe von einem kleinen Vogel gehört, dass du ein Geschenk für mich hast.”

“I've been good glad you are doing well I heard from a little birdy that you have a present for me.”

He blushes and he looks down at the floor, you take your hand and motions his head to look at you.

“Speak.”

And so he does.

“Ja, es ist ein Geschenk, es ist ein Ring mit meinem Namen, ich denke du wirst es mögen.”

“Yes it is a gift, it's a ring with my name on it i think you will like it.”

And thats when he takes out the ring and places it on your and then genty kisses your hand and wrists.

And thats when all hell breaks loose.

Eren quickly gets up from the table, dashes to your side and grabs your from the hem your shirt.

“Entschuldigung für die Unannehmlichkeiten, aber wir müssen jetzt gehen.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience but we need to leave now.”

Before either of your parents could say anything both you and Eren were out of the restaurant and heading to the car.

Eren throws you into the car, but his face is unreadable which is turning you on even more. He gets into the car and starts to drive, his knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. Unlike from before he doesn’t allow you turn on the radio to ease the tension.

Now getting out the car you and Eren walks towards your shared house, he lets you enter the house first after entering the house he slams the door, making chills run down your body.

“Eren was ist los?”

“Eren what’s wrong-”

Eren slaps you.

“Jetzt will die Hure plötzlich reden?”

“Now the whore wants to talk suddenly?”

“Kleidung aus und auf allen vieren auf dem Boden.” Eren says while walking towards the living room.

“Clothes off and on all fours on the floor.”

And without a thought you discharge all of the clothes on your and make your way to the living to see Eren staring down at the floor with a cigarette between his slightly chapped lips, momentarily exhaling and inhaling the puffs of air.

“Schau nicht ohne Vorahnung auf.”

“Don't look up without permission.”

Eren takes another inhale of his cigarette.

“Ich habe dir gesagt, lass diese verdammte Wette nicht zu und andere Jungs gehen dir in den Kopf.”

“I told you dont let this fucking bet and other boys go to your head.”

And with that Eren grabs both of your wrists and gently plants the cigarette on your wrist.

“This is where he kissed you at right? This is where he planted those disgusting lips on you.”

You buck your hips to try and loosen his grip on you but to no avail.

“Answer me.”

“Ja.”

“Yes.”

“Now answer me this. Why are you letting other asshole touch you.”

“Eren-”

He pushes the cigarette down more on your skin, burning you a bit.

“Answer.”

“I was just accepting a gift from him, it didn’t mean anything I swear.”

“Now why would I believe you? This whole week you’ve been trying to piss me off and you know what y/n, have you succeeded in doing that so I’m having a hard time believing in anything that you say right now.”

Eren let’s his grip on your wrist goes, and places the cigarette in the ash tray. And then grabbing your neck up so you were both eye to eye.

“Tell me the truth and I’m all yours baby.” He said lightly licking your neck.

“Explain it all in German for me.” He said adding on, crossing his legs.

“Ich wollte mich wütend machen, damit du mich so hart ficken kannst, so gut, ich liebe es so sehr, ich liebe dich so sehr.”

“i wanted to make mad at me so you could fuck me like so hard, so good, i love it so much, i love you so much.”

You exhale, tears running down your face, you start to rut your bare cunt against the hardwood floor.

Your crying and the sight of you trying to get off on the floor went straight to Eren’s dick.

Eren starts to unbuckle his pants, his freed cock slapping aganist his abdomen.

“You think you can handle it baby?”

“Mhm yes- I know I can, I’ll be good again I promise, I’ve been acting so terrible these past few weeks and making you angry m’sorry Eren.”

And with that Eren bridal carries you to your shared bed room and gently puts you down.

“Open.”

And you do opening your mouth wide, Eren sticks two of his fingers in your mouth.

“Do I need to prep you?”

You shake your head no.

Eren smirks “Good girl.”

And with that Eren enters your hole.

“I love you, you know that right?” Eren says playing with your hair.

“Yes I know.”

“And everything I do is for you remember that. From the way I fuck you, from the way I do all of acts of service to words of affirmation there all for you and no one else.” He says finally moving the once quiet filled house now turning into sounds of skin slapping, panting that would last all the way into the evening then into the night.

Next day

You woken to the morning rays that were peeking out from your windows. Turning over you see that Eren had left but to where you wonder. Not that it matter you don’t care about anyone else but him, only him and him alone matters.

Somewhere far away, Eren had a box in his hand and a note along with it. He was at a house your parent’s house. Now knowing that your parents didn’t ever want to you to be with him he knocks on the door before setting the box and the note on the welcome mat and then walking away, hopping into his car.

The box being a wedding invation and a note saying; “Wenn du versuchst, für mich zu kommen, blühe ich weiter <3″

“You try to come for me I keep on flourishing. <3″

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prose-for-hire · 4 years

Text

Bad to the bone

Part One

Pairing: Spike x Giles!reader

Request: Not really requested. Inspired and suggested by the 🏜 Anon !! This is a second part to ‘Bad boy, lunchable reader’

Warning: Bit of a rocky relationship with Dad!Giles, mention of reader feeling a kind of abandonment by him.

A/N: I’m not sure how similar reader is to the original fic (can a reader be ooc lol). I just wanted to show the softer side of their relationship despite the people around them being more hostile. It was really nice re-visting this one !!

You ran, waiting on the kerb rather than in the house. You knew your dad wouldn’t follow you out. Not after that argument. You tried to just ignore what had been said, as if it had never happened.

You waited for the sun to set, knowing he would come for you as soon as he physically could. Your vampire. Ever since he had told you he loved you, you had been completely loved up. And everyone around you appeared to be against you both for it.

Despite it all, you couldn’t help your heart soaring when you saw him approaching on the motorbike that had suddenly come into his possession.

He grinned when he saw you, dismounting the bike as you walked towards him. He pulled you into a deep kiss. It knocked the breath from your body, his tongue meeting yours with a fierce passion. He always did this as soon as he saw you, just couldn’t resist it. Could never resist you.

He gestured for you to join him and you happily started to sit behind him but he paused you, brandishing something you hadn’t noticed what with his distracting kiss.

“On. Not bloody moving ‘til it’s on” He warned, coaxing the helmet into your arms and stared, waiting. When you didn’t put it on he spoke again, “Come on, stole it special didn’t I?” He encouraged softly. It made you smile when his tone softened that way. He only did it for you. You had always known his heart was softer than it appeared.

“Hey! You don’t even wear one, you’re treating me like a baby”

“Humans have skin. Soft, squishy parts. And you got the softest of all, pet” He said tenderly, moving his hand to rest against your upper arm ,as if in appreciation of said skin, “Can’t have you in harm’s way”

“Fine, but only if I can drive on the way back” You warned, putting the helmet on your head.

“Love-”

“If we crash you can do the hero thing, y’know, save me all vampire-style and kissing me”

“Yeah while all your bones are crushed beyond recognition”

“You… you wouldn’t kiss me if I was smushed into the floor?” You pouted, which made him tense his jaw. He loved you, God he loved you, but you didn’t half ask some stupid questions sometimes. You were so soft and unassuming though, you really wanted to hear the answer. He was a sucker for you.

“’Course I would”

“You mean it? You’re not just saying it?!” You laughed, looping your arms around him still stood beside the bike and pressing yourself into him. Almost hitting him with the extra padding around your head. You closed your eyes, so relieved that he was here.

“Just… come on, pet” He gestured behind him, trying to peel your arms from him. You just smiled a little giddily because you were in his presence and tried to press more kisses to his face through the visor. He looked around, making sure Giles or the Slayer wasn’t around. You weren’t listening so his tone changed a little harder, “Get on the bike or I’ll drive away into the sunset”

“Yeah, dust in the wind” You muttered with a pout but moved to sit behind him. He caught it but didn’t say anything.

You were clinging to him, his waist. He loved having you this way, driving you through the streets. Allowing everyone to get a good look that you were his. You leaned against his shoulder, the tension releasing from your shoulders the further you drove away.

You arrived at his crypt, a place you loved. It was a solace. You were able to love freely here. Without anyone’s unwanted opinions or fists getting in the way.

Nobody accepted your relationship and your dad was the worst. You had argued with him again. Just before Spike came to pick you up. It was becoming almost every day now. You wished you could share how much you adored Spike. How happy you were. How he took you to the library and sat there the entire time you were studying. How he offered such loving comfort. How he was there for you without question, without agenda. He was yours.

This is how you had ended up exchanging more infuriating words with your father.

“Look at him, Y/n, for pete’s sake! He’s bad to the bones of him!” He seethed as you tried to mention casually that you were staying over at Spike’s. You didn’t ask permission seeing as you had lived alone for most of your life until you had moved back in with him again.

“Dad, please, just believe me – I love-” You began, trying in earnest to get him to understand.

“You don’t know the bloody meaning of the world, child!”

“I’m an adult, Dad, I’m not your kid anymore!”

“No, I suppose you’re just some stranger I allow to live here rent free”

“I can leave”

“Then you should do so, as quickly as you can” He had said it in the heat of the moment and instantly regretted it. He was driving you further into Spike’s arms and he only comprehended this as his last syllable pierced the air towards you. Leaving you wounded, fleeing the scene.

Spike took your hand softly in his, guiding you through the grave stones and into the crypt he called home. Nobody would ever believe you if you told them how soft his heart was. All they saw was the big, bad vampire that had crashed into Sunnydale.

But he was good, no matter his faults. He was so good to you. He could get violent, you had seen the evidence from the fights he got into. But he would never let you see that. Wanted to protect you, make sure you were always safe.

He had been so close to trying to hurt your Dad recently. Giles had threatened him away from you. Shoving him hard into the wall upon realising he couldn’t fight back. Spike stood and took it. No matter how angry he got. He would have risked the headache if it hadn’t been for you. His way of proving he wasn’t backing away. He wasn’t going to lose you.

Spike hadn’t told you though, didn’t want to see you cry again. He hated to see you cry. Didn’t want to be the reason you were upset. He’d hide it from you, not wanting you to fall out with your Dad again. He knew how much his approval mattered to you.

It soon became apparent, however, that you were already slightly down. He didn’t press you to talk to him, just pulled you into his side. You had settled on the sofa in his crypt. He had cleaned up again, always swept around the crypt and tried to make it look habitable when you were coming over.

Wanted the best for you. Always.

You leant into his chest, not able to hide your frown now. What your Dad had said was finally sinking in. You didn’t know whether to ask Spike if you could stay here. Or whether this would only make things worse.

But this worry began to dissipate with every loving second you shared with him. You loved his jewellery. He often wore a single silver chain around his neck. You twisted your finger to look his necklace. Thinking, brow furrowing lightly now as you did.

He kissed you softly on the forehead before casting his eye back to the tv as he spoke, “Your old man again?” he questioned, knowing your moods as if they were his own. You just nodded, hiding your face. Nestling into the side of his neck.

He wrapped his arms around you protectively. As if he sought to save you from the world outside the crypt.

This is the man that was entirely bad to the bone. The vampire. A killer. But one who would never harm you, hated even a word said against you. Who would defend you even past his last breath. Who would whisper such tender love. Such sweet affirmations. His poet’s heart sung for you. You had found him writing feverishly. About you. For you.

You couldn’t describe it properly, but with him you felt safe. Safer than you ever had before. Despite everything you knew. He had told you his past in excruciating detail. But you still confirmed your love after. Because of the way he was with you. The way he cared. You knew something had shifted within.

He put something on the television as he pressed such tender kisses against your skin, trying to get you back to face him. God, he loved your face. He pressed his lips along your jaw, small kisses making a path of his love.

“Let me make you feel better, love?” He posed the question innocently but his eyebrow was telling you different. He loved to kiss the pain away. he was a big believer in healing through this kind of affection. He always wished to make you feel his love so intimately. He was the typical bad boy but you loved the bones of him.

Spike latched onto your neck, soothing kisses. Hands slowly roaming. He cherished every inch of you, sliding you onto his lap as he pressed further kisses against your skin. Your lips.

Wanted you to know that he was with you. But you never doubted this. His love always surrounded you. Like a quilt. An aura.

Suddenly this soft moment was shattered. This peaceful moment you held in reverence lost. Buffy had dropped in. Again.

“Get off them! Now!” She barked, an obvious disgust written all over her face. It made you both so uncomfortable. You loved so deeply and yet nobody could see through the attitude. The past he wasn’t ashamed of sharing with you despite always worrying about your reaction. You knew it all now and loved him more for it.

You didn’t understand how everyone else hated him so.

“Buffy, what the fuck!?” You muttered, she always brought this reaction from you now. You sprung from Spike who just moved his head a fraction to lazily glare at the slayer.

“Get up, Spike” She scowled at him.

“You can’t just come by unannounced and start slaying! It-it’s like Spike just coming to your house and starting to bite people at random!” You complained.

“He has done that…” Buffy said, crossing her arms over her chest, “Twice”

“Oh… right” Your brow furrowed a little, you were still getting used to the vampire thing.

“’S’alright pet, only a nibble. Like when I-” He arched a suggestive eyebrow as a heat ran up your face.

“Do not finish that sentence” Buffy warned before turning to plead to you, “Y/n, you know he’s no good. You know what he is. You don’t have to do this, to disrespect yourself this way”

“Buffy, I love him… he’s my boyfriend”

“Apart from the boy part, oh and the friendly part!” She rolled her eyes, “Come on” she grabbed your wrist and started to pull you away with her.

“Buffy, we’re not friends! You didn’t care to even know me until you found out that I was with Spike. This isn’t about me, it’s about… how you feel”

“No. it’s about you breaking Giles’ heart. Have you seen him lately?” She prodded, her tone turning harsh. She had tried to be understanding, played the concerned friend but she had given up.

She couldn’t understand liking Spike without hating yourself for it. Without treating affection as a transaction. He’s a demon. He had done horrible things and appeared to her to have no redeeming qualities. Apart from, admittedly, the fact that he was kind of attractive. Only in the right lighting, obviously.

“Yeah, I saw him thirty minutes ago when he threw me out of his house” You replied firmly. Your softness gone as she had made your life her business. Again. Buffy was so shocked she dropped your wrist.

Spike instantly got to his feet and moved swiftly to your side. His hand on you, he knew what this meant. He knew this would hurt you so much. You had felt distant with Giles for a long time, he moved away to basically raise some other kid. And left you behind. And now this was happening all over again.

You felt abandoned. Like he had created an entirely new family right here. Not made of blood but with the young people he helped all of the time. It was a secret he had kept from you and they had all been in on it. How could your own father make you feel like you were an outsider in your own home?

Spike’s hand was soothing on the small of your back. His eyes only on you. Sensitive to every minute inflection of emotion on your face. His expression held such understanding. Buffy looked between you, faltering only slightly before righting her face. He really did appear to love you. On the surface at least. His eyes didn’t move from you, his eyes glassy as he felt your emotions almost as strongly as you did.

He couldn’t help that swell of hope that you would move in with him though. No matter how concerned he was for you and your troubles, he was overjoyed that you might want to stay with him. To have you, by his side even in the day. To be close to you. Domesticity that he pretended he didn’t crave when you were around.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…” Buffy offered. It was sincere. Of all the things she knew about Giles, she hadn’t expected him to parent like this. It was harsh, much harsher than he was on her even. She appeared to soften, want to offer a hand of friendship.

But Spike was already ushering her out of the door without her so much as collecting up her thoughts before she left. He hurled some choice insults out of the door with her before slamming the door shut.

He immediately moved to your side. Closing the space between you and allowing you to lean against him. He cradled your head whispering hushed assurances. That he would never leave you. That he would always look out for you even if everyone else turned from you. Which was exactly what it had felt like.

He knew this, knew your own thoughts as if they were his own. He didn’t like to admit it, although it was evident to you in abundance, but he was so soft for you. Especially when you were alone this way and you needed him. He was so comforting the gentle nature he shared with you almost made you cry. He continued to reassure you and held you to him through the night.

He wasn’t able to bite back any comments he had on your Dad, ones he had held inside for a while. He had never really liked that man.

Spike, this man who was so bad to the bone was your only comfort. All he wanted was for you to be happy, no matter what. He was soft with you where nobody else had been. He lifted you up, helped you carry on. He was yours.

You did move in with him after this, spending time together. It only made your relationship stronger.

You would make up with your Dad eventually. At your college graduation. He felt guilty, you had very rarely spoken to him since he told you to leave. He was protective, despite you having spent a large portion of your life looking after yourself.

He would never approve of your relationship with Spike fully, despite his assurance that he would never stop loving you because of it. He apologised though for his behaviour, something you hadn’t recalled him saying to you often. And something else.

“I’m proud of you, Y/n” He said, a hand patted yours. Your gasp audible. He had never said that to you before. It had honestly been all you had wanted to hear from him.

You still returned home to Spike though. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. He wished so badly he could have been there but it was the middle of the day. He showed you just how pleased he was for you either way when you returned. He was so supportive, even if you hadn’t made up with your father, Spike was all that you needed.

It wasn’t a fleeting love, you were his. For life.

#Spike btvs #Spike x reader #Spike imagine #Spike x you #btvs #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs x you #buffyverse #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #bad boy lunchable reader #gender neutral #gn #gender neutral reader

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abizarreyodelingincident · 3 years

Text

Braaaaaaains...

Jason Todd is legally – and biologically – dead. His family noted his lack of pulse at three in the morning, inside the cave, his body laid out on a table with medical instruments.

No, really, tell him something he doesn't know.

What else crawls out of a grave moaning and groaning?

Or, Jason thought his family full of the world's greatest detectives was smarter than this. Apparently not.

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

It had been an ordinary night. Calm. The stage for very little costumed crime and barely more regular, non-insane crime as well. Half the menagerie that made up Dick's loving ragtag bunch of younger siblings had even taken the night off.

Nothing should have make him arrive to silence this thick, to this faint echo of sniffling.

He sprinted after the noise.

Damian's fine, left before me. Duke didn't go out, nor did Steph. Babs spent the evening with Cass in the cave, Tim swept the bowery and said he was going to stop by Jason's place to-

He collided with a shaking, tear stained Tim right outside the medbay.

There was a body on the closest table. Others around it, crying, pacing, muttering in denial.

Dick couldn't look.

No, no, please, please no. I can't do that again. I can't!

Scarred skin, too pale – to be Duke or Cass – by death. His breath hitched. No. He. Fuck.

He knew those scars. Those arms. That chest and that fucking Y from navel to shoulders.

“Dick! Jason... he was... I found him in his apartment. And I brought him to the cave... but... Jason doesn't have a pulse. He's... cold...”

Dick stumbled.

No.

No, no, no, that... that couldn't be real.

He caught himself on his little brother. Brought himself into a hug too tight, as painful as the arms gripping his ribs and back. A grip meant for a lifesaving light at sea. For a safeline over a ravine.

Twice. He'd lost the same brother twice. And this time, he didn't even have the excuse of inexperience and unstable situations. He... he patrolled the city whilst his brother was dead, completely oblivious to the fact. How could he? How dare he not know?!

“Shh, Tim, I'm here. I'm here.” But not for Jason, whispered a vicious part of him.

“What's all this?”

Dick's heart just about stopped.

Damian stood at the entrance to the lockers' room, uniform folded under one arm, hair slightly damp from a shower and Bat-themed pajamas worn without shame. His mild annoyance was proof he had no idea of the drama that had happened not twenty feet from him.

With reluctance, he let go of Tim, a gentle hand lingering on his shoulder, before he took a few steps toward his youngest, most vulnerable brother.

“D-Dami, I... ” Damn it, he had to be the one to tell Damian about this. Because otherwise, the person to break the news would be Bruce, and-

Shit.

Bruce.

Oh God. How could they possibly tell him- ? After all their fights, the goddamned shattering that had broken the man he had been, and their last conversations even being more admonishment about protocols that Jason had flippantly disregarded. Bruce would never recover. That was it. The end of Batman.

...But first, God he hated himself, wanted to just curl up in a corner and forget everything, first he had a young brother he needed to talk to. One... one little brother less than just this afternoon.

“Jason... ” He swallowed, his throat tight, his heart in denial, the words so damning, but needing to be said. “Jason did not make it. He... he's dead.”

Damian stayed thoughtfully silent.

Not... not the tearful reaction he had expected, but Damian had grown up surrounded by so much death and horror that he would obviously be guarded. And oh, Dick's heart went to his baby brother, and he truly wished he could

“I do not understand. Why such theatrics for the zombie?”

Dick gasped, knowledge warring with the flash of anger.

“Damian! He's our brother!”

“Did he lose his head?” Damian demanded, and Dick's mind buckled.

“Huh, no, but that doesn't have anything to d-”

“Then, why are you acting so weirdly emotional, Richard?”

Before Dick's temper could catch up to his mouth, the longest and most painful-sounding gasp erupted from the medbay, where, to the general shock of all, Jason's gray-ish body shot upward with both his arms raised.

Electroshocks didn't make you jolt like that.

Electroshocks, in fact, remained in their kit on the other side of the medbay, unused. Because Jason had seemingly been dead long before he had been brought to the cave.

That was roughly the moment when Dick's brain caught up with the first of many hints. Latched onto it with a fool's hope.

“... Damian... When you were calling Jason a 'zombie', what did you mean?”

Damian's brows scrunched up together, a look he meant to be intimidating, but had more in common with a disgruntled kitten. “Exactly that, Richard. Do we not have files on zombies in the computer? Dead bodies walking about animated by unholy powers?”

Jason's not- Dick forced the half formed thought to a halt. For once, he rather wanted to be very, very wrong in how he perceived his family.

“What's with all the noise? Can't someone try to sleep like the dead without screaming?” Jason groused. “Should have gotten myself buried ag-OOF!”

“JASON!” screamed the hysterical teenager that had launched himself at a very lively dead body.

“Huhh? Hi, Timmy?” Jason said blearily, ruffling Tim's hair, eyebags suspiciously prominent. “... Fear gas?”

The blinking slowed, the fog of sleep drifting away as he silently begged the rest of them for an answer.

Happily provided by a still crying Tim. “I thought you were gone!”

“What is dead may never die,” Jason quipped, his mouth twisting in that cocksure grin from his Robin days.

And Dick wanted nothing more than to stop right there, pass out from the relief and joy of his little brother being alive and kicking, but...

But...

That joke. One of many morbidly unfunny jokes and puns.

Bone-deep fatigue crushed his back. A bitter curse for whatever higher forces messing with them echoed strongly inside his skull, before he gave in to the inevitable and inhaled a few times for patience.

“Jason. We thought you were dead-dead.”

With prickly, hedgehog style affection, Jason pushed Tim back and stood up, stretching. “Come off it, Goldie. I wasn't even decapitated. I mean, if you were really worried, you could have just called a necromancer or something.” His expression hardened. “But if you ever call a necromancer on my ass, I'll shoot your perfect glutes.”

Yup, yup, yup, this is happening.

Tim finally wiped the rest of the tears away, helped by one of Stephanie's handkerchiefs, when he froze. “Wait. Your skin's still pale as a corpse.”

The flicker of amusement in Jason's eyes killed it for Dick.

God, how could they have all been this idiotic? If Wally ever learned about this – Shit, did Roy and Kory know before him?!

They were going to laugh their asses off at him.

Jason, unaware of the world recalibration happening in his poor big brother's mind, shrugged and rolled his shoulders – who creaked suspiciously loudly, more like rusty hinges than normal body parts. “Eh, I'm just a bit hungry. Nothing a meal or two won't fix and get some blood flowing back under my s-”

“You're a zombie.”

They turned toward him.

“Way to cross the finish line on time, Mister Rabbit,” Jason drawled.

Barbara, for once, looked completely unprepared. “A zombie,” she repeated, dazed.

Stephanie's nervous giggle died out when she noticed the lack of humor. “... No!”

Cassandra furiously looked down, muttering in her fist. Duke, by contrast, had the expression of a person stuck in a very awkward nightmare.

Even Jason's good-natured ribbing faded in when faced only with the distant screeched of bats. “... Hm, guys, bats, roostery, parasites and octopi? This is old news. What's with all the... ”

He vaguely gestured at their faces.

“Old news?” Tim rasped like he was being strangled.

“I came back from the dead years ago! Come on! Am I in a parallel universe? Hey, Demon Brat,” Jason called, baffled, “you knew, right? I didn't imagine that, right?!”

“Of course, Todd. Mother informed me of everything. Besides, Grandfather's interest in your state of being was of interest for a few weeks. How could I have been ignorant about your zombified state of being?”

In the corner of his eyes, Dick noticed Tim's, Barbara's and Cassandra's expressions all pinching in displeasure. In a way, Dick was reassured. He hadn't been the target of a family-wide hoax to discredit him as an attentive and loving eldest brother. No, he was just naturally blind, apparently.

“He knew?” Tim growled, like it was a personal failing of the fabric of time and space.

Damian's tone was the exact opposite. “And none of you realized...?”

Dick squirmed. “I... huh... you see...”

His baby brother eyed him, completely unimpressed, and for once after years of partnership, Dick felt he deserved every single ounce of it.

“I see... I shall reevaluate the value of this 'detective training' I've been given if this is the result then,” he said, the nearest thing to completely disavowing his older siblings without saying so.

In other circumstances, perhaps the others would have demanded that Damian stay and explain, but he suspected the quelling look it would have deserved prevented them. Not one of them spoke until Damian had disappeared upstairs and the elevator doors had closed.

“Jason, since when have you been a zombie?”

Jason blinked, jaw hanging. Juuuust enough for some of the scar tissue on his face to stretch past normal. Why did Dick only notice that now?

“Wait, you're all serious? How could you not know? I told you guys!”

And there was Dick's pride rearing its ugly head, because no, no he had not been told and maybe his deductive skills needed a very complete overhaul, but his memory was still excellent!

“You never said that. Heck, we weren't even talking until two years ago!”

“I literally told you all that I crawled out of my grave by myself, groaning the entire time. No experiment, no Lazarus Pit, just a body waking up in its own coffin and deciding to breathe fresh air. Does that not scream 'zombie' to you?”

They cringed.

“Not the only one that returned from beyond,” Babs mumbled. He could see her pull up the mental list right there.

“I greeted you all last meeting with a 'What's up, my bat folks? It's me, your favorite zombie!'. What did you think that meant?”

“That you're an asshole with a morbid sense of humor?” Stephanie quipped, and Jason momentarily paused his indignation to high five her. Fair's fair.

“Okay, but what about that time I got shot in the chest and I told you all not to worry about it?”

“I just figured you were going to get stitched up by Leslie or yourself, you know, regular bat neuroses,” Tim confessed.

Dick made a mental note to keep a much closer eye on Tim's patrols for the next few months.

“From a bullet chest wound?” Jason asked with an incredulousness that was not at all earned, because he was a freaking zombie!

“I thought your armor had blocked it! The hole wasn't bleeding!” Tim protested, cheeks red and tone defensive.

“Well, yeah,” Jason replied. “I don't bleed. It's like some fruit pulp or something. Ain't coming out if you don't press. My heart's not pumping.”

That's a 'nevermind' on the smoothie I saved for after patrol.

“Well, I know that now,” Tim said.

“I feel like I should write it down on the plaque or something,” Jason still sounded amazed, and might have pinched his arm just to be sure he hadn't been daydreaming, “Like, 'a good soldier AND A VERY DISCRETE ZOMBIE!' in big flaming letters. With a spotlight. And a dictionary opened on 'Zombie' or 'Undead'. You know, just in case the next batbrat to come along needs a few subtle hints about my true nature. What'd you think, Dick?”

He could not have been blushing harder than he currently was. “I think shut up.”

“Of course. What about when I shoved my deadly cold toes at Tim under a blanket?”

“Cold feet.”

“Never eating around you guys?”

“Daddy issues with Bruce,” Barbara deadpanned, and got a sock thrown at her for her honesty.

However, Duke, poor kid, turned green. “Wait, so when you offered me some jellied brain... was that not a death joke?”

Dick's stomach spontaneously shrivelled.

By the grimaces and sharp inhales all around, that was a common reaction.

Then the worst possible thing happened: Jason grinned.

He strutted, all confidence and brashness, and viper-quick, snatched an arm around Duke's shoulder. “Narrows, Nightlight, my tiny bitsy bro, everything I do is a death joke. My very existence laughs at death.”

Inside the batcave, the groaning was long-suffering and shameful.

“But that was actually brains,” Duke countered.

“Yeah. Calf brains. It's a delicacy.”

Tim massaged his forehead. What a mood.

Duke narrowed his eyes. “It was purely for the joke, wasn't it?”

Jason patted him on the back so hard Duke faltered. “One tragically wasted on your obtuse mind. I prefer me some Tête fromagée instead. Less like grainy jello.”

Stone-faced, Barbara wheeled herself toward the batcomputer. There, upon a series of quick clicks, she opened up the Bats's files. “Alright, you had your fun. Do you need to eat brains or are you just the world's least funny meathead?”

“I'm the world's most misunderstood vigilante!” Jason loudly protested, milking their pain for all it was worth. And then some. “But yeah, I do. No grey matter in there” -- he tapped his belly -- “no thinking up here.” -- his skull.

“Need some better quality brains then,” Tim stage-whispered to Stephanie.

Cass pointed the finger at Jason. “No killing for brains.”

Jason's good humor flickered with a flash of green. “Ain't ever done it, never will. It's a matter of morals, not hunger, Cass.”

Dick swooped in that minefield before it exploded.

“Great! Proud of you, Jay! You're the good kind of vegetarian zombie,” he said, putting an arm around his ginormous little brother's shoulders.

Wait a minute...

“Hey, you're older than when you died! Zombies don't age.”

“No, I was thrown into a Lazarus Pit, and the evil waters cured the malnutrition-induced delay on my growth. Haven't aged a day since.”

“I just thought you had a weird babyface thing going on,” Tim said.

Jason's grin turned sardonic. “Quite the opposite, Timber.”

Dick put his head in his hands in some vain attempt to prevent his brain from leaking through his ears. With his luck, his little brother would 'playfully' eat some of it. “There's no way you look this rugged at biologically sixteen! I refuse to believe that.”

“Can you imagine my power if I'd been allowed to reach my full potential?” Jason leered, eyebrows waggling like waves in a sea at storm. “So many heart attacks.”

Barbara and Cassandra exchanged a silent look, and, after a solemn nod, Cassandra reached up to slap Jason upside the head.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” Barbara told her. “Jason, never do such a thing again.”

The disgruntled groan that followed must have been on purpose, because Jay was indeed an asshole.

“Besides, it's not like the world will ever know,” Tim said, cutting, a smirk hiding by his hand.

Dick really thought his little brother was far too relaxed upon learning that Jason was one with the undead. Sure, they had all encountered various levels of zombies during their missions, from all sorts of oral traditions and cultures, alien viruses and hidden nanobots piloting meat puppets. It wasn't even classified as a nation-wide crisis to encounter free-roaming zombies. But since the chronically unalive individual in question was one of their own, Dick felt he was owed at least a whole evening of frazzled panic and incomprehension for once.

“Oh?” Stephanie instead asked, sensing blood.

Tim shrugged. “Well, you know, no pulse, no blood flow,” he said with an angled eyebrow nodding at Jason's crotch

Stunned silence followed, their expressions varying from disgust, horror, unholy glee and, from Jason himself, wide-eyed shock that his shrimp of a little brother had had the balls to assimilate the zombieness fast enough to mock him for him.

Dick prayed for patience. For fortitude. And for an alternate timeline where he was an only child.

Why, for all the love of cotton candy and professional uncriminal clowns, did Tim put THAT image of Jason inside their brains? What had he done, him, a loving model for all of society, to suffer like this?

Maybe if he asked nicely, Jason would eat the image out of his head. He owed Dick that much after this clusterfuck of a conversation.

“Ooooooooh,” Stephanie crooned, miming getting dunked on. With acrobatics.

Jason huffed. “Like I was ever interested in the first place. I ain't Dick.”

“Okay, no slut shaming or virgin shaming, in fact, no shaming at all, please. In this house, we accept all sexualities, but we don't give out raunchy details about any of it, I only have so much brain bleach.”

“Share?” Duke pleaded in a whisper.

Oh, I wish I could, you young innocent soul.

A few beeps turned their attention back to Barbara and the batcomputer. “Well, that's one long overdue update to Jason's files. Anyone else want to share their 'obvious' medical condition?”

“Excuse you, being dead is not a medical condition.”

“I will make you wish for the peace of the grave, Jason.”

Droplets dripped from nearby stalactites.

A few bats flew overhead.

Jason turned to them like nothing had been said.

“Right. That was fun. Best night of my month. Can't wait to tell the Outlaws.”

Dick resigned himself to a series of unflattering texts by the absolute dickheads that were his second family. He could already tell the messages would blow up his phone to the Moon. 'You didn't know your brother that came back from the dead is a zombie?!'

“Have mercy and wait tomorrow morning?”

That smile could have been great or terrible. “You're lucky I'm in a spectacularly good mood, Dick.”

He had lifted his leg over his bike's seat when Duke was struck by genuine worry.

“Wait. Does Bruce know?”

Jason barked out a laugh.

“Of course he does! God knows he's got some massive blind spots, but he's obsessive, paranoid and I find subcutaneous trackers on me every week. No way he didn't get the hint before now.”

But, as his gaze went over the rest of them, his good cheer dimmed, his grin slipping off his face as surely as a bit of decayed flesh.

“... Right?”

#fanfic #Jason Todd #Zombie Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Batsiblings

77 notes · View notes

sweetestlamb · 4 years

Text

Bring Me To Life

Summary: Kang Sujin has never had anyone to turn to, hiding behind a façade her entire life. Someone begins to peek behind the mask.

Author’s note: My two favorite characters in TB are Seojun and Sujin, both characters who are honestly treated like trash by the writers. I cannot begin to tell how upsetting it was to see Sujin’s character assassination or how painful it is to watch her being physically abused knowing that the writers will not give her therapy or a true happy ending. She’s just here to be beaten and vilified. Seojun, I won’t even rant everyone knows what the problem is (idk who told them we wanted to see Start-Up the high school edition.) So I wrote this after watching the most recent episode and hating most of it for these reasons. I don’t know how far it’ll go or how often I can update, but I need my two babies to have a happy ending preferably together because the visuals are just a dreammmm.

The rain crashes down loudly from aggrieved storm clouds bellowing above her in the sky, the chilled condensation plastering her thin satin pajamas to her trembling body. She had to get out, the pain in her cheek numbing and electrifying all at once.

How dare she tell him that she didn't want to get married, want to stand on her own two feet without a man giving her value?

His hand had flown across the room before she could sidestep the blow, the fragile glass filled with water in her hand- the very reason she'd left her room in the dead of night- shattering into jagged pieces as it collided with a greater force. Just like her.

She hadn't been trying to eavesdrop but it was hard not to hear him chuckling deeply on the phone, offering up his only child like she was an item on a menu.

"Yes we should set them up. It seems Suho isn't interested and she should marry young, that's when women are worth the most."

Nausea rolled like waves in the pits of her stomach and before she could think logically, her feet were sprinting into the living room, air barely filling her lungs as she stared at the man she'd never once thought of as a father. The last time she'd made the grave mistake of calling him daddy he'd smacked her so hard that was how she lost her first tooth. He'd been father ever since or Mr. Kang. She tried her best to avoid him at all cost, she would never be good enough and it was getting harder to hide the marks he left behind.

It was difficult to remember clearly what occurred seconds after her refusal to marry a man she didn't know left her lips, his fist connected and she was knocked back onto their coffee table the sharp edge cutting at her cheek. As she looked at him, anger painting his face a demonic red, fear crippled her and her hands twitched desperately wanting to wash them raw. Then he grabbed a thick marble ashtray from the table and her instincts took over and she was out the door, running as fast as she could, knowing her life was at stake and she couldn't afford to stop.

When the cloud in her head cleared that was when she found herself at the bus stop.

Judgmental whispers breeze by her ears as people passed by with umbrellas, shocked to see the young girl crying in her pajamas at the stop, but none stopped to offer her help or inquire about her situation, happy just to pass judgement. She ignores them all, panicking racing through her blood until she's unable to breathe, choking on nothing as she twitches in the harsh air. Her throat constricts as she screams at herself, breathe.

Breathe.

BREATHE!

But it's useless as her body shuts down, forgetting how to do the basic function, she sways as she starts to feel light headed from the lack of oxygen and with a final wheeze she collapses.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He signs as he weaves past cars moving far too slowly, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he marginally misses nipping a car to the left of him, easily dragging his motorcycle away with the fluid movements of his body. He glares up at the sky before cursing, "Fucking weather report didn't say anything about a sudden rainstorm." If he'd known he would have stayed home, always hating the rain. It brought back bad memories.

Halting at a red light, he puts his leg down for balance bouncing slightly in place. Pulling the shield up on his helmet he glances around, recognizing the area easily, before something in his peripheral catches his attention, a lump on the ground. Tilting his head he revs his trusty iron steed to live, riding over to the direction of the mysterious mass on the wet ground. As he gets closer his heart falters, it's too evident now.

It's a person.

Jumping off his bike and pushing out the kickstand he flings his helmet off, his hair immediately drenched under the downpour as he races over to help. As he nears the figure, it becomes clearer it's a woman wearing what looks like sleep clothes. Momentarily he wonders if this is a crazy person and if he should just mind his business but a frightening image of his little sister unconscious on the ground and no one coming to her aid flashes in his mind.

"I'll just check if she's breathing and call an ambulance. That's all, if she tries to attack me I'll just ride away." He takes a deep breath, collecting his courage before closing the gap between him and the unconscious woman.

Crouching beside her, he reaches out a hand hesitating before sighing and shaking at her cold shoulder. No response. He shakes harder now, watching the motion quake through her entire body, but still she is unresponsive.

"Hey! Hey! Are you okay? Wake up, you're scaring me!" He starts to jiggle her with both hands, before he crawls into her space not caring about his safety any longer, the idea that this unknown woman might be dead is making him nauseous. People are always dying without his permission. It's so frustrating.

"Wake up! Come on!" He shouts at the figure now holding both her shoulders and turning the woman over, lifting her face from its place on the ground, cradling her limp body in his lap. After two more vicious shakes, she starts to cough and groan in his arms. Relief swims through his veins as he watches her come back to life, anxiously watching as her dewy long lashes flutter open and he's caught in a lifeless deep gaze.

"Han Seo-Jun?"

It takes a long pause for him to register that the woman has said his name and then a longer moment to recognize who she is.

"Kang Su-Jin?" He replies in genuine shock, taking in the wom--young girl in his arms. She's shivering so violently that it's becoming difficult to hold onto her, vibrating out of his hold before he grips her tighter, whipping off his jacket without second thought and wrapping it around her. Goosebumps raising on his skin as his body mentally berates his lack of survival skills.

"What are you doing here?" She looks at him bewildered as if the stranger occurrence is his presence and not her own.

He squints his eyes looking back at her, "I could ask you the same thing. I found you unconscious here. I thought you were...." He trails off unable to utter the rest of his sentence.

"You should have left me here. Maybe I would have. If I was that lucky."

"What? Are you crazy, you want to die? Did you do this to yourself, what are you on?!" He roars at her, rage flooding his system as he shouts at the stupid girl, how dare she try to kill herself and leave her body for him to find? He wishes he had taken a different route, that he'd never come across her. He was in no state to comfort someone who was suicidal, still too raw and hurt. What was so hard about living that made people want to do that? Hot tears gather in his eyes as he abruptly pulls away from Sujin, unapologetic as she tumbles to the ground without his support.

She starts at him, stunned before righteous fury twists her features and she roars back at him.

"Who are you to judge me! I didn't ask you to help me, leave me alone!"

He glares back at her ready to yank his jacket away and run away from her but a small movement stops him, as she's screaming at him a small muscle twitches in her cheek bringing his attention to said cheek. It's nearly purple, standing out obscenely on her pale skin and then he notices the split lip and the bruises on her neck and he's so ashamed of himself he could bawl.

He deflates before speaking to her, "What happened to your face? Who did this to you?"

He doesn't know what kind of look he has on his face but before his questions can even settle between them she's sneering and twisting away from him, throwing his jacket on the ground before making her escape. Unprepared for her sudden departure he reacts too late, before chasing after her. It's easy to close the distance separating them with his long legs and within seconds she's merely inches in front of him, he reaches out a large hand to grab her wrist but hesitates recalling the bruises littering her frame. Instead he races past her, blocking her with his body swerving to the left and then the right when she tries to dodge him. They play this cat and mouse game before she finally gives up, glaring up at him with moist enraged eyes.

"Why do you care? We aren't even friends!"

Her piercing shout rings in his ears as he looks down at her passively. He can't answer that question, doesn't know what brought him to this area so late and not understanding why he was the one to find her in this condition. He doesn't know why he cares. But maybe things could have been different if Se-Yeon had someone to chase him. Maybe he'd still be alive...

So he answers her honestly.

"I don't want anymore people to die."

To his complete shock she starts to cry, tears falling rapidly from her eyes before she crumples to the ground, the rain pounding on her head and he stands still unsure of what to do before he drapes the jacket he'd rescued from the ground over her head, shielding her from most of the thunderous downpour. When she looks up to see the jacket protecting her, he almost falls backwards as her head slams into his chest, her tears simmering hot on his chilled body. It's almost painfully uncomfortable but he doesn't move away. Letting her cry on his chest, his shirt is soaked anyway this makes no difference.

He doesn't know how long they are crouched there on the ground, so dark that the sidewalk is completely devoid of anyone else, it feels like they are the only two people left on Earth.

"If we stay here you're going to get a cold."

He voices his concern but the only reply he receives is a gross sounding sniffle and he grimaces, knowing that his poor shirt is probably damaged beyond repair covered in snot and tears.

Sighing he starts to repeat himself before she whispers, "I don't have anywhere to go."

"I can take you home." Her fists tighten in his drenched shirt, he can practically feel the fear wafting off her, he'd assumed the marks on her face were from a possessive unhinged boyfriend but her reaction makes him uneasy. He tries to push those unpleasant thoughts to the corner.

"What about your friends? Why don't you call Su-ah or Ju-Kyung, I’m sure they’ll help you.”

She stiffens in his arms before shaking her head in decline.

"No. I can't let anyone else see me like this. I don't need them looking at me the way you did, like I'm a sad pitiful puppy. I never want anyone look at me like that again."

He can respect that, he never wants to appear weak in front of others. It was easier to become angry and lash out rather than showing your true heart, nobody could hurt you that way.

"Then what? Where do you want to go?"

"I have nowhere to go. I'll stay here until morning. I'll be fine, you can go."

He looks at her dumbfounded, what kind of man would leave a battered woman alone in the rain? He wasn't raised by animals, damn it.

"Let's go." He makes a point not to touch her, their only point of connection are her hands twisted in his shirt.

"What?"

He bulldozes past her confusion, looking at her with what he hopes are comforting eyes.

"I'm taking you to my house. I can't just leave you here."

"Are you crazy? Don't you live with your mother and sister, what will they say?"

He winces at the logical inquiry, he had already considered that himself, thinking of his mother's subsequent smacks and his sister's teasing once they learned what he'd done but still deciding that he has no other choice. He can't just leave her here.

He shrugs, "That's my problem to worry about. I'm not leaving you here, I'd really like to get out of his rain. Let's go." He repeats himself harder, pleading with her.

She looks away and he's prepared to throw her over his shoulders and face the consequences when he hears her response, "Okay. Let's go."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It's a quiet ride back, the engine rumbling through the aching bones of her frozen body. Han Seojun. The last person she ever expected to see after being roused from her panic induced collapse. Her arms tighten around his thin waist as he swerves around a car, adrenaline and fear battling for dominance in her body. When her fingers accidentally brush across wet bare skin she quickly moves her hands higher, fighting the embarrassment that washes over her.

If he notices she can't hear his reaction over the roar of the motorcycle.

When they finally pull up to a small apartment, she loosens her hold on him cracking her frozen digits.

"You didn't need to hold that tightly, I wasn't going to let anything happen to you. I ride this everyday you know."

She doesn't reply focusing on getting off the bike, swinging her leg over and hopping off not graceful but effective, a small proud smile spreads on her face before she gazes back at him.

He stares back before shaking his head, as if lost in a daze before he stomps off for her to follow.

Wordlessly she trails behind him, feeling foolish in her duck pajamas, a gift from Su-ah.

When he pushes his front door open, letting her in first she steps out of her sopping wet house slippers standing awkwardly looking around.

"Stay here. I'll get towels so we don't trail too much water."

She nods at his command, gazing at the floor and seeing how much water is already pooling around her feet.

"Here." He hands her a fluffy pink towel, she raises an eyebrow at the color.

"It's the guest towel. I wouldn't give you my towel."

That makes sense, sharing towels is far too intimate for the relationship they have. That being none.

She rapidly towels at her hair, before running the towel down her body and wrapping it around her waist.

"You can use the bathroom. It's the second door on the right. I'll bring you dry clothes."

She steps cross the doorway, finally entering his home. Before she turns back to him staring directly into his eyes, "Than.... You didn't have to do this." She loses her confidence but his answering smirk lets her know he understood enough, with that she walks to the bathroom locking herself inside.

The sight of her bruised face in the mirror makes her pause, reaching up to finger at the stark purple mark on her cheek. She's crying before she can control her emotions, tears dripping into the sink as she remembers her night, how close she was to the end despite what she said to Seojun she wanted to live. As her father stood above her ready to snuff her out like a mere nuisance in his life, she realized with a burning passion how desperately she wanted to live.

A soft knock drags her back to reality as she rapidly wipes her tears away.

"I'm leaving clothes by the door. You can come out whenever you're ready. I'm making tea."

When she hears the light steps of his feet moving away from the door she opens the door a crack, picking up the neatly folded pile of clothes. Sending the boy a mental thank you before closing the door quietly.

It's clear that these clothes belong to Seojun, draping off her body, too large for her frame, a black T-shirt with a microphone on the center and sweatpants that cover her feet as well, he'd even remembered to bring her socks. Instantly she feels her body warming as her body temperature returns to normal.

Folding her wet clothes and splashing water on her face then using the towel to rub it dry, she exits the bathroom walking towards the light she sees assuming that's the kitchen.

"The water's almost done boiling. Sit down."

His deep voice greets her as she follows his orders and takes a seat.

"Are these your clothes?"

"What? Oh yeah they're mine, sorry my sister locked her door. They're very old though, I haven't worn them in years I thought they would fit you better." He eyes her as he says the last sentence, "I guess it didn't make much of a difference I'm just too tall and manly for my own good."

She scoffs at his narcissistic comment rolling her eyes "Tall and manly my foot. You're so skinny I could probably pick you up with one arm."

He immediately turns at her comment, affronted look on his face, "Shut up! It's hard for me to put on weight, I'm not that skinny."

He places his hands on his hips, looking down at himself before puffing his chest out to make himself appear broader, it's so ridiculous that she can't control her reaction.

Sudden uncontrollable laughter.

She laughs breathlessly, folding onto her lap trying to contain her giggles but his scandalized look makes her laugh harder and she has to stuff her face in her elbow to prevent herself from waking his family.

After a few minutes of random spasms of laughter she finally peers back up at him.

He looks just like he did outside when she'd smiled after successively getting off his motorcycle.

"What? What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. I just never see you smile at school."

"Well you never do anything worth smiling about." She quips back, wondering if she'd gone too far but he doesn't reply beyond a slight smile that's gone too fast to even be titled that, he places her steaming cup of tea before her sipping at his own after blowing on it.

They drink in comfortable silence.

She's the first to rapture the silence, "I don't need pity."

"I don't pity yo--"

"But thank you. Thank you for stopping. Thank you for this, thank you."

He stares wordlessly before nodding, a slight blush on his cheeks before he hides his face in the cup of tea. She doesn't bring attention to it.

"You can sleep in my room. It's the door next to the bathroom."

Humming she looks up, fatigue hitting her like a brick at the mention of sleeping.

"Where will you sleep?"

"I have a perfectly good couch, don't argue you're sleeping in my room. That's final. It's better that my mother doesn't see a strange woman on the couch when she wakes up."

Well, she can't argue with that logic.

"Okay." Drinking the last of the soothing beverage, she stands up walking over to place the cup in the sink.

"Good night." She starts to walk back in the direction of the bathroom, seeing another door next to it. Seojun's room. Twisting the doorknob she pushes it open, before she hears his voice from behind her.

"If you need anything I'm right outside."

Blinking her tears away, she nods without looking back, too vulnerable with his palpable concern.

When she lays her head down on his pillow, his scent fills her senses and she falls into a deep restless slumber feeling safer than she has in long time.

Tomorrow will be horrible.

But tonight, she will allow herself to breath easy knowing that someone is on her side.

#true beauty #kang sujin #han seojun #sujin deserves better #redemption fic #healing each others wounds #the visuals #true beauty kdrama #slow burn

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egcdeath · 4 years

Text

a date with destiny

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: fate brings you to a... questionable man more than a few times.

warnings: lots of fluff, enemies/strangers to lovers, kind of cringe

a/n: i swear my new thing is poorly writing every played out fanfic trope on the planet, i'm so sorry guys. maybe hallmark can hire me to write a few movies for them

You definitely could’ve avoided this situation if you didn’t wait for the weekend before Christmas to go shopping for your family’s presents.

You had no idea why your time management had to be so bad, but in the midst of working way too many hours in an effort to get promoted, you had completely forgotten about the fact that Christmas was literally right around the corner. And to make it worse, you had a flight tomorrow that you’d also forgotten about.

You sulked to yourself while walking around Nordstrom, waiting for inspiration to strike you for a semi-decent gift for your mother. The whole world seemed to be out that day, and you watched a plethora of shoppers pass you by, with their sour faces and unruly children. After eventually deciding on a black winter sweater for your mom, you went on your way to the candle section, knowing exactly the brand and scent that your sister would love.

This candle was the definition of a non-negotiable for you, and had been the reason you came to a Nordstrom in the first place, and when you found it sitting on a shelf by itself in all of its glory, you had simply become transfixed.

As you walked toward the candle, you didn’t notice that another customer was going for it as well, leading both of your hands to land on the candle, the absurdity of the situation making you blush. This was just your luck.

“Oh, this is awkward,” you played off the encounter, then attempted to subtly pull the candle your way, and away from the man.

“Yeah, it kinda is.” The man whose hand was also placed on the candle said shortly, before attempting to pull the candle his way.

“Hey man, I’m kinda on a tight schedule, and I really need to get this like… right now. I have a flight in like.. An hour,” you exaggerated.

“That’s too bad, ‘cause I really need this candle too.”

You took a deep breath, only you would find yourself in this kind of situation. “To be fair, I definitely saw this candle first. I’m its rightful buyer,” You attempted.

“Mmm, I definitely had my eyes on it first, so with your logic, I deserve this candle.” The man narrowed his baby blue eyes, and put a hand on his hip.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hoping that maybe if you acted dramatic enough, he’d leave you and your candle alone.

“Sweetheart, can you even afford this kind of thing? I’m sure your friends or family, or whoever the fuck you’re getting this for, would rather you not go into debt over a candle. Just let me have it,” he responded cooly, as if he hadn’t just called you poor to your face.

You looked at him with an open-mouthed expression, completely shocked at the nerve this man had. “Fuck you, you asshole!” You attempted to yank the candle out from his grip, and you could begin to tell that the man’s resolve was beginning to fall.

“Fine. Take the damn candle. But maybe you could give me a little gift in exchange, and go out with me sometime,” he offered, slipping his now free hand into the pocket of his tan peacoat.

You were honestly shocked by this whole exchange. How did he go from insulting you and calling you poor, to asking you on a date? Men are so weird, you thought to yourself. He really isn’t that bad looking, you also considered. “Eat shit, guy,” you told him before flipping him off, and walking away.

-----

Imagine your surprise when you saw the same man from the store sitting in a local Massachusetts restaurant, with whom you assumed were his family. With your sister sitting across from you, you couldn’t help but be gossipy and point him out.

You scoffed and leaned over to your sister once you saw him, “See that guy over there?” You whispered to her, gesturing your head in his general direction.

“Which one?” she asked. “There are like five guys. Are you talking about the dude with the goatee? That old dude with the grey hair? Y/N! I didn’t know you were a grave robber!” she giggled and poked your side while you rolled your eyes, “Or, are you talking about that sexy beast in the white sweater?”

“The se- the dude in the sweater-”

“Oh yeah, he’s pretty hot. You should go talk to him,” she began to scoot out of her seat.

“No, you idiot!” You whisper shouted to her. “That guy basically attacked me in the store the other day. And then, he had the nerve to ask me out on a date!”

He must’ve felt the two of you’s stare, as he turned around and gave you a brief surprised look, then a twisted smirk.

“Oh my god, Bea, act natural,” You whispered before turning your head so fast that you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

You brought a hand up to your face and rubbed your browline in a fit of embarrassment. You looked down, then began to shovel pasta into your mouth at an ungodly fast rate.

“Oh come on, Y/N, he’s cute. What did he say to you that was so bad that you turned down his hot ass?” She asked, glancing back over at the man who was still occasionally looking over at your table.

“It’s kinda a long story. I’ll tell you later,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the heat steadily growing on your cheeks.

Beatrice shrugged, and a waiter approached your table.

“Ma’am, the man over there wanted me to give this to you,” he said before awkwardly placing a glass of white wine in front of you, along with a ripped napkin with a note and number.

We started off on the wrong foot, give me a call sometime?

Ransom

XXX-XXX-XXXX

-----

You looked at the note for so long, that it would’ve been better off being tattooed on the back of your eyelids.

“Just text him, Y/N,” your sister told you, her sentence a bit muffled by the toothbrush dangling from her mouth.

“He really seems like a dick,” you groaned, before rolling onto your back and throwing an arm over your eyes. Your sister rinsed out her mouth in the ensuite before returning with some advice.

“Well, he’s hot. Maybe you can bring him as a date to the Holiday party or something,” she stated before sitting down on the foot of your bed. “What’s the worst that could happen, Y/N? If he hurts your feelings, you can throw a hot drink at him and walk away. At best, you get a hot piece of ass to be your boyfriend.” she squeezed your calf reassuringly.

“Ugh, fine,” you huffed. “I’ll text him tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl!” Beatrice cheered, then placed a kiss on your forehead. “‘Night, Y/N,”

“Goodnight,” you mumbled before attempting to fall asleep.

-----

The funny thing about you, is that you were a master procrastinator. So after a day and a half, you’d put Ransom’s number into your phone, but had contemplated so many different opening texts, that you’d just completely given up. Besides, you had your parents’ holiday party to be attending and to be caring about.

You did some final touch ups of your makeup, before heading downstairs, and watching guests arrive from a safe spot in the kitchen.

Sometime after talking to about seven of your childhood friends, you felt a large hand press against the satin material of your short, red, tie-waisted dress.

“No way, girl I see everywhere?” The man who you know knew was Ransom, asked.

“It’s Y/N. Hi, Ransom,” you bit the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh at the absurdity of it all, the fact that he was standing in your parents’ home, the fact that he was literally everywhere you went, and because you’d never in your life been called ‘The girl I see everywhere.’

“Why didn’t you ever call me? I mean, not even a text? Also, why are you following me everywhere?” He inquired, moving to stand in front of you.

“Well, I uh.. I forgot. Sorry, I’m a super busy woman. And I also live here... sometimes.. so if anyone is following anyone else, it’s you following me,” you tried to say this confidently, but something about Ransom really threw you off your game.

“You live here? No way. Is this like your family home?” He asked, and you nodded. “So our parents have been friends this whole time, and we had no idea.” He gestured to a doorway, where your mother and his were talking with flutes of champagne in hand.

“This just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” you said quietly, mostly to yourself.

“Maybe, this is just fate. We’re meant to be together, and that’s why we keep seeing each other everywhere,” you raised an eyebrow and tilted your head when he said that to you, genuinely confused at why those words would come out of his mouth. “Oh, lighten up. I’m just kidding,” he said with a bemused smile.

“You have a weird sense of humor, Ransom.” You told him plainly, trying to act disinterested, though you were rather endeared. He definitely saw right through you, as he gave you a little grin before he began to speak again.

“So tell me about yourself.”

-----

After a few too many drinks, you were walking down the sidewalk, hand and hand with Ransom as you searched for any sort of restaurant that could be open at that hour.

Finally, you found a quaint and rather empty 24-hour diner with its lights on. The two of you sat down in a booth, and struggled to contain giggles as you sipped from mugs of stale, lukewarm coffee. Why you were giggling, you weren’t completely sure.

“You know what, Ransom, once you get over the asshole-ness, you’re not that bad,” you reached out a hand, and set it on top of Ransom’s, that was idly sitting on the table.

“Wow, thanks,” he chuckled, a dark pink dusting his cheeks.

“Why did we even come here?” You groaned, “No offense, but this coffee tastes like ass,” you whined,

“And how do you know what ass tastes like?” Ransom burst out giggling at this.

“Shut up. Are you twelve?” You pretended to be annoyed with him, before giving in and laughing along with him. “Can you take me home?” You asked with puppy dog eyes.

Apparently, one for the dramatics, Ransom tossed a $50 bill onto the table, then stood up from his seat at the booth to swoop you up in a bridal style.

“Ohhh my god,” you slurred as he carried you out the door, then eventually set you back down on the pavement once he became tired.

-----

While you walked up to your doorstep, Ransom stood on the sidewalk, watching you contentedly. As you got to your door and turned around, he gave you a big, goofy smile and a wave.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come in with me,” you invited. It was safe to say, Ransom happily obliged.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom thrombey x you #ransom thrombey x reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #knives out fanfic #fluff #hey i wrote that lol

116 notes · View notes

simp-for-mha-men · 4 years

Text

𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟 (𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕒 𝕒𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕨𝕒 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣)

Request by @hermionie-is-my-queen: Hey! Not necessarily a request, and kind of a scenario proposal: but imagine aizawa and reader adopted a cat a while back together, and the cat gets sick, or has to be put down, and it’s just some comforting fluff? Idk if this falls into the category of no angst so if it does instead maybe visiting a shelter to adopt a new kitty? Tysm anyway! Soft aizawa and soft kitties are my fav

A/N: Yes, yes, and yes! I am so in love with this whole idea. I took a little bit of inspiration from the English voice actor’s Tik Tok and from where I live for this one. School just started back up, too, so I’ll now be taking a bit longer to reply to requests. Sorry! Anyways, I really hope you enjoy it!

Genre: fluffy times with a rescue cat and your boyfriend, angst in the first half due to animal death 🌧️💜

Word count: 2.7k

♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥

It had only been a month. One month ago, you lost your precious siamese cat, Willow. Your boyfriend, Shouta Aizawa, had given her to you once you moved into your first apartment together. She was a gift that kept on giving, whether it was hairballs or purrs. She kept you company through the day while your boyfriend was teaching his students, and you both would welcome him home with kisses and cuddles every day.

Aizawa loved Willow just as much as you did. You were both the lights in his life, and without you, he would feel incomplete. After the worst days at U.A., he could come home and feel at peace due to the loves of his life. It tore him up inside that Willow was gone, but he knew the loss broke you apart even worse than it did him.

He adopted Willow when she was 11. The shelter he went to, usually just to browse, was going to put her down just because of her age. Aizawa formed a bond when he looked into her ocean blue eyes. He knew that she would be perfect not only for him but for you as well. In a matter of minutes, the adoption papers were signed and finalized. A beautiful forest green bow was placed around her neck, and she was on her way to meet the better half of her new owner. The three of you were inseparable when home. Midnight cuddles and afternoon snacks were always a favorite among your little family. Despite you and Aizawa never talking about kids in your future, you felt like Willow was your daughter. It was true perfection and bliss. Sadly, it couldn’t last forever.

When Willow turned 13, she started acting strange. She began hiding around the house more, throwing up whenever she ate, and losing an excessive amount of weight. You decided a check-up was in order, and Aizawa whole-heartedly agreed. Praying for a fluke incident was what you did, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t going to be the case no matter how much you wished it to be. Her vet told you both that she had cancer and wouldn’t live much longer. This caused your world to come spiraling down.

How someone handles the five stages of grief depends on the person. For you, Willow was absolutely fine. You were in absolute denial. Over the two years you and Aizawa raised her, she was always healthy. There was absolutely no way that she could have cancer. Healthy cats don’t get cancer, right? You went about your life with Willow as if everything was normal. Aizawa tried to knock some sense into you, but you blocked it out. A week later, a certain piece of information triggered the second stage of grief.

Aizawa told you that he would be staying home to take care of Willow with you, since she was living her final weeks. Saying you were furious would be an understatement. You took your boyfriend onto the balcony and yelled at him for 15 minutes about how Willow was completely normal. You told him that everything was fine and that she would live longer than what the vet said. Seeing you were too stubborn to change, Aizawa refused talking to you about the matter but still took those extra days off. It lasted like this another week before another trip to the vet.

Once you got home that night, you found yourself on your knees next to the bed. You were praying to whatever deity was in the sky or under the ground to save Willow. You didn’t know if bargaining with the immortal was a sane idea, but you had entered the third stage. Aizawa watched you do this every hour of the day, it seemed. He heard you muttering to yourself in your sleep, begging for Willow’s safety. None of this worked, though. Two weeks after the visit, Willow was back at the vet to be put down for good.

The last month had gone by agonizingly slow. Your boyfriend was back at work, leaving you alone to your own devices. The depression had been the longest stage. You wondered to yourself if you would ever get to the acceptance part of the five stages. Nothing you did to try and clear your mind worked. You tried to write, draw, sing, and dance, but nothing seemed successful. Most days, you were confined to your side of your shared bed, sobbing your eyes out until they looked unusually red and puffy.

Losing an animal shouldn’t hurt this much. You had a cat when you were younger, and when she was put down, you were only upset for a week before understanding it was time to move on. Why did losing Willow hurt so much. The question plagued you day and night. You racked your brain trying to figure out why this pain wouldn’t subside. Why did it sting so badly? Why did the tears keep falling?

When you were starting dinner one evening, your boyfriend came home. He seemed to be in a good mood, which was strange for someone like him. He came around, gave you a quick peck on the cheek, and leaned against the counter next to the stove.

“How was your day, babe?” you asked, mustering up as much fake happiness as possible.

You flashed your lover a quick smile, hoping it hid the pain better than you thought it did. However, you had been dating this man for 3 years. He knew you all too well. Willow’s death had affected you so much, which caused him to mull over it for longer than expected. An animal’s death was, of course, sad, but people usually got over it quickly. Why was it taking you longer?

“Are you alright?” your boyfriend questioned, placing a hand on your upper arm.

Sighing, you answered, “Of course I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

You both began a waltz to avoid each other. You stood on the opposite side of the island, setting the places on the table for the both of you to eat. Right as Aizawa met you, you sauntered off back to the stove to turn off the burner. It went on like this for much longer while your words went at each other.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“(y/n)...you’re not.”

“Just shut up, ok?”

“Listen to me...”

“SHUT UP!”

Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning struck outside. The deafening boom from the sky sounded next. In a matter of seconds, a downpour began outside and inside the apartment. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears. Aizawa froze, giving you time to finally realize why Willow’s death meant so much to you. It was right in front of you the whole time, but your ignorance caused blindness. Just as your boyfriend began to approach you, the tears and truth spilled over.

“She was like our baby,” you began. “Once I moved in with you, I was so scared that you would break up with me. Willow brought us together. No matter what had happened on a bad day, she would fix us back up. It’s like I lost a part of our relationship, Shouta.”

Aizawa was shocked to say the least. In actuality, Aizawa was completely caught off by your statement. He never knew you felt this way about Willow. He knew you had developed a close bond with the feline, but he should’ve noticed sooner the parental role you took for her. He felt like a terrible boyfriend. He felt like he should’ve found a way to keep Willow alive longer. He felt like her death was his fault.

“(y/n), I’m sorry I should’ve--”

“Meow.”

Both of you came to your senses. Did you really just hear a meow? Had Willow come out of her grave to come back to you both? Aizawa looked at you, causing your tears to stop for a moment. Another flash of lightning struck, followed by the familiar thunder. Then, you heard it again.

“Meeeeow.”

Your brain was going crazy. You were already running on endorphins due to the sudden outburst you had at your lover. Now, you felt your fight or flight responses kick in. There’s no way there was a cat at your apartment. Sure, you lived in an area where an animal could get lost, but a stray cat would never be near your complex.

“Meow.”

Taking a deep breath in, you tried to calm your nerves. Silently cursing your boyfriend’s senses, you heard him shuffling over to you. He placed his hands on your hips and kissed your forehead. Aizawa felt guilty. He knew that a cat wouldn’t be outside in this weather, especially if it was a stray. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. His guilty conscience was in full force, or maybe it wasn’t?

“Meeeeow.”

“Ok,” you said, slowly tilting your head up to meet your boyfriend’s gaze. “Please tell me you’re hearing the meowing, too.”

“It’s real?” Aizawa asked, gazing at you with confused eyes.

Shaking your head, you slithered out of his arms. Despite your mind telling you this was a bad idea, you decided to stick with your sudden plan. You were going to check outside. You didn’t know what you would find, but it was worth the risk. Wherever this cat was, you had to find it. You weren’t doing this for you, however, but for Willow.

Placing your hand on the front door knob, you unlocked it and slowly opened it just a little bit. That’s when you saw it. A beautiful tabby cat sat on your front mat, meowing to its heart’s content. It was drenched, laying against the door in search of some warmth. The poor little angel was shivering, but it looked up upon sensing your presence.

“Well, hello there,” you greeted, opening the door wider.

“Meeeeow.”

You bent down and sat on your knees, cooing the little creature forward. Taking your invitation, it sauntered over to you. Once your hand made contact with its back, the cat began rubbing its wet body all over your leg. Laughing slightly, you turned to look at Aizawa.

He was staring at you with true adoration in his eyes. He knew from the moment he met you that you were the one, but this tender moment between you and a stray cat solidified that even more. It was perfect. You were perfect. Despite the past month, he realized what this new stray would mean to you immediately. Willow sent him or her as a gift from heaven. That much had to be true. It was her way of saying that everything would be alright.

“I’ll get some food and water for the little one,” Aizawa said, walking over to first close the door.

“Make sure to get a towel first,” you replied. “I don’t want this poor baby getting sick from being to cold. Right, sweetie?”

The cat gazed at you with thankfulness in its eyes. You felt much different than you had just a few minutes ago. You were no longer sad about Willow. Instead, you were happy her pain had ended when it did, even if it wasn’t in the best way. Somehow, this little stray just happened to choose your doorstep. Your heart was starting to feel whole again. That’s how you came to a simple conclusion: this was fate. The stage of acceptance was finally in your sight.

You and Aizawa resumed your waltz around the kitchen, but this time, things were much different. It felt like the day Aizawa first brought Willow home. You immediately took on the role of the parent, watching your new friend’s every move to make sure it didn’t hurt itself. Once Aizawa brought you a towel, you sat on the couch and began drying off the cat. You discovered during this that you had found an adorable little boy, proud and frisky from his recent adventure.

Aizawa set the food and water out, luring the tabby out of your lap and to the kitchen. He lapped everything greedily, only further confirming that this was indeed a stray. Walking over to your boyfriend, you stopped once you reached his side.

“I’m sorry,” you began, lacing your fingers with his.

“Oh, don’t be,” he replied, smoothly changing the position you both were in so he could snuggle your neck. “I should’ve taken off time from work and been there for you. It was wrong of me to think our lives would go back to normal.”

“But, still..”

“(y/n)...just let me hold you.”

You did what he asked. You let him wrap his arms around you as you both watched your new boy. Unspoken between the two of you was what was going to happen with your newfound cat: you were going to keep him. Of course, he would need to pay for his shots, a proper bath, and new amenities, but that was a thing for the future. Aizawa knew you would bring it up tomorrow morning, worrying about it profusely, and you knew Aizawa would tell you to stop worrying so much, peppering your face in kisses as a distraction.

Once the cat was finished eating, he walked over and began rubbing himself against Aizawa’s leg. Realizing he needed to be warmed up, you reached down and picked him up. He clearly enjoyed being showered in attention and didn’t pull away when you both began talking to him.

“What do you think?” Aizawa questioned.

You knew what he was talking about: his name. Despite only finding this cat outside of your doorstep 20 minutes ago, you both knew this was his new forever home. The name was an important part of claiming a pet, which you made sure to educate Aizawa about before naming Willow. This, however, wasn’t a tough decision like Willow’s name.

“I was thinking Thunder,” you replied softly, gazing into your lover’s eyes.

He hummed in response, alerting you that he liked that name. You purposely chose that name due to the circumstances you found him in, but you also had an ulterior motive. You eventually wanted to get another cat and name it Lightning. Why? Easy answer: why not?

Suddenly, your boyfriend let go of your waist. Turning around, you noticed he began walking off to the bedroom. It was only 7:30, but, of course, your lover was already exhausted. That was one of the qualities you loved about him, though. He could always fall asleep easily.

“You didn’t eat dinner,” you called after him.

��I know,” he replied in a low voice, “but wouldn’t you rather fall asleep with the man you love?”

His words made you blush, but he wasn’t wrong. With Thunder in your arms and dinner long forgotten, you made your way over to your bedroom. Upon entering, you saw your boyfriend was already laying down and waiting for you to join him. You placed Thunder on the bed and went to lay down next to your lover. He placed his arms around you, making you fell safe and secure before someone interrupted you both.

Thunder began slowly crawling up to lie in between you. Chuckling, Aizawa left a little bit of room between your bodies for your new baby to curl up between you both. It felt natural. It felt like home again. It was just you, your boyfriend, and your cat. Willow, you could tell, was smiling down from heaven. You knew she could be fully at peace now knowing you were happy.

“I love you so much,” you mumbled to your boyfriend, allowing your eyes to close.

“I love you, too, kitten,” Aizawa replied, drifting off to sleep and allowing your breaths to match one another.

This was home. This was family. This was perfection for the both of you. Now, Aizawa went to bed with a single question on his mind. It was quite simple but also heavy. When was he going to place that wonderful ring on your finger?

#bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #mha imagines #mha aizawa #mha fic #mha scenarios #mha x reader #mha #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa headcanons #shoto aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa imagine #bnha aizawa

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writingfandomfeels · 4 years

Text

Santa Fe Part 5

Finale

Part 5 of the Santa Fe Series

Trigger Warning: Miscarriage Some graphic descriptions that may disturb/trigger Angst Soft Happy Ending :)

Jack’s POV

Your chest heaved in quick sporadic motions as you bawled.

“What happened?!” Jack yelled, arriving on the scene.

You were propped up leaning against several pillows in bed. Your nightgown was stained with blood and there were blood covered towels surrounding you.

“Why isn’t she at the doctor’s?!” Jack shouted.

“There was no time.” Your mother cried, approaching Jack, holding the baby.

That’s when he noticed, other than you and your mother… there was no crying. He took a step towards your mom and gasped in horror as he saw wrapped in her arms the tiny, purple and lifeless body of his daughter.

“I’m sorry Jack!” She sobbed. “There was nothing I could do! She came so quickly and was breech, I tried to move her but the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and- I’m so sorry!”

Tears began to flow freely from his eyes as he took his daughter into his arms.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to raise her. He was supposed to bring her back to New York someday to meet the guys. She was supposed to outlive him. How could this happen? This was his dream! Everything was falling into place! And suddenly, the dream was gone.

Your POV

The house had been a melancholy cavern of silence since that day. Every attempt Jack made at reaching out to you, you pulled away. You’d grown cold and distant. It was the only way you knew how to manage the immense grief. Coming in from another long day working the fields, Jack found you packing your suitcase.

“What are you doin’?” He asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

“I’m going back to Manhattan.” You stated.

“What?” The word hardly made it out of his mouth.

“I just… I can’t stay here anymore. It was hard enough when we had her with us and now-”

“She has a name.” Jack muttered angrily under his breath.

“I know.” You continued to pack, your volume slowly increasing as you continued your response. “I know you named her even though I didn’t want to. And I know somehow that seems to comfort you but it doesn’t me, okay?!” You looked up from your suitcase and stared as he stood in the bedroom doorway. “Dammit Jack, can’t you understand?! I just want to forget it all. She’s gone! She’s gone and it’s like she never even happened! Gosh I wish it never happened.”

“You mean you wish it was different.” Jack corrected you.

You ignored him for your packing.

“Right?” He pried, stepping closer to you. “She was ours. She existed because we love each other.” He sat on the bed. “We love each other… don’t we?” Looking up at you, Jack’s scared eyes searched yours as he waited for your answer, his heart thumping loudly in his chest as he waited for the next part of his life to come crashing down.

Returning his stare, you tried to bring yourself to answer him. “I don’t know anymore. Hell, I don’t even know who I am anymore.” You turned away from him and threw your arms in the air. “I used to have goals Jack. And dreams.”

“So did I! And they was all comin’ true for a while there. I know we’re still grievin’ but, don’t you think with a bit a time, maybe we have another baby and things could get back to how they was before?”

“‘How they was before’?” You quoted. “Jack things were never good even before she died!” You huffed. “Look, I didn’t want to tell you then because you were so happy, but nothing was ever as good as you thought it was.”

“Whadda’ya mean?” Jack asked cautiously.

“My parents hated you, the entire town gossiped behind your back, and I was completely miserable!”

Jack stared a second at you as he processed this new information. “Okay… well they ain’t like that now! Your parents warmed up and, hey I think after that mural I did for the mayor the town’s comin’ ‘round to me now too. It ain’t so bad Y/N!”

“Maybe not for you but I’m still unhappy.” You stated.

He didn’t have a response for that.

You finished packing the last items then closed your suitcase. Jack stood from the bed.

“I have no reason to be here anymore. I’m sorry.” You apologized, moving past him. “I’ve gotta catch my train.”

***

Years later, after singing all over the country with your own show, you found yourself back in Santa Fe for a visit. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the quiet cemetery. You walked with your head down and flowers in hand until you reached the grave, surprised to find someone else there too. Turning from facing the grave, he looked at you.

“You’s lost doll?”

You smiled at Jack and shook your head. Setting the flowers on the ground, you then stood next to him as you both stared at the headstone.

Faye Kelly.

“She would have been ten years old today.” You said, though you knew he was aware.

He nodded his head.

“I never did ask why you chose that name.” You paused. “At the time I really didn’t care. I’m sorry for that.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jack turned to face you now. “She was the embodiment of dreams. She was Santa Fe.”

A tear threatened to roll down your cheek. You turned away from him and resumed your gaze to the headstone and flowers. Your eyes traced the lettering of her name in the stone. Needing him, for just a moment, you let your hand gently reach for his and squeeze it before letting go. Without hesitating, Jack brought his hand to hold yours again. A sigh escaped your lungs. And you stood in silence like that for a while.

“I heard you made it big in showbusiness.”

“I heard you’re still working with my parents.”

“Yeah, the farm’s been great. Your old man’s been gettin’ more tired though. Started sayin’ things like I gotta get ready to take over.” He chuckled as if it would never happen but based off the letters from your parents, you knew it would.

“I’m uhh… gonna be in town a while.” You said.

“Yeah?” Jack looked at you again, still holding your hand. “Maybe we should get lunch or somethin’ and catch up more.”

You smiled, fully aware that if you agreed you would be committing to more than just lunch. “I’d like that.”

After all this time and everything that had happened, you were ready to start over with Jack. Holding his hand felt more familiar than coming home. And you realized that sometimes dreams change from a place or a job to a person.

#jack kelly x reader #my writing

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dottie-wan-kenobi · 4 years

Text

what's beyond compare, a zutara fic, chapter I.

read the prologue on AO3

---

Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation was born in the fall, as afternoon turned to night, screaming until he was red. A bad sign, his father said with disgust.

His mother brushed his short, dark hair away from his teary face. She could sense there was something about this child that was different. Scared for her baby, she didn’t tell the Sages about it when they came. But there was no hiding it from her brother-in-law, who held him in his arms and said, grave and regretful, “The spirits have not blessed this boy.”

“Is he cursed?” Ursa whispered, eyes wet as she reached for her son. Ozai had wanted to kill him, and revulsion had raised inside of her like never before. But if Zuko was cursed, then… she would protect him however she could. Even if that meant doing the worst.

“I cannot say for sure,” Iroh replied, laying Zuko gently back into her arms. “But I don’t think so. We will have to wait and see.”

Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, daughter of Kya and Hakoda, was born in the spring, so late at night it was early. The elders blessed her and Kya both as they laid in a mess of furs, her brother Sokka watching the proceedings anxiously. He stayed close to his dad as the rest of the tribe came to praise Kya and offer congratulations to the whole family. Bato chuffed Sokka’s chin and Sokka laughed, too young to realize it but all the same, relieved that that hadn’t changed like so much else had that day.

It was Kanna who first saw that Katara was different, feeling a resistance when she asked the spirits to protect and spare the little girl. When the other elders tried, there was the same sensation—a silence where there should have been a wolf’s howl, a stillness where there should have been wind.

“What does it mean for her?” Kya asked, clutching Katara to her chest. Hakoda sat beside her, his arms around her shoulder and Sokka’s stomach, holding him close on his lap. Sokka’s birth, unlike Katara’s, had been difficult, but there’d been no spiritual issues. He’d been blessed and Hakoda’s father, the now-passed Chief Betadi, had proclaimed him to have the support of many behind him. What did it mean that one child was overly protected by the spirits, and one child was completely ignored?

“I’m not sure. We can only hope that someday they will notice her.” Kanna didn’t look down while she delivered the bad news; they deserved more than that. Nevertheless, they all knew that this would be unlikely. To not be blessed was a death sentence in the Water Tribes.

Kya didn’t cry, though Hakoda did have to wipe his eyes. Sokka didn’t understand what was going on, but hugged his father anyway. Baby Katara snored slightly in her mother’s arms, unconcerned with the matters of the spirits.

The three adults came together later that night. Their only hope was that if she stayed close to her brother, his luck would protect her as well. It wasn’t much to hang their faith on, but it would have to be enough.

Zuko had an imaginary friend, growing up. He never shared much about them with his family, not even Ursa, but that was in part because he didn’t know how to explain. He knew his friend was real, and yet not at the same time. He saw them in all different ways, most often a man in blue, but other times as a woman in yellow or red, or a young man in green. No matter how they looked, he could always tell it was them, a spark in his very soul that said this person was the one.

The friend had many names, and they existed on the edge of his tongue, never to be said, never to be remembered. But that was okay, he thought. As long as they were there with him, it was all okay.

Secretly, just to himself, he thought of them as his love. It only felt right.

His dreams were haunted by dangers unseen. He woke to midnight storms during the rainy seasons, screaming and shivering. When Uncle brought him to pray to the spirits, he felt stalked, a confusing tangle of emotions roiling in his belly.

Uncle and Mother always wanted to know how he felt when he prayed. Azula said, “Bored.” Zuko didn’t want to say that he was angry and longing for something he didn’t even know, didn’t even understand, so he said, “Yeah. Bored,” instead.

Mother looked troubled by this answer, but quickly hid the expression in order to ask Lu Ten the same. As his cousin talked, Zuko allowed himself to wonder what Azula really felt. If it was as complicated as his own experiences. He resolved to ask Mother about it, next time they went. Maybe she would know why the spirits never talked back to him.

He never got the chance— Uncle and Lu Ten went to battle soon after. Mother stopped taking them to pray after their cousin died, and it wasn’t very long after that that she was gone too.

Katara was ten when she realized that the spirits were cruel.

She was in the communal igloo, Sokka wrapped around her, both of their cheeks wet with tears that never ended. Some of the tribe—what was left of it—was inside as well, but they were given space to grieve their brave, brave mother.

Katara had grown up with nightmares. Nightmares of darkness and pain, or distant unease that made everything suspect, or the freeze-burn feeling that she was missing something, someone, important to her. One dream had seen Katara counting her family members; Gran-Gran, Dad, Mom, and yes there was Sokka, and there was—there was—

A shadow. A gut feeling. An empty space where there shouldn’t have been one.

Mom had held her as she cried, rocking her back and forth. They all said she’d been crying that her love was gone.

It was the only comparable feeling that she had, the only other loss that Katara knew. This was so much more immediate, her whole being flushed and freezing, a terrible wail building in her throat. But if she cried, Mom wouldn’t be there to hold her and comfort her. She’d never be there again, not for anything.

“What?” Sokka whispered when Katara broke down into loud, gulping sobs. She told him between gasps for breath, and his eyes welled, but he tried to keep his tears in. She didn’t bother with that, knowing that there was no stopping this flood. She would have to be strong now, but not tonight. Not tonight.

One day early in his exile, Zuko’s ship was at a port in the south of the Earth Kingdom. He looked out across the lands, feeling an odd tugging in his chest. He almost wanted to—go inland. There was something out there that he needed to run towards, to get back to. A strong urge gripped him—he took a step and then another towards the prow. He needed to find someone, or a place maybe. An image of a cave conjured in his mind unbidden.

Wait. What am I thinking? There was no reason for him to go any further into the Earth Kingdom. There was no one there, and there was no place calling out to him. He was just being ridiculous.

He scowled as he tried to forget about it, turning his back on the lush lands.

Uncle watched him closely. He didn’t have to do more than take a sip of his tea to convey a question: What’s on your mind, Prince Zuko?

He spoke without thinking, unaware of what he was saying or what it meant. “Uncle, have you ever heard of a spirit splitting in half?” They both blinked in surprise at the question, and Zuko scowled again, furious with himself. “Nevermind. Now, when the men get back—”

“Once,” Uncle said, instantly halting Zuko’s words. He looked off over Zuko’s shoulder as if in thought, and dropped into his storytelling voice, low and impactful. “There was an earth spirit, at the beginning of everything. We remember the names of Agni, Tui, and La, but hers has become lost over the many generations. Some just call her ‘Mother’. She loved the lands, the mountains and volcanoes and everything in between, but most of all, she loved the sky. Every day and every night, she would gaze at the clouds and the stars with adoration. There was a part of her which was wild and wished to be free in the way the sky was. But she was the earth spirit, and she could not leave her beloved ground even if she wanted to.”

“When did she split her soul?” He asked impatiently, not wanting anyone to think he was enjoying the story. He wasn’t. It was boring and unnecessary. He didn’t even really want to know about spirits—he never had. Especially after all that had happened, he had no desire to do learn more… except that the urge to go inland had quieted, turning itself to the story, begging him to listen.

“Ah, ah, Prince Zuko. We aren’t there yet. Now, as I was saying. She didn’t want to leave the lands behind. The rolling hills, the forests, even the ice at the poles were her pride and joy. The other spirits were very impressed by the beauty they saw. But there were humans in these early times, and one day, there was an accident. A man had stoked a fire so he might feed his partner a delicious meal. Some say the partner was clumsy, while others say he was simply expressive. In any case, the partner fell into the fire and burned.”

“Is there a point to this?!” Zuko demanded, his skin crawling at the thought. He ignored the tiny voice in the back of his mind which said, expressive, not clumsy. Never clumsy.

As if he hadn’t been interrupted, Iroh went on. “The man was devastated. His grief was legendary, but that is a story for another time. What you must know for this tale is that the man buried his partner. It was his way of protecting him even in death, and it gave him a space to mourn him and feel close, because he was. There was only the ground between them. The earth spirit was used to humans dying, of course. But no dead had ever been buried before. Often, they were sent to float on the waves of La or were taken care of in some other way. She was shocked to sense him encased in her element, shocked and quite upset, and went to the grave to see for herself.

“The man was there. No one ever encroached on his moments with his departed beloved, and so he ordered her away. She came and sat beside him anyway, and said nothing as the man pleaded for her to leave. He broke down eventually, his tears falling into the dirt beneath them.”

Zuko was horrified to find his throat was tight. Other sailors around them had stopped to listen—what if they saw emotion on his face? What would they think? He could not be weak! Clenching his teeth as tightly as he could, he told himself very firmly to stop it. It was just some folk’s tale.

(There was another name on the tip of his tongue, begging to be said. He could imagine a field with a tree, a perfect resting spot for a perfect man. My fault, my fault. I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.)

“’Who was he to you?’ she asked the man. The story of their love spilled from him haltingly. ‘We were soulmates,’ he told the earth spirit. ‘He was half of me, and all of me.’ They spoke for a long time, sitting over the grave. Eventually, however, the earth spirit was called away to where the land was soft and fertile and in need of shaping. She willed the ground to sprout trees, a jungle of them, and wondered if she had a half of herself. Of course, she thought of the sky. Part of her was always thinking of the freedom she saw there. And after many days of deliberating, after many days of sitting with the grieving man, she decided she had to try to reach the vast openness above her.”

“Did she jump?” Corporal Okada asked, honestly enthralled with the story the general was telling. Several other sailors laughed, but Zuko rolled his eyes.

“Of course she didn’t,” he snapped. “She split her soul.”

“Yes,” Uncle agreed, much more agreeably. “She believed that as long as part of her was on the ground, and the other part was touching it, she could have the best of both worlds.”

“And?” Several people asked at once. “Could she?”

“Some of her days were wonderful indeed. She could ride the winds and create deserts and all was well. But there were other days, where the winds exhausted her and she longed to be on solid ground once again. The closest she could get was to ruffle the grass, but she could not sit, and the half of her that existed in the sky could no longer sense the earth, just as the part of her on the earth could not sense the sky. In the end, I do not believe she regretted her choice, but we can never know for sure. She disappeared some centuries ago now.” He shook his head sadly.

The crew and the two princes were quiet for a few moments, thinking this over. Then, one of the men asked, “What was the story about the man’s grief?”

Before Uncle could reply, Zuko turned sharply. “GET BACK TO WORK!”

(He didn’t want to hear about grief. Even more than shame and dishonor, it haunted him at night. Storms still scared him like a child. Uncle would come to keep him company on the worst nights, and never asked why Zuko got so twitchy, murmuring “It��s not time yet, it’s not time yet…” without even realizing he was doing so.)

One of the first things Aang said to Katara as they made their way back to the village was, “Whoa… do you feel that?”

“What?” She asked, caught between annoyance at Sokka (could he stop complaining for five seconds?) and all the excitement of the day. “Feel what?”

“…that,” Aang said, making a fist over his heart. Seeing her face—surely making some confused but encouraging expression—he shrugged. “It’s like a tug pulling me that-a-way.” He pointed in the opposite direction of the village, but Katara didn’t know anything past the ice fields. “But it’s weird… I feel it to you too.”

Katara couldn’t answer at that moment, Sokka interrupting them to complain that Appa wasn’t flying. Again.

There was a moment, between when they got back and when Aang woke up, that she allowed herself to think of it again. Rubbing her chest over her heart, she closed her eyes and focused on it. Did she feel anything? There was some faint sensation there, she realized, and dug for it, grasping onto it with both hands. Bringing it to the light made her realize—though it was invisble, it spun her around and pointed toward the tent which held the young air bender. When he woke up, she could tell him she felt it too!

She was just about to open her eyes when something else caught her attention. A shadow. A gut feeling. An empty space where there shouldn’t have been one. Frowning, she followed that line in a mind full of snow, and imagined herself at the edge of the ice, looking out onto the water.

Not too far, she thought, totally nonsensically. Almost here. They’re almost here.

What? She tried to imagine herself walking away from the edge, and she could see a path on the ground that lead to the tent. She took a few steps before turning back again. The sun dipped low on the horizon in this vision. She thought she could make out a shape in front of the bright ball of flame, far away but definitely there.

Find me.

Opening her eyes, she scowled and tried to shake the weird daydream away. But her heart was singing under her fist.

Find me.

(Katara hated the color red. What was it good for, anyway? Red cheeks when you were embarrassed. Red fingers when you were too cold, before it got bad. Red blood spilled on the ice. Red armor killing innocent people. Red armor killing her mother. Red armor hurting her brother and her Gran-Gran.

Red scar slanting an eye that she couldn’t look away from.

She forgot about the paths in her mind, forgot to wonder who or what those weird thoughts had been about until they were in the air. Feeling the wind ruffle through her hair, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine them again. There was the invisble pull towards Aang, but the other one had slipped too far away. Furrowing her brow, she tried to find it again, only for that stupid fire bender’s stupid red scar to flash in her mind.

Disgusted with herself, she shook her head like it would make her forget, but of course, it didn’t work.)

(Blue. It was a color Zuko wasn’t supposed to like, and so he didn’t. He didn’t like green or brown or yellow either. Peasant colors, Azula said. But there was something about blue that called to him, that warmed his chest at the same time it twisted in his gut.

The Water Tribe peasants all wore blue, and purple and white too. But there was something about the girl who stood there with the old woman, who stood up to him, that caught his attention.

He still didn’t like blue. But even after she and her dunce brother attacked his ship, he found himself thinking about it, the specific shades and how they’d looked on the ice and on his ship.

Gods, but did he make himself sick.)

#zutara #zutara fic #zuko x katara #katara x zuko #atla fic #atla #zuko #katara #my writing

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rrickgrrimes8 · 4 years

Text

Normality is Death

Chapter Six ~ The Graves

masterlist

"I thought I had lost you, you know?" Jacey whispers breaking the eerie silence between the two, she knew that Addie was mad at her but at least arguing would be better than the deafening quiet, "I thought I'd never see you again."

Addie looked at her and sighed not saying a word, "It felt like my whole world came crashing down when I saw them take you away from me. I know we're not on good terms at the moment but I can never lose you, no matter what." She looked to her again feeling an intense urge to kiss her. "I-I sat there for hours, just waiting. Waiting for you to just appear like you would and be okay. But after a while I feared you never would," Jacey smiled, "but I guess you never seemed to disappoint."

Addie smiled at this looking deeply at the girl's piercing blue eyes, "Why didn't you go with them, Jacey? They are your family after all." "You know why," She mumbled distantly as they wandered through the trail edging closer back to their home. "No, I don't. And even if I did I couldn't understand what would be so important you could throw them away," Upon seeing that Jacey continued to walk away Addie grabbed her hand softly, "Talk to me, love."

"Don't call me that, Addie. You made it more than clear that you want nothing to do with me," She spat bitterly. Addie stepped back, cowering away from the girl. She wanted to be angry that Jacey had said that to her but Addie had to admit that she was right although she didn't mean a word Jacey had said to her. "I'm sorry, Jacey," Addie mumbled attempting to meet her eyes but finding that that was the last thing she wanted. "Then why did you do it?" before Addie could answer an unmistakable scream sounded from across the hill, from if Addie's mapping skills were anything to go by was her families camp.

With a unique sense of urgency that came all to familiar to Addie, she released Jacey's hand and before she could stop herself said, "That's the way to their camp." The 'their' in question quickly resonated in Jacey's mind as her father's camp. Pouncing with her right foot forward in the direction of the chaos, Jacey gripped her bag tightly, offering no farewell for the girl she felt so strongly for.

"Go back to camp, tell Mitchell where I am," She ordered her. Addie shouted back to her as Jacey was running further and further away by each moment that progressed, "Be careful, Grimes. I love you." Jacey turned her head slightly offering an acute smile, "Stop acting like your never going to see me again," Addie sighed, "Oh and I love you too!" Jacey soon disappeared off into the opposite direction leaving Addie to walk towards her home, content with everything.

Jacey turned the corner unravelling the scene laid out in front of her. She passed a bloodied tent overflowed with biters and gulped just knowing that there had to have been a person inside there - she just hoped it wasn't her family.

The brunette snuck into the camp, eyeing a body lying hopelessly on the floor blood spewing out of her many wounds, a young blonde girl, older then Jacey but still young enough for someone to be angry at this world for doing it to her. Sat beside her was another blonde, Jacey pointed out to herself the similarities between them and assumed that they were siblings, which made her feel even worse. Drawing her attention away from the two girls was the screams of a little girl, she was blonde too - they haven't got a shortage of blondes in this camp do they she thought to herself suppressing a smile. She approached the girl quickly realising the familiarity of which that she had met her that night before she was left, the child of the nice lady with the cookies.

Jacey grabbed her hand pulling her away from the dead that was clambering after her, "Hey it's okay just follow me okay?" The child looks at her confused about who she was and where she came from but nodded and let her pull her along and towards the RV. "Sophia! Sophia! Please, baby, where are you?!" Jacey heard and searched trying to match the voice to a face. She soon did as did the girl, Sophia, and barrelled towards her. "Oh my baby, my baby," the short-haired cookie lady wrapped her dainty arms around the girl sweeping her off her feet before turning to her daughter's saviour, "You're..." Jacey didn't let the woman finish before ushing her towards the RV where she noticed most of the group was congregated, "Go, you'll be safe with them." And without a word, Jacey crept away grabbing her machete from her belt and planting it into the skull of one of the many biters that roamed the area. She watched the mother and daughter return to their group, the mother's mouth ajar and shocked to see the girl, who everyone was so adamant was dead.

Not long after the young girl, still in search of her long lost family, stumbled upon the familiar face of her mother. She was being cornered by one of those things as was Carl who had his tiny arms curled around her torso. Jacey stalked behind the biter undetected by all of them and unleashed her strength through her weapon, slicing through the monsters head. Lori watched in shock holding Carl to her chest even tighter, not letting him watch as the walker split in two, uncovering her dead daughter.

"J-Jacey," The woman cries inaudibly. Carl closes his eyes tighter thinking that perhaps his sister was one of the dead overthrowing his home. "Go to the RV, find dad and Shane," The woman remained unmoving paralysed by the idea her daughter was alive and breathing in front of her, "Now!"

Lori jumped at her tone and thought about lecturing her about it right then and there but soon realised it was an inappropriate scene. "And do me a favour, mom?" She nodded, "Don't tell dad." Lori didn't wait for an explanation before nodding and grabbing ahold of Carl's arm attempting to pull him away but felt that his feet were grounded into the dirt, "Carl, baby lets go," she pleaded, eyeing the nearing walkers. "No, I don't want to leave her! I don't want her to go again!" Carl sobbed trying to claw his way out of his mother's grip. Jacey looked at her little brother, getting the feeling that haunts her on most nights, the feeling of pure unimaginable grief.

No words were spoken between the family, except for Carl's cries, as Lori pulled him away and towards the rest of the group. The older woman turned the corner getting greeted by her concerned husband, "Lori! Carl! Thank god." Lori remained wordless still holding her wailing son, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" She shook her head looking back in the direction she came from and then back to Rick. "Mom t-take me back please," Carl shrieked once again. Rick looked to his son confused as to why he was in such a state but was interrupted as Shane and the others returned guns blazing. Shane made eye contact with him and threw him his Colt Python, Rick catching without any difficulty, trying to ignore the look of guilt Shane's eyes held, that matched the ones in his wife's.

Shaking off the feeling, Rick reloaded his gun and started to fire at the dead hitting them straight on target every time, while Shane marched towards the distressed mother and son. "J-Jacey," Lori began catching Shane's attention immediately, "S-she was here." Shane could almost smile if not for the complete and utter anarchy that was happening around him - she came back to her family just like he knew she would. "I know, Lori but right now you need to get Carl inside he's drawing more of them over here, alright?" Despite Lori's shock at his response, she nodded and pulled Carl into the vehicle.

Catching up to Rick quickly, the two police officers fought against the monster's, side by side, Shane looking thoroughly for any sight of his godchild. Jacey watched from a distance firing off perfectly positioned bullets to the attackers, careful not to misfire on any humans. She observed her father closely unable to hide the excitement she felt knowing he was, in fact, alive. The excitement, however, didn't stop the fear of how he would react to her coming back and worry about what she would do afterwards, whether to stay with her family or reunite with Addie.

Anxiety coursed through her veins as she exited out of the woods and into the main part of the camp casually searching for any more biters. Rick along with Glenn and Shane finished off the remaining walkers attempting to catch their breath as they did. Glenn couldn't help but to send cautious glances to Rick wondering if he knew yet or if he was to ever find out. Rick noticed this, however, and asked, "You okay, Glenn?" "F-fine," He stuttered, unable to meet his eyes. The officer merely nodded in confusion and walked over to the RV where everyone had come back out. Andrea remained on the floor cradling the dying body of her sister that would soon turn, while everyone shot looks of pity at her.

As Rick approached he was surprised to see Carl had calmed down finally and was sitting silently next to his mother. The younger boy looked up at the sound of footsteps and ran to meet his father, "Dad!" Rick caught him bringing him into a much-needed hug, "I saw her dad. She's here." He looked down at his child disoriented, "Who is bud?" "J-" "No one, Rick, ignore him. He's just tired," Lori intervened earning a doubtful glance from Rick.

"No you're lying she was there. Mom you saw her too I know you did!" He snapped the anger overcoming him, he just wanted his sister back. "Hey, it's okay, Carl. Who was here?" He crouched down to his son, ignoring the lingering presence of his wife. "Jac-" He attempted but was interrupted by a hoarse voice shouting, "Walker!" Rick stood up straight and snapped around to the voice. Stood merely 10 feet from the group was a limping, grotesque walker ready to kill them all. The man brought his revolver out of his holster and aimed it straight ahead, ready to pull the trigger.

But before he could do so a gunshot cut him off, which penetrated through the walkers' skull adequately. Rick kept his gun up unsure of where the gunshot came from and who shot it as did the other armed people in the camp. The corpse fell to the ground slowly uncovering the small frame of a 14-year-old girl. "Jacey!" Carl roared, pushing past everyone and throwing himself into his sister's arms, almost knocking them both down. "J-Jacey," Rick whispered dropping his gun carelessly before sprinting towards the girl much as Carl did moments before. The man stopped a few feet in front of her examining her hoping this wasn't just a figment of his imagination caused by the trauma and exhaustion from the attack.

"Daddy?" she sniffled, letting the tears fall from her bright blue eyes. "Angel," the father said, before enveloping her into a tight embrace. The girl clung to her father, crying into his chest as he did the same into her hair, while Carl continued to hug the two.

"You're here, you're alive. They said you died," He pulled back slightly, still keeping her in his arms, looking over at Shane and Lori who wore a look of gut-wrenching guilt. "They thought I had and I mean I gave them enough reason for them to come to that conclusion," she smiled looking over her father's shoulder at the man who had saved her so many times, to which he happily returned. "Where have you been?" "That's not important for now we need to make sure everyone's okay," Rick looked at his daughter looking past the blood and mud that caked her face and into her eyes that seemed so aged since he last saw her, too old for someone her age.

"She's right," Shane spoke from behind him, "We've got to clean this place up if we're thinking of surviving another night." Others nodded at his statement as Rick brought his two children back to the RV. He smiled to himself happily at the idea of two children and finally getting his angel back.

"Amy. I don't know what to do, Amy. Oh, Amy. Oh no no," Andrea sobbed into the crook of her neck as she saw the lack of gargled breaths Amy was taking. One of the blondes, Amy, looked to her sister, crying harshly, and brought her frail hand to her cheek as if saying goodbye without the words and shut her eyes taking her final rest. "Amy! Amy! Amy!" Andrea wailed shaking the now dead body of her sister. Carl gripped onto Jacey's hand whimpering softly at the death of his friend.

Jacey looked down to the boy before wrapping her arms around him kissing his forehead gently, "It's okay, squirt," she looked around the group of traumatised faces, "everything's going to be okay."

"I remember my dream now," An older, pale man said to the group, "why I dug the holes."

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