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genshin-impacted · 4 years ago

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lost & found // Diluc x Reader (1/3)

Word Count: ~3.3k

Notes: GN!Reader, Seelie!Reader, Diluc/Reader, what more can I say? You’re a cute seelie following Diluc around

Summary: Vaguely remembering the time when you were once human, you are a mini seelie roaming the outskirts of Mondstadt when you find Diluc and decide to follow him-- though he does his share of following you too, through the best and worst of your adventures together.

“You’re more of a radar for trouble than treasure, aren’t you,” Diluc says rather than asks you, though his fondness is clear to see. You can only do a bashful swirl in response.

Alternatively: As a seelie, you’re terrible at leading Diluc towards treasure without running into hoards of hilichurls or enemies alike, but he follows you anyways.

[Part 2]

You are a seelie.

You aren’t quite sure what that is, but you know for a fact that the wispy reflection that you see in the lake is you. No hands, no legs, no head, no heart-- though you remember when you had all that before. You can feel yourself breathe, but you also know you would be fine without it. You touch the water and vaguely feel its coolness and register that it is wet, but you aren't sure what is touching the water or how you know what it feels like.

You are able to fly. You rise, and you fall, and you twirl in midair, and you know you have never been able to do this until now. "This is nice," you find yourself saying, but your voice comes out garbled and high, so you stop. You suppose losing your speech is the price to pay for the power of flight.

You don't know how long you wandered until you find something familiar to you. In a land of slimes, aggressive flowers, and crystalized butterflies, it's hard for you to take everything in at once. But you can recognize a human when you see one. (It would be difficult not to. You were once human, too, if you can remember.)

The human is strikingly distinct as far as humans go. With bright red hair, the man in black leans against the tree by the lakeside and watches the water lap up against the short cliff. You don't make snap judgments, not usually, but when you see the man in black, you can't help that your first thoughts are that he looks lonely.

You float to him steadily from what you hope is outside of his sight, curious enough to approach and observe what you can of him without being seen.

Except, the moment you fly near him, he looks directly at you. (Apparently, you glow, if the light that you shine on his face is not enough of an indicator of your bioluminescence.)

You freeze in mid-air, or as much as you can as a globby orb of light. You wait with bated breath as he watches you as intently as you watched him, and you take a glimpse at what your light has allowed you to see: bright red eyes to match his hair. (You've never seen so much red on a person. And red-red too, not just the orange-y red you've seen people with.)

Not knowing what else to do, you decide to do a somersault. (You think if you were still a human, you’d attempt to crack a joke or start a conversation to break the ice, but alas.)

You expect him to start doing something-- anything. But the man continues to look at you, though with less of a guarded expression and more of a curious one instead.

You almost feel offended by the strange look he gives you, but then you see his lips uplift into a small smile and you forgive him. For good measure, you twirl in the air and, when he simply follows you with his eyes, you circle around his head like a halo.

"You're a different type of seelie, aren't you?" He says, his arms still crossed when you fly down to smush your face against the red gem at his collar and the Vision at his waist. You loop around his legs and try to lift his fur-lined coattails, only for him to lift it up himself and shoot you a raised brow. "Did you want me to follow you?"

Follow you? You wonder, why would he want to follow you? You don't think you have anywhere to be, let alone anywhere to lead him to.

Now how to convey that to him…

The red-head watches you as you shake yourself side-to-side in what you hope looked like the shake of a head. "Ah… That's a no, then. I see," he says. He chuckles when you chirp in joy, looping up again.

He pushes himself off the tree and walks on the path, toward the mansion in the distance. You follow closely behind him. A few steps in, he turns to you-- and you almost feel bashful enough to droop in height.

"Are you following me on purpose?" He asks.

You swirl up and eagerly bob your head. You wish you could ask, but the only thing you can do is trill-- which seems to do the trick when you hear the man huff in amusement before beginning to walk again. "Well, hurry up then," he says, and you chirp once before speeding up to catch to him in record-speed flying.

(If you accidentally crash into his back at your eagerness, you think the shake of his shoulders in his laughter is only good signs of the beginning of a friendship.)

You hope the man you’ve decided to follow doesn't mind that all you can do is trill and twirl in the air. You make for a poor partner in conversation, considering you cannot supply the words to respond, but you think he at least finds you amusing at least if the small smile on his face is anything of note. You think he looks rather charming like that, as opposed to his straight-faced somberness when he was alone. Very mysterious, you think to yourself, must be popular.

When you follow him and see groves of grapevines and a mansion of formidable size, you think perhaps his rugged handsomeness and broodingly mysterious nature aren’t his only charm points.

(You wonder if you can eat. You press where you think your mouth should be onto a bunch of grapes only to be disappointed by a lack of action.

"What are you doing?" The man's voice calls out to you, amusement laced into his words. You turn around and speed back to him, feigning innocence.)

The two of you enter the confines of Dawn Winery-- or so you read from a sign. You watch curiously as your mysterious man waves his hand in greeting when a few maids bow respectfully and follow him into the back where a man waits by a wheelbarrow.

"Master Diluc," the man says, and you are elated to finally put a name to a face you've followed for a while now. The winery employee looks past him at you, and you instinctively hedge closer to Diluc, almost hiding behind his hair. "Is that… a seelie?"

"So it seems," Diluc replies, crossing his arms. He takes a look at you. "Though it has yet to guide me anywhere."

You let out an extended squeak of indignance that makes him laugh, uncrossing his arms before he turns back to the worker at hand to discuss business.

You'll show him, you think huffily. You can guide him somewhere-- it's in your bones (metaphorically). You found him, didn't you? You reason, surely there is something innately Seelie about you that will lead him somewhere.

Most seelies, as you have learned from watching Diluc follow the larger blue seelies, guide people to a treasure chest or some kind of monetary reward for leading them back to their seelie courts. You wonder if they are programmed to know where they are supposed to go and if there is a natural pull to a certain place. You wonder if it's anything like your wandering curiosity similar to that of a child, hoping to see what lies ahead and barreling forth.

Either way, you take the lead and Diluc follows you out into Teyvat.

And he follows you right into enemy territory.

The first time feels like an accident, and after Diluc destroys the encampment, he finds a box of artifacts as a reward for his battle prowess. (You've never seen so much burnt grass.) The second time you guide him into enemy territory feels like a coincidence. They were next to each other, and hey, Diluc is able to find an exquisite chest this time filled to the brim with mora.

The third time around, it is hard to argue otherwise.

"You're more of a radar for trouble than treasure, aren't you," Diluc comments, settling down onto a log as you (metaphorically) bury your head into your hands. To convey such emotion as a seelie, you droop to the ground as flat as you could possibly be at his feet.

"I'm kidding," he says, watching with quipped lips as you rise from the ground moodily. "We did get some treasure out of it, so it wasn't a total loss." He reaches out with his hand to gently brush over your front as he would a cat-- and you react as a cat would, preening into his hand. He lets out a huff of laughter. "Affectionate, aren't you?"

You do a bashful swirl.

You realize soon enough that most people would not call Diluc private or stoic. Charming, a man with a way with his words, succinct, and pleasant are only a few things you've heard people say about him. And you were right-- he is a popular man if the eyes that follow him and the dreamy sighs that come after he leaves is of any indication.

The mysteriously cool Diluc you meet on the first day is vastly different from the man that everyone else interacts with on a day to day basis. He's not charming all the time, but he has a way about him that exudes confidence and almost an elitist composure. In some ways, you are glad-- you don't have to hide away behind his collar or in his hair (you still do this, if you're honest, just because his hair is so fluffy), afraid to mar his pristine reputation as a local bad boy. And in other ways, you are a bit smug, to know a side of Diluc that he shows to very few people.

Kaeya is one of those few people you have seen Diluc act anything less than amicable towards.

"I was hoping one day you would have someone at your side but I have to admit, Master Diluc," Kaeya says, propping his face on his hand in amusement, "this is not quite what I imagined."

You let out a titter of laughter at the difference between the two men's expressions as Kaeya pokes at your little translucent ears. Kaeya looks at you with mesmerizing amusement as Diluc glares at Kaeya over his wiped-clean glass like he would like to do nothing else but break it over the other's head. ("It wouldn't hurt that much," Kaeya tells you flippantly. "Not as much as the hangovers his drinks give me.")

"Don't you have somewhere better to be?"

"Not really, no." Kaeya replies, feigning hurt, "Why, don't want me here?"

"Never."

Kaeya gives you a pointed look akin to a puppy. "His words are colder than my Vision, mini seelie," he says to you. "Careful not to get frostbite now."

"You have the privilege of having earned my ire," Diluc says shortly. "Also," he slaps Kaeya on the back of his hand when he goes to pull at your ears, "stop that."

"Protective, aren't you?" Kaeya chuckles, watching as you gaze up at Diluc adoringly. "I think you're one phrase away from telling me to get my own mini seelie."

At this, you let out a long coo, flying up to bop Kaeya gently on his nose before going over to Diliuc and rubbing your face onto his cheeks. You hear Diluc let out another breath of laughter, and you feel his hand press you closer to him. “Are you comforting me?” He asks in amusement, and for once, he does not berate Kaeya for joining in with his laughter.

“The pair the two of you make,” Kaeya drawls, picking up his glass of Death After Noon. “You’d fight wars for each other, wouldn’t you?”

Of course you would, you think, though there was very little you could do as a seelie-- and you forget that at times.

To be fair, most of the time, Diluc didn’t seem to treat you any less than his traveling companion. You’re only reminded when you float on your own when he’s cleaning up the tavern and get chased by cats and birds alike, only to come flying home to Diluc blubbering about your near-death experiences (though was it even possible for you to die?). And when you try to, in attempts to help Diluc out, scold a rowdy customer into behaving by slamming your body into their face rapidly without doing any damage whatsoever.

The two of you-- Seelie and Uncrowned King of Mondstadt-- were a pair of renown. (“Two peas in a pod,” Venti would say the first time you led Diluc to him at Starsnatch Cliff, and “always together like bread and butter,” he said to you two the second time you find him near Starfell Lake. And “are you two following me?” when Venti walks into the tavern for the third consecutive meeting.) And if you ever doubted that Diluc cared for you, you had to look no further than when you were stolen from Diluc’s side by treasure hoarders who didn’t know any better.

It is in these moments where you are viscerally reminded that you are a seelie-- a being meant to guide people to treasures-- and not what you have been for the past few-- weeks? months? by Diluc’s side. You realize that you’ve never been hurt in this form before when you are kidnapped. It didn’t occur to you that you could feel any pain, and you wonder why not when you can feel the softness of Diluc’s hair and the warmth of his hand-- all gentle, loving gestures. Being squeezed by the treasurer hoarder’s hand feels suffocating, like your lungs being crushed under a massive, unrelenting weight.

It is not pleasant, to say the least, especially when they threaten you to take them to treasure that you know you cannot locate.

Or can you?

With convincing pulses of light, as though you’re approaching actual riches, you lead them where you lead people (or rather, just Diluc) best.

The enemies of your enemies are your friends; you watch as an axed mitachurl spins around, chasing after the treasurer hunters who with varying degrees of fear, run away. They would have gotten away scot-free if they had not run into Diluc who had somehow found you before you could come back to him.

His phoenix burns bright especially in the moonless night, and Diluc takes care of two enemy camps that night.

“Clever,” he says, making you preen, “leading them here. They really didn’t know what they signed up for when they started following you, did they?”

How did you find me? You trill, twirling around. And there should be no reasonable way for Diluc to understand what you’re trying to say, but he does anyways.

“I just did what you usually do for me,” Diluc says, putting his hand up so you can gently land on it. Your glow illuminates his face in the softest shade of color. You watch as his lips turn up into a small smile. “I led myself to wherever the trouble was and knew I’d find you.”

(Diluc will never tell you this for as long as you are a seelie, but the moment you do not come back to him when he finishes up his shift at Angel’s Share, his stomach drops. It shouldn’t have been hard to spot you, a glowing light, amongst the quiet, softly lit streets of Mondstadt, but he gives the city a quick lookover and cannot find you.

He learns about the treasure hoarders from his connections and does not hesitate to take his broadsword with him and go looking for you.

He runs into two other treasure hoarder camps and fights three groups of slimes before he finds the hilichurl camp you’ve led the hunters into, beyond relieved to see your familiar light in the distance.)

From that night, Diluc finds a mini seelie (you), sixteen anemo sigils, an old broadsword, mora, and a few treasure hunter insignias left behind. He gives you a sunsettia even though the both of you know you cannot eat, and you sit together at the edge of a cliff, watching the moon come out from its hiding place within the clouds.

You have never felt safer.

You don’t really sleep, but every night you take your place by Diluc’s pillow and let time pass you by. Time feels different as a seelie, especially when you do not have Diluc to ground you to the schedule of a normal person.

Though, if you were honest, it isn’t as though Diluc keeps regular hours himself. How many times have you bullied (read: squeaked at) him into turning in before dawn? How many times have you pressed your entire translucent body onto his face so he can take the hint to finally take a break? You vaguely remember being a human, and you think you should be abhorred by the amount of sleep Diluc isn’t taking, considering how good sleep can feel.

On the bright side, Diluc has gotten more used to your antics that it only takes a little nagging from your end for him to turn the desk lamp off.

“You’re quite persistent,” he comments, following you with his eyes as you press your body into various spots in the ceiling above him. “I can’t tell if I’ve been blessed or cursed with you as some sort of guardian.”

Guardian seelie, you titter, spinning around with your ears outstretched as though you were an angel. Special isekai seelie, you laugh to yourself, and Diluc only watches you fondly as you float down.

"’Stripped of all that the body once held close and the soul once held dear, song and memories are all that now remain of yesteryear,’” Diluc recites quietly as you look up to him. “‘The last singers-- the first Seelie-- they played their final tune in the halls of angels.’"

What is that?

“It’s a song I remember hearing when I was a child,” he says, “about seelies and their origins. I don’t remember if there was anything else, but it came to me today when I was thinking of you.” You wait for him to continue as he dims the light, your glow the only thing illuminating the room other than the moon. “Most seelies want to go back to their seelie courts… but it doesn’t seem as though you want to.” He pauses. “Or is it that you don’t have a court to go back to?”

You stay silent.

“Sorry, forget what I said. It doesn’t matter in the end anyways.” Diluc scoops you up from his lap to place you at your usual place on the other pillow by his head. You softly trill when he gently pets you, and whether you mean to or not, you glow just a bit brighter for a moment.

“Even if one day you decide to leave, the winery will always be open to you,” he says. “Adeleine and the rest of the maids will recognize you and let you in-- though I suppose the entirety of Mondstadt knows who you are by now so I guess I don’t have to worry about that, do I?” He smiles when you coo softly.

“Good night,” Diluc says to you, as he does every night, and sleeps knowing you cannot say it back in words, though he understands you regardless every time.

If you weren’t a seelie, would you have been able to be as close to Diluc as you are now? Would he still have cared about you to the extent he does now?

Even if these questions did not have the answers you wanted to hear, you think to yourself, as your heart warms (though you have no heart) from the sight of seeing Diluc’s even rise and fall of his chest, that you wish that you’d one day be able to say ‘good night’ back to him.

You can only watch the moon rise and dream.

#diluc ragnvindr #diluc/reader #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #mini seelie #genshin impact #genshin diluc #kaeya alberich #kaeya #diluc #my love letter to diluc here ya go buddy

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nolpat0 · 4 years ago

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can't quit you | m. barzal

summary: she and mat can't get each other go despite how bad they are for each other

wc: 1,165

warnings: toxic behavior, alludes to sex

The cramped kitchen was dark, moonlight pouring over the dark-stained floorboards and illuminating her figure sitting loosely cross-legged on the floor, the pale lighting making wraith-like shadows flicker across her weary features as her eyes continued gazing harshly at the blank-screened phone resting in the middle of the worn floor. She was debating, being yanked back and forth from her two options so wildly her stomach clenched painfully, tightening and coiling as she failed to be broken from her anguished reverie. A frightened whimper escaped her bitten, blood-stained lips, tongue darting out to taste the metallic flavor of her own blood, as the phone screen lit up with a ring. It was him. She began shaking her head ever so slightly, sharp, melancholic hatred aimed at him flaring through her veins as the phone continued its insistent ring, making her finally choose the lesser of two evils instead of letting sleep take over at 3am on her kitchen floor, salty tears clinging her to flushed cheeks. There was always that option- even now- but now the idea of picking up the call, answering the phone, and hearing the soothing lilt of his words was too tempting. Who wanted to pass out on their kitchen floor crying anyway?

"Hey,"

Every ounce of hatred left her pores, dripping away and leaving her shaking form clean and fresh with a new wave of guilt and satisfaction. The two emotions warred inside her, rising to a dull ache in the base of her skull as her cracked fingernails dug into the plastic of the phone case as she held it to her ear.

"Mat," She answered quietly, the syllable rolling off her tongue, unbidden and a horribly natural habit she'd somehow picked up over the course of his midnight calls. Her wet lashes hit her cheek as she squeezed her blood-shot eyes tightly at the memory of the endless stretch of similar calls he'd tortured her with. Of course, he called; she kept picking up. Even when she really, truly shouldn't have.

On the other line, the crackle of her voice through the small speaker of his phone had the muscles of his mouth twitching to the side in a triumphant grin that shone in the light of the bright phone screen in front of him. His long fingers held the device away from him, letting his coffee-colored eyes roam over the font of her contact and the changing numbers of the duration of their call until he had it committed to memory. He liked the way her small voice echoed through his cold, darkened room in the dead of night when he put her on speaker. Despite himself, Mat liked hearing each crack of her words, as if the syllables were breaking apart along with her will. It became a game to him; the boy relishing every tilt of her unique voice crowding his room as he guessed what word her throat would choke on, and which sentences she pushed past her pretty lips would have her falling apart. When she would break. So he continued curling his lungs around the air meant to breathe life into his meaningless words, trying to drag out her inevitable downfall before he'd have to pick up her pieces.

In the lackluster light of her cold-tiled kitchen, the girl bit back the hiccup of her cries as she clung to every hollow word he gave to her. She knew of his sickening glee over her impending sobs and knew how much he liked the emotion he inspired in her battered heart. The enjoyment originally came from a well-meaning place, the boy in awe of the positive, in-love feelings he gave to her. Too quickly, their love had wilted like a flower cut from its stem, and he was left with the game of how hard he could bend her before she broke in his hands. But it took two to play their catastrophic game of dying love and her games were just as horrible as his.

Fingertips pressed against the faded tile of her kitchen, she curled into herself, back curving as her ribs shook with skillfully internalized sobs. She wondered offhandedly if he could tell she was crying from the unsteady pacing of her shallow breath through the buzz of the poor connection. Her white-knuckled hands shook with familiar desperation; an ache for him and the weight of his arm fitted above the jut of her hipbones as the ends of his dark curls brushed her heavily flushed cheeks, the whistle of his breath soft against the shell of her ear. It was a familiar ache, a feeling that nestled into the junction of her bones and follow every painful midnight call and tears pooling on the kitchen floor.

"I need you here, Mat." She whispered, the feeling of loneliness so overwhelming and ghastly terrifying that she folded to its influence, eyes shuttered closed as she pleads for him. "Can you come over?"

It was always can and never please because can gave him the opportunity to walk away, finalize their disastrous end with a broken promise that he'd arrive at her door but instead left her in the shaking mess of herself, gasping as the morning sun finally rose and told her to get herself together. It meant they could finally let each other go, and they could move away from whatever shreds of their relationship they had left, feet swiftly moving them throughout their life so that in time, they could look back and silently thank the day he broke his final promise.

"I'll be there in ten."

Ten minutes. Mat had ten minutes to pull on his shoes, unlock his car and navigate the midnight streets like he didn't already know the route by heart. She had ten minutes to pick herself off the floor, wash her mascara-stained face and pick whatever color she thought he'd like that night. But he also had ten minutes to stall at a red light, finger drumming against the leather and decide against this, putting his car into reverse as he pulled out of her apartment parking lot. She had ten minutes to stare at her dulled eyes in the mirror, order a new lock, and text Mat to lose his spare key before blocking the eleven-digit number from her phone. They had six hundred seconds to make their decisions, to war with their heart and head, to understand that the feeling tucked between their heart and sternum was no longer love, but the terrifyingly real fear of being alone. But perhaps they already realized this and figured this cruel routine was better than having a cold bed.

In the end, six hundred seconds weren't enough for either of them. Mat pulled the silver key from his pocket, feeling the familiar ridges as he understood its metaphorical meaning. Guilt stabbed at his heart, but nothing stopped him as he pressed the key into the lock.

Only to find the door already opened.

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muertawrites · 5 years ago

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The Dark of the Moon (Zuko x Reader)

Summary: Late night insomnia turns into a conversation about love, and Zuko makes an interesting discovery about his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2,100

Author’s Note: You can thank Avatar being on Netflix and rekindling my childhood obsession for this one. I wrote this mostly as a dialogue / pacing exercise, but it’s also a bit therapeutic since I can actually relate to Zuko more than I realized or could have ever foreseen watching this show as a ten year old. Enjoy a little emotional romantic fantasy on behalf of a preteen crush and all the toxic friends I’ve ever had. ✌

~ Muerta

Zuko usually slept with you. It started one late night during a mutual bout of insomnia, in which you ran into him as you both wandered the halls of the Western Air Temple. You hardly knew him, but he sat with you and talked about everything that night - anything that wasn’t related to the war or either of your pasts that had been torn apart by it. He surprised you with his dry, even-toned sense of humor, as well as with his intelligence in not only combat but literature and philosophy as well; being a healer and a fortune teller by trade, you found a lot to talk about with him.

As the nights awake became more common, you and Zuko spent more of them together; sometimes you’d wait until you happened upon him in the halls, others one of you would designate a place to meet. Eventually, one of you would go directly to the other’s room and you’d sit, sharing whatever light or heavy thoughts happened to plague your minds. You learned a lot about him in those nights, and grew to feel proud of how far he’d come in such a short time - you often helped others, those much older than yourselves, over months to scale the internal struggles he had, and he’d managed to do so on his own. The more you gave to him, the more he gave back, and it soon became commonplace to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing as he lay in his sleeping bag on the other end of your room.

And that’s exactly what woke you up - the strange, still energy of your bedroom that indicated his resting place was empty. You rolled over, unable to spy his silhouette under the moonlit windowsill, and you rose, your feet carrying you to where you were certain he would be.

It was a gorgeous night, with a gentle breeze ruffling the crisp air. You found Zuko in the courtyard, gazing out over the fog veiled landscape under the swell of the full moon. Without a word, you sat beside him, watching the clouds roll by like ships on a silent ocean. His chest churned in turmoil, so intensely you could feel it in your own.

“Apparently, I can’t sleep without you anymore,” you said. “How selfish of you to have problems that keep you up at night.”

Zuko huffed out a soft chuckle, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift. He leaned back onto his palms, craning his neck backward and allowing the wind to tousle his ash-black hair.

“You didn’t need to come out here,” he told you gently. “It’s not your job to help me fix myself.”

“It never has been,” you replied. “I’ve never fixed anyone. All I ever do is listen and recite a few proverbs; everyone comes to their own conclusions in the end.”

“That’s not true,” Zuko retorted. “I’ve seen you heal. You can do things not even Katara can do, just with whatever happens to be growing nearby. It’s incredible.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Physical healing and emotional healing are two super different things,” you told him. “Emotional wounds can only really be healed by the people who have them. I mean, unless you want me to crack open your chest and poke around at your heart for a little while.”

Zuko chuckled again, the tenseness of his muscles easing up just slightly. He opened his palm and spawned a softly glowing flame, both of you watching it flicker in the cool night air.

“I wish I’d been born a water bender,” he mused. “Something that would do good for others. All fire does is destroy.”

You were silent for a moment, watching the thoughts swirl, tormented, behind his eyes. You thought of all the times you’d seen him smile, how his happiness made his handsome features all the more radiant and caused your stomach to bubble with joy. The memory shot a spike through your chest.

“... You know, we only ever see one part of the moon,” you commented, breaking the quiet. “Everything behind that - the dark side - we don’t really consider, even though it’s always there and is as much a part of the moon as the side that’s in front of us.”

Zuko smirked at you, distinguishing the flame in his hand.

“Reciting a proverb at me?” he teased.

You grinned.

“This one’s more like a metaphor,” you admitted cheekily. “That tea I make, the one that tastes awful but makes pain completely disappear?”

Zuko nodded.

“I need fire to make it,” you continued. “I have to roast the ingredients over an open flame before boiling them. Without fire, I couldn’t do most of my healing; it would be too painful without the tea to help.”

Zuko said nothing, but you could sense your words sinking into the cracks in his troubled thinking.

“Fire is heat and light,” you added. “It’s just as important to life as water or earth or air. Every element is capable of destruction or creation - there isn’t a single one that’s inherently good or bad. The person that controls them is the only one who determines that.”

There was another long pause, in which you busied yourself noting the different wild plants growing between the stones that paved the courtyard. You listed the different medicines you could make with each, the process calming you.

“I’ve done some pretty shitty things to people I care about in order to embrace my goodness,” Zuko finally spat. The bitterness in his tone stung you. You turned to him, and for a split second you caught a familiar, rageful glimmer in his eye; the sight made your own temper flare.

“Zuko, don’t do that to yourself,” you said. “It wasn’t just your father who hurt you and you know that.”

“I know,” he snapped, cutting off the end of your words. “I still care about her, though. I don’t even know if she really ever cared about me, but I still… I still miss her.”

Your ribs seemed to cave in, crushing your heart and lungs. He’d told you about Mai many times, and all you ever saw was that the darkness in her drew out the darkness in him; it even hung over you, clouding out the comfort you felt with Zuko and replacing it with unease and doubt. You feared there was no place in his heart for you - not while Mai still remained in it, no matter how badly her memory made him bleed.

“It’s hard,” you choked out. “I still miss some of the people who hurt me, too.”

That was all you could manage to say. You pulled your knees to your chest, half-burying your face in the fabric of your night dress as you forced the tears welling in the corners of your eyes not to flow.

This is what you get, you scolded yourself. This is what you get for feeling things for people you know could never feel the same about you.

A sensation of warmth curling around your shoulders made you jolt. Instinctively, you inched away, glancing in Zuko’s direction as he retracted the arm that had draped around you. You expected him to look away, but he didn’t - his pale amber eyes instead locked with yours.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You hold your head so high… I forget sometimes that you’re trying to heal, too.”

His words caused your tears to spill, though you didn’t cry; your face remained stony, and no sobs shook you. Your tears fell as easily as water from a cliff’s edge, impeded by nothing but the will of gravity.

“... The cards you lent me,” Zuko said after a pause, almost blurting the words. “I’ve been reading them, to help me let go of everything I left behind. I don’t think I’m doing it right.”

A few weeks ago, you’d given him a deck of cards you used for fortune telling. Each card depicted a different object, element, or scene, and were laid out in combinations that gave insight into a person’s spiritual path. You liked them more than other forms of fortune telling, as it encouraged its readers to make their own assumptions and drive their own fates instead of having it simply told to them. You gave your deck to Zuko so he could reflect on something finite, instead of getting consumed by his own thoughts. It was exactly what you used them for, and you knew they would help.

“Why?” you asked softly.

“I drew a card that didn’t make sense,” he told you. “I laid down the Tides, then the Crossed Blades, and then… I pulled the Badger Mole. The other two I understand - one is for movement and change, the other is for strength in allies, but I… can’t figure out what the Badger Mole is supposed to mean.”

“Badger moles are strong, powerful,” you explained, speaking dispassionately from memory, “but they’re gentle. The card represents the duality of both. They mate for life, too, so it also represents love and companionship.”

As you spoke, you felt a meteor crash between you and Zuko. His face fell, dumbfounded, as he looked at you, his eyes darting minutely back and forth as you watched the pieces mend together in his head.

“What do you feel?” you whispered, part of you terrified of his answer.

“... I feel like I’m fighting the tide,” Zuko replied, his tone awestruck. “It’s pushing me to shore, but I keep trying to swim back out to sea.”

The corners of your lips curled upwards slightly, your cheeks still sticky with tears.

“It’s really scary, huh?” you said. “Loving another person.”

“Yeah... especially when you’ve never known what it feels like before,” Zuko added softly.

You reached out, tentatively resting your palm against his cheek. His hand rose to close over yours, the sensation trembling you to your core.

“How many times have you pulled the Badger Mole?” you asked.

“Every time,” Zuko breathed. “I’m so stupid for not realizing. You make me feel wild and calm all at once. I get this crushing feeling in my chest when I see you or even think of you, and I thought it was just fear or sadness. But… you don’t make me want to lash out like I used to, with my father and Azula and Mai… just the thought of you makes me want to be the best person I can be. Even though I know you already accept me for not being that person.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, somewhat defeatedly, your knees falling away from your chest and crossing in front of you. Your body was heavy, but your head felt light.

“I love you, Zuko,” you murmured. “But I’m afraid.”

Zuko wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. His forehead fell to rest against yours, his eyes closing as he steadied his erratic breathing.

“If you’re scared, I’ll protect you,” he said quietly. “That’s what I think lovers are supposed to do.”

The word made every organ in your body jump to your throat. Lovers. Your limbs felt weak, but your heart felt strong with Zuko holding you.

Without thinking, you took his face in your hands and kissed him. It wasn’t hard and passionate like you expected, but firm, gentle, his lips pressing to yours like two palms grasped in an assuring embrace. He lay one of his large, able hands on the back of your neck, his thumb tenderly stroking your skin.

When you finally broke apart, Zuko gazed at you with a soft, forlorn expression. His fingers reached to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry I talk about her so much,” he said. “It must kill you.”

You shook your head, a soft smile forming on your lips, still red from where Zuko had kissed them.

“Don’t worry about it,” you told him. “I know some people from my past you’d happily drive a knife into.”

Zuko chuckled, the light, airy smile you saw when he was truly happy spreading to each of his cheeks. The spike that drove itself through your heart when you thought of it earlier was gone, replaced by the sweet warmth of a low flame on a cold night. With him, you were safe.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Zuko suggested, taking your arm to help you stand.

His hand slipped easily into yours, your fingers twining together. He leaned forward and kissed you again, his lips only grazing yours, causing your skin to buzz with the sensation.

“... Do you think we’ll have to talk to Aang about this?” you asked as you walked back to your room.

Zuko raised an eyebrow at you, confused.

“He is your great-grandfather,” you elaborated with jest. “I should probably do the chivalrous thing and ask for his blessing or something.”

Zuko laughed, nudging you with his shoulder so that you stumbled over your feet. You shoved him back, to which he took you by the waist and wrapped you tightly in his arms, kissing your cheek.

“He probably won’t care,” he replied. “But my uncle will love you.”

#muerta's works #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x you #prince zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x you #zuko fanfic #prince zuko fanfic #atla fanfic #avatar fanfiction #self insert fanfiction #lmao when you don't know how to end a fic

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get-shiggy-with-it · 4 years ago

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Scream Therapy

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x gender neutral!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: extremely vague allusions to mental illness, metaphors about wounds, angst with a relieving ending, let me know if i’ve missed something

AO3 mirror

So you know those tiktoks where people go out into the woods and scream? Just like expel all the shit that’s been holding them down into an open field and let the earth reclaim all their dark, restless energy? Reveal the burdens that have been creaking in their joints and trapped in the prison of their ribs for the trees to swallow?

I’ve been thinking about that and Shigaraki a lot.

Like the rest of the league too, but mostly Shigs.

Just imagine:

It’s late, it always is when shit is going down at the hideout. The League of Villains is practically nocturnal at this point. Shigaraki’s mind is a loud place—lot’s of rabid, train tearing down the track lines of thought that clatter and roar and gush toxic coal smoke.

So as annoyed as he makes himself out to be, he doesn’t actually mind the din of the bar all that much. Twice and Toga chattering in the corner, random bits of too loud laughter and the clink of Kurogiri polishing glasses as he tells off Dabi for the umpteenth time about smoking inside—hell, even Compress rambling about the health benefits of high quality wine to nobody in particular is somewhat...comforting?

That’s not quite the right word, but their noise settles around him a bit like a thick quilt and dampens the rampage inside his head for a while.

He thinks about a lot of things.

Some good, most bad, all obsessive. He’ll get stuck in these loops sometimes, small questions evolve into bigger, more complicated webs, and suddenly it’s been four hours and he’s done nothing but stare at the same spot on the wall just left of his desktop monitor.

Sleep is a terrifying venture for much the same reason. Once he gets caught in that cycling it’s so hard to break out, and that’s when he’ll stumble down the stairs and sequester himself away at the end of the bar.

There he will sit and listen to the incessant white noise of his team—which is frustrating too but infinitely better than whatever anxiety coated sludge his brain will come up with if left to its own devices, so he bears it.

And then there’s you.

Who you are isn’t entirely important.

Maybe you’re just another member of the League, dedicated to helping your boss spread villainy across the city. Maybe you’re a morally ambiguous civilian who just stumbled in much like a stray cat into a depressed college student’s apartment and simply never left.

Whatever the circumstances, where you came from doesn’t matter.

To him, your contributions to the din are just another layer of insulation against the storm. He couldn’t really care less what you do, or where you go when you weren’t there. As long as your voice could offer a different type of grating against his ears than the silent throbbing of his head when he is alone, then your presence is justified.

Shigaraki only takes notice of you when you leave, when your voice is no longer adding to the uproar drowning out whatever new thought spiral he was trying to claw his way out of.

It’s very late then. That odd, in between time when it’s closer to the sunrise than to it’s setting but somehow also the darkest portion of the night. Of course, it’s never totally dark—not with all the light pollution laying an ever present, glowing haze across the horizon—but it’s as close as it gets out here to pitch black.

He catches the tail end of your coat, a glimpse of your shoe soles as you slip up the stairs and climb the wrought iron ladder that leads to the roof. Shigaraki often catches himself wondering how you figured out exactly how to avoid each board that creaked. He thinks sometimes it’s because you like going unnoticed, that too much attention makes you feel just as shaky as he gets when he’s been inside his head too long. Or possibly you just don’t want to wake anyone up in the rare moments that some League members are actually asleep.

Regardless, he watches you go and feels strangely...compelled to follow and because he rarely feels compelled to do anything unless it’s furthering the downfall of hero society, he does.

He takes an unsteady step, then another until the brisk, cusp-of-summer air is washing over him. It bites through his thin black top and the worn holes in his jeans, but the sting feel likes something.

And since he almost always feels nothing at all, it’s good.

You’re stood a few feet from the edge of the building, where the ledge has begun to crumble away from age and poor maintenance. The wind is strong enough that it makes your limp arms sway by your sides. Shigaraki is so thin now, he’s almost afraid for a moment it might blow him away. He’s found himself feeling so insubstantial as of late, it’s shocking when his feet don’t lift off from the roof entirely. He crosses the distance towards you slowly.

If you hear him approaching, you don’t show it.

Normally he wouldn’t start a conversation of his own volition but he did follow you up here and the silence is getting a bit deafening, even with the breeze.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

It’s simple, but it’s all he can think to say. Funny, with how many words that run through his head, he can never find the right ones when he wants them.

You turn then, and your face is...well it’s a face. He tends not to look at people’s faces much—doesn’t want to see their expressions when they look at him, but from what he can tell you aren’t upset that he’s here at least.

“I love the city at night.”

That’s all you offer in response and he knows somehow that you’ll keep talking even if he doesn’t answer. That you know how much he hates the quiet but can’t ever fill it himself.

“When you’re up high enough, you can pretend the streetlights are stars,” you divulge, as if it’s some sort of great, long kept secret.

Maybe it is.

Maybe you have a lot of secrets. You seem to him like the type of person who would. Who keeps life changing truths tucked under your tongue to drop suddenly over convenience store dinners and cheap beer.

He thinks that maybe he’d like to know them.

“It’s always so alive during the day, the streets I mean,” you continue, eyes trained out on the buildings below, tracing constellations from block to block. “But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s rotting too like….”

You trail off and don’t finish the thought, but you don’t have to. He knows what you mean: like the city is a wound that’s festering. That all the people and the heroes that corral them like cattle are just an infection waiting to spread.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, because he hasn’t been able to come up with anything else.

Your gaze flits over his face this time, and Shigaraki almost misses the small smile that plays at your lips. He’s close enough now that you could touch him, and you almost do, shoulders just inches away from brushing. But you don’t close the gap.

You touch the others, a lot actually, though he gets the sense you’re the type to ask first. And with his mind running on overdrive every waking second, he gets overstimulated easily. He should probably be thankful you aren’t as familiar with him. That you bother to notice the distance he keeps even when he rarely pays you any mind.

Maybe you’re thankful for that too.

“You know, scream therapy is a very effective and cheap alternative to professional intervention,” you say matter of factly in response.

He waits for you to continue and you do.

“There’s no one out this late but heroes on patrols and they won’t come to help us, so this is a perfect opportunity to give it a try.”

He can feel his brow knitting together and you raise your hand for a second as if to smooth your thumb over the wrinkled skin. Shigaraki doesn’t move, but watches your fingers pause in mid motion and drop back down.

There’s a strange charge in the air between you—a spark he distantly wishes would ignite if only so he could stop churning in his gut.

“How do you do it?”

He’s never asked so many questions of anyone in his life. But he finds he truly wants to know.

And you’re the one that can show him.

You breathe deeply beside him, letting your eyes drift shut and taking a step towards the ledge. With hands balled into righteous little fists, you bend a bit at the waist and you...scream.

Shigaraki isn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but for some reason it wasn’t that.

He’s heard shouts before, cries for help or out of fear, but nothing like this. The sound seems to bubble up from some deep, dank pit inside you and bursts forth from your mouth like a geyser spewing boiling water from the earth. It’s long and low and loudloudloud. It isn’t a sound he could ever imagine you making, but it rumbles in his chest as if it’s his own.

Just watching has a weight lifting from his shoulders.

You keep going even when he knows you should have run out of air. But you aren’t really making the noise, you’re just letting it escape. He’s not sure how he knows that but he does.

Your voice cracks and snaps and rages forth and you scream in a way he feels in his very bones. The garbled, awful sound is so clearly understandable despite the wind that carries it away.

It says: I am free and young and can feel none of it.

And then it’s words. Words that tumble from you in a torrent.

About your family, about what’s been done to you, what you’ve done to yourself.

About the lies and the injustice of it all.

You’re heaving by the end, deflated as though all the screams had left behind an empty space—an abscess drained and ready to heal over or fill back up.

“It’s your turn.”

Shigaraki stares at you, silhouetted by the dull, silver glow of the city and panting. You both look at each other for a moment, reveling in the odd connection that sometimes forms between strangers who know far too much about each other.

He doesn’t think he could top that, but the energy you’ve created is invigorating and he’s determined to ride the wave while he has it.

Taking a step, he joins you by the ledge again, and you back up as if allowing him into the spotlight. The wind will swallow whatever he says, it will eat the words like a starving behemoth and he finds himself ready to feed the beast.

He has to dig deep, scratch at old sores to make them bleed again, tear at scabs so he can let the contaminating thoughts leak out. Once he feels like he’s breached far enough, Shigaraki takes a breath.

And he screams.

His body doubles over with the strength of it, foot slamming down onto the roofing and four fingers fisted in the hem of his shirt.

It hurts coming out, rips at his vocal chords and has his throat raw to bleeding after just the first few seconds but he pushes past it.

He wonders if this is what a runner's high feels like, when you’ve pushed beyond the side stitches and knee aches and your blood finally rushes with all those elusive feel good chemicals he never has enough of.

Whatever it is, the feeling is addicting.

Shigaraki is dimly aware of you in his peripheral, encouraging the tsunami thoughts in his head to be thrust out into the uncaring arms of the city skyline.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have to search for the words. They simply come. All his frustrations, some he wasn’t even conscious of, spill fresh and steaming like blood. Physically, his body remains but somewhere in the depths of his mind he is younger and hurt and alone and trying desperately to scream.

“I destroy everything I touch!” he roars at the apathetic, grey sidewalk below.

After the last word leaves him, he feels the same weightlessness he’d seen in the sag of your shoulders. The same snapping of the coil slack in his spine.

And suddenly, with this glorious, awful sense of revelation, Shigaraki realizes that everything in his head has gone quiet.

He’s over taken by a silence that requires no filling, a peace that he’d imagined only existed at the bottom of abandoned wells, far away from any chubby child’s hands that may toss foolish wishes down them.

He thinks about kissing you then.

And he knows now that this thought has always been there, but it was drowned like a subway rat in the aftermath of the hurricane brewing in his brainstem. He has always noticed you no matter how hard you try to blend into the background. Your voice has always been a bit better at shutting out the unending, worthless choir in his head.

He wouldn’t have followed anyone else up here—not Dabi, not Spinner, not Compress or even Kurogiri.

He can see that now. In this new enlightened state, everything is so much clearer. Though he is quickly thrust back into the present, into his body once again, as another kind of soft weight settles on his shoulders. Your coat is skin warmed and smells like you and everything he’s ever loved in his own screwy little way. He realizes then that you’ve been trying to talk to him this whole time.

“Shigs,” you call again and tuck the coat tighter around his shoulders, “you were shaking.”

Shigaraki nods, feeling relief from the cold he hadn’t quite been aware of till now. He’s not sure if you’ve ever addressed him so informally before, but he decides he likes the nickname.

It feels a bit like a gift.

“Better, yeah?”

He’s not really sure if it’s better, but it is different and it’s been impossibly long since anything has been different, so he thinks it must be good.

“Yes,” he says.

It’s a general yes, both to your question and to you, whatever that might mean. He doesn’t say anything more because he’s done enough talking and you nod like you understand.

Neither of you moves to leave the roof, but you do inch closer to him this time, closing the gap and tucking him into your side. Your arm is slung gently across his shoulders and he finds the weight of it relieving.

That seems like it shouldn’t make since but it does—a paradox of sorts, weight being a comfort.

Then the sun begins to rise and it’s as if he’s seeing you in a new light.

Your profile outlined by the stark daybreak rays, so horribly strong despite the scream he knows is forming again under the surface.

And Shigaraki wonders if you see him that way too.

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #tomura shigaraki imagines #gender nuetral reader #slight manga spoilers #bee.writes

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nomadthor · 4 years ago

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PROTECTOR - II - BUCKY BARNES

this is part two! click here to read the first part

prompt: the reader and bucky try to escape a sticky situation, bucky protects the reader at every available opportunity words: 1734 warnings: mentions of death, violence/gunfights, blood, angst, hurt/comfort notes: gender neutral reader

if you have any ideas or requests please send them to my ask so I can write them!

What you judged to be approximately a quarter of an hour, you apprehensively sat with Bucky’s hand cradling yours: you both awaited in strained quietude until you presumed the coast was clear after a stretch of secure silence. Despite his hesitant and disquieting demeanour, he seemed indifferent yet the elusive curl in the corner of his flushed lips told you the contrary. “We should get going now,” Bucky hoarsely commanded as he let your grip slip from his before he toiled to stand on and support his own body weight but he contrived with a throaty growl nonetheless. He briefly glanced at his bullet-ridden phone as its technical innards blistered from the globular apertures which still had fragments of the shrapnel embedded in the splintered plastic; how if only luck would have been on your side you could’ve called for help.

“Do you need a hand?” He softly questioned with delicate eyes as he presented his hand once more, you’d be being dishonest to yourself if you affirmed that you didn’t relish his solicitous, protective and balmy hands that made you feel secure and rid most of the anxiety and fret. You felt guilty and disinclined to acknowledge these feelings since ultimately you were just coworkers. “I’m good,” you muttered and heaved yourself from the floor, abruptly being reminded of the absence of room as the pair of you were now rubbing shoulders. The close proximity you both shared both filled you with satisfaction and compunction as you were anticipating the early arrival of sprouting feelings that would soon doubtlessly become unrequited; it was bittersweet. Something changed in that room and you don’t know what it was.

Frailly, he twisted the knob of the door and cautiously pulled it towards you both after becoming a human blockade as he shoehorned himself between you and the expanse of dubiety. He carefully peered around the corner with an attentive survey making sure to detect any almost imperceptible movements. With a swift flex of his head, he motioned for you to follow him as the set of you immediately scanned the conflict tarnished building for any means of self-defence: crimson stains and defunct cadavers besmirched the shattered debris rooted floor. Bucky trounced the pain from his laceration as his stagger shifted into a succinct strut with an acute limp. He hurriedly strode towards an adrift pistol with scarlet blemishes coating the finish before he checked the magazine to authenticate the unconsumed ammunition. “Take this,” he instructed unwittingly appearing abrasive but you were habituated to his inflexion and his adventitious gesture of compassion countermanded his sternness.

Hesitantly you took the weapon from his hand unsure whether you should have been first priority due to the circumstance of you not having profound wounds daubing your limbs. Bucky quickly discerned your concerned delay before he reassured you, “I’m a super soldier, I can manage,” he dryly quipped with a minute grin as he failed to find another weapon with any bullets left before he lead the way down the unsettled and dismal corridor, “besides, I trust you more than I trust myself.” Evidently, he was being sincere but you were taken aback by his forthright commendation as your conversations were plainly incisive and condensed; he was slowly unravelling to become exceedingly personable, he was just restricting this part from you whether it was deliberate or not.

He continued to escort you throughout the building acting as a human shield to protect you from any unexpected oncoming bombardment, although you didn’t refrain from keeping a close eye on your six. Bucky regularly and consistently checked on you throughout the whole ordeal and although admittedly, it was growing to become increasingly irritating it made you surge with appreciation and feel deeply indebted towards his consonant trouble. “I can handle myself,” you jested lightheartedly as you both approached a doorway and began to descend the concrete steps. “I know, that’s why I gave you the gun.” He retorted wittily as his heavy lumbering footsteps echoed through the towering washed-out stairwell. The descent was unnerving, to say the least, it put you at a monumental disadvantage due to anyone who would waylay from the upper floors would have a quality vantage point; they would metaphorically and quite literally have the higher ground. Despite this, your venture was thankfully undisturbed and you set forth to the final few rooms before you could evacuate the building and retreat to definite safety.

As you approached the final room a rogue bullet whizzed past your head, the brisk air skimming your head. The crack of the bullet as it became lodged in the wall beside you was devastatingly loud as it immediately pummeled your eardrums inevitably causing them to ring overwhelmingly. Bucky grabbed your arm and impulsively pulled you behind a counter for cover, unintentionally yanking too hard albeit with good intention. Nevertheless, you had worse things to worry about. “Where was that from?” You questioned as you clasped the gun firmly in your hands ready to tug the trigger if need be. The pair of you winced at the bullets that proceeded to soar just inches above your head as they became fixed in the now splintering walls, plastering chipping off and sinking to the floor. “On our six.” Bucky relayed as the gunfire paused which signified they’d either taken cover or needed to reload their magazine. You took this chance to peer over the ceramic tile countertop as you just barely caught the glimpse of a figure before the appearance and the shine of a metallic assault rifle instinctively cause you to duck before the bullets continued to rain once more.

The incapacitating sound of the bullets pummeling the walls and any surrounding surface ceased just about any communication as you couldn’t hear his voice over the resounding extermination. Systematically the gunshots stopped periodically as you peeked once more to return the fire which ultimately led to a drawn-out scrimmage where the winner was the one who eventually could land a shot. Alas, your gun eventually dry-fired as it choked due to the preordained fact it had run out of bullets. All that left your mouth were a string of curses as you angrily threw the futile firearm to the ground out of frustration. Your attention soon turned to Bucky who impetuously looked you up and down with dismayed eyes.

Dense and prolonged footsteps traipsed closer, sending jolts of panic through your body with every step. You couldn’t help but just stare at each other out of sheer panic and confessedly the thought of him being there with you was comforting and slightly eased the tension. He nervously bit his lip as he pondered, scrambling to think of a plan so you didn’t both become victims of the barrel of the gun that was leisurely parading closer. Bucky was already incapacitated with an injured leg so this was a major disadvantage but coming face to face with sudden death: anything was worth a try. He gave you a final longing look before hoisting himself above the counter with a struggle and promptly hurling hefty punches as the opponent made triumphant attempts at blocking them before powerfully pressing the butt of the gun between his eyes. Bucky’s neck contorted backwards as his whole body painfully and forcefully propelled to the floor headfirst with a belligerent thump. What could’ve easily knocked someone unconscious merely left him with obscured vision as he crawled backwards towards you.

The vermillion began to seep from his head as it left a sizeable gash on his eyebrow. Bucky’s head swayed as he barricaded himself between you and the formidable stranger who was glancing down the iron sight with a wicked grin, only doing it to savour the fear and panic, he elongated the process. Bucky looked absolutely woeful presumably thinking you were disappointed and displeased with his final efforts. The eye contact you made was beyond intimate and familiar. It was too late to do anything with the barrel of the gun pointed right at you, any sudden movements and you were unmistakenly dead. Bucky hopelessly and desperately embraced you as he used his hand to cradle your head into the crook of his neck. Exposed to all danger, his back was facing the gunman as he was willing to catch any bullets for you.

A sudden bang caused you to jump in your skin but was attenuated by Bucky’s secure and caring clutch. Staying nestled for a few seconds longer, the quietude became eerily bemusing as you pulled back from his embrace but arms still lingering on you. His eyes were wide and bewildered but relieved, they immediately scanned your body for any punctures before he even gazed down at his own body. He swivelled his cricked neck to witness the gunman face down and a bullet wound centred in his chest. A thud of a door being booted open as it slammed against the wall with force, you’d never felt so grateful in your life to see the familiar face of Sam who examined the room, panic-stricken, to find you both. He stared for a while at your clutched bodies, “come on love birds we’ve got to go,” he jested completely destroying the tension and morbidity in the air. Bucky gently turned his gaze back to you as he examined your face looking for any reaction out of Sam’s statement. Maybe he was looking for your revulsion or a snide remark but your silence spoke volumes as you slipped out of his arms and helped him up.

“Let’s get you patched up,” Sam composedly stated in regards to Bucky’s blood-engulfed leg, and the streak of red that flowed down his forehead. “How did you find us?” Bucky confusedly questioned as he approached Sam, bolstering his neck which probably was going to accompany an agonising concussion. “I traced your signal before it went offline, sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” Sam apologised as the pair continued to the exit of the building as you followed, lingering just behind. Completely ignoring the words that were being spoken to him from Sam, Bucky turned around and shot you a gentle gaze, his eyes soft and tender as he tried to analyse you again. Ambiguous as to whatever he was looking for he surely was going to get his answer sooner or later. What brings people closer than desperately hugging each other at death’s door?

= masterlist =

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vex-bittys · 4 years ago

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In Your Dreams: A Horrortale Story

Raffle prize for @purplesangel. When your life is a living nightmare, is it any surprise that your dreams are just as bad? Thankfully a dream-walking human has arrived to help, but will she still want to help Axe when she finds out what he’s done to stay alive?

WARNING: character death mention, language, blood mention, some disturbing imagery including cannibalism (no details)

READ ON AO3

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Life in the Underground was an endless nightmare for Axe. During his waking hours, he checked his traps and hunted in the forest, often returning home empty-handed only to see the disappointment and desperation in his brother’s sockets. Supply trains became frantic riots as too many monsters competed for their share of too little food, and the sharp pain of hunger lingered even after the skeleton brothers’ meager meals.

Madness seeped in through the hole in his skull, distorting reality. He clawed at his skull, trying to release the pressure of the frenetic energy that consumed him. He could feel the darkness lurking, waiting for him to make a misstep, some seemingly trivial mistake; that’s when it would strike, shredding his thoughts and shattering his focus. There was no escaping it, and Axe knew that one day it would swallow him up.

Sleep provided no reprieve. In his dreams, Axe continued to suffer. He watched his brother fade away to nothing from starvation. He felt the gnawing emptiness of his own unsatisfied hunger. Feasts appeared before his single working eyelight only to transform into grains of sand that slipped through his fingers when he reached for it. He ran through the shadowed forest outside of Snowdin, fleeing an unknown terror in the night while thorny tendrils of a deeper darkness caught him, slowing his progress, dragging him down, and allowing his madness to suffocate him.

Days dragged on into months, and months melted together into years. Waking life remained bleak with monsters still struggling (and at times failing) to survive. Food sources dwindled, and the gathering of other resources fell by the wayside as every creature in the Underground focused on filling their stomachs as best they could. Everything stagnated in its state of destitution and decay… everything except Axe’s dreams.

Axe’s nightmares repeated themselves night after night until slowly, they began to change. It started with the appearance of a new character- a human that Axe didn’t recognize, though he thought it might be a female. At first the human only observed the horrors that lurked in the sleeping world of Axe’s mind. Gradually, though, she began to interact.

It all started during one of Axe’s nightmares about his brother. Crooks would turn a pleading gaze to his brother, mouthing a soundless plea for food. Axe would fall to his knees, sobbing and pounding his fists into the ground. Crooks slowly collapsed, and the gradual dissolution of his body sent his dust drifting towards his brother, filling Axe’s mouth and nasal cavity until he choked himself awake… usually. This time things turned out differently.

“I’M SO HUNGRY, BROTHER,” Crooks’ voice came from the air around them and not his mouth, the teeth there long since broken or knocked askew from gnawing away at non-edible items simply to assuage the need to chew.

The human appeared, but instead of observing the unfolding scene, this time she glanced around until her eyes fell upon Axe.

Since the very first time you’d stumbled across this heart-breaking nightmare scenario, you’d worked hard to return to it. Dream-walking involved focus, practice, and a bit of luck, and in this venture, the fates were on your side. You’d walked this collection of now-familiar nightmare images many times, slowly working out which participant it belonged to and why the skeleton with the broken skull kept replaying these torturous situations in his sleep.

Now, you were ready to interact and hopefully restore some peace to the sleeping world of the monster in front of you. You extended a tentative hand towards him, unsure if he would welcome your touch as a form of physical comfort. He just stared at your outstretched hand as if it would bring some new and unfathomable horror to his disturbingly familiar nightmare. You let your hand drop. Words would have to suffice then.

“It’s not real,” you told the stocky skeleton firmly.

His sockets narrowed suspiciously. “what do ya mean, ‘not real’?”

“This-” you gestured to the vague, nondescript surroundings and very crisp, well-defined figure of the tall, starving skeleton behind you, never breaking eye contact “- is not real.”

The skeleton with the broken skull laughed, a harsh and humorless sound that grated against your ear drums. You sighed, frustrated but determined. It rarely improved a situation to reveal yourself while dream-walking; most dreamers forgot their nightly travels when they returned to the waking world anyway. Those who didn’t merely discarded your presence, along with any advice you might give, as part of a nonexistent scenario that could not influence their waking lives and should thus be ignored.

Normally, you resigned yourself to this and walked through dreams as a silent observer, but this skeleton’s torment tore at your heart and brought forth a tenacity within you to help him in the only way you could: by walking through his nightmares and defeating them, one by one, until nothing remained but peaceful slumber.

The skeleton with the broken skull scoffed. “you don’t know nothin’,” he growled obstinately.

“I know that your most frequent nightmares involve food, madness, and losing this other skeleton-”

“my bro,” the skeptical skeleton clarified.

“Losing your brother,” you amended with an edge to your voice, “to starvation.”

“it’s not like you’re some expert investigator piecin’ together the clues, pal. we’re all starvin’ and dustin’ down here,” he said, dismissing your observations. You frowned. Was there some truth to these nightmares? Often dreams represented thoughts and fears in a metaphoric manner, but maybe this skeleton didn’t have room in his troubled mind for subtlety.

Regardless, you would do what you could for him in the only place that you could reach him.

“I don’t know what your life is like in the waking world,” you conceded softly, “but this? Everything around us now? It isn’t real.” You continued in a rush before the skeleton could interrupt you again. “You’re asleep, and your mind is processing your fears… and your reality… into nightmares.”

The skeleton inhaled, obviously ready to argue again, but you stopped him by making a sweeping gesture towards his brother. Had this nightmare been reality, the taller skeleton would be dust by now. Instead, the image was frozen in place thanks to the stocky skeleton’s change of focus. “Look,” you ordered boldly.

Axe begrudgingly allowed his single eyelight to stray from you to his brother. While it was true that nothing had changed in the scene since he had turned his attention to his unexpected visitor, the moment he looked back, the scenario resumed. Flakes of dust drifted loose from his brother’s body, floating away on an unfelt breeze to disappear as they dispersed until nothing remained except the unbearable weight of guilt and his brother’s ghost of a voice whispering “Why?” over and over again in his head.

Why didn’t you save me?

“It’s not real,” you whispered solemnly behind him, but honestly, that didn’t matter. Watching his brother die of starvation that he should have prevented sent jagged pains through his SOUL whether it existed solely inside of his mind or not. Your next words, however, carried a much greater impact: “I can teach you how to change it.”

The most frustrating part of dream-walking was the inability to change the contents of people’s dreams or nightmares yourself. While you could view the unfolding events, you possessed no real power over them. Only the dreamer could affect their dreams. Thankfully, unlike dream-walking, lucid dreaming is a skill that can be taught.

As with every teaching experience, some students learn more quickly than others. Axe, as he eventually introduced himself to you, was not one of those students. The most difficult aspect of lucid dreaming for him happened to be the very first step to lucid dreaming at all: accepting that what he experienced while he slept was a dream instead of a warped reality that lived inside of his cracked skull and broken mind.

“These images all come from your thoughts,” you explained again. “You can control them, but first you have to accept that you can control them.”

You knew that the dreams involving his brother were far too emotionally charged to make good fodder for lucid dreaming practice, and you preferred to steer clear of the choking darkness since you had no idea what effects such a powerful and overwhelming negative force could potentially have on you, even as an observer within someone else’s troubled subconscious. This only left the dreams of an untouchable feast to practice on… and practice was not going well.

As with your many previous attempts to gently guide the stocky skeleton towards seizing control of his nightmares, the lesson had quickly devolved into a squabble. You insisted that Axe could learn to control his subconscious surroundings; Axe stubbornly insisted that he could not. You would point out that this was his dream, and his mind; he would attempt to discredit your existence as just another piece of the complicated web of nightmares that plagued him: a human offering him false hope in a bleak and hopeless world.

It did bother you a little bit that Axe considered you- a (mostly) patient and helpful human- to be nightmare fuel. Only monsters lived in the Underground since the long-forgotten war, so why would Axe’s guilt-riddled dreamscapes include humans?

You decided to save the questions for another time.

“Try again,” you told Axe, who only answered with a weary, frustrated sigh.

Irritation swirled through Axe’s excessive magic, though it was aimed more at himself than at you. Every night you tried to help him take control of his dreaming mind, and every night, despite your calm instructions, he failed. You made it sound so easy, so why couldn’t he just grab a stupid spider donut off of the stupid table and shove the stupid thing into his big, stupid mouth?

“Try again,” you told him patiently as he brushed the gritty sand from his finger joints. He uttered a weary, frustrated sigh.

“i am trying,” he grumbled, biting back a deluge of unhelpful comments and curses. He touched another piece of food, a french fry, still steaming though it had been sitting on a pile of its doppelgangers since the nightmare began. The entire fry stack crumbled to sand before he’d even lifted one free; Axe’s patience dissolved along with it.

“if this was as easy as you claim,” he shouted, letting his anger overflow into sharp words, “then i’d be able to pick up these plates and smash them on the floor like i want to!” Without any conscious thought, Axe lifted one of the plates in question and hurled it at the ground. It shattered, leaving silence in its wake as Axe and the dream-walking human stared down at the shards on the ground in awe.

Axe gave an entire stack of plates an experimental shove, sending them cascading over the edge of the table and onto the ground where they created an inharmonious symphony of destruction. You applauded the spontaneous mess and squealed with glee, and Axe swept you up into a quick celebratory hug, spinning you around once before setting you back on your feet. As soon as he set you down, he grabbed a donut and crammed it into his mouth. Chewing, his sockets narrowed in utter bliss, he picked up a second donut and offered it to you.

Nothing tasted as sweet as victory… except for maybe a spider donut.

You didn’t want to dampen the skeleton’s joy by telling him that you wouldn’t be able to taste a donut in his dreams, so you took a bite, your head still spinning from his sudden show of physical affection. With a promise to see him the following night, you stepped out of his nightmares. You felt content that you’d taken the first big step on a journey to giving Axe the power to sleep peacefully without constant, horrific nightmares plaguing him.

The next lesson would be more difficult; you intended to guide Axe through banishing nightmares of his brother’s death. Out of consideration for Axe’s privacy, you had never asked him why he had such specific nightmares about his brother, but nightmares involving a sibling death as vivid as Axe’s hinted at some very dark and complex situations existing in the skeletons’ waking world. Those hints aside, Axe had outright stated that things were terrible in the Underground where he lived. Maybe working through his dream would give him some insight into fixing his real-life situation, at least the one he faced with his brother.

You hoped so. During the nights you’d spent helping Axe learn how to lucid dream, you had come to consider him a friend. You hated the thought of him suffering. You especially hated that you could only reach him during his nightmares. You wished you could do more, but how? Those were thoughts for your own waking world.

Tonight you wanted to focus on Axe’s progress, and once he’d gotten some practice at lucid dreaming, you’d work on changing the heart-breaking nightmare of his brother.

Sweat beaded on Axe’s skull as he waited for you to appear. He could feel himself slipping towards darker dreamscapes, and he fought to stay in the safe in-between place like you’d shown him. He told himself that the tremors in his bones were caused by his unstable magic and not by fear. What if his previous successes were a fluke? What if he failed when it mattered the most?

Thoughts of failure sent him spiraling into the guilty nightmare of his starving brother. After all, his failures in reality led to this, and the dire consequences that he saw unfolding in his subconscious lurked only a step behind him in the waking world. Soon his real life would become this very same nightmare, and he would be left as powerless to stop it there as he felt to stop it here.

Thankfully, you appeared within seconds to chase away the grim meanderings of his mind and help him focus on the task at hand- Crooks.

Axe’s brother loomed in front of him, eyes pleading, begging for something that Axe could not give him. He watched the image of his brother twist and reshape itself, growing alarmingly large, the bones stretching from an influx of magic that still somehow managed to provide almost no nutrition. He whispered his brother’s name, frozen in place and unable to remember what he was supposed to do to stop the scene unfolding in front of him.

A small hand slipped into his; he had forgotten about you as his familiar fears swamped him. You looked up at him with a calm expression and nodded, encouraging him.

“You can do this.” Your words bolstered his courage. He dragged his panic back under control and turned to face Papyrus… or what had become of Papyrus under his inadequate care: the monster now known as Crooks.

“You know what you need to do,” you whispered.

Axe stepped towards his brother, focusing on Crooks as he had seen him last: tucked into his bed, the blanket no longer quite long enough to cover his lanky frame, wishing Axe a good night and sweet dreams and promising to see him in the morning. Keeping that image locked in his mind, Axe let his lone eyelight travel over his brother’s altered frame. Sure enough, not a single mote of dust rose from the other skeleton. Crooks simply stood there, watching him through sunken sockets.

Though he’d brought his brother’s recurring death to a halt, the words that swirled and echoed around him continued, too faint at first to make out individual words or phrases. His brother’s voice whispered accusations like poisoned arrows that pierced his SOUL. A chorus of questions, all beginning with “Why…?” slowed, sharpened, and gained clarity. Crooks spoke, though his mouth never moved and the words seemed to thrum within his very bones, tangible beyond mere sound.

Normally Crooks’ omnipresent voice asked him why he would allow his brother to starve, but this time the question differed, though it still sent chills to the very marrow of Axe’s bones.

“WHY DID YOU MAKE ME EAT-”

Axe quickly hushed his brother, stealing a glance at you to gauge your reaction. You simply made an encouraging gesture as if to say “Go on, you’re doing great.” He wondered if you’d feel the same way if you knew what Crooks’ next words would have been.

“i couldn’t let ya starve,” Axe spoke softly, tilting his head to maintain eye contact with his much taller brother. “i’d do anything to keep you alive.”

“EVEN-”

Axe nodded, nearly choking on guilt. “yeah. even that.”

“BUT I TOLD YOU I DIDN’T EVER WANT-”

Remorse softened Axe’s expression, and his gravelly voice hitched. “i couldn’t let ya dust. i had no choice. i’m so sorry.”

Without warning, Crooks slumped, but he wasn’t collapsing into dust. Instead, he crushed his brother against his ribcage in a tight hug. You sensed a loosening of the guilt and remorse that gripped this particular nightmare so tightly. Things weren’t resolved yet. Nightmares could rarely be banished in a single lucid dreaming session, but you’d given Axe the tools he needed to seize control of his sleeping world.

Only one challenge awaited you now: fighting the suffocating darkness of the final nightmare. You made plans to tackle that monumental task once Axe felt satisfied that he could manage this current nightmare on his own. Working through the tangle of emotions that his brother’s death awakened would take quite a bit longer than satisfying himself that he could eat his fill of dream donuts, but you were willing to go the distance to help Axe.

You actually wanted to do this, no matter how much the slithering darkness terrified you. Axe just meant that much to you.

“I think we’re ready for the final nightmare,” you declared after a dream session in which Axe showed off by summoning various items for his brother to eat.

In the lucid dreams about Crooks, his dream-brother mostly stood or sat nearby providing companionship and support as Axe practiced controlling his consciousness. Axe enjoyed the time with his brother, despite the knowledge that this version of Crooks existed only inside of his mind. It gave him a tentative sensation of hope that perhaps someday he could experience this type of peace with his brother in the waking world, free of the constant mad scramble for survival.

Your words shattered fragile, fleeting calm. Sweat beaded on Axe’s skull. The final nightmare contained his deep, dark fears, his madness, his guilt. Tendrils that reeked of his unspeakable crimes dragged him down into the cesspool that used to be his SOUL. He didn’t want you to see that part of him. He didn’t want you to know what he was truly capable of.

You’d never come back, and he’d be left alone with the echoing, blossoming psychosis that suffocated him. It would be worse now though. You’d shined a light into his life, and now he risked that glimmer of goodness being torn away… torn away because of what he’d done.

The punishment would fit the crime of his continuing survival.

You stepped into Axe’s dream world, excited and nervous at the prospect of facing the unknown horrors of this last nightmare that plagued him. The endless grey limbo that surrounded you came as quite a surprise when you expected inky vines of darkness encased in the thorns of Axe’s painful emotions and memories. Axe refused to meet your eyes when you approached him. Something was off about the whole situation.

“Is everything ok?” Maybe Axe wasn’t ready to face the darkness of the upcoming nightmare. You didn’t mind; you weren’t going to push him towards something that he didn’t want to do. You weren’t exactly eager to face it either, and besides, you thought you might enjoy just spending some time with Axe.

When he raised his head to meet your eyes, you couldn’t suppress a gasp of fright. Goosebumps erupted along your arms, and you shivered.

Axe’s single red eyelight… it glowed with an eerie flickering light, seeming to swell until the socket could barely contain the vortex of its power. Axe tilted his head at an unnatural angle and laughed at your reaction. You forced yourself to stand your ground despite your fear. This was not the monster you knew. Axe now embodied the darkness of his own inner turmoil, and it froze the blood in your veins.

“nothing is ok!” Axe’s snarl dissolved into sinister chuckles that made his broad shoulders shake. He lifted a hand, phalanges curved like claws to scrape at the hole in his skull. You lunged forward to pull his hand away before he caused more damage to himself, and he shoved you roughly away.

The hurt and confusion in your eyes filled Axe with dark satisfaction. You needed to know just what kind of monster he was. You needed to fear him, to run away and never come back. Instead, you offered him your compassion yet again.

“Let me help you.” Tears filled your eyes. His madness must be breaking your sweet, loving heart, but he drove home his depravity because if he let himself care, you’d find out the truth eventually anyway. Losing you would hurt more if he actually had you first.

This time when you reached out for him, he dodged, letting your momentum carry you to your hands and knees on the floor. He loomed over you, oozing menace like a thick fog.

“help me?” Axe’s scornful laughter echoed around the empty landscape. “and why,” he asked cruelly, “would you help a murderer?”

“Murderer?” You repeated the word as a question, as if you weren’t completely sure you knew what it meant. Your eyes widened in shock as tendrils of darkness climbed Axe’s arm, sliding over his bones like living tattoos until they pooled in his hand, taking on the shape of a huge meat cleaver.

“how do you think i’ve survived so long, little human? i hunt, and i kill.” He grinned, his mouth stretching into a disturbing parody of joy. “humans mostly. honestly, did you think the blood on my hoodie was mine?”

You admittedly hadn’t thought much about the blood stains on the hoodie. Maybe they were his. Maybe they were ketchup. Maybe in his dreams he wore the stains of his brother’s imagined death. Dreams and nightmares created their own reality with its own details pulled more from a dreamer’s mindset than accurate memories. It shocked you to think that Axe truly wore a hoodie that had once been soaked with fresh blood.

Human blood.

You trembled. Axe began to circle you like a hungry wolf, casually swinging his gigantic cleaver.

“Do you regret it?” you finally asked in a tiny voice.

Those four words penetrated the armor of madness that Axe was using to push you away, and they struck him like a well-timed attack. He reeled, reaching for some lie to keep you from seeing the truth and pitying him.

He found nothing.

The meat cleaver fell from his shaking hand. Axe sank to his haunches, covering his face with his hands, trying to hide from you and your perceptiveness. He wanted to scare you away before you could judge him and abandon him, but you shot your question straight to his SOUL, refusing to believe the worst of him.

“every fucking minute of my life.”

This time, when you tentatively reached for him, undaunted by his previous rejection, he leaned into your touch. He hated himself for his weakness, but every second that you stayed, even if you left eventually, was a second he would cherish until time wore away even the memory of his dust.

With his first admission, however poorly he’d delivered it, out of the way, Axe couldn’t stop himself from confessing even more of his transgressions and regrets. “i lied and told my brother it was meat from an animal in the forest. he didn’t want to eat humans, but i tricked him. i couldn’t let him starve” The words poured out of him; he feared that as soon as things went quiet, you would realize what an irredeemable abomination he was and flee. “i shouldn’t have done it, but i didn’t know what else to do. we were so hungry… and it messed up our magic. there’s no way to hide what we did. no way to undo it.”

Axe’s words stumbled to a halt, and you sat for a moment in the heavy silence of the grey dreamscape, contemplating them. You hated what he had done, but you also understood that his only other option would be watching his brother starve to death. The circumstances didn’t allow for any winners, and Axe suffered with the knowledge of the things he’d done.

“You were trying to survive.” Your voice nearly cracked on the final word. You could not fathom the desperation that drove Axe to his decision.

You remembered all of the heart-breaking stories that Axe told you about the Underground: the human who’d stolen the SOULs that the monsters had gathered and fled, taking the monsters’ hope with them, the death of their monarchs at the human’s hands, the Royal Guard Captain’s ascension to a throne that she didn’t possess the skills to manage, and the unbearable suffering of monsters starving to death or falling down because of an unshakable despair.

You raised your eyes to meet Axe’s eyelight, expecting to see softness there once more, but instead his horrified expression stared back at you. You didn’t need to puzzle out the cause because a moment later, barbed shadow vines lashed you, wrapping around your legs and dragging you towards a puddle of oozing darkness near your feet. You struggled against the thorny tendrils, and they tightened, driving each wickedly sharp thorn-tip into your flesh.

Pain seared your legs, real physical pain… in someone else’s dream. Panic washed over you, and you fought harder to escape, causing the barbs to rip deeper into you.

You screamed.

Shaking off his shock at the sound of your scream, Axe lunged forward. He wrapped both of his arms tightly around you and wrenched you away from the grasping vines. A writhing mass of them rose up behind him, swarming over him like living things. Staggering a few steps forward, Axe set you on an empty bit of space, but the vines quickly pulled him off of his feet and into a kneeling position. More tendrils rose to wrap around him, and the inky darkness of the puddle rose up to meet them, slithering up his body and swallowing him up in the darkness.

“i can’t protect you here… i can’t keep you safe from me, from my mind.” Axe choked out the words through the darkness consuming him. He couldn’t let you come back. He wouldn’t allow you to be in danger because of him.

This had to be good-bye.

He focused his mind.

“don’t come back.”

You jolted awake, that one last glimpse of Axe’s red eyelight, brimming with pain and regret burning in your mind. He had kicked you out of his dreams and told you not to come back. You couldn’t dream-walk in a mind that wasn’t open to your presence. Your throat constricted, and you felt tears sting your eyes. What if you never saw Axe again?

When you tossed back your blankets, you half expected to see scratches on your legs where Axe’s negative thoughts and emotions had touched you, but your skin was unbroken. You’d never experienced a nightmare so vivid and intense, but you breathed a sigh of relief that it couldn’t reach you in the waking world. If only Axe would let you come back, you could tell him that despite your panicked reactions, his dreams had no power to harm you.

Instead, he would continue to face the torment of his past mistakes all alone… for now.

Because while you had been helping Axe deal with his nightmares, you hadn’t neglected the appalling circumstances of his reality. If you could make your waking project work, you would be able to truly save the skeleton that you cared for so deeply.

I won’t let you push me away, you vowed.

Axe settled himself on the bench of his sentry station, taking a break from prowling the forest for potential meals. The barren snowscape left him all alone with his thoughts, and he hated it. In one bout of unhinged boredom, he’d created a sign for the outpost: “Head dogs, 5G.” It made as much sense as anything else in the Underground. Besides, there was no such thing as a hot dog in this frigid wasteland.

The narrow lines of dead tree trunks shifted if he stared at them too long, and the wind that howled through them carried voices whose words he could not quite arrange into coherency. The windblown whispers rose in volume until the roaring of innumerable voices filled his skull. The blazing white of the snow surrounding him only added to the sensory overload. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t see.

“shut up, shut up!” Axe chanted, clawing at the hole in his skull. Reality warped, the passage of time quickened and slowed, and nothing made sense anymore…

… and you were standing in front of him.

Axe recoiled in disbelief. How could this be happening? He hadn’t fallen asleep… or had he? Maybe you were a cruel hallucination conjured by his loneliness. He refused to accept the vision of you even when you reached out in that oh-so-familiar way to calm the scrabbling of his phalanges against the jagged edges of the hole in his skull.

Axe’s hand shot out as quickly as a striking snake and grabbed your wrist. He yanked you forward until you were partially bent over the sill of the sentry station. He raised his massive knife high above his head; his eyes held no recognition, no clarity, no sanity.

You held completely still, unflinching. The meat cleaver hovered threateningly above you, but it did not fall. You and Axe were frozen in the moment, but despite the madness that absolutely radiated from him, you trusted him not to hurt you.

“you’re not real,” Axe accused you in a gravelly whisper. You weren’t even sure if he meant to speak aloud at all.

“Are you going to kill me?” Your voice didn’t waver, and you kept your eyes locked with his single eyelight, calm yet firm.

Axe lowered the knife. Real or imagined, starving or not, he would never hurt you. You knew him too well. He released your wrist, hoping he hadn’t hurt you by grabbing you like that. He wanted to ask how you’d gotten here, but other matters demanded a higher priority.

“you aren’t safe here,” the skeleton scolded gruffly. “didn’t you listen? monsters here kill and eat humans!”

“Good thing I found you first then.” You tried to diffuse the tension with bravado, but you had to admit that your choice to come to the Underground was a risky one. Axe’s eyelight travelled over your body, searching for injuries while surreptitiously taking in the sight of you. His obvious concern for your safety filled you with warmth and determination.

“there’s nothing good about this,” Axe growled though he had to admit that seeing you again definitely felt like a good thing to him. That little bit of goodness could be snuffed out in a hurry though if another monster saw you and attacked. “i’ve got to get you out of here.”

Axe lumbered out of his sentry station, glancing furtively around the barren landscape, though it wasn’t entirely clear whether he expected to spot an enemy or an escape route. The skeleton stopped right next to you, attempting to block you from prying eyes. You found his protective stance rather charming, but you weren’t here to be charmed. You were on a mission.

You slipped your backpack from your shoulders, swinging it around into Axe’s line of sight and opening it. Seven clear canisters sat inside, each with a brightly-colored heart shape inside of it. Axe’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“are those…?” Axe sounded almost reverent, and with good reason.

“Human SOULs? Yes. I gathered these from willing donors who wanted to help set the monsters free.” It had taken dedication and time, but you’d meticulously interviewed potential donors until you tracked down all seven SOUL types that you needed. Now, only the path to the Barrier stood in your way.

Without warning, Axe swept you into a crushing hug, then proceeded to spin you around. Your feet actually left the ground, and you laughed softly at the thrill of it.

“you’ve got to meet my brother, then we’ll smuggle you into the Capitol.” For once you heard excitement and hope in Axe’s voice. His eyelight gleamed with resolution as he reached for your hand. You placed your hand in his without hesitation. Axe’s declaration that he knew a shortcut still rang in your ears as the world spun beneath you and everything went dark.

Disoriented, you tried to take in the scene around you. You’d been outside, standing in a forest choked with dead trees and carpeted in snow, but suddenly you found yourself in a house. The loud colors of the bowling alley style carpeting had long since faded, and the couch had obviously seen better days. Everything in the house was touched with the same look of elegant decay: faded colors, worn fabrics, the yellowing of book pages, and the subtle musk of disuse.

A fine film of the dust of time spoke volumes about the life of two monsters who devoted so much of their lives to simply surviving that they were forced to neglect the basic upkeep of their home. The house looked so long abandoned that the presence of life within it seemed almost surreal. You couldn’t find words to break the silence that permeated the house, soundless echoes of what it had once been.

Movement caught your eye; a lanky figure detached itself from the shadows and stepped in the dust-mote-filled light. Your eyes travelled up and up, an impossible height despite the figure’s hunched posture, until you found facial features that you recognized from Axe’s dream. The vivid colors of Axe’s subconscious bore the same washed-out appearance here that characterized their home, but you knew this must be Papyrus, now known as Crooks due to the effects of his recent tragic diet.

Crooks wrung his hands shyly, awaiting your reaction to his somewhat terrifying appearance. His teeth were crooked and broken, caked with something red that you tried not to think about too much. His nervous actions tugged at your heart, and you offered him a gentle smile which he responded to with a smile of his own.

“I’D OFFER YOU SOME OF MY SIGNATURE SPAGHETTI AND EYEBALLS, BUT WE’RE ALL OUT OF PASTA.” His apologetic tone did little to distract you from the fact that the skeleton brothers were short of pasta but not eyeballs.

“That’s alright. Really.” You didn’t hold out much hope that Crooks had misspoken considering Axe’s earlier admission. The sooner you got these monsters out of their Underground prison, the sooner they could return to normal healthy eating habits.

“my friend here wants to help us get to the Surface. they’ve got plenty of pasta up there. we just need to talk to ol’ Queen Undyne first,” Axe interjected, using a light tone to dispel the awkwardness of his brother’s offer.

Crooks perked up at the mention of Undyne. “UNDYNE WILL BE SO RELIEVED. I DON’T THINK SHE LIKES BEING QUEEN VERY MUCH…” You clutched your backpack and its precious cargo of SOULs, unzipping it slightly to show the mingled glow of seven vibrant colors. Crooks peered at them with a mixture of curiosity and delight.

Axe shifted uncomfortably. “yeah, relieved,” he mumbled, refusing to meet your eyes. You didn’t have much time to wonder about the skeletons’ very different reactions to Undyne because Axe extended a hand to you and Crooks. As soon as your fingertips brushed his smooth, warm bones, everything went dark again.

In the few seconds it took your eyes to communicate the view of a once-opulent throne room to your poor confused brain, a glowing blue spear appeared and slammed into the ground so close to you that you felt the force of the impact thrumming up the shaft of the weapon. If Axe hadn’t yanked you backwards, you would’ve been impaled. Where had it even come from?

“UNDYNE WAIT! THIS HUMAN IS A FRIEND!” You followed the direction of Crooks’ voice to see an armor-clad monster with a wild mane of crimson hair. She held another glowing blue spear, and her single yellow eye focused on you with murderous malice. You staggered backwards from the force of her glare.

“No human is a friend to monsters,” Queen Undyne roared, launching a volley of her spears at you. You resigned yourself to your doom, regretting that your rescue attempt had been such a short-lived failure.

A wall of bones erupted from the tiles of the floor, blocking the attack. Crooks and Axe both stood next to you, arms outstretched to summon the defensive maneuver. More spears struck the bones, causing them to shudder, but they remained standing. You turned wide, panicked eyes to Axe, searching for some explanation or reassurance.

“can you hold her off?” Axe asked Crooks, who nodded somberly. The stocky skeleton grabbed your arm and dragged you down a hallway of soaring pillars coated thickly in cobwebs and floor to ceiling windows of cloudy, cracked glass. Away from the immediate danger, you began to tremble. Tears welled up in your eyes.

Axe pulled you close, wrapping you in the safety of his arms and gently rubbing your back. He made soft shushing sounds, and you realized that your tears had turned into terrified sobs. Your body shook, and you hiccuped, trying to catch your breath. Axe held you until the overwhelming wave of emotion subsided.

“i’m so sorry. i thought maybe we could talk some sense into Undyne. she and my brother used to be really close, but the last human who came through here… well, that human killed a lot of monsters and stole the SOULs that we had collected towards breaking the barrier. they left us with nothing but despair and dust, and Undyne blamed herself for not stopping them. it… affected her.” Once again, Axe looked guilty.

“How can we convince her that I’m trying to help?” You gripped your backpack with determined hands. You didn’t gather these SOULs for nothing, and you didn’t plan to leave the starving monsters in the Underground without at least making an effort to save them.

“you aren’t going to convince her of anything.” You opened your mouth to protest, but Axe laid a phalange against your lips to silence you. “i want you to get out of here. it’s not safe, and i would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“What about breaking the Barrier?”

Loud crashes sounded from the Throne Room. Axe shot a quick glance over his shoulder before pushing you further down the hallway. “i need to go help my brother. if we can convince Undyne to trust you, i’ll meet you at the Barrier to break it and free the monsters.”

“What if you can’t?” More sounds of destruction threatened to drown out your whispered words, but Axe was close enough to hear you over the cacophony. Sorrow filled his single eyelight.

“i won’t put you in danger.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Actually, it did answer your question, and the implications left you frantic with worry for him. You wanted to explain how you felt about him, why his plan tore your heart to pieces, that you couldn’t just leave him behind, but the sounds of battle were approaching quickly.

Crooks slid backwards into the pillar-lined hallway, kicking up dirt. He held bone attacks in his gloved hands, and he used them to deflect wave after wave of spear attacks. The barrage of attacks drove him backwards again, closer to you and his brother. Axe stepped between you and the sound of Undyne’s war cries.

Turning, he cupped your cheek in one large, bony hand. His eyelight drank you in as if to memorize every feature of your tear-streaked face. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “go,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours.

Then he was gone, teleporting to the entrance of the hallway to join Crooks with bone attacks flying.

If you stayed, it would only distract him. He wanted you to go, to be safe. It took every bit of willpower in your body to walk away, to step through the Barrier without him, knowing that he never would’ve fought Undyne if it wasn’t for your meddling.

You waited.

And waited.

The seconds stretched out, each one lasting a thousand excruciating years.

You waited.

Axe curled up on the couch, full to bursting from a delicious dinner prepared by his brother. Yawning, he rested his skull in your lap, and you gently stroked his scapulae, smiling as he began to doze. He no longer feared nightmares. In fact, he rarely dreamed at all anymore. After all, what would be the point in dreaming?

Life on the Surface far surpassed anything that his subconscious could fabricate, and he already lived that dream every single day, with you.

INDEX

#vexy writes #horrortale #horrortale sans #ht!sans #horrortale papyrus #ht!papyrus #horrortale undyne #ht!undyne #horror!sans x reader #fem!reader

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crackinwise · 4 years ago

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This is a silly idea that wouldn't leave my head about Mondo being hesitant and Taka knowing exactly what he's about. Also I apologize to Leon.

The mixing of classes 77 & 78 in the rec room on a weekend should have been a chaotic party, but there was a certain Moral Compass in attendance who'd already vetoed many of the more rowdy ideas put forth.

The current spectacle was Nekomaru arm-wrestling Sakura. The intense screaming from the two made it sound more exciting than it was: they'd been locked in the same position for like five minutes now. At least Hina was happy cheering on Sakura's straining bicep.

Bored with it, Leon moved his eyes away from the stalemate to narrow them instead at Kiyotaka, who was being felt-up as he watched the match. Okay, not felt-up. That'd actually be fun. No, Mondo just had his hand on the hall monitor's upper back, thumb moving in slow circles.

Watching the couple in public was also a disappointment, in Leon's opinion. They'd been officially together a few months and their rules for "PDA" seemed arbitrary to anyone observing. They could look at each other in ways that'd make the most romantic person gag, but wouldn't even hold hands. It appeared Mondo was only allowed to touch Taka from the shoulder-blades up. Or that's all he had the guts to do, maybe.

Boring.

'Well,' Leon thought, 'I can at least work with this.' Messing with Mondo just enough to be entertained, but not enough to be killed, was a tightrope act. Say something the biker deemed a personal attack and he's a goner, but phrasing it as a challenge or dare could usually get Mondo to go along with anything. 'I just need the one carrying the braincell to leave.'

"Hey, Ishimaru!" Leon whispered to Kiyotaka. "I think I saw Souda spiking girls' drinks."

"WHAT!" Kiyotaka immediately left to find and possibly stomp the mechanic to death. Hopefully Ultimate Nurse Mikan was around.

"Ba--Taka?" Mondo called, confused at the sudden departure.

Leon swooped in and took his arm to pull him away from the main crowd a bit. "Mondo, buddy, want to have some fun?"

His buddy suspiciously glared down at him and answered, "Depends. What's yer idea of fun?"

Leon smiled, knowing the other's curiosity was a great sign for this plan working. "I noticed your wandering hands don't wander very far," he quickly waved his arms and continued when Mondo started puffing up to yell at him, "SO I wanna help you get them to second base tonight!"

Mondo deflated and stared.

"Y-Y'know, it's a baseball metaphor because I'm-"

"I KNOW WHAT THE FUCK SECOND BASE MEANS!" Several students turned to them, unimpressed, prompting Mondo to lower his voice again. "The hell are ya gettin at?"

"Well, either you got shy hands or Taka has you whipped. Which is it?"

"Is yer idea of fun gettin ripped in half, dude?"

"Er, let me start over," Leon back-pedaled quickly. He could do this. "What's stopping you from touching Taka more than a nervous twelve-year-old on the first date?" Shit. "Shit, wait, don't hit me! I'm just curious why you've been together so long and I've never seen your hands reach the promised land!"

The other boy paused with right arm still raised in mid-punch. "Wha?"

"By 'promised land' I mean his butt." Leon took a step backwards in case he had to dodge.

Something about that made Mondo briefly look more insecure, "One: I ain't lookin to get dumped. I still dunno how handsy he'll let me get."

Then his attack-dog mode returned and he brought his raised arm to his chest to crack his knuckles. "And two: if you've been lookin at Taka's ass, I'mma tie ya up in front of the fuckin ball machine an' leave ya there."

"What? No! Gross!" Leon had been, but it was like admiring a work of art, and also not the point. "I just want my pals happy! Trust me, every time you touch his back, go lower than before. You can watch his signals or whatever, but if you go slow it'll be fine!"

Leon was proud he sounded so supportive. It was a complete lie, of course. Leon was 99.9% sure the second Mondo passed the belt line, Kiyotaka would loudly explode at his boyfriend, making the guy explode right back, and ensuring Leon finally had his entertainment for tonight.

Leon just had to make sure he won his little Mondo game first, "You should at least try before he finds someone else man enough to grab dat a-"

"YA LITTLE SHIT!"

Whoops, Leon found himself suspended off the ground by his shirt. That's going to stretch. He shouldn't have gone the toxic masculinity route. But Mondo exhaled through his nose and set him back down when he saw Kiyotaka marching back over to them. 'Whipped.'

"Souda swore his innocence, but I've made all the ladies get new drinks to be safe! And Hiro is oddly asking everyone if they need ice but it's not for the drinks...?" Kiyotaka's expression changed from bemused to wary. "Uh, was there a problem here, Mondo?"

"Nah, y'know how Leon is," Mondo's voice was disgustingly soft all of a sudden. "C'mon, I think I see Chi playing a game."

As they walked away, Leon caught Mondo rest his hand on Taka's neck then slide down to mid-back without issue. Smirking, Leon adjusted his now loose shirt collar and followed at a distance.

An hour. A whole damn hour passed watching Mondo slowly achieve touching Kiyotaka's hip! Leon wanted to scream. He didn't mean go that slow! And Taka acted like he didn't notice or care either. Leon wished Souda really was spiking drinks so he could down three.

Sayaka appeared at Leon's side, startling the redhead. "You're disappointed in him," she stated.

"Of course I'm disappointed! Dude's a gang leader and he acts like the Ultimate Gentleman!" Wait. "Wait, what do you mean? How do you...?"

"Psychi~c," she sing-songed innocently before she pointed to the couple Leon had been stalking. When Leon looked over, Kiyotaka's hand reached back to purposefully guide Mondo's hand from his hip down the short distance to the swell of his behind, and kept it there.

What? The fuck? Happened? He'd been expecting jumping, yelling, possibly some face-slapping to get on video, but definitely wasn't expecting Taka to push Mondo to the goal line. Mondo himself looked dumbstruck.

'Sonuvabitch,' Leon thought. Good for them and all but what was he supposed to do, not tease them? He sauntered up behind the two and stage-whispered, "Oi! Ass-grabbing is not welcome in a school environment!"

They yelped and jumped apart, then just as quickly whirled on him. Mondo's red face especially said Leon was in danger, but it was Kiyotaka who spoke.

"We're outside of school hours, in the rec room among friends! If public displays of affection made you uncomfortable, you could have asked instead of disturbing your peers with vulgar mockery." His arms were crossed and his eyes appeared almost aflame. He was not happy being interrupted.

"Ha," Leon pointed at the proud model student, "It was just funny catching the school mascot initiate groping. You been wanting that a while?"

There was a low growl coming from the direction of Mondo now.

Sayaka grabbed Leon's shoulder and murmured a warning, "Kuwata, you should probably let it go."

He ignored her.

Kiyotaka's eyebrows furrowed as if ready to pounce and maul Leon's face. "It was not groping. Why is it surprising I'd want my partner to touch me?"

"Babe," Mondo had stopped growling at Leon to put all his attention on his boyfriend, "it was really ok? Ya knew what I was tryin t'do all night?"

"Of course," Taka said warmly. "You were only holding me, and I'm yours, so obviously you can-"

"M-MINE?!" Mondo honest-to-god squeaked.

Leon reacted just as loudly, "Did I just hear Taka imply his ass belongs to Mondo? Kiyotaka?? Ishimaru?!"

Whoops, he was being lifted again. Only this time Mondo brought him all the way to the door and literally threw him out.

"Owww. So much for my fun."

Sayaka sighed as she walked out to Leon and handed him something. "You can thank Hiro for the ice."

#please yell at me for this ooc i rewrote it so many times #i think if sayaka and hiro teamed up the world would explode #ishimondo #kiyotaka ishimaru #mondo oowada #danganronpa #idk why i hc leon with no filter

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creacherkeeper · 4 years ago

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ooh 16 or 19 (hand-holding) for fig and aelwyn?

only linking the pinkies together, not ready to let go completely

The backyard swing had been put up by Jawbone and Gorthalax the week prior. No one had spent less than an hour on it, swinging and laughing and spinning until the chains were tangled, like maybe the group of adventure-roughened teens that hung around Mordred Manor were no more than children delighting in a shiny new playground. Fig had gone the highest, much to Fabian’s dismay, who confidently deemed he could go higher—and did. He didn’t laugh so much after Ayda caught him mid-air, halfway across the yard to the treeline. The rest of them did. Adaine had been content to merely sway back and forth, a book in her lap, but a smile permanently etched on her face as she pretended to tune out the rest of their boisterous laughter.

Aelwyn hadn’t touched them. Everyone noticed, but no one mentioned it. They figured they’d give her time, give her space, and if she wanted to use them, she would. It wasn’t like it was important. They were just swings. Freeing and childlike.

Now, Fig watched her behind the sliding glass door. It was late, but the moon was lighting the yard and garden in a blanket of cool blue. Her pupils expanded in the soft reflection as her darkvision took over, drinking in the dim light.

Aelwyn kept a good distance away from the swings—a few yards, at least—with her body angled like she wasn’t really looking at them. A more casual observer might think she was looking at the woods. But her arms were crossed so tight, ears pinned backwards in displeasure. So, Fig knew. They’d spent enough time together in the long months since returning home. She knew what was troubling the older girl, and why.

The door squeaked as it slid open, and Aelwyn’s ear flicked even from across the yard. Crisping leaves crunched under Fig’s feet as she approached, taking note of her stiffening posture and straightened back.

“Hey,” Fig said, voice feeling too loud in the quiet night. “It’s cold out. I brought your cardigan.”

Peeking over her shoulder, Aelwyn stared at her. Light eyes flicked down to the thick, blue cardigan draped over Fig’s arm.

“I’m fine,” she said shortly.

“There’s goosebumps on your arms.”

“I was about to come inside anyway.”

Fig’s lips twisted. It was always a game with Aelwyn—like coaxing a puppy with treats when it knew it was going to the vet. You could tempt it all you wanted, the thing still had teeth. Fig, both metaphorically and any time she had dealt with an animal in her life, preferred getting bit to not trying.

“Well, I think I’m gonna swing a little bit, if you want to keep me company.”

Not bothering to watch Aelwyn’s expression, she turned away and walked to the far swing, leaving the closer one open for the other girl. She sat down with a huff of contentment and started pushing herself back and forth with her toes.

Aelwyn sighed. It was a short, angry sigh. An, “I’ll bite, don’t make me, I will” kind of sigh. Fig tilted her head up to the clouds and pretended not to notice.

When the silence stretched, and it was obvious Fig was not going to rise to the bait, Aelwyn spoke up.

“They’re stupid.”

“Hm?”

“The swings.”

Fig looked at her, continuing to rock back and forth with her hands wrapped around the chains. She shrugged, glancing around at the structure. “I like them. They did a good job. I thought there would be a lot more blood, to be honest. Had a healing spell prepped the whole time.”

Blue eyes glanced away—out at the woods, down at the ground. A frustrated expression had settled over her face.

“They’re for children.”

And there was the heart of it, Fig thought. She’d had a hunch. Pretending to be different people, you had to get good at understanding motivations. If she was playing a character like Aelwyn, she’d feel the same way. It’s childish, it’s frivolous, it’s foolish. I’m so far above them that it makes me angry you’d even dare to have fun, I’m certainly not secretly pining that I could get off my high horse and have fun as well.

Beginning to wind her way in circles, getting the chains nice and twisted, Fig said, “So what?”

“So …”

In the middle of each circling, Fig could see her furrowed brows and pinned ears.

“So- ugh, Fig, you know my point.”

“No. I don’t.” She stopped as the chains got so tight that she could barely reach the ground. “Watch how fast I can go. Riz did this and almost threw up.”

She lifted her legs and began to spin. The world raced by in blurs of faded color—trees and garden plants and the house and smudgy moonlight. She laughed, a bubble of excitement in her chest.

Hands gripped the chains. She jerked to a stop.

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Aelwyn said harshly, her face spinning as Fig’s head caught up with the sudden lack of movement.

“Spoilsport. Fine.”

Fig let her feet find the ground again as Aelwyn let go, slowly working her way backwards, little tiptoeing steps as the chains unwound.

“This is what I mean. You’re too old for this.”

“I’m not. And what would it matter if I was, anyway? Why’s everyone in such a hurry to grow up? If I want to swing, I’m gonna swing. If I want to watch cartoons, I will. If someone wants to collect action figures or fingerpaint or sleep with a stuffed animal, then let them. Literally who cares?”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. Your parents did.” The chains unlinked, and Fig came to still in front of Aelwyn. She looked up at the older girl, who stared down at her with a pinch to her face. “Their expectations of you were unreasonable. You should’ve been allowed to be a kid. Pretending you’re not and never were doesn’t actually solve anything or help anyone, especially you. No one cares if you want to have fun, Aelwyn. We want you to have fun. We’re not here to judge you, so you don’t have to be so defensive all the time, you know?”

Throughout the yard, little bugs chirped and chattered, and a breeze blew through the leaves in the woods. Aelwyn stared down at her and did not speak.

“Please swing with me? Just for a little while.”

After a moment, silently, Aelwyn sat in the other swing. Her hands were clasped firmly in her lap, and she didn’t move, just sat there and stared out into the dark ahead of her.

“Okay, well that’s- you’re halfway there.”

“I don’t know how.”

“What?”

“I’ve never been allowed to use the swings before.”

Something in Fig’s chest cracked. She lifted a hand and held it out between them. “Come on, I’ll show you. Like this.”

Cautiously, Aelwyn reached out, and let their pinkies link together. Fig tiptoed back and forth, their joined hands tugging the other girl forward until they were both swaying softly in the night. They got a little higher, a little faster, as Fig ducked and pushed her legs forward and back. She didn’t let them go too fast, or too high. But, after a while, a little smile creased one edge of Aelwyn’s mouth.

“It’s not awful, I suppose.”

“See? It’s nice, right?”

In the chilled air, Fig’s hand—barely linked, but linked—warmed Aelwyn’s cold one. The devil in her soul was good for more things than one, she mused, as they swung in time.

“Fig?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

#fantasy high #fantasy high fic #dimension 20 #fig faeth #aelwyn abernant #a little treat. For U #i might start posting these little ficlets in a collection on ao3??#i should probably keep them somewhere before they all get lost on tumblr lmao #i dont even know how many i've done so far whoops #anyway feel free to send more prompts!! i got a few but i've got the whole weekend open #might try to find and reblog some more prompt lists as well so feel free to throw those my way

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arvandus · 4 years ago

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Congrats on 500 followers! Could I perhaps request 8 from the fluff prompts with Present Mic, but platonic? Like he's the reader's unofficial metaphorical dad and something bad happens to the reader and the prompt line is what he says at the end? Sorry if that's confusing.

Thank you so much! Ngl, I struggled with this one a bit. I’ve never written for Present Mic before, so this was new territory for me. Also never written platonic before, which was also a good exercise. Really though, it’s because this was INSTANTLY the idea that had popped into my head with your request, and it WOULD NOT BUDGE. Normally not a problem, but for some reason, I had the hardest time figuring out how to fit the dialogue prompt into it. BUT I DID IT! It only took me.... *checks* 1732 words to get there. 🤣🤣🤣

This makes it my biggest one yet for the 500 Followers Event. I hope you enjoy it! It’s a bit angst heavy in the beginning because of the nature of your request, but it does end on a happy note!

8. “You are my family.”

It happened. It actually happened. You had hoped it wouldn’t, but here you were, sitting on a park bench with nothing but a backpack and a duffle bag. Your mind replayed the sound of your family’s words in your head. Harsh, cruel, heartless words.

‘Get out.’

Sure, there was more to it than that, but you didn’t want to dwell on it, to let it fester within you and take root. There was already more than enough damage tied to their memory, and the last thing you wanted to do was carry it with you. After all, you had enough baggage as it was.

Of course, this was easier said than done. The ache sat heavy in your gut, your heart a black void. Questions flew circles in your mind like crows, questions you’d likely never know the answer to. They mocked you, pecking at your resolution, tearing at your self-esteem. Tears soaked down your cheeks and you let them fall freely as you wrapped your arms around yourself, struggling to find a strength you weren’t sure you had.

You began to shiver as the cold night air made its way into your jacket. You couldn’t stay here. You knew you couldn’t; it wasn’t safe. You looked at your phone for the tenth time. A single contact stared back at you.

Hizashi Yamada.

Hizashi was your mentor, your guide… and quite frankly, the closest thing you had to a good father figure. He’d helped you through your years at UA, both academically and emotionally, giving you the support you’d desperately needed, the support that was painfully absent with your own family. He treated you kindly and respectfully, taking you under his wing so that you could flourish. He praised you in your successes and guided you through your failures, all while keeping a light heart that constantly reminded you not to take life too seriously. It set up the foundation for a strong bond between the two of you that continued after graduation. It was a bond that you still had, ever evolving with occasional check-ins and coffee shop meet-ups, where he often gave you professional and even sometimes fatherly advice.

Fatherly was what you needed right now, more than anything. He was the only person you really trusted, the only one who knew about your situation. He’d even said for you to call him if you were ever in trouble.

This counted, right?

Still, you hesitated. You didn’t want to inconvenience him. And you’d never ever reached out to him in this capacity before.

But you didn’t really have any other choice.

You pressed the call button.

It rang once. Twice.

“Y/N?” His voice answered. No doubt, your name came up on his phone.

You swallowed.

“Um… Hi, Mr. Hizashi…” you mumbled.

“Hey, kid! You okay? What’s got you callin’ so late?” he replied. You could hear the concern underlying his jovial tone, and you clutched your phone tighter to your ear, grateful to know that at least someone out there cared about you.

“I… I need some help.” You said. “They… they kicked me out.”

There was a silent pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was somber. “I’ll come get you. Tell me where you are.”

You thanked him and gave him your location. He kept you on the phone with him the entire time as he drove over, making you speak to him and describe your surroundings. Any people who walked by you, specific landmarks, anything he might need to know if trouble arrived before he did. When you finally saw his headlights pull up into the parking lot of the park, relief flooded you and you nearly ran to his car. He was a sight for sore eyes, his blonde hair pulled back into a casual man bun, his clothing simple. He stepped out of the driver’s side door to put your things in his trunk before opening his passenger door for you.

“Thank you.” You said as he settled back into the driver’s seat next to you.

“I’m glad you called me.” He replied.

As he drove, he spoke to you. “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?” he asked.

Your vision blurred and you shook your head.

“Listen. I’m going to give you a couple of options for tonight. I can take you back to my place and you can crash on my couch. Or, if you’re not comfortable with that, I can reach out Nemuri. I’m sure she’d understand.”

You were grateful he didn’t offer to put you up in a motel by yourself or take you to a homeless shelter. The tension in your spine eased slightly.

“Um.. your place, please, if that’s okay…” you mumbled.

You could see relief smooth the creases on his brow and he smiled at you. “Of course it is.”

You arrived at Hizashi’s home and he helped you carry your things in. He retreated to his hallway to grab a spare blanket and a pillow and set it up for you on the couch. You looked at the space curiously, intrigued at his level of preparedness.

Hizashi noticed the questioning look on your face, and chuckled. “Shouta crashes here sometimes. Gotta be prepared.”

You gave a small chuckle at the mental picture.

“How about some tea?” Hizashi asked as he disappeared into the kitchen. You could hear the clinking of ceramics and the running of water. “Have ya had anything to eat?” He called out. “Are ya hungry?”

You shook your head, your stomach still twisted in knots. “No, I’m okay…”

“Well, if that changes, feel free to help yourself whenever you want.” He replied.

By this point, the dam of your emotions was beginning to crack, and you sat on the couch with your head in your hands. You could feel fresh tears filling your eyes, sticking to your lashes. You blinked at them, letting them fall into your palms.

A few minutes later, Hizashi returned with a cup of hot tea that he handed to you. You took it gratefully and sipped at its contents, letting the warmth coat your throat and fill your stomach. It helped to slightly ease the knot of anxiety that you felt twisted up inside you.

“I’m so sorry to ask for your help like this.” You muttered. “I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind when you gave me your number. I just didn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

“It’s okay.” He replied. “Like I said, I’m glad you called me.”

“I promise I won’t stay long…” you said. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You’ll stay as long as you need to. I’m not going to let you out back on the street by yourself.” He said sternly. “I’ll start reaching out to people tomorrow. I’m sure there are some UA graduates that might be cool with getting a new roommate.”

“Thank you.” You said again.

Another long silence filled the space as you sipped at your drink. He quietly sat near you, letting you acclimate to his space and this strange, new situation. Once the mug was empty, you set it down.

“So… do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

You began to recount all that had transpired hours before. The things your family did, the things they said… You tried to keep the emotions separate from your words, but it was impossible. Within a matter of minutes, the dam finally burst, and you were openly sobbing. As you cried, Hizashi offered you a box of tissues and put a comforting hand over yours. You clutched at it in return like a lifeline, his silent consolation tethering the broken pieces of your heart.

“I don’t know what to do now.” You whispered. “Hizashi… what’s going to happen to me…?”

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.” He replied.

You stared at him and he stared back, a small reassuring smile on his lips. He was such a good person. Already, he’d managed to give you more support in the past twenty minutes than you’d received from your family in months.

You gave a sad, ironic laugh.

“You’re like the dad I wish I had…” you muttered.

Hizashi’s eyes widened for a moment, and panic filled you. You hadn’t meant to say that; the words had just slipped out, a small confession of tired heart. But then he laughed and scratched the back of his head.

“Haha, really? Thanks! I guess we have gotten pretty close over the years…”

The tension in the room immediately evaporated. You gave a small smile, glad that your comment didn’t have the dramatic impact you feared it would. The man’s positivity seemed as immovable as the mountains.

Hizashi’s chuckles eased, and his expression softened. “To be honest, I always knew you had family troubles. When you teach long enough, you start to notice those kinds of things. And back then, there really wasn’t much I could do about it. But that’s part of why I wanted to help you, I think. To give you a chance to grow past that, so it wouldn’t define you.”

He stared at his hands as he continued. “I guess, maybe in some way, I did sort of adopt you, in my heart.” His eyes looked up at you again, holding your attention. “So, don’t feel bad about saying that, okay? If anything, it makes this old man’s heart happy.”

Your stared at him, your eyes freshly stinging as new emotions – happy emotions – bubbled forth.

“Hizashi….”

“Yeah?”

“Could I have a hug?”

He gave a chuckle and sat next to you before putting his arm around you. You leaned against him, soaking up the physical contact. It drove away the loneliness and replaced it with something you’d only ever really felt in his presence.

Love, strong and familial.

You had thought that you were all cried out, but you were wrong. Fresh sobs shook from your body like the boughs of a snowy tree, knocking loose all that you’d been carrying within yourself. The anger, the fear, the self-loathing…

Hizashi rested his chin on your head as you cried. “You are my family.” He said softly. “Only if you want to be, of course.”

You nodded fervently as a laugh bubbled from your throat, pure joy filling you. You were safe. You were loved. And maybe… just maybe… you were home.

#Arv's 500 Followers Event #Present Mic #Hizashi Yamada #Platonic!Mic x reader #family themes #angst to fluff #bnha #mha

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weareallstoriesintheend · 4 years ago

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I’m Glad It Was You (Ben Solo x Reader)

Prompt/Summary: The day that you take up the life long job of being a reaper. Your first task?

Collect the soul of your best friend...

(Happens during The Rise of Skywalker - This is bending the rules of death in Star Wars mildly but I liked the prompt too much and this is what came to mind so MAYBE counts as AU, I guess, but not really) Adaptation of a prompt from @here-haveaprompt

Warnings: None

Words: 1,060

You watched closely, the shadows hiding you out of sight. She leant over his body as it falls lifelessly to the ground, your own heart felt like it crumpled in your chest as his eyes closed. Her hands caressed the fabric of his dark ragged jumper; you could see the tears glint on her furrowed face. There was so much between them; you could feel their connection, the force, pulsing even after his heart stopped.

You knew she wouldn’t stay long. She unsteadily dragged herself to her feet and you watched as she wandered, almost in a trance, back the way she had come. Back towards her ship that would take her from desolate Exegol and home to warmth and liberty. Once Rey was out of sight that’s when you stepped forward, light casting over you and that’s when you saw him. He looked afraid and your heart clenched.

“Ben?” He whipped his head towards you, dark hair sticking to his face that was still glistening with sweat, tears and blood. The muscles in his face relaxed almost to a picture of calm as he spoke “You?”

“Hey Solo” you smiled, stepping towards him gingerly. Your feet still make traction on the ground despite the fact you weren’t really here. “Why are you– how are you here?” he asked, looking around before looking to his feet. His own body laying at his feet; he took an abrupt step back to take it all in. His face was wracked with fear once again. “I bet that feels weird” a chuckle escaped your lips in an attempt to alleviate the immense turmoil you could feel rolling off him. “You’re –“ “Dead” finishing your sentence with a gentle crack to his voice, his eyes lifted. You nodded; you burned with empathy for your old friend. He’d been so lost inside his own head for so long that, despite the pain, this almost looked like freedom.

“Why are you here?” He stepped over himself and walked towards you on shaky legs. Your hands reached out and you grasped his forearms as he got to you. He felt solid, which you hadn’t been expecting, and his face was even more handsome than you remember. His curious eyes searched your face.

“My friend, I’m here for you” you traced circles on his arms with your fingertips, desperate to bring him comfort. His eyebrows pulled down and you stuttered “I-this is me now. After what happened at the temple” you paused as you felt guilt rupture within him “I didn’t feel like I could be a Jedi anymore, things happened which we need not talk about now and I ended up a reaper” His face was horrified “You’re dead?” You laughed and reached up to soothe the lines from his face with your fingers. “Yes, I have been for a long time. But I found a purpose and they’ve been keeping me on ice until…now” His face was a flurry of pain, fear and guilt. You ran the pad of your thumb over his cheek; even though you could not see them now you could feel the memory of the deep scars that once lined it. “Let it go Ben”

“I could have done so much more” he whispered. Those eyes had always been so expressive, even when he was young, and his full lips quivered. “What do I do now?” Your breath stuttered, in fear that you would cry, you stilled yourself before taking his hands “You let it go, put the past behind you. Everything you have done, what has happened, you can’t change but you can be at peace” “How?” he voice rose suddenly and you flinched. His rage was always so full and harsh; you felt it flood every fibre of his being. He dropped to his knees and pulled you down so you crouched over him. You clutched his hands tightly, the size of them in his akin to a childs. “By realising that you, Ben Solo, did not fail”

You studied him as he relaxed once more, his expression almost pleading at he looked up at you. All of sudden you were looking into the face of a boy, the boy that you knew all those years ago before his heart was turned and his world became dark. Lost, terrified and craving guidance. “You did not fail. I cannot imagine the pain you have been through, what you have suffered and what you have lost. But I’m here now – let me help you find yourself again. Without Snoke, without your parents, without Master Luke – just you”

Tears rolled heavily down his face and you brushed them away “They loved you, you know” you didn’t need to expand on that sentence as he nodded softly. “So did she” You gestured to the direction Rey had walked. You watched him follow your gesture with a longing look. Laughing you grabbed his shoulders “A Dyad huh?” raising an eyebrow you continued “So that’s why I could never get you to have a crush on me, you were always waiting for her”

Light sprung forth and Ben Solo laughed. His dimples deep and that crooked smile broke across his face. Now your own tears fell remembering the days at the temple – the endless lessons come rain, snow or blinding sun, Luke’s watchful eye and his vailed infuriating metaphors of the force. His incessant need for us to learn this by-

“- making the rocks float” he chuckled finishing your thought. “Get of my head Solo” you chastised him with a slap to the chest. “We’re running out of time, you need to come with me” You rose to your feet stepping back; he followed your movement with his eyes but didn’t follow you. Confidently you held your hand out and waited. Years of confusion dropped from his body, his shoulders lowering down from their anxious place around his ears and he too rose to his feet. You took in his wide, strong body as he stood before you; no longer cloaked by thick robes or hiding his face with a mask. Now, despite his severe and intimidating frame, he was soft and free. Biting your lip to hide your giggle at the memory of the skinny, gawky kid he used to be. Mid-thought you felt him tangle his fingers with yours.

“I’m glad it was you”

#Ben solo x reader #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x you #ben solo fic #kylo ren fic #the rise of skywalker #kylo ren #ben solo #DID I MAKE MYSELF CRY WHILST WRITING THIS? MAYBE!#star wars

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ajwrites52 · 4 years ago

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Batober Day 4-FEAR

(Set on a different Earth, please head to Ao3 to read the origin and background of this Batman. If interest is large enough, I might post some chapters over here on Tumblr.)

The chill October air sends shivers down the boy's spine. Most children the age of ten would be in bed, being tucked in by their parents. But not Jimmy Prescott, an absent father and a mother who worked nights, and the ten-year-old had nothing at home but an empty fridge. Like many boys in Gotham, he and the others found entertainment; this was probably the worst one ever devised. With only a flashlight in hand and the clothes on his back, Jimmy wandered into the cold and empty cemetery. He looks back at the gates, his seniors sitting on their bikes waving to him and pushing him to keep going. Biting his lip, he pressed on before stopping at the rusted fence and overgrown weeds that protected a closed-off part of the cemetery.

"H-He's not real. He's just a story, that's it."

His trembling hand pried the gate open, the loud creaking of the hinges scaring a murder of crows to fly away, startling the young lad. He could hear his classmates laughing at him from a distance. He clenched his fist and shined his flashlight forward before entering the dark walkway towards the dilapidated and crumbling tombstone surrounded by rotten weeds. Jimmy shines the flashlight on the fallen golden plaque and reads it beneath his breath.

"Here lies Dr. Jonathan W. Cane. March 1635-1692. May his spirit forever lie in rest and never return."

He rummaged in his coat pocket and took a deep breath, his body quaking as he unfolded the slip of paper and set his phone to record. He stared at the broken grave and swallowed his fears before beginning to speak.

"Oh, dear Doctor Crane. Long may he reign. When the red roses bloom and the moon hangs in the air, shall your eyes open? When the crows cry out, and the land turns cold, shall you speak your first words?"

BRAKAKOOM!

He shakes as he stares up at the sudden arrival of storm clouds above him. He gulps before continuing with a shaky breath.

"When Gotham cries, and her children grow old and die. S-Shall your fingers grasp your scythe."

The second crash of thunder erupts in the sky, causing Jimmy to jump as cold raindrops begin to hit his head. He would turn back, but if he didn't bring back proof, he would be the victim of endless teasing and bullying by his compatriots. So, he continued.

"Will you stand up when the streets flood with lights and people? Will you take your first steps when your demonic servant takes flight in the night sky?"

The wind begins to whip around him, causing the drops of rain to feel like razor blades against the child's skin. He's now utterly terrified and wants to leave as soon as possible.

'Screw this!' he thought. He grabbed his phone and crumbled up the paper before running for the exit. But the wind got stronger the farther he got from Crane's grave. He felt as if he was fighting nature itself as he got closer to the fence; the thunder roared and screamed in his ears while the lightning blinded him temporarily. Jimmy didn't know why, but every part of his body shouted to him three simple words.

"Don't. Turn. Around."

The hairs on his neck stood up as he ran faster than ever before. He felt something, some dark and horrifying thing behind him. He could hear it too; it had a voice like a cold blade scraping against his eardrums. He was almost there. But he then felt the wind whisper in his ears; it was that voice once again carried by the wind. He feels long, and skinny fingers wrap themselves around his neck while another grabs his left arm. A cold and boney presence places itself on his shoulder as he hears it whispers in his ear.

"Don't turn around. Finish it."

Jimmy's eyes welled up with tears, his short life flashes before his eyes as he can feel his pants warming up upon him, soiling himself in fear. He wants to scream, to scream for help from his mother, who he wants to arrive and save him from this THING!

"Finish it."

"I-"

"Finish it."

"Help."

"Finish it!"

"HELP! ANYONE!!"

"FINISH IT!!!"

He sobs and cries out, hoping that he'd be close enough for at least his friends to hear his pleas for help. But it was to no avail. No one was coming for him. Not his so-called friends. Not even his mother, who had no idea where he even was. He then felt himself being slowly dragged back towards the grave. The boy's body turns ice-cold as he nears the tombstone once again. He feels the claws of this creature pierce his neck and slither themselves into his esophagus. As he returns to the grave, he once again hears that same spine-tingling voice in his ear once more commanding him.

"Finish it."

So he did.

"M-Mr. Crane. Mr. Crane. When you stand and talk again, who will be your Scarecrow of fear before you disappear?"

Jimmy felt his vocal cords severed; he slowly held his throat. His hands feel something warm and wet. His torso follows the same sensation before his eyes look forward, only to find the graveyard gone and replaced by a dense, thick fog. Jimmy's tears hit the ground as something begins to form in the distance. A silhouette starts to form of a tall male figure walking towards him. His eyes widen as he recognizes the man. A feeling of elation and joy overwhelms him at the appearance of the tall, dark-haired gentleman dressed in a black cloak with a strange cowl with white eyes. The man removes the cowl and smiles, revealing a handsome gentleman's face with a kind smile.

"Hey, kiddo."

"D-daddy?"

Tears of joy now fall from Jimmy's cheeks as he holds out his arms for his father. The man smiles and embraces his son before whispering into the child's ear.

"Why you, of course. You shall become my silent and strong Scarecrow while I walk the earth. For you shall show them all their true fears."

Jimmy freezes up, his father pulling away from the hug and looking at him with angry and hateful eyes. His father screams and shakes the young man, blood dripping from every orifice as he berates the young boy.

"I hate you! I HATE YOU! YOU USELESS BRAT! I LOST EVERYTHING BECAUSE OF YOU!!!"

Jimmy tries to defend himself, to understand as he feels himself sinking. He cries out to no avail. His father continues to bleed out before falling to his knees and screaming as Jimmy can do nothing but watch before falling into the grave of Dr. Crane.

"Thank you, Scarecrow."

His screams bounce against the seemingly bottomless pit before he can hit the metaphorical bottom. A large hand grasps onto Jimmy's wrists, holding him in mid-air, "Don't struggle."

Jimmy could barely piece together descriptions of his savior, he couldn't tell where the shadows began, and the figure ended. All he could note was his piercing white eyes and the yellow light ruminating from his chest. His voice was gruff, almost like he was a monster, and his palm covered his whole wrist.

"NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

The tunnel trembled and began to fall apart; Jimmy looked down at his feet and screamed at the horrors he saw below. The shadows of the abyss below glowed bright orange; from shadows emerged a colossal skull consumed in flames. Its fanged maw opened up, unleashing a giant tower of fire upwards. The apparition roared with an abhorrent and ear-shattering scream.

"HE IS MINE!!!!"

"Hang on!" The dark figure unlatched itself from the walls, its wings unfurling as they took off upwards towards the closing gap. The heat hits their backs; they escape by a hair's breadth, crashing onto the muddy ground. "Ow."

Jimmy's eyes open slowly as the rain hits his face; now looming over him was the exact dark figure that saved him earlier. Now freed from the abyssal darkness, Jimmy could sparse more precise details of his hero. The glowing circle on his chest held an Emblem in the shape of a bat; he discarded the burning black cloak that once decorated his back. A metal cross with a gold center and silver tip; his body was covered in grey armor. His waist and face were covered by a black cowl sporting elongated ears. His white eyes didn't seem human; they were cold and detached.

"Get out of here. This place isn't safe." His voice was just as cold and harsh as in the tunnel. He glares at the pit, walking towards the place they just escaped from; he pulls the cross from his back and stiffens. That's when the ground beneath them shook with deadly fury, the earth cracked, steam and hellfire burst forth from the ground sending both flying away as he emerged from the grave.

"THAT BOY IS MINEEEE!!!!!"

His roar ruptured the sky and summoned a ferocious storm. The sickening orange glow illuminated the area as Batman glared at the light.

"HE SPOKE THE ENCHANTMENT! HE BROUGHT FORTH MY POWER! HIS FEARS FEED ME!!!"

Jimmy could no longer scream, the sensation of his lunch evacuating his body prevented as he looked upon Crane's indescribable horrific visage. His fingers, long like needles jutting out his bony wrists, his torso was nothing more than a ribcage with little to no skin attached to it and shackles attached to his arms and neck. But what would never leave the child's mind were his eyes.

A skull covered by a burlap sack, sharp fangs in place of normal human incisors, and black voids with burning crimson embers in the area of eyes. Crane emerged from the grave, towering over them both like a giant while screaming in anguish and rage. His wide mouth tearing parts of the bag, revealing rotten skin underneath and long grey hairs.

"YOU CANNOT TAKE HIM FROM ME!!! THE CONTRACT IS SEALED, AND HIS FEARS SHALL BE MINE!!"

Batman spat on the ground and clenched the cross in his gloved right hand; in his other, he pulled out four Bat-Shaped daggers to hold in between his fingers.

"Bold of you to think that I actually care. You're not taking that child or anyone, Crane."

His screams were unholy. He slammed his bony palm into the ground sending shockwaves towards man and child. With a click, the silver tip of his cross fired outwards like a bullet, a chain acting as a cable. It wrapped around the boy's leg and pulled him towards the cowled man as they crashed onto a nearby clearing. Jimmy's breath became erratic, and his tears ran down his already wet cheeks. His eyes glazed over as he could only mutter words in a language lost to modern ears. Batman groaned in pain as he carried Jimmy behind a nearby gravestone, hiding them from Crane's wrath.

"Damn it. C'mon kid. Wake up and snap out of it!" He shook the boy by the shoulders, quickly rummaging through one of the pouches on his belt for aid. He placed a paper talisman against the boy's forehead and pressed his thumb, causing the slip to glow and burn with a bright yellow light. Instantly, color returns to Jimmy's skin as he quickly exhales another round of bile. "Good. You're out of the trance. Jimmy, right?"

"W-What's going on?" asked Jimmy, fighting the words out in between sobs. The boy is hoisted up onto his feet, with Batman placing a charm in the boy's hands.

"No time for questions. Listen to me, run to the gate and place the charm on the outside. Then say these in this order, never break it or stop. And whatever you do, don't look back!"

"B-But," Batman pulled him close, whispering the chant into his young ears before pushing away. With little to no hesitation, he leaped over the grave, chain whip in hand.

"No buts. NOW GO!" Jimmy trembled as he cowered behind the headstone. The sounds of battle raging on behind him, Crane's screaming and roaring burrowing into his eardrums. Clutching the charm to his chest, he bolted forward, screaming with his full breath.

"JIMMY! JIMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!!!! Don't YOU RUN FROM ME!!!"

Jimmy screamed louder to ignore the ghouls' cries. He felt the ground distort and change around him; each drop of rain felt like another weight being added onto him. His legs wobbled, and his breathing became raggedy.

"KEEP GOING!" Screamed Batman from the battlefield. Jimmy pushed forward, ignoring the pain in his body as he neared the gate.

"Jimmy?"

His body froze; still, his blood went cold as he trembled in place. A feminine voice wormed its way into his ears. It was kind, concerned, and all-around comforting. "Jimmy? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be home!"

"M-Mom. I-" his words clung to his throat; every synapse in his brain screamed at him to keep running, but his legs refused to move.

"I work day and night! Slave over a hot stove to feed you! And here you are, doing god knows what! HERE! WHAT ABOUT YOUR BROTHER! GOD! WHY MUST YOU CONSTANTLY DISAPPOINT ME!!!"

Her once kind voice fell apart at the arrival of a sinister and distorted cracked tone. Like nails on a chalkboard, she continued her ravings, getting ever closer to the boy. "I SHOULD'VE LEFT YOU ON THE STREET WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE! YOU' IRRITATING CANCER ON MY LIFE!!!"

Her rants continued, even more, causing Jimmy to fall to his knees in terror. He was done. This was all too much for one boy to go through. He-he should've just surrendered himself to Crane and saved himself and others the pain, but before he could turn around to accept his fate. One of Batman's daggers flew past him, nipping his cheek and snapping him out of the trance. In the reflection of the blade, he saw Batman lunging at the giant Scarecrow avoiding every attack.

"KEEP GOING!" he yelled from the battlefield. Jimmy clenched his teeth, and despite every molecule in his body yelling at him. He ran forward, ignoring Crane's grip on his soul as he grabbed hold of the rusty gate and slammed the paper charm against it. With a deep breath, he screamed out the command given to him by Batman.

"Through the murky waters and misty woods, I cast this spirit out of this infernal boon. I renounce your evil power and hold. I remove your binding from my soul! Jonathan Crane, I demand your soul leaves this place! I remove your brand and fear you NO MORE!!!!"

BRAKAKAKOOOM!!!!!!

A bright white light blinded Jimmy, its light burned his shirt, and he felt what felt like lightning strike every cell in his body. As he flew back from the explosion, the world fell apart around him into a bright orange void. He turned around, and all he saw was the burlap sack containing Crane's face burned away, and his natural face was revealed to his former victim.

His hollow eyes released a waterfall of blood and tar, and his mouth released curses in a language, not even he could parse. The demon's face opened its maw and flew towards Jimmy, cackling as it attempted one last time to claim the boy's soul.

"NOT TODAY!!"

Before he could swallow the boy whole, Batman descended with his cross in hand, unleashing the bladed tip with the chain. He slammed his weapon in between Crane's eyes, cracking the skull apart and unleashing a bright and unholy white light. Jimmy screamed, only to be scooped up in Batman's arms as the two were engulfed in the explosion.

"Yo, Jimmy. You okay?"

Jimmy opened his eyes and screamed as he fell to the dirty floor. He scanned the area, finding himself surrounded by his former friend as they stood before the gate. The Batman was nowhere in sight and not a sign of Crane. The scratch on his cheek was no longer there nor the charm he'd used to defeat the demon.

"I-I gotta go home." With little hesitation, Jimmy rode off home. A new sense of vigor in his veins as he left the cemetery. The remaining boy's began to ponder and eventually mock Jimmy's quickness. Still, they too fled in droves as they finally took notice of the large black and grey figure that loomed over them draped in a long black cape. His white eyes sent fear deep into their souls as they evacuated the area in haste.

"Good. And stay out." He said. Batman Batman turned to the site of the paranormal he stood in moments earlier. He placed a small blue gem within the lock of the gate; within seconds, the gate crackled and resonated with an electric blue aura. It hummed before going silent, forever. Batman smirked and turned away, vanishing into the night to his next battle against the monsters in the night.

-THE END-

#batober 2021 #batman #gothic #fear #horror #dc comics #dc superheroes #scarecrow #monsters #demons #ghosts #elseworlds #dc universe

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