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miss-bluerose · 10 months

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TDI23 Season 2 ep 2-4 thoughts and theories. Spoilers ahead.

Ep 2: The slides were awesome and I kept laughing when most of the cast missed the hoop or bounced off. But I did feel like 21 was too low of a target score and it should have been a bit higher. Also the rejected 4 point slide should have been roped off or something jfc.

Ep 3: Getting sprayed with sticky sap and running across the island to the finish line in 30 minutes isn't the most unique challenge ever but it was still entertaining I guess. Olivia Von Trash Panda is absolutely precious and must be protected at all costs. If something bad happens to that raccoon, I'm actually going to cry tears of sadness which I don't think I've done while watching this show before.

Ep 4: Getting across a glass bridge by answering questions correctly was the least interesting of the 3 for me but it's the second challenge reference to Squid Game so that's cool. I hope they do the cookie challenge too just because I would like to see some of the tougher contestants struggle a bit. Some of those questions were really gross but Priya's reaction to if she'd want Chris as her father was hilarious.

Chris:

He's such a troll, I can't believe he counted the bear towards Team Skunk Butt's total. Him roasting Ripper was funny. There's no way that he doesn't know MK/Team Skunk Butt is cheating, she's so obvious about it. He's probably just waiting for the right time to call them out or something. "Can we show a decapitation or is that going to be a problem?" killed me 100%.

Chef:

He looked at MK pretty suspiciously during the meeting we saw so I think he knows what she's up to. Speaking of which, why in the world are the meetings held out in the open? Couldn't the other contestants just hide in the nearby trees and listen in? His exchange with Caleb about if he skipped leg day was funny.

I'm glad that the purple haired intern is back and I think it'd be hilarious if she ended up exposing MK's cheating somehow.

More characters are doing the "sparkly eyes" this season and that's pretty funny to me.

Eliminated contestants:

16th: Lauren/Scary Girl - I didn't see her lurking in the background anywhere sad to say but I still have my fingers crossed that she's there on the island somewhere. It was nice to see her in ep 4's challenge though.

15th: Chase - My god was he dumb and annoying throughout ep 2 but I did laugh when he fell off the cliff while recording himself and the last part of his last confessional was funny too. "Chase please, we need you! I'll be like 'ppfffftttt ok'."

14th: Millie - She tried her best during the slide challenge but wasn't the best at it and her tricking Damien into taking the 4 point slide was super wrong even if it gave them the win. Why didn't she try to convince him into taking the 2 point slide instead and why didn't any of her teammates hustle their way back up? Her apology to him the next episode was kinda sweet but I get why most of her team wanted her gone and at least she can learn from her mistakes again.

13th: Emma - I was impressed with how easily she got in Chase's head which led to his elimination in ep 2. She didn't do much in ep 3 except getting covered with feathers and attacked by a cat. I'm not really fond of her but even I felt bad for her in ep 4. She really thought that she was a people person but kept messing up the challenge. Then Priya had a kinda smart idea that worked for a while until Zee messed it up and she responded by pouting about it like a child. I did think that she should have ignored Priya about the last question and just trusted herself. At least she didn't get back with Chase, although her friendship with Bowie seems to be dead for good, they didn't even talk to each other once.

Team Rat Face

Priya:

I'm not liking her crush on Caleb tbh. It's affecting her leadership skills and she's putting one teammate above the others. For example, when Zee and Caleb smacked into each other and fell in the water, she only showed concern and helped Caleb when Zee also needed help. Easily "falling in love" seems to be part of her social awkwardness/unawareness/naiveness. I do feel a little bad for her but I don't think she'll figure out his plan until he tells her. I really hope this plotline doesn't go on too much longer.

Caleb:

Yeah...I don't like him very much. There is no way he doesn't know that Priya is crushing on him unless he's denser than an element on the periodic table. And yet he's continuing to charm her instead of talking to her about becoming an alliance. He's also kinda rude like when he put Zee into the 1 point slide despite him not looking too good at that moment or when he said that he's glad Millie is gone. I did notice that when he was praising Priya for letting Team Skunk Butt go first in the slide challenge, most of the other Rat Faces were looking at him and none of them were smiling. I hope someone calls him out for being such a suck up soon.

Damien:

Using a blindfold to face your fears is pretty dumb but I'm glad that he still participated in the slide challenge. And then Millie betrayed his trust which left him beat up and very angry. He had every right to be mad at her and I don't blame him at all. I didn't expect him to forgive her that quickly even after she apologized but it was kinda heartwarming. He needs to keep improving himself if he's going to stick around for a while.

Axel:

I love how much of a team player she's become but she still has an edge to her which is great. She had a few nice moments with Ripper and seemed to feel bad about rejecting him initially. Likes poetry surprisingly. I'm not sure how I feel about the 2 of them dating yet but I'm interested to see more of them especially if she's not just playing him.

Zee:

I didn't like seeing him get hurt in the slide challenge but I did like how even he was annoyed with Millie. He held Damien back from attacking her and said that she wasn't worth it. That's not the first time he's played peace keeper but I like that part of his personality. His moments with Olivia the raccoon are adorable, especially when he hummed to get her to calm down and I'm disappointed that Chef won't let him keep her. He didn't do much in ep 4 except mess up Priya's plan at the worst possible moment but then he wasn't called out at the elimination ceremony? If he goes home in the next batch of episodes like a lot of people are saying then I'm going to be really upset and probably put a lot less effort into the rest of my episode reviews fyi.

Nichelle:

Her athletic abilities and usefulness in challenges is going to her head, just like I said it would. I did laugh at how she wasn't phased when she got dropped from the glass bridge and then kicked/stomped a wolverine. I could see her being the villain in the second half if Julia and MK get eliminated at the merge and if she wants to flex on everyone by winning immunity every challenge.

Team Skunk Butt

Bowie:

He's trying so hard to keep control of his team but the odds are a little stacked against him. It's nice to see that he's a little conflicted about cheating in challenges since Raj is against it and he doesn't want to upset him or break up with him. I can definitely see them going through some angst about this issue but I hope they work it out.

Raj:

My theory that he helps Emma and Bowie become friends again was totally wrong, he didn't even talk to her or bring her up at all. I laughed when he clogged the toilet with Wayne. He's against cheating and is disappointed that Bowie isn't/likes it. When he finds out about him breaking his promise in ep 4, it'll probably be heartbreaking.

Wayne:

I loved it when he laughed at Julia missing the hoop. He's also against cheating and might try to say something to someone not on his team about it. Which could lead to him getting voted off with Bowie's help that would absolutely crush Raj. I do think that he's going home before him and I'm not ready for those emotions.

Julia:

Seeing her get hurt in the slide challenge was great. Some of the things that she says to/about MK makes it sound like she's falling for her which is a little odd because I thought a staff member from the show said long ago that there would only be 2 LGBTQ+ contestants in this gen? Idk if that person was lying but we'll just have to wait and see. I still think that she's going to get backstabbed though.

MK:

Her going right through the backboard at the end of the slide challenge was really funny. Her intern disguise is so bad, she's still wearing her beanie and didn't put her hair up. The cheating does bother me but I can't wait until she gets found out, it's going to be fantastic to see her try to defend herself and fail at it spectacularly. It also seems like she's falling for Julia a little bit but she'll still probably backstab her.

Ripper:

He's developed a crush on Axel and is trying to impress her anyway he can which leads to the funniest moment in the slide episode. Seeing him butter himself up, then scream going down the trash slide, get his speedo caught on a nail but still stretch out far enough that he could grab the hoop before it snapped back and launched him out of the slide and into the forest naked, makes me laugh every time I see it. Him and Axel accidentally getting stuck butt to butt in ep 3 was funny and of course they got unstuck because of a fart. His poem to her in ep 4 was cute and I'm intrigued to see what he does next in the name of love. I don't think he'll throw challenges for her but I can see him having a problem with his team's cheating and he could tell her about it before he gets eliminated.

All in all, not a bad batch of episodes, I enjoyed most of the humour and I'm excited for the next few. Thanks for reading!

#total drama #spoilers #total drama 2023 #total drama spoilers #td spoilers #rooting for my boy #post

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ladykg · 7 years

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[Naruto HashiObi drabble] Mission

'Ello lovely readers!

This fic is a spin off of my story - "Exchanging sadness for tree sap"

(which at the time of this posting is not complete).

Anyway, this is mostly self-indulgent crack but I hope you all enjoy!

THE ORIGINALS ARE POSTED ON FF.NET AND AO3 - LADYKG. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Obito!" Hashirama practically jumps him as he comes through the window into the Hokage office. It's only been a week since they got themselves up and running as a village - truly running, with an academy under Tobirama's supervision, a council, an official Hokage, and the ability to accept missions. Even the Uchiha police force is starting to properly be organized.

He has visited his husband every day since he took post in the newly built administration tower. But he hasn't seen the man this excited since the final signing of the treaty to create Konohagakure. Not since they started getting requests from other clans to join the growing hidden village.

"Hashirama," he replies, and it comes out warm as he takes the tackling hug with ease and a welcome expectation to feel strong arms holding him. He's picked up, and spun as Hashirama smiles up at him, all bright eyes and captivating energy.

"We got our first mission!" The man is vibrating with his excitement, clearly unable to even sit still long enough to sign off on the scroll, let alone assign anyone to take it. "And it's from the Daimyo himself!"

Hashirama sets him down only to shove a plain looking scroll into his face - clearly they haven't quiet set up the ranking of missions yet. He makes a mental note to talk with Tobirama about it later.

"I still have to decide who it should go to," his husband continues as Obito unrolls the scroll. "It's important that none of the newer clans feel left out, but the older may take it as favoritism. I've been thinking Mito's-"

"Madara."

"Madara?"

Obito hums, letting himself scan over the scroll just once more with the satisfaction of knowing exactly what he is putting the clan head through, "It's only right that one of the two founding clans take on the responsibility of the first mission. With a Senju as Hokage it's only fair that the Uchiha receive the first mission."

"But does this really require a clan head?" Hashirama comes to read the scroll over his shoulder. "It seems very straight forward. I'm sure one of the new Uchiha genin could complete it."

"Which means Madara will have it done in no time," Obito smiles - and if it's leaning towards the wicked side? Well, no one can really blame him. "It'll show that we are capable and efficient, bringing in more missions."

"I don't think-"

"You know, our garden is starting to look a bit sad," Obito deliberately takes the man's Hokage hat off before moving to the desk and placing it on the edge. "But if you're too busy deciding who this mission goes to," he leaves the scroll, unrolled, beside the hat, "I'll just liven it up myself."

The look on Hashirama's face is priceless - really, he wishes he had his sharingan activated right then. "You…"

Obito raises an eyebrow, handing his husband a brush, "Madara."

"Madara," he parrots, the Uchiha's name appearing starkly on the scroll with the stamped Hokage seal following soon after. A shinobi - not ANBU yet, but soon - appears and takes the scroll with a bow.

"Now," Obito's smirk grows, "about our garden."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"You knew," Hashirama says once Madara has stormed back out of their house - hopefully to bath off all the grim.

Obito doesn't bother holding in the laughter that bursts like an explosion tag from his chest. The sight of Madara covered head to toe in what Obito hopes isn't just mud, his hair a mess and a distinctly charred smell to him is something he never wants to forget. (It's not nearly enough, he doesn't think it ever will be, but Obito is willing to collect these small victories for the rest of his life if it means peace).

"It was a d-rank in my time," he finally gets out, breathless and near incomprehensible. "In my defense, I didn't know it was the same cat."

"Liar," Hashirama tells him, but Obito can see the laughter in his eyes, and hear the fondness in his voice and knows his husband approves.

But really what kind of cat lives that long. Unless…

"We always did call Tora a demon," he murmurs, heart speeding up as he reels his husband closer.

"What was that?" The words ghost over his lips.

"Nothing as interesting as this," Obito says low, voice husky and eyes half-lidded. His hands skim over a bare chest. They haven't bothered to get fully dressed since making it home.

(There are reports all over the village the next day about how the flowers are blooming out of season again, and that flower shop the Yamanaka are setting up must be ecstatic about it).

#hashiobi #Hashirama/Obito #Obito Uchiha #Hashirama Senju #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Ao3 #Archiveofourown #crack #humor #funny #Madara Uchiha #Konohagakure #Naruto #anime #exchanging sadness for tree sap #spin off #drabble

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my-white-canvas · 3 years

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Just Vampire!Tsaritsa

While you were skipping over the snow surrounding the forest you find a woman sitting alone on a log staring endlessly at the falling snow, you approached her nervously and asked "uhhm, excuse me what are you doing here in the middle of the woods?" She tilted her head towards you revealing a vail covering her face "I'm sorry to have bothered you" she stood up to leave but you tried to tell her that she wasn't bothering you, only concerned why she was out on the cold.

You invited her inside your cabin to rest as long as she needed. It was night time so you started preparing for dinner, you ask your guest what she wanted but she declined "there's no need, I'm not hungry at the moment" which worried you since she hadn't eaten anything since she arrived so you just made her something to drink "thank you but I really don't need this" her response bummed you out and it shows

The woman sighed from guilt looking at you having sad puppy eyes and accepted your drink, your face lit up in joy to her enjoying your drink then you catch a small glimpse of her face but you didn't want to pry any deeper than that "Wait a sec I'll get your room ready" You arranged her a room to rest and you went to your room for some sleep.

She ran outside to a nearby tree and vomited every last drop she drank from your sweet beverage specially made for her but yet she couldn't enjoy it, her heart beating faster than how she used to, she hadn't felt like this in centuries could this be love she thought but when looking at the vomit on the snow her hands clawed through the bark seeping it's way to it's sap until a small white fox cought her attention becoming her next prey.

You woke up the next day being greeted by her with a cup of water in hand "Hmm? What are doing?" you asked in curiousity of her holding water in her hand as she gestured it to you "thank you" you said as you sat up from the bed, you went to prepare breakfast and asked the woman what she wanted but once again she declined and it worried you is it because she thinks my food sucks or I'm just a bad cook you thought, the knife in you hand started shaking while cutting from that thought.

The woman stepped into the kitchen were you were and saw you at the verge of tears then went to comfort you "is it because you don't like my food" you said in a cracking voice "huh?" "You're not eating because my food sucks right?" you said with tears falling down your face "no no no, it's not your food why I'm not eating" after some time she finally convinced you that your food didn't suck.

Later that day you were chatting with the woman and asked "hey can I ask for your name?" "Why don't you call me... Tsarina" she said in a chipper tone "That's a really cool name, well mine's y/n" you giggled, you bother exchange words for the rest of the day untill night came.

Sleep paralysis hit you that night, you tried to sleep it off praying to the Tsaritsa no monster would come grab your soul but she didn't seem to hear your praying as a dark silhouette opened your door slowly approaching you.

"maybe just one small taste" she thought staring at the figure on bed, those thought took over and buried her teeth to their neck sucking the red blood that is released from your skin. Sweet, pure, untainted, and everything she thought of you was being tasted from your delicately sweetened ichor but she pulled away, it was too addicting so she shouldn't take another sip.

You felt everything and saw her veil as the black muck covering it dissipated as she whispered to your ear "your prayers are heard and I'm right here"

Tagging the Tsaritsa simps I know cuz I need some critique

@lovesickeros @spare-some-bones @chocoenvy

#white write #genshin #genshin au #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #the tsaritsa #tsaritsa x reader

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

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strike

part 3 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 2k

warnings: extremely mild mentions of sex, unwanted advances that don’t get far (not by Frankie)

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball au - trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, we learn that a ‘strike’ is when a batter misses the ball when he swings, even though he shouldn’t have. And some strikes don’t just happen during baseball.

“Jimbo, I'm here!” You called as you kicked the door closed behind you, arms heavy with grocery bags. Your grandfather would be in the living room, no doubt impatiently waiting for you to unload so you could watch the baseball game together. It was a few states away, which meant the two of you could enjoy evening on the couch with affordable snacks and air conditioning. Games in person were more exciting, but climbing all those stairs wasn’t great for his knees, and it was nice to chat with him without the roar of the crowds.

There was a faint squeak to his favorite rocker, and you unloaded half the bags onto the coffee table – his favorite treats – before tossing the rest haphazardly into their places in his little kitchen. You raced the commercials, listening to the final advertisements with one ear as you hurried to get yourself settled, even though he was always happy to chat with you during the game. For these times with him, you hated to miss even a moment. The chair to the left of his was yours, newer and softer and it would have been the perfect evening, eating and catching up with your favorite man.

Except this was the first real opportunity for him to grill you about your unexpected lunch with his heroes.

There had been laughter in his voice when you had tried to call him afterwards, and he had told you he would wait to hear the story. To him, even over the phone you couldn’t hide how flustered you were, just moments after Francesco’s eyes had been in yours. All things considered, he had been more than patient, so as you fidgeted and you kept your eyes on the screen, you told him what had happened as casually as you could.

It was the top of the first inning – the very beginning of the game, and his boys were mostly crowded into the dugout. Their fingers were grabbing fistfuls of sunflower seeds or pulling on batting gloves or hanging on the wire, watching as Will walked up to bat. There was a fun country song playing, and it was surreal, thinking it had just been a few days since he had tossed a chunk of fried food into the air and his brother had caught it in his mouth. James thoroughly enjoyed you story, laughing and for once not lecturing you about leaving them alone to live their lives. He seemed approving, proud of you for taking a change, and proud that the boys from his favorite team did his favorite granddaughter well. You answered this questions and indulged his excitement over the little things, trying not to reveal too much of your own daydream fodder. Thinking of Francisco’s eyes as he laughed at the Miller boys, you grabbed a pillow to give your hands something to hold onto, to ground yourself.

The camera panned over to Tom adjusting his cap and without thinking you winced. When you realized that James had caught the movement, you winced again.

You had to explain, then, the biggest detail that you had glossed over – the only one that would disappoint your grandfather. The outfielder had looked at you with confidence and hunger in his eyes. His fingers on your hand left cool, invisible lines, slimy like residue of the stadium cup holders.

James listened with sad eyes, before he was reaching over, gently squeezing your hand, and asking about Will’s family in town to find out if he knew a relative. It was kindness - changing the topic, rewarming the memory as he coaxed out more details of their interactions with you and each other, making you blush and laugh and smile.

The discomfort that had been lodged in your heart regarding the athlete lessened as you remembered that they were all human. It had been clear the other players respected him, maybe even looked up to him, and that had to be good for something. Even though it had just been a lunch, a single moment in time, the assessments of a group of open hearted baseball players already held weight on your opinion.

As you began to tell James about a joke Santiagio had told, you noticed that Tom’s turn had come and gone, and he had struck out.

Every professional sports group had a second team, full of people who pushed papers and cleaned locker rooms and handled press conferences. One of these people was a woman who was in charge of sorting through and organizing special fan appearances.

Flipping through applications and mail, she would have hardly noticed the broad shoulders and hazel eyes of the man who entered, had he not kissed her breathless the night before.

For all they were on and off and she knew he was a player in all senses of the word, she couldn’t help but stand, and let his hands find her hips as he pressed into her.

“Hi, Tom,” she whispered, already dazed and adoring as his beard scraped at her neck, warm and insistent.

“Hey, babe,” he returned, absentmindedly, squeezing her hips before pulling away. There was something about his eyes, the way he held his head, like his shoulders were comfortable bearing the weight of others, like he’d prefer it that way, that made him seem like a natural born leader.

She knew him better. He had the crowds and the rookies and the managers and even his brothers on the team wrapped around his fingers - the perfect mentorship allusion, but she knew. There was another side to him, a darker side, filled to the brim with pride and arrogance and power. Of all the men who flashed smiles as they shook hands and carried kids on their shoulders for photos – he was the one who preened the most. There was a hunger in his eyes, even greater than when he’d love her, when a chance came for him to do an extra interview, put some senior input in, or take a newbie to his first after party.

Still, she loved him. Too much, maybe, but her mind whispered not enough, and she hungrily took what ever he would give her. There were always flowers and jewelry and coveted high-status sex in his apologies, anyway, and she knew he’d always come back to her, eventually. She knew better than to guess.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, star stuck in spite of it all, but knowing there must be something. His “cousin” had stocks in the team, or a certain string needed to be pulled. There was always something.

When he asked for the number of a girl from a few weeks ago, there was an all-too-familiar twist in her gut.

“Tom, you know that information is confidential,” she whined, masking her fear, turning back towards her desk. It was infuriating how disarming, intoxicating, and how solid he felt behind her, how smooth his words felt on the shell of her ear.

“It’s for Benny, babe, he’s got it bad for her,” it was a lie, but she didn’t know it, and the knot in her stomach loosened a little. His hand slipped under her blouse and it came undone, submitting entirely to the façade.

“Let me help the little guy out.” For all his charisma, she wanted desperately to believe he was sincere, so she did. Her hands started steady as she opened a thick binder and began flipping through the glossy dividers. She moved as slow as she could, hopelessly savoring his touch, knowing when it was gone, the unpleasant feelings would be just as strong.

But it didn’t take long to find you number and hand it over, and exchange more heated kisses and half promises before he slipped out.

The woman settled in her chair again, fingers tracing the letters of your name, the knot reforming below her breastbone. She reached for her phone, telling herself it was a courtesy, to give you a heads up.

When a player was about to steal second base, you always wondered if Santiago Garcia could tell, without even looking. If he could feel it in his bones, or if the hairs on the back his neck rose, against his sweat.

If he could, that was exactly how you would feel now, walking into the bar to see only Tom Davis waiting for you. The building was dim, strategically chosen by Will, allegedly, so they could drink in peace. As before however, there was no hiding the silhouette of a man like him, not when he was oozing confidence like sap from a tree.

When he had called you, it had been so shocking you had agreed without thinking. It was surreal, but like following a trail of candy through a forest, not at all like the knights in shining armor of before.

He swung his arm around, cocky smile across his face, and you shook his hand.

There could not have been a more awkward boundary made, but he laughed it off as you considered turning tail and running. It was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help how guarded you felt alone with him, so you turned to the polished woof of the bar and ordered a lemonade. It would buy you time, anyway, to reassess.

You had always thought of baseball players as beer guys, but he had a short glass of something gold and expensive, as if he were trying to prove a point. Slipping onto the stool next to him, you set your bag in between you like a wall. He was broad and he pulled close, making you almost press against his side, giving you the opportunity to realize his skin almost cold. Slow sips reminded you that there was no basis for your feelings, and you were the one being strange.

It wasn’t bad, talking to him. You chided yourself internally, thinking you made unfair assumptions. Really, he was a nice guy. He talked highly of his friends, even defending their lateness, taking the blame for the mix-up. It felt like one of those interviews your grandfather would watch sometimes, the way he could go on about himself and somehow tell you nothing at all. Fighting your instincts to give short, guarded answers, you found yourself sharing about your life more than you expected. Not a lot, but not nothing either.

It was awkward and nice, not unlike a first date and when his large hand covered yours, it didn’t feel half as slimy as before.

A spider’s web was feather-light, so subtle it was almost impossible to feel until it was too late.

His eyes were sharp and deep and certain as he shifted closer, and you felt dazed, despite all the alcohol you hadn’t consumed.

When he leaned in, though, a thought struck you. With his deep hazel eyes, the perfect beard, and tanned skin, he looked like a prince. Not our prince, though, it was just someone else’s fairytale.

Clarity and your own confidence warmed you like a jacket one rainy day, and you touched Tom’s cheek, holding his face at enough of a distance. You shed the web before it stuck and something flickered in his eyes – doubt, maybe, or something like fear, as you spoke the most prominent thought on your mind.

“What about Molly?”

When he heard you, again speaking words that weren't meant for his ears, warm pride shot through his chest.

That’s my girl.

Of course you weren’t, but it felt like you were.

You turned to him like you knew he was there, hand leaving Tom’s stunned face to wave at the grinning catcher.

Frankie had been at war with himself across the bar as he looked towards the two of you, heart wrenching. He had seen from the far side the room first how close you were to the other man. It was unreasonably terrifying to see that you weren't immune, to see you consider his friend. Then he saw how non responsive you’d become to Redfly, how politely you regarded him as he lathered on the charm. By the time he reached the two of you, he found you fully awake, handling it yourself.

When the woman had called you, her voice had betrayed something. It was formal conversation, just admitting she had shared your contact information, and disclosing that it was Tom, and he’d made it clear you guys were friends. Her tone, however, told you she was territorial and jealous, but also desperate, longing. It felt right to get out of the way – that’s what you and she wanted and you sort of thought that’s actually what he wanted, too. He was moving away from you, still processing, trying to play off the moment, and even more than pity, you felt a touch sad for them.

Still, you were impressed you were able to manage yourself. It was the same confidence that had filled you when you stood up for James, a confidence that came from a feeling that whispered something good was coming, something well worth the boldness.

When you felt a warm presence at your side, you felt even more sure. It felt wonderful, the way Francisco was looking at you. It was too early to read into it, but you were sure you wanted him to look at you like that again - like you were capable of telling mountains to move.

You smiled up at him, relieved, and he couldn’t help but beam back, wanting to hug you. He wasn’t feeling quite brave enough yet, but there was a resolve settling in his heart. There was no way he was going to leave your side tonight.

The other guys came quickly. Each of them was excited to see you again, and you pretended not to notice them shooting confused glances at Redfly when he slipped outside to spit on the ground and stare at the sky.

It didn’t take long for him to rejoin you, anyway, and his shoulders seemed lighter, his eyes just a little more thoughtful.

The group as a whole accepted you into their fold like they needed you, like each one of them had missed you when you were gone, like you missed them, like you belonged there from the start.

You had no idea how long the daydream would last, but in that moment it didn’t feel like it mattered at all. Collecting stories for James even faded as a priority as you just enjoyed the feeling of the glass in your hands, the laughter in the air, and teasing the men like they were just boys. Even after the last half hour, it was easy to trust Will’s sincere tone, and Ben’s eager blue eyes. The others were grounded at your side, steady and comforting - you felt yourself open like a flower to the sun.

There was something about the shape of the catcher at your side, safe and warm, like his presence was reaching for yours, aching with yours. Through the stories and the jokes you relished it, and his eyes made it clear that you weren’t alone. And even though the universe made it abundantly clear that you had no idea what would happen next, you didn’t feel any need to hurry. Fate seemed to know what she was doing.

In the darkness of the bar, only Santiago’s eyes saw Frankie’s hand find the small of your back.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien

#francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie x you #frankie x reader #catfish x you #triple frontier #baseball au #triple frontier baseball au #hey batter batter #maybe i don't know people

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Text

Ship: Wei Wuxian / Wen Ning

Summary: Wei Wuxian gives Wen Ning a heartbeat, but not in the way either of them expected.

Rated T, No Warnings Apply

Poorly-concealed Wen Ning character study

Emotional hurt/comfort

Burial Mounds settlement days

Pining, cuddling, and homoerotic necromancy

First kiss

Demisexual vibes

Guest appearance from A-Yuan

Ch. 2/2, 6k (12k total), read on AO3 above or on Tumblr below

Wei Wuxian gives a low, melodic laugh. “What I want, but can’t have? More potatoes. Do me a favor and beg your jiejie about that for me.”

Unsurprising that Wei Wuxian would deflect the question. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay.” Nervousness and guilt twitches in Wen Ning’s fingers. “I—I shouldn’t—”

He’s doing this all wrong. He should let Wei Wuxian ease into sharing what is troubling him, the way Wei Wuxian eases him into new experiments, not stumble around so bluntly with his words.

But Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem bothered. He looks down from the sky at Wen Ning. “How about you tell me a few things too?” He removes his arm from around Wen Ning’s waist and leans away, stretching, then rests his hand beneath his head. “The heart of a demonic cultivator is black and evil and, most importantly, elusive.” He smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’ll have to trade for it.”

Wen Ning knits his brow. “Your heart isn’t evil. It sounds nice, and feels nice, like you—” He stops himself, immediately wishing he hadn’t spoken, and wishing he could sink into the earth.

Wei Wuxian laughs again, sounding a bit surprised. “Is that so? Well, why didn’t you say that earlier?”

With one arm wrapped beneath Wen Ning, he pulls him closer for him to lay his head on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. Wen Ning remains stiff, unsure if he should hold Wei Wuxian again—he just revealed too much, didn’t he? Wei Wuxian must feel uncomfortable...

But Wei Wuxian tugs a bit more, until Wen Ning can’t help it and awkwardly curls into Wei Wuxian. He welcomes the warmth from his body, even as he feels he shouldn’t accept this invitation.

“Since it's you,” Wei Wuxian says, “you won’t have to trade as much. But first…” He sucks in his upper lip, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth the way he does when he’s leaning over his notes and thinking through a design plan.

He takes Wen Ning’s hand and guides it so his fingers touch the opening of Wei Wuxian’s robes.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

Slightly confused as to what is happening, Wen Ning nods.

Wei Wuxian’s fingers wrap around tighter as he slides both of their hands under his robes.

“W-Wei-gongzi—”

He continues to slowly guide Wen Ning until he feels Wei Wuxian’s bare chest, heartbeat meeting his palm.

Anxiety crawls into Wen Ning’s throat as Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat quickens under his cold touch.

He is a corpse.

His chances of dying during the Sunshot Campaign were only slightly less than his clansmen on the front lines. He could have been nothing more than another Wen struck down in war and raised from the dead by Wei Wuxian, a nameless, mindless weapon, reanimated to fight his own people, cast aside once no longer useful. He has a consciousness, but the state of his body is no different from another fierce corpse.

What if, deep down, he reminds Wei Wuxian of every snarling, bloodthirsty corpse he called forth, reminds him of how he used them to kill thousands during the war? What if he reminds Wei Wuxian of the three months he spent fighting for his life in the Burial Mounds?

If something Wei Wuxian wants, but can’t have, is for Wen Ning not to touch him—he would never say it.

“But—but—isn’t it cold?” Wen Ning asks.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “It is.” He doesn’t sound the slightest bothered. “I’m going to freeze out here in the woods, and it’ll be all your fault.”

Worry takes over Wen Ning’s expression as he starts to pull away. Wei Wuxian just laughs and presses down on his hand, trapping him.

“I like it, okay?” he says. “How could I feel cold? You’re the warmest person I know.”

Unable to express how those words burrow into him, blooming into gratitude and relief and yet still not fully settling the anxiety, Wen Ning curls closer, resting his head on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. He lets in the comfort of the warmth of Wei Wuxian’s body and the heat of his chest below Wen Ning’s hand, counting his heartbeats to steady his mind.

“You next,” Wei Wuxian says. “We’re taking turns. Tell me something you want but can’t have.”

Wen Ning quickly realizes what a challenging question this is. To find something meaningful to share that will not make Wei Wuxian feel sad or guilty.

“I…I want to learn to sew,” Wen Ning mumbles.

“Really!” Wei Wuxian shifts under him, sounding genuinely surprised.

“I know how, kind of, for just—just something useful. But not how to make something pretty. My clan didn’t teach that to boys.”

“Let’s have Granny teach you, then!”

“I don’t know…my hands are so clumsy now.”

Detailed handiwork requires all his focus. Despite how it soothes him, even helping Jiejie make medicine saps his mental energy. He can easily carry everyone’s heavy loads and take on the roughest labor in the fields, some of his favorite ways to help, but he has traded for it with the little delicacy he once had.

Wei Wuxian strokes Wen Ning’s wrist under his robes. “It’ll just take practice. You’re still getting used to your strength.”

“I...I guess so.”

“You’ve made this much progress, haven’t you? You used to barely be able to hold a teacup. Learning to sew would help you adjust to your strength more. Plus, Granny wants to spend more time with you.”

“She does?”

“Yeah! A-Yuan always keeps her busy lately. You’re much less of a headache than him.” Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue. “Such a demanding child. Always wanting to run off somewhere, eat more snacks, shout whatever he feels…”

A smile tugs at Wen Ning’s lips. “I think I know who he learned that from.”

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian knocks on the back of Wen Ning’s head. “You’re not allowed to tease me.”

“…I think I know who I learned that from.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, his chest shaking under Wen Ning’s hand. The sensation fills Wen Ning with happiness, hearing Wei Wuxian’s laughter, feeling his joy vibrate through his body. Wen Ning wishes he were better at making jokes so he could feel this again and again.

“Alright, alright, go easy on me,” Wei Wuxian says. “And by the way, you can learn to sew. That doesn’t count as something you can’t have. But I’ll take it.”

“Then it’s your turn.”

They exchange small wishes back and forth, mostly about landmarks they miss from their hometown or little opportunities that had already passed. Half of Wei Wuxian’s wishes are about other people—for Uncle Four to stop snoring when they sit around the campfire, for Jiejie to get her medical texts published, for Jiang Wanyin to get a sense of humor.

Wen Ning begins to wonder if Wei Wuxian is intentionally steering the conversation away from himself.

Maybe if Wen Ning shares more, Wei Wuxian will too. If he doesn’t reveal something deeper, how will Wei Wuxian feel comfortable to reveal something serious in return?

Once Wen Ning allows it, deeper needs bubble up inside him and beg for his voice.

I want to go back to the beginning of the war and protect my family.

I want to taste and feel and breathe again.

I want you…

“I want to attend a real archery competition,” he says instead.

“You’re not missing much. It wouldn’t be a competition. You’d beat everyone there!”

Wen Ning tries to protest, but Wei Wuxian shushes him. Finally, Wei Wuxian relents and lets him speak. “You know I was never good at doing archery in front of other people. Not like you—you're even able to swordfight with an audience.”

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “You mean I used to be able to swordfight. And besides, the whole point is to have an audience. If you don’t carry your sword when everyone is looking, someone will scold you,” he says, sounding bitter.

Not for the first time, Wen Ning realizes he touched upon a sore topic only when it’s too late.

He tries to fill in the pieces of Wei Wuxian’s words. Usually when Wei Wuxian mentions someone scolding him, he means Hanguang-Jun. Wen Ning has heard the stories about him on the nights Wei Wuxian had drank too much. Despite how they are drawn to each other, and look out for each other, Wei Wuxian remains convinced that all Hanguang-Jun wants is to reprimand him for demonic cultivation.

Or at least he pretends he’s convinced of this. It must be difficult to hide the core transfer from a man who keeps offering to guide him to the right path, to heal him.

Wen Ning hadn’t realized how much the core transfer would alienate Wei Wuxian from the other cultivators.

Wei Wuxian shifts onto his back, facing directly up toward the belt of stars behind dark silhouettes of trees, seeming lost in thought. “Have you ever kissed anyone?” he suddenly asks.

Wen Ning’s entire body stiffens. “No.”

How did they get to this topic?

“That’s a pity. So many ladies who missed out on that chance.” Wei Wuxian sighs, then grins. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t think either of us are going to be courting ladies anytime soon.”

“L-Ladies?” Wen Ning echoes with a mix of surprise and alarm. Then he realizes what his reaction might imply, and grows quiet, wishing he could suck the words back into himself.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a few moments. “Don’t tell me the Ghost General is afraid of girls.”

“I’m—I’m not—I just…I was…”

“Haven’t you ever liked a girl?” Wei Wuxian’s voice is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of hesitancy.

Attraction has always been complicated for Wen Ning. He had been never sure if what he felt was admiration, a desire to become friends, or a simple appreciation for beauty. Wen Ning might wonder if he's a cutsleeve, but it’s hard to know when he has only fallen for a single person in his entire life.

“I like them, just not…not…”

“Not that way,” Wei Wuxian suggests.

“…Right.”

“Hm.” Crickets chirp in the forest, as if suggesting ideas to Wei Wuxian as he thinks. “Then…boys?”

“Not—not every boy.” Not anyone who isn’t you.

The admission sends a wave of dread through Wen Ning. His clan would’ve never allowed him to be a cutsleeve. Never mind having feelings for the person who helped destroy them.

“Huh.” Wei Wuxian rubs his thumb over Wen Ning’s hand where it still rests on Wei Wuxian’s chest under his robes. “I had no idea.”

This game to share their wishes might have been a bad idea. How did Wen Ning end up revealing so much about himself, while he still hasn’t been offered a burden to lift from Wei Wuxian’s shoulders?

Wen Ning does something with his throat reminiscent of swallowing and musters up the courage to say, “I was actually surprised because…” then trails off, losing the boldness as quickly as it came.

What use is this? Even if he coaxes Wei Wuxian into talking about Hanguang-Jun, what can Wen Ning do to fix the situation? He isn’t even sure of precisely what Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-Jun have between them.

But maybe just talking about it will make Wei Wuxian feel better, the way Wen Ning had felt better by telling Jiejie about the times he had been bullied. He couldn’t undo the damage of those memories, but he had felt better sharing them.

Yet, what right does Wen Ning have to know about Wei Wuxian’s feelings?

Wei Wuxian waits, and when Wen Ning doesn’t continue, he begins lightly tapping the back of Wen Ning’s hand. “Because what?”

“I just didn’t expect you to want to kiss a lady.”

“How can you be so sure?” Wei Wuxian asks playfully. “You know, the whole world thinks I have a harem of dead brides up here. I’m truly insatiable, Wen Ning.”

“I already know you’re not who people say you are.”

Wei Wuxian gives a satisfied hum. “Neither are you.”

“Maybe…maybe you’ll still have a chance,” Wen Ning says.

Wei Wuxian lets out a surprised laugh. “A chance for what? Someone to kiss this old man? I think you’d have a better chance.”

Wen Ning pulls away from Wei Wuxian. “Me? Why?”

“Look at yourself! You’re beautiful!”

It takes Wen Ning several moments to process that, as his dead heart tries to race and his bloodless veins try to rush heat into his face. “Nobody would kiss me.” He curls back into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder before he can catch a glimpse of the expression on his face. “I’m dead.” I’m something that would crawl out of the earth and scare people to death.

“You don’t act like it.” Wei Wuxian stretches out and relaxes, as if this conversation is not nerve-wracking at all. “You’re very alive. In fact, you’ll live longer than me.”

That hits Wen Ning like a blow to the stomach, squeezing out air he doesn’t even need.

He will outlive Wei Wuxian. Outlive Uncle, Jiejie, A-Yuan—

What will he do when he no longer has them?

He tries to set the thought aside. There’s no use mourning what has not passed.

But somehow, he had never realized this. That his death is a type of immortality.

Wei Wuxian seems to notice that what he’d said had made Wen Ning uncomfortable. “I’m not that easy to kill off, though. The Burial Mounds couldn’t kill me the first time, and they won’t do it again!” But the words ring empty.

Wen Ning knows that Wei Wuxian expects to die in the Burial Mounds.

How much time do they truly have? It’s a miracle that none of the Dafan Wen have died yet—even the soil they farm holds the dust of corpses. Perhaps none of them can be said to be truly alive anyway.

He focuses on Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat against his hand.

He wishes for the thrum to never stop, to always be able to return here and put his hand to Wei Wuxian’s heart and know for sure that he’s alive. Like the way he had checked on Jiejie after her meetings with Wen Ruohan to be sure he hadn’t harmed her.

Maybe that’s part of the reason he likes Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat so much. It’s evidence that Wei Wuxian is alive—steady, warm, alive against his palm.

Maybe some of Wei Wuxian’s heart runs on the resentful energy that has kept him standing since he was thrown into the Burial Mounds. Maybe some of the same blackness that’s in Wen Ning’s veins coils through his.

He pulls Wei Wuxian closer. “I will sooner die a second time than let you outlive me,” he says into the groove of Wei Wuxian’s neck. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Wei Wuxian cups Wen Ning’s face to look him in the eyes, his gaze warm but steely. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

Unsure of what to say, Wen Ning lets Wei Wuxian hold his chin in his hand.

Wei Wuxian’s lips curve into the faintest smile. “It’s my turn to protect you now.”

“Gongzi…I would still…still do anything to—"

“I know you would.” Wei Wuxian sighs. He tucks a strand of Wen Ning’s hair behind his ear. “I’m sorry. You have blood on your hands because of me.”

Chenqing’s breathy melody rises unbidden in Wen Ning’s mind, snakes between him and Wei Wuxian, as if the night breeze is playing the dizi to remind them of its presence. Wen Ning knows it lies secure in Wei Wuxian’s belt. Chenqing never leaves Wei Wuxian’s side.

Wen Ning has killed with Chenqing’s melody in his ear. Killed with his bare hands. Killed with rage summoned by beautiful songs of revenge.

He was never supposed to kill. Only heal.

But Wen Ning is an angry person. He has been angry since he was a child, since his father died, since his spirit was snatched and distorted, since he was abused by his clansmen, since his family was persecuted. He had buried all that anger under layers of timidity, where it was meant to never be disturbed.

But for Wei Wuxian, Wen Ning can be angry.

He can save his rage for when Wei Wuxian calls for it to be released, let him channel it and shape it into vengeance for his family, into a way for the people he loves to live a few more days.

He trusts Wei Wuxian with his anger, in a way he has never trusted himself.

“It’s true that I have blood on my hands,” Wen Ning says, “but it was for you and my family. Could we have escaped the Jin camp another way?”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t reply. Wen Ning looks down at the fold of Wei Wuxian’s loose collar where his hand is still settled beneath the fabric, where he feels the barely perceptible rise and fall of Wei Wuxian’s breath.

“I don’t want that blood on my family’s hands,” Wen Ning continues. “They were lucky enough not to fight in the war. They shouldn’t have to kill now that the war is over. I…I was able to take that burden for them.”

For once, I was able to carry a burden rather than become a burden. Please don’t take that away from me now.

Wei Wuxian is silent for several moments. Finally, all he says is, “How much do you remember from that night?”

Wen Ning thinks, tries to recall his resurrection like he has so many times, but like always, the images slip through his fingers like every dulled sensation he can no longer feel.

“I just remember it being dark. And that I was angry.”

Wei Wuxian just nods at him, then turns his face back up toward the sky. “Wen Ning…What else do you want, but can’t have?”

“You’re supposed to tell me that for yourself.”

“I want to hear more about you first.”

“I don’t want to outlive you,” comes out of Wen Ning’s mouth before he can think about it. Something about his tone, the way his voice shakes, makes him vaguely sure this is the closest he’s ever come to confessing.

Wei Wuxian’s breath becomes shallower. He looks at Wen Ning once more, a gaze that travels down Wen Ning’s spine, tingling. Sorrow flashes in Wei Wuxian’s eyes before they brighten as he smirks.

“Do you really have so little faith in me?” he jokes. “Didn’t I just say I’m not that easy to get rid of? You’re stuck with me forever! Besides, if I don’t terrorize the world long enough to buy A-Yuan everything he wants, how powerful am I really?”

Wen Ning can’t tell if Wei Wuxian’s bantering is genuine or if he’s just trying to lighten the mood, but either way, it lifts his spirits.

He gives a small smile. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am!” Wei Wuxian says, feigning indignance. “I’m not going to give up on everybody just like that. Uncle Four and I have so many wines left to taste. How can I let him down? And what about your jiejie? It’ll take me at least ten lives to convince her that my crop choices are better than hers, and I won’t back down until I’ve won that debate.”

Wen Ning laughs.

“And as for you…” Wei Wuxian pokes Wen Ning in the center of his chest. “Well, I have to complain to eternity about you doubting my power, so there’s that. I also have to make sure you learn to sew, and that you sew a hundred presents for me.”

”That’s a lot.”

“That’s the point.”

“Don’t worry, I can do it.”

Wei Wuxian nods, trying to look so serious that he looks a bit silly. “I’ll be waiting. And also…” His smirk returns. “I need to make sure you get your first kiss.”

Wen Ning feels a little tug inside his chest. “Why—Why me? What about you?”

“Hm. Good point.” Wei Wuxian looks away, as if thinking, then says, “We can just worry about each other’s first kiss. Then everything is accounted for.”

“That…that works. Although…” Wen Ning trails off. Then it hits him that Wei Wuxian means he hasn't kissed anyone either. Wen Ning supposes it makes sense, but it still surprises him.

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“You’d give me that responsibility? To make sure that someday you…get your…” Wen Ning stops once more, too embarrassed to continue.

“Gladly.”

Wen Ning should be happy at this answer, at the warmth and certainty in Wei Wuxian’s voice, but instead he feels a pang of disappointment. How is he supposed to feel about this? It’s like he is entrusted to carry one end of a precious ribbon over a great distance, a ribbon he would wear with pride, but in the end he must tie it around someone else’s wrist.

“Too much responsibility?” Wei Wuxian asks playfully. He cocks an eyebrow. “Do you really think it’ll be so hard for me to get a kiss?”

“N-No, not at all,” Wen Ning answers, a bit too quickly.

Wei Wuxian just looks at him for a moment. “There’s actually an easy solution here. Then you won’t have to worry about helping out this hopeless case with romance,” he says, pointing at himself.

Something flutters inside Wen Ning. “What is it?”

“We could…ah…we could just do it now.”

The fluttering inside Wen Ning suddenly feels more like a bird trying to take flight.

Wen Ning wants to ask what Wei Wuxian means, because surely it isn’t what it sounds like. Wants to hear the truth so he can cut off his budding imagination, but he can barely form words.

It’s difficult to tell in the moonlight, but Wen Ning thinks he sees a faint pinkness spread across Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. Wei Wuxian’s chest is hot, his heart thrumming under Wen Ning’s fingers.

“N-Now?” is all Wen Ning can manage to say.

“Only if you want to,” Wei Wuxian rushes to say. He laughs nervously.

Wen Ning knows his own feelings. Knows that if Wei Wuxian has summoned him, he can’t say no—not with mind, not with body. But as for Wei Wuxian's feelings...

“Do you want to?” Wen Ning asks.

He expects the question to change something in Wei Wuxian’s expression, but whatever Wei Wuxian truly thinks remains trapped behind his eyes.

“I think it would be nice,” is all he says, his voice soft and fond.

Wen Ning’s stagnant nerves feel almost as alive as when resentful energy is coursing through him.

“I—I…Okay.”

Wei Wuxian swallows. Wen Ning can’t stop his gaze from following Wei Wuxian’s throat, until he’s looking down at where Wei Wuxian’s upper chest is exposed and his hand disappears under red zhongyi. Wei Wuxian’s heart is beating hard enough for both of them.

I’m lonely, it whispers. I’m so lonely…

He sees Wei Wuxian’s throat moving and only then registers that he’s speaking. “It’s alright. Relax…” Wei Wuxian murmurs. Cups the side of Wen Ning’s face. “Can you close your eyes for me?”

Wen Ning’s view of Wei Wuxian blurs as he closes his eyes, until he’s left with only the impression of the heat and solidness of Wei Wuxian’s body pressed against his. He has a distant thought to count Wei Wuxian’s heartbeats as he waits, but finds himself unable to count. He waits longer, the impossibility of their situation rooting deeper and deeper in his thoughts until he wonders if Wei Wuxian has changed his mind.

Then a quivering warmth against his lips.

Wen Ning can only just sense the way their lips glide softly against each other, but he could be content with that forever.

As if Wei Wuxian has suddenly realized something, his hand trails down Wen Ning’s neck and finds the collar of his robes, gripping it. They kiss harder, more passionately. This, Wen Ning can truly feel.

Wei Wuxian has gripped his collar before. Once in Lotus Pier as it was burning, once in Yiling when Wen Ning brought him there to hide. Both had been expressions of distrust.

Is this an expression of trust instead?

Other than Wei Wuxian himself, perhaps what Wen Ning has wanted most is his trust.

Now he has both.

By his side, in his arms.

Pressed to his lips...

* * *

With Wei Wuxian asleep and curled into his shoulder, Wen Ning looks up at the stars. From this spot, he can see the moon through the trees. It’s a bright half-moon. Not round enough to be full, not whittled enough to be a smiling sliver. Just a white circle cut clean in half.

Overcome by the closest he can come to drowsiness, Wen Ning’s mind wanders, past memories with Wei Wuxian blending into teenage fantasies blending into the moment they kissed.

Wei Wuxian has never been someone who hesitates.

Did he hesitate before kissing Wen Ning?

Did he ask Wen Ning to close his eyes so he wouldn’t see the moments of indecision in his face before he leaned in?

It reminds Wen Ning of the way he will never know what Wei Wuxian looked like before he put his lips to Chenqing, the way he will never know what Wei Wuxian thought before bringing him back into the world.

The time waiting for Wei Wuxian’s lips to meet his had felt like ages, but maybe it was only a second. Maybe, even for Wen Ning, he has never hesitated.

But maybe it doesn’t matter. Everything Wei Wuxian begins, he throws himself into whole-heartedly. If he had hesitated, Wen Ning had not felt it, had not seen it.

“We can do this again,” Wei Wuxian had said. “As long as you want to…”

Wen Ning tries to find constellations in the stars scattered across the dark cobalt sky. Trees cover parts of the constellations, their branches swaying gently in the night breeze but never parting enough to reveal everything. Wen Ning connects what dots of light remain, forming new constellations in his mind.

He counts Wei Wuxian’s sleeping heartbeats.

* * *

“I’m ready.”

The blood pool is to his back, and Wei Wuxian stands in front of him, eyes reflecting specks of amber light from candles stationed around the Demon Subdue Palace, their arrangement perhaps the only semblance of organization in the cave.

But despite the copious amounts of candles, something about this cave sucks away their orange glow. Like the darkness stretches out fingers to dampen the string of lights like dampening the vibrations of a guqin cord. Wen Ning isn’t sure where all the light goes. Maybe into the blood pool. Maybe into Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation devices.

Today Wei Wuxian seems bright enough to make up for the cave’s hungry darkness. There’s a levity in the way he shuffles through the talismans in his hands. A spring in his steps as he paces around Wen Ning to place talismans on him, his steps bouncy despite how his joints must creak with stiffness.

It’s so much like Wei Wuxian. Always at his happiest when about to help someone.

Wen Ning tries to soak in the feeling of Wei Wuxian’s nimble fingers pressing the talismans onto his robes, but it’s a quick, light sensation. Just when he thinks he's starting to feel it more fully, Wei Wuxian finishes, drumming his fingers along Wen Ning’s shoulder as he slips around to stand in front of him again.

“I’m just about ready, too,” Wei Wuxian says.

He strokes his chin, looking Wen Ning up and down approvingly. Wen Ning knows it’s merely for the placement of the talismans, but his helpless mind imagines that the approval is of him, of his cracked skin and deadweight body. The fondness in Wei Wuxian’s eyes reminds him of that night in the forest, and his body tries to shiver, clinging to a reflex that barely responds.

“Now, the last addition.” Wei Wuxian flits away and returns as quickly as he left, holding out a stone tablet with red fulu writing, perhaps the same tablet that started this entire project. “Press this against your chest. Try to align its pulse with where your heart is.”

Wen Ning can easily find the exact location of his heart without a pulse to guide him—if he couldn’t do that by now, Jiejie would surely make him copy every medical text all over again. But with his dull hands, finding the exact source of the pulse of resentful energy in the tablet is another matter. He can sense something, but not where it comes from.

He takes his best guess, and holds the center of the tablet over his heart. Wei Wuxian seems to notice his unsureness, and checks the position of the tablet, the dance of his fingers on Wen Ning’s hand and robes like a fleeting breath.

“This should be enough,” Wei Wuxian says. “The problem before was that just conducting resentful energy through the tablet wasn’t holistic enough…the spiritual energy in these talismans, and the energy from xue in the blood pool behind you, should help to mimic a living heart more closely.”

Wen Ning nods. Guilt still nips at him, telling him not to let Wei Wuxian continue his experiments. But life with Wei Wuxian is nothing if not continual surrender.

Wei Wuxian brings Chenqing to his lips and begins to play. There’s a brief flash of red in his eyes before he closes them. Tendrils of resentful energy snake around him, like a black spiderweb being spun in the air. The dark wisps begin to reach for Wen Ning.

Chenqing’s song is constantly changing, but held together by a steady rhythm. The melody brushes against Wen Ning, shaping him, like water eroding rocks. On the back of his neck, he feels thick, warm energy from the blood pool, muggy and oppressive on his skin.

The red lettering on the talismans begins to glow. The tablet pulses harder against his chest, reaching inside him, tugging him taut from the center like pulling a needle through a stitch.

Pressure claws at his throat, a phantom sensation of choking. He closes his eyes and gasps for air he doesn’t need.

Every time Wei Wuxian experiments on him, he wonders if it’s anything similar to what it felt like to be resurrected by him. If the fear and strangely blissful pain throttling through his nerves is what he woke up to. It’s a thought he returns to over and over, like a ritual for something sacred.

The dizi song fades, and Wen Ning notices that he has been making low growling noises in the back of his throat. The last sound escapes him, resonant with almost a pleading tone, and he opens his eyes.

The red glow in Wei Wuxian’s eyes hasn’t quite faded. His fingers are still positioned over Chenqing. “Feel anything?”

Wen Ning takes a moment to shake himself out of his daze, then removes the tablet and presses his hand against his heart.

Nothing.

He feels the groove of his neck, slides his hand under his robes and feels his bare chest, touches his neck again.

He considers lying and saying that he does feel a pulse, but Wei Wuxian slips a hand under his robes and steals his voice out of his mouth. Wei Wuxian remains completely still, his brow knit. Then his eyes light up.

“It worked! I feel it!” He grabs Wen Ning’s hand and guides it to where his own had just lay. “Here, feel, it’s right here. It worked!”

Wen Ning thinks he can feel a faint fluttering under his fingers. He can’t tell if the pulse is weak or his own sense of touch is too dull to capture it, but what matters is it’s there—a sliver of life inside him, another resurrection at Wei Wuxian’s fingertips.

“Wei-gongzi, thank—”

Wei Wuxian shushes him and wraps his arms around him, pressing his ear to Wen Ning’s chest. If his were a true living heart, Wen Ning is sure his heartbeat would turn into something more like firecrackers. He considers resting his hands on Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, but that might seem like he’s trying to push Wei Wuxian away, so he hangs his arms limply at his sides, wondering how he should even react.

“Sounds nice,” Wei Wuxian says. “Strong and steady yet mellow. Quite fitting.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Told you I could do it!” Wei Wuxian pulls away and pats his chest, then holds his hand there, grinning. “I’m not sure how long it’ll last. Maybe only a few hours or a few days, and I’ll have to restart it, but that’s not bad! Your, ah…” His smile doesn’t disappear, but it fades a bit, tightening. “The way you died…that stake…it damaged your organs. So you might need a little more help to keep your heart running.”

Something inside Wen Ning lurches at the mention of his death. If the agony of dying with a Spirit-Attraction Flag pierced through his chest was what allowed him to be with Wei Wuxian again, to finally have the strength to protect his family and live with them for a few more months, then the nausea brought forth by the memory is worth it. It was all worth it.

“That’s okay,” Wen Ning says. “You don’t need to restart it another time. Just this once is enough.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head at him. Then he knits his brow, as if a thought just arrested him. “You can’t feel it though?”

“I can.”

“But how much?”

“Enough.”

Wei Wuxian steps back and crosses his arms, Chenqing’s red tassel swinging slightly, as if waving at Wen Ning. He cocks an eyebrow. “Then we’ll just have to get your heart rate up.”

Wen Ning is not sure if he likes that idea, but it sounds reasonable. He thinks of the way his heart raced when training with his clan, when attempting an archery shot while others were watching, when building his arm strength like Jiejie told him to so he wouldn’t be bullied as easily. He doesn’t quite miss those moments, but he does miss being able to feel them fully.

“Okay,” Wen Ning says, and drops to the ground to do a rapid set of push-ups.

“Not like that!” Wei Wuxian says through a surprised laugh.

Wen Ning stops at the top of a push-up and looks up. “What should I do instead?”

“Stand up.” Wei Wuxian waves lazily, gesturing for him to stand, so Wen Ning rises to his feet. Wei Wuxian combs Wen Ning’s hair with his fingers, putting it back into place. “Physical exertion is too easy for you now, that’s not going to work.”

Wen Ning lets out a tiny “Oh.” The entire situation is beginning to feel much too embarrassing, like the first few times Wei Wuxian had insisted on experimenting on him.

“Resentful energy is much more responsive to emotions than it is to the movement of your body,” Wei Wuxian explains.

A black wisp rises from Chenqing. Wei Wuxian holds a finger over the dizi, and the nebulous tendril of resentful energy snakes around his finger, as if caressing him. He twirls his finger in the air, stroking the black coil, and shoots a satisfied glance at Wen Ning.

Wen Ning finds himself oddly…affected by the sight. A warm, hungry buzz grows inside him, more imagination than any real bodily response, but stimulating all the same. The knowledge that what runs through his veins is resentful energy, the same energy as that black sliver coiled around Wei Wuxian’s finger, does nothing to calm him.

“What…what emotion do I need to feel?”

Wei Wuxian smiles. To Wen Ning’s surprise, the smile is gentle and caring, perhaps even rueful, rather than sharp with mischief. The smile he gives before he is about to reshape Wen Ning.

“Just hold still,” Wei Wuxian says.

He cups Wen Ning’s chin. The resentful energy in his hand disperses and swirls around them, framing their faces.

Wei Wuxian leans in and kisses him. Wen Ning’s heart leaps up through his chest.

Their lips glide against each other for longer than he had expected. The warm buzz inside him spreads to his fingertips when Wei Wuxian’s tongue enters his mouth for the briefest moment, then buzzes stronger when he longs to feel it again.

Wei Wuxian pulls away. He lets go of Wen Ning’s chin, resting his hand on his shoulder instead. “Did it work?”

Wen Ning’s pulse is practically thrumming in his ears by now. He’s grateful that he doesn’t have real blood, because his face would be flushed.

“It worked,” Wen Ning manages to stammer out.

“Xian-gege!” A small voice calls from outside the cave.

Wei Wuxian widens his eyes and exchanges glances with Wen Ning, his face reddening. Stifling a laugh, he folds his hands behind his back and takes a step away from Wen Ning. “Who’s there?”

A-Yuan comes tottering inside, moving a bit too fast and making Wen Ning tense his muscles in preparation to stop him from falling over. He latches onto Wei Wuxian’s leg and looks up at him with round eyes.

“Do you have official business for me?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Qing-jiejie says one of the special lanterns went out.”

Wei Wuxian had created red lanterns to light the paths of their settlement and also divert hungry spirits from entering their homes, drawing them like moths to a flame to be discarded every morning. The only problem is that one of them is inconveniently placed and falls over quite often.

Wei Wuxian tilts his head. “And who knocked it over this time?”

A-Yuan looks away. “Qing-jiejie says it’s a secret.”

“I can’t fix the lantern if I don’t know who knocked it over,” he lies. “It might be important.”

Looking a bit distressed, A-Yuan taps his fingers together, then breaks into a grin.

“Was it Qing-jiejie?” Wei Wuxian asks.

A-Yuan giggles and runs over to Wen Ning, hugging his leg instead.

Wei Wuxian crosses his arms and clicks his tongue. He looks over at Wen Ning. “I can’t believe your jiejie has been destroying my work. We’re really going to have to scold her for this one.”

Feeling a bit sorry for the teasing his sister is about to endure, Wen Ning picks up A-Yuan and sits the boy on his shoulders. They head out of the cave and toward the troublesome pathway.

“You know,” Wei Wuxian says, “physical exertion could still help you feel your pulse, if you do enough.”

“Like what?”

“Mm…maybe running?”

Wen Ning considers it for a moment. “I think you just don’t want me to be around to side with my jiejie.”

Wei Wuxian shoots him a look of mock offense. “Wen Qionglin! How could you accuse me of such ulterior motives?”

“I would never accuse you,” Wen Ning says sincerely, in case Wei Wuxian actually did take his words to heart.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and waves a hand. “Well, go on. Try it out.”

Wen Ning nods. He tilts his head to speak up to where A-Yuan sits on his shoulders. “A-Yuan, do you want to go for a ride?”

“Yes!”

“Ning-gege gives the best rides, doesn’t he?” Wei Wuxian claps him on the shoulder.

Wen Ning feels A-Yuan drumming on the top of his head, which he assumes means a “yes.” He carefully lowers A-Yuan from his shoulders for a piggy-back ride. Just as he’s about to set off, Wei Wuxian takes his wrist.

“Come back to the cave after. I still have a few tricks I want to try.” Wei Wuxian shows a sliver of a smile, like there’s a joke in his words.

Wen Ning wonders if this is already one of the tricks, as his heart rate climbs up once more. “Okay.”

Wei Wuxian breaks into a full smile, then whirls around and strides down the path toward the lantern. “Wen Qing! What did you do? You no longer have authority to order me to buy turnip seeds if you act like this!”

Wen Ning can faintly hear Jiejie snap back in response, her tone sharper than her typical sternness. She sounds more intimidating when she's embarrassed.

Fondness swells inside Wen Ning. For Wei Wuxian and Jiejie, for A-Yuan with his tiny hands on his shoulders.

Theirs is a life on stolen time, counted in heartbeats.

But together, they can make it last.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, come visit me on AO3!

#ningxian #mdzsnet #theuntameddaily #wen ning #wei wuxian #mdzs #cql #the untamed #mdzs fanfic #cql fanfic #the untamed fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #emilu creations #emilu fics

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snarkythewoecrow · 4 years

Text

Popcorn and Paper Snowflakes

By: Snarkymuch

Rating: T

Word count: 2.8k

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Written for @askin-for-it-back as part of the Stucky Secret Santa 2020/Gift Exchange, organized by @metalbvcky

Summary: Steve and Bucky decorate their first Christmas tree together since the forties. It’s fluff and angst.

Read on AO3

Getting a Christmas tree shouldn’t have been emotional, but Bucky found his chest cinching tight and his throat clogging painfully as he watched Steve screw the tree into the base. It wasn’t that it made him sad, exactly, but it felt like he was pressing on an old bruise, a distant ache at the memory of a time when life was less complicated.

Bucky didn’t remember much from his time before Hydra, but he did have a hazy memory of a scraggly tree, sitting in the corner of a sparsely furnished room. He sharply remembered stabbing his finger with a needle as he and Steve threaded popcorn on a string. He recalled the feeling of warmth and comfort as he wrapped Steve in his arms on their ratty couch and looked at their sad little tree, its trunk just as scrawny as Steve’s arm.

Now things were so different, but the ghosts of the past still lingered. He and Steve were living together again, but now their apartment was big and modern, not wanting for anything. The cupboards and fridge were filled with food, opposite of what it’d been in their youth. An expensive nativity scene sat on the shelf beside a little red elf Steve bought as a joke. Apparently, hiding them around your house was a thing for kids these days.

The tree sat in the corner of the room, just like Bucky remembered it, but this one wasn’t a stick with broken branches. It was lush and full, standing tall, close to the ceiling.

And then there was Steve, no longer the bony little guy who picked fights as often as he breathed. No, now he was over six feet tall and rippling with muscles and just as much righteous anger as ever. That was something that never changed. Steve would always be an unstoppable force, and Bucky would forever be his anchor, keeping him from losing himself to his emotions.

The tree jiggled, the branches rustling, and then Steve shimmied out from under it, laying on his back and looking up at Bucky. His hair was sticking up every which way, and he had a pine needle on his forehead. His brow wrinkled, and his mouth twitched as he took in Bucky’s expression.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, already rolling and pushing himself to his feet. He wiped his hands off on his pants and leveled his gaze on Bucky, scrutinizing every inch of expression on Bucky’s face. Steve always had a way to look through him that others didn't. He never missed anything when it came to Bucky. Maybe it was his nature, or perhaps it was just that Steve lived and breathed Bucky like he was the lifeblood in his veins.

Bucky tried to erase the frown from his face because, really, he didn’t even know why he was sad. He wasn’t even sure it was sadness that he was feeling. It felt more like a melancholy ache for something out of his reach, or maybe it was right in front of him already, but he was too scared to reach for it. He didn’t know.

“It’s just different, you know?”

“What is?” Steve asked.

Bucky stepped forward and picked the pine needle from Steve’s forehead fondly. He shrugged after, motioning to the tree. “Everything about this should be good, but I can’t help but feel—I don’t know what I feel. After everything we’ve been through.” He sighed, walking over to the couch to sit. He plopped down, and Steve followed, sitting beside him, arms on his knees as he leaned into Bucky’s space. That was Steve, always pushing against his barriers, for better or worse.

“You deserve some happiness, Buck. I think we both do. The world’s finally not ending. No one is hunting for our heads. It’s okay to let yourself have this.”

Bucky looked at the tree, and even though it lacked decorations, it was beautiful, standing in the room like a reminder of a life Bucky didn’t know he deserved. Steve would always argue he deserved the world, but Bucky looked at his hands some days and only saw red, and it wasn’t the red of the deserving. It was the blood of innocents, and Bucky couldn’t help but believe that tainted his soul in a way that could never be changed, no matter how stubborn Steve decided to be.

“Yeah, I guess,” he agreed rather than push back against Steve. Because Steve might be an unstoppable force, but Bucky could be an immovable object at times. They made quite the pair, and when they did clash, it tended to be spectacular.

Steve pressed his lips together like he was trying to bite his tongue. Maybe he knew Bucky wouldn’t change how he felt. Bucky flopped back against the cushion and looked out the window. Snow drifted past the glass.

“I’ve got pitch all over my hands from the tree. Do we have any rubbing alcohol around still?”

Bucky glanced over at Steve’s hands and saw the dirty specks of sap on his skin. He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think so, not like we need it for much, but we probably have vodka, maybe?”

“Oh, I forgot Nat left that bottle, might as well give it a try, but before I do, is the tree straight? I don’t want to move it again after I get my hands clean.”

Bucky looked at the tree, tipping his head back and forth. “Good enough.”

Steve leaned over and caught Bucky’s chin with his hand, turning his head a little to the side so he could plant a kiss on his lips. It was chaste, but not every kiss needed to be deep. Bucky let himself enjoy the touch, though, and for a moment, he thought maybe Steve was right. Maybe he did deserve this.

“Love you, Buck. I’m glad we’re getting to spend Christmas together again.”

Bucky smirked. “It’s not half bad, is it?”

Steve pecked his lips again, and then pushed himself up from the couch, heading for the kitchen, probably to clean his hands and get the ornaments they’d just bought together.

Everything was so new, so different. It didn’t feel right, even with the snow coming down. Bucky remembered enough to know they’d never had the money for new ornaments or even gifts. Christmas for them was always about something else. All the money they’d spent and lights they’d bought, Bucky didn’t think it would be as good as the little tree with popcorn he remembered.

Steve came back into the room a minute later with his arms laden with overflowing bags. Lights, bulbs, fancy snowflakes, and icicles, they had it all. Maybe Bucky just needed to get his head on straight and try to enjoy the present. It wouldn’t do any good to live in the past.

The bags crinkled as Steve dug through them. He grabbed a box of fancy glass bulbs and held them out to Bucky, who sighed but accepted them.

“Open those. They all need some hooks, though. I know we bought some.” Steve dumped one of the bags out on the chair and picked up a small box with a triumphant noise. “Here they are.” He tossed them at Bucky, bouncing off his chest and landing in his lap next to the box of ornaments. “Get to it, Buck.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, and with a huff, he tore open the boxes and started threading hooks on the bulbs. “Do you remember that paper angel you made for the tree?”

Steve’s head snapped up from where he was working on his hooks. A mixture of emotions flashed over his face, settling on something hopeful. “You remember that?”

Bucky shrugged, crimping another hook on a bulb and adding it to the pile on his lap. “I’ve been remembering more, sometimes it doesn’t make sense, but I think—I remember you had this paper angel you made your ma, and I remember popcorn. I think we strung it on our tree.”

Steve smiled, and he laughed softly, ducking his head. “You’d always get so mad at me because I’d eat my weight in it, which still wasn’t that much. Do you remember the tree we had in Germany—before things went to shit?”

Bucky didn’t want to disappoint Steve, he wanted to remember for him, but the slivers of memory were vapors that disappeared when he tried to touch them. Mouth twitching downward, he shook his head, keeping his eyes on his hands, so he didn’t need to see the hurt on Steve’s face. Bucky was okay with the holes in his memory, he could get by, but he knew how much it bothered Steve, even if he didn’t say it out loud. Bucky could see it in the tight lines of his face whenever Bucky couldn’t remember something special.

He heard Steve sigh and then say, “Well, it wasn’t much of a tree. It wasn’t a whole lot more than a stick, but you made it into something for us—for the Howlies and me. You stuck it in the snow by the campfire and tied bullet casings to the branches with some thread you had in your kit. We all sat around the fire, trying not to freeze, singing carols. You made it nice for us—for me—you always did.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if it was his imagination filling in the details or if he was remembering, but for a brief second, he thought he recalled the smell of a fire and the way bullet casing ornaments caught the light. It was gone as quick as it came, though, and it left him with a familiar ache in his chest.

With the last bulb done, all the hooks on, Bucky’s gathered them in his arms and stood. “You’re right, Stevie. We should make this special.”

He would do that for Steve.

Steve smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thanks, Buck. That means a lot you’re willing to try.”

And that was the truth. Bucky would always give Steve the world. That was one constant in their life. Bucky would do anything for Steve.

Bucky dumped his armful of ornaments into the chair and then crouched down to look through the bags. He grabbed the boxes of lights and stood. “We should start with the lights, I think.”

Steve nodded, putting down his ornaments and taking a box from Bucky, who’d already pried the tape off that was holding them closed. They each pulled their string of lights from the pack. Steve dangled his in front of himself, looking perplexed, making Bucky snort.

“I’m no expert, but I think we should start at the top and work down.”

Steve stretched his lights out, glancing up at Bucky. “The tree was always your doing, so I’ll follow your lead.”

Together they passed the lights around the tree, plugging the next string into the last when needed until they got to the bottom. They both stood back and studied their work.

Steve looked at him, hands on his hips. “You know, we should probably have tested them first.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder into Steve’s. “Move over. The guy with the metal arm will plug them in.”

Steve frowned, but Bucky laughed. “Relax, Steve. It was a joke, you know, a thing normal people do.”

“Just plug it in, jerk.”

Bucky shimmied around the tree and plugged in the lights. Immediately the multicolored lights sparkled in the branches. Bucky came back around to the front to stand beside Steve, who was looking at it with a soft expression before he snaked an arm around Bucky’s back, pulling him into his side.

“We never had anything like this, and it’s not even finished,” Steve said.

Bucky reached around and slipped his hand into Steve’s back pocket, and they stood there, taking in the twinkling lights and enjoying each other's presence.

Chewing his lip, Bucky glanced at Steve, who looked at him with his brows knit together in question.

“What would you think if I said I didn’t want all those fancy ornaments and shit?” Bucky asked, then looked back at the tree.

He heard the heavy breath escape from Steve, and the arm around Bucky’s waist tightened, Steve’s fingers digging in just a little over his hip. “If you don’t want this, that’s fine. It was a stupid idea, anyway.”

Bucky’s head snapped to Steve. “No!” he said a bit too sharply. “No,” he repeated softer this time. “I do want this, but I want—can’t we have it like when we were kids. All the new ornaments—it doesn’t feel right. Maybe because that sad little tree of ours is the only one I remember.”

“What are you saying, Buck?”

Bucky ducked his head, feeling a little embarrassed. “I just—can we pop some popcorn and thread it on a string, maybe make some paper snowflakes, and an angel like you made your ma. It won’t win any awards, but it’ll—it’ll feel like home,” Bucky chanced a look at him. Steve’s eyes were glossy with tears. “Ah, I didn’t mean to make you cry, punk. Fuck. I can’t do anything right. I just thought—”

“No! No, Bucky. I would love to do that with you. It will be just like old times. I’d like that a lot. I’d love it.”

Bucky turned, sliding his hand around to hold Steve’s hip, his other grasping Steve’s waist. “Yeah?”

A soft smile brushed over Steve’s lips. His eyes twinkled from the lights of the tree. Steve slid his hand up Bucky’s chest, coming to rest with his large palm pressed against his pulse point, just under his jaw. He stared into Bucky’s eyes for a second, then leaned in and kissed him, nibbling Bucky’s bottom lip.

Bucky chased his mouth, making Steve chuckle warmly. “I love you, Buck, every part of you. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

Bucky wanted to disagree at first. He knew that he would be better without having spent a lifetime killing, but then, had he not, had he died on falling from the train, then he wouldn’t be here now with Steve. For better or worse, the things he’d done had molded him into who he was today, and if he really thought about it, if he was really honest, he didn’t mind who he had become.

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you,” Steve said after a beat, “but you’re not alone. You couldn’t shake me if you tried.”

Bucky felt a swell of emotion. He stepped closer to Steve and rested his forehead against Steve’s collarbone, stealing a glance at the tree from the corner of his eye. Something about the lights, or Steve’s earnest declaration, or maybe it was just him, having finally reached a point where he couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears welled in his eyes, and for the first time in months, he let them fall.

Steve’s arms snaked around him and squeezed him tightly, like applying pressure to an oozing wound.

And Bucky melted.

He clutched at Steve, pulling himself so close they were almost one. The fabric of Steve’s shirt grew damp with tears as Bucky silently cried; every so often, his shoulders would shake. Steve continued to gently rub his hand up and down Bucky’s back, whispering soothing things as he did.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Bucky just breathing in Steve’s scent, a mixture of his cologne and the soap he used. It was grounding, the way it hadn’t changed. Steve always smelled the same. Bucky wondered if he still used the same cologne he did in the war.

Steve pressed his mouth to Bucky’s hair, just breathing against him, his warm breath tickling his scalp. Despite all the emotions coursing through him, he really was happy. The tears weren’t really an expression of his sadness, more a release of emotion he’d dammed up over the years.

Sniffling, Bucky turned his head up and kissed the side of Steve’s neck. His skin was warm against his lips. Steve gave him another squeeze and then relaxed his hold, so he could pull back and see Bucky’s face.

“Hey,” Steve breathed.

Bucky sucked in a breath, letting it out shakily. “Hey.”

“So, how about we make some popcorn?”

Bucky dried his eyes with his sleeve, nodding a few times. “I can find some string.”

They didn’t talk about Bucky’s meltdown, and that was okay. They didn’t have to. Maybe that was a part of knowing each other so well. They convened in the kitchen a little while later and sat at the table with a large bowl of popcorn between them, feeding the pieces onto the string, and Bucky felt at peace.

Later, they strung it around the tree, and Bucky clipped paper into snowflakes that looked nothing like snow, and Steve made an angel in memory of his ma.

The tree turned out to be a hodgepodge of decorations, nothing that would win an award, but to Bucky, it said home, something he and Steve had been trying to find for years.

#stuckysecretsanta2020 #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #fluff and angst #steve x bucky #snark writes #stuckygiftexchange2020

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haeres-viaticum · 4 years

Text

Choke

Names are ambitious, don’t you think? They can hold power, they can strike fear, they can bestow honor and shame, they hold eras of history at a glance or erase them with a penstroke. The Sapphire Exchange, the Jeweled Croizier. I’ll hand it to Ishgard, she’s got Ul’dah beat when it comes to aspirational nomenclature, but that’s about as far as their competitive edge extends. Once you see the sad, snow-dotted kiosks shuddering in the howling arctic blasts, its wares barely hanging on for dear life as textiles are beaten threadbare where they hang, you understand that this name is a relic, much as its namesake.

As for me, I am a Briar, a patch of thorns that creeps and pricks and blossoms into wild roses. Ilm by ilm I’ve wrapped myself up the stalk of the Fousaux family tree and sank my spindles into its brittle bark, and now I drink deep from its ancestral sap to explode into bloom bigger and brighter than I ever could on my own. I’ve traded desert reds for brumal blues, but the trouble is that I no longer recognize the flowers on the vine.

What am I now? Who is this that stares with a peaked face and deep circles while she styles her hair the morning after she’s barely slept? What do I call this woman who rolls the lipstick over her mouth like a proper housewife and whispers mors tua, vita mea like an inspirational cross-stitch? I was a student of psychodynamics not so long ago, an awkward woman scared to venture out away from the realm of the dead that made up the hallowed ground of her quiet inheritance. I was setting out into new unknowns as an uncertain, timid thing who didn’t know how to touch the living until the books told me how, and oh, how the living has been touched ever since.

My greatest concerns used to be how I was going to keep a troubled, brilliant woman from killing herself, how I was going to undo decades of extremes etched into her basic survival instincts so she could exist at some base level free of turbulence. I spent more hours than I ever billed simply paging through case studies on sexual deviancy, shame, and childhood trauma to treat a man who compulsively fucked just about anyone who would ask in order to fill the craters left by childhood inadequacies with cum and saliva. I still wonder how he is, if his partners know, if he feels any remorse, if he’s suffered any black eyes for his careless indiscretions, if he’s accidentally spawned a new generation of broken children.

I find my thoughts meandering to the Ala Mhigans who held me captive at least a thousand years ago, the memories glossy with the splendid paintbrush of time that makes it feel like a funny, nostalgic little adventure that wasn’t in fact absolutely terrifying. I think of the Kharlu I killed with more pride than guilt these days, and I find myself with funny new feelings of emptiness in spite the absolute, bursting fullness of my days as of late. I miss Toragana’s laugh echoing in the empty, dusty halls of my family estate while the peculiar smell of Steppe fare wafts from what must have been such a strange little desert kitchen. I lament how much I took her for granted and how much time I spent instead crying alone in my office wishing for solitude, wishing the infuriating bonds of the Jhungid would stop doing to me what I’ve done to the Fousaux.

I sit now on the precipice of change paralyzed by fear that I can’t share. At risk of being trite, who counsels a counselor? I’m thirty years old, hardly a crone, and what the hell do I know about anything? What business do I have telling anyone what’s right for them when lives have been crushed underfoot in my march toward bold new futures. I’ve long since abandoned trying to grapple with the morality of what’s been done in my name, by my name, for my name. I’ve crossed lines that I had no idea I’d been towing under the dubious guise of legal rights in the sinister city of Ul’dah, and now my scruples look to be in complete, weightless freefall. Scatter them to ashes. I mourn in private.

Not so deep down, a reclusive mortician who tells macabre stories at fine dinner parties, embarrasses herself with wildly out-of-place gallows humor on dates with suitors, and smiles at rumors of cursed blood yearns to turn the clock back and return to a time when her most pressing concern was natron crust under her manicure rather than navigating a transnational hostage situation involving one of her closest confidants that could very well end in tragedy. But here I am, like it or not, with the power to start wars, to slit throats, to break legs, and to choke an entire lineage with my suffocating bramble.

#lita #lilith #writing #ffxiv #ff14 #balmung #roleplay #crystal rp

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malarkeys-beanie · 4 years

Note

hi!! i was just wondering if i could send in a ship! i love these! im 5’5” with medium length brown slightly curly hair, blue-grey eyes, freckles, dimples, a smile, and glasses. im generally a happy person, i enjoy funny jokes, and i love laughing and having a great time. im fairly laid back, as well. i love yellow as well as sunflowers, and im an artist and writer. i may seem shy at first but usually im just quiet, and then i show who i really am! thank u!! 💛💛

i ship you with Skip Muck!

i’m doing another modern au this time. my personal hc is that Malarkey loves to draw (he finds it to be an soothing outlet for him), so he brings Muck and Penkala to an art class that you just so happen to also be attending. Skip notices you instantly, you stand out like a ray of sunshine. he doesn’t pay attention the entire class, he’s too busy staring at the cute bespectacled girl w pretty hair. at one point the teacher cracks a joke and your dimpled smile just about makes the poor guy go weak in the knees. being the extrovert that he is, Skip goes right up to you after class and strikes up a conversation. he pulls out a joke or two that he has been for saving just for such an occasion as this just to see that adorable laugh again. he asks to see what you’re working on. you show him your current project and Skip is immensely impressed. cute, sweet, AND talented? yes please.

you two chat a bit more about the class in general, and you open up to him faster than you normally do to someone you’ve just met. finally Malarkey and Penkala have to come over and basically pull Skip away. Skip of course has to let you know that he’ll be at the next class and gives you an endearing wink before he is pulled out the door. Malarkey is rather annoyed that Skip got so little out of the class itself, but he forgives him when he realizes how happy he is to have met you. Skip can’t wipe the grin off his face the rest of the entire day.

Skip cannot wait until the next class. he talks about you to the point that Malarkey and Penkala almost duct tape his mouth shut. finally the day rolls around and Skip eagerly walks into class only to realize that you are not there! he anxiously whispers to Penkala, wondering where you are, are you ok, are you sick? maybe he should make you some cookies or something and bring them to you. he is reminded that he has only talked to you once and Skip begrudgingly agrees that he doesn’t want to seem creepy.

the next class rolls around and glory hallelujah, you are there! Skip comes right over and asks where you were last week and you inform him that you had gotten into a writing groove and forgot to look at the clock and had accidentally missed the class. Skip is very relieved and is once again very impressed by your talent. you two chat a bit more and Skip makes you laugh some more with his overall silliness. making you laugh is just about his favorite thing in the world, his face lights up like a christmas tree every time.

over the next few weeks, you and Skip become very close, chatting and laughing before and after every class. Malarkey and Penkala are rather fed up with how head over heels Skip has fallen (just ask her out already!) but he insists that he is waiting for the right moment. finally it’s the last class, and you and Skip are talking after the class. you are really sad about the prospect of not seeing him again and are about to just ask him out yourself when he asks you if you’d like to go out with him sometime. you are immensely relieved and eagerly accept and exchange phone numbers. Skip is grinning like an idiot and Malarkey and Penkala tease him all the way back to their apartment, but he couldn’t care less. he’s going on a date with you, nothing could bring him down right now.

you guys decide to go park and get dinner from a food truck for your first date. Skip picks you up and at the sight of you all dolled up in a yellow dress he just about passes out. the two of you walk around in the park for a bit, talking about your childhoods and laughing at Muck’s stories about him and Malarkey and Penkala. you grab some tacos from a truck and then you take him to your favorite part of the park: the sunflower garden. the two of you sit down on a bench to chow down and take in the beauty around you.

it’s a smashing success of a first date and soon you two have had your second, third, fourth, and fifth dates with similar results. for your sixth date Skip invites you over for a game night with The Boys ™. you guys play monopoly, which Penkala is secretly a genius at. he creams you all but you still have a blast. after that you guys chill on the couch while Malarkey and Penkala tease the crap out of Muck for being such a sap around you (they’re happy for him though, obviously). they also really enjoy having you around, you’re super fun and they like you almost more than Skip does.

you guys are officially a couple now and you couldn’t be happier. Skip is so easy to talk to and so good at making you laugh, you have the time of your life every day around him. he likes to steal your glasses sometimes and goof around with them, which you pretend to hate but obviously don’t. he loves to read what you write and admire your art. you’re are so glad you found each other, and you couldn’t be more grateful that Malarkey had dragged Skip along to that art class.

i’m not super happy w this, but i hope you enjoyed! sorry it took so long! 💚

#band of brothers #skip muck #malarkeys beanie ship requests

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imaginepirates · 5 years

Text

Song of the Siren

Chapter 1

Just in time for day four of Nautical November, I’ve decided to work on a James x Mute Siren project. I’ll have it posted on AO3 soon, but decided you might want to read the first chapter here. I plan to update every week, and in the end, it’ll be around 26 chapters long.

Essentially, James finds himself tangled up in an adventure with a siren who’s trying to regain her voice. His involvement with her will lead him through dangerous waters, peaceful moments, encounters with pirates, and inner turmoil that will threaten both his relationship with her and the life he’s always known.

@bonjour-frens @tesserphantom @ilikebritsandbands @viper-official @theokepastos @wordsinwinters

~2500 words

~~~~~~~

In his time serving the crown, James Norrington’s wig had never stuck to his face. Now, it was sitting on his head in an unfashionably damp manner. His clothes clung to him as he tried to endure the stifling heat. The idea of taking this job had been thrilling. The actual job, as it seemed, was rather less than.

It had been many years since his good friend had been sent to Port Royal, Jamaica. Weatherby Swann would, hopefully, be delighted to see him. They had parted on good, if rather sad terms. His wife having passed away not long before, Weatherby had been more than happy to leave the memories haunting his home, taking his young daughter with him. James had received a posting in India to help the East India Trading Company. He hadn’t thought he’d get to see his old friend until the unchecked piracy in the Caribbean called his name.

He knew now that he shouldn’t have thought of the posting as a pleasant one. He was there to do a job, not to socialize or relax in the heat. England had been dreary in his weeks working its coastline. Not at all the type of place someone wanted to be. What better than to escape to the south, to turquoise waters on the equator?

His fantasies couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Yes, the waters were the most aqua he’d ever seen them, but his idea of the heat- he’d had none. It was more intense than even India, where one couldn’t quite catch a break from the oppressive sun. Here, the heat was a different sort of torture. It was wet; sweat and sea spray clung to his clothes, making him feel increasingly salty.

As islands came into sight, James abandoned his place on deck, preferring a spot out of the sun. The heat trailed him down the decks. He was tempted to run down to the bilges to try finding a cool spot, but he couldn’t imagine it was much cooler down there. Instead, he leaned against a beam, preferring to watch sailors pass as they changed their shift. He’d be needed on deck in moments, so his respite wouldn’t be long lasted.

Staring out into the open waters, he wondered if going for a swim would be such a bad idea. Already, the youngest of the crew were clinging to the nets attached to the bowsprit. There, they held the net, swaying under a sail as the breakers rolled over them. What James would give to jump in with them.

The ship’s arrival was met with little fanfare, though James’ own appearance turned more than a few heads. He recognized a few people, not that they were worth recognizing. All of them were English, and they’d all traded their home island for a new one in search of power. The shipping trade was rich in Jamaica; everyone wanted a hand in it.

He’d hardly touched the cobblestones when Weatherby was by his side. Governor Weatherby, James reminded himself. The man had aged since their last meeting. So, it seemed, had his daughter. She stood not far off, a maid by her side. She was striking, but the Governor gave him little time to notice. They greeted each other with happy familiarity, shaking hands. Weatherby was obviously pleased to see James. A smile lit up his features.

After they exchanged their greeting, James moved to Elizabeth. She had grown much since he’d seen her last. Even the descriptions Weatherby had written in his letters failed to match the woman that stood before him. He remembered a freckled girl, mischievous and a little clumsy, with bony knees and elbows. He couldn’t have seen her since she was twelve, and here she stood, five years later, all grown.

She remembered him, of course. He’d often been at her house for dinner parties, though more often he would meet Weatherby in the city. Over the years, he’d sent Elizabeth little things from across the globe. He never forgot the look in her young eyes when he presented them to her, and absentmindedly wondered if she’d given the same look to the things he’d sent her. He could only hope she was just as full of life as she’d been back then.

His thoughts tumbled together; he hardly paid attention to the conversation he was having with the Governor as they walked up the street to a carriage. Even then, he forgot most of what had just been said as he clambered inside. He preferred to watch the scenery roll by the open window.

They arrived at the Governor’s house. It was a splendid, sprawling estate with little spared decorum. It felt like a palace to James, who had lived in a ship for the past few years. He had forgotten what it was to have money.

The gardens were breathtaking. James hadn’t seen such an array of bright plants in his life. Red flowers fanned outwards, yellow petals shot out from bright green bushes, and little fountains of clear water burbled as he passed. It was nothing short of royal. His awe didn’t leave him when his stepped in the house, nor when he saw the view from the balcony. It was all too breathtaking, all too bright.

Too bright, he decided, was the problem with Jamaica. Where England was all muted tones, the Caribbean was a circus. Obnoxious colors sprung from every conceivable place, and though it was stunning, it was also overwhelming. The sickly sweat smell of flowers permeated the boiling air. Accompanied by the cacophony of cicadas and ceaseless chirping of birds, the place took all five senses to experience. It sapped the little energy James had straight from his bones.

He found himself at a table, the lace cloth a daffodil color that could only be described as annoying. He didn’t like the color yellow much at all, not that anyone would know, for nobody had cared to ask. The exception was Elizabeth, who, at eleven, had asked what his least favorite color was. He glanced at her from where he sat, entertaining her father. She looked him dead in the eye, which was admittedly unnerving. She traced a single, slender finger over the tablecloth. Of course she remembered.

He was more than thankful when he was escorted to his own house. The Governor had taken it upon himself to have the house ready to live in as soon as James set foot in town. For that, James was grateful. He hated the thought of having to invade their personal space so he might have a place to stay. Besides, he couldn’t look at that tablecloth on a daily basis.

When Weatherby left, James slumped into a chair. The air was no cooler inside than out. He acutely felt the dripping of sweat between his shoulder blades. He threw his coat on the bed he found in a dark room, and kicked off his shoes to match.

He stalked over to the study he had been provided. It was, like the rest of the island, a bright room. Sunlight filtered into the space from large windows to one side. The other two walls were composed mainly of bookshelves. On them sat books of varying topics, but James doubted he had the energy to read. Bobbles had been set in the shelves as decorations; carvings of ships and miniature paintings of sunsets over the sea. The room had a nice, nautical air to it that he could appreciate.

The desk was a rich mahogany. On it sat charts of the ocean and trade routes. It had lockable drawers and roses carved into the wood. Weatherby had spared no expense, which made James uncomfortable. To have someone think so highly of him that they paid for items of exceedingly good quality was an honor. He didn’t quite think he deserved it, nor did he like to think of the image he’d have to fit in order to meet Weatherby’s expectations. The man’s memories of him, he figured, were a little skewed by time. He hadn’t done anything to receive such hospitality from the Governor.

James inspected his new home, peeking into every room. There was a waiting room, a kitchen, dining room, two bathrooms, and two bedrooms. There were more than that, for there was also the study and the room containing the pianoforte. The house had a blue theme to it, as if James needed to be reminded of his duties while away from the job. The rooms were various shades of blue, while the furniture pieces were all in complimentary colors. The house had no stairs, but there were many places where the floor creaked. James felt like a child sneaking past his parents’ room at night.

After his quick sweep of the house, the thought of jumping into the cool waters was too great a temptation. He couldn’t bear the heat any longer. Stripping off his shirt and socks, he made his way to the French doors at the back of the house. Behind the house was a bleached deck with stairs leading down to the beach. The expanse of sand wasn’t very large, but it was scorching when he stepped into it. He moved as quickly as he could without running to reach the tide.

Though he was mostly secluded from neighbors, they could spot him if they looked around the trees separating his house from theirs. His home had a neighbor on only one side, their house blocked from view by a thick line of tropical trees. He could only make out their roof, but nothing beyond that. If he swam too far out, they’d definitely see him, though he decided it didn’t matter much if his body was submerged. The only real embarrassment would come if they caught him on the beach.

The water was refreshing. At this point, James didn’t care how cold the Atlantic was, it was just nice to feel something other than the heat. With his lower body submerged, he glided out into the water. He hadn’t been given the chance to swim since India, and he refrained from it then. A captain shouldn’t swim in front of his men. That being said, the ability to swim in peace was glorious.

He briefly considered that he hadn’t brought a towel out with him; he’d get the floors wet. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he swam to a rock protruding from the ocean. He basked in the exercise. Being a captain meant that he had little to do in the way of physical labor. He missed using his body the way he once had.

Something beneath the surface of the water caught his eye. It was a ways away, flitting through the ocean like a fish. He thought that was it was, at first, before deciding that it was too large. For a moment, he was deathly afraid that a shark plagued the waters, but dismissed that notion when he saw a fin cut through the waves. It was scaled and shimmering, nothing like a shark’s smooth skin. It turned away from him, heading out into open water.

James watched it glide to rocks farther out in the ocean. He could only see its shadow moving under the waves. The tide was coming in, gently trying to push him off his rock and back towards shore. He climbed out of the water and positioned himself on the stone so that his legs might dangle into the sea.

The cove he swam in was small. It was protected on one side by a rocky barrier. On the other side, where James was, there was evidence of what might have been the other side to the barrier. Rocks jutted out from the water, but they were blocky and flat: the perfect perch. Trees grew on both sides where the land started to reach its fingers out to the sea. At the far end of the cove was James’ house, while his neighbor was at the other. The area had been deforested to build the homes, a strip left to separate the properties.

James could feel the time passing. He guessed it had been an hour since he’d come outside, and decided it was time to swim back to shore. He drifted, reluctant to leave the water. The sun was dipping to the horizon, but the air was as muggy as ever. He didn’t know if he’d dry out, or if the water would cling to his skin. His trousers, surely, wouldn’t dry out before morning.

He was on his deck before looking back out to sea. Though the light was waning, he could make out a figure near the rocks farthest from land. First, it was only the tail of a large fish that could be seen. Then, it flipped to lift its head out of the water.

James’ breath caught. He was well aware of the strange things one could find in the sea, mainly the creatures of lore. Old captains had their own tales on what they’d seen in their time at sea. James had thought of them all as fictitious. Now, there was no denying what was swimming right behind his house.

A siren!

He stood on the deck and stared, unable to rip his eyes away. She slid onto one of the rocks, all grace, and stretched out. His internal description of her might have been more romantic if he could see more details, but he couldn’t elaborate on the color of her eyes or the way her hair fell down her back. He could hardly tell what color her scales were, but he assumed they were a combination of every shade of blue.

Instead, he just gaped. She must have noticed, because she was gone as quickly as she’d come, sliding back into the waters. It was a long while before James could force himself to move, but back inside he went. He bathed, washing the fishy smell from his skin, and ate what he could make for dinner, which was to say, not much. His first order of business would be to hire a maid and a cook.

He slipped under the covers, absolutely exhausted. He’d almost forgotten about the siren, his mind occupied by all he had yet to do. Mostly, he was thinking about work and all the responsibilities that came with. He’d be given a ship and crew the following morning. Then, it would be back to work, and under the Caribbean sun. Back to the usual routine. At least he was out from under the command of the EITC, whom he couldn’t stand. Most of the merchants and captains were insufferable, not to mention Lord Beckett.

When he awoke, early the next morning, he sat down at the table for what meager food he could scrounge up. Thankfully, Governor Swann had thought of that already. He tapped his foot, anxious for what the day would bring. It was only when he went to stand that he noticed the color of the table cloth.

Daffodil yellow.

#james norrington #potc #potc fanfic #pirates #pirates of the caribbean #writing #oc #norrington x oc #potc oc #drabble #writings #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #commodore norrington #norrington #pirate

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angelthefirst1 · 5 years

Text

Morning Star - Sequence

Part 4

link to:

part 1

part 2

part 3

Sill Just Consumed But… that didn't work out so well because next we see Lydia (Daryl) pining over Henry (Beth)

Carol comes along and Lydia (Daryl) hides the fact she is pining over Henry (Beth). Carol says “You should hate me” and Lydia says “it's hard when you hate yourself so much.”

A reference to Carol hating herself after killing Karen and David, and what happened with Lizzy and Mika. Carol says she will kill Alpha and that she had a whole life that was taken from her. We are back to Daryl and Carol searching for Beth and the state of mind back then. Lydia says to Carol “I remember”, a reminder of ‘Still’ and also Carols first life with Sofia.

Beth says to Daryl in Still “I remembers when that little girl came out the barn, after my mum” Lydia also says “sorry my mother's a monster”.

Preparing for battle, and to get Magna and Connie back

Next we see Luke and Kelly hammering spikes in poles preparing a perimeter around Hilltop in hopes of stopping the horde

Yumiko comes up to Kelly and says "I'm sorry, I'm an arsehole" they hug.

And Kelly says they are going to win this and get Magna and Connie back.

Rats start running out of the bushes and Yumiko yells "the horde is coming"

Yumiko, Kelly and Luke are Daryl, Noah and Carol repeats from consumed.

This battle preparing will also most likely be repeated by Grady cops at some point also when Beth comes against them.

And it's a call back to Negan coming also.

Up in the Grady tower

Eugene is sad and starts singing to Stephanie, hoping to get her back on the radio.

While he is singing we see many different scenes, I'm gonna skip talking about these, but it's showing that a lot has happened between when Beth last sang (was onscreen) to this point when Stephanie sings back. (Beth onscreen again)

Eugene is so happy to hear her singing again, Stephanie says "I'm sorry for disappearing, I freaked a little bit" Eugene "onus falls squarely on me, I let my guard down, I apologize"

This whole scene shows Beth returning and how happy Daryl will be to hear her ‘singing again’, she will apologize for disappearing and breaking her promise of not leaving him and he blames himself for letting his guard down in the first place.

This is where Stephanie finally agrees to that meet and greet, she gives Eugene a location to meet "southern rail-yards in West Virginia" one week. They agree to meet.

Rosita comes in to get him as the battle is about to start, Eugene wants to get it over with because he “has a date”.

It's repeating the Grady hallway exchange and also telling the future meeting point of Beth's return.

Stephanie stops communicating in the radio for a time, but comes back signing...

Noah is on borrowed time. Next scene we see Ezekiel looking at his cancer in the mirror, we see Daryl come down the stairs in the reflection he is limping due to his injury from the fight with Alpha in ‘Stalker’.

Daryl asks if he is okay and Ezekiel says “no i got cancer” it's showing Noah after the Grady hallway being on borrowed time, Daryl's limp hints at Noah's limp back then.

(It's Also telling the future story of Ezekiel going to a hospital) repeating Noah Daryl says sorry about the cancer and that even though they never had much to say to each other, he knows all the things Ezekiel has been through, that his stronger than most. It's repeating Daryl and Noah not having much to say to each other back in season 5 (they didn't have many scenes together), and also Noah talking to Beth about how the Grady cops only took the people they thought were weak, Noah's dad got left behind just like Daryl did when they took Beth because they were seen as the weak ones. Noah says to Beth they think I'm weak but they don't know shit about me. Noah then says to Beth, they don't know shit about you.

Daryl says he knows all the things Ezekiel has been through, that his stronger than most Daryl talks about making sure the kids get out if things go sideways, just another way to say this is about that conversation between Beth and Noah and how she was one of the strong one's too, as well as Noah

(Beth was all about getting the kids out at the prison, that was her whole focus) Beth dies, Noah Dies, then we get Beth back The new wing Judith giving Daryl his vest with the new wing is super cute, it's also very significant with it's 10 stars, 10 10

Daryl admits to being afraid to Judith, whereas in Still he told Beth he wasn't afraid.

He is also very protective of Judith and says "i’m sorry for today, you didn't need to see those bodies like that" Judith says "they were just walkers, I've killed plenty of walkers" Daryl says "I know you have, but they weren't just walkers" We have skipped from Daryl's limp referencing Noah to Daryl's limp referencing Beth in Alone and the time when they see the bodies in the funeral home, Daryl makes light of the walkers being dress up like dolls, and Beth scolds him saying, “it's Beautiful that someone remembered these things were people once”.

Judith gives him the vest and a says it's for luck he can't believe it, he loves it (Pointing to Beth's return)

He then makes Judith promise to go with Ezekiel (Noah) if she doesn't know where Daryl is during the fight... Just another reverse repeat of Beth promising not to leave Daryl during the fight at the funeral home, which leads her to Noah in the end.

Judith promises but looks unhappy about it, she's promising to leave Daryl the opposite of what Beth did. Glenn's death - Maggie and Daryl at Hilltop Next we see Carol (Who has stepped into Maggie's shoes) looking at Glenn's painting in Maggie's office.

This is a repeat of Maggie at Glenn's grave.

Daryl blames himself for Glenn and Beth's deaths. We next see Daryl near some graves, behind it is a shot of a root cellar just like the one he and Maggie hid in when the saviors come looking for them.

During the time in the cellar, Maggie wants Daryl to look at her, because he hadn't said a word to her at her since he got to Hilltop. (Just like Daryl hasn't said a word to Carol since they got back to Hilltop from the cave)

Maggie says it wasn't your fault what happened to Glenn, Daryl starts crying and says it was. Maggie tells him his one of the good things in this world.

Here we see Carol come up behind Daryl just after looking at Glenn's grave, next to other graves, and in front of the root cellar. She starts crying and says to Daryl "Please don't hate me"

Daryl says "i’m never gonna hate you"

This is obviously a reminder of Glenn's death and Maggie and Daryl's interaction, but its also future Beth story. Carol promised Daryl in the cave that she would stop, acting crazy trying to kill Alpha because she was going to get people they care about killed. She broke that promise to Daryl and it leads to Magna and Connie getting trapped, just like Beth broke her promise to Daryl about not leaving him. It leads to her getting "killed" like Glenn. But Daryl is never going to hate her... Battle time... goodbye Grady, hello Beth. We see Daryl pick up the Morning Star and go out to the battlefield

This whole battle is a representation of Daryl and Beth's fight in Still, as well as helping lead future Beth home through the smoke it will create (a repeat of Carol and Mika seeing the smoke from the cabin In 513) As well as through Alpha showing the destruction of Grady.

We first see this walker who has a hole on it's head similar to Beth, as well as a yellow top with blood stains and a shirt similar to Mary's (Mary/Beth)

This walker is the first one to get to the fence and create sparks.

The fence gets bombarded by the horde and it collapses

Causing the battery car (the yellow one we saw with Rosita and Eugene earlier where they were drinking alcohol) to have a small explosion. (Beth and Daryl's argument)

This is Beth getting through Daryl's defenses back in ‘Still’ and getting him to drop one of his meticulously placed fences (walls). The horde break through Daryl watching on

We then see everyone fighting walkers, frantic to keep the second fence up, but not long after we see it start to collapse and Luke (Beth) yells "the fence isn't going to hold"

As Luke yells this, we see Beta (Daryl) walk towards his tree sap, moonshine, cure.

At Beta’s (Daryl's) command the Whisperers then launch the tree sap/ Moonshine bombs and everything gets covered in it, they especially focus on Daryl.

And Mary who is using her spear looks exactly like Beth when she throws the moonshine

Jerry yells "smells like a Christmas tree"

Just another clue, this is the past repeated, but also the future with reference to Beth's return and a cure. It's then the first fire ball lands and one of the hilltop fighters gets burned up Jerry yells "its like gasoline" another reference to burning Christmas trees. Guess who we see lighting it up? Alpha/Beth

Arron yells "get ready to fall back" and Daryl yells "back inside" just like when he said to Beth "we should go inside" she then suggest they burn it down...

We then see Alpha give the go ahead to Negan and the other Whisperers to shoot fire arrows in to Hilltop. Just like Daryl throws the money that Beth lights on fire into the moonshine shack

We see it all burning and Daryl standing and watching with his newly acquired blue wing with 10 stars.

Beth is the Morning Star and so is Jesus...

Revelation 22.16

“I, Jesus, have sent My angel to testify to you these things in the churches. I am the Root and the Offspring of David, the Bright and Morning Star.”

Revelation 22.20

He who testifies to these things says, “Yes, I am coming soon.”Amen. Come, Lord Jesus

They are both coming soon!

#team delusional #team defiance #team beth lives #bethyl #BETH IS COMING #twd #jesus is coming

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zaheela · 6 years

Photo

......WHY DID I THINK WINGS WERE A GOOD THING?!?!? SO MUCH WORK Anyways, This ideas been floating in my head for a while. Not sure how it’d work out, but let me have my little bouts of insanity.

“Ha, so now what. Isn’t it your duty to save the helpless, Red?” Mercury taunts, praying she falls for it. His leg crushed, wings always in poor shape. With the room collapsing, he has no way to escape and he’d be damned if he just died quietly. He recalls the early days, with her too wide eyes and ill-placed second guesses, though it also comes to mind what happened in Mistral, her own words declaring her intent to shut him up. It makes him wary, but she is his way out of a no win situation. “What?” She asks, as if offended. He laughs and motions to his leg. “You’re some hero right, well I’m not going to be able to get out of here on my own…’ His throat closes as she stands up straight and stares at him, lips pressed tight. He recalls Emerald’s illusions for Cinder, the weak pitiful, mewling thing, and he can’t help but think it is the furthest thing from the truth right before him. No, now he can see the strong leader, soul forged in fire, adventure, and agony, a woman whose seen too much and would be very willing to leave him here to die like a dog. Chills creep down his spine, because he can tell that mere words like innocent and delusional cannot be used with her anymore. She towers above him a look of pity on her face, before kneeling down and lifting one arm over her head and pulling him up. She doesn’t look back at him, too insignificant to be more then a foot note. “…Even though it is the right thing to do, don’t assume anything… Too many important, precious moments and people drive me forward. No matter how sad they make me feel, they’re a part of me now, and you don’t deserve to be on the same pedestal as them. You aren’t going to haunt my dreams. So get up, we’’re getting out of here, I have other things to do.” She shifted his weight a little, before taking a calming breath. “Don’t hold your breath and don’t bite you tongue.” Staring up at the patch of sky above, she crouched, and kept her hands steady.

Ruby’s Semblance encompassed all she touched. From an absurdly over-designed war scythe to the living muscle that was Nora, so long as she allowed herself to hold on, then it would be possible to carry them both out of the tower. Part of her wanted to leave him, it would not be the first death nor the last. She knew that she had killed others, inadvertently at least. She wasn’t as naive enough to think that the faunus in the tunnels had all survived back at Mountain Glenn. There was blood on her hands of strangers whom she didn't even know the faces of, but she knew his face, his voice, his sarcastic tone. It would linger in the back of her mind, like a buzzing fly; Yes there was always a chance this would backfire, but the risks were outweighed by the peace of mind. With only a second thought, she let her aura pass through and wrap up his cold void. Slowly, Ruby exhaled as she could feel her aura bubble up in her chest, and with a powerful flap of her wings, the world’s colors became dull.

Mercury couldn’t help but marvel as the world seemed to slow and the light fade as she leapt up the tall shaft, petals drifting around them lazily as if escorting her. Up, down, left, right, the direction didn’t matter anymore as she twisted and turned through the debris, sometimes moving so fast the pillars of wood seemed to curl around them instead of the logical other way around. Those small wings twitched and the one on his side pressed him closer as the once distant sky grew closer, and he could feel her aura grow thicker as she pushed her semblance further. The feeling of it dancing on his skin was both surprising and instinctively comforting. He would of honestly assumed it to be either too hot or cold, but it was warm. Like the sun on a perfect spring day, warming him to his core. Stomach turned, he grit his teeth as the sensation of life and comfort continued its embraced, until she broke through and reclaimed the sky, great wings snapping wide and they floated in the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced down at where the airship he and the rest of his villainous band had arrived in was, only to find it missing. He shouldn’t of been too surprised, Tyrian would of naturally assumed him dead, dragging a weakly protesting Emerald away. It was more then he could expect; Salem’s will had done a fine job of corroding her will until she had been cowed into following orders when pressured, and Tyrian was a sadistic bastard. His own wings ached to glide on the breeze, but then the warmth shattered, ripped away as she landed. Dropping him, she moved away, placing several steps between him. Her back was turned, wings tucked against her back, and he could feel his rage simmer at her indifference. The scythe unfolded as she found what she was looking for and chopped a thick, sturdy birch branch from a tree. She tossed it at him, his own reflexes kicking in to catch it. “That should be good enough to make a peg leg. Do you carry a knife with you?” She asked, leaning against her weapon as if relaxed, but he could tell by her shoulders she was ready for him to make one wrong move. “Why would I need one of those?” He asked spitefully, though it occurred to him after the words left his mouth that any good survivalist would carry one. She gave him an oddly Schnee like roll of her eyes, huffing in annoyance as she reached under her skirt, the leather sheathe briefly flashing against a pale thigh, before she threw the small pocket knife at him. It was too small to do any noteworthy damage against any aura owner, but it was well cared for and sharp enough for him to hack away at the wood. Occasionally she twitched, lips pressing tight as if smothering a comment or suggestion, but remained quiet, thankfully. Rough substitute hacked out, he gave her a annoyed look, to which she motioned to him to throw the knife back. Once the tiny thing had been exchanged, she lifted her skirt, pulling the leather belt off her leg and pulling the case off its harness before tossing the sturdy leather his way. With a grunt, He tested the stability of the temporary limb. Not the sturdiest thing, but it’d do; A better alternative then hopping through a forest on one foot. Now the problem was the forest and whatever god forsaken creatures dwelled in it. Once they went their separate ways, he could hopefully use his scroll to notify the others of his survival or find a town to hide out in, but what if he was attacked before he…

The floor shook as if to flip him the bird. Ruby jumped as well and launched herself into the tree line, hugging the treetops as she scouted for the source of the noise. When she landed hard next to him, he could tell whatever she had seen was close and well aware of their presence. She said nothing for a moment, hand gripped tight on Crescent Rose, before taking a deep breath and moving forward, placing herself between him and whatever was moving towards them.

“If you are going to run, then do it when I attack. It’ll buy you time.” Her words were uncharacteristically uncaring and every warning bell in his head was screaming that it was a trap. She had no reason to think letting him go would be better then protecting him right? Besides, he wasn’t some helpless sap, he was a trained killer. Granted hobbled, but it wasn’t in him to go down quietly anyways. “Bullshit.” He grunted, leaning against a tree. Again, he was thrown for a loop because this time she turned her head, her expression one of pure dumbfounded confusion. She had clearly expected him to bolt, not stand his ground.

“Can you still fight?” She asked, biting a lip. Mercury could almost see the hamster wheel in her head kick into overdrive as the tree line started to him and the bellowing grunts of a giant Grimm grew closer. “Tch, not on this leg.” He snapped, dread twisting in his guts. Ruby shook her head as the red eyes peered through the trees. “Could you fight if I kept you in the air?” She clarified, taking a step back as the final few trees splintered, the gaping maw of what could only be a mutated turtle crossed with something else opened. The beast lumbered forward, screeching in pain. “What? …Well yeah, but My wings aren’t exactly flight worthy.” “Hrmph, It’s obvious you need to someone to teach you proper wing preening and maintenance, but I think I can handle all the hard work. Just keep gliding and looking pretty and I’ll deal with the hard parts. Just so you know, we’re not aiming to kill it, just outrun it. Unless my friends arrive, we can’t take it down.” There was something in her tone that made him think that she was hiding something else, but now wasn’t the time to question it and focus on not getting eaten, crushed, or any other horrific death, “Awww, someone things I’m Pretty do they?” “… That’s not exactly a compliment for a guy you know….” “Whatever, let’s just get this over with and go back to passive aggressively insulting each other.” “Heh, well then, Mercury, shall we dance?” She gave him a strained smile before shifting her grip on Crescent Rose and held out one hand in invitation.

#RWBY #Ruby Rose #Mercury Black #Winged!AU #Avian!AU #RWBY Quicksliver #Kinda anyways Im pretty sure in this case its more of a mutual I dont want to die truce #I think my brain says that Ruby's friends do come and hes taken prisoner #Mostly because then I get to draw him as a grumpy bird whose being taught how to take care of his own wings

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ladykg · 7 years

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[Naruto HashiObi Soulmate Au] Exchanging sadness for tree sap - Chapter 2

‘Ello lovely readers,

Fair warning: updates won’t be consistent and may not be this often…

Also, I kinda may or may not have played around a bit with canon time tables… in a few ways… because in blackkat’s drabble Obito has the rinnegan (and I really really wanted to use the whole, “no more masks?” line that Naruto said so… yeah). Also ages… ages are a thing… like Kagami will probably be around sixteen? And Tobirama will probably be early twenties because canon is shit at giving ages for when the whole founding of the village actually happened….

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON FF.NET AND AO3 - PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION (LADYKG) THANK YOU.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What?” Izuna is the one to ask the question, breaking the silent disbelief that has settled over the party. (Really, Obito doesn’t see how staring at him for ten minutes can be a justified reaction - time travel isn’t that farfetched. But maybe he only thinks that because he just experienced it).

Obito sucks in a breath, fortifying against any doubt or delusion that he can go back now, “I’m from the future.” And of course saying it a second time doesn’t actually give any more credibility to the statement.

Except Hashirama is looking at him like the entire world just shifted, “Then the Senju and Uchiha will have a good enough relationship to have a child?” The man is practically vibrating in place, a near opposite to his sulking before. “See, brother, I told you-“

Obito doesn’t hear the rest of his soulmate’s sentence, too busy trying to wrap his mind around the implications of his words. A Senju and Uchiha child? Obito is an orphan, never knew his parents, only that they must have been Uchiha. But… but the clan hated him. He was the black sheep. And what better reason than- No. No, Obito forces himself not to tense, not to think about this anymore. He has no proof (Except he does). The mokuton was because of those experiments, not because… not because he is part Senju. They would have told him. (Except he knows they wouldn’t).

“The future must be a very innovative place for such a jutsu to be created,” Tobirama says, starting the conversation up again while eyeing Obito like he wants to pick apart his brain and root out all the secrets within. “Or was it that eye that gave you the ability?”

“It was my dead teammate.” He shakes his head, both to dispute Tobirama’s point and at the absurdity of it all. But, really, the least he can do for Rin is give her credit for letting him meet his soulmate.

“You said you’re supposed to be dead,” Hashirama picks up quickly.

“I was supposed to die during a war,” he frowns.

“Clearly it didn’t stick,” Izuna mumbles, looking Obito up and down. The comment goes ignored by those around him. (Thinking back on it that was the second time death passed him over).

“And the next thing I know I’m being shoved and falling into the middle of your pitched fight.” He repeats Madara’s own words back, practically spitting them.

“War?” Tobirama shifts, clearly trying to calculate what the threat could be.

“The fourth shinobi war,” Obito gives a wane smile. No more masks, but… he isn’t sure admitting to starting a war in front of both clans would be the greatest of ideas. It would be a power play, surely, and would mark him as a potential threat. “The Akatsuki against an alliance of the elemental nations.”

“Red dawn?” Tobirama tilts his head in question, hand coming up to rest on his chin.

“They were freedom fighters that became corrupted,” Obito hedges. His sins are ones that he is more than willing to accept but trying to gain trust isn’t exactly easy when you out right say you’ve committed heinous acts (even by shinobi standards).

There is a pause while this sinks in. While these shinobi legends think on what a threat this organization must have presented in order to force the entire shinobi nations to band together.

“Perhaps, it would be best to wait for Madara to…” Izuna turns to eye where the Uchiha have yet to fully release there leader. “Join us before continuing this discussion,” the shinobi finishes with the glint in his eyes that says he is enjoying the situation far more than he is letting on. (Made even more evident by his clear lack of help in freeing his brother).

So they wait. Wait the next forty minutes with Hashirama’s bright eyes focused on him. Wait the next forty minutes with laughter attempting to bubble out of his chest in hysterical bursts. By the time they get Madara free his hair is a mess from the ginko sapling’s ministrations, his face splattered with dirt and scratches, and Obito is more than satisfied to see the way he favors one side.

“Your soulmate’s insane,” the man tells the Senju eyes - still sharingan red - skittering between Obito and Hashirama. But it is not this statement that has every instinct in his body screaming to kill with each step the man takes. Practically rioting against all logic that letting his mokuton created plants attack the Uchiha will have to be enough. Telling him to eliminate a threat not only to his person but to the future as well. Because, now, there is no distraction of finding his soulmate, no distraction of human contact that was far from malicious.

And though Obito’s presence will ensure that the spark for the fourth war never happens it doesn’t mean that the catalyst has been dealt with. He could kill him. Even without kamui, he could take a kunai from his unsuspecting soulmate and gut the man who killed Rin, who pushed Obito to bring destruction on the shinobi world. The man who is to become the vessel for a goddess, the man who-

Every muscle pulls tight at the feeling of a hand covering his fist, more than ready to attack, more than ready to feel a weapon punch into him. It never comes though, and Obito blinks away enough red to see Hashirama’s concerned demeanor. To notice that the hand covering his is warm, trickling calming chakra into him like a lifeline. Those around him are silent, studying, and it takes him another several seconds to let his tension fade.

Hashirama doesn’t let go.

Obito doesn’t know how to react in return.

Instead, he eyes Madara for a moment more, examines the man who has done nothing yet but listen to elders and send his people to war for old revenge. The man who is friends with Hashirama. The man Obito logically knows he can’t kill if he wants there to be peace. The shinobi that has the potential to destroy the world and rein war upon all nations. (That doesn’t mean he can’t make the man’s life a living hell, however).

“To think the great Uchiha Madara was defeated by a few plants,” Obito says low enough that only he and Hashirama hear, holding back his mocking laughter all the while. Hashirama, on the other hand, has less luck. His mirth from Madara’s misfortune and Obito’s comment is more than obvious in his poorly repressed smile and gleaming eyes. It doesn’t go unnoticed by an already irritated Madara.

“He’s from the future,” Izuna cuts in, clearly having little-brother senses that are flaring with warning that Madara is about to do something stupid. Obvious choice; bring the conversation into a new topic.

“The future,” Madara raises an eyebrow, hands going to rest on his hips. “Great, even more proof that he’s lost his mind.”

Hashirama is sputtering out a defense, making claims of possible jutsu and dojutsu. But Madara isn’t paying attention, and Obito feels more than violated as the man’s gaze rakes over his figure, landing finally on his ringed eye.

“I’ve never seen a dojutsu like that before,” he frowns. “What is it?”

“The rinnegan,” Tobirama announces before he can. “It’s only ever mentioned in passing,” the future Nidaime continues, curiosity saturating his voice, “I had assumed it was nothing but a legend.”

The question is there, in the tone of the man’s voice and the looks on those in their gathering; if it’s a legend, then how did he get it?

It’s a well-known fact that the Uchiha clan hate non-clan members wielding their eyes. Especially when said eyes are stolen. It is a little known fact that they also hate when an Uchiha steals another form of dojutsu. This disapproval stemming from pride not only in the sharingan but in the clan itself. An elitist view point that they do not need any other dojutsu because no other can compare to the power of the sharingan. Arrogance in the rawest form - the same kind that has them facing the Senju without armor.

When he had been retrieving Nagato’s eyes he hadn’t given much thought to it. Too busy trying to start a war. Too busy drowning in his anger. He hadn’t cared. And, now, Obito stands before the clan head with a stolen rinnegan. He can’t say his feelings have changed.

“I took it from a dead subordinate,” he tells them evenly. He doesn’t allow himself to say comrade because he had never treated Nagato as such - he has no right to claim such ties.

And he doesn’t allow himself to look at Hashirama. Not because he thinks the man knows about the Uchiha’s opinions but because he is sure that the man’s own morals will cry out in protest. He doesn’t want to see the disapproval that he knows is there.

“You’re an Uchiha,” Madara hisses out, face filled with anger and a fire in his eyes that Obito hasn’t seen before

“You’re an Uchiha like Sasuke,” Naruto’s voice whispers through his head before he can even try to deny it, try to push away the name of a clan he had massacred. (And really, he needs to figure out what kind of jutsu that sunshine boy used to get into his head so thoroughly. To make him remember. To make him believe in a future where peace was possible without absolute control).

“It was war,” Obito growls back instead, because the absolute last things he is willing to take is Madara reprimanding him on morals. His life has not sunken so low. The scowl on his face pulls almost uncomfortably at his scars, no doubt making him even harder to look directly at. “I will not be lectured by you on the merits of my decisions.”

“Time traveler or not,” Madara’s voice takes on an authority that has Izuna shift into a more attentive state. “You’re still an Uchiha, and I am your clan head. You will respect that.”

“Actually, he’s a Senju,” a voice calls from behind, demanding and confident in a way that has Obito thinking of Kushina.

(Madara is lucky for this interruption.

Obito likes to think he has patience. He spent nearly twenty years fulfilling his plan to rule the elemental nations. He even helped an elderly Madara with his bathroom needs while under his tutelage. Had let Madara off with nothing more than an attack by plants. Had ignored his instincts that wanted a body at his feet. But his patience has fast run out while faced with this Madara’s judgement on his choices. And he is not entirely sure what he would have done without this new distraction).

“Touka,” Tobirama greets, giving a nod of acknowledgement as he moves to let her find space in their circle.

“Touka!” Hashirama beams as the woman comes to stand on Obito’s other side.

“Little cousins,” the kunoichi - Touka, Senju Touka - says, but Obito notices the way her eyes skitter to Izuna before a blink corrects their direction.

“Uchiha.”

“Senju,” Madara’s voice is sour. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“I disagree.” The smile that she gives is more of a warning. Sharp and clearly a promise to follow through with the threat it gives, “As I was saying, my dear cousin’s soulmate is a Senju. Seeing as he’s fated to a clan head. Or, have you forgotten how this works?”

Obito decides she’s his favorite Senju (baring Hashirama because he is sure that the man would be inconsolable in his sulking if the way he reacted to Tobirama is anything to go by). With how easily she can make Madara bluster. With how easily she can make the man back down.

“I know how the agreement works,” the man snaps, arms crossing over his chest. “Did you forget that it’s only between clans with a treaty?”

Touka swings her naginata down to study the blade with calm features, “Are you saying that Uchiha and Senju aren’t going to ally?”

“Madara?” And Hashirama’s voice comes out equal parts hurt and disapproving.

The man scowls, “I never said that.”

“Then we can move past your stuffy traditions,” she says sickly sweet, ignoring the glare her words earn her with an ease that says she has pissed scarier people off. “Now let me get a look at you,” she turns to Obito, showing the two Uchiha her side - not as direct an insult as placing them at her back, but a clear sign she sees them as unworthy of her full attention. Her critical look pauses on his rinnegan, moving smoothly over his scars and focuses a moment long on his chest where he knows the split between him and the material used to fix him becomes obvious. She gives a hum, “How good is your taijutsu?”

Obito blinks, taken aback by her sudden question, but he obliges to answer - it will give little away anyway. “I’m proficient.”

“Weaponry?”

Obito narrows his eyes. Any shinobi knows better than to just list all of their abilities, and that goes a bit farther than he is comfortable. “Why?”

Touka nods towards Hashirama, “I approve.” The next thing Obito knows she is presenting her hand to him, “I’m Senju Touka, it’s a pleasure to meet my idiot cousin’s soulmate.”

Obito doesn’t even try to suppress his approval, even if he has to force himself not to hesitant in returning her gesture. Definitely his favorite. “Obito,” he pauses for a breath, because Naruto fought hard to make him accept his name again, but denying what she just used to shut up an argument would be suicide, “Uchiha-Senju Obito.”

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weirdoldmanhoho · 6 years

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Hey, happy fma day! Could you please do a prompt or like headcanons ideas of what would have happened if Ed and Al and the homonculi were siblings/cousins? (whichever inspires you more) it would be wonderful and funny, sure as hell

Happy FMA day! OMG yes this is my favorite ridiculous, silly au. Prepare for some ridiculousness.

Okay, so Father shows up randomly at the Elric (Hohenheim?) house a couple years into Hoho living there and is just like “hello, my dearest, oldest friend, so good to see you.” (Hoho is like, yeah, I’ve been rethinking our relationship ever since you literally committed genocide in front of me.)

Father tells Hoho he’s turned over a new leaf. No really, he says, no more murder. He’s content to live out the rest of his life with the one Philosopher Stone he already made and definitely has no plans whatsoever to make another one – what? How could his dearest, oldest friend – who he NAMED and cared for before anyone and helped gain him his freedom – doubt him? What is he talking about that the map of Amestris looks suspicious? Does he really think he could control how an entire country was built? His oldest, dearest friend (“seriously, stop calling me that”) has too high of expectations for him.

Anyways, Father says he showed up because he ended up with 7 kids somehow (“totally an accident. Just happened.” “…uh-huh.”) and he has absolutely no idea how to handle them and they’re all driving him absolutely crazy, and he heard that Hoho has two boys of his own (congrats, by the way, didn’t know you had it in you, your wife is lovely, good job) and maybe he’s managed to figure out this whole fatherhood thing better than he has, so can he bring the family and stay for a while? Just a bit?

And because Hoho is ultimately a sympathetic sap, he says yes. (Trisha literally might kill him. She won’t talk to him for two days. She threatens to take Ed and Al and run away. “This might be good for him, Trisha. He might actually learn to be better and care for people if he lives around humans for a while.” “If any one of his ‘children’ touch our children, I WILL find out how to kill an immortal and after I’m finished with them, I’m coming after you.” “I love you so much.”)

So the family moves in. Ed and Al meet their “cousins”. The homunculi meet the Elrics under strict orders not to hurt them. It goes about as well as you can expect.

Envy really likes screwing with Ed and Al. Their favorite hobby is transforming into one of them and trying to get in as much trouble as possible (pulling Winry’s hair, throwing things at Den, hitting the other real Elric brother, etc.) Jokes on them, though, because Trisha has gotten REALLY good at figuring out when it’s Envy in disguise and just happens to “accidentally” hit them with things. Like, she “accidentally” trips when Envy is in the kitchen as Ed and drops a metal pot on their head. (“Oh no! Edward, honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there!” She definitely did. She definitely aimed for the head on purpose.)

(In secret, all the Elric/Hohenheims have come up with tells to let each other know they’re not Envy. They might be putting up with them living here, but damn it all if Trisha is just going to passively let them torment her family.

Greed and Envy hate each other, so Greed teams up with the Elrics to help harass his sibling, and ends up actually becoming a big brother figure to them. And somehow, damn it all, he’ll deny it until his dying breath, he’s actually grown a little fond of the tikes. He lets Ed try on his ugly fur vest once. He puts on the invincible shield and lets them hit him with things (look just because he actually tries to play with the kids doesn’t mean he knows anything about appropriate games for human children. Envy and Lust and him hit each other all the time – and usually with a lot more blood and death involved – surely that’s fun for his little “cousins” right?)

Trisha walks outside once and sees her sons just beating on Greed with any weapon they can find and just…walks away. She doesn’t even care anymore. As long as it’s her sons beating one of the homunculi and not the other way around, she’s not going to stop it. She considers that this might be teaching her children bad lessons for the future – such as its okay to just beat people with sticks – but considering it’s also teaching them it’s okay to beat up homunculi, she thinks the pros outweigh the cons.

Lust tries to act like she’s above everything, but she usually gets dragged into arguments. She just kind of randomly flip-flops between helping Envy screw with the kids and teaming up with Greed to defend them like a guard dog, with no apparent rhyme or reason to which she’s going to do on any given day. Ed and Al are both terrified and slightly in awe of her. It’s pretty much exactly how Envy and Greed feel too.

One of their “cousins” looks suspiciously a lot like the former Furher of Amestris (who randomly disappeared a couple months ago, stating “family emergency” before vanishing). Wrath wears a whole bunch of ridiculous disguises every time he takes the boys into town. I’m talking like fake moustache over his real moustache and sunglasses. Really ridiculous hats. Hawaiian shirts. A fake nose once. (“This is just sad,” Envy tells him. “I’ve seen humans disguise themselves better than this.” “I’m not taking advice from someone who willingly walks around looking like that.” Envy has to be held back from trying to maul Wrath by Lust, because Envy has already lost FIVE LIVES since living here – one of them might have been from Trisha, but she won’t confirm or deny anything and only cackles quietly to herself when she looks at Envy sometimes – and if they keep it up they’re going to actually die FOR REAL by next year. “DO YOU THINK PHILOSOPHER’S STONES GROW ON TREES?” Father booms, then goes immediately to Hoho and is like, “That was the right phrase, right? I also tried grounding like you suggested.” “You’ll get this fatherhood thing in no time. Also, you can’t end the grounding no matter how sad they look. That’s what Trisha says.”)

Side note: Mrs. Bradley definitely moves in with them too and now she knows exactly what her husband and son are and still loves them just as much. Pride is confused and slightly mortified, but also touched – he’ll never admit it. Wrath just really loves this human woman he chose. He and Hoho trade stories about their adventures wooing strong-willed, slightly scary mortal women. They get drunk together once and cry into the night about how wonderful their wives are and the fact that their children are growing up before their eyes – “I don’t grow, Wrath, what are you talking about?” “My son sounds so grown up!” Both men sob harder.

Trisha and Mrs. Bradley become fast friends. They run a So-You-Married-an-Immortal support group. Currently they’re the only members. Meetings basically consist of them exchanging stories of the weirdest things they’ve ever seen their husbands do.

Pride becomes weirdly protective of the baby Elrics. Mostly because he believes Father wants to keep them safe and he’s the most loyal devoted son who will do anything Father wants, so he takes great pride (ha) in protecting the baby Elrics from every harm he can think of. He also looks the most similar in age to them, so he lets Father enroll him in the local school and watches over them while in class. The rest of the class and the teacher are absolutely terrified of him, because he mostly just sits behind Ed and glares at everyone who moves too close.

Ed and Al grow up with a really weird understanding of shadows – ie, convinced that they can definitely move independently and are physical things you can touch, because that one time Al tripped, a bunch of shadows definitely grabbed him before he hit the ground, placed him back on his feet, and patted his shoulder reassuringly for good measure.

Sloth does nothing, of course. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to dig that tunnel anymore. He mostly sleeps and Ed and Al try to figure out how much they can stack on him before he wakes up. Or how many times they can poke him. Or how loudly they can shout. Etc.

Somehow it turns out mostly okay though. Ed and Al make it into their teenage years without dying or any serious maiming. (Only Greed and Envy have been maimed, but their injuries heal so it’s fine.) They have at least two homunculi that are fiercely protective of them, one that usually at least has more fun fighting their enemies than them, one who acts like a weird uncle and showers them with gifts and random melons, and two that are pretty indifferent as long as they’re left alone. And Envy, who definitely still wants to make their lives as miserable as possible, but is at least usually outvoted by the other homunculi.

The Elric/Hohenheim family is very weird, but most of them (and Resembool) have accepted that. Trisha definitely would still kill any of them if they hurt her sons though.

Thanks for the prompt!

#I don’t know what this is #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #damn #homunculi #c: edward elric #c: alphonse elric #elric brothers #c: father #c: van hohenheim #c: trisha elric #c: pride #c: greed #c: envy #c: lust #c: sloth #c: Mrs. Bradley #c: king bradley #ask #my post

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chille-tid-universe · 5 years

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Plague at Lance Rock

Isolde awoke the next morning feeling invigorated. A new awareness had seeped into her mind, like the warmth of spring spreading across frosty moss, and she felt the spark of a new spell, granted to her by the goodness of nature. With a spring in her step, the paladin bounded down the stairs of the Swinging Sword Inn, passed a meager crowd of villagers starting their day with a hot meal, and stepped into the crisp morning air.

Isolde took a deep breath and tasted the scent of the woods around them; the pine sap, fragrant flowers, and near imperceptible whiffs of a rare herb growing somewhere nearby. Birds sang their cheery songs as they darted through the air, and golden beams of sun pierced the trees along the periphery of the surrounding forest.

Glancing around, she decided this spot would do. She stepped off the main street and sat cross-legged in the grass by the Inn. Closing her eyes, she felt her awareness spreading like tendrils of ivy, touching upon the essences of all around her, from the industrious ants beneath her to the chittering squirrels in the tree behind her. As she felt nature coalescing around her, like infinite vines entwined around the single strand of her consciousness, Isolde spoke the words of the spell and sent the magic along that chain of vines.

Immediately, she felt an answering awareness, somewhere down that natural chain; a noble, historied soul brimming with wisdom and patience. Isolde was content to sit, her spiritual self awash in the shared communion, as several minutes passed. Eventually, she heard a might whinny with her physical senses, and opened her eyes. Down the road, emerging from the forest, was a tall, proud warhorse, whose shoulders stood well above her own, of blinding white coat and with garlands of berries and ivy woven intricately through its mane.

The regal warhorse trotted down the road, somehow avoiding kicking up any dirt, and stopped before Isolde, tossing its proud head gently. The paladin beamed and sprang to her feet, approaching the beast slowly and with reverence, just the way she had been taught all those years ago. The horse nuzzled her outstretched hand, staring at her with eyes that seemed infinitely deep. As Isolde began to pat down the warhorse’s neck, Loran walked up from a side road, a wide tray of steaming buns perched on her hip.

“And who is this magnificent creature?” the baker asked, cheeks rosy, bangs plastered to her brow with sweat.

Isolde glanced over, smiling at the woman, and replied, “He’ll tell me his name later.”

Loran looked a little confused, but recovered quickly as she reached the paladin. “I’m glad to have run into you, Isolde. I have something for you.” Isolde’s eyes snapped to the woman, but she was offering the tray of fresh buns, eyes sparkling hopefully.

Isolde gingerly picked up a bun from the tray, careful not to burn her fingers, and smiled wide. “Thank you, Loran, these look as delicious as ever.” As she bit into the vegetarian bun and gave an appreciative moan, Loran blushed.

“Would you like another?” the baker asked, offering the tray once more. Isolde smiled graciously and plucked another steaming bun from the tray, this time offering it on her palm to the mighty warhorse. The beast snuffled at the treat and, quick as a wink, the broad tongue lapped over Isolde’s hand, snatching the bun. A moment later, the horse neighed thankfully.

With six buns left on her tray, Loran sauntered up to the Swinging Sword’s entrance, then stopped, calling over her shoulder, “Aren’t you coming inside?”

Isolde had returned to petting the horse, pressing her forehead against its snout. “I was going to spend some time with my new friend.” She glanced over at the baker and saw sad eyes cast downward. Isolde felt a burning on her ears and quickly added, “But I can come inside.”

In the rooms above, there was motion. The aroma of Loran’s buns had wafted through the air and into Robyn’s bedroom. Her eyes snapped open, and a moment later, her covers had been thrown back, she was halfway off the mattress, and she glanced around the room to recover her discarded clothing. An impossibly short amount of time later, the half-elf was heading downstairs.

Below, Isolde was announcing to the rest of the assembled group that she had a new horse, though this news was largely secondary to the arrival of breakfast in the form of Loran’s buns. As they munched on the steamy, cheesy meal, Isolde regaled them with a slightly exaggerated account of the ritual that had taken place not ten minutes ago.

As she reached the end, Loran and the innkeeper Caelessa approached the band. Together, they thanked the adventurers for agreeing to look into the claims of plague out at Lance Rock, and gave cursory directions for the area. Having completed their meal, the group collected their gear and headed for the door.

On the way out, Isolde waved at Loran and thanked her once more for the buns, which earned her another blush and a downward glance. As she stepped through the doorway, she spun around and asked, “Loran, would you like me to get you a souvenir?”

Loran and Caelessa exchanged puzzled glances, and the innkeeper replied, “You want to get Loran a souvenir from a plague ridden rock?” Isolde just smiled back at the pair, sweetly and painfully oblivious. “Uh, sure, get her something.”

Outside, the group was marveling at the grand warhorse. Isolde stepped up to her steed and wrapped her arms around his neck, which he allowed with a dipping of his regal head. As she pressed her forehead against his snout, each member of the group heard in their heads a proud voice, which declared, “I am called Icthuarrax.”

On their journey to Lance Rock, the group came across a stream crossing the road. As they waded through the shallow water, Isolde perked up. From atop Icthuarrax, she had noticed a blur of motion to the left, further up the stream. As she looked closer, she saw a band of gnolls, attempting to quietly approach. Isolde called the alarm and grabbed her glaive.

The gnolls, realizing their ruse had failed, broke into a loping run. There were a pair of crossbowmen, three smaller gnolls wielding spears, and a larger specimen with bloodlust in his eyes and a large, crude sword.

The adventurers sprinted to meet them, Nula leading the charge up the stream bank with Charlot on her heels. Icthuarrux easily outpaced them all, though, and the warhorse raced up to the large gnoll as Isolde swiped down at it with her glaive, allowing the horse to dance away safely afterwards. Enraged, the group of gnolls collapsed on the remaining adventurers, and one hit too many struck Nula. With a strangled cry, she fell, clutching her chest as her wounds fed the bubbling stream.

Seconds later, the slaughter was over. Isolde’s glaive had felled the large gnoll, and the combination of ranged attacks from the rest of the group picked off most of the other gnolls. The last survivor had turned to flee, but was unable to escape the pounding hoofbeats of Icthuarrux.

Back at the stream, Robyn knelt beside her lieutenant. “Don’t you worry,” she muttered, reaching into her pack. “We’ve got just the fix for you.” Pulling a pack of salt from her kit, she wafted the bag beneath the unconscious half-orc’s nose, agitating the salt when nothing happened. The rest of the group exchanged glances, and Charlot gave a quiet sigh, subtly focusing his magic into a rope that would latch Nula’s soul back into her body. With a whispered word, he pointed at the bruised and bleeding body, and Nula gave a start, gasping as she winced in pain.

“It worked!” Robyn exclaimed, managing to seem confident that she had anticipated it. The others rolled their eyes, and a moment later Isolde returned, wiping gnoll blood from her glaive. A minute later, Isolde had placed her hands on Nula’s wounds and called upon the natural essence of the woods, pulling life force into her friend. As the two straightened up, Robyn asked, “Shall we continue?”

Within minutes, the formidable form of Lance Rock could be seen rising above the trees. It was still almost an hour, however, before they arrived at the rock. The road stopped at a wooden sign, crudely built and bearing a message: “Come no closer, lest you catch the disfiguring plague which afflicts me.”

At the base of the menhir, an opening sloped gently downwards into an expansive cave system. The faint odor of death wafted from within. Just inside the entrance, a humanoid corpse lay on its back, its skin covered in crisscrossed scars and sutures. The group glanced among themselves, then Oskar shrugged and hefted his battleaxe. As he brought it down, however, it hit resistance a few inches from the corpse. The dwarf grunted in surprise, then applied more force, and the blade sunk into flesh.

The corpse began to squirm, and lashed out as Oskar jumped back. The group leapt at the reanimated body, and a lucky shot from Robyn threw the zombie into a rage. In its berserk state, it struck Nula, who crumpled to the floor. Another arrow knocked the loose head from its undead shoulders. Isolde pressed her hands over Nula’s forehead, pressing her magic in to stitch up her wounds, and they continued down the passage.

In the next room, a large skeleton was laid out on a boulder, with wicked horns curling from its skull. As Oskar entered the room, a shower of loose rocks rained down on him. Three zombies carrying a now-empty crate jumped down from a ledge, shambling forward.

The group crowded into the room, readying for an attack, when the skeleton jumped down from the boulder, turning to the group, and lowered its horned head to charge straight forward. One zombie was unfortunate enough to be in its path, and was torn apart as the former minotaur slammed into Oskar, knocking him down.

Isolde and Robyn struck one of the zombies, sending it flying, while Uzza’s spiritual weapon took care of the last zombie. The rest of the group turned to the skeleton, knocking it apart, but the skeleton shuddered and pulled itself back together. It took another two hits before the bones lay quiet on the cave floor.

Further along, a grisly scene awaited the adventurers. In a room with jagged walls, three undead forms shambled about in a crude approximation of a dance. A goblin corpse was decked in jester’s motley; a hobgoblin looked horrendous in a flowery dress and powdered makeup; and a massive bugbear was wearing an actual bear pelt, prancing about.

As the fight began, Nula’s blades struck through the hobgoblin’s dress to find chainmail waiting beneath, and as the bugbear struck down on Charlot with furry hands, cold steel gauntlets beneath dented his shield. In the span of a minute, all three were returned to death.

It appeared they had gone as deep as the cave system could go. They emerged in a large cavern, forty feet high, lined along the walls with sputtering torches, illuminating the nauseating sight of half a dozen tables, stacked high with human corpses and severed body parts. Baskets overflowing with more body parts sat near the heads of each table. At the far end of the room, four skeletons armed with bows appeared to stand guard at the entrance to another room, while a rickety staircase was winding up the wall.

Between two tables, a hooded figure stood, turned away from the group, holding a bone needle and dark thread. Robyn lifted her bow and fired at the hooded figure, who toppled over, loosely affixed limbs rolling across the floor.

As the decoy fell, a disembodied voice rang out in the cavern. “You dare pit yourself against the lord of Lance Rock? Tremble in fear before me!”

A terror gripped at the hearts of the heroes, but most shook themselves and pushed through it. Uzza and Isolde, however, felt a heavy shadow fall upon their minds. They began glancing at the shadows in the corners of the room, nervously handling their weapons as the sewn together corpses on the tables began to stand.

Even with their fright, the two helped the rest of the group take out the zombies, and a dozen limbs that leapt from the baskets to cling at the adventurers. As the last reanimated body part shuddered and lay still, the voice returned, this time sounding slightly flustered: “Uh, you are clearly capable. If you go without disturbing any more of my work,I will give you an item from my treasury.”

Idu stepped forward and cried out, “Prepare to die!”

“Guess not.” The voice was now coming from another robed figure who had suddenly appeared near the back of the room. He quickly ran up the stairs to his left, and began mumbling a spell. Five more zombies pulled themselves up from the piles of corpses along the wall and began to walk towards the group while the skeletons began loosing volleys.

While the group met the zombies head on, Idu focused and spoke a word of power. Instantly, a thick sticky substance flew from his outstretched hand and coated the stairs where the necromancer was climbing. The webbing coated the walls and stairs, clinging to the necromancer’s clothing.

Oskar darted through the tangle of bodies, closer to the struggling necromancer. He pulled out his handaxe, hefted it, and tossed it through the air, to have it hit with a meaty thwak on the necromancer’s side. He muttered a word, and the axe disappeared, only to reappear a moment later in his hand, which he drew back and tossed the axe a second time. The necromancer had just fought free of his robe, however, and the axe missed as he stumbled down the webbed stairs.

In his path, though, was a roiling sphere of fire, and as Idu motioned with his hand, the sphere pressed forward, immolating the necromancer. As his screeching filled the chamber, the remaining zombies stiffened and began to fall, one by one, their stitched together limbs separating.

As the group glanced around the room, Nula was on the floor again. “Stand back,” Robyn instructed, pulling out a random assortment of herbs and pepper to wave beneath the half-orc’s nose. Charlot rolled his eyes and muttered a spell, bringing Nula back to consciousness.

In the final room, dark tapestries adorned the walls, and a pile of coins and random assorted goods stood in the middle of the room. Rising over the rest was a gruesome pedestal, constructed of countless severed arms sewn together. The highest hand was clutched in a claw, over which a glowing sphere floated, barely the size of a fist. Idu rushed over to the pile, touching the sphere delicately as he focused.

Over the next ten minutes, the group rounded up and tallied the loot, finding stores of food and clothing, some of which wasn’t tattered. There was also a long staff, which they set aside for Idu, who straightened up and announced the sphere was a Driftglobe, which would come in handy in the dark caves they seemed to find themselves in often. The staff, he later told them, was a Staff of Birdcalls, which would imitate a variety of birds.

Outside the cave, Icthuarrux neighed daintily as Isolde walked up to him, sending calming thoughts as she asked if he was ok. Minutes later, they were on their way back to Red Larch.

As they walked down the Long Road, several odd items made themselves apparent. As they drew about an hour from the village, billowing smoke could be seen in the skies toward the town. Once they got closer, the brush along the side of the road was trampled flat. As the scent of burning wood filled the air, the group broke into a run. Atop Icthuarrux, Isolde outpaced them all, and nearly fell from the saddle as she was met with the sight of a razed Red Larch.

The next handful of minutes were a blur of confusion as the remaining villagers swarmed around the returning adventurers. Sooty and tear-stained faces all clamoured to be heard, some indignant with anger that their heroes had abandoned them, others hysterical and begging for assistance, while many seemed unable to even speak for the shock of the day.

The story that eventually emerged was that a large pack of gnolls lead by a bloodthirsty leader had invaded the town, burning and pillaging, tearing families apart with their wicked blades and manic howls.

Caelessa and Mini soon came to the front of the group. Mini looked distraught, while a mask of fierce determination covered Caelessa’s features. “Pel… They took my Pel…” Mini was mumbling, wild eyes staring from face to face, as if one of them would suddenly change into her granddaughter’s.

Caelessa guided Mini to the assembled adventurers. “They came after you left,” she explained, looking around at the wreckage. “Looted, killed, tore down what they could.” She stared into the heroes’ eyes. “And they took Pel and Loran.”

Isolde’s hands tightened on Icthuarrux’s reins. “Tell us where they went.”

#dnd stories

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