#i have more characters in mind to go in tandem with him but ill work on them later | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

coping-via-clint-eastwood · 3 years

Text

CSI Characters as Ancient/Medieval Fantasy Warriors (title is tentative)

I WROTE THIS ALL IN ONE SITTING!!!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???????

*ahem* This is speculation about what powers and skills the CSI characters would have if they were warriors in an ancient/medieval fantasy setting, amongst other things. This was probably inspired by my recent wallowing in medieval fantasy (specifically Songs of War {if you don't know what that is, it's okay}), and I thought, why not entertain the idea? And after writing it out, I can say that it was fun toying around with it. If this inspires anybody to add on anything, or write fanfiction, or whatever, by all means go ahead.

@addictedtostorytelling @bartramcat @buildinggsr @davesdude80 @dobbyofearth @fandomismymiddlename @originalpinkranger @panchostokes @space-helen @stokes-theorem

All the people written about here are humans with powers.

Gil: He has enhanced eyesight, and is a sniper archer. If I may draw your attention to the ending scene of season 4 episode 2, All for Our Country:

Bonus shot because it reminds me of his Will Graham days:

He is canonically a deadeye. So, I am extending that to be a superhuman power. I'll put it this way: he can aim and shoot at the same target a contemporary sniper with a scope could; he does not require (or have, for that matter) a scope. Because he is not so able as his younger teammates, so he cannot be in the direct area of battle and fend off opponents. But he has excellent eyesight, so he hides up in a tree or on the edge of a cliff that overlooks the area or wherever is applicable, and shoots any targets he can. He uses a crossbow, since not as much strength is needed to pull back the cord as compared to a bow. He also has a light wooden staff which he uses to help him walk up inclinations. It's also his defensive staff; if an enemy manages to sneak up on him, he can point the staff at them and shoot a forcefield that will blast them back. But this is only effective at close range, hence why he has to use the crossbow for opponents further away. He wears a hooded cloak which is green on one side and a dusty brown on the other, so that he can camouflage himself, turning the cloak to whichever side he needs to match his surroundings. He is not the only one to wear a cloak however; Catherine, Ecklie, Jim, DB and Finn wear cloaks (more details when I get to each) as well to show they are of higher ranking, but only Gil's is hooded for practical purposes.

Warrick: His power is that he can jump really high. He can jump over a small hill and land on the ground on the other side. He's the one who helps get Gil to his perches if needed; he puts him over his shoulder and jumps, holding him with one arm and his war hammer in his other hand. He is strong enough to carry Gil. And Gil trusts him and is comfortable enough to let himself be borne in such a way, never struggling or crying out in fear when he is suddenly brought off the ground at such a high rate. In tandem with being able to jump high, he can strike his hammer on the ground when he lands and cause a quake. His hammer's enchantment depends on how high he jumped. On the ground, he swings his hammer at an opponent and sends them flying back (at a much greater distance than Gil's forcefield).

Bobby Dawson: He's the archer who is in the direct area of battle. He uses a small hunting bow, and also has a gladius in case any opponents manage to get close to him. He has enhanced reflexes, so he is able to turn around, draw weapons, and load and shoot his bow faster than normal.

Catherine: She is telekinetic. She does not use weapons because she prefers to have her hands free to gesticulate and help her focus on moving the objects she is controlling. Her cloak is a beautiful royal blue.

Heather: Mind control + reading minds + telepathy. And invisibility. Aside from turning the team's opponents against each other, mind control is useful for helping friends escape from dangerous situations; sometimes, it's easier than telling them what to do. She needs very strong concentration for her mind control, which is the ability she uses the most, so she makes herself invisible and keeps out of the way, but stays where she can see the person she is manipulating. Like Gil, she has the defensive staff in case anyone finds her.

Nick and Sara: They are what I like to call the speedster twins. It is very satisfying to wash them nyoom about and quickly kill any opponent in the path of their run. Typically, they start out standing next to each other at the same point, and then run on one side of the battlefield each. So they take out the opponents on the skirting of the battlefield. Sara has a cutlass while Nick has twin daggers.

Greg: He can talk to nearby spirits and ask them to help his team in the fight. With the power of this necklace that he has, he can conjure a protective invisible dome-shaped barrier around himself, which is invulnerable to any and every form of attack. Except if somebody were to dig their way up from below him of course. However, he has to stay in the same spot when he is inside this barrier, and has to deactivate it if he wants to walk (or run or whatever) somewhere else. The spirit of the person who gave him the necklace follows him everywhere, and stays by his side on the battlefield to protect him from any opponents who manage to get close. Greg has a curved cleaver in case he needs to fight.

Al: Aside from being a healer, he can freeze time. Sort of. He can freeze the movement of anybody who is coming at him, no matter how many there are. He does not wield weapons. He has wooden legs (which are enchanted to be completely painless for him) and a staff, but without the power that Gil's and Heather's have. To heal someone, he just has to touch them, for as long as it takes for the wounds to completely heal. **I was thinking about making him have something to do with necromancy, but I thought that that's too much like Greg's power.

David: He is the other healer, and is the one who kills the people that Al freezes. He just makes them fade out of existence. It is completely painless, and that way they don't have any bodies lying around the healers' area. Also, while Al heals physical injuries, David actually cures illnesses. So he has to touch his patient for as long as it takes to eradicate the infection.

The two healers typically stay in one spot, ready to head out into the battlefield if any of their teammates are injured.

Archie: He is the cryokinetic guardian of Henry, Wendy, Mandy, and Hodges, who are not combatants. He does not use weapons.

Henry: He is a blacksmith, in charge of repairing the people's weapons, and making new ones if necessary. He also makes the arrows for Gil and Bobby.

Wendy: She is an enchanter who imbues weapons with offensive powers, such as the quake and blast effect on Warrick's hammer, or the enhanced sharpness of the speedster twins' blades.

Mandy: She enchants weapons with defensive powers, such as Greg's necklace, or Gil's and Heather's staves. She is also the one who made Al's wooden legs painless.

Hodges: While Al and David are physical healers, and while Wendy enchants weapons, Hodges is the one who restores the powers of other people. He is not really drained when he does it, but it is better for him to stay still and rest while other people fight. It works exactly how Al's and David's healing does.

These five people typically stay near the healers.

Jim: He can control the weather. That also means he can summon lightning. And hailstones. And rain (creatures that are made of fire or lava are susceptible to rain). Like Catherine, he has his hands free to focus whatever he's bringing down from the sky onto wherever his target is. His cloak is pitch black in colour.

Conrad: He can clone himself; up to five clones of himself can exist at a time. It's alright if they are hurt or killed; so long as he is still alive. He wields a scythe. His cloak is a really dark grey, almost black, but not really.

Morgan: She can fly. This is not a power which requires restoration. Since she does not use wings, she can fly in rain. She uses twin swords.

Sofia: She is a shapeshifter. But she can not only turn into other creatures; she can turn into objects like a boulder or something. In such forms, she is invulnerable to like, say, a fist striking her, but if someone were to try and blow her up, she would have to turn into something else and run away. You know those fire creatures I mentioned? If she turns into one of them, she can harness their powers. Basically, she takes on the abilities of anything she turns into.

Riley: She can turn into any of her opponents, whether she has killed them herself of if they are standing right in front of her. Heather would be aware that this in fact Riley (telepathy yo), and Riley will work together with the person Heather is controlling. Unlike Sofia, while she becomes the mirror image of someone, she cannot have the skill level of the person she turns into. She herself is proficient with a club; if she turns into someone who was a swordsman, she would be wield a blade as well as them, and will continue to use her own weapon. If she turns into one of those fire creatures, she might be able to use their fire, but she doesn't have as fluent control over it as the original person. In fact, it is much safer for her to not turn into such creatures.

Ray: He has enhanced strength, which enables him to rotate his huge double-headed battle axe about his wrist above his head. And by "huge", I mean that the stick is almost as long as him, and the blades are bigger than his head. The stick is also quite thick; it has to withstand the weight of the blades, and the impact with which it is struck. By "rotate", I mean Ray is able to hold the handle at the very base, and pivot it perfectly around.

DB: Teleportation. This son of a bitch randomly popping up out of nowhere? Yeah. His weapon is a really small but especially sharp dagger, easy to conceal, and a quick and effective killer. He appears, quickly pokes his opponent, and then teleports to the next one. He can teleport anywhere within his viewing distance; he has to be able to see where he is teleporting to to go there. His cloak is silver in colour.

Finn: She is pyrokinetic. Her cloak is typically orange, yellow or red, but it can change colours to whatever fire she is wielding, which includes green, blue, purple, white, and even black fire. She does not use weapons.

Additional idea: Gil and Sara are soulmates. But they were not fated from birth; rather, their soulmate bond formed when their connection deepened. Before they met, their soulmates could have been anyone else, or they could have gone without a soulmate for the rest of their lives. Even when they met and fell in love at first sight (I'm one of those who hc that they did; ymmv), they were not yet soulmates. It was when they really got to know and understand each other implicitly and became unbreakably steadfast in their connection, of their own accord, that their soulmate bond formed. The physical manifestation of it was when their soul marks appeared; Gil has a butterfly on the right side of his neck, close to the back of his neck, and Sara has a rhinoceros beetle on the underside of her left wrist. Being soulmates, they can heal each other and restore each other's powers. The most soothing times for them to do it is when they can lie down somewhere private and hold each other close.

When their marks first appeared, everyone kept congratulating them; there was a lot of friendly teasing from Warrick, Nick, Greg and Hodges. As for themselves, they remained passive until they were in the privacy of their bedroom. They sat down on the edge of the bed, embracing and leaning their foreheads on each other's, uncontainable smiles on their faces as they had a little heart-to-heart. They did not really have to vocalise much; they had always been able to understand each other with just a few words. Then, they leant back from each other, but remained close. Sara lowered her head and slowly, reverently kissed all over Gil's mark; he closed his eyes and let her do it, enjoying how it felt, moving his head to one side so that his skin on the right of his neck was stretched flat and easier to kiss. When Sara was done, they leant back again. Gil lifted Sara's wrist to his mouth and kissed all over her mark, with as much care and adoration as she had done his.

44 notes · View notes

artloveharmony · 2 years

Text

Star Trek Picard EP 2.9 SPOILERS...

Here are my thoughts while watching s2ep9, Hide and Seek for a second time...

Why does holoElnor have a mobile emitter? Isn't the La Serina completely covered with holo emitters? Or is this their way of foreshadowing his return as a recurring hologram character?

On the other hand, how cool is it that the Doctor's mobile emitter is now a reproduced item of tech. [My h.c. says it was designed by B'Elanna Torres, who patented it and is now set for life, working only for the fun of it.]

I understand a person's right to refuse treatment, but in the 24th century surely there are mental health treatments that would make Picard's mother's illness curable. Or was it in part a callback to JL's brother and father's need to not get sucked into all the technology? Moving out into the country, traditional methods, etc? However, I will forgo arguing/complaining about the why of it all and just say that this Picard's mother story arc is filled with tropes that were unnecessary. If you choose to use a trope, challenge it. Do something unique with it. This sl ended up being pretty hollow for me. I appreciated & even looked forward to them exploring Picard's stunted emotions. This was not what I expected. It fell flat for me, sadly. Now I am curious how they will follow through with this exploration. Without follow through it will mean this whole season was pointless re: Picard. I felt his growth as a character much more strongly in s1. Curious what s3 will bring.

What happened to the gun Seven had? Why didn't she pick it up after they were attacked?

Is it just me or is Seven fighting differently as a human that she does as half Borg?

Great tandem fighting between Seven & Raffi. Perfect team! I need so much more of these two. 3 seasons is not enough!!!

Seven's explanation of being rejected by Starfleet & Janeway going to bat for her: it feels to me like it was her choice to give up the pursuit. I see her appreciating Janeway's efforts but telling her not to ruin her career over it.

[I see them going at it together at first but Seven realizing she doesn't want to be where she's not wanted. So she tells Janeway thank you but stop. I'll go my own way, and Janeway wishes her the best, telling her if she ever needs anything to call.

I can also see Janeway welcoming her into SF in future, if that is what they intend, either in s3 or a spinoff. 1st ep of s3 or premiere of spinoff, Adm Janeway is there to give her blessing. ♥ ]

The moment Seven & Raffi stood there before heading out into the field of fire, they should have kissed. Not a sloppy romantic kiss, but a solid 'we're in this together, I'll die with you any day' kind of kiss. Strong, confident, this is it kind of kiss. No, the scene didn't need it, but I needed it. And the audience needed it. And queer rep needed it. Other than that it was a great moment. Watching the 2 of them taking a collective breath before charging out to their potential deaths... That is as bad ass as it gets!

Why do I love hating Soong so much? Brent is way too good as a bad guy. TBH I really have no interest in the Soong story thread of this season. It is pure plot for plot purposes to my mind. But Brent does a great job anyway.

Mummy Picard's speech about the stars was heartbreaking. She is telling JL to forget the dead star and remember the light in her that loves him. He did exactly what she told him to do. The boy also did what she asked and opened the door, letting her out. He was a Boy who loved his mother. He is not to blame. The father and the system is to blame for not taking care of her better. I understand JL's lifelong feelings of guilt, and maybe even this as reason for his stunted emotions but only to a point. I hope there is follow through with all this.

Raffi's speech to holoElnor is beautiful, giving Raffi some much needed closure.

Missed story point:

Elnor expressing feelings of Raffi not trusting him to be on his own or make his own choices. In her speech to holoElnor she clarifies that her holding on to him was not about him being alone but not wanting to be alone herself... as if there was that tension of distrust in Elnor between them. We never saw that, so her pointing to it in this speech has no footing with the story we have seen. It would have been nice to see that. It can be inferred in her keeping him close and 'manipulating him to stay in SF,' but it was not expressed from Elnor's pov. Could just be her projecting what she has feared were his feelings mixed into her guilt, but again, all conjecture. It was not included in the storytelling up to this point and it would have been nice to have explored that part of their relationship.

BQ plows her tentacle straight through Seven's center out her back. This means that she'll need her abdominal and spinal implants again. If they were trying to recreate wounds to justify her receiving the same implants she had before (eye, arms, etc) she needed a more severe eye injury to justify her optical implants. All she got was a cut on her skin. Same with her arm.

Agnes's speech to the BQ was amazing!

Connection, longevity, discovery.

Build a better Borg. A Borg collective that embraces the uniqueness of its members. What you think is weakness is actually strength: cooperation. Members who would fight harder for what they chose. Who would lose no battles because they made no enemies. Who would not be discarded and replaced. Attachments could grow and deepen.

Like Seven. Didn't you love her once too? And isn't she the best of what we could be? Somebody who used her Borg half to serve the best of her humanity. Let's build a Universe of Sevens.

AMEN!

In contrast, the boys' club convo in solarium: Prosparity. Create our own destiny. Captains of ships and captains of industry. To men like us, love & fear, it's the same thing. A means to an end.

Interesting juxtaposition between two women negotiating for a better future, and two men stroking their pompous egos.

Watching Seven being assimilated, watching Raffi watch her being assimilated. That hurt on so many levels.

I hope the BQ is not still working from inferior tech. If she is, what does that mean re: Seven's implants? Just enough tech returned to save her life, but surely not inferior tech. Maybe when Borgnes assimilated the old BQ's suit she assimilated the quality tech as well, thus the tentacles & tubules etc. I hope so for Seven and Borgnes' sake.

BQ: She'll live. But there was a cost in saving her.

At first all I could think of was the cost for Seven, to lose her autonomy again by being assimilated without her consent. The look on Seven's face as she looks at and feels her implants back in place. Heartbreaking. And yet Borgnes just talked about changing that. Allowing people to choose. So not entirely a new kind of Borg, yet. But I'll forgo that argument to have Seven alive, as I'm sure Raffi would agree. I get that it was Agnes saving her friend, but still...

BQ: I think we are becoming something new. Something better.

Let's hope that is true henceforth.

Clever explanation of Picard seeing his mother in that s1 TNG ep. Tallinn emphasizing that love is a gift regardless of the pain and grief, touching. But Picard doesn't look too convinced, despite a Hug! Or was it the hug he was uncomfortable with?

Seven: It was just nice to be ordinary.

Raffi: Well that's impossible. Because no matter how you come, Borg or human, you are the most extraordinary person I know. You know, all your life you've been running from these [implants], from this (brushes her hair back to look at her cheek implant), and I can't help but wonder how much more you'd be capable of, how much more you could be if you just stopped.

This was another perfect place for a kiss. Again, not a romantic passionate kiss, but a tender caress of Seven's cheek while Raffi kisses her sweetly on the lips. A beautiful, natural punctuation to her heartfelt words. This is what normal TV couples do... at least hetero couples anyway.

[EDIT: Need to add that I understand and respect Seven's need for agency in who, how, and why she is touched. And since she was literally just assimilated without her consent I understand why Raffi didn't get too close and was simply doing everything she could to support Seven emotionally. Exactly what was needed in that moment. I am not upset by there not being kisses between them in terms of character or story necessity, but in terms of representational necessity. I truly love all of the Saffi scenes in this episode. They are a beautiful example of mature women being true partners in every way. The affection and love is there in everything they say and do. Just their standing side by side in any scene shows the power they have together.]

Borgnes: In the future, there is no need for a Borg slayer. At least not from us.

Opening up the chance that old Borg collective remnants are still out there as a threat? Interesting. Well played.

Brilliant sfx of the ship rising out of the dirt and flying away!

Picard: Seven. Are you alright?

Seven: I'm... myself.

Raffi smiles with her. Picard looks lovingly with deep understanding, and pats her arm with affection.

[Edit: Interesting that no one was a bit bothered by the fact that their obvious ride home is now gone. Seven & Raffi kind of resigned themselves to a dead end scenario earlier, but they survived. And Rios resigned himself to not staying with Teresa, recommitting himself to the crew and the mission. And Picard is... well, Picard. Interesting non-reaction is all.]

Excited about next week. We finally learn why Q has done all of this. I understand lessons have been learned by our crew, and the new BQ had to be created, but what is Q's part in all this? His agenda?

#seven of nine #raffi x seven #seven x raffi #saffi #jeri ryan #seven/raffi #michelle hurd #kathryn janeway #star trek: picard #star trek picard spoilers s2

11 notes · View notes

danny-chase · 3 years

Note

Hello! May I request the pneumonia square on your bthb card for Dick with Bruce taking care of him?

Thanks for the request!

Pneumonia - read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Additional Tags: bruce wayne centric, Dick grayson centric, Sickfic, Pneumonia, Blood, Stitches, Dick Grayson is Batman, Damian Wayne is Robin, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Damian Wayne, Sick/hurt Dick Grayson, mentions past passive suicidal attempt, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, what a surprise they hug each other Series: Part 9 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Bruce hasn't been sure where he stands in sons' lives after returning from the timestream, but a case of pneumonia provides an excuse to sort some things out.

Full story under cut

Bruce only meant to drop by briefly, hand off some papers, and be on his way. He wasn’t exactly sure what made him pause in front of the display case.

Well. That wasn’t exactly true. He did know. How could he not know by the way his eyes gravitated towards the hood on the back of the Robin suit’s cape. By the way his heart sank at the sight of it.

He still thought it unnecessary – a distraction in the fight – it could easily obscure vision. He would have never allowed his partners to wear one.

And that was the trouble, wasn’t it? Damian wasn’t his partner, the hood a visual reminder. Dick knew Damian’s abilities better than anyone, knew whether or not the hood was appropriate. He trusted Dick’s judgment – no – had to rely on it when it came to his youngest.

He’d considered stepping in at first, but it made sense to keep Dick and Damian as partners – they worked well together, provided results. Damian rarely got along with anyone else… and that was changing under Dick’s mentorship. Gotham was doing well, crime rates were dropping, and public approval had risen significantly. By all accounts, Batman and Robin were doing an excellent job.

It was an odd feeling, to be surpassed by your son, at wearing the mantle you created.

It was an odd feeling, to be surpassed by your son, in being loved by your youngest. To have missed out on so much, to have been dead a year and come back with things running (mostly) smoothly, as if the world hadn’t really needed him anyways. He couldn’t quite tell if it was humbling or humiliating when he heard whispers from officers of the new Batman being better than the old one.

But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was-

The walls of the bunker shook slightly, the floor trembling beneath his feet as the roar of an engine reverberated through the entrance tunnel. Swept out of his thoughts, he swiftly placed the stack of documents by the main computer and doubled back to his car.

He didn’t plan on being here long, wasn’t keen on talking – he had the computer back at the manor running narrowing down possible combinations for one of Riddler’s games – he’d already lingered much to long.

With that thought, he opened the door his of car, giving a brief nod of acknowledgement as Dick entered on his bike. Dick didn’t wave back – he always waved when he saw him – unless something was wrong – or maybe he hadn’t seen him – that was the logical answer –

But Bruce still found himself frozen in place, his pulse increasing, heart leaping into his throat as Dick got closer, his mind scrutinizing every detail he could see – the way Dick was hunched over too much – his posture was normally perfect, his left arm was wrapped around his middle – Bruce slammed his car door shut, jogging forward as Dick parked.

“What’s wrong?” He reached up, pulling off the damn cowl, revealing tired watery, reddish eyes. Dick blinked, frowning, his eyes adjusting to the light.

“Nothing.” He pulled back, refusing Bruce’s arm, dismounting the bike himself. The cape obscured whatever Dick was putting pressure on. Dick strode forward, his shoulder squared as he started up the stairs. He felt oddly small looking up at the stark silhouette – and he had to wonder – was this how his kids felt when staring up at his back?

And then Dick succumbed to a nasty coughing fit halfway up the stairs. Bruce bolted up beside him, offering an arm again, swiftly finding blood trickling from a deep gash on his side. Instinctively he tore off a piece of his shirt, pressing it to the wound. Dick looked at him judgmentally, speaking through coughs.

“If you – waited like -” He doubled over again, pausing their trip up the stairs. He put up a hand, as Bruce moved in to simply carry him up the rest of the way. “- m’ fine.” Dick sucked in a shallow breath and they continued on. “ – didn’t have to ruin your shirt. We have gauze.” He mumbled as they reached the top.

Bruce looked down at his shirt, then back at Dick, feeling like a dumbass, but nonetheless glad he hadn’t left him behind. “You would have fallen down the stairs.” He noted, before moving onto the more pressing matter. “Were you gassed? Poisoned? Dick, repo-”

“I’m-” Dick cut him off, only for Damian to drop from the rafters, dramatically landing a few feet away.

“He’s been ill.” He crossed his arms in annoyance, pouting in his pajama pants, wearing an oversized shirt he’d sworn he’d gotten for Dick years ago. “And insisted on benching me even though I am perfectly capable of-”

“Damian, you’re supposed to be in-” Dick stumbled over his own feet – another alarm going off in his mind – Dick was normally graceful. Bruce was tired of this – he made eye contact with Damian, nodding towards their medical closet.

“Grab gauze and a suturing kit.” He commanded, Damian scurrying off ahead. He slipped his free hand beneath Dick’s knees, scooping him up – rushing him the rest of the way to the table as Dick succumbed to a hacking fit. Memories from years ago bubbled in the back of his mind, from a time Dick was smaller, in a brightly colored costume, fading quickly in his arms after a run in with Harvey Dent.

He couldn’t call for Alfred this time. He was halfway across the world assisting Kate, spending well deserved time with his daughter.

Biting back the panic, he did his best to gently set him down, but Dick was heavier than he used to be, and he was a bit older himself. Bruce cringed as Dick hit the table with a bit of a thud – though it seemed Dick hardly noticed – but Damian hissed in disapproval.

“Sorry.” Dick murmured, once he caught his breath, sounding far away – as if standing on the other end of a tunnel. Bruce couldn’t tell if he was spacing out, or if Dick was simply quiet, either way, he ignored the interruption, holding out a hand.

Damian materialized beside him placing the kit in his hands before pressing clean gauze to Dick’s. Bruce yanked off the costume in tandem. Neither spoke as they worked like a well-oiled machine, Bruce sewing up the wound as Damian kept Dick still. He could fix this – it wasn’t like before – the cut wasn’t too bad, he had the skills – he just needed to focus.

Bruce fought to keep his hands steady, as he tied off the end. Dick stared aimlessly at the ceiling, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, rolling down the side of his face and dripping in his eyes. Damian kept him propped upright, from atop the other side of the table.

Dick paused to cough for a moment, Damian pounding his back with furious eyes, as if he was attacking the congestion himself. “Don’t tear the stiches.” Bruce chided, Damian glared, but lightened his taps. Bruce held Dick by the shoulders until he was ready to continue.

Moments later, the bandage was applied, and Bruce scanned for more injuries.

“That was it, I’m fine.” Dick muttered, though Bruce couldn’t tear his eyes away – he could feel the blood on his hands – drying at the edges, slimy under his latex gloves. Dick was too pale, too warm to the touch, too- “Quit looking at me like I died.” He grumbled exasperatedly, his voice painfully horse. The tone snapped Bruce out of his inspection. “I’m fine.”

He turned to Damian – because at least one of his kids was being honest. “How long has he been sick?” He turned, grabbing a thermometer off a shelf.

“Since last Monday.” He replied, critically scanning Dick as well, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Dick scoffed at the remark, looking offended. “Liar, that was just allergies.” He reached up, moving to ruffle Damian’s hair – unsuccessful, Damian easily dodging the attempt.

“Obviously, it was more than just allergies, seeing as you’re still under the weather.” He rolled his eyes. “Likely something viral, the flu perhaps?”

Bruce gave Dick a pointed look, cocking an eyebrow. “You know better than to go out while sick.” That’s how people get killed, how Dick could have gotten killed, how he would have been left to bleed out on the floor if he hadn’t been there, how –

“I thought I’d turned the corner.” Dick’s tone was cool, but his eyes were laser focused on him – he had this way of looking at people, as if he was staring into your soul. “I felt fine when I left.”

“He was doing better earlier.” Damian begrudgingly mentioned, taking some small amount of pity on his brother. He gazed up quizzically, matching Dick’s expression. Bruce shifted his gaze between the two sets of searching eyes.

A moment passed in silence. The weight in his hand finally reminding him of his purpose, he stuck the ear thermometer in Dick’s ear.

“I can do the rest myself.” Dick noted, placing a hand atop the thermometer as well – which Bruce subsequently ignored.

“Mmm.” He noted, checking the temperature. “Almost hundred and three. And you felt fine enough to go out?” He asked, dropping notes of disbelief into his voice. Dick gazed back at him, unamused.

“I meant what I said. It was only supposed be a stakeout anyways.” Irritation was clear, despite his scratchy tone. Damian hoped off the table behind him. “You’ve gone out way worse than this!” Dick broke into raspy coughs, Bruce catching his shoulders.

“I’m going to prepare tea.” Damian muttered, dashing up the stairs, leaving him alone with the sound of Dick’s wheezing.

“Any other symptoms?” Bruce grabbed a stethoscope, snapping a pulse oximeter to Dick’s index finger. “Be honest.” He reminded, Dick avoiding his gaze.

“Bruce, you don’t seriously think I would have gone out if-”

“I know you know your limits.” He acknowledged. He also knew his family (and occasionally himself) liked pretending the limits weren’t there. He slipped the stethoscope against Dick’s chest, listening to his lungs. “Breath in.” Something crackled deep in his lungs. “Chest x-ray.” Bruce noted.

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” If Bruce closed his eyes, he could pretend it was 9-year-old Dick, complaining about having to be swabbed for strep throat.

“If I’m right, no.” Dick unhappily mimicked his voice. Bruce cocked an eyebrow, giving him an unamused stare. “A list of symptoms would help.”

“I hate it when you’re like this – just tell me what you think.” Dick slid off the table. Bruce caught him by the shoulders, they were burning up. Dick shivered, shaking underneath his hands.

“I think you already know.” He slipped an arm under his son’s shoulders, slowly walking him towards the machine. “Shortness of breath, coughing, wheezing, fever, chills, recently viral illness. Chest pain likely.”

Dick groaned. “It’s just a cold.” Bruce pulled a blanket a nearby shelf, wrapping it around his shoulders. “I’ll be fine with a good night’s sleep. You don’t have to do this; I’ll go to Leslie’s tomorrow.”

“Dick.” He sighed exasperatedly. They could do the x-ray here or drive to the clinic at 2am.

“Don’t, Dick, me. You have stuff to do, thanks for stitching me up but I can handle myself, I thought you were supposed to-”

“Richard.” Dick paused for a moment. Bruce took it as an opportunity to half carry him the rest of the way to the machine. “I’ll take a culture when this is done and send it to Leslie. I don’t mind.”

Dick hesitated before responding. “Fine.”

A few aspirin, couple of tests, and a trip to Leslie’s later, Bruce found himself walking in through the front door of the penthouse, antibiotics in hand. He nearly tripped over Damian’s sneakers, scattered carelessly in the little mud room. Kicking of his own shoes, he moved the little sneakers to the shoe rack, struck for a moment by how small they were.

Making his way into the living room, he found Dick, half asleep on the caramel-colored couch. He clicked off the television, turning off some nature show, Dick’s attention pivoting to him.

“You came back?” He whispered, almost too quiet to hear, but surprise evident all the same – eyes widening, jaw dropping, before he caught himself and returned to a blank expression. Bruce nodded, passing him the medication before settling in a nearby armchair. Two empty mugs sat on the low table, rich aroma still lingering in the air (ginger if his nose was right), though Damian was nowhere to be seen.

His eyes lingered on the mugs – they were handmade, one in the Batman color scheme, the other matching the Robin costume. He’d taken a sculpting class with Dick years ago; they’d made similar ones together. Dick’s was likely in pieces, lost under the rubble of his old apartment, and Tim accidentally knocked his off a table years ago. He tore his eyes away – it made since for Dick to carry on the tradition with his Robin, he just… regretted never making another.

He watched as Dick fumbled with the container, his heart sinking at the uncoordinated attempts to twist off the lid. Bruce swiped it back, popping off the lid, and passing him a pill along with a bottle of water.

The surprise in Dick’s voice weighed on his mind – surely – Dick didn’t expect for him to leave him alone in such a state? Yes – he knew Dick was an adult – knew he could take care of himself – but Alfred wasn’t around if he took a turn for the worse, he couldn’t just leave that for Damian. Worry crept into the pit of his stomach, Alfred had been gone weeks, were there more illnesses Dick hadn’t been reporting? More injuries? Why? Because he didn’t think he would care? He didn’t want to burden Damian? He was too busy to-

“Bruce, quit brooding, I was just surprised you got back so fast.” Dick spoke slowly in carefully low tones, scooting back into a sitting position on the further end of the couch. Curling into a ball, he wrapped the blanket he’d grabbed early tighter, shivering under it. Internally, Bruce cringed at the sight before turning back to his thoughts.

“Hmm.” That wasn’t what Dick said, or why he was surprised. “You didn’t think I was coming back.” It came out more statement than question. Dick coughed lightly, avoiding a response. “I’d like to know why.”

Dick shrugged, too timed to be nonchalant. “You have casework to do.” He wouldn’t meet his gaze, busying himself pulling the blanket even tighter around his shoulders. “I’m an adult. I can handle being sick.”

“I know.” He hummed disbelievingly, his worry growing – Dick had a knack for lying – he really wasn’t feeling well if he was this easy to read. “You know I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t.” Dick warned, cutting him off with a glare. “If Alfred was here, you’d already be gone.” There was an edge of bitterness to his voice, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I…” <em>Haven’t visited in weeks because I feel strange around you and Damian,</em> his mind supplied helpfully.

“I know it hurts to see your…” Dick paused for a moment, catching his breath. “Family like this. Just don’t try to deny it, you disappear every time I get hurt.” <em>Or kick you me out,</em> went unsaid.

Bruce threw an arm over his eyes, taking a moment to lean back against the recliner. For so long, he’d been focused on just getting back to the present, getting back to his kids. But… coming back meant facing up to the times he’d been less than a good father… or older brother… whatever he and Dick had all those years ago.

He took a moment, examining a few memories, his behavior after the Two-Face case, the time Dick was shot in the shoulder, even how he’d acted the first few weeks Dick was at the manor – relentlessly pursuing justice rather than spend time with his ward. It was no secret to most he had regrets. He’d changed since then – never acted like that with Jason. Didn’t disappear after Tim’s father died. He’d changed, but he never –

“I’m sorry.” They stared at each other, speaking in tandem. Bruce’s jaw dropped as Dick continued.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your standards, I know I disappointed you tonight, I shouldn’t have brought the past up, you don’t have to stay-” His words came out hurriedly, rushed and pained.

“Dick.” Bruce hadn’t thought his heart could sink any lower, but somehow, it dropped to the bottom of his gut, his throat closing uncomfortably.

“I’m doing my best, I thought I’d be fine, I just really needed information tonight and I couldn’t go out tomorrow because I need to help Tim, and now I’m going to have to call in Steph, and Barbara’s gonna be upset, and Tim’ll be mad, and it’s Damian’s first week of school, I took him out of homeschool because you wanted him to go to Gotham Academy, but he hates it and he won’t go to bed on time, and I have a board meeting in the morning I’m not prepared for-”

“Richard.” Bruce tried to interrupt, but Dick was rambling, his hands shaking as he pressed one to his forehead, his voice growing frantic. Bruce moved to sit next to the mugs.

“-I know I’m letting you down, you came back to a mess and I’m still trying to get everything settled, and Jason’s still loose god knows where, and I can’t take three steps off this couch without feeling like I’m about to collapse and now I’m taking up your time too for nothing because I’m fine and I can handle this and you should just go back to your case because it’s more important and-”

“Richard John Grayson.” He squeezed Dick’s shoulder, waiting for him to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.” Dick bit his lip, face flushed. Bruce froze, not sure where to go from here. He had more to say, but for some reason, he couldn’t speak. Dick blinked, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, and for a moment Bruce could pretend he was eight years old again – and just like that, he knew what to do.

Leaning forward, he wrapped Dick in a hug, gently patting his back (hopefully breaking some mucus loose). Alarm bells rang in his mind – Dick was warm – too warm, but he ignored them, just holding his son steady as his ragged breath went smooth.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stick around before, I know better now, and I’ll stay this time if you’ll let me.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, releasing Dick back against a stack of pillows. He dropped his elbows to his knees, letting his head drop into his hands. He could fix this.

“You’ve done better than I could have imagined, given the circumstances. Better than I did when I was your age.” He ran Dick’s words through his mind again. “I’ll stay until you’re well. I’ll talk to Tim and Barbara. I’ll figure out where Jason went. I’ll talk to Damian about school, though you might have better luck than me on that one-”

“You’re kidding me he listened to you perfectly earlier.” Dick muttered, tucking his chin between his knees.

“-only because we had a shared goal, and that goal was assisting you.” Bruce continued. “I’ll call Lucius, get him to reduce your hours. I-we can fix this. Just…” his voice caught in his throat. “Get well soon.” Dick, well he was right, it was painful to see him so worn out. It seemed… unnatural, seeing him sick, though he’d seen him ill plenty of times before.

Dick glanced at him, then dropped his gaze, fidgeting with the corner of a little throw blanket. “I’m being pathetic. Bruce. I’m sorry, I can handle this.” He looked back up, determination swimming in his bleary blue eyes. “You don’t need to stay.”

Bruce sighed exasperatedly. “I know. Do you remember the time I got mono? Back when you were a kid?” Dick thought for a moment before nodding.

“Alfred wouldn’t let you leave your room. We played Uno.” He noted.

“And Go-Fish, checkers, chess, and every other game we own. And Clark and Lucius covered for me for two months. And I hated staying put but playing games with you made time fly.” He leaned forward, slipping an arm around Dick, pulling him up again, and heading towards his room. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I would have cut the recovery time in half if I didn’t escape out the window two weeks in. Dick… you aren’t letting me down if you let me cover for you, consider it payback.”

Dick gasped dramatically, only to let out a few weak coughs. “You didn’t! …Actually, I already knew. Alfred and I picked you up after you got your ass kicked, remember?” He shook his head. “I know it’s stupid to go out sick, I saw you do it and I hated it I wouldn’t do that to Damian or you.” He paused, leaving them in uncomfortable silence. “Uh. No offense. Just… you believe me, right? I wouldn’t have gone out if I thought I wouldn’t come back.”

Bruce paused, giving Dick a long look. Memories of Superman’s panicked call coming over his comms, Dick rushing into nuclear wastelands without protection. They’d come a long way since then, Dick had come a long way in the year he’d been gone. “I believe you.”

Dick let out a long breath as they turned into his bedroom. “Okay.” Bruce propped pillows as Dick faceplanted into bed.

“Sleep well.” He murmured, throwing the comforter over him. Dick turned, shooting him a half smile, not making any moves towards the nice stack of pillows. He clicked on a humidifier on his way towards the door, shutting off the lights as he left. “I’m proud of you.”

As he closed the door, leaving it open just a crack, he heard a tired voice whisper “Thanks.”

#bad things happen bingo #batman #batfam #batman and robin #bruce wayne #dick grayson #damian wayne #my writing

15 notes · View notes

merryfortune · 3 years

Text

Enter! Muse Duellist: the Heroine Who Fights Armageddon with Song

Written for the 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #31 Cadet

Ship: Petuniashipping | Gakuto/Romin

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Word Count: 5,622

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - Magical Girls, Aged Up Characters, Meet Cute, Sci-Fi Elements, Action, Affectionate Parody

AN: The AU is a mash-up of Tokyo Mew Mew & Megaman with other magical girl anime influences but Gakuto/Romin’s relationship is meant to imitate Ryou/Ichigo from TMM and Gakuto & Yuga’s relationship is meant to imitiate Dr. Light & Dr. Wily from Megaman

Yuga shook his head, “You are naive, Dr. Sougetsu,” he chided his dear friend who could only stand there, helpless, as Yuga lectured him, “the future is decided. I can see the end of my Road. The flesh is weak but the mind… the mind is unknowable, infinite. Humans may be finite but I shall not be. Nor shall my creations.”

Gakuto’s hand turned to a fist by his side.

“All our roads shall come to an end and they will be by my design, my creation.” Yuga told him.

Gakuto was unable to bring himself to say something. Not because there was nothing to be said but because there was too much to say. Too much to protest. The future that Yuga saw and desired to bring about was not one of coexistence between forces such as robotics, humans, and A.I. but armageddon. Pure and complete and total armageddon. He wanted to open that box, bring about the apocalypse, shiny and chrome. Yuga thought, at the very least, that it was shiny and chrome. Gakuto only saw rust and endless dust.

It broke his heart but Gakuto knew that he had to be the one to stop Yuga from piling high his monopoly and bringing about this end that he foresaw. But how? If the enemy was inhuman, the solution could only be uniquely human.

Parting ways with Yuga, and with such little time between their verbal and ideological sparring, Gakuto threw himself into art. Literature. Into what was sensitive and poetic; things that couldn’t be perfectly recreated by robotic touch. And in his immense and expansive reading, in every genre and every niche, Gakuto had the epiphany that he was after.

There was an archetypical champion that was trusted instantaneously by the public, adored and rarely ever turned against. Someone who was a paragon of goodness, morality, and put all humanity above themselves for little or more commonly, nothing in return. All because they had an everlasting love inside their heart and a belief in the inherent goodness of mankind. That person, that hero… no, that heroine was, of course, the magical girl.

Gakuto knew what he had to do. The revelation sank deep down to his theatrical bones. He needed to create, to assemble, his very own magical girl. Flashing in his glasses and in his brain, Gakuto already had a name in mind for this cadet to champion the continuation of humanity rather than its end: Muse Duellist.

Racing against his rival who aspired to the end of the world, Gakuto was highly motivated. He threw himself into creating as close to magic as he could using his breadth of scientific knowledge. After all, sufficiently advanced technology was indistinguishable from magic. He embraced those intelligent words from [guy] in the long hours that he slogged to create the perfect frilly armour, the perfect weapons to disarm technology, and so forth.

The only thing that Gakuto could not create, was of course, the girl herself. No, he needed to find her, his Muse Duellist.

He could just harass random young ladies on the street - and Gakuto knew that from experience as he had tried that. He got hounded on by many saviour boyfriends, a few policemen, and even some strong-armed ladies who would have made a brilliant Muse Duellist if only they listened, and believed, in him. The mad scientist on the sidewalk, spouting endlessly about the end of the world.

Yeah, Gakuto wouldn’t want to work with Dr. Sougetsu either, actually, but so went his eccentricity. He had no idea how his beloved Ranze and Rinnosuke put up with him but he was endlessly grateful that they did and were happy to go along with his insane ideas.

But then he saw her on the televisions in the electronics store window display. He was entranced by her music. Gaktuo stood there, enchanted, as he watched this rock and roller on the television slamming on her guitar. She looked like she was having the time of her life; the camera loved; Gakuto loved her. Her smile was wide and sparkling. She looked so good in her high heels and mini-skirt; the partial mesh body-suit and the loose, over the shoulder, 80’s style torn top.

With her wild pinky-purple coloured hair and her bright eyes, Gakuto could all too easily imagine her donning the armour of Muse Duellist. Gakuto had to have her. This… This…

“And that was Roa-Romin with their new hit single! Give it up to Kirishima Romin and her boys!” the announcer rattled off from behind glass.

Kirishima… Romin… Her name was sweet on Gakuto’s tongue. His eyes were all lit up. He had to meet her. How on Earth was he going to manage that? He was some washed up weirdo from the strangest parts of academia. This Kirishima Romin girl was a mega-famous superstar from the reception that she and her bandmates were getting.

So, he did what he did best. He threw himself into yet more research and he discovered something very, very usable about this Miss Kirishima Romin: she was an amateur food critic. She had a very widely known appetite reputed for being humongous and Gakuto didn’t consider himself too bad in the kitchen. Thus, a plan was hatched - and one inspired by one of the magical girl anime that he had watched in the first place in the beginnings of his plan to save the world.

Using what little of his dwindling generational wealth that he had left, and of course the assistance of his beloved assistants Ranze and Rinnosuke, Gakuto set up shop. Literally. He opened Cafe Muse from behind his house and he did his best to spread word of it as far and wide as he possibly could. All so that Kirishima Romin would be attracted to it - and pinging her across various modes of social media about it did help because she did, eventually, agree to come to the grand opening of it.

Kirishima Romin looked so fashionable in a beret and cut-out skinny jeans as she was escorted inside by Ranze, ahead of everyone else who lined up in a queue for the grand opening. She looked around the Cafe. It was a lot more saccharine-looking than she was expecting, she mentioned to Ranze. She sat back casually in a pink metal chair and slung her handbag over the back of it.

“I thought that a newly opened cafe was going to be more upscale than this,” Romin mused to Ranze as she waited hand and foot on her, “but so long as the food was good, I won’t complain.” She shrugged.

Ranze hesitated, “Yes, well, Master Gakuto has always had unpredictable tastes. I wasn’t quite expecting the architectural plans either and I’m one of his investors.”

Romin laughed at Ranze’s humour.

“Would you like anything to order?” Ranze asked sheepishly.

“Oh boy would I.” Romin was already all but slobbering. She ordered a lot of food, much more than Ranze was expecting but she diligently scribbled down every whim that Romin had for her stomach and then excused herself.

Ranze returned to the kitchen, the base of operations for Gakuto, both as chef and as a mad scientist looking to turn this rock star into a magical girl, Rinnosuke slunk out in tandem. He was performing a bit of reconnsanice and of course, he was the waiter and a few guests had already ordered food so that had to be delivered to him. He kept an eye on the one guest that they had been fishing for but his attention was truly hooked by someone else. A familiar face.

Yuga smiled blithely and flagged Rinnosuke down. “Yo.” he said.

“Hello Dr. Ohdo, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Rinnosuke tersely replied, his hackles raising. “Should I go fetch Master Gakuto for you?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just here for a snack.” Yuga said and he drummed his hands on the table in front of him but he was wiggling in his chair, craning his head, trying to catch a glimpse of Gakuto who was out in the back. “Dr. Sougetsu and I had a very heated discussion about our irreparable differences of perspective last time we met, I don’t think it's wise but I'm glad he’s come around. Throwing in the towel, deciding to live the rest of his road to the fullest by opening a restaurant. It's unexpected but he’s always been a weirdo. I used to love that about him.”

Rinnosuke’s expression was dark behind his spectacles but he felt obliged, “Should I take your order, Dr. Ohdo?”

“That would be fantastic, youngest Nanahoshi.” Yuga teased him with a cruel, fox-like smile. “Now, do you guys have any udon or should I just order a strawberry shortcake?”

Rinnosuke gravely took Yuga’s order and scurried off. By the time he arrived back in the kitchen, Gakuto had already realised that his rival in the world’s final fate was here. He blamed himself for attracting too much attention. It was, in hindsight, ill-advised to stir such a hullabaloo but Gakuto was certain it would be worth it so long as he could get Kirishima Romin on board with his plan to save the world.

But how?

Walking straight up to her and asking, Gakuto had learned, was the quickest way to be slapped and disbelieved but deceiving her would be immoral and counterintuitive to his noble goals. It was all very difficult. If only Ranze hadn’t declined; stating she preferred to be the backstage hero, not the heroine on display front and centre amid the fray. They needed someone with a loud and bombastic and friendly disposition, someone exactly like Kirishima Romin.

Wary that he was going to run out of time or that this opportunity would slip through his fingers, Gakuto resolved to act fast. He had been hoping to save this maneuver for later but every episode one had a good, gimmicky little mascot character. It was time to introduce Kirishima Romin to her fateful and adorable little partner: Musa.

Discreetly as possible, Gakuto fed the Tuning Pick to Musa and then slipped over to where Romin was sitting. As soon as he left the kitchen, Gakuto realised that Romin had someone sitting with her. His blood ran cold as he approached her and Yuga.

“Oh, I didn’t realise that you two knew each other.” Yuga said to Gakuto as he inched closer to Romin’s puff pastry perfect table. “I was just saying hi, introducing myself… I’m a big fan of RoaRomin. Are you into them, as well, Dr. Sougetsu? Or should I just call you Gakuto since you don’t seem to be much of a professor these days, running a sweets shop.”

“I was just coming over to thank Miss Kirishima for her patronage. Her celebrity presence has increased our business tenfold from what we were expecting on our first day.” Gakuto said and his heart began to quake as he set down the little, fluffy trinket known as Musa in front of romin; a gesture that Yuga eyed with delight. Resistance, excellent, just what he was expecting. “Here,” Gakuto said, “a small token of appreciation, leftover from my bygone days as a scientist. It has no purpose other than to look cute and hold small items, like car keys, for example.”

“Oh, interesting.” Romin blinked as she picked up the item.

“Its name is Musa, but I suppose you are free to rename it how you please.” Gakuto said nervously.

Yuga cooed at them, “Aren’t you two sweet?” he teased.

“Musa is a cute name, I’ll keep it as is.” Romin replied as she admired the object in question.

It was almost keyring like in that it had a chain link and hoop at the end of it but other than that, it had a fluffy, little body and was a charming pink in colour. It had googly eyes and a cotton ball tail. It was everything that was meant to be cute or adorable, turned into one conundrum of an unidentifiable creature but it certainly served its purpose.

“Well,” Yuga said, “I best be going.”

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Ohdo.” Romin said.

“And it was good seeing you again, old friend.” Gakuto added, his voice was bittersweet.

“Yeah, see ya.” Yuga said and he gave them both a two finger salute.

He got up and walked away, whistling a little tune to himself, his hands behind his head. The very picture of nonchalance. Meanwhile, Romin and Gakuto exchanged a very awkward look and Gakuto couldn’t take the pressure. He excused himself back to the kitchen, claiming he had much to cook and prepare, namely thanks to her, their current number one customer and Romin laughed half-heartedly. Her reputation, per usual, preceded her.

As Gakuto left the table, he could only hope that Romin would poke and prod Musa until its functions were revealed and Romin’s destiny would be all lit up in a blue hologram. Until then, Gakuto could only hope that everything would turn out alright - and that Yuga hadn’t gotten up to anything awry when they weren’t looking. It was already suspicious enough that he had puzzled out who Gakuto and his team were aiming to make their champion for the future of the world.

Back in the kitchen, Gakuto went through the motions of cooking and preparing food for the patrons to eat. The bombardment of popularity, in any other circumstances, would be seen as fortunate but this place was only meant to be a front for their saving the world efforts so it was more of a hassle than anything else. Still, busying their hands helped distract them from the possibility that Yuga might have something planned.

Throughout the afternoon, Romin single handedly depleted their larder. They ended up closing early because of it but that might have been a blessing in disguise, even if it was an expensive one. Still, within minutes of closing shop, glowing reviews were going out from Romin’s phone which was an appreciated gesture.

Gakuto met her again outside with a wobbly smile, “Thank you again for visiting our humble shop, Miss Kirishima.”

“No problem,” she beamed, chatting idly whilst she texted on her phone; organising for her private chauffeur to come pick her up, “I’m glad I took a chance on this place. Dr. Ohdo was telling me about how good his strawberry shortcake was and he wasn’t wrong. I went for thirds and fourths on it.”

She laughed and Gakuto laughed with her. It was weird to be with her but Gakuto found himself just a little bit infatuated with the rock star in front of him; just like he had been in front of the electronics store, seeing her perform on television for the first time. He took a deep breath.

“And thanks again for this little guy,” Romin said and she took out Musa, letting it hang off the hoop which she had threaded onto her finger, “he’s very cute. I can’t wait to show him off to my friends in the band. By the way, totally bringing RoaRomin ‘round here the next chance I get.”

“We will look forward to it.” Gakuto smiled warmly.

Romin replied with a small smile of her own and the conversation drifted off into silence. Romin was half expecting for Gakuto to disappear back into his own shop behind them but no, he seemed intent on sticking around. It wasn’t creepy, per say, but it was odd. Fortunately, Romin’s phone buzzed in her hand - spooking them both.

“Oh, it's my chauffeur saying he’s about to arrive.” Romin said. “I should get going.” She slipped her phone into her purse.

“Safe travels then, Miss Kirishima.” Gakuto replied.

“Thank you, er, um… I don’t know how to address you.” Romin rambled.

Gakuto didn’t know what to tell her. So he just stood there, awkwardly, weirding Romin out so she took a big, and exaggerated, step back. He waved her goodbye and across the road, he watched a limousine park. That must have been her ride and he really did wish her safe travels.

But she didn’t even make it to the ledge next to this side of the road before she needed such sentiments on her side. The purse that she had slung over her shoulder began to glow - and explode.

It happened in the blink of an eye. Shafts of bright, yellow light branched out from inside the clutch top of the purse and just expanded outward. Romin yelled and screamed as she rid herself of her purse and then there was the bang as something impossible happened. The explosion knocked Romin and Gakuto to their feet. It caused the whole street to tremble; branches on trees came loose and the rumble was felt for miles out.

It was blinding at first. Dizzying, disorentating but when the effects began to wear off, as blurry as that was, it was more than apparent that everyone in the immediate vicinity of Cafe Muse was in great, big danger.

“What is that thing?” Romin yelled as she stumbled to her feet. There were grass stains on her jeans and her wrists felt jarred. Her eyes were wide with defiant fear. “And why the hell is it my phone?!”

A giant monster loomed in front of them. It looked like a smartphone; slick black screen and a phone case on the back, it was even pommed with decorative charms. But there was something else latched onto it, at the top rim beside where the phone charms hung: it looked like some sort of drone had taken hold of it, like a parasite and its host. Thus, it donned abominable arms and legs, ready to rampage, giving a staticky screech.

Gakuto grit his teeth through the horrendous noise. Romin stood there, stunned, by the utter impossibility of a monster looming and screeching in front of her. A monster that had somehow spawned from her phone - and that was definitely her phone case and phone charms.

“I was hoping that Muse would do the explaining, but there’s no time for that.” Gakuto said, his voice projecting far and wide. He ripped off his Cafe Muse apron and replaced it with a lab coat. “Enter! Muse Duellist: the Heroine Who Fights Armageddon with Song! Musa, begin protocol M-U-Five-Three!”

The little animatronic known as Musa began to chirp and chatter. Its little fuzzy wings began to buzz and it revealed the maw that it hid. Romin squeaked in surprise as the little critter tried to escape her finger and it forced itself in her face. It bore its tongue at her and atop its tongue there was a strange, teeny-tiny item that looked like it belonged in some sort of dolly’s playset. It looked like a stick decorated with an… R?

Whatever it was, Musa spat it in Romin’s face and it hit her right across the bridge of her nose. She flinched and she had no idea what was happening next. There was another bright light - white, this time, rather than the yellow of the prior explosion - and then her body was just moving on its own.

The little trinket that had been inside of Musa became a scepter for Romin to wield and from the R-shaped charm atop its crown, ribbons flew out and captured her. The next thing she knew, she was all gifted up in pantyhose and frills. The fashionable, heavy metal style clothes she had been wearing before turned into something truly a one-eighty to her usual.

Romin’s hair, once down, was now up in twin tails adorned with red ribbons. She was wearing a frilly little dress that was pink and white with gold buttons down her sternum. The cherry red high heels were cute though, even if Romin had no idea where any of this wardrobe change came from - or how it had happened at all. She just felt like it happened in an instant, from nowhere but that white light.

Gakuto grinned, “Yes!” he yelled. “Yes, here she is! The magical girl who shall champion humanity and keep us on an eternal road: Muse Duellist.”

“Muse who?” Romin yelped as she scrambled in her ankle breakers close to Gakuto since he seemed to have some idea of what was going on, as insane as it was.

“Muse Duellist, of course, the one who will destroy Dr. Ohdo’s terrible Roads and save the day! The future! The entire world!” Gakuto said and he struck a sharp pose for emphasis.

Romin’s jaw just dropped. She could not take this man seriously at all.

“Now go, Muse Duellist, save us all with your song.” Gakuto said and he pointed at the monster.

The sun was glaring off. It leered and loomed and now that they were making a lot of noise, it seemed more than content to rampage. Merely taking a step forward with its gargantuan body was enough to crack and crater the pavement below.

Romin squeaked, “Play music? Yeah, that I can do. Dunno about that other stuff.” she said.

“I’ll support you as best I can,” Gakuto said and from inside his sweater vest, he drew out a handheld device, “this can detect any robot’s weakness, with just a mighty Scholar Scan, we’ll be able to take it down.”

Romin nodded her head, she had no idea why but she was going along with it. She may as well. It was likely her only option to get out of this crazy situation at all.

“Now go forth!” Gakuto yelled. “Sing your song, Muse Duellist!”

“Okay,” Romin said, her voice completely neutral, “so where’s my guitar?”

Gakuto blinked, “Your guitar…?” he echoed.

“Yeah, I’m lead guitarist, not lead singer, you know that, right?” Romin pointed out.

“But you're in a band, surely you can sing, right?” Gakuto said, blinking again. “Muse Duellist’s entire schtick is that she sings a song that reverberates at the correct frequency to disable and disassemble Dr. Ohdo’s Road.”

Romin blushed, she toyed with the scepter that she held, it was actually quite light-weight and even fun to play with, “I’m tone deaf. I can carry a tune with a guitar, not my vocal chords.”

“Pardon?” Gakuto said in a tiny voice.

“I’m a horrible singer.” Romin reiterated.

Gakuto’s eyes glazed over. He had done hours and hours of research into Kirishima Romin and the band she was a part of, RoaRomin. He learned all her favourite foods, that her blood type was AB, that her zodiac sign was Pisces. He had even happened across her three sizes and her grades even so far back as elementary school. He had scoured dozens of magazines and gossip websites and plenty more too.

Everything that he researched just confirmed in his mind that Kirishima Romin would make the perfect Muse Duellist; he even fashioned the accessory that adorned the Muse Scepter after her initial because of this certainty. Not once did any of these sources that he had inquired into ever mentioned that, apparently, famous guitarist Kirishima Romin was a terrible, no good, horrible singer. It simply did not compute with Gakuto who felt his heart and pride shrink in on themselves.

So, in an even tinier voice than before, Gakuto uttered, “We are so screwed.”

That they were, that they were.

The monster lumbered over and smashed an arm down through where they stood. Romin jumped out of the way, shrieking, but Gakuto was knocked down again. The telephone monster’s fist broke the pavement there, too. Shards of concrete spiked up from the ground. It gave another, awful screech which was raw and staticky.

Gakuto groaned. His pants ripped at the knees and he was seeing stars. Most of them around Romin, his dear Muse Duellist.

Romin felt her heart steel. Gakuto could be hurt. Severely wounded, even. And she had just dashed away like it was nothing, there was something about these clothes, as impractical as they were, which gave her an agility she didn’t realise she had. Gakuto was practically defenseless compared to her. She had to do something. He had entrusted her with this power for some weird, cosmic reason, so may as well use it.

“Hi-yah!” Romin yelled as she surged forward.

She ran towards the monster and hit it with the scepter. She bashed at its back side, over and over again. She grinned whilst doing it, her heart racing as she had an incredibly good time unleashing her inner brutality on it. Totally unafraid of either breaking the scepter or phone which had become the basis for this monster at all.

It was just a shame that it didn’t seem to be doing much at all. Nothing except annoy the monster. It shifted slightly, pulled its arm away from Romin and lunged at her with the other. She yelled as she gave it a great swack, like it was from a baseball bat, and it turned into a gritty parry.

Gakuto held his head and groaned. The Muse Scepter was not meant for close combat but he was suddenly glad that it was reinforced anyway. He knew that bright idea would come in handy for one reason or another.

“Muse Duellist!” he yelled out but his voice had a loose tremble to it. “Use your Maximum Song!”

“Who-? Oh right, me,” Romin murmured as she jumped back from the fray, trying to close in on Gakuto without luring the monster either, she turned her head, “wait, my what?” She took a few more steps back so she could regroup with Gakuto.

Gakuto sighed, “Your Maximum Song,” he insisted, “even if you can’t sing, surely it’ll still work. Put your scepter in front of you, line up your mouth with the R, and sing, Muse Duellist!” He then used that Scholar Scanner of his and lined it up with the monster, like he was trying to take a photo of it.

Romin screwed up her expression. It was a weird instruction but she did it anyway. There was a tremble in her forearms as she aligned her mouth with the R of the Muse Scepter. She swallowed and even though it was against the grain of her talents, she sang a note into the scepter.

Her off-kilter note that she sang warbled through the R but it came out the other side as something else. A weak sonic boom of all things. Her eyes went wide as she managed to shoot her shot though, damaging the side of the monster. But that just made it mad.

The monster shuddered and gave an even grander screech than before. It caused more branches to fall off trees and for tiles on the roof to come loose. It shook the foundations of the cafe, even. Gakuto and Romin could hardly withstand the aural assault but they managed.

Gakuto held onto Romin and he pulled himself up. Romin struggled with Gakuto’s weight but came good once he was on his own two feet. He placed his arm around her waist and brandished a fan - she had no idea where it came from - with passion.

“Seize the sonic wave, Muse Duellist!” he yelled in her ear with a flourish of his fan. “According to my Scholar Scanner, this monster’s weak point is in the middle of its top vertice so aim there.”

“Got it.” Romin nodded.

Gakuto held her steady whilst Romin wielded her scepter once more. Knowing it's true function as a long range, sound based weapon, having given it a crash test, she felt more confident with it. She took a huge breath and felt her diaphragm flex. Even if she didn’t know how to sing in a way that sounded good, at least she knew how to sing in a way that was good for her body.

Romin moved the scepter upwards, she tilted her chin up, too. She could see that funny little device at the top of her phone which had caused this monstrosity to become a monstrosity in the first place. The weak point, she didn’t even need the Scholar Scanner to realise that. Holding on tight to the sceptre, Romin used her finishing attack: her Maximum Song.

She sang the opening lyrics of RoaRomin’s most iconic song into the R of the sceptre and the effect was immediate. It wasn’t just a sonic wave, it was a sonic boom. It was enough to flatten the vicinity of the cafe, Romin and Gakuto barely holding onto each other through the immensity of the sound.

The monster screeched out but began to crack. The sonic boom had been concentrated, funneled through the hole of the R and it assailed the top vertice of the monster. It tried to resist but it began to buzz. To fumble. Its body fell away, piece by piece and Romin could hardly believe her eyes as every iota of the machine was just shed so easily.

Then poof! Another explosion and the monster disappeared. Became its omega and its alpha: in other words, Romin’s phone and Dr. Ohdo’s device that he used to turn it into a monster.

Romin squealed as she raced forward, catching her phone before it could crash land into the ground. Gakuto was also hot on her heels, catching the Road that had infected the technology. They both sighed in relief as neither seemed too damaged and then exchanged a smile.

“Well…” Romin murmured, her high heels clicking as she dawdled, “I think we can call that a success.”

“I think we can.” Gakuto said.

Romin leaned over and peered over Gakuto’s arms. She looked at what he was holding, cupped, in his hands. Some sort of tiny, green drone with frazzled, yellow eyes.

“What is that?” Romin asked, blinking.

“A Kaizo.” Gakuto replied gravely. “One of Dr. Ohdo’s favourite inventions. It's a versatile Road and seeing what chaos it caused today, one he has improved of late.”

“But we broke it, right? Destroyed it? So it's all good, right? We saved the day and never have to do this Muse Duellist thing ever again, yeah?” Romin asked, rambling.

Gakuto shook his head, “This fight was just the first of who knows how many. Your duty as the champion of humanity’s future, ensuring that we have one, just begun, Miss Kirishima.”

“Wh-What?!” Romin stammered in exclamation.

Gakuto put his hand firmly on Romin’s shoulder, “Worry not, you will do well. I shall assist you above and beyond all expectations.” His mind was already brimming with calculations and ideas on how to improve the Muse Sceptre now that he had seen Romin action as a close quarters combatant rather than a ranged attacker like he expected.

“That’s not really the-” Romin gave up mid-sentence. Gakuto was practically shining with his conviction so she sighed. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with any commitments I have with my band.”

“Thank you, Romin, I have no doubt you will be hailed and regarded extremely well in the future, once we have acquired its certainty. We will not allow Dr. Ohdo to end our road in armageddon.” Gakuto said firmly.

“Yeah…” Romin murmured and she looked around, her eyes went wide as she realised that two people were standing them, half-crouched, hands reached up and they were twirling brushes in their fingers like they were meant to be bouquets. “Um, who are…?” She looked around in panic and realised that the impacts and craters from their fight, the fallen branches, a lot of it had been cleaned up and away somehow.

“These are my trusty assistants, Ranze and Rinnosuke, they will be assisting us in our endeavour to protect the future as well.” Gakuto explained.

“Okay, well, good to meet you both.” Romin said.

They ceased their stagehanding with the brushes and got up. They saluted Romin and appeared to return her sentiments: it was good to meet her, too.

“So, um, how do I get out of this outfit?” Romin asked in a small voice. “Just by the way.”

“Musa, activate protocol Three-Five-U-M.” Gakuto recited.

“Mu-Mu-Musa!” Musa chirped.

Romin was flung asunder again, this time in reverse from before. The Muse Sceptre vibrated in her hands and began the de-transformation process. She was forcibly put through the wringer and when she came out the side, her hair was down, her beret was back, and she was wearing her cut-out denim jeans again. She couldn’t believe it.

Her sceptre had also become that tiny little charm again - the Tuning Pick - in her hand. Knowing the safest spot for it was inside Musa, she offered it to the little guy who was brimming with jubilance as it hovered around her like an enthusiastic fly. It happily swallowed up the Tuning Pick and Romin sighed, exhausted.

“What a day it’s been…” she mumbled and felt her stomach growl.

“And what a future it shall be,” Gakuto reminded her and Romin look up at him, the weirdo in a lab coat, shiny orange glasses, he looked bizarre but he also looked like he knew what he was doing, he offered her his hand, “and to thank you for your services, would you like an early dinner with us?”

Romin smiled and she took his hand, she felt her heart skip a beat and now she was the one enamoured with this person from an entirely different world to her, “That would be lovely, thank you. I’ll let my chauffeur know that I’ll be a bit longer.”

“Sounds good.” Gakuto agreed, squeezing her hand, noticing the callouses on her fingertips, and so ending the beginning of Muse Duellist’s saga to protect the future through song on a happy note.

#100ships challenge #petuniashipping #yugioh sevens #sevens #yugioh #gakuto sougetsu #romin kirishima #kirishima romin #sougetsu gakuto #writing tag #i had a lot of fun writing this fic and i hope the affectionate paordy elements convey that way

8 notes · View notes

ethereousdelirious · 3 years

Text

The bitch is back!!!! Finally!!!!

Fandom: C.ritical R.ole: E.xandria Unlimited

Characters: All except [spoiler for most recent episode]

Pairing: N/A

Tropes: College AU except with D&D races still

Summary: D.orian insists he's too sick to perform in the university's battle of the bands, then changes his mind and goes anyway. He was right the first time.

Notes: I was gonna take this in a different direction and make it longer, but I ran out of time and I really wanted to have it out today, so. Ta-da.

"I told you," Dorian rasped, pulling the covers over his head as if to shield himself from his friends' expectations, "I can't."

Dariax and Opal whined in tandem, nearly harmonizing through sheer, random chance. "C'mon, bud," Dariax pushed, "you're not that sick."

"Are you serious?" Dorian threw the covers off, the better to glare at his friend. "I have a 102-degree fever. I'm not doing it."

"A fever is good!" Opal said brightly, though her voice was a little muffled, as she was hiding the lower half of her face in her shirt to fend off Dorian's germs. "It means your body is healing."

"No, it means I feel like shit and I'm not going anywhere." Dorian huffed out a sigh that left his chapped lips stinging and scooted down the bed so he could lie down properly. His stuffed-up sinuses protested at the change, but he stubbornly ignored the throbbing and the post-nasal drip.

"Ohhh, I get it," said Dariax in a tone that suggested he very much did not get it. "So you'll come if you feel better?"

"Sure, Dariax." Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, wishing that his friends would take the hint and go away. Exhaustion made all his limbs feel heavy, made the idea of keeping his eyes open for even another second feel like the keenest of agonies. He shivered beneath his blankets despite the fever painting his cheeks an angry purple.

"You heard the man," Dariax said, turning to Opal. "Time to nurse Dorian back to health."

"You can't cure the flu in a day," Dorian said. The cough finally caught up with him and he rolled over, shaking with the force of it, covering his mouth with his hands. "Oh, god." He really felt awful and still, Dariax and Opal just weren't getting the message. Dorian flopped back over, gesturing weakly for one of them to hand him the glass of water on his nightstand.

"Sure, we can buddy!" Dariax, seeing Dorian reaching out, took his hand in both of his own. "Let's see, how about I go make you some awesome healing tea, and Opal can…"

"I'll get all that hair out of your face," Opal said. Dorian's gradient locks were stuck all over his face, black and white strands plastered to his cheeks and stuck to his lips.

"Great," said Dariax, making for the door. "Dorian, you're in good hands."

Dorian had never been more sure in his life that he was going to die. Leaving Opal to poke around his room for hair ties and a comb, he forced himself to roll over and grab the water glass. He was shaking so badly he could barely hold himself up to drink and even that slight movement took enormous amounts of effort. "Opal," he said, letting the glass fall as he flopped back onto his pillows. "If you're gonna stay, can you please--" He muffled a few explosive coughs behind his lips, sniffled. "Can you please get me some more water?"

"Sure!" said Opal, letting her shirt fall away from her face. "Maybe I should get you a plastic cup, though. 'Cause you don't wanna be cleaning up broken glass later if you drop this one. Do you have any plastic cups?"

"I dunno." Dorian hid his face in his hands, trying to rub away his headache. He had never considered Opal's voice annoying before, but now her words rattled in his head, drawing throbbing pain in their wake. "Orym might." That gave him an idea, albeit one he was almost too tired to pursue.

"I'll go look," Opal said. "Sit tight."

Dorian waited until he could hear the quiet sound of Dariax and Opal talking in the kitchen before forcing himself to sit up to search for his phone. He found it down by knees, thanking all the gods in the pantheon it wasn't dead, and sent a text to his roommate.

Dorian: IK you're at work but dear God pls come save me

Dorian: Dariax and Opal are here to "nurse me back to health."

Dorian: I May Die

Then Opal came back with a plastic cup of water and Dorian shoved his phone back under the covers like a guilty teenager. The subsequent adrenaline rush robbed him of his breath until he felt faint.

"Oh, good," said Opal, setting the cup down on the crowded nightstand. "You're already sitting up."

Dorian's head swam. He opened his mouth to tell Opal that he'd prefer to not be sitting up any longer, but the words came out as hissing rasp. He cleared his throat. "Oh, fuck."

"Don't worry, Dariax's tea will help your throat," Opal said. She knelt by Dorian's bedside and started combing his hair out of his face. Dorian relaxed despite himself, happy to be rid of the unpleasant sensation. Opal noticed and smiled. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Dorian said begrudgingly.

"It's okay, I won't tell anyone if you moan."

"Jeeze, Opal." Dorian went to bury his face in his hands, but Opal stopped him with a quick tap to the chin. "Head up. How about a nice braid?"

"Whatever."

Opal was gentle with her touches, working out knots with a practiced hand instead of yanking through them like Dorian had feared she might. If it wasn't for the uncomfortable position and the chill in his limbs, he might have even fallen asleep. "This is nice," Opal said, stroking the nape of Dorian's neck. "I never get to play with other people's hair."

"Mm," said Dorian, his head cloudy.

That was when Dariax burst in cradling a mug of tea in his hands like it was something precious, and not over-steeped Throat Coat. "I made tea!" he announced redundantly.

"Can I drink it later?" Dorian mumbled, blinking slowly. Despite having been asleep for most of the morning, he still felt exhausted and sore. "Wanna sleep." He coughed a few times, too tired to even turn his head, let alone cover his mouth.

"But then it'll be cold," Dariax said. "And I saw you shivering, so I know you don't wanna drink cold tea."

Dorian thought he might have a rebuttal to that, hidden deep beneath the layers of fever-fog. Whatever it wasn't he couldn't reach it now. "Good point." He held out his hands for the mug, dimly annoyed that they were both still shaking. "I really don't feel good," he announced in case it might help.

It didn't.

"We know, silly," Opal said. "Drink your tea."

"Meds?" Dorian asked hopefully, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his nightstand.

"Gotcha." Dariax shuffled past Opal and dropped two pills into Dorian's open mouth.

Dorian nodded his thanks and washed them down with a mouthful of tea. "What time is it?" he asked, grabbing a tissue from the box tucked into the corner where his mattress met the wall.

"11:30," said Opal, who always had her phone within arm's reach.

Dorian blew his nose and dropped the tissue over the side of the bed. He had no idea where his trash can had ended up and wasn't about to lean over and look for it with his head spinning the way it was. "Ugh. Fuck."

"Orym's not off until 3:00, right?" Opal asked, cottoning on.

Dorian nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Don't worry, buddy." Dariax reached out to ruffle Dorian's hair, but stopped after a nudge from Opal, who glared pointedly at Dorian's braid. "You'll be aaaall better by then."

Dorian was most assuredly not "all better" by 3:00. After finally getting Opal and Dariax out of his room, he had slept fitfully until they had gotten bored and come to wake him to see if he was feeling better. Around that time, his fever had gone up and he had clawed his way out of his hoodie and tossed it aside, a move he would come to regret when he woke up to the sound of his friends joyfully greeting Orym at the door and found himself shivering again.

Unwilling to speak, he let out a long groan, hoping that the sound of his misery would draw Orym to his room. But this only made him cough, aggravating his stinging throat and sore chest.

"Jeeze," said Orym from the door. Dorian looked terrible and sounded worse, and there was nothing anyone could do about it but wait.

"Oh, good," said Dariax, "You're awake!"

"Are you all better?" Opal asked.

Dorian ignored their questioning and looked Orym dead in the eye. "Please explain to them that I'm too sick to go to the stupid battle of the bands tonight."

"But we need you, Dorian!" Opal exclaimed. "No other band has an electric lute player."

"Oh, and Fearne's so excited," Dariax added. "She's been practicing extra hard all week on those pan pipes you lent her."

"Guys, guys." Even Orym's gentle tones made Dorian's head pound. "If Dorian says he's too sick to go, then he's too sick to go. We should believe him."

"What do you mean 'believe me'?" Dorian demanded. "Oh my god, you think I'm being a pussy, don't you?"

Orym hesitated for a fraction of a second too long before responding. "No, no, of course not."

"You do!" Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, mortally offended. "I don't believe this!"

"Hey, hey." Orym put up his hands. "It's okay. You don't have to go."

"Nooo," said Dorian, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I'm going." He stood up and staggered over to his closet. He had thought he was being responsible and proactive, taking care of his illness instead of pushing himself too hard. But the idea of his friends thinking he was sheltered, soft, weak was unbearable. His hand trembled as he searched through his clothes for something suitably impressive to wear, and a dim thought occurred to him that he might be acting irrationally because of his fever. He wasn't usually quite so concerned with appearances.

From the doorway, Opal, Dariax, and Orym watched. "Well," said Dariax, "that was easier than I thought."

"Yeah, Orym." Opal turned to him, impressed. "Where were you five hours ago? I could have gone home and watched The Bachelor."

"You still have" --Orym checked his watch-- "a good five hours."

"No, 'cause we're meeting Fearne for rehearsals at 5:00, remember? Once she gets back from visiting her grandma."

Dorian smothered a flurry of coughs into the crook of his arm, scowling when the colors of his shirts on their hangers began to blur in front of his eyes. "I need coffee," he announced once the fit was done, and marched off to the kitchen.

"Dorian, wait--" Orym said, but he didn't even pause. Orym looked between Dariax and Opal. "Is nobody else going to try and stop him?"

"Why the hell would we do that?" Dariax asked. "We've been here all morning trying to convince him to go."

"'Sides," said Opal. "You're the one who called him a pussy."

"I did not." Orym sighed and ran a hand through his hair. A sense of impending trouble prickled like static on the back of his neck. He really hadn't meant to make Dorian feel bad, even if he did think the genasi was being a touch melodramatic.

By the time they had finished with their pre-show dinner at Denny's, Orym sincerely regretted his harsh judgement of Dorian's condition. He had been quiet at practice, barely even saying hello to Fearne. She had given Orym a questioning look, and he had only been able to shrug helplessly at her. Dorian's cough got worse and worse all evening, culminating in a moment at dinner where he left for the bathroom and just didn't come back, leaving behind his mostly untouched plate.

Orym had found him leaning against the counter, breathing heavily and staring at nothing. The eyeliner Opal had so carefully applied was now smudged where Dorian had rubbed his eyes, and sweat stood on his brow. Orym had led him back to the table in silence after a few failed attempts at conversation.

By the time they got to the university's theater, Dorian could barely stand up straight. He was shaking so badly that his lute rattled in its case, and several passers-by did double takes when they saw him.

"Shit," said Orym, once they finally were backstage. "Fuck. I knew this was a bad idea."

"S'fine," Dorian rasped.

"I don't know," Fearne said. She studied Dorian's braid. "You're about the same color as your hair," she said, indicating the pale blue tips.

"Yeah, I think Orym might be right," Dsriax said, shifting uncomfortably.

Dorian had to pause and catch his breath before responding, struggling to keep his balance on legs that suddenly felt too weak to support his weight for much longer. "You said…"

"Yeah!" said Dariax, turning to Orym. "You're the one who called him a pussy."

"Nobody called him a pussy," Orym said. He would have liked to have reached out to steady Dorian, who was still swaying dangerously, but could only reach about hip height. "Opal, Fearne, can one of you please get him before he--"

Dorian's knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, holding his stomach. "Oh, shit."

Noticing a few eyes on them, Dariax stepped away and began to pace back and forth in front of the group, daring someone to say something. "Fuck off," he muttered, replacing his concern with aggression at no one in particular.

"What hurts?" Opal asked, her fear of contagion forgotten. She knelt beside Dorian and put a hand on his back, and even through his thick leather jacket, the heat that met her hand made her gasp.

"Dizzy," Dorian said through clenched teeth. In a whisper, he said, "Please don't let me throw up in front of all these people."

"That one's kind of on you, buddy," Dariax said over his shoulder. "Try to hold still and look at something that's not moving."

Dorian swallowed hard and tried to focus on a distant guitar case. It was difficult to do with his head still whirling, and his stomach gave a dangerous lurch. He took a few deep breaths to try to steady himself and only succeeded in triggering a coughing fit that drove him sideways into Orym's chest.

"We need to get him out of here," Orym said, staggering back under Dorian's weight.

"Give…" Dorian's voice faded out. He cleared his throat. "Give me a second. I can walk."

"Here," Fearne held out her hand. "When you're ready."

After a few cautious breaths, Dorian grabbed Fearne's hand and stood slowly, blinking away silver spots. "Sorry," he mumbled into her shoulder as they started to walk out.

"Ah, don't apologize," Dariax said, swinging Dorian's lute case along with his steps. "Maybe we shouldn't have pressured you to come."

"More like definitely," Opal said. "We're sorry. I really thought we could have you feeling better."

"It's fine." Dorian gave a weak laugh and forced himself to pick his head up off Fearne's shoulder. "You're not the one who called me a pussy."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Orym muttered, privately grateful that Dorian was still mentally present enough to make jokes.

They all piled into Opal's beater, Fearne in the passenger seat and the other three crowded in the back. Dorian leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

#ethereous writes #sickfic

19 notes · View notes

concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

To Tell You The Truth Part Nine

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Full tilt part two, the Tiltening. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale @absurdthirst @cryptkeepersoul @fleetwoodmactshirt @88dragon06 @roxypeanut @walkerchick007 @peggers-n-beggers @robbinholland @chrisbostonevans @cinewhore @sarcasmisakindofmagic @phenomenaaa

(I’m hoping the tags work, but we’re getting back into the area of browser crashing D: I apologize! )

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

"I did not realize that I would cause you to swoon." Ezra's voice sounded miles away. You moaned softly, feeling a hand stroke your forehead. "Peace. Be still, gentle soul. Did I urge you on with ill-advised fervor…?"

"No way." You croaked, forcing your heavy eyes open. You could still feel your core flexing, inner walls thrumming with aftershocks. "That was incredible." You continued dazedly. "Hi. Wow."

He smiled down at you, his blatant relief warming your entire body. "So you were insensible for good reason, then. In which case, I'm enthralled." You moved to try and sit up, but Ezra shook his head. His hand trailed down over your abdomen, coming to rest on the scar from Inumon's bayonet. He simply rubbed his fingers back and forth over the skin, his eyes distant with thought. He was uncharacteristically silent and you swallowed hard, trying to muster up the courage to speak.

"It feels like it's from another lifetime." You murmured finally. His gaze snapped up to your face, perplexing you with the sheer depth of the sorrow that you glimpsed there. "The whole Green is...it seems so far away now, I guess." Uncertainty settled in the longer Ezra just stared. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing is wrong, gentle soul. I regret to inform you that I tend towards the ruminative these days. One of my many character flaws, amplified by the current safety and stability we luxuriate in." He tried to brush off your concern, but his fingers trembled where they touched you.

You carefully covered his hand with your own, lacing your fingers through his after a moment. "You're thinking so hard that I can hear it." You teased softly as you managed to scoot into an upright position.

Ezra looked away guiltily, his thumb rubbing over the back of your knuckles. He seized the glass of water that was on his nightstand (had he panicked and fetched it while you were coming back around?), passing it to you as if he was an improvisational actor buying himself time with a well-placed stage prop.

You obligingly took several sips while he collected himself, somewhat bolstered by the fact that he of all people was on uncertain footing.

"I am not a gentle man by nature," Ezra admitted finally, his voice ragged, "and I fear that in my eagerness, I may...I do not desire to harm you as you have been harmed in the past. I am not used to...I am...indelicate." He muttered, his thoughts clearly in disarray. "I'm at a loss. What do I do?"

"Can I at least see you?" You requested a bit shyly. Instead of panicky trepidation, excitement and arousal knotted in your stomach. You wanted this, you wanted to see.

"I can't refuse such an innocuous request, even if I fear the outcome." Ezra's hands moved to undo the button on his jeans, then stilled on his thighs before he could complete the task. "To be entirely candid with you, gentle soul, to...to tell you the truth, as I rarely have in my life, as one battered floater to another, I…" He paused, leaning towards you on the bed. His hands cupped your face, tilting your head slightly so he could kiss you again.

"Are you alright?" You whispered against his lips.

His exhale sounded suspiciously like a sob. "You'll have to forgive me if I seem pensive. I bandy with demons both in my mind and without."

"Ezra…" you sighed, slipping your hands up into his hair.

"I would gladly perish to keep you safe from ever being harmed again. I know that with an ugly, ironclad certainty." Ezra said quietly. "But if I am the one who causes that hurt, if I am the aggressor…you must see the dilemma that dogs my footsteps, gentle soul."

"I want this. I want you."

"And when you do not want me? A man like myself does not touch beauty for long, gentle soul. Such wondrous things have slipped through my fingers time and again." He chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. "With good reason, I will never deny. I am not a man deserving of earthly delights. I would rather I display what I promised to you. Namely, selfless ministrations, and I shall not muddy the proverbial waters with my own tepid affections."

Your heart broke at his outward nonchalance, at the acceptance in his words. He believed what he said, and that might have been the worst part of hearing him speak. You could understand why he would feel this way, for all that it made your heart sink. "Okay." You nodded, catching his wrists before he could pull away. "I get it."

He quirked a brow at you, flexing his hands pointedly in your grip. "Oh? Dare I ask what has led you to such a confident statement?"

You didn't reply, tugging his arm to drag him down to the bedspread with you. Ezra went willingly, though he was still visibly confused. You tucked him into your side and a moment after you released his hands, his warm palm slid across your stomach. You hummed low in your throat, flicking him in the arm. He halted, his forehead furrowing and hand going still. You brought your own palm to rest on his chest, fingers swirling around his right nipple. Ezra bit his lip, nervously shifting his weight as you simply drew a circle over and over again.

The motion was soothing in its repetition and you slowly, slowly felt Ezra stop thinking so much, as strange as that was to say. His shoulders relaxed, fraction by fraction, even as his cock pushed insistently against your hip through his jeans. "You don't have to believe me, at least not right away." You began lightly. "I know you're worried, and that worry is important. I'm not great with words, so I hope I'll be able to...kind of get you to understand."

Ezra nodded drowsily.

"So you're a good prospector, right? Scouting digs, working with a team, mining…" you ticked the list off on your fingers, making him chuckle.

"Survival took precedence, gentle soul. I wanted to eat, so I became a prospector. Many do. I'm not certain I follow your intellectual trail."

"You're so impatient, let me finish." You scolded, laughing when he kissed your knuckles in apology. "How good were you at actually mining, though? As in, what job did you have?"

"Before the last mutiny I was granted the illustrious position of 'dig surgeon', if that gives you any indication of my skill level." Ezra informed you, actually sounding genuinely proud. "I was responsible for the salvaging and refinin' of many different materials from a young age; took to it like a fish to water even though everyone always complained about it bein' tedious or 'grunt work'. I've always been fond of workin' with my hands, you see, for all my palavering."

"So you've harvested a lot of really important resources, yeah? Learned how to be patient? Learned when you needed delicacy?" You could almost sense the moment your point seemed to dawn on him, but you kept talking. "How many aurelac pulls have you ruined in your career? Y'know, if you had to estimate."

"Only one." Ezra answered you quietly. "My first attempt. I was unsteady with the blade. After that, I...I braced. My foreman at the time was not an individual of great charity or patience." He tapped the scar on his cheek. "He made certain I understood and felt the gravity of my mistake, naturally."

What an unhappy bit of information! Your heart broke anew for the man beside you, and you found yourself extending your hands to cradle his face once more. Ezra willingly settled his chin into your palms, but you felt him cringe hard when you pressed your lips to the scar on his cheekbone.

"It did not even hurt, per se, not in the moment. As I recall I was more startled by it than anything else. The sudden savagery, the way he lashed out at me, I...I'm afraid I am still a bit hand-shy on occasion due to that event." Ezra tried to smile. "How preposterous. You must think me quite the ferocious coward."

"Never." You replied firmly.

"So willing to accept my shortcomings! I would be more wary, were I you." The man warned, tapping the end of your nose.

"Listen, what I was trying to say is that you know how to be careful. You know when something is too important, and you know better than to risk it. You're not giving yourself enough credit."

"You are infinitely more precious to me than any mere dig pull, gentle soul." Ezra replied. "The rarest resource I've ever had fall into my hands." His fingers traced your facial features almost reverently. "I…"

"You won't hurt me. I know you won't." You took a breath. "You're not like him."

"Martyr's malfeasance," Ezra whispered, his voice rasping in his throat. The bewildered gratitude in his eyes was the same as it had been in the tent when you agreed to help save his arm, and the recollection nearly had you in tears. "I have worked in tandem with you previously, reaping dangerous rewards, writing stories and bringing you to your peak. May I...may I touch you again?"

"Again, and again, and again." You agreed with a trembling smile, your emotions running hot just beneath the surface. Ezra kissed you hungrily, rolling onto his knees and pressing your shoulders back against the mattress.

"I would love...to taste you." He breathed between nipping at your lips. "Permit me to slake my thirst on the pastoral bounty that is your body, gentle soul. Permit me to indulge my penchant for devouring."

"As much as you want." You gasped, whimpering when his mouth immediately latched onto your left breast.

Ezra nursed from you until you were writhing, pleading for him to move, his teeth gently teasing at your tormented bud. "I love you." He murmured. Your hand raked through his hair almost frantically at his words, and you bit down on your thumb to keep from sobbing out. Large hands framed your hips as he slid down your body, and Ezra cupped your thigh to encourage first your right leg, and then your left up over his shoulders.

Here it was. The moment of truth, his head bowed slightly as if in prayerful contemplation while he took in the sight of you. You barely managed to keep still, your flush comprised of equal parts arousal and embarrassment.

"My dreams pale in comparison to the beautiful reality of your form." Ezra groaned, the words a rumble in his chest. You covered your face as you felt his knuckles graze your slit, making your whole body tremble. "Kevva, the way you quake...is this alright, gentle soul?" He asked cautiously.

"M' fine, I'm just embarrassed." You admitted breathlessly.

"Why?" Ezra queried, and when you peeked at him through your fingers you saw his head cocked inquisitively to the side.

"I-I mean, everyone is about something, right?" You reasoned. "I'm not used to...um, this, that's all. It's never lasted this long."

"Ah." Ezra looked saddened, but the expression fled nearly as soon as you noticed it. "Am I...am I going too slow? Is it a drudgery?"

"What? No, gods no, Ezra you are…" You struggled to come up with the right word as you propped yourself up on your elbows, resorting to, "You're perfect," and a clumsy shrug. "You're so patient and good to me. I love you."

His expression lit up with a smile so genuine you felt tears sting your eyes, and his hand patted the outside of your thigh. "Perhaps I am bein' a bit too verbose for the bedroom." He allowed, giving you a wink. "I would love to give you a demonstration of what else my mouth can accomplish." The man inclined his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "May I?"

"Oh gods, please." You mumbled, your hands clutching the bedspread on either side of you.

You unintentionally braced yourself and he must have noticed, his fingers massaging slow, calming circles on your inner thighs to get your tense muscles to relax. "I have you, gentle soul. It's me." Ezra reminded you softly. "Keep your eyes open if you need to, put your hands in my hair if you need to. It's just me."

Hesitantly, you reached down and threaded your fingers through his shaggy hair. "Okay." You exhaled the word.

You felt his breath on your cunt and then his thumbs spread you open, the motion alone making your inner walls flex in eager anticipation. "Oh, look at you." Ezra sighed, the kiss he pressed to your clit nothing but a feather-light tease. His tongue raked over your entrance and you quivered, trying your best to keep from squirming.

Your wanton cry of delight when he finally, finally delved his tongue into your pussy made him moan in reply, and you were certain you might be gripping his hair a little too hard. The bridge of his proud nose rubbed against your clit over and over, a maddening rhythm of back and forth that had your hips twitching with every pass. His mustache was ticklish in the best possible way.

"Gentle soul, I have never savored a more divine treat than this in all my years," Ezra murmured, "never harvested a more precious resource than the lovely sounds I wring from your lips." He returned to devouring your arousal with single-minded intent, no doubt realizing that you were already wound tight.

You sobbed out his name and Ezra groaned softly, his index finger slowly tracing your entrance. The digit was thicker than your own, longer, and while nothing had hurt yet, the pressure of it stirred a momentary unpleasantness in your chest. You froze for just a second.

And Ezra noticed, his motions coming to a halt as he raised his head. "Bad?" He asked, his voice sounding almost deliberately even. "Shall I slow down, or reverse?"

"Slow down." You answered him after a moment. "I'm not...I just don't want it to hurt. It's not bad yet. I can do it." You muttered the last part, determined.

"Is it my fingers?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, not really eager to have this conversation right now, but… "Sort of? They're just...a lot bigger than mine. M' not used to it yet."

"Don't rush yourself, gentle soul." Ezra ordered, lazily reaching his hand up to splay his palm on your stomach instead. He drew his index finger in a firm line down the length of your abdomen, stopping just shy of your pubic mound before retreating back up your belly to repeat the stroke. His touch was soothingly warm, heated by the friction of his movements, and you found yourself eventually relaxing again.

The former prospector was obviously hellbent on taking his time with you, his mouth alone reducing you to a puddle beneath him. You still hadn't come but you could feel it building, building in your stomach; his tongue on you was nearly better than an actual orgasm, the wet muscle tenderly tracing arcane, forbidden designs on your throbbing cunt. You alternated between wishing he would just stop messing around and being so incredibly grateful that he was, because it afforded you the time to wrap your mind around the fact that you absolutely wanted him to fuck you.

Absolutely. You wanted him inside you, wanted him over you or under you, you wanted this, you wanted him.

You started rocking your hips without meaning to and Ezra murmured, "shall I stroke you now, gentle soul?" You felt his smile when you nodded rapidly. "I'll be just as gentle as you, if not gentler."

It didn't hurt.

It didn't hurt. Thank gods.

Ezra crooned low in his throat and that noise made you whine, his finger stroking into you careful and sweet and deep, so deep. "You take me so well, gentle soul. Shall I curl it for you, or is this sufficient?"

"Oh please-" you begged, your thighs trembling.

"A plea, my Eve offers to Lucifer! What a divine supplication. I shall indulge." Ezra muttered darkly, his brow furrowed as if in thought. His thumb applied even pressure to your clit and he proceeded to quirk his index upwards, the sensation making you struggle uncontrollably into a half-sitting position. He stared up at you, no doubt a bit startled by the speed of your motion. "...good?" He suggested tentatively after a second.

"Fuck, Ezra-" you choked out, and Ezra grinned broadly (no doubt in relief). His grin quickly turned into a groan as your fingers kneaded against his scalp like you were a contented cat, his eyes rolling back in his head briefly.

"Gentle soul, you will cause me to ruin my jeans if you keep blessing me with these delectably hearty reactions." He said shakily, stroking you faster now. "Does completion beckon as sweetly as my fingers? Are you teetering on the precipice of release once more? Has the ardent lovemaking of my tongue rendered you mute? Stand at the lectern of passion and sing your hymn to me, gentle soul." He commanded. The soft authority in his voice tingled across every inch of your naked body as he growled, "I would see you fucking drenched from the sweet toil of wanting me."

Your eyes flew open, your back arched and he lowered his mouth to you once more as you came again with a gasping cry of his name. He devoured you at leisure now, the smooth flat of his tongue soothing your sensitive clit even as it pulsed from your climax. You sobbed a breath through your teeth, raking your fingers through his hair over and over in a daze as your body quivered like it would never stop.

When Ezra withdrew his finger you couldn't stifle the pitiful noise you made, your cunt feeling achingly empty. "Want you inside me." You panted, watching him jerk unceremoniously to a halt through barely-open eyes. "Please Ezra, fuck, please, I-"

"Steady, steady." He cajoled softly, moving up over you on his hands and knees so he could press his forehead to yours. "I don't know if you really want all that right this moment, gentle soul." He swallowed hard when you shoved your hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "Gropin' me? How incredibly naughty of you, so bold!" He teased, his eyes crinkling with the spread of his grin. "Wouldn't it be better to calm you down again, though? You must be weary from your work, weary from-"

You didn't let him finish, unzipping his jeans for him. "Please." You sighed, boldly splaying a hand on his abdomen before sliding it into his pants.

Ezra rocked his hips down, the heavy arch of his cock landing squarely in your palm. "You shied away from a finger, gentle soul." He whispered pragmatically. Not judgemental, but logical. "I am...at the risk of sounding overly-confident, I am a touch larger, as you appear to be realizing with the motion of your hand." He finished, his voice cracking slightly.

He was, oh gods. He seemed huge, the stiffness and heat of his cock even through his boxers taking your breath away. Instead of fear though, you felt desire. Your fingers grazed the wet tip, traced the proud vein that pulsed down the length of him and Ezra made a wanton noise, his head hanging.

"Gentle soul, even if I can, even if I do, I regret to inform you that it...I will not last long." He gritted out, tipping your chin up so he could kiss you softly. "Why cause you grief over something that I can easily take care of just by rutting against your thigh?"

"I want to." You breathed, lifting your hands to cup his face.

Ezra met your eyes and strangely, he was the one that looked afraid. "I need you to understand what you're askin' of me." He muttered. "I hang by a delicate thread, gentle soul, and I fear that the moment I intrude into your body, I will wound and mark you with my greedy lust."

"I know you won't."

"How could you possibly know?" Ezra cried, sounding frustrated. "I myself don't even know! Martyr's malfeasance, I am made base by my longing for you. I want nothing more than to sheathe myself in your sweet, trembling cunt, I want nothing more than to hear you utter my name in primal ecstasy, but I will not be the inelegant oaf that pushes you past your breaking point to urge such sensations out of you!" He said sternly, resting his forehead on your own again.

You smiled up at him. "I know you won't. I trust you."

Ezra stared at you for a moment, his gaze turbulent. "If you hate it, I will stop." He promised finally, pressing a forlorn kiss to your palm. His facial hair tickled the skin and you giggled a little, the noise seeming to slightly ease his conscience. "Truthfully, I do not know whether you will have time to hate it." He admitted with a shaky chuckle. "I'm just barely clinging to my composure as is."

"That's okay." You tugged his jeans down over his hips so he could kick them off, his boxers soon following.

Ezra slid his hand down over your cunt, making you twitch and shudder as he gathered a mixture of your arousal and come to fist his cock. "Oh, fuck," he grunted, thrusting into his own hand. "You are so warm, gentle soul. I surmise you may burn my soul to ashes if I defile you."

He positioned himself over you, grasping your hips to raise them slightly. You covered his hands with your own, silently encouraging him to continue when he hesitated. Ezra dragged his cock over your cunt a few times, rocking his hips back and forth until he was soaked with your arousal. "Please." You begged, your body arching to meet him every time the underside of his cock blazed hot on your clit. "Please, Ezra, please--"

"Temperance." The brown-haired man said hoarsely, "temperance. I will not be a threat to you." His member ground against your pussy and slow, so slow, like he was trying to render you to nothingness out of sheer impatience, Ezra began to press into you.

A daze took you as surely as he did, your hands falling limp to the bed. The width of him stole your breath away, but even with his size...it didn't hurt.

Ezra exhaled a ragged gasp of air, glancing up from where your bodies joined. "You are weepin', gentle soul." The look in his dark eyes was jarring, one of combined terror and concern. "Is it as I feared?"

You shook your head rapidly, trying to remember how to speak. You hadn't even noticed the dampness on your face, so complete was your pleasure. "Good." You huffed out finally, going so far as to flash him a thumbs up and a smile.

His relieved moan sent a heated wave through your body. "Gods, I was so afraid I would harm you." You could feel his thighs twitching with the effort of keeping himself still. "Permit me to move?"

You nodded so hard Ezra couldn't help but laugh, the man shifting up and over you once again. His hips settled into the cradle of your pelvis and he gasped, burying his face in your neck even as he wiped the tears from your cheek.

"You grip me so tightly, it is as if you wish to tear my completion from me." He muttered, sounding almost apologetic while he covered the skin of your shoulder with kisses and soft bites. One slow, graceful thrust had you bucking against him, whimpering when he withdrew. "These delectable pleas you are makin' strain to sunder the last strands of my limited pride, gentle soul, but at the same time I...gods, I love hearing you cry out in rapture for me." He hissed through clenched teeth.

Your hands greedily raced over his back and up the nape of his neck, one seizing a handful of his hair while the other clung to his shoulder blade for dear life. "Thank you." You half-sobbed, mouthing the words on his jaw while he filled you with his cock. "Thank you, Ezra, thank you, thank you…"

"You will absolutely destroy me, gentle soul. This pussy threatens me with radiant immolation and yet like a moth to a flame, I come to you with no fear." Ezra's voice trembled, "That my sins could be forgiven so readily! I would happily spend eternity in the gentle embrace of your body."

His motions had you writhing underneath him, clinging tightly to his lithe frame as he drew taut. His member thrust deep enough to make the pit of your stomach ache sweetly. Kevva, you craved this man, craved the love he gave you with a tenacity that made your heart feel as if it would burst.

Ezra kissed your forehead, the tendons in his thick neck rising stark beneath his skin with the effort of holding everything in check. "All I can ask for is that you be charitable when you look back upon this first engagement," he choked out, laughing a little.

You smiled up at him. "Come for me, please?"

"What my gentle soul commands, my body obeys with zealous fervor." He panted, sounding a bit rueful when he added, "for better or worse." Ezra's mouth met your own hungrily, his facial hair sending sparks across your skin as he surged against you a final time.

Ezra's orgasm seemed to pull every ounce of energy from him, leaving his body quivering above you. His right arm gave way suddenly and he nearly collapsed, dropping to his elbow instead with a shaky curse. You quickly guided him down on top of you, not particularly worried about being crushed at the moment as you stroked the back of his head.

"Shh, you're okay." You soothed when you felt the skin of your shoulder grow hot and damp with tears. "You're okay. That was a hell of a workout, don't be upset." You cupped his head. "You just gave me a fucking transcendent experience Ezra, please don't be upset."

His laugh was watery, but still there. "I should have known better than to test my limitations with so much at stake, gentle soul. Nothing to blame but my own fool pride. Are you alright? Still no pain?"

"I am…" you sleepily searched for the right word. "I am somnolent." Your brow furrowed. "Right? That's the one?"

"You are pleasantly drowsy, then. Exhausted and peaceful." Ezra mumbled against your shoulder, absently tonguing the skin he found. "I have done well, if that is truly your humor at this juncture."

"Oh, you did insanely well." You assured him as you closed your eyes, nudging your chin against his sweaty curls. "Thank you."

"I believe it is myself that ought to be expressing my gratitude to you, gentle soul. This was no easy task. The amount of trust you extended to me so freely, I…I am honored." Ezra replied around a yawn. "And immensely weary."

"Can I sleep in here with you?"

He shot you a one-eyed glare from his spot at your collarbone. "Bold of you to assume I would relinquish my grip on you while I'm conscious."

Part Ten

184 notes · View notes

snowdice · 4 years

Text

The Onslaught (A Labeled Universe Fic) [Part 3/4]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton, Logan & Lia (OC)

Characters:

Main: Lia, Wade Brigs, Rhea Silvia, Remy

Appear: Logan, Patton, Janus

Summary: In a world of superpowers, some people don’t have them. This doesn’t make them unimportant.

Four mini stories about the world wide supervillain attack that would come to be known as The Onslaught.

This is an event that takes place about 10 years before Sometimes Labels Fail.

Notes: Major character death (of an OC), electrocution, mind control, killing committed by a main character, torture inflicted by a main character, (Janus is a vigilante… not a hero…), needles, serious injury, non-consensual drug use, falling from a building, fire, surgery.

Part 1 Part 2

The world was in chaos, and Rhea was not overstating when she thought that. Communication had been spotty especially with those outside the city, but from what little she’d heard, there were supervillain attacks being staged all over the world concurrently. It was a coordinated attack.

Two supervillains had attacked her city in tandem. A man walker was at the main bridge into the city and had taken hostage a sizable chunk of the police force in addition to many civilians the last she’d heard. Somehow that managed to not be her biggest concern at the moment. No, what she was busy with was a speedster currently razing down the city. There was fire and blood and death everywhere. The woman had no restraint when it came to killing people from officers to civilians to children, and she had to force down the panic at the thought of children dying. She could not let herself be distracted or the probability of people she cared about dying grew higher. The death toll of this was already high and rising not to mention if the man walker decided to force everyone under his control off the bridge.

Bluebird had yet to show even though the attack had gone live on public cameras over 15 minutes ago.

She and the two officers with her had taken cover behind an armored vehicle for the moment. The Courthouse was gone as well as the precinct. The last she’d heard before the radios went out was that the mayor had been thrown off the flaming City Hall. The speedster had no known name, but she was certainly powerful. She seemed to be everywhere at once.

There was a sudden loud bang from the other side of the city near the university and what looked like lightning streaked across the otherwise clear sky. She knew immediately. There was a third attack, and she would bet her life that was why Bluebird wasn’t here right now. Of course they’d send more than two for this city. Bluebird was well known, and they’d want to be sure to have enough power to hold him off. Rhea had confidence in Bluebird, but she also knew he was only human, and he could only be in one place at once. They were on their own.

Fine.

She was up.

Downtown was all but unrecognizable at the moment, but she mapped it out mentally. Most government buildings were destroyed, and the university was too far away and being attacked as well besides, but there was a pharmacy a block away. She knew for a fact that it had some drugs for supers who were ill. People with things like super-strength and speed had higher metabolisms that needed to be slowed for normal medications to work and sometimes would need to have drugs to strip them of their powers when they were ill, so they wouldn’t destroy things with sneezes. There was sure to be something that could take down the speedster even if only for a while. It could give them a chance. She turned to the two officers with her.

“Oxyproxicolotin,” she told them. “We’re making a break to the pharmacy down there,” she pointed, “and if I die before we get there, oxyproxicolotin can take her down.”

They both nodded.

Then, they ran. It was not nearly fast enough if she saw them, but luck and knowledge of the city cameras were on their side and they managed to make it to the pharmacy intact.

There were people hunkered down inside who flinched when they busted in, but Rhea paid them no mind. She bolted to the back.

“Oxyproxicolotin in a syringe now!” she demanded of the woman in a white coat near the pharmacy. She obeyed immediately, rushing into the back with Rhea on her heels.

She found what was requested and offered all she had to Rhea.

“Keep the rest,” Rhea said, taking only two. “I won’t have more than one shot anyway.”

She nodded and the other two officers with Rhea caught up.

“Stay here in case something goes wrong.” They nodded and Rhea turned to the door of the pharmacy.

She walked to the door past the cowering civilians, shoving the extra needle in her pocket in case the first one somehow broke. The other she slipped partially up her sleeve. She snuck out the door and made her way a few blocks away from the pharmacy so if she failed, the speedster wouldn’t immediately know where they drugs had come from.

When she figured she was far enough, she stepped into the street in front of the cameras. The speedster was there in a moment.

“Get out of my city,” Rhea said simply.

The speedster quirked a half smile, looking bemused. “Or what Mrs. Police Chief?”

“You’ll have to go through me.”

“Oh, and is that supposed to be hard?” she asked, and in the next moment, Rhea couldn’t breath as she was grabbed. She could feel wind rushing past her, but she did not let herself panic. She didn’t bother to try to note where they were or what was happening around her when the speedster stopped. Instead, as soon as the pressure of the wind eased up, she shot her arm out and stabbed the needle into the crock of the speedster’s neck.

“You bitch!” she screamed. She wavered and stumbled back, but with her last moment of strength, she reached out and shoved Rhea. The only thing on Rhea’s mind when her foot slid off the side of the building was a spiteful ‘not in my city,’ but the last thought before her body hit the ground was of her wife and sons.

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 4

#sanders sides #rhea silvia (original character)#adriana writes #labeled universe #tsss #logan sanders #needles #serious injuries #falling from a building #fire #non-consensual drug use

51 notes · View notes

brilliantbecca94 · 4 years

Text

Good

a/n: This is my first time posting anything on tumblr, so if formatting is weird, I’m really sorry and if anyone would like to help me make it not weird that would be really appreciated. Smut is (hopefully) under the cut (if I did the Keep Reading thing right).

This is a minor, side piece to a longer chaptered work that I’ve been outlining. So if you’re interested in it and it intrigues you enough that you’d like to read the chaptered work, let me know and I might actually write it. That being said, this isn’t Reader Insert or Y/N, it’s an OC character I’m developing. Although reading this should be easy enough to substitute the character’s name with Y/N.

warnings: This is smut, so please don’t read if that’s something that makes you uncomfortable. Key points are oral (f receiving) and then sex. Also involves praise kink (to the best of my ability currently since this is my first endevor in it) and a brief mention of daddy kink. There’s also implications of mental illness (bi-polar disorder) though it is not explicitly named.

If you feel like i’ve missed mentioning something, let me know and I’ll add it.

word count: 2,487 (according to Word)

Summary: JJ discovers that his girlfriend has a praise kink and they have a really good time with it.

Tessa whined softly. Her head tossed back against the downy pillow cushioning her, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in a desperate attempt to stifle any sounds that may escape. The last thing she needed was her brother barging into her room and catching her with JJ Maybank of all people.

Especially while in the rather promiscuous position they currently found themselves.

Quieting herself was proving to be a difficult task though. No matter how hard she bit into her lip, or how deeply she buried her face into her pillow, JJ’s talents were too much to fight.

He was exceptional with his tongue and each deliberately casual lick he swiped across her heated core sent a shiver of pleasure up Tessa’s spine, forcing another quickly smothered mewl out of her.

A knot was forming in her belly, rapidly tightening in tandem with JJ’s thrusting fingers. His rings had long since warmed to match the temperature of her skin, but that didn’t make it any less exhilarating as they scraped against her entrance.

“Jay…” Tessa whimpered, her own fingers curling through his soft blonde hair.

Simultaneously, her hands worked to push him away and hold him closer. Her peak was becoming almost too much for her to bear, but JJ wasn’t one to let her go unsatisfied.

He paused for a moment, tipping his head up in answer to her whine, offering Tessa a small respite. He looked up her body to her face, an arrogant smirk curling his lips. He drank in her wanton appearance, watched her breasts rise and fall with each heaving breath as she tried to take advantage and regain control of herself. Her sun-bleached hair fanned out around her, a wild halo of tangled blonde locks.

His smirk widened into a cat-like grin, enjoying the desperate little hums she gave. Her hips wiggled gently, urging him to continue. He stroked his thumb over her clit, relishing the delicate flinch of her oversensitive frame.

“Feel good, baby?” His voice was a husky whisper that sent a tingle of electricity through the knot in her abdomen.

She nodded frantically, turning her head from the pillow’s depths to look up at him with wide, pleading hazel eyes. Her hips jerked again, this time managing to slide down on his fingers.

The sudden fullness overwhelmed her. Her teeth buried harder into her lower lip, barely managing to catch the heavy gasp that slipped out.

“Don’t worry, baby,” JJ cooed, lowering his mouth to tickle her clit with the tip of his tongue. “I’ve got ya.”

His purr sent vibrations through her. His fingers crooked inside of her, the rough pads of his fingers scraping against the fluttering walls of her core. He kept his thrusts gentle, bordering on lazy, as he suckled at her vulnerable bud.

He was searching for something within her, that magical spot that would have her falling apart around him with a few deliberate touches.

He knew the moment he’d found it by the high keening squeal Tessa let slip without care and focused his efforts on abusing it in the most gratifying way.

While Tessa had a constant fear that her brother would walk in on them, if they weren’t careful, JJ had zero cares where Topper was concerned.

Though he hadn’t spoken the thought aloud to Tess, the boisterous blonde occasionally wished that the entitled, asshat Kook would find them together. He wanted to see Topper’s face when the prick saw his sweet little sister with a Pogue between her perfectly tanned thighs.

“JJ, please…” Tessa begged, her hips shifting restlessly, hopelessly, trying to encourage him to speed up and force her off the precipice she was precariously balanced on into bliss.

JJ chuckled against her, sending another wave of vibration through Tessa. The knot spasmed, her hips jerking against the constant stimulation. Her thighs tried to close around him, an unconscious attempt to cease the onslaught of pleasure he was raining on her. JJ was quick to catch one leg with his free hand, forcing it back against the warm teal sheets.

He could feel the muscles under her soft skin quivering beneath his palm and it drove him on, knowing she was so close to the edge and he was the one to bring her there.

“Come on, Tess,” he urged, tilting his head to kiss the unbound thigh. “Such a good girl, Tessa. Cum for me.”

Tessa felt the knot in her abdomen tighten exponentially, a jolt of electricity ripping through her accompanied by a gush of slick that JJ happily lapped up.

Her body was a mess of twitching shivers, for a moment she saw stars. The world went silent as JJ rode her through her orgasm.

When she finally came down, JJ was hovering over her, pressing soothing kisses to her neck and face.

As her vision cleared from its pleasurable haze, Tessa met his gaze. His blue eyes were dark, his smirk cocky and Tess couldn’t imagine anything more attractive in this moment. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hands slipping into his hair to hold him against her as he nipped and sucked at the tender spots of her throat.

Her body was still tingling in the aftermath of incredible bliss, her core throbbed, aching to be filled again.

She’d never felt like this before.

JJ had always brought her to orgasm, usually multiple times, but she’d never had one so strong before. She’d never been left reeling like she was now.

Trying to push through the fog lingering in her brain and the distraction of JJ’s lips against her skin, Tessa recalled the moments before her orgasmic out-of-body experience.

“Such a good girl…”

Tessa’s eyes shot open, her arms wrapping tighter around JJ. She shot up against him, pressing them flush together. His words were on repeat in her mind.

JJ fell back in reaction to her sudden impact but grinned up at her as she straddled him, his hands resting against her hips. She ground against him, fingers carding through his hair and lips crashing against his desperately.

Good girl, good girl, good girl

A thick moan ripped its way from her throat and this time there was no attempt to stifle herself. JJ groaned with her, hips rutting up against Tessa.

Her hand shot between them, slipping into his board shorts to stroke his hard cock. He moaned again, head falling back in surprise and pleasure.

When she tried to free him completely from his nylon prison, he gripped her hips a little harder, pulling back slightly to look her over.

“Baby-”

“Say it again,” Tessa interrupted, leaning in to kiss along his neck. “Please, JJ, say it again?”

Her voice was breathy and desperate, JJ had never heard her sound like that before. Even in the throes of bliss. It made his cock throb and ache, but he tried to push his lust down and focus on her request.

“Babe,” he choked, brain short circuiting as her teeth nipped against his pulse. “Tessa,” he tried again, a little stronger. He grabbed up her wrists, tugging her hands from him and pushing her back just enough to force her to meet his gaze.

Her pupils were blown wide, the normal hazel almost completely concealed by black. She looked a little manic and he wondered if she was having an episode. He tried to wrack his brain for other signs he may have missed throughout the day but couldn’t recall any. He’d even seen her take the little white pill this morning, before they took out the Pogue.

“Tess, baby, you good?” he questioned softly, keeping their gazes locked.

“I just…I…” she stuttered, before deciding to just ignore speaking and try rocking her hips against his again.

JJ grabbed her hip with one hand, keeping her wrists locked in the other, stilling her so she would focus.

“Talk to me,” he demanded. His nerves were starting to grate, the uncertainty of the situation creeping through him, expelling the lust he’d felt moments ago.

“I’m…you said I was good…I want to be good, J.”

His hedging anxiety dissipated in an instant, soothed that her mania was induced by pleasure and not anything more serious.

Using his grip on her wrist, JJ tugged her closer, pressing their lips together fiercely. He moved the kisses across her cheek, to her jaw, until his mouth rested at her ear.

“You wanna be a good girl for me, Tess?” he purred, reveling in the shudder that wracked her body and the deep, heated flush that colored her cheeks all the way down to the tops of her breasts.

“Yes,” Tessa breathed, tilting her head back to give him more access.

“My good girl,” he praised, laying her back into the pillows. Her arms returned to their position around him, fingers brushing through his soft blonde locks until they were mussed and standing on end.

JJ didn’t care as he delved down, kissing and nipping along the column of her throat, over her collarbone, to settle at her breasts.

“Legs up, baby,” he crooned, smirking against the velvety skin of her breast when she obeyed without hesitation. Her ankles crossed against his back, heels resting at the base of his spine.

He was quick to slide his board shorts down, only removing them enough to free his cock.

Tessa whimpered as he filled her, inch by inch until he was fully seated within her. Her fingers clutched at him, her hips rolling up to meet his.

He kept a slow pace, his cock dragging against the warm cavern that clutched him desperately.

Carefully, he pulled first one hand and then the other from his hair, lacing their fingers together against the teal sheets. His face hovered over hers, their breath mingling, and gazes locked.

There was something about the constant eye contact as he moved within her that drove her closer to the edge faster than she thought possible.

She whined, breathily. Her body moved with his, keeping pace with every deep thrust he landed within her. The tip of his cock brushed against the splendid spot, once, twice. Over and over again. Tessa gasped, eyes fluttering closed and head tilting back as ecstasy washed over her.

“No, no, baby,” he admonished with a husky chuckle. “Good girls keep their eyes open.”

She blinked rapidly, focusing her gaze on his again. She sighed, mewling and rocking against him.

“So good for me.”

Another mewl and it took a great deal of effort to continue obeying him as the knot in her abdomen began to rebuild.

She fought the urge to close her eyes though. She was good, she’d listen. If she listened, he’d stay and keep telling her she was good.

JJ felt Tessa’s walls start to flutter around him, gripping tighter. Her fingers squeezed his, her lower lip coming back to rest between her teeth as her whines started to rise in pitch.

He leaned in, closing the last few millimeters between them to capture her lip for himself.

“You close pretty girl?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

She nodded, leaning up to kiss him again. JJ swallowed her whimpers and moans, moving a little harder against her. His cock brushing relentlessly against the bliss inducing spot.

“Cum for me, good girl,” JJ commanded, forcing himself deeper inside her.

Tessa cried out, falling apart around him.

He joined her, dropping his face into her neck to bite the tender flesh of her shoulder, muffling his own sounds of pleasure as her body milked him.

As they returned to themselves, panting heavily and hearts still pumping rapidly, JJ rolled to the side, dragging Tessa with him until she rested curled around him.

She nuzzled happily into him, content to drift in post-coital bliss while he worked on pulling her comforter around them before laying back with her.

He watched her fade into unconsciousness, fingers twitching for the joint he had tucked in his bag. Tess didn’t like him smoking in her room though, her mom and brother asked too many questions and she wasn’t willing to let Topper in on the secret of her Pogue boyfriend just yet.

Instead, he distracted himself by toying with her hair. The soft blonde locks were tangled and mussed, but he was able to find sections that allowed him to sift his fingers through without disturbing her.

He was curious about this new kink they’d discovered. She’d never mentioned it before but based on the way she’d hesitated in telling him what she wanted, he would bet she hadn’t known about it before today. Not really anyway.

She’d told him about her dad, who’d split a couple years ago to move to the mainland with some secretary or intern or something. Tess had said she’d been close to him, before he’d divorced her mom and moved out with the twenty-some year old.

His gaze drifted across the room to the windowsill and the picture frames perched strategically there, focusing on the one in the middle.

The plain black frame was easy to miss, especially if you weren’t looking for it, surrounded by ones that were much larger and more decorative, but he’d seen it before. Inspected and even been a little jealous of it before he found out the story behind her dad’s departure.

The man in the picture didn’t really look like a Kook, with the black snap back and Dollar Store sunglasses, but that wasn’t what really interested JJ anymore. It was the little blonde girl, balanced precariously on a surfboard that was twice her size, while the non-Kook looking man carried it (and the girl) through the water.

It had been Tessa’s first time ever surfing, her dad had taken her out without her mom knowing. Tessa was maybe six in the picture. She didn’t remember much of the day when she tried to recount it, but it didn’t matter because it was one of her favorite memories anyway.

His gaze dropped to the bottom of the frame, tracing the silver letters in his mind.

Daddy’s Girl.

He glanced back down at Tess and smirked.

His Kook Princess had daddy issues, he’d stake all of his meager possessions (and John B.’s) on it.

He settled back into the orange and blue pillows, one arm behind his head while the other wrapped around Tessa’s thin frame, tugging her closer. His eyes drifted shut, ready to fall into the oblivion of sleep and take advantage of his girl’s luxury bed in place of John B.’s pull out sofa.

As sleep began to pull him under, a thought crossed his mind. Brief as it was, it still brought a confident smirk to his lips and he decided his next goal was to get Tessa to call him daddy at some point.

And wouldn’t that be just the perfect time for Topper to walk in on them?

#jj Maybank smut #jj Maybank x oc #jj Maybank imagine #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic #jj Maybank fic #outer banks smut #obx

95 notes · View notes

ask-the-good-creeps · 4 years

Note

i was just curious on your take of tobys story to see if you would make any changes to it. don’t have to write a whole though

//It’s been a while since I’ve read Toby’s story, but from what I remember the only thing I ever thought needed some help was a few grammar and spelling issues, and maybe some less abrupt scene transitions here and there.

Toby is among my top three favorites because I really liked the plot, themes, and concepts of his original story, and I can’t really think of any changes I’d make to it. I certainly can’t see myself doing a complete overhaul on it like I’ve done with the Brothers Woods, haha.

My general take on Toby’s story is that:

a.) I liked that he had reasonable motivation to snap and become a killer. I see a lot of stories (mainly in fanfiction with OCs, but also with some characters that were intended to be canon) where a kid with a relatively normal life and no psychiatric disorders mentioned at all just randomly decides “I’m gonna kill people now!” (or they start murdering over a minor inconvenience that somehow causes a mental health issue? Idk, a lot of them are hard to understand in that respect) and it bugs me a lot. Toby already suffered from multiple issues with his mental health and was managing somewhat decently at first; then the trauma of losing the person that cared for him most (and the natural fallout with his family/home life that followed) became the catalyst that declined his mental stability and made him into who he is. That makes sense, his reasons for snapping like he did are logically justifiable.

b.) Though Slenderman is mentioned in Toby’s origin story, Toby is the only one who can see him and Toby is known to be a paranoid schizophrenic; meaning that as you read, you can’t tell for sure if he’s really seeing the Slenderman or if it’s one of his delusions as he gradually becomes more unstable. I like it when stories, especially in the horror/thriller genre, leave things like that unexplained and somewhat up to the reader’s inference and interpretation.

c.) The side characters and their personalities in the story are consistent and believable. Mr. Rogers is an abusive drunk; he’s that way from start to end of the story. Mrs. Rogers is a kind woman who cares for her kids, but also a bit of a pushover, and the stress of losing her daughter and the financial struggle of having to handle Lyra’s funeral make her feel there’s no choice but to let Mr. Abusive Asshole back in the house to manage everything despite how horrible he is and how hard she had to have fought to escape him before. She doesn’t want to, but grief isn’t letting her think of another way. That’s a plausible motivation for her actions.

d.) The mental and neurological illnesses Toby has aren’t overused in the genre, and they actually fit together. Toby’s symptoms and the actions he takes throughout this whole thing are consistent with how someone in his position might be. I had someone tell me once that his story didn’t feel believable to them because “he had too many things wrong with him” between the CIPA, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, Tourette’s syndrome, depression, PTSD, and later amnesia, and they also said that “most people with mental illness aren’t violent anyway” (I agree with that particular sentiment and don’t like seeing people with mental illness demonized, but in the start of the story Toby isn’t shown to be violent at all - it’s the events later working in tandem with his illnesses that drive him to violence, which is indeed plausible).

Plus, if you research CIPA (I did; it’s rare so there wasn’t much info on it when I searched, but there are medical journals and such) it turns out that people with that condition are actually more likely to suffer from other neurological illnesses (such as Tourette’s) and mental illness (such as bipolar and schizophrenia) and have a higher likelihood of not being able to develop empathy for others due to the inability to feel pain and relate it to events that others experience. Then the PTSD is a logical side effect of seeing your beloved older sibling die violently in front of you, the depression is something someone with bipolar is naturally more susceptible to and comes as a side-effect of ill-managed grief from the loss of a loved one, and amnesia isn’t unreasonable in the minds of people who have PTSD, depression, and schizophrenia hitting them all at once (plus, if we take the Slenderman to actually be in the story and not one Toby’s hallucinations, there’s another explanation for it). Yeah, he has so many issues that it seems at first glance to be illogical overkill for his personality, but looking deeper it all makes perfect sense.

Like I said before, Toby’s story could use a little work in grammar and structure in my opinion, but that’s about it. I loved everything else about it, and still do. I’m actually personally bothered by all the fandom ideas that Toby’s some happy-go-lucky, carefree idiot because in canon he’s a really well-made character and his reputation deserves some justice. Everyone is entitled to make up their own interpretations of a character, but seeing that kinda shit happen to my boi after everything he’s been through really hurts my heart.

Sorry for the long reply - I could rant about how much I love this character and his story for hours if ya let me. c: //

#ask the good creeps #ask creepypasta #creepypasta #ticci toby #Toby Rogers #ask

10 notes · View notes

readerinsertfanfiction · 5 years

Text

Autumn

Fandom: Bleach

Character: Sosuke Aizen

Prompt: I just really love symbolism, okay?

Spring | Summer

“Care for some company?”

A gentle voice raised you from your thoughts. Startled you turned your eyes over to a bespectacled face, meeting warm brown eyes that were smiling down upon you.

“Ai— Captain Aizen!” you sputtered, deftly correcting yourself as you remembered the recent personnel changes.

“Aizen is fine, [Name]. I hate for us to be strangers because of my promotion,” the man spoke easily, taking away any discomfort that might have existed between you.

For days you had been gazing out over the veranda of your barracks, mindlessly gnawing at yourself and sitting out the probation. The ongoing investigations required you to be non-active and removed from your position lest they feared you would muddle with evidence. It was a loathsome time with even more avoiding you, Byakuya’s avoidance being the most prominent of all. With his wife ill he simply couldn’t afford to get embroiled in your mess.

“What brings you here, Aizen?” you relented, hating to start an issue over what to address the newly appointed captain as. The will to be proper and to uphold tradition had long since faded.

Taking this as acceptance the male sat himself down next to you, the warmth of his body radiating towards you, his energy calming, making it easier to breathe.

“I thought you could use some company,” came his simple response. You felt your heart jump at that, gulping as you told yourself not to think anything of it. Aizen was kind to everyone. Kindness incarnate. There was no other reason for him to seek you out other than from the goodness of his heart.

Or so you told yourself.

“It hurts,” you responded, eyes set out over the plain fields that stretched out in front of you. The barracks of the Second Division weren’t much of a sight, designed to be practical, not for their beauty. With everyone out on duty and avoiding you there was no one to spar with you, or even keep you company. Though, that wasn’t what hurt the most.

“First I was left aside,” you spoke, a bitter smile on your lips as you thought of your youth. It shocked you that you were so willing to tell Aizen all this, but the brunet made no sign of minding the trust. Instead, he encouraged you to continue, hands folded together in his lap as he listened.

“Then,” you continued, looking for the right words without being brusque. The man deserved at least the best version of yourself. “I got abandoned,” you struggled to admit that part, your throat swelling up at the thought that Urahara really had done that to you.

“I feel betrayed,” you finally mustered out, a tear falling down from your eyes. It was still too raw, too fresh for it not to hurt.

Feeling an arm wrapping itself around your shoulders you soon met the chest of the captain, eyes wide in surprise at the warm unusual gesture.

“You can let it all out on me,” Aizen whispered, his fingers stroking through the back of your hair, as if trying to soothe you. “It will help you feel better,” the man continued as you let yourself go in his arms, clutching onto the white fabric of his uniform.

The adoration that had bloomed between you afterwards was warm again. This time it was a different warmth. It was the slowly warming up after a cold rainshower. It was the warmth of a hearth, the warmth of a loving embrace. It was everything you needed to get up again, to raise your head again and pursue your dreams.

“Sosuke?” you piped up, sliding the door open one late night to find the man still hard at work. “I knew it,” you accused him, a finger pointing into his direction. “Still at work and no breaks. How often do I have to tell you? Momo will fret again,” you continued to scold the man, though your voice was gentle.

You had brought tea with you, knowing that there was no use in coaxing the man to leave early. Not when he was determined to find the culprit in the recent troubles Soul Society has been facing. You couldn’t blame him as you were much the same.

The way Aizen smiled at you said so much as well. He knew you had been doing overtime as well, perhaps planning to spend some time working together with him in the office. It was a familiar tandem the two of you had gotten used to.

“Come here, [Name],” he invited you, gesturing to a spot next to him. A spot you eagerly took, thighs touching as you set yourself close to him.

“Not here,” the captain chuckled, arms pulling at you so that you fell into his lap instead. “Here, I want you close to me tonight,” he whispered, gentle eyes twinkling at your blushing face. “Please allow me to be so bold, tonight?”

You were sold on his plea, nodding shyly at his sudden need for intimacy. It was unusual to say the least, at least so when he was on duty.

“How is the investigation coming along?” you questioned, head leaning against his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist. Content you let go of a happy sigh as Aizen and you relayed your day to each other.

Nothing prepared you for his death. The sight of his lifeless body pinned to the wall, exposed for all to see, disgraced by his own sword. The screams of the distraught Momo, your own numbness.

You could do nothing but stare. Stare, gape, gag, your voice refused to come out, your tears refused to flood, and your heart refused to acknowledge. When Kira and Momo fought your body refused to move, instead you let yourself fall down to your knees, eyes trained to the body of your beloved as once more your world shattered.

With the wayward soul reaper running havoc in Soul Society along with his friends there was barely any time for you to mourn. Not with the ongoing investigations you had, not with the information Aizen had left you. Unlike Momo you didn’t act on a whim, planning and crafting your traps carefully as you shadowed and followed. Your training and background in the Second Division coming in handy.

Most importantly, you started to question. Everything Aizen told you, every claim he made, you tested and proved them, trying to discern fact from subjectivity, trying to see what was mere assumption and false judgement. Never did it occur to you that it was all an elaborate lie, though it was an option. While the rest fought and tracked you went another route, soon finding the discrepancies in the story.

By the time you figured out the whole truth another horror dawned upon you.

“Sosuke,” you gasped, wide eyes staring in disbelief of what you saw. He was alive, but in the worst possible way. This time the tears did well up, this time your heart screamed and ached as you stomped your feet at him. “Traitor!” your voice sounded through, scalding over the fights happening below. “Filthy traitor!” you repeated, fists clenching together as you tried to think of something more hurtful to say.

The smirk playing around Aizen’s features, the glasses he had discarded along with his bangs, everything screamed a different man from him.

“That hurts, [Name].” Though the words were insincere. He was mocking you, reserving no other word for you as he went on to address the rest at the scene. The wayward humans, the captain-commander, everyone but you.

Just like that he left as well and with that your last love ended.

#Bleach #bleach x reader #aizen sousuke #Aizen Sōsuke #aizen x reader #reader insert #reader #reader-insert #xreader #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #anime #manga

107 notes · View notes

teaandcrowns · 5 years

Text

Whispered Truce

Chapter Five: Diplomatic Solution, part ii

(beginning)

_____________

The moon rose, half-full and shrouded behind drifting, ephemeral clouds. Two shadows slipped through the streets, their movements driven and in tandem.

Zuko followed close behind the waterbender, a host of questions crowding the back of his mind. Now was far from an appropriate time to ask any of them, but he had no issue in pushing them aside. He could feel the anger rippling out from her in steady waves, and felt them echo within himself. When he brought her to the last house, he hadn’t quite known what they would find, just that quite a few of the trails he’d been following during his time in the town converged there. She’d told him she wanted to find the cause of the sickness sweeping through the denizens here, and insinuated she—and presumably the Avatar—would be leaving the area soon. While he hadn’t been looking for the source of the illness like she was, he suspected that somehow the corruption he’d been trying to root out and the cause of the illness were intertwined. He had no evidence of a connection, just a gut feeling, but the Blue Spirit didn’t speak, so he avoided having to explain himself.

Luckily, his instinct about her had been right: even though not related to her goal, she immediately pursued this new avenue. With admirable fervor, he silently noted, still following in her wake.

She turned down a set of narrow alleys, then stopped suddenly. Zuko’s quick reactions were the only reason why he didn’t barrel straight into her, but he saw what had frozen her in her tracks.

Before them lay the still body of a woman, with half-unrolled scrolls scattered haphazardly on the ground around her. Though it was dark out, the ground beneath her was even darker, confirming the waterbender’s guess that she’d been killed. Zuko’s mouth pressed into a taut line as the girl in front of him stepped forward. He heard her make a soft, sympathetic noise when she crouched by the body, and she reached out one hand to gingerly close the woman’s eyes. Her head bowed as Zuko walked past them to the open storehouse.

The inside was as much of a mess as the scrolls strewn about the ground around the woman, with torn open sacks of rice spilling their contents across the hard floor. There were other broken jars of fermented foods, filling the enclosed space with an unpleasant tanginess that threatened to turn Zuko’s stomach. He was glad more than ever for the barrier of his wooden mask, even if it couldn’t keep the stench out entirely.

While the waterbender was still occupied outsides, Zuko picked through the storehouse. While there were sets of shelves that held all the food in the front part of the little building, they also concealed a second set that were designed to hold scrolls. Half of the compartments were empty, so he picked one at random and partially unrolled it to skim its contents. It was a record of exports and the accounting for the percentage of profits made that went into the town’s general fund as well as were sent off to the Imperial coffers.

“I don’t think you’re going to find anything helpful,” the waterbender said, her carefully even voice coming from the doorway.

Zuko looked up.

“Whoever killed this woman probably got what they wanted already.”

The despondency in her voice tugged at the bottom of his lungs. He knew the failure she felt like an old friend. She was probably right, but something kept Zuko from setting aside the scroll in his hands and dismissing the rest. Maybe, he could determine just what the mayor wanted from export records a five years old. He looked back down at the scroll again, studying the characters and numbers like they would whisper their importance to him if he listened hard enough.

When he didn’t move, he watched the waterbender join him out of the corner of his eye. He picked up another scroll and unfurled it. It was the exports from another year—mostly the same items, even—and again, the percentage of those profits that were kept for the town’s fund and the percentage that was sent to the Imperial coffers. Before he discarded that scroll, some of the number caught his eye. They weren’t exactly the same—which he expected, as taxes and costs fluctuated from year to year—but something about them didn’t seem entirely right to Zuko.

Again, he picked up another scroll, this time handing the first two off to the waterbender, ignoring her questions. There was something here that was wrong. He went through several more scrolls of exports, until it all at once clicked into place in his mind. His eyes widened a little, and he turned one of the scrolls over and snatched up a charcoal pencil from a compartment that held writing supplies rather than scrolls, and did a few quick calculations. The waterbender leaned over him, close enough behind the curve of his shoulder that he felt the heat coming off her and smelled the slight salt from her hair. He shuffled that unintended observation aside and focused on the scroll again. The mayor was skimming from both the town fund and the Imperial coffers. This was recent, though—three scrolls that had been from a decade ago were more consistent in their distribution. Then, suddenly, six years ago it all started to shift. There must have been a change in mayor. Zuko would bet good gold that the present mayor orchestrated the removal of the old one—maybe even permanently. His gaze flicked from his calculations to the body of the woman lying outside. She must have discovered the same thing that Zuko did.

If he could piece this together from just a couple scrolls, he couldn’t imagine what kind of damning evidence had been in whatever scrolls the assassin took. Zuko rolled up the scroll he’d written on, then glanced back to the waterbender. Beneath the translucent veil she wore, he saw her mouth set in fierce determination. Appreciation welled within him, that he didn’t have to figure out how to explain what these numbers all meant to her and waste time.

With a sweep of her dark robes, she straightened, the scrolls he’d handed her clutched tightly in her hand. He stood as well, watching her, waiting to follow her lead. It was a strange compulsion that settled naturally in his chest, deferring to her in this moment.

“It’s not an answer to the sickness,” she said, her voice tight, “but we have to do something about this.”

He nodded. Now he moved first, and she was immediately at his side, easily keeping pace while still letting him lead. The shift in deferral from one to another between them was unspoken and unquestioned. Even without him saying anything, he got the sense that she trusted he knew where he was going. That felt like a good sign to Zuko. Maybe that meant the rest of the Avatar’s group would accept him—at least in some capacity—to train the Avatar firebending. Of course, a sharp voice in his mind reminded him, she didn’t know who he was behind the mask. She could just as easily attack him as not once he revealed his identity.

Minutely, Zuko shook his head. A bridge to cross when he came to it.

He wove his way through the dark alleys of the town, toward the market. If the waterbender following him questioned where they were going, she kept quiet about it. Zuko stopped in the deep shadow of a building just on the edge of the open market square. A soft rustle of fabric heralded the waterbender joining him. He looked back at her, then pointed to a building almost entirely across the square—the hawk mews.

Though the veil obscured her face, he could still see her expression scrunch. “Messenger hawks?” she whispered, and he could see her slide all the moving parts into place in her mind. “You’re going to send these to—”

She never got to finish her sentence, as the sound of footfalls crunching on the dirt street reached Zuko. He stepped closer to her, his arm brushing against hers, the lifted gloved fingers to her mouth. As one, they both pressed further against the wall of the building they stood beside, willing themselves to become just another part of the shadow. A few moments passed, and then a pair of guards passed by. Fortunately for Zuko and the waterbender, the guard furthest from them was the one carrying the torch, and neither looked at their hiding spot as they passed by.

Zuko waited several moments longer, until the guards vanished from view, before lowering his hand from the waterbender’s mouth. He nodded to her, and they both rushed across the open square. They had to be quick, as there was no cover between the building they were at and the messenger hawk mews. But, they were also fast; Zuko found himself appraising the waterbender’s speed with appreciation. He knew she could be quick, of course, from their fights in the past, but he’d never worked in tandem with her. It was surprising how well they worked together, he mused as he started toward the lock on the door to the mews. The waterbender cut him off before he could reach it, guiding a small orb of water to encase the metal lock. She breathed on it and it froze. He took his cue and slammed the pommel of one of his dao down on the frozen lock, effectively shattering the mechanism inside and popping it open.

The sound of it scattered into the night, but before anyone could think to look at the source, they slipped inside and shut the door behind them. They wouldn’t be here long.

The second floor was the topmost floor, with the remainder of the building taken up with nooks for hawk nests. Zuko searched only momentarily for a volemouse to entice a nearby hawk down onto his arm. The claws from the raptor dug immediately through the cloth and into his skin, but he pushed back the pain with a clenched jaw and fed the hawk the carcass while he handed the scroll to the waterbender. She took a little longer in her search for a tube large enough to fit all four scrolls they’d gathered, but eventually she found one and attached it to the hawk’s back harness while it finished its treat from Zuko. He motioned to the stack of ribbons, then pointed to the black ones when she reached them. Zuko watched as she secured all the scrolls to one another with the black ribbon, then held the hawk steady as she worked the bundle into the carrier tube, leaving a length of the ribbon hanging out.

She opened the shutters of one of the windows as he followed her, and then sent the hawk flying out into the night. He leaned on the wooden pane for a moment, watching the hawk spiral up and then vanish into the dark sky. His arm throbbed from where the claws had dug in, and he felt wet trail down toward his wrist, but it didn’t matter. This was the best he could think to do for these people, though even that didn’t guarantee a better replacement once the mayor was ousted by officials—and it certainly wasn’t going to happen quickly. But, it was one problem hopefully solved.

“That’s done,” the waterbender said softly, echoing his thoughts. “But, what about the illness? We still don’t know what’s causing it.”

Silence stretched between them. He hesitated, unsure of what to tell her. A niggling instinct in his gut whispered that the mayor was also linked to the sickness, but he had no real evidence of that, and no real inclination if it was true or not.

A creak crept up the stairs from the door below, and they both froze, breaths held, listening. At the sound of heavier steps from someone trying to be quiet, they both surged into motion. Without sparing much thought, Zuko leapt through the window. It was on the second story, but it wasn’t so high up that he couldn’t salvage a landing. A quick glance up told him the waterbender had the same thought, and she was in the air seconds behind him. They both hit the ground rolling, then were sprinting toward the safety of the alley shadows as soon as they regained their footing. It struck him again how easily they worked together, as if this had all been planned between them, or that they had the same protocols to fall back on.

Zuko slowed, intending to stop and reassess, but the waterbender didn’t follow suit. She kept moving past him, and he had no choice but to follow. Well—he did have a choice, but discovered that he wanted to follow, anyway. Even if he hadn’t been trying to join up with the Avatar’s group, he’d started this thing with her, and wanted to see it through. Zuko wasn’t in the habit of leaving things unfinished.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that she was headed back to the records keeper’s storehouse. He could guess why; he, too, felt a pang of guilt for leaving the woman’s body there like that. Traditionally, Fire Nation citizens had a funerary pyre, but simply setting her body on fire didn’t sit right with him. The family should decide when to hold that particular ritual.

While the waterbender did what she could to clean and reposition the body, Zuko searched the storeroom again, only this time for cloth or something they could use as a shroud. There was no way he was taking this poor woman back to her family home and just deposit her, as is. He would never be able to live with himself.

After a few moments’ search, Zuko found a stack of cheesecloth. He pressed his lips together. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could find. He glanced back at the waterbender, and saw her holding something in her hands with reverence, like a delicate object that would shatter if she handled it carelessly. What it was, he couldn’t begin to guess, so he turned back to his own task and gathered a sizable armful of cheesecloth. As soon as he moved it, though, a stench rolled out from the space he created that threatened to roil his stomach enough to make him retch. He dropped the cheesecloth and coughed, taking several steps away.

“What is it?” The waterbender’s attention snapped to him immediately, and she was on her feet.

Instead of replying, he lifted on arm to cover the nose holes of the Blue Spirit mask and did his best to not breathe in too deeply as he inched back to investigate. Coming up to where he was, the waterbender gagged a little on the smell now lingering in the air, and covered her nose and mouth.

“Did something spoil?”

It almost smelled like rotten food, he had to admit, but there was something… off about it, as well. Spoiled food other than meat usually had a particular stench, and meat had another that was solely its own, and this didn’t truly smell like either. Airways covered as best as they could be, Zuko approached the space where he’d gotten the cheesecloth. There was a partially opened jar, only a little bigger than his hand, sitting in a nook behind the remaining cloth. He reached out and sealed the lid, then picked up the jar. It trailed the awful stench with it, despite being closed, and and turned the jar to see if it was labeled.

“Nam-Pla?”

The name rolled oddly off the waterbender’s tongue as she read it, but Zuko recognized it immediately. Of course—he’d seen similar jars in the kitchens of the palace and on his ship: it was a common fish sauce used in a variety of Fire Nation foods. But this—this was definitely not how it was supposed to smell.

“Something’s wrong with this,” he said, his voice scraping both from disuse and the powerful reek he’d been subjected to only moments earlier. The waterbender started and looked up at him, her eyes wide and fixed on his mask.

“I didn’t know you could talk—” She shook her head and cut herself off. “You know what? Now’s not the time. We’re running out of night, and we still have more to do. Is this what’s rotten?”

“It… doesn’t smell like rotten food should. I think it’s something else.”

The more he spoke, the more curious and calculating her eyes on him became. Zuko felt his cheeks flush behind the mask, but there wasn’t anything for it, now. He’d opened his mouth because it was more convenient than scrounging around and writing down what he wanted to communicate. Besides, she was right—they didn’t have much time left before dawn.

“Let me see.”

He handed it over to her, then watched as she set the jar on the ground, then cautiously held her hands on either side of it. Her eyes closed.

“It’s… oily,” she murmured. “Is it supposed to be oily?”

“It’s supposed to be thick,” he said. “Fish are oily.”

She frowned. “This isn’t thickness from fish oil. I know how that feels, and this is different.” Her hands drifted up and down the length of the jar, and he imagined she was slowly manipulated the little water that might still remain in the sauce. All at once, her eyes flew open and locked onto his mask. “This has been poisoned!”

Now it was his turn to be startled. “How can you tell?”

The waterbender worried her lip, and he tried to not let his gaze linger on her mouth. “It’s… hard to describe. It feels different. We have a lot of fish sauces and fish-based oils in the south, so I can extrapolate what this is supposed to feel like, and there’s been something added to it that doesn’t…” She paused again. “It feels like it’s diluting the purity, I guess is the best way to put it? It feels wrong. I can’t explain it any better, I’m sorry.”

Zuko crouched opposite her, one knee lower than the other, to look down at the nam-pla jar. Realization flooded his face, eyes widening. “The illness.”

He looked up from the jar to the waterbender at the same time she did the same, reflecting him. “That’s why so many people were getting sick. I bet this came from a bigger batch that was all contaminated.” Her brow furrowed. “But, it smelled so bad. Why didn’t anyone catch on?”

“It was open,” Zuko explained. “I bet it reacts to prolonged exposure to air. This sauce is soup base—”

“So it would be cooked fairly quickly, and then the rest would be stored away again,” she finished for him. He nodded. “This was lucky.”

It was very lucky, Zuko thought. If they hadn’t come back here, if he hadn’t found that cheesecloth and decided it would make do for a funerary shroud—there were a lot of factors that had been left up to chance, and fallen in their favor.

The waterbender gathered the jar and got back to her feet; Zuko followed suit. She looked back out at the body of the woman, lying with her face up, and her arms folded carefully over her chest. Zuko watched the waterbender’s mouth set into a taut line, her jaw resolute.

“Come on,” she said to him, not sparing him a glance. “Let’s take care of her and then deal with this poison issue.”

He had no idea how she planned to get word out about the nam-pla being poisoned, but he followed her back out of the small storehouse, bringing the cheesecloth with him.

#zuko #katara #zutara #atla #avatar: the last airbender #my fic

12 notes · View notes

thetravelerwrites · 6 years

Text

A New Generation (Pt. 2)

Rating: Teen Fandom: 魔法使いの嫁 | Mahou Tsukai no Yome | The Ancient Magus Bride Relationships: Hatori Chise x Elias Ainsworth Characters: Elias Ainsworth, Hatori Chise, Chise Hatori, Silver Lady, Silkie, Ruth, Titania, Oberon, Shannon, Stella Barklem, Angelica Burley, David Burley, Althea Burley, Lindel | Lindenbaum, Merituuli Trigger Warnings: Pregnancy, Childbirth, Babies, Infants, Depression, Anxiety, Discrimination, Unplanned Pregnancy, Abandonment, References to Abuse, References to Abandonment, References to Child Murder Words: 8551

As Chise's pregnancy progresses, Elias is consumed with worry that his child will be rejected by both fae and humans, as he had been. Chise struggles with the fear that she might abandon or harm her own children, as her parents did.

When Elias returned home from London, he sat down with Chise and had a very long, solemn conversation with her about the pregnancy, and for the first time, they talked about a future that also involved their child. Or children, if Chise was correct in her belief that there were two.

He told her about going to speak with Lindel, Simon, and Angelica and what their advice had been. Like him, Chise found Angelica’s tale the most consoling. Knowing that the artificer had felt similar apprehension about procreating helped Chise feel less isolated.

Calling Angelica and talking to her at length also did much to improve Chise’s disposition, not just about Chise’s ability to parent but also about the pregnancy itself. It didn’t cure her of her worries, but having someone to talk to who knew exactly what she was going through was a great comfort to her.

Finally managing to convince Elias to install a landline in the house had been a pretty recent accomplishment. He fought this "modern indulgence" for quite a long time, but when he finally understood that it meant she didn’t have to walk to town to use the public phone every other day, he was more open to the idea, especially since walking long distances was going to become rather difficult for her as time went on. The noise the device made was annoying, but seeing her smile when she answered it was enough to keep him from being too bothered by the sound.

The change in her mood greatly eased Elias’s mind. Watching Chise spiral into a deep, black pit of terror and depression was difficult for him to bear, especially given there was little he could on his own to improve it. As much as he wanted to help her, he had eventually come to understand that sometimes people could only find solace in others who’d had comparable experiences. This was just not his ken, so it was better left to those suited to the task.

He tried to quash his own fears for her sake, but she knew him too well to let him get away with keeping those thoughts to himself. At night, before they slept, she would talk to him; just talk, not expecting him to respond if he wasn’t in the mood to do so, and it helped him. Hearing the sudden shift in her voice from cold despair to tentative hope had done much to alleviate his woes. She encouraged him to be honest with her about what he felt, but didn’t push him to talk if he didn’t want to. More often than not, though, he would. They would lay bear their worries to each other and try to find the bright side. They were both still afraid, but they were facing that fear together.

And it helped.

Summer was in full swing, and Elias was twice as busy as normal now that Chise was limited as to what she could do. He didn’t grumble about it much; after all, he had done everything himself before she had come along. But they had become a well-coordinated, efficient team over the years and he had come to treasure her reserved, supportive assistance in all things, whether practical or magical. He rather missed working in tandem with her.

Though she was no longer allowed to do any of her normal seasonal chores beyond a little light weeding and watering, she would often sit in the garden with him as he worked and help whenever she could, not content with staying in bed all day like an invalid. Besides, having Chise within Elias’s sight and hearing was good for his heart and mind.

Ruth spent his time keeping a close, watchful eye on her, reporting any physical ills that Chise might keep to herself to Elias. As long as she was at rest, though, they were happy enough.

Late one night, he walked into their bedroom to prepare for sleep and found her naked in front of a mirror, standing to the side, looking down at her belly.

“What are you doing?” He asked curiously.

“Look at my stomach,” She said, her hands gently probing her lower abdomen. “It’s bigger. And it’s hard, too. Feel.”

Elias came close and laid his hand on her stomach. It was indeed hardened, as though she had swallowed a large stone, and there was a swelling between her hips; not big, but definitely noticeable.

And perhaps he imagined it, but he thought he felt a strange swirl of energy embedded there underneath the flesh and muscle, lodged deep in her body. No, two swirls. Perhaps Chise’s instinct was more credible than he first thought.

“Hmm,” He said. “Why is that?”

“Angelica says the uterus thickens and becomes more solid to protect the fetuses,” She said, reaching for a book on her nightstand. “It says so in this, too. Alice sent it to me. I told her about the babies, by the way, but I swore her to secrecy. I haven’t told Stella yet, but she’s busy at university and I didn’t want to bother her during finals.”

Elias bent to peer at the book. “What is it?”

She flipped through the rather large paperback volume. “It’s a book about pregnancy and birth. It’s actually pretty informative. So many things make sense now.”

“May I read it, then?” He asked. “There is much I still need to learn. I have a distinct dearth of knowledge about this particular subject and I feel compelled to rectify that.”

“Sure,” she said, handing it to him. “I’ve read up to the third trimester, so I won’t need it for a little while. I hope it helps.”

In some ways it did, and in others it didn’t. During gestation, he learned, the woman’s body produces excess blood to carry extra oxygen to the baby, which in turn causes the mother’s heart rate to accelerate for the duration of the pregnancy, which in turn causes her core temperature to rise. That explained that part, at least.

But other aspects of pregnancy and childbirth were, to put it mildly, horrifying. Things like nosebleeds, strange cravings, extreme mood swings, increased sex drive, swelling of the extremities, sudden hair growth or hair loss, violent fits of vomiting that lasted for months, soreness almost everywhere, food aversions, heighten sensitivity of smell, touch, and taste… the list of physical oddities was extensive. Bones would often be pushed out of the way and change position to compensate for the growing child, sometimes even fracturing or breaking in the process. And all of this was considered normal.

And those were just minor possible symptoms. The more severe ones were downright ghastly. There was no end of ways that it could go wrong, no end to the possible damage to the mother, no end to the ways the child could be born ill or malformed, and that was just for regular, non-magical children. There was no telling what kind of ailments could befall the child of two mages, especially if both parents were cursed.

And the descriptions of the birthing process itself, including the many, many things that could go awry, was nothing short of nauseating. Several times, he had to shut the book and put it aside for a while, appalled at what he learned. He hated to admit it, but sometimes knowledge for knowledge’s sake wasn’t always a good thing.

Once the first physical changes had begun, time seemed to speed up. Chise’s body changed rapidly, her stomach growing larger every day to carry the new life safely. She seemed especially breakable these days, and Elias couldn’t help being even more protective than he had been before.

For years before he had bought Chise, nothing had changed. Things went on as they always had, and it was as comfortable as it was dull. Then, once he met her, things changed, but it was a slow change. Even though things happened that never had before, it came at a pace he could understand and absorb.

Now, everything was new and happening too fast for him to process, and he was trying his best to keep up. He did not adapt well to change.

One afternoon in late July, while Chise was having her afternoon nap, Elias awoke her with a touch to her cheek.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Little Bird,” He said softly. “But there is a guest downstairs who has come a long way to see you. Are you feeling up to greeting them?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

Downstairs, she saw a tallish, pale man standing in their sitting room in modern clothes, looking around the room curiously. His blonde hair was separated into two bunches and hung over his shoulders. The the pupils of his bright blue eyes were slits, like that of a wild predator.

“Lindel!” Chise exclaimed in surprise.

When he saw her enter the room, a wide smile split his face. “It’s good to see you, my daughter,” He said, his arms open toward her.

She rushed forward to give him a hug. “What are you doing here? The dragons--”

“Can survive me being gone for an hour or two. Besides, Merituuli is to inform me right away if anything should happen while I’m here. I haven’t heard from you in a while and I wanted to check on you.” He held her at arms length and looked at her belly. “You’re coming along rather quickly, aren’t you? I sense very strong life essences brewing in there. Your offspring will be incredibly powerful mages. I can’t wait to meet my grandchildren; you must bring them to the aerie once they’ve been born.”

“More than one?” Chise asked.

“Oh, yes,” Lindel replied. “Two separate, distinct energies, hale and healthy, growing well.”

“Ha,” Chise said quietly. “I knew it.”

“Now,” He took her hand and hooked it around his arm. “Why don’t you give me a tour and tell me all about your preparations for the little ones? I’ve never actually been to Thorn’s home, you know. The ungrateful brat has never so much as extended an invitation.”

Elias sniffed slightly and sat in his chair, picking up a book he must have been reading before Lindel arrived.

“Of course,” She said, turning. Silver was looking in shyly from the kitchen, where Ruth was having a snack. “This is Silver Lady. She’s a neighbor who runs the house and looks after us. She’s been a big help to me.”

Lindel bowed. “A pleasure.”

Maybe it was Chise’s imagination, but she could have sworn Silver blushed.

“Good to see you again, Ruth,” Lindel said pleasantly. “Keeping a sharp eye on our favorite girl, are you?”

“Of course,” Ruth said. “She’s been getting plenty of rest, but she’s not eating as much as I’d prefer.”

Chise sighed heavily. “Elias’s fussing is bad enough, but having a fae nanny breathing down my neck all day is really irritating.”

Lindel laughed softly. “I would imagine so.”

Chise showed him her old room upstairs with Ruth trailing behind, where Silver had surprised her one day by converting it into a nursery. Silver, at least, seemed very excited about the new additions to the family and was going to extraordinary lengths to make sure the house was ready for their arrival.

The brand-new cupboards were stacked with blankets and swaddling and dressing gowns and cloth diapers, all handmade by Silver. There were double changing tables and bassinets, set side by side, and even a rocking chair next to the window. Chise had no idea where all the new furniture had even come from. Silver had used neutral colors to decorate the room: a mix of light and dark browns and soft purples and blues. The walls had been painted with a mural of wildflowers and trees, and the floor was plush grass-green carpet, as though the room was outside in a meadow. It was beautiful. Chise had cried and hugged Silver for quite a while when Silver presented it to her.

Ah, mood swings.

Elias had not been prepared for these emotional outbursts and, quite frankly, neither had Chise. She’d go from really happy to really sad to really annoyed all in the span of a few minutes. It was rather dizzying for the both of them. Ruth tried to warn Elias when they were coming, but he couldn’t always tell, so they were often blindsided by a sudden explosion of emotion that even Chise didn’t always understand. He supposed there was some comfort to be found in the fact that she was just as confused as he was.

Chise showed Lindel Elias’s study, and her workroom beyond where she practiced her spellcraft, and then decided to take a break in the garden. Lindel sat with Chise, talking animatedly about the baby dragons and happily eating Silver’s sandwiches and cakes. It was probably a nice change from stew. He even coaxed a song from Chise, one he had taught her in Icelandic about a hungry raven that slept beneath rock rifts. She had missed singing with him.

The sound of their voices raised in song brought Elias out to join them. He hadn’t heard her sing in some time and was pleased to hear it. She only sang when she was in a good mood. The resonance of their voices made the trees stand straighter, the flowers bloom brighter, and the sunlight shine gently upon them without being overpowering. When Lindel and Chise worked together, everything they touched was magic. Elias couldn’t help but be a little jealous of that.

The visit was a splendid one that did much to brighten Chise’s spirit. Before long, Lindel felt the aerie calling his heart home and left Chise with a hug and well-wishes. He even shook Elias’s hand.

Lindel snapped and sparked and was gone in a flurry of snow and cinders. Chise was sorry to see him go. She really felt as though Lindel was a surrogate father. When he called her his daughter, there had been weight to it. He genuinely meant it.

Chise made to go inside, but Elias took her by the hand to stop her, looking off into the woods.

“I believe we may have further visitors,” He said, taking his veil and flinging it over his face. He pointed to the treeline.

There, almost invisible under the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, stood a fae woman of indescribable beauty. Her black hair trailed behind her and brushed the ground as she walked, and her skin was as smooth as the petals of a lily. Her eyes, the colors of which shifted as though iridescent, were locked on Chise from where she stood motionless in the shadow. How long she had been there, no one could say, but her attention was on Chise and nothing else.

“Lady Titania,” Chise breathed.

As though summoned, Titania stepped out of the shelter of trees and began to walk toward them. Spriggan stepped out of her shadow, the gold rings adorning his staff jingling as he walked. He looked as surly as ever.

“My dear, sweet robin,” Titania said, holding her arms out to Chise and she stepped forward. “Oh! Isn’t it so wonderful!”

“I assume the little folk have informed you of Chise’s condition,” Elias said.

“Oh,yes, my child. I can’t tell you how pleased I am! Oberon is beside himself.” She glanced back to the forest’s edge. Chise and Elias followed her gaze to see Oberon running to and fro, giggling like a child and throwing flowers into the air. Chise laughed softly and shook her head.

Titania returned her attention to Chise and touched her hand to Chise’s belly. “Look how far along you are! I must say, though, I am terribly put out that you hid it from us for so long.”

“I’m sorry,” Chise said. “I… it’s been… difficult.”

Titania took her face in her hands. “Poor child,” She said. “Do not despair. This is a blessing. What a wondrous gift it is to be mortal. The fae do not breed well with each other and as such, our children are rare. That’s why there are so many old tales among mortals about halflings, though such things are far less likely in this millenia.” Her gaze brushed across Elias’s tall form briefly. “I suppose it’s how your race proliferates so effectively. You’re like rabbits, in that way.” She giggled.

“Oh, what a wonderful turn of fate!” Oberon crooned gleefully, skipping around the group of them. “I can’t wait to see the new little mages. Is there any chance at all they’ll be blonde? Oh, nevermind, they’ll be adorable either way!”

“Titania,” Elias started, ignoring Oberon as he pranced around them, laying a flower crown on Chise’s head. “You have the gift of foresight. Can you…” He paused, clutching the fabric of his shirt over his chest, as though in pain. “Is there any way to tell… that is to say…” He stumbled to a stop.

“Elias,” Titania said kindly. “Ask your question plainly, and I shall answer as best as I can.”

Elias sighed. “The children… our children… will they be… like me? Half-creatures, hated and shunned for the sin of merely being alive in a world where they do not belong?”

Chise’s heart bled for him. It must have quite a blow to his pride to ask that question. She knew he’d never admit it to anyone, not even her, but the constant reminder that he was neither one or the other was something that caused him perpetual grief. The idea that he was terrified his own children would share this fate made Chise’s heart ache. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it consolingly.

“Oh, Thorn,” Titania said sadly. “I see branches; roads that split and diverge like serpents in the sea of potentiality. I see many possibilities, though some are more likely than others. I cannot give you a solid answer because the paths are still many and multiplying. I cannot tell you for certain what will be.” She laid a hand on his chest and smiled. “But would you like to know what I feel?”

He nodded, apprehensive.

“I feel love and joy,” She said. “I hear laughter echoing within the walls of this dwelling. Your children will have fragments of their father residing in them, as all children do, but they will have the protection and favor of all who love them. And there will be many who love them. They are blessed by the Queen of the Fae herself, and my blessing is no paltry trinket.”

“Titania, I…” Elias said, unable to continue.

Oberon slid over to his wife and winked at her, a wide smile on his face. He then turned to Elias.

“Do not fret, thorn child,” He said. “However tainted your lineage may be, you are still one of us, and your bride is beloved by our kind. Your children, then, will be doubly revered by all fae. You have no cause to worry.”

“Thank you. That is… very comforting,” He replied, though his tone said to Chise that he was still rather troubled.

Chise endured another few minutes of Titania and Oberon’s doting before they decided to depart. She felt rather relieved when they left. They could be a lot to handle all at once.

That night, lying in bed with Elias, the question he had asked the Faerie Queen revolved over and over in her mind.

“Elias?” She asked softly, trying not to wake Ruth. “Are you still awake?”

She couldn’t see his pupils, but he did answer. “Yes.”

She lay her hand on the back of his neck and stroked it. “Are you really worried about how the children will turn out?”

Elias sighed. “It does not matter to me what they will look like,” He said somberly. “But it will matter to humans. Experience has taught me well that mankind does not adapt quickly to things that are strange or unusual.” He turned his head to look at her. “The fae will not care about their appearance, either, but they will see them as my children, spawn of the halfling failure. That alone may be enough to draw the ire of the fae against them, despite what Titania and Oberon said. Those two have never failed in their kindness to me, but it is borne out of pity, not respect, and the rest of the fae are not so magnanimous. Some are indifferent to me, but most, like the Spriggan, are openly hostile. I do not wish for my children to suffer because of who their father is.”

“Oh, Elias,” Chise said, holding him close. “I wish I could--Oh!” Chise sat up abruptly, pulling the covers down and placing both hands on her belly.

“What?” He asked in alarm, turning to sit up. “What is it? Are you alright?”

“I felt them.”

“You did?” He asked.

“Yes,” She said, moving her hands around gingerly. “I felt a thumping on the inside. I felt some flutters before, but I was never sure what they were. That was definitely a kick.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at her abdomen.

In response, she took his hand and laid it down on her stomach, instructing him to wait. He did so, and it took nearly five minutes, but there was a distinct nudge against his hand.

Chise looked up and smiled at him, but his heart was in his throat. He couldn’t decide if he was excited or panicked. Talking about the baby, seeing her belly expand, making preparations: for some reason, none of that made it feel real. But this did. Feeling the tiny movements of the child on his own skin from the inside of her body was what made it reality to him.

“We should call on Shannon tomorrow,” Chise said. “I’m twenty weeks. It’s about time for a check-up.”

“Y-yes,” He said vaguely. “Of course.”

She took his face in her hands. “Are you all right?”

“I do not know,” He answered honestly. “I am… frightened.”

“I know,” She said. She laid her forehead on his.

They stayed that way for many minutes, their foreheads touching, his hand on her belly, feeling the little jumps and thumps of his children moving about inside. Frightened was not an adequate word for what he felt. He didn’t know if there was a word strong enough.

Time seemed to move very fast for a while, and then suddenly slowed to a snail’s pace. Before they knew it, it was winter. Chise had grown very large, and Shannon expected the babies to come a few days after the new year.

Chise kept to the house exclusively now, since moving was more difficult, not to mention that Elias was highly paranoid about her catching an illness in her condition. She spent much of the time nesting, which is an instinctual habit among mothers-to-be to make sure everything was in its proper place and perfect. Silver had taken care of most of that for her, but it didn’t stop Chise from folding and refolding all of the babies’ linens and making sure things were just so.

As the time for the birth came closer, the atmosphere of the house grew more and more anxious. Chise was rather sick of being pregnant and was ready to be able to stand without assistance and not eat what felt like half her body weight every day. Ruth was restless and impatient. He could feel the time getting closer just as acutely as Chise did.

If Chise was anxious and Ruth was restless, Elias was downright terrified. He spent a lot of time alone in his study, unable to control this emotion. He didn’t want to worry her more than she already was, but he couldn’t push away the awful feeling of dread.

He had slowly grown accustomed to the idea of the children, but not the possibility that they would take after him. The idea that they could be subjected to cruelty and discrimination for simply being his children made his blood run cold. How could he protect them against that kind of hatred? How could he shield them from the animosity of both humans and fae? He could weather it just fine; he was used to it, and some of it was deserved. He had once been a monster, after all. But they would be innocent and guileless. They didn’t deserve to be treated as he had been.

As much as he tried to hide his worry from Chise, he knew she felt it. He could see it on her face when she looked at him sometimes. It wasn’t pity that she showed him, but empathy. If anyone would understand, it would be her, but this was just one thing he couldn’t talk to her about. She always tried to soothe him and tell him things would be fine, but she had no way of knowing that for certain. Blind optimism just didn’t work for him.

Very late on the night before Christmas eve, a sharp yelp of pain woke Elias from sleep. It had been Ruth: he had bounced out of his bed and shot to Chise’s side, immediately switching to his human form. Chise was sitting curled around her stomach, gasping.

“Chise?” Elias asked.

“I think my water broke,” Chise gasped. “I’ve been having contractions, but they weren’t bad until now. We need Shannon.”

“Shannon! Silver!” Elias called.

A flash shot through the room. Elias turned on the lamp and found Shannon standing next to Chise, trying to pull her to her feet. The silky came through the door in an instant, a tub of hot water and many towels in her hands. It was almost as if she were waiting for the call.

Shannon had Chise sit on a wooden chair with a curved back, urging her to recline with her pelvis tilted out, putting a pillow behind her to support her back. Silver helped Chise out of her underwear and flipped the hem of her nightgown up over her stomach, exposing her entire lower half. Chise didn’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about her tender bits out for the entire room to see. The pain was pushing everything else out of her brain.

“Is it supposed to hurt this much?” Ruth gasped, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

“There are two living creatures the size of watermelons attempting to tear their way out of her body, Ruth. Yeah, it’s gonna hurt,” Shannon said dryly.

“Sorry, Ruth,” Chise said, breathing heavily. “I’m trying to block it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ruth said. “I don’t really care about me right now.”

“What can I do?” Elias asked anxiously.

“You and Ruth, get on either side. Both of you hold her hand with one of yours and then let her use your other hand to brace her feet on. She’s going to need the leverage when she starts pushing.”

Elias and Ruth, took their positions. Chise had already begun to sweat profusely and was breathing shallowly. Silver stood at her head, stroking her hair gently and ready with a cloth to wipe her brow.

“Deep breaths, Chise,” Shannon said, kneeling on the ground and pushing a gloved hand into Chise’s body to gauge her dilation. “Nine centimeters,” Shannon said, removing her hand. “Not quiet ready yet, but it’s going to be soon.”

Chise could only nod, attempting with little success to take deep breaths as she was instructed. Her head rolled to look at Elias with fear in her eyes.

“It’s too early,” She said in a terrified whisper. “I’m not due for another three weeks.”

“It’s all right,” Elias whispered, knowing he might be lying. “It will be all right.”

Chise had no choice but to wait until her body opened up enough to start pushing, and it took a few long, miserable hours of pain and sweating. By the time Shannon got into position, it was only an hour before dawn.

“Okay,” Shannon said. “Elias, Ruth, take one foot each and push it toward her chest, but not forcefully. Chise, take several deep breaths. When I say, take a very deep breath, hold it, and start pushing. When I count to ten, you can let go and breath again. Understand?”

Chise nodded, already very tired from the waves of pain she had been suffering over the past few hours. She steeled herself and began to take slow, deep breaths.

“Ready? Okay, deep, deep breath and push!”

Chise pulled in as much air as her lungs could take and held it, bracing her legs against Ruth and Elias’s grip, and pushed with all her might, her face pulled back in a grimace of pain and exertion.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten, and breathe,” Shannon instructed. Chise blew out her breath explosively and gulped in air.

“Okay, again. Deep breath, and push!”

It went on like this for quite a time. They only paused the pushing for Chise to drink water and for Silver to wipe the sweat from her face and neck. Elias talked in Chise’s ear during these brief moments of rest, telling her that she was strong and that he had faith in her. She seemed so tired, but she smiled at him and dotted a kiss on his nose in reply.

Finally, as the first rays of sunlight shone through the window, Shannon pulled a small, reddish-purple infant from Chise’s body. It shrieked as it took it’s first breaths of life, it’s color changing as it took in oxygen. Shannon placed the sticky ball of outrage on Chise’s chest for a moment, allowing the new mother to inspect the little creature for herself while Shannon detached the umbilical cord.

“It’s a baby girl,” Shannon said, smiling.

Chise let go of Ruth and Elias and wrapped her fingers around the tiny thing as it screamed it’s fury at them all. Chise was crying, too, but not in anger. Her face, red and sweaty though it was, lit with joy as she held her newborn daughter.

Suddenly, she seized up with a sudden contraction and hissed with pain. The baby was whisked out of her arms by Silver, who took it to a nearby dressing table to clean it.

“We’re halfway there,” Shannon said. “Let’s get ready. On the next contraction, we start the pushing again.”

Chise nodded, letting Ruth and Elias take hold of her feet and push them back.

Once the first baby was out, the second wasn’t far behind. It wailed more loudly than it’s twin, thrashing about angrily on Chise’s chest, though Chise clearly didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s another little girl,” Shannon said with a grin.

Tears poured from Chise’s eyes as she held her daughter, gasping from the effort of pushing. The touch of her mother’s hands had calmed the baby and she was no longer writhing spastically, but wiggling and making little grunting sounds, lying on her belly in Chise’s grasp.

After a moment, this child, too, was taken away for cleaning. Then there was more work to be done. The afterbirth had to be removed from Chise’s body, which caused a small fountain of blood to escape. Elias and Ruth panicked, but Shannon said this could happen sometimes and it wasn’t serious as long as it was contained quickly. She gave Chise a tea that would help stop the bleeding and once she had finished it, Silver lifted Chise as if she weighed nothing and took her to the bathroom for a proper cleaning. Shannon followed, leaving Ruth and Elias alone with the newborns, lying side by side and safely bundled up in the crib near Chise’s side of the bed.

While she was gone, Ruth went to inspect the babies up close. “Elias,” He called to the mage, who was still sitting in a daze. “Come and see.”

Elias stood with his heart pounding in his chest and walked to stand by Ruth, looking down at his brand new daughters with a lump in his throat. Now that they were cleaned, he could see them better. They were still wiggly and wrinkly, but there were distinct differences between the twins. One had a full head of white-blonde hair and a peachy-pink complexion, while the other had fine red fuzz on her head and was as pale as bleached bone.

“I remember the day that Isabelle was born,” Ruth said solemnly, lost in his memory. “I had only been with the family for a few months and I didn’t quite understand what was happening at the time. I didn’t know what a baby was. She was so tiny and weird-looking, but I loved her right away. We were together all the time after that. I existed for her; I’d have done anything for her.”

He stared down at the two sleeping infants, his eyes dark with recollection. “I took it for granted, thinking she’d always be there. I didn’t see the dangers until it was too late. I should have done more to protect her. If I had been a better brother, she might have lived a long, happy life. I didn’t do enough, and she died.” He reached out but stopped just short of touching the one with red hair. “For them, I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I promise.”

Elias did not respond. He stared down at his sleeping girls rather blankly.

Yes, He thought to himself. I, too, must be better.

Silver and Shannon returned with Chise, clean, wearing a fresh nightgown, and remarkably able to walk unassisted. Elias helped ease her back into the freshly changed bed, then Shannon handed Chise the white-haired baby girl. Shannon insisted that Chise try to breastfeed the baby, as it would help promote clotting. Silver went to work cleaning the gory aftermath off of the floor. Ruth, as a grim, sniffed each child keenly with his tail wagging.

It took a few tries and some urging to get the baby to latch to her breast; apparently babies weren’t born knowing how to do this and had to be taught, but once she found her way, she seemed to be content and fell asleep while feeding, her tiny arm resting on Chise’s skin. Elias watched curiously.

“You probably won’t be able to produce enough milk to fill both babies at the same time, so you might want to supplement with formula. You may even decide to go formula exclusively, which is fine. As long as they get the enzymes from your breastmilk at the start, it’ll be a big boost to their immune systems.”

Chise nodded without looking up, absorbed in the tiny little girl at her breast with it’s little fist around Chise’s finger. She seemed to finish quickly, and Chise lifted the baby for Elias to hold.

“Chise…” He said nervously. “I don’t… I can’t… I don’t think…”

“It’s okay, Elias,” Chise said with a smile. “You’re going to have to hold them at some point. Might as well be now.”

“Just remember to support the head,” Shannon said. “The neck muscles are underdeveloped.”

“Here,” She sat up and, holding the baby in one arm, used her hand to make a cradle of his. “Like this.”

Exercising more care than he ever had in his entire existence, he took the tiny bundle into his arms, cradling it gently. He could feel the warmth of it’s little body through the blankets, as though he were holding a glowing coal. He lifted her up so he could inspect her more closely. As he did so, she opened her eyes for the first time and looked up at him. Her eyes were the color of evergreens, like her mother. But unlike her, the pupils were not round but slits, like that of a wild creature. The eyes of a fae. The eyes of a mage.

“Chise, look,” Elias said, bending to show her. Chise, who had taken the red-haired babe and was feeding her from the other breast, peered at the child Elias held and smiled. Her smile faded and her eyes narrowed curiously.

“What is it?” Elias asked.

“Look at her head, a little bit above the hairline. There’s a bump. No, there’s two, one on either side. Do you see them?”

Elias brought the baby close to his face, examining her closely. There was, indeed, some sort of bump there. Carefully readjusting his grip, he felt the bumps with his finger. They felt like… bone? No, not bone…

“Horns,” Elias said softly. “She has horns.”

Chise laughed softly, her eyes warm with affection. “You certainly can’t deny she’s yours, can you?”

He looked down at her, a new warmth spreading though his chest. “No…” He said. “I cannot.”

“Have you decided on names?” Shannon asked, sitting on the other side, monitoring the mother and her little ones closely.

Elias was taken aback. It wasn’t something he had even thought about. He’d been so preoccupied with his doubts and fears that he hadn’t room to think of anything else.

“It is Christmas Eve,” Chise said, looking out of the snow covered windows. She looked at the little redhead, sleeping peacefully in her arms. “Her hair reminds me of holly berries, so why don’t we call her Holly?” She smiled and gazed at the white-haired child Elias clutched to him. “And with her green eyes, she should be named Ivy.”

Elias sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, bending to nuzzle her head.

“Yes,” He said fondly. “It’s perfect.”

After both parents had a turn holding both of their infant girls, they gave Silver and Ruth a chance. Ruth was anxious and attentive, fearful of being clumsy or accidentally jostling his new nieces and upsetting them, but Silver seemed overjoyed to hold the tiny babes, smiling brightly and giggling at their noises. A better nanny than Silver Lady could not be found anywhere, either in the mortal realm or the kingdom of the fae. Chise had a feeling she was going to be relying heavily on her for the next few months.

While holding Holly, Silver made a small noise of surprise.

“Silver?” Chise said. “What is it?”

Silver brought the baby to the bed and knelt down between Elias and Chise, where the parents could see the newborn’s eyes. The irises were solid black and didn’t reflect light, instead seeming to consume it. The pupils, however, were red. Not the bright holly red of her hair, but a dark crimson red, like blood on snow, and they too were mere slits.

“Oh,” Chise breathed. “Look at that. Aren’t they beautiful?”

Elias, seeing the trace his own eyes looking back at him from his daughter’s face, was at a loss for words.

His children were mostly human, it seemed, but they retained a piece of him, a fragment of his fae blood, just as Titania said. Before, this thought made him worry about their future, but seeing them now, he felt… what was this? It was a good feeling, but it carried weight with it. Pride? Was that it? Did he feel proud? Perhaps so.

After a while, Shannon insists that everyone leave the room to the new parents and their children, and Elias settled himself in a chair beside the bed, with Chise on his left side and the crib on the right. All three of his girls were sleeping peacefully. Ivy seemed content in being wrapped up in her swaddling, but Holly had kicked her way out of the blankets so that she could move freely.

He watched them sleep with mixed emotions, laying his hands on the stomachs of the babes, comforted by their warmth. As if waiting for this, they both reached out and gripped his fingers in their fists and held on with a surprisingly strong grip.

The world could have been falling down around them, but as long as they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t have bothered him. He found he didn’t care all that much at the moment about the concerns that had plagued him before the birth, though he knew they would come back eventually. He felt warm and calm, with none of the anxiety that had been gnawing at his mind for months. Was this feeling happiness? Peace?

He could identify at least one emotion well enough: love. It was different than what he felt for Chise, but no less consuming. Chains of gold and silver had wrapped themselves around his heart. They sprung from the touch of his tiny daughters’ small hands on his own, an unbreakable link that bound him to his newly-born flesh and blood. Instinct drove this behavior, and it was obvious what it meant. They had laid claim to him.

They do not belong to me, he realized. I belong to them. How fascinating.

He had lived for centuries never having tethered himself to any other being. Back then, loneliness and being alone were mutually exclusive concepts. He’d had friendships and acquaintances but felt no obligation to any of them beyond an occasional favor or trade. At the time, he had thought himself content.

When he had acquired Chise on a whim out of mere curiosity, he had not anticipated how his life would change. The connection that developed between them, as slow as it was to manifest openly, was unlike anything he’d felt before. It brought with it many good feelings, as well as many unpleasant ones. Chise’s love was easy enough to earn, but he soon discovered that while love could be unconditional, trust was not. He hadn’t known there was a difference between those emotions until he had betrayed them.

For a while after, their bond was fragile and could snap with any slight pressure he applied to it. It had taken much time and effort on his part to repair the damage he had done, and he had sworn never to do anything that could sever that link again.

But the bond he felt to these two new lives was instantaneous and indestructible, something over which he had no control. He was, for lack of a better term, spellbound.

“I don’t understand.”

Elias jumped slightly at Chise’s soft whisper. He looked over to see that she was awake and staring are her children.

“What is it you do not understand, Little Bird?” Elias replied quietly.

“I thought,” She said. “I thought when they were born, it would make more sense, but it doesn’t. I thought it would help me understand why they did it.”

“Your parents,” He said. It wasn’t a question.

“I thought that once I was a parent myself, I could see it from their perspective, and I’d understand. But I don’t. I would never, ever leave them. I could never hurt them. Never.” She looked at Elias and took his hand. “What they did still makes no sense to me. I guess you were right, Elias. I am different.”

“Yes,” He said, holding her hand to his cheek. “Do not be sad, Chise. That is a wonderful thing.”

She smiled, and her gaze returned to the infants. “You’re right. It is.”

During the first two months, which Chise and Elias used to get accustomed to the new routine of parenthood, the twins developed personalities that were as different as their appearance. Holly was an independent little thing and didn’t like to be swaddled or held for too long, while Ivy loved to be cuddled and preferred to be held by Elias over anyone else. He was more than happy to hold her at all times and soon became deft at doing things one-handed.

After this necessary adjustment time, they decided to have a small gathering of friends over to properly introduce their children. They had invited Stella, the Barley family, Alice, a few friends from the college including the brooding Adolf and enthusiastic Tori, and even Renfred. Over the years, Elias and Renfred had forged a tense acquaintanceship. Chise encouraged them to be better friends, but in the end, she figured anything was better than open hostility.

They had invited Lindel, too, but he didn’t want to leave the aerie again. He insisted they bring them to him instead, which they promised to do when the children were a few months older.

“Aren’t they darling?” Angelica said, looking at Holly sleeping in sixteen-year-old Althea’s arms.

“They really are,” Stella said, now nineteen, as she tickling Ivy’s feet while David held her. The baby cooed at Stella as she did so.

“Ya did good, Chise,” Alice said. “You cooked up some real nice babies in there.” She poked Chise’s stomach, which was now much smaller and thankfully no longer sore.

“That’s a weird phrase, Alice, thank you,” Chise said.

Renfred had been mostly quiet during the gathering. Alice had told Chise that babies make him nervous; he liked kids better when they were old enough to follow orders.

Elias was similarly uncomfortable with so many people in his house at once, and eventually, it drove him outside to the garden. Cold though it was, he sat at the garden table with his tea and sighed.

“Are they not lovely?” A voice said to him from his right. He turned to see a small, child-like figure standing there nearby. She wore a simple white gown made of thin silk and a crown of baby’s breath around her head. A circle of snow underneath her feet had melted away and flowers had sprung up all around her. Her hair was black, her skin like petals, her eyes like the wings of a dragonfly.

“Titania,” Elias said, standing. “You’ve come alone.”

“I have, though I shan’t be long,” She said, her voice belying her youthful appearance. “I bring with me gifts for your little ones.”

“Gifts?”

“Yes. The heartache you expressed when last we met has stayed with me. I felt compelled to do something to set your mind at ease.” She opened her hands, and lying in each palm was a ring carved of dark wood, one on a gold string, the other on a silver one. “I told you your offspring held my favor, did I not?” She asked. “That was not a lie. You need not worry for their safety from our kind. These will tell all fae creatures that your babes are my godchildren and therefore under my protection.”

Elias did not recall agreeing to such an arrangement, but accepted the rings with a bow.

“Thank you, my Lady,” He said. “This is most generous.”

“You must bring them to visit us, Thorn,” Titania said. “It’s been so long since there were children in the Faerie Kingdom. Oberon is dying to meet the new magelings.”

Elias nodded without speaking, not committing to this. He wondered if her favor extended to not trapping them in the faerie realm.

“Be well, Elias. Take care of our sweet robin and those beautiful children. Dwell no longer on the darkness in your past and look instead to your future. Your legacy now resides in those new souls that you created, and not the mistakes you have made. You have been given a divine gift. Do not take it for granted.”

“I assure you, Lady,” He said seriously. “I have no intention of doing so.”

She smiled at him, and the body she inhabited burst apart into flowers and floated away like the seeds of a dandelion, carried away on a sudden wind that smelled strangely of spring grass.

Elias lifted his gaze to watch the petals drift away, putting the charms in his pocket.

Once everyone had gone home and the house was quiet again, Elias picked up a wailing Ivy, who quieted immediately, and sat with Ruth and Chise as Silver laid out their dinner. Chise fed Holly with one arm and fed herself with the other. Once Holly finished, Chise passed her to Ruth to be burped and held out her arms for Ivy, who Elias passed carefully over the dinner table. Silver waited at Ruth’s elbow with a spit-up cloth. They all seemed to be easing into this new normal well.

Elias and Chise took the children to their room and laid them down for sleep, with Ruth curled up on the floor between them. He was better than a baby monitor. Ruth was taking his oath to Elias to protect the children very seriously and was just as involved in their care as every other person in the house. It seemed there was no shortage of babysitters to be found for the new parents, and Chise found that comforting. The nightmare she’d once had of being overwhelmed with caring for two children at once with limited help faded from her mind.

With the children abed for a least a couple of hours, Elias and Chise took this time to spend with each other, something they hadn’t had much opportunity to do since the birth. They sat together on the couch of the sitting room, Chise in Elias’s lap and wrapped up warmly in his arms. She was so tired, she could have fallen asleep if she let herself.

“I’m sorry the party got too claustrophobic for you,” Chise said, twining and untwining her fingers with his.

“It’s all right,” Elias said. “I am actually glad for it. I’d much prefer that the girls were introduced to all our friends at once rather than make many trips to achieve the same result.” Reaching into his waistcoat’s pocket, he pulled out the ring pendants he had gotten. “Besides, while outside, Titania left a give with me.”

Chise took the trinkets and looked at them curiously. “That was nice of her. What are they for?”

“Protection, she said. It’ll ward off any of her kind that would do them mischief.”

Chise smiled. “She’s very thoughtful for a fae.”

“Yes,” Elias agreed. “I wonder if she will extend the same blessing to any additional children we may have.”

Chise swung and looked up in surprise. “You want more children?”

“It's not outside the realm of possibility. We can talk about it later,” Elias replied.

“You're serious. You really want another baby?”

“I merely said we’d talk about it.”

“That’s not a no.”

Elias laughed.

“Give me a year, at least,” Chise said in exasperation. “My body isn’t ready for another one so soon.”

“If you wish,” He said, hugging her tightly.

They sat happily in each other’s arms for the next hour, taking a well deserved rest, until one of the babies began to cry. Elias released her and followed her up the stairs to the childrens' room, where he consoled Holly as Ivy fed. When Ivy was done, they switched. After feeding, the infants resumed sleeping. Before they left, Elias affixed the charms to the wall above their bassinets, the silver one over Ivy, and the gold protecting Holly. The parents, exhausted, climbed into their own bed and fell asleep at once.

Every day brought something new, and Elias was learning so much so quickly. His entire universe had shifted, and thought it had taken time to get used to it, he greeted each wonderful development as they happened with an open heart. He awoke eagerly every morning in his new life, looking forward to what might be.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

166 notes · View notes