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pixelmensupremacy · 2 years

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Under the full moon

Chapter 2

Summary: After an unfortunate event, Chris lost track of his surroundings. Waking up he found himself in an unfamilar place with a stranger.

Warnings: Mild description of gore; Chris being hot as hell in that damn turtleneck

A/N: Writing this chapter was such a struggle.

Word count: 1348

Special thanks to my friends @fufusoki @pepe-simp for the help with editing and to everyone who reads this story!

Sharp pain pierced Chris’s skull, causing him to wake up. Cautiously he got up only to realize he wasn’t at the village. Instead he found himself in a wooden cabin. Taking a look around, the man inspected his surroundings. His gaze travelled across the small space, from the tiny coffee table to the long line of bookshelves that was displayed across the wall next to him. Beneath was a small fireplace where a pot hanged right above bright blazing flames. An alluring scent filled his nostrils, tingling his senses.

With a single kick, he removed a wool blanket, its multiple colors knitted in a complex pattern. Chris wondered if this was a dream that somehow didn’t happen to be another night terror. A soft voice interrupted his strain of thought.

‘He is waking up, Spleens! You either have magical powers or the herbs are starting to kick in.’ Turning in the direction of the sound, he saw a woman, carrying a cat in her arms.

‘Good to see you are awake, though you woke up much sooner than I expected. Dinner is ready if you are feeling hungry.’ The woman kindly smiled at him, her eyes radiated nothing but warmth.

Confusion clouded Chris’s mind. Standing up he felt a twinge in his left shoulder, that was tightly wrapped up in bandages, supposedly by the mysterious cat lady. Examining the source of pain, he recalled splitting up with his squad members in pursuit of Miranda. Shortly after he got cornered by a pack of wolf-like creatures. Thick mist was spreading around him, intruding his field of vision. Too busy to take out the ones in front of him, Chris hadn’t noticed that another was behind him. Even though he managed to get the creature off of him the damage was already done. The rest he didn’t want to remember, even though it was clear in his memory and heavy on his heart.

‘Are you coming? If you don’t hurry, there won’t be any left for you.’

Before the man could even think about turning down her offer, a low grumble echoed from his abdomen. Ever since his arrival at the village his meals consisted of cigarettes and energy bars. His stomach hadn’t felt as empty as it did right now so he figured food poisoning sounded better than dying from starvation.

Still a bit hesitant Chris sat across the table, avoiding her curious gaze, instead he turned his attention to his meal. It had a decent look and no poison was evident.

‘I hope you like mushroom stew. I wasn’t expecting any guests.’ (Y/N) gave the man an apologetic look, before shoving a spoonful of the stew in her mouth. Influenced by the unearthly scent of the food, Chris hesitantly mimicked her action. She watched with anticipation, eager to find out if he liked her cooking. To say he liked it was an understatement. Chris finished his meal in a record time, while she wasn’t even halfway through hers.

‘You must have been starving.’ (Y/N) muttered, a mixture of shock and empathy was audible in her voice.

‘Do you want me to refill- ‘

‘Yes, please.’ He answered immediately, before she could finish her sentence.

‘Your wound is located in a very critical spot, I’m surprised you didn’t die of blood loss before you got here.’ She began as she placed the plate in front of him. ‘I may have to take another look at it later.’

In response Chris only huffed, not pleased with a stranger tending to his injuries, but he was aware that it was necessary. He didn’t have much of a choice.

‘Name’s (Y/N).’ She introduced herself in hope to warm up his cold exterior. The man hesitated if he should give out personal information about himself, then again she didn’t seem like a threat. If she was he would be dead by now.

‘Chris Redfield.’

***

The forest became dead silent as the night went on, the silence settled in the lonely cabin by the time its two residents finished with their dinner. Chris sat across the fire place, lost in thought as he observed the flames, their light reflected in his distant ice-blue orbs. His features seemed more defined, where light wasn’t enough to reach. The wrinkles on his scrunched forehead looked deeper, enhancing his stoic appearance.

‘Mind if I interrupt your little meditating session?’ (Y/N) approached, a rag and a bowl filled with water in her hands. He sighed at the sight.

‘Sure go ahead.’ Any distraction was welcomed, even if it lasted for a short while. Anything as long as it didn’t involve any memories of his burdening past.

‘Okay big guy, let’s take a look at what you’ve got here.’ Glancing at him, the woman noticed just now how tight his clothing was. The dark material hugged his toned chest, making every muscle visible, leaving little to the imagination. Her eyes fell to his abnormally big biceps, where the material of the dark grey turtleneck was stretched to its limits. The woman swore she could see numerous veins popping out. Feeling heat rising within her, she tried to bring her attention back to his shoulder.

(Y/N) assisted the man in removing the bandage before delicately stripping him from his top layers, revealing his crimson colored shoulder.

‘It looks bad.’ With a frown (Y/N) soaked the cloth in the water, before applying it on his skin. She wondered how he got bit. The bite marks were undoubtedly by a lycan. Chris was one lucky guy to escape its deadly claws. Still, concern was heavy on her heart. What if he was infected? For all she knew, he could turn into another monster, although there weren’t any indicators pointing to such an outcome.

‘Feels worse.’ Chris hissed, taken aback by the stinging sense, caused by the rough material of the fabric.

‘Oh I forgot to mention, it might hurt a little.’

‘Yeah thanks for being helpful.’

‘If it wasn’t for me you would’ve been someone’s dinner by now.’

‘And how does that bother you.’

‘Well your handsome face was probably going to be ruined by those creatures.’ His eyes met hers. The blue of his orbs was turned into a tight ring all the while his pupils were blown wide. His gaze darkened for a split second before he looked away.

‘I’m touched.’ The man responded, as if he wasn’t having the most intense eye contact in his entire life just a second ago. (Y/N) stood frozen, unsure of what just happened. She felt both intimidated and intrigued. He was definitely something else.

Once (Y/N) cleaned all of the dried up blood, she moved onto disinfecting the wound. Doing so she earned a lot of huffs and puffs from the man, who tried to do his best to keep his composure throughout the process.

Chris felt a cool feeling against his burning skin. He noticed her spreading a questionable substance over the wound. Its strong smell was unidentifiable to his nose.

‘Are you even qualified to do this.’

‘You won’t find anyone better. Plus, no one has ever filed complaints against me, if that’s what you’re asking. Now please be kind enough and pass me the bandage.’

Chris did as he was told and soon he was all patched up.

‘Here you. There aren’t any signs of infection so I’m expecting that you’ll heal just fine. But I’ll have to stich the cut soon.’

‘Where are you going?’ Chris questioned just as she turned away from him.

‘I gotta get you settled for the night, just a blanket won’t make do.’

In a minute (Y/N) was back with another blanket and a pillow. He observed as she placed everything together resulting in a makeshift bed.

‘Well… That’s all I can do for you at the moment. In case you need me just call out to me.’ She paused before heading out.

‘Hey.’ She stayed still. ‘Nevermind.’ His voice was soft and almost inaudible. In response she only smiled.

‘See you tomorrow Chris.’

He had a lot to process. (Y/N) was kind, too kind even. It made him question if she had genuine intentions.

Chapter 1

#resident evil x reader #chris redfield x reader #female reader #werewolf!chris #resident evil fanfiction #chris redfield

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wkemeup · 4 years

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By Any Other Name (Epilogue)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.3k warnings: smut (18+), domestic bucky, the end of the series ❤️ a/n: I seriously can’t believe its been months of you guys sticking with me on this series week after week ��️ I’m going to miss that so much and can’t begin to express how much the love and support for this series has meant to me. I do plan on doing headcannons/drabbles/bonus one shots at some point so if you have questions you’d like answered, requests, or prompts, send them in! 🌟 🌹series masterlist 🌹

“Agent Barnes, I thought I kicked you out when visiting hours ended last night.”

The stern voice of one of your nurses emerged from the doorway; a no-nonsense middle-aged woman named Rosa, who wore bright blue eye shadow and a silver cross hanging around her neck. Hands planted firmly on her hips, her eyes narrowed upon Bucky as he slowly raised his head from the edge of your cot. Sleep lines were carved into his cheeks and a painful crack snapped in his neck as he stretched it to the side, having slept hunched over from the folding chair placed beside you.

“You may have mentioned it,” he chuckled nervously, massaging the stiff muscles in his shoulder.

“And yet, you’re still here.” Rosa rolled her eyes, slowly making her way into the room to begin checking the vitals on the monitor at your bedside. “You’re lucky we’re discharging her today. Your flashy gold badge was about at its end of favors around here.”

She must have been expecting a quick remark or a joke of some kind because she seemed surprised as she turned to find Bucky smiling ear to ear, focus turned entirely to you as you slept soundly; bandages now absent from your burns as they’d begun to heal, life renewed back to your skin, a steady rise and fall of your breaths.

“Y/n can come home?”

Rosa sighed, a slow smile pushing up on her own lips. She was a tired woman and she’d seen a lot in her years, but she’d come to like Bucky, even if he was a major pain in her ass.

“Yes, Agent Barnes. She can go home.”

It had been nearly a week. A week of sleeping in positions that were sure to cause permanent damage to his back. A week of holding your hand as nurses tended to the burns on your skin. A week of smooth talking the night shift into letting him stay past visiting hours and using hospital showers and eating mediocre cafeteria food.

But now, you could come home.

Only, he wasn’t quite sure where home was anymore.

“Bucky?” Voice groggy and filled with sleep, you slowly opened your eyes, smiling sweetly up at Rosa as she finished making down your vitals.

“Ready to get out of here?” Bucky grinned, pulling your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

A smile began to light up in your eyes, but something went wrong along the way. It disappeared as quickly as it arrived, replaced with the harsh reality of burning fires and a mansion up in smoke. It wasn’t much of a home but it was the only home you had. Bucky’s stomached twisted in on itself.

“I…” you started, stare falling down to the floor. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Bucky already had suitcases full of clothes at his apartment for you, a dozen series of books lined up on the kitchen table, toiletries that Natasha purchased at his request filling baskets under the bathroom sink. He even had Sam and Steve clean the place spotless, much to their reluctance. It was ready for you. He was ready for you. But he needed it to be a choice.

“Steve said the Bureau would put you up in a hotel until you could find an apartment,” Bucky offered, though he could tell quickly from the way your eyes shifted just slightly it wasn’t a good option. You squeezed his hand. Bucky nodded, asking, “what about May’s place? I’m sure Peter would love to have you over.”

“Aunt May’s got enough on her plate. She doesn’t need me to take care of, too.” You shook your head, a heavy breath nestled into your chest.

Tears were starting to well in your eyes, an aching kind of helplessness he’d only seen in you in the moments you were forced to submission beside your husband, a lingering sort of emptiness, a loss, and it nearly ripped Bucky straight in half.

“Stay with me,” he blurted out. He clenched his jaw, cursing at himself, because he was supposed to be a lot smoother about the preposition.

Your eyes snapped up to his; wide, suspicious. “…What?”

“Come home with me,” Bucky offered again, firmer, sure. “Stay with me. I know my place is small but I’ve got the room. I’ll buy you all the tea you can drink and line the windowsills with plants I can’t easily kill. Whatever you need, I’ll get it for you. What do you say, sweetheart?”

Chewing on the edge of your lip, you could hardly hold his eye. “I can’t ask you to take me in Bucky…”

“You’re not asking,” he replied quickly. “I’m offering.”

He could still see the hesitancy in your face, the quick flash of your stare to his shoulder. It had healed faster than the divots around your wrists and still, the guilt managed to find its way inside you. It crept around the light and slithered through the shadows no matter how many times Bucky had tried to pry it away.

“It will make me feel better,” Bucky tried, recalling the first night in the hospital he’d been sent away after visiting hours. He’d come back the next morning to find dark circles under your eyes and tear marks down your cheeks. You’d clung to him for hours just trying to reassuring yourself he was really there, that the monster in your dreams hadn’t left to him to the flames instead. Leaving you alone after that wasn’t an option.

“Please, sweetheart,” Bucky urged, squeezing your hand a little tighter. “Let me take care of you. It’ll be temporary, okay? Until we can find a place of your own.”

It seemed to lessen the tension clenched into your jaw at least. He would have asked you to move in entirely if he thought you were ready for it. He could spend the rest of his life surrounded by dozens of bookshelves and mugs half filled with tea from the night before, cozy blankets thrown over the back of the couch and more pillows than he could count upon the cushions. He could spend an eternity with you.

But even with the monster slain, there were still demons in the closet; nightmares that were sure to plague your sleep, shadows that would set panic in your veins at every corner, guilt that will swept its way into the darkest corners of your mind. There were still evils to protect you from, it seemed.

“Okay,” you nodded, letting a smile brush up at the ends of your lips.

“Nat’s already got everything you could need waiting for us back at my place,” he told you as he quickly began gathering your things from around the room; books Peter had brought you from his school’s library, empty Styrofoam cups half filled with over steeped tea, and newspapers highlighted in yellow marks with names of Hydra affiliates who were now sitting behind bars.

Hands filled with various belongings, Bucky turned back to find you watching him intently, a shy kind of smile on your face. “What?”

“You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”

Bucky shrugged, sliding the books and papers into his bag and tossing the spare cups into the bin. He brushed a hand through his hair, tugging on it a little as he pushed it behind his ears. “Is that so crazy? After everything we went through to get here, I couldn’t stand the thought of you being anywhere else. Gotta keep an eye on my girl, don’t I?”

You smiled and it lit up right into your eyes. “The case is over, Buck. You don’t have to protect me anymore.”

Bucky shook his head, leaning forward as a hand swept back along your hair and nestled against your neck. He pressed a short kiss to your crown. “We may be free of Hydra, but that part of my job won’t ever go away. I will always protect you, sweetheart. From drug dealers and mafia kingpins to broken AC units and empty tea boxes; doesn’t matter. I’m there.”

The damn near sweetest laugh he’d ever heard filled the room as you swatted him away. It made his stomach twist, his heart sing, his cheeks hurt from how wide his was smiling. Happiness was a sort of foreign, strange feeling, but it wasn’t one he planned on letting slip him by.

***

Another week later and Bucky could look around the apartment and find pieces of you everywhere. The mug resting on the end table in the living room, still steeping the remnants of last night’s tea. The blanket thrown over the back of the kitchen chair from when you wondered out of his room in the early morning with a chill. The second toothbrush in the cup by the sink. The sweet smell of your lotion on the dresser. The pantry filled with popcorn and Oreos.

You’d started to turn his place into a home.

It became quite domestic, a different sort of comfort, to wake up to the smell of bacon and watch you making breakfast in the kitchen, to brush his teeth next to you in the bathroom at night as you washed your face, to see the way the pillows creased to your cheeks and the way you tried to stifle yawns in the morning.

But there was a new kind of intimacy of sharing his home with you, one that grew to challenge every restraint he ever possessed.

He’d seen you change into your pajamas in the corner of his room, the whole of your bare back facing him, the dips and curves of your spine as you caught him staring, a soft smile over your shoulder. He’d seen the outline of pebbled nipples through your tank top as you ate breakfast across the kitchen table, hair still messy with sleep. He’d seen the way you looked at him in the mornings, when he woke to a hardened length between his legs and his cheeks flushed red as he muttered out apologies.

He’d tried to prolong it, knowing that you’d been through an imaginable loss, even if it was never really yours to begin with. You’d been through a world of trauma and he knew how messy things could get if he pushed you too fast. It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. Not until you made it clear that you were as needy for him as he was for you.

If he let himself notice the signs, perhaps he would have realized you’d been aching for him earlier, but it still came as a surprise when you ran your hand along his thigh as you watched an old rerun of The Fugitive. You brushed over his length, smiling to yourself as he shuddered out a tense breath and tried to readjust in his seat.

“Careful,” he warned, staring at the television though a smirk started to curve at his lips.

“You don’t need to hold back anymore,” you told him simply. Your fingers expertly drew along the outline of his cock, pressed hard up against the thin layer of sweats. Pumping him sweetly over excess fabric, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his neck. “Let me love you.”

Bucky exhaled a shaken breath, hand sliding around the couch in search of the remote, the movie long forgotten. “You’re sure?”

You smiled against his jawline, peppering kisses along his edges until you landed sweetly against his lips. “Always.”

Bucky scooped you up into his arms, the pain in his shoulder nothing but a distant memory as he carried you to the bed. After setting you upon the mattress, Bucky quickly stripped himself of his clothes, tugging at your sleep shorts with fevered haste as you laughed, swatting his hands away and doing it yourself.

Hearts racing like it was the first time, and maybe it was, because there were no more shadows lurking in the corners, no demons to invade tiny glimpse of heaven you shared.

Bucky kissed his way down your body, mapping a trail to the soft crease at your legs, touching so sweetly to the most intimate parts of you until his lips latched around the bundle of nerves between your legs. Arms curling around your thighs, nose brushing over soft curls, nestled tight against the woman gave his life to.

He pulled gasps and whimpers from you, withering underneath him as he held you down, drawing the most beautiful sounds he could imagine. Your nails raked to his scalp and as you came, his tongue sweet with the taste of you. You whispered you loved him.

He knew. He’d heard it enough times but every time was like the first. It still surprised him, knowing you could love him after all you’d been through; that you could trust anyone after the web of lies and manipulation Rumlow had put you through, after you were taken advantage of and used and made to be the property of a vile man, and somehow, you still had room in your heart for love. It felt impossible, and yet, here you were, kissing him like his touch wasn’t enough, like you needed more, need him.

When he sank into you, your hand gripped at his shoulder, a soft whine in your voice as he waited patiently for you to adjust. You exhaled a heavy breath, aching and sore and eager, but your fingers paused at his arm, tracing over the light pink scar there, the raised edges and bubbled skin.

Before you could say anything, Bucky dipped down and kissed your lips, nudged your hand to his hair. He smiled at you, something soft and tender, and whatever was wrestling in your mind slipped away.

You push a strand of hair behind his ear, drawing it away from his face, just admiring. It wasn’t something you were used to having the time for; always so rushed, always looking over your shoulder and waiting for the foundation to crack. You’d always reveled in the looked across the room and the heated love you made. It was a privilege to spend time in the moments between.

Bucky rolled his hips, stretching along your walls. Your eyes fluttered shut, breaths shaken, and you gripped him tighter, urging him on.

It took a moment to find his rhythm, perfectly in tune with the cry of the bed frame, the gasps of your breaths, the low moans from his own lips; a symphony between you, building, crashing, higher and higher until--

“Ah, oh God, Bucky— don’t stop—”

It almost knocked him out on the spot, almost stopped him dead in his tracks. His eyes shot to you, though you were too far gone to notice; lips parted, eyes closed, so close to the edge. He didn’t dare stop the snap of his hips to yours, didn’t dare pull his hand from your clit, but took a moment to memorize this feeling, this warmth deep in his chest. The sound of his name on your lips, etched in pleasure and love and need.

“I’ve got you, love,” he mewled to your ear, bringing you over the edge with a prolonged cry, your hands digging into the bare of his back as he chased his own release. He came only a few thrusts later, spilling into you, the weight of him dropping to your chest.

Fingers carding gently through his hair, coaxing the racing beat of his heart. His favorite place. His safest place. In your arms.

***

You’d started to find yourself again in the weeks after. You’d gone up to Columbia and spoken with old colleagues. You’d made arrangements to meet with the Dean in hopes of discussing your future in academia again.

Bucky could hardly contain his pride the day you’d walked back into the apartment, beaming from ear to ear, and told him about all the friends you’d missed who welcome you back with open arms, the campus that looked completely the same, and your office that remained vacant.

He’d spun you in his arms, your laugh filling the small Brooklyn apartment, and Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you so happy. It was heaven when you smiled like that, like for the first time in a while you had the chance to be who you were always supposed to be, the freedom to make choices without permission.

You started to let yourself become comfortable in the woman you were before Brock Rumlow stormed his way into your life. You smiled enough for your cheeks to ache, laughed loud enough to bring butterflies to Bucky’s stomach, left books around on every surface and mugs of unfinished tea on the counters. You lived in oversized sweaters and ripped jeans and messy hair down by your shoulders. You hummed to yourself as you cooked and danced your way through the bathroom with a towel wrapped around your head and a bathrobe tugged tight at your waist.

It was a relief, to see you like this; so at ease in your own skin, enough so that Bucky started to find pieces of himself he too left behind to his years undercover.

He traded the black jeans and bomber jackets for worn out Levi’s and t-shirts, the tension in his shoulders for the soft brush of your hands down his back, tugging out the knots he’d built over the last year. He started to let the stubble on his cheeks grow, cast over in a shadow along his jaw and obstruct the faded scars he’d obtained at the hands of your ex-husband.

Then, when Bucky grew tired of seeing a man he didn’t recognize in the mirror, he made a drastic change.

“Buck?” you called into the apartment, arms filled to the brim with grocery bags as you kicked the door shut behind you. “Could use some help!”

“Comin’, sweetheart!” Bucky jogged his way into the kitchen and started to pull the bags from your hands when you finally caught sight of him, let out a yelp, and nearly dropped the milk cartoon to the ground. Bucky dove for it at the last second, securing it before it could explode to the hardwoods.

“Your hair!” you gasped, staring at him with wide eyes.

Bucky clenched his jaw, nodding in acknowledgement of the cut he’d had done while you were out on your errands; short and tight to the sides of his head, full and swept back on the top. He set the groceries down on the counter and when he turned back to look at you, you had already crossed the plane of the kitchen, hands rifling up through his hair and messing away any of the product his barber had styled in.

“Do you hate it?” he grimaced, noticing how you’d tugged your lower lip between your teeth. You were silent for a moment, studying him, and Bucky’s stomach nearly turned over on itself. But then, you softened, gently rubbing your thumb down along his temple and he sank into the feeling.

“This is what Bucky Barnes looks like, isn’t it? The long hair was part of the cover,” you smiled, settling his hair back in place as your hands slipped down over his cheeks, brushing over the grown in stubble. You remembered the image you’d seen in the factory office with Brock, the photographs thrown in rage of a man with short brunette hair and golden badge draped around his neck.

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted, stomach twisting a little. You’d known him as James Karpov for so long, gotten so used to the name and face and the fall of his hair down by his shoulders. He knew he looked different, a few years younger maybe, and it was a change. A big change. One he wasn’t certain you’d like, but he needed it off. He needed to be himself again in every sense he could, to wash himself clean of Hydra and the man he’d left to the fire.

“Well, Bucky,” you sighed, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheekbone, just over the faded pink scar, and then, to his lips. “I love it. Might miss having something to tug on, though.”

You winked over your shoulder as you started making your way to the bedroom, holding his stare with that devilish kind of look in your eye, until you slipped your sweater up and over your head, dropping it to the floor in the hallway. Bare back exposed to him, you sauntered inside to the warm embrace of sun-kissed light filtering in through the windows and Bucky chased after you, laugh heavy in his chest, the groceries long forgotten on the counter.

***

It was the day Bucky’s name was cleared by Barton and Maximoff; the day the remains of your old home were removed of their crime scene tape and left to be weathered until the city stoke its claim upon the land and bulldozed the ruins.

As Bucky pulled the car into park, you found yourself staring up to the charred ashes of a home that had once kept you caged prisoner. The memory of the flames was still seared in the back of your mind; the heat of the fire burning at your skin, the smoke filling your lungs, the dizziness in your head, the panic as the gunshots went off. You could still feel how your heart had broken free from your chest and the stones embedded under bare feet as you rushed towards the fire, Steve’s arms circling around you to hold you back as a scream ripped its way through your lungs.

“Y/n?” Bucky’s voice called softly, tugging you back from the memory. He was standing outside the passenger door, extending a hand to you.

You turned to the driver’s seat, not having realized he’d even left his place beside you. Your eyes flickered from his hand back to the house.

“They really ruled it self-defense?” you asked for the second time that morning as Bucky helped ease you from the car. You looped your hand at the crook of his arm, tucking in close to him as you both made your way to the ruins of a home you loathed.

“Like I said, doll,” Bucky replied, ever so patiently, “the only evidence they have is my word. Everything else is up in smoke.”

“So... was it?” you asked, pausing for a moment as you looked up at Bucky. “Self-defense?”

He sighed, a heaviness inside him alongside the truth. Your free hand reached up along the side of his face, cupping at his cheek sweetly to coax his eyes back to you. You nodded at him, like you already knew the answer and you were simply waiting to hear it from him. There was no judgement between you, no secrets, and he had no interest in ever lying to you again.

“Yes,” he exhaled, wholehearted, because he did genuinely believe it. “The law might not see it that way, but it was. In defense of you, anyway. A jail cell wouldn’t stop a man like Rumlow from coming after you, from pulling strings and making orders even with Hydra disbanded. I should have known that from the start. He threatened your life, Y/n. He didn’t give me any other choice.”

“I know,” you told him and a weight fell from his shoulders. “You forget that I know Brock better than almost anyone. I know what he’s like when he’s pushed to a corner. You did what you had to, Bucky. I believe that.”

A solemn smile pushed at his cheeks, small and subtle, but it was rooted in a disbelief, in an awe, that he could have ever managed to find someone as loving and understanding as you. For you to love him, despite his flaws, despite the blood on his hands behind the guise of a shiny gold badge, was unimaginable. He still didn’t quite understand it and yet here you were, tucked against his arm, cheek to his shoulder as you stared up at the charred ashes of your home.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked gently, tense in his shoulders as he glared at the remains of the mansion that kept you prisoner.

You nodded and there was an ease in it, a calm, you didn’t have before.

Bucky let you lead him up to the what remained of the front door. The second story was completely caved in; only pieces of the foundation and walls still standing. It was black, covered in soot, and you stepped through the archway where the door would have been.

Inside, the staircase still remained, though it was withered and degrading, and there were bones of old furniture and the outline of the brick fireplace at the edge of the living room. You didn’t pause before you turned down the hall to the left and perhaps, Bucky shouldn’t have been surprised as he followed your lead to the library.

You paused for a moment as you came upon the opening. The left door was still unhinged, thrown under the frame like a bridge from when Steve attempted to suffocate the flames long enough for you and Bucky to escape. The chair still placed at the center of the room where you’d been bound and tied and left to the vengeance of the fire.

You released yourself from Bucky’s side, slowly slipping away as you stepped into the burned remains of your library.

Bucky watched from a careful distance as you wandered around the room, giving you space to grieve. Your hand trails along the broken shelves, black with soot, and you examined the black ash upon your fingers as you pulled away.

It was all a memory now. Everything that you built, everything that kept you safe and sane and secure those years trapped within this home with a man you despised. It was all gone.

You paused at the corner of the room, shoulders sinking, and you slowly bent down to the floor until you picked up the charred remains of a novel. Hardcover, black soot coating the binding, crumbled bits of burnt paper spilling out the edges as you stood. You sighed, brushing your hand over the title, the colors and design on the front hardly recognizable if not for the high school library tag on the binding.

A Farewell to Arms.

You tugged the book to your chest, its words long lost to the fire, the edges burned black and unreadable, but it survived. You didn’t dare open its pages to see if Bucky’s childhood scribbles remained. A tear slipped past your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quietly, shuffling his feet. You looked back at him under a furrowed brow, the book in your hand slipping down to rest at your side. Bucky exhales, looking around to the aisles empty of the novels you cherished, their pages consumed in the fire. “You lost so much here.”

You smiled sweetly at him before you shook your head, looking back to the room in fondness. “It’s what this room represents that matters.”

“But your collection--”

“I’ll start again,” you replied simply, reaching out for his hand, gesturing him towards you. Bucky took it graciously and you squeezed his hand, gently nudging his shoulder with your own. “Feels right, doesn’t it? A new start.”

You sighed, staring out to the rows of empty shelves, the piles of ashes on the floor beside them. The couch you’d spent so many nights curled up under blankets and a warm cup of tea in your hands, where you’d read for hours to escape from the monsters outside the doors, where Bucky decided to tell you who he was, where he made love to you in a rushed heat. The windowsill once filled with a beautiful array of plants, where only the broken clay pots remained, the glass of the window burst to the floor alongside broken remains of the ceiling.

Bucky followed your gaze, feeling a loss in his own chest for the room that he came to know you in. This was your sanctuary, your safe haven. This was the room that was completely and entirely yours within a home constructed to be cold and shallow. It was your escape.

But this room meant a great deal to Bucky, too.

“I fell in love with you in this room, you know,” he said fondly, looking to the charred remains of the couch where he’d read next to you for house, where you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder, and he started coming up with reasons not to leave.

He found you staring up at him when he looked back to you, that sweet kind of smile on your face as you slipped your free hand up against his cheek and brought his lips to yours. Soft and warm, the soothing motion of your lips between his, on his, the slip of his tongue gently along yours, and he pulled away with final kiss to your cheek, your nose, then the crown of your head as he wrapped his arms around you.

Surrounded by the ashes of a room that protected you from the monsters beyond its doors.

A room that served as a safe haven.

A room you opened to the stranger with kind, blue eyes and a sweet smile.

“Let go home,” you mumbled to the collar of his shirt, breath warm against the fabric and Bucky felt a skip in his chest for a moment before he settled.

Home. He liked the sound of that.

***

T H R E E M O N T H S L A T E R

It was a Monday morning, the first of many, because you were starting your position back at Columbia. The first day of school was always a bit intimidating, even as a professor, even knowing half the staff was eagerly awaiting your return and the fact that your class had filled to capacity in the first few minutes of course selection.

That hadn’t happened even when you were at the height of your career, but you supposed your name plastered across the media and your connection to the takedown of Hydra had something to do with it. You suspected the influx of criminal justice majors were more interested in your time in Hydra than they were in 19th century literature. You didn’t mind, though. It was an opportunity to spark a love for something they didn’t know they had yet.

And maybe you’d throw in some mafia stories to keep up the intrigue and bait for class participation.

You tucked the edge of your shirt into the front of your pants, slipped on a cardigan over your shoulders, and tossed your hair up into a bun before you made your way out into the kitchen. The moment you opened the door, you were met with a waft of smoke as the fire alarm began to cry.

Bucky was at the stove, apron draped over the bare of his chest, sweatpants covered in stains of pancake mix as he grumbled to himself. You bit back a laugh, leaning against the wall to watch him rush around the kitchen, waving towels in the air in hopes to break up the smoke and cursing at the alarm to ‘shut the hell up you stupid piece of--’

“Hi, honey.”

Bucky spun around, clearly startled as he held a spatula between his hands gripped like a vice.

“Y/n! I, uh, I didn’t think you’d be ready so fast,” he chuckled nervously, trying to wipe the flour from his forehead, though he only made it worse. He glanced back at the mess of the kitchen, the burned pancakes piled on the plate and the sizzling pan behind him. “I made pancakes...?”

“Did you?” you teased, biting down on your lip to keep from smiling too wide and bruising his pride more than it already had been.

“I tried anyway,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, leaving particles of white flour amongst his dark brown waves. His lips curved down to a frown as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, feet shuffling at the floor. “It’s a big day for you. Wanted it to be special.”

You smiled, heart warm as it’s ever been. “It’s always special with you, Buck.”

Bucky looked up at you, a teasing in his eyes as he shook his head, low, defeated. “Ah, don’t try and make me feel better about this mess, love. It won’t work.”

“You sure?” you asked slowly, making your way up to him and placing your hands against the expose skin on his hips. “Not even if I...”

A kiss to his cheek.

Then, his neck.

Finally, at the corner of his mouth, not quite close enough.

“Huh-uh, not even then,” he exhaled, though his grin was betraying him. “Give it one more try though, will you?”

You laughed, smiling so wide it hurt. “You're relentless, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, a slight nod in agreement he leaned in to kiss you. His hand reached behind him, like he was trying to steady himself against the cabinets, but the stove was still bright red, still scalding hot from where the pan has been.

“James!” you yelped in a panic, yanking him hard away from the stove before his hand could touch it. Your heart was pounding as you held him against the sink. He was still against you and you realized then what you’d said.

Your eyes trailed up to him slowly, embarrassed, and you found him smiling sweetly at you, always patient, always kind.

“I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright, doll,” Bucky replied genuinely brushing the flyaways from your face with the hand that had nearly been seared clean by the stone top. “I don’t mind if you call me James.”

“No, I-- I remember how important it was for you that I knew your name when I couldn’t and I—” you sighed, leaning into his touch as you lost yourself in the feel of him gently coaxing the doubt away. He leaned down a pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You can call me anything you want, sweetheart,” he said simply. “I get to come home every night knowing that it’s you I’m waking up to every morning. You can call me anything as long as I get to do that.”

You laughed through the swell of tears in your eyes. Bucky reached behind him and turned the stove off to ease your conscious. With a quick glance at the clock, your heart skipped, realizing you were already running late.

“I’ve got to go!” you yelped, half laughing as you raced around the room. Bucky stood back and watched, arms folded over his chest, something like pride and joy bolstering in his heart.

“Pete’s coming over after school, alright?” Bucky called to you as you quickly threw on your shoes. “He’s got some project for his forensics class and I promised I’d help him out.”

“Y-yeah, uh-huh, sounds good!”

Bucky chuckled as you raced back into the bedroom to grab your bag with one sleeve of your coat on. “Steve is picking me up in an hour to help filter out recruits but I’ll probably be back before you are.”

“Okay!” You rushed into the living room, a little winded though you were giddy with excitement. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before you sprinted to the door, though you paused, freezing in the open doorframe as you glanced back to Bucky.

He stood leaning against the counter, a mess of homemade pancake mix around him; this lethally trained special agent who woke up early on a Monday to absolutely destroy the kitchen in an attempt to make you breakfast, with a light pink apron draped around his neck and flour coating his forehead.

“I love you,” you said simply. You’d told him enough times but it still felt like an admission. You liked to remind him, liked to say it as often as you could because it was a choice to love him, a part of you that you were finally able to let the sunlight touch. You’d shout it to the world.

Bucky shook his head, laughing, as he leaned against the counter. “Love you, too, sweetheart.”

He smiled back at you, something genuine and loving unlike you’d know in years. The same smile that allowed you to trust him nearly two years ago, the smile that reminded you what it was like to feel butterflies in your stomach and to miss someone when they were gone. Wrinkles up by his eyes, dimples in his cheeks. A brightness of a man who gave everything just to give you a choice again, to let you decide your own fate, to free you from the chains of a man who would have rather seen you burn than love anyone but himself.

The man who saved you, who held your hand and danced with you on garden view balconies, who loved you enough to run through fire. The man who risked his career, his life, on his trust in you. The man who reminded you that you were more than you were told, who showed you how to smile again, who brought back your laugh and put joy into your heart.

The man who ushered you to through the door to your first day back at work, who encouraged you to find your place in the world again, who give you the space to reconnect with old friends, who held your hand gripped tightly in his own and willingly chose to follow where you led. He opened doors and waited for you on the other side. He gave you choices, a new life, a new start.

The man you adored. The man you loved.

Your Bucky.

Your James.

Your everything.

🖤🌹

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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immortalcoelacanth · 3 years

Text

Between the Walls, Chapter 1: Roommates (Dream SMP fic)

I've noticed there's an unfortunate lack in Borrower AU content, and as that shit is my jam I'm putting forth the content I wish to see into the fandom XD

To quote my friend, "I do not control the hyperfixation"

Word count: 4497

Summary: At first retirement had sounded like an excellent idea. Make a house far away from everyone else, get some peace and quiet, no longer concern himself with the total garbage that was the local government. Nice things, relaxing things.…

But then the scratching in the walls started happening.

Techno groaned as he flopped backwards into his chair, tired eyes staring into the glowing fireplace as he relaxed after his busy day. A day full of building, repairing the damage dealt by the creeper population, and…

A day spent trying to find any signs of his thief.

You see, Techno had assumed that retirement would be an excellent way to unwind from the massive amount of blood that had been shed after L’Manberg went up in smoke, as well as the aggravation he felt towards his sweet, innocent cows being slaughtered and his bunker being raided.

Raided and dismantled thanks to Phil stealing his bookshelves and in turn chunks of the wall.

It was scuffed, horribly scuffed, and left him with one option.

Relocation.

That, combined with the wanted posters Quackity had hung up demanding his capture and subsequent execution after what he had done. Honestly, talk about the biggest character arc for Quackity, going from fearing him to taking an active role in trying to end his life.

Too bad for him that Technoblade never dies.

But still, having to constantly deal with being attacked while no longer having a truly safe and secure base was troublesome, so he had sought out to make a new home far from L’Manberg and all other communities.

The isolation did not scare him, on the contrary he liked having a space all to his own with no worries about socialization or someone bothering him. Besides, Phil could always visit him if he wanted some company.

Fortunately, constructing his new home had taken relatively little time once he had found the best spot for it, and with some help from Phil, moving all the important resources and equally important fixtures of his home had taken even less time.

All in all, Techno had managed to acquire a new sanctuary away from all the plotting and scheming, although he had a feeling someone would try to mess with him at some point, and he had plenty of space to make a brand new vault. He had achieved peace and quiet, and was even in the process of planning on making a turtle farm. Surely all these positive developments would mean he was happy, right?

Well, he would be if it weren’t for the fact that there was a thief rummaging through his home.

It started with small things, like his chests becoming less and less organized over time. Yes, there were moments where he simply chucked whatever useless items were in his inventory into the nearest empty chest, but he would never clutter up chests containing important items, like potions and enchanted books.

So, finding several misplaced items as well as random blocks of dirt and stone, practically pebbles given their size, while also finding certain resources such as wood and leather missing was the first sign of something strange going on.

The next was the odd noises that seemed to come from the walls of his home. Faint scratches that would be inaudible to anyone but himself due to his heightened hearing. It reminded of a rat infestation, and he unconsciously shuddered.

Not due to fear or discomfort, but the sheer amount of work it would take to get rid of a pest infestation. At that point he might as well take his house apart and build elsewhere.

However, despite his suspicions and hypothesis, there was practically no evidence to support. There were, thankfully, no signs of rat activity, or activity from any other pests. No scratches, bite marks, signs of wood decaying, or anything like that. Other than the noise and the strangely messy organization of his chests, there was no sign of the thief.

And he had looked.

Intensely, as best he could. Logic and inductive reasoning had led him to this conclusion. There was a thief, so there had to be signs of this thief somewhere. A lack of footprints meant they must use pearls to get around. The fact that his rarer resources had not been stolen, his potions of strength and enchanted books, meant that his thief was either unconcerned with stealing things of value from him and just wanted to mess with him, or they were a cocky idiot.

… So it was either Ranboo or-

His ears perked up, cutting off his train of thought as he glanced over at the nearby wall. His eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up and out of his chair before striding over to the wall, cape swishing about behind him.

He pressed the side of his head against the wall, eyes closing as he tried to focus on where the sound was coming from. It was here! It had to be! There was something hidden in this very wall. The source of his annoyance, his thief.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Techno readied his axe, and swung it down-

xxxxxxxxxx

There are times where Tommy can’t stop himself from looking in the nearest reflective surface and asking how he managed to fuck things up this bad. It was painful to recall the steps that had led him to this outcome, the signs obvious but he had been too stupid and ignorant to pay them any mind.

Causing trouble was in his blood, something the local borrower community had reluctantly accepted over the years, helped by how eager he was to throw himself into dangerous situations. Something that should have been concerning to the adults who watched them, taught them how to borrow, how to gather items and even hunt in order to survive, but he had learned that lesson at a very, very young age.

The lesson that no one would step in to help him if he was in danger. That he was on his own and had to prove his worth in order to stay, constantly putting his life on the line for the slightest crumb of respect.

To hear someone say that he had done a good job, to be thanked for his hard work instead of always being brushed off and ignored.

Of course, his friendship with Tubbo helped to soothe that constant within him, dulling the sting of rejection while reminding him that there was one person who truly cared about him. One person who would always be there for him, would lift him up when he was down, and jump into any situation to protect him.

Orphans had to stick together, after all.

And it was a good thing they did end up working together as the duo balanced each other out perfectly. Tommy was far more outgoing and blunt, hotheaded being the best word to describe him. He was willing to do whatever he needed, always ready to speak up when he thought there was bullshit going on, and spoke his mind freely.

It was an ironic honesty, a trait that one assumed would help to attract friends but only aided in driving them away.

Meanwhile, Tubbo was much softer in some ways. Much more reserved than Tommy, he was more of a thinker and planner. Nowhere near as comfortable with spontaneous action as his friend, but he had the knowledge and skills to reign in those impulsive actions before things got dangerous.

They were the best of friends, pals to the very end.

Even though they would never see each other again.

And it was all his fault.

Tommy had ruined everything.

The plan had been simple, easy. All he wanted to do was mess up Mrs. Brigsburry’s house. Just a tiny touch of crime and freaking the old bat out.

She deserved so much worse because of that day. The pot that had been thrown at Tubbo and how much blood Tommy had seen running down the side of his face. The bitch’s shrieks and curses as she insulted them over and over again.

Swearing they both should have died with their parents-

How was he supposed to know he accidentally left one of her rags near the lit stove, the fire within causing the piece of fabric to ignite and in turn allowing the flames to spread to the rest of the house.

It was a good thing she lived on the edge of Borrowton, the fires thankfully only burning her home to the ground.

No one wanted to live near an asshole like her.

Tommy, who had been feeling proud of himself, quickly experienced true regret and fear once the meeting started. Shouts, demands, and insults had flown through the air, many of the people he had grown up with insisting that he be tossed out for what he had done, exiled from the only home he had ever known.

It had been terrifying to see how quickly everyone had turned against him, how they refused to give him the chance to defend himself or even explain why he had done what he did. Not even Tubbo had been able to protect him from the crowd’s wrath, his attempts at standing in front of Tommy and blocking him from sight thwarted when one of the adults grabbed his arm and dragged him elsewhere.

He would never be able to forget the haunting sight of Tubbo reaching for him, tears pouring from his eyes as he screamed his name over and over. It was the last time he had seen his friend, too.

And yet, this was not the worst part of his punishment.

He had been given an hour, one measly hour, to pack up everything he had ever owned before being forcefully exiled from Borrowton. The realization of what was happening had slammed into him all at once, leaving Tommy trembling and unable to move.

He was going to lose everything he had ever known, everything he had worked so hard to build, Tubbo-

He was going to lose his Tubbo.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

No amount of begging or pleading had stopped the adults who dragged him to his shoddy, shared home. He had groveled on his hands and knees, promising to change, to do better, to do whatever they wanted if they just let him stay.

Don’t take my Tubbo away. Don’t take him away. I need him, I need him-

Smack!

The harsh sting of his cheek and the painful sensation of his neck snapping back from the force of the slap was enough to snap Tommy out of his trance. He blinked and looked around, feeling all the more disconnected from reality as he noticed the two bags that had been placed beside him.

One for food, and one for clothes and tools.

… He was really getting exiled, wasn’t he?

“You have no one to blame but yourself for this.” The adult beside him grumbled, dragging the stunned teen up to his feet and shoving him towards the door.

“Front gate. Now. And if I find you causing more trouble, you’ll be leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back.” The man sneered.

For a moment that spark of anger rose up in him, rage flowing through his veins and making his fists clench while he ground his teeth together. The urge to lash out, both physically and verbally, was strong, and yet…

As quickly as those feelings emerged, they faded, and Tommy was left feeling hollow and drained. What was the point in fighting back if all he did was get himself into more trouble. It was obvious they weren’t going to change their minds, he would be exiled no matter what, and if he did lash out-

Tubbo screaming his name as he was dragged away, snot and tears flowing down his face. Thrashing and struggling in a futile attempt to reach him.

… The risk, the damage he could do to his friend, was far greater than the satisfaction of breaking the man’s knobby nose. So, with extreme reluctance, Tommy left the house and made his way towards the front gate. The streets were surprisingly empty, he had expected to see a mob of people cheering while watching him leave, maybe even get the occasional bit of dirt thrown his way.

Treated like the trash they thought he was.

His send off lacked all formality. Only the usual guards of the gate were present, and even then they paid him no mind. He was simply shoved towards another borrower, a lady this time who, based on the immense amount of foliage covering her clothes, spent most of her life out in the wild.

God, how would he ever survive out there. Between the wild animals, the shitty weather, and the mobs that would wander the lands when darkness fell, he was doomed.

He had only ever known how to survive in his community, where you could barter for goods and depend on someone to help you. Now he wouldn’t have any of that. There would be no shelter, no safety in numbers-

No Tubbo.

Numb, Tommy was shoved towards the woman and quietly took note of the presence of the animal he could not see before. It was a fox, quite large compared to him and the other borrowers, and domesticated since it wasn’t ripping anyone apart.

… Or maybe it was just waiting until he got outside, then it would rip him to shreds. Wouldn’t want any blood splatters staining the inside of the gate.

He was so absolutely, royally fucked.

“C’mon, we gotta get moving.” The woman barked, grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the fox with little care for his comfort and the fact that she was adding more bruises to his arm. Tommy hissed in pain and rubbed the aching spot while glaring at her.

Everyone in this place was a fucking asshole.

“Alright, alright, chill the fuck out. I’m moving.” Tommy grumbled as, after a moment of hesitance, buried his hands in the animal’s warm fur and climbed up its side. A moment later, the woman jumped up to join him, taking a seat near the fox’s shoulders while Tommy struggled to pull his bags up as well.

Finally, once his meager supplies had joined him, it was time for them to set off. He had nearly been thrown off as the fox stood up, and when the animal sprinted out of the hidden tunnel and into the fading sunlight-

Well, it was a good thing he managed to grab hold of his bags before they were knocked off. He shuddered in the sudden, stinging breeze, and did his best to hunker down into the warm fur below him. He had no idea where they were going, no clue what far away biome he would be abandoned in, and quietly decided to not think about it further. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying.

… Even if he had been ever since they first left the front gate.

He quickly rubbed at his face, trying to dry the lingering tears so there were less signs as to his degenerating mental state, and instead decided that it would be best to strike up a conversation, something that would help to distract him from what was going on.

Tubbo, Tubbo. He missed Tubbo. He wanted to see Tubbo again-

“Name’s Tommy!” He called out. “What’s yours?”

Silence was his answer.

“... Well fuck you too then.”

Much like the start of their journey, the rest of the trip was silent as the fox ran through various biomes, fields, and forests. On multiple occasions they stopped, the woman gathering some sort of herb every single time.

… Perhaps she was making drugs.

Tommy snorted to himself at the joke, mood lifting just the slightest bit before plummeting back to bedrock. God, he was tired. His body ached from sitting still for so long, as well as the general discomfort from the fox nimbly jumping from cliff to cliff, ducking around trees, and just being an agile shitbag. It was annoying and he hated it.

… Hated the fact that he was getting further and further away from his friend. Hated the fact that the fox could cover far more distance than he could ever hope of traversing on his own, and that the odds of him managing to reunite with Tubbo at some point were growing slimmer with every block they crossed.

Eventually they reached the coldest biome Tommy had experienced yet, ponds covered by ice and snow layering the ground. The snow seemed to muffle their surroundings, the only sounds coming from the snow crunching under the fox’s paws and the animal’s panting as it started to feel the strain of their journey.

And yet, for as desolate as this tundra seemed to be, Tommy spotted something in the distance. A structure that was definitely man made and appeared to be well taken care of, which meant there was someone living there.

Someone he could mooch off of and boost his chance at surviving his exile.

It had been a stroke of pure luck that he had managed to convince the borrower escorting him to change their route, practically begging her to take him to the lit house that was just barely visible through the snow.

The sounds of Tommy sniffling and sobbing since the start of their journey had probably helped to wear down her resolve to take him to wherever he was originally supposed to go.

In the end, she had agreed and directed the fox towards the house. It was interesting to see her previous confidence of navigating the cold tundra diminish the closer they got to their destination, as though she was unsettled by the house.

Strange, but then again she probably thought the same of him and how much of an idiot he was for getting kicked out of somewhere perfectly safe.

Safe aside from the prying eyes, the cruel words and harsh hands. His salvation was Tubbo and their whispered promises. They would leave one day, set out into the world and make their own home.

The moment they arrived at their destination, the woman wasted no time in metaphorically, and literally, kicking him off the fox. He dropped into the freezing snow, landing face first, and pushing himself up seconds later to cough out the chilly substance that had invaded his mouth.

The memory of Tubbo laughing as his snowball hit Tommy in the face, the other teen turning to the side and yelling about how “cold as shit” it was.

“Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut for once.” Tubbo teased as Tommy, snow still stuck to parts of his face, flipped him off.

“Fuck you.”

Tubbo’s laughter rang out around them, and the teen kept laughing until his face was red and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

… Damn, it was cold.

Trembling, he stood up just in time to dodge the bags that had been carelessly thrown his way, getting a concussion from one of his tools would definitely be a death sentence in this situation, and he promptly flipped the woman off.

“Oi! Watch where you’re throwing that shit!” He shouted before crouching down to inspect his supplies, quietly relieved that nothing seemed to have been damaged. “Fucking bitch...”

She just rolled her eyes in response to his insults and looked unimpressed as he grumbled, huffed, and got himself organized. No words were exchanged between the duo, no goodbyes or wishes for good luck, just the howling of the winds while the borrower made his way to his new home.

As Tommy had trudged through the too tall snow, he had been oblivious to the way the woman stared at the house, eyes wide with some sort of emotion. Was it fear? Not quite, it was more a combination of dread mixed with reverence, emotions fueled by her knowledge of the being who resided in this place. A whispered phrase floated through the air, much too quiet for him to have heard. It was a simple sentence that made her stance and understanding of the situation clear.

“Blood for the Blood God.”

Then she fled, leaving Tommy alone to deal with whatever fate he had stumbled into by breaking into the house.

And what a house it was.

All pretty and neatly designed, complete with various floors and tons of storage, and even some decorative flowers outside the windows, which meant Tommy had many things to rummage through. The roaring fireplace was an added bonus since the cold was one of the things he had been the most worried about.

Knowing those assholes, they had probably planned to abandon him somewhere in the tundra, leaving him alone and freezing in the cold…

Honestly, all things considered, this was a good place to settle down in. He had basically everything he needed, as well as access to some rarer resources too. It was ideal, practically perfect given how easy it would be to create small, unnoticeable entrances into each chest for him to use to snag items, but there was one downside to his new home.

His roommate.

He was tall, far taller than anyone Tommy had ever seen before, and he looked… weird. Like one of those pig monsters he had heard stories about back in Borrowton. Monsters from hell that craved gold and bloodshed. With his pig-like features, including a set of tusks that poked up from his lower jaw, he was a perfect match for those nightmarish beasts.

… But, they weren’t in hell, and this man seemed to be far less gold and bloodshed obsessed than the stories had said, even with the various scars the borrower had seen littering his body.

It was weird, he was weird, and the weirdness had only increased the more time Tommy spent in the house. Despite his regal attire, consisting of a flowing cape and golden crown, it was obvious that the pig-man was no prince or nobility. Plus there were those shitty reading glasses Tommy had seen him wearing once, stuck together with taping and looking like they were on the verge of breaking again. He was the strangest combination of loud-yet-awkward behaviour, something that the borrower actually related to quite a bit. His roommate was not “normal” and acted how he wanted, whenever he wanted, with little regard to how “improper”, “violent”, or “rude” he was.

Like Tommy…

He found it comforting to know that there was someone else more like him out there, someone else who was unlike everyone in Borrowton, someone else who would know what it felt like to be treated as an outcast, like he did not belong there or anywhere. Stuck in this new place, he did not feel as alone as he originally expected.

He did not consider the possible problems this could cause in the future, of course. Tommy had never the best at planning ahead since that had been Tubbo’s specialty-

But, the positives ended there as he realized that trying to survive in this relatively small, isolated house was going to be far more of a challenge then he had originally anticipated, with his roommate presenting the greatest obstacle to his success. Breaking in had been easy, actually situating himself and building a decent base within the walls of the house was downright impossible in these circumstances. At most he had managed to dig out a shitty hole close to the fireplace where he stashed all his stolen goods.

And even if he wanted to leave, it was impossible thanks to all the snow and how bloody cold this damn biome was!

So, here Tommy was, having essentially trapped himself with some creepy pig guy who owned too many weapons for comfort and was decked out like he was about to fight the whole damn world. Sure, his house was pretty nice, there was tons of food for him to steal and snack on, and the resources were plenty, but he would have rather had anyone else as a roommate in this situation.

At least this guy was in retirement, or whatever that meant.

He let out an annoyed sigh, arms dropping as he allowed his axe to rest against the wooden floor of the passage he had been carving out. While most of the house was made out of concrete, Tommy had focused on carving passages through the wooden supports in order to have a network of tunnels he could easily move around in without being spotted. All in all, it was a good plan, even if it was a massive pain in the ass to make.

It was like every time he started making a tunnel, no matter what time of the day it was, that piggy dipshit would show up and start stalking the walls, looking for him!

… Granted, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make boar-face all suspicious by messing with his chests, but Tommy needed the resources! And it was pretty funny hearing the surprised sounds the man would make echo through the house.

His trouble making nature might have been the cause for his exile, along with some other bullshit, but that did not mean he would try to suppress it, even if it would be better for him in the long run. That was like asking to stop breathing. It was just a part of him that could only be controlled and never truly stopped.

… He missed Tubbo. He missed him so much and the ache in his chest still had not faded, and he felt all hollow and empty, without purpose-

Unfortunately for the borrower, the world refused to give him a break as he spiraled, his negative emotions distracting him and preventing him from paying attention to his surroundings.

Like the footsteps that were slowly getting closer to his location.

Without warning, the wall beside him cracked and split open, and Tommy let out a terrified shriek. He jumped backwards, dropping his axe in the process as light spilled into the carved out passage.

The now exposed passage.

A passage that had been cracked open by a certain pig man who had clearly been awake instead of asleep like he had assumed. Brilliant red eyes met terrified blue, and Tommy swallowed nervously.

Of course, of fucking course! As if the world didn’t hate him enough as is! Now he had to deal with that pig shithead who’d been tormenting him for days with his stupidly good hearing, preventing him from making any progress in creating his new home.

And of course the second he tried to make a tunnel this bastard just had to appear and ruin everything!

On the plus side, he had not actually done anything yet, although Tommy was certain things would turn south soon based on the axe the man was holding. So, he would live for now, and his shocked state allowed the borrower to make the first move.

“How do,” Tommy greeted, tilting his head to the side and smirking. “You ugly motherfucker.”

If he was going down, he would go down swinging.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Technoblade, holding up a cup containing Tommy: So I found this, anyone wanna trade a book of mending for him- Tommy: *feral screaming intensifies*

#my story #fanfiction #dream smp #dream smp fic #borrower au #dsmp tommy #dsmp techno #dsmp tubbo #mild angst #tw mentions of abuse #borrower!tommy #the lads are orphans #the start of found family #dream smp borrower au #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc fic

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mimiplaysgames · 3 years

Text

Terraqua Week Day 5 (Mischief)

Summary: Aqua doesn’t have a crush on Terra. She doesn’t. Okay, she does. Or, Terra accidentally walks in on her in the shower. || Word Count: 3,476

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek I should mention a tiny little warning that there is a reference to nudity in this fic! It’s not described, so it’s totally T-rated but in case that is something you wanted to know. :) This is the shortest fic in the bunch, something cute and fun. The shower scene was a deleted scene in my Terraquanort fic, but I found that it just didn’t fit with the mood at all haha

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

nah.

Accidents don’t often happen to Aqua.

Ha.

Aqua swings her Keyblade upward. The force juggles golden rings assigned for training, usually tied to a pole for a bounce back. The Master mentioned some interesting techniques the other day in class: style changes, or the ability to enhance your power after a string of emotional attacks deep in the heat of battle, when you’re forced to rely on your heart to pull you out of a tough situation. Terra is sure to be developing new tricks, too.

There’s two months left until the Mark of Mastery. Letting the rings loose is a handicap Aqua places on herself: they’re heavy, resisting her magic to bounce in the air. This way, they should mimic what it’d feel like to fight a powerful enemy. She practices her pirouettes, and her waves of magic attempt to buoy them in the air in a violent tornado, but her spell flounders, a small push by a child in a playground. She adds a waltz step, a flip to give it a good kick, but it’s not enough. The rings crash back onto the grass.

Aqua grunts and goes for the kill—but she twists her ankle at the crevice of a rock, landing on her knee.

“Stars,” she curses, wincing. Her knee is scraped, a hole ripped through her stocking, and her ankle aches. Stars. She casts Heal on her knee to soothe the sting and the gentlest summon of Ice to counter the swelling in her ankle. She tries to stand on it but can’t, so she casts more rounds of Heal and Ice spells until her leg can at least bear her weight.

Aqua limps to the castle through the back entrance, where the communal showers are. Showerheads, each with its own white curtain, are built on one side and sinks on the other in a wide open space. It’s part of a long hallway that connects to one of the gyms and a storage room down a corner. The floor is lilac concrete tile and drains, where it gives way to marble when you enter the castle proper.

There was a time when the castle housed enough students to justify the size of this room, but Aqua is grateful she has direct access instead of having to drag this stupid ankle up a tower to her bedroom.

She shrugs off her sweaty, dirt-ridden clothes and shoes, and throws them in one corner, picking a shower that already houses soap, careful to put all her weight on one foot. The curtain draws around her in a u-shape and she turns the hot water knob, the pipes whistling as the water gushes through.

It gently scalds her at first but Aqua sighs when she gets used to it, rolling her shoulders and lifting her elbow over her head to stretch. The heat is good for the muscles. She presses her fingers near her neck, where it’s tight, and massages, then bends down to cast more Heal and Ice spells onto her ankle. Grime and sand flow down her skin, losing saturation as it curls down the drain under her feet. The soap stings when it runs over her scrape.

She can’t keep making mistakes.

Maybe the waltz step was too much and over-complicated things.

Aqua turns the knob off after rinsing her body and listens to the water drip onto the floor. The repetitive sound is hypnotic. She’ll journal her progress when she gets to her room and make comparisons with entries from the last few weeks.

Hopefully, she’s improving at an acceptable speed despite the injury.

Aqua tests her ankle. She can’t flex it. Stars.

What is she missing when it comes to her technique? Does she need better endurance with her pirouettes? Does she have the time to do it right before the Mark of Mastery?

When she realizes that she needs a towel to dry off—and there’s no towel in sight—she realizes that she’s been standing there wasting the time away. The shower is the greatest and the worst place to think.

Aqua figures she could grab a towel from the storage room nearby without anyone noticing.

She opens the curtain.

Terra is standing right there, eyes as round as oranges with a heavy bag of fertilizer in his arms. He drops it. Aqua shuts the curtain with a screech.

“I’m sorry!” she hears him yell. Through the bottom of the curtain, she sees him scalping for excess that spilled over. Whatever hits the floor is mixing into the water, making mud. He’s barefoot.

“Terra, what the stars—?” she hisses, covering herself despite the curtain (a single piece of thin fabric).

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were in here!”

“How is that possible?”

“Why are you standing here doing nothing?”

“Just—Terra—” She groans loudly.

There is a pause as he walks backwards. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

“Get out of here.”

His footsteps slap across the floor, a subtle splash and the smack against the tile. Aqua peeks through the curtain when it’s quiet. She’s alone with a sequence of mud heading into the castle. Aqua grabs her clothes, slipping the bare minimum on despite its filth, and treks down the hall, purposefully taking opposite directions from his trail.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their designated table in the library is always littered with books, damaged ones exchanged for the unread when the assignment deems it. There’s an extra stack for Ven since he’s a couple of years behind.

Aqua (carefully) enters the library (ignoring the throbbing—it will heal quickly, she tells herself). She’s cleanly dressed and re-bathed, and takes a seat at the desk while Terra and Ven babble about the nonsense of a textbook they both hate.

Terra gives her a quick, panicked glance before turning away from her and staring hard at the book in front of him.

Ven notices. “Aqua, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just a sprain,” she says, suddenly clenched in the throat. What happened in the shower was nothing. No big deal. Sometimes best friends see things. So why is she, too, bordering on panic? Heat builds in her cheeks, so much that it hurts. Aqua tilts her head at an angle so her hair covers her face.

“What’s with you two?” Ven asks and Aqua flinches.

“Nothing, Ven,” Terra says too sternly. He bites his lip and stands too quickly. “A Heal spell isn’t enough for a sprain, what were you thinking?” he asks her without looking at her. He clears his throat loud enough to make Ven recoil, trying his best to hide how shaky his voice has become. “Excuse me,” Terra says before shuffling his feet like he’s holding his pee and disappearing.

When it’s quiet, Ven leans forward to get into Aqua’s personal space. “Okay, I know something’s up. What’s going on?” He squints. “Why is your face all red?”

“N-no reason.” Aqua opens a book. If she digs her entire face into it, it will look like she’s hiding on purpose. She lowers her chin (casually) to pretend she’s reading.

“You’re a liar.”

Aqua slams the book back down. “I do not lie, Ven.”

“Sure, you’re the definition of perfect. But you’re lying to me now.”

Aqua doesn’t know what to do. Her record is spotless. She’s a good student and a good person. She’s only ever told small, harmless white lies, about being tired when she doesn’t feel like it, or saying she isn’t hungry when she is so they don’t catch her sneaking in a brownie. But not this.

“I’m not,” she says in the most unconvincing way.

“Fine, I’ll bug Terra about it—”

“There was,” Aqua says, her voice uneven (damn the stars), “an accident.”

Ven raises a skeptical brow. “And? How bad could that be?”

Aqua huffs and crosses her arms. It’s just Ven. Her other best friend, no judgment here. “Terra surprised me.”

Ven rolls his eyes.

“In the communal shower.”

He points and laughs at her, dropping his head in a fit and slamming a fist onto the surface of the table. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he says in between gasps. “Oh, he must be suffering right now.”

Terra returns, more relaxed, carrying a wooden bowl and bandages. Still, he avoids looking Aqua in the eye.

“So…” Ven says with an obnoxious knowing to his voice and Aqua regrets everything. “Did you enjoy the view?”

Terra stares at her first, his brown skin pale. He glares at Ven with the ferocity of homicide.

Ven bursts into another shake of laughter. “Stars, don’t tell me. You’re blushing so hard.”

At that, Aqua looks away. The thought is embarrassing and a… relief? At the same time?

Terra doesn’t honor Ven with a reply. He trembles, forming a claw with his hand. When he waves it, the bookshelves shake. Several books zoom out and flap, hovering over Ven and hitting him on the head like crows on the attack.

“Wait, stop, how are you doing this?” Ven shields his head with his arms, but Terra is bent on murder. Ven summons his Keyblade and cuts straight through the spine of a book. “Okay, okay, I get it!” The books glide close, ready to torpedo if necessary. Terra refuses to say anything. Ven steps away from the table, on guard. Then he smirks. He sticks his tongue out and bolts out the door. “Maybe that means you guys will finally kiss!” he yells down the hall.

Kiss.

A word as loud as a volcano erupting.

Terra lets go of his magic and all the books drop to the floor, yet the crash is still quieter than Kiss, quieter than how hard her heart is drumming in her chest.

Without a word, Terra picks up the bowl with both of his hands and mumbles a short-lived Fire spell. It’s obvious that she’s to remove her sock and give her ankle to him. That’s the point, a turmeric and olive oil mix, gently heated to reduce inflammation. He doesn’t need to ask.

Aqua lifts her leg to remove her stocking.

Terra flinches and dramatically averts his eyes.

“It’s just a sock, Terra.”

Terra motions to look at her as a response, but stops himself. “You shouldn’t be walking on it,” he bites.

“Call me stubborn.”

“You’re stubborn.”

She fights the impulse to slap him on the back of the head. “Here.” She offers her naked leg to him.

Terra still won’t look at her, but digs two of his fingers into the mix and holds her calf with his other hand. He almost draws back from her skin. Stars, he is blushing. She is too, she can feel it, a boil in both of her cheeks, a flame building in her stomach. His fingers are warm and strong, a caress on her skin. She likes this. She has all the capability to do this herself but she doesn’t want to.

Shit.

Aqua crosses one arm over and brings her hand to her chest—her way of looking dignified as Terra rubs the solution over her ankle. She has been appreciating how broad his shoulders have gotten, how sharp his jawline is, how tall he’s grown. All things that most people would notice, surely. He’s beautiful, he’s always been.

He opens his mouth to say something.

Aqua panics. “If you dare make a comment—”

“You’ll kick me?” Terra lifts her leg higher out of spite and nearly pulls her off the chair. He takes the bandage and starts to wrap.

Aqua stammers. How are they going to get through this?

“It was an accident, Terra.”

He freezes as though he can’t decide if he should finish the job or drop her leg. After a pause, he pitches his voice into a high octave to mimic her (badly). “Oh please, Terra, they’re just breasts. Nothing major.”

“You said—” she squeaks and covers her mouth. She shouldn’t be so naive. The heat in her cheeks bake.

That’s fine. Best friends know lots of intimate things, especially with how long Terra and Aqua have been together. Some of her guts, though, are about to choke her esophagus. She hopes that doesn’t mean she wanted him to see anything. That she’d want him to enjoy it.

Shit.

Terra trembles in nervous laughter, soft and quiet, staring holes into her ankle as he knots the bandage. He’s blinking too much. “You’ll need to compress cold rice on it every now and then,” he says, suddenly serious. “And rest,” he stresses like it’s a curse word.

“Terra?”

He hesitates. “Yeah?”

Footsteps approach them from behind, too graceful to be Ven’s. Terra scrambles to pick up the books, choosing the sliced one first to slip into the bookshelf so the Master doesn’t notice. Aqua straightens herself out and slips on her shoe.

“Would someone mind explaining to me the mess in the communal showers?” the Master asks as he enters, before eyeing the mess in the library. He braces his hips with his fists. “What on earth are two concoting here?”

Her cheeks burn harder.

“Not much, sir,” Terra says, gathering a tall stack of books under his chin. “Pranking Ven. The usual.”

The tone of his voice is too suspicious and the Master knows them too well.

“Aqua,” the Master says, “you sustained an injury.”

All she can come up with is, “Not in the prank, sir.”

“So the mud—?”

“In the shower,” Terra says quickly, without thinking. Overcompensating for the awkwardness. He bites his lip. “I mean, she slipped when she was showering.”

“He only knows because I told him,” Aqua says and she wants to slap herself. Of course that’s how Terra would find out in any normal story. Spelling it out makes it seem like he witnessed it himself. Terra glares her a new one.

Eraqus reads her with skepticism. He folds his hands behind his back and clears his throat. “Terra, you remember the discussion we’ve had some years ago regarding certain curiosities—”

“Yes, Master.” Terra inhales sharply and coughs.

The Master smiles. He looks pleased with himself. “You may continue to clear this up. And if you would please, keep the mischief at a minimum. It would be a great distraction from your work.”

Terra grits his teeth and Aqua lowers her eyes. “Yes, Master,” they both say slowly, like they’re about to step on hot coal.

When the Master leaves, Terra drops books onto the table. He’s finally looking at her, his eyes such a striking depth. It suddenly melts her away. Why so sudden though? He’s always had dark eyes.

Oh. She’s taken him for granted. Now she sees.

“What was that?” he whispers.

Aqua scoffs. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He shakes his head. “I never want to have that kind of conversation with the Master ever again.”

“At least let me help you,” Aqua says, nodding over to the last gathering of books on the floor.

“I’m not letting you stand on that foot.” He bends over to do the work himself.

“Then I’ll help you clean out the mud.”

Terra puts away the last handful of books, and chuckles to himself. “How do you want to get there? Crutches?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, I either carry you in my arms or I fling you over my shoulder.”

Aqua needs to find a spell to hide the blushing. It aches. “What an obnoxious suggestion.”

“Then I’ll leave you here in the library.”

“No.”

Terra snorts. “Okay.” He hooks an arm under her knees and lifts the rest of her body like she’s a hollow ragdoll. So close to him, Aqua can feel the grooves of his muscle, his chest durable and broad. She wonders if he enjoys holding her this close, too.

“I am really sorry,” he says as he takes her back towards the showers, passing by the open entrance to that gym, padded for wrestling. It’s not one they use often, since most of their training happens towards the front entrance. “I was on my way to take care of the squash. It was a dumb accident.”

“It’s okay,” Aqua says. She’s resting her head on his shoulder, staring at the way his neck moves when he speaks. Here, they don’t have to look at each other. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yeah.” He sounds almost disappointed, if not relieved. “Glad we sorted that out, right?”

“Definitely.” She wraps her arms around his neck tighter.

“What were you doing?”

“Pushing myself too hard.” Aqua scoffs.

“Typical Aqua.”

At the way he says that—mock-cocky, snivelish, playful—she blushes. He hasn’t changed since they were little, but it’s a side to him that only she and Ven sees.

There’s a lot to him that he only shows her.

They reach the storage room where the mop and towels would be stored, but he doesn’t enter. “We really need to install a door here,” he says. They reach the communal showers, and he bypasses them too. Terra finally settles her down on the terrace outside.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.”

“No, wait, I’m helping you—”

“Not with that foot, you’re nuts.”

“You can’t stop me from crawling back inside.”

“Then I’ll drag you back out.” He smirks, almost like he’s his old self but not quite. His old self isn’t this adamant. It makes her think that there’s something he isn’t saying, that maybe she’s misreading him, stuck between doing his duty to help her and needing time away from her. That he’s hiding it all behind a joke, and she has to let him go.

“Okay.” She crosses her arms.

“Rest isn’t terrible for you,” he says as he walks away.

Aqua stares at dry dirt. Down this path are the flower and vegetable gardens, contained by a fence. Beyond is the trail that leads right to the spot where she started this ridiculous ordeal. If only she didn’t trip. She’s been training for years. She’s too skilled to be having accidents, too far in her studies to think this hard about her feelings for Terra.

Too far in her studies and too mature to keep denying that she wants him to look at her. She does.

She gets tapped on the head.

“Wait here,” Terra says, heading towards the gardens, barely giving her a glance.

Aqua anchors her elbows onto her thighs and drops her chin into her hands. A sudden thought invades her mind: he’ll come back from whatever chore he has to finish here, take her to her room, and now that everything is said and done, they’ll pretend like none of this has happened.

And that is that. A weird day finished, a blip in history.

Terra comes back into view faster than she anticipated, holding a bouquet of orange and blue flowers in his hand.

Aqua uses the wall to pull herself up, keeping most of her weight on the good foot. “What’s this?”

Terra opens his mouth to speak, and leaves it there. He licks his lips and offers the flowers. “Um…” He scoffs. “I’m bad at this.”

They smell nice. Roses and bluestars. They must be his way to apologize. “They’re beautiful.”

“Um…” He clears his throat, rubbing something raw at the back of his neck. “Would you like to, uh…” He glances at the ground beneath him, summoning the courage to look at her and speak clearly, overusing his hands to demonstrate. “There’s actually a really pretty cave nearby, full of crystals and minerals. It’s spectacular, and I’ve always wanted to take you to see it.” He blushes, swallowing. “Um, when you feel better, would you like to come see it with me? Spend the night, I mean?” He blushes harder, scoffing. “It’s a nice hike and it’s a great camping spot.”

Aqua squeezes the stems of the flowers and her heart hammers too hard to find her voice. “That sounds…” She exhales. “Nice.” She almost asks for permission—from who, she doesn’t know. Terra is asking her. She’s asking herself. “Yes, I’d love to.” She hopes to the stars she’s blushing less than him.

Terra has no answer except for a nervous giggle, his eyes gleaming. He leans forward and kisses her on the cheek, whipping himself back with a hand to his face like he’s committed the worst sin in the world.

It’s warm where he left his lips. Aqua touches it with her fingers.

Embarrassed laughter sputters out of Terra’s mouth with many unnecessary apologies.

Aqua smiles, and it comforts him. “Can you take me back inside?” she asks, that smile twisting her cheeks. It hurts so good.

“Sure,” he breathes. “Anywhere you want.”

They exchange rogue giggles and excited glances as he carries her. They talk as if nothing indeed has happened, where they avoid any mention of mischief to be had in the near future, at least for now. Maybe the stars threw her off balance this morning on purpose. Best friends. They’ve always been.

#terraqua #aqua #terra #ventus #kingdom hearts fanfiction #lmao omg #this cute little one is finally out #i hope you like it!#my fic

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hb-writes · 3 years

Text

One More Chapter

1928

When Clara wished a devil of a child upon her older brother, Tommy responded with a similar cheek, telling the girl he had already met his quota in raising her. But it was Polly who, on more than one occasion, uttered wishes that Clara one day be forced to deal with a devil of her own, a child similar to herself, with the same bit of persuasive cleverness. Clara never anticipated that child would be her sweet nephew, Charles.

They all charged Clara with doting too much, spoiling a boy who was already well spoiled by the army of nannies and housemaids who looked after him, but it was his Aunt Clara who did the most damage by easily succumbing to his expectations, setting very little by the way of limitations where sweets and cuddles and bedtime stories were concerned.

Everyone suspected it was because Clara still loved those things herself, cuddles and stories and sweets, but with her busy schedule, a bedtime routine like the one Charles Shelby expected was a demanding bit of upkeep. The boy knew exactly how to make his aunt comply though, with a sweet smile or a nonchalant reminder that she’d been away, passing a few evenings with other family or in her old bed at the house on Watery Lane, instead of with him at Arrow House.

Charles stuck his hand between the pages of the book when his aunt made to close it, an infamous pout coming to his lips. “Can’t we read just one more?” he asked, prying the tome from her hands and settling it in his own lap.

Clara was tired. She had felt her eyes pulling closed as she struggled through the last paragraphs of the chapter they just finished. It was school and Shelby Company Ltd. and traipsing back and forth between Birmingham and Warwickshire and occasionally as far as London that was tiring her. And it was the constant cycle of waking too early after falling asleep far too late, the constant motion and demand for more and more and more.

“You’ve already—”

“Charles, you’ve already had one chapter,” he said, bringing a smile to Clara’s face as he mocked a tone very characteristic of Tommy. “That’s what dad always says.”

“Used to say the same to me and Uncle Finn.”

Clara burrowed further into the warmth of the shared covers, resting her head against one of the pillows as Charles skimmed through the first page of the next chapter.

It was a mistake on her part, getting under the covers in the first place. She couldn’t afford to go to bed yet, had a few pages of the ledgers left to go over with Tommy and after that, she had an assignment for school to read through one last time, which was why she hadn’t yet bathed or changed into her nightgown and robe. Her day wasn’t nearly close to finished.

But she would have liked for it to be, would have loved to stay cuddled up with Charles, reading until they both fell asleep, not to be disturbed until Frances called them down for breakfast the next day.

“It’s late, Charlie.”

“Please? Just one more chapter? We were supposed to be through chapter five by now.”

Clara sighed, pulling the volume back into her grasp. They were moving more slowly through the book than she had anticipated. He had originally asked after the Sherlock Holmes novels Clara stashed on her brother’s office bookshelves, but Charles had been deemed too young for them still. He had put up a fuss at that but the affront was easily rectified when Clara brought home something newly published, a story of a boy and his loyal teddy, something Charles quickly identified with.

Clara glanced at the clock on her nephew’s wall. They’d been at it for close to an hour. She was a bit surprised no one had come in to remind them of bedtime, or in Clara’s case, to remind her of the papers that still needed reviewing.

She fingered the pages of the next chapter as she continued considering the clock. It was a short one, something they could be through in a quarter of an hour or less, but her eyes were so tired and the bed was so warm and she could easily see herself never leaving the bed if she had to read even a few more sentences of the wholesome story of Winnie-the-pooh.

“Please, Aunt Clara?” Charles prompted again.

“My eyes are very tired, Charlie boy. Can’t we read it tomorrow?”

“But what if you’re not here? Sometimes you say you’ll be home but you aren’t.”

Clara rubbed at her eyes. The boy had a very good, not so very easily argued against point because Clara had developed a habit of not being at Arrow House when she said she’d be there.

“Alright,” Clara said, attempting to sit up into a better reading position. “One more chapter, Charlie boy.”

Charles smiled, squirming happily at the success of his persuasions. He grabbed the book from her before she sat up properly.

“I’ll read to you,” he said. “You lie down and rest your eyes.”

Clara smiled, kissing the boy’s forehead before following his order, placing her head on the pillow beside him so she could see the quaint illustrations and follow along with him to help with the larger words as needed. She didn’t last past the second page though, and when Frances did come up to remind the pair about the importance of bedtimes, she found only one of the Shelbys neglecting their sleep. Charles was wide awake whispering aloud the words from his storybook while Clara slept soundly beside him.

“Can’t I finish the chapter?” he whispered across the room to Frances. “To help her stay asleep?”

Frances smiled at seeing them both so content. She was honestly grateful to see the girl resting at such an early hour. Though Frances should have told him no, she had no plans to wake Clara or stop Charles mid-chapter. She would let her boss know where his sister had fallen asleep, let him decide how to proceed. And she would give the boy time enough to finish up and only then come back and see to it that Charles kept his word.

“Just the one chapter,” she said, “then you best turn out the lights and join your aunt in getting some rest.”

Charles nodded at the woman, checking on his sleeping aunt before turning back to the book, his whispers still heard out in the hall where Frances stood listening to the pair for an extra moment after closing the door.

-----

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #shelby!sister #shelby sister #charles shelby #charlie shelby #clara shelby #little lady blinder #i love you prompts #300 follower celebration

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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

Text

Alright, another chapter for my fic with Jrum. Just so you know, we’ve got a hels hermit and uh... his personality is Horny(TM). nothing to get it out of a teen rating, but there is some non consensual touching at one point so i’m giving a warning.

Rustic House Club

Jrum was set down on a counter before NPG left again, saving there was something to grab. The younger bot waited there for a little bit before getting bored and jumping down from the counter to explore the place. Jrum was pretty sure this was NPG’s base. It seemed to be a giant rustic house or mansion or something. The wood and stone were unfamiliar, but that being said, the world outside was also strange, covered with mint green grass and dirt that was a grayish blue. The sky looked mostly normal, though it was littered with multicolored clouds.

Back inside, in the center of the room was a giant campfire surrounded by some reddish brown stone. There was also an enchanting table setup with bookshelves around it, but some of the shelves were made with a dull colored wood, and some were made with the stone like what made up the walls.

A sound just behind Jrum made him jump and whirl around, only to see what looked like a very fluffy bunny hopping around. It was a nice powder blue color, and whenever it jumped, what looked like a small puff of smoke was left behind before fading.

“H-Hi. You’re n-not a bad bunny, a-are you?” Jrum nervously asked the hopping creature. “B-Because my dad d-doesn’t like bad b-bunnies.” The bunny responded by hopping and landing on top of Jrum’s head and flopping down there to rest. “H-Hey! That tickles!”

Jrum carefully grabbed the animal to put it back on the ground. He smiled as he felt that it was indeed extremely fluff as well as feeling rather soft. Once the bunny was back on the ground, it went hopping about the room again, letting Jrum explore the house more. There were a number of shulker boxes strewn about which seemed to be filled with items, but for the most part the items weren’t ones that Jrum recognized. Like what was a moa? Or an ambrosium shard?

Jrum shook his head as he stopped looking in the boxes before turning his head to some armor stands nearby. One had an elytra resting on it, while the other didn’t have an elytra or chestplate. Other than that, the first stand had some sort of purple armor while the other was a pinkish color.

The last thing Jrum really noticed was a ladder going up to the next floor, but he didn’t get the chance to go upstairs before NPG returned, carrying what sort of resembled his charger. “I’m back!”

Jrum scrambled his way back to the counter and sat on it, hoping NPG hadn’t seen he wasn’t there. “Sorry for the wait. This thing is just hard to carry and Sense wouldn’t come here to build it because he thinks it’s crazy to live in a dangerous place like the aether.”

The bunny from before hopped over and onto NPG’s head. “Oh! Hi Rusty! Did you meet our guest? He’s my brother.”

“Your bunny’s name is Rusty?”

“Yup!” NPG set the charger down near where Jrum was sitting. “Hmm, I’m sure you’ll want somewhere to sleep, so I’ll have to make you a bed later. Because trying to get that thing up a ladder would be no fun.”

Jrum looked at the pinkish armor that NPG was wearing. “What’s that?”

“Hmm?” NPG looked where Jrum was pointing. “Oh! This is some aetherite armor. It’s like netherite, but for here!”

Jrum nodded, then just sat quietly, swinging his legs. NPG was also quiet, just sort of smiling and swinging his arms about before there was a buzz. The older robot reached for his pocket and pulled out what looked like a communicator, though it was a different style, and read a message on it.

“Oh good! Prof says we can meet with him!”

Jrum tilted his head. “Who’s that?”

“That’s right! I haven’t explained things yet!” NPG exclaimed before putting his comm away again. “Okay, so we’re in Helscraft! It’s like where you’re from, but opposite. Our overworld is more like the nether, but not entirely. More like… hmm… if instead of dirt, mycelium and nylium were normal, and then instead of normal trees we get those giant mushroom things that still can be used for wood. The aether is like an opposite nether in that it’s cold here and there’s no bedrock at either edge of the world. And then finally the end in our world is probably the closest to being normal, but there’s no ender dragon. Instead there’s this thing called the warden and it’s really dangerous.”

“Oh… but who’s Proff?”

“Oh right! So here instead of hermits there are helsmits! And just about everyone in Hermitcraft has a sort of… not really opposite, but at the very least alternative version of themselves down here! Prof is one of them. He’s our version of Doc.”

“Who was the person that looked like daddy?” Jrum asked. He knew NPG had said something, but he hadn’t fully been paying attention.

“Oh! That was Perfect Sense. Most people just call him Sense.”

“Who else is there?”

NPG’s eyes lit up, happy to explain for his brother. “Okay, so there’s Xannes who’s our admin. Most people don’t use his name though, which is rude. Instead they say stuff like Evil Xisuma, Evil X or just EX. There’s True Symmetry who’s the current emperor, or I guess empress, of the server. Her running mate was Waltzware, who everyone calls Whiskey. Fun story about that, I can tell you it another time. Uh, he’s in a rivalry with DelayVS and Phedaz. There’s BadtimeswithScar, or just Badtimes. He has a place on the overworld with a big magic crystal in it which is where I go to hang out with you. It’s a little hard to get to sometimes with Peanut guarding the place. Helsknight has been around the longest and-”

“Um, so are you the opposite of my dad?” Jrum asked, cutting his brother off.

“Nope! Not really! That’s Grifter. See, I showed up sort of near the end of season three and he appeared when we moved to season four. I’m pretty sure he was a Listener or something, but anyway he didn’t like me since he thought I was taking his place. When Prof made Base Iridium, it was so he could lock up Grifter because he was like... the worst person. And so he’s been stuck there ever since and I get to stay because they all like me better!”

Jrum nodded. “Okay, and then do Grum and I have copies here?”

NPG stopped smiling at the question. “Well… no. Glodhet made Sense run for emperor, but Since Glodhet was LaxSprite’s running mate, Sense didn’t have anyone as his running mate. I tried, but he said no. Because of that, we never built any versions of you.”

Jrum looked down at the floor sadly. Sure NPG was a great friend, but he and his brother were really the only kids on the server, so it was pretty lonely a lot of the time.

“Um, well, do you want to go and see Prof?”

Jrum nodded and NPG picked him up before going to the portal he had outside. Jrum shivered when they walked outside, the air extremely cold. That definitely was opposite to the nether. It also didn’t help that it seemed to be night out, which made it even colder. “Isn’t the neth- uh, aether faster?”

“Yeah, but with its day and night cycles, it’s really dangerous at night and you don’t really have any gear I don’t think. Besides, Prof isn’t that far away from the other side of my portal.”

“O-Okay.”

Grian and Mumbo spawned in Helscraft right next to each other. They spawned on a small island that was half made of mycelium, half on fire. Grian was a little worried about the fact that Xisuma didn’t seem to be with them, but that was probably fine? Maybe he had been there before and when spawning in, he appeared there instead.

There seemed to be some sort of water around the island, but it didn’t quite look right as it was a bright red color. Grian carefully plucked a wing and dipped it into the water. It didn’t get burnt or damaged or anything, so that was a good sign.

Mumbo looked in a chest on the island and found it filled with boats. The wood seemed to be slightly pink, like a slightly more colorful jungle boat. He placed it into the water and got in, Grian climbing in behind him. “Well, while everything looks different in color, that island seems to be like the spawn island back home, and that out there looks like the shopping district.”

Grian looked into the distance. “Yeah, though it doesn’t look quite as populated as the one on Hermitcraft. I-Is that a giant blackstone castle?”

Mumbo squinted his eyes, looking back towards the larger island. It was a little hard to tell because it was against a black sky with few stars in sight, but Mumbo could make out what seemed to be the outline of a castle. “I’m guessing they have the same sort of starting seed, but they build whatever they want and it doesn’t match what we do.”

Grian agreed, and then Mumbo paddled them to the island. When they reached the shore, Mumbo got out first and then held a hand out to help Grian.

“Since I can fly, I’ll look at this place from above. You check on foot. Does that sound good?” Grian asked, getting a nod from Mumbo. “Great, let’s go.”

True groaned as the sunlight was blocked for a moment. Even with her sunglasses on and her eyes closed, she could tell when the light didn’t reach her closed eyes for a moment. Her best guess was someone decided to try and annoy her again by building something to fly in just the right place to annoy her, something that had happened more than once before. She moved her glasses to her forehead and set down the glass of wine she had been sipping from before walking to the edge of her sunbathing balcony and looking below to see who exactly was messing with her.

She groaned when she was Sense walking in the paths below. Of course it would be the resident evil genius causing trouble. And then as the light was blocked again, she turned her gaze skyward to see what exactly he had made this time. True expected some sort of redstone machine to be moving around up there, Sense trying to control it from below and put it in the right place. What she didn’t expect was for the thing in the air to be a person, specifically one with wings, not elytra, on their back.

Immediately True was rushing back into the castle. This was not happening. “WHISKEY!” She shouted at the top of her lungs. “STOP WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU’RE DOING AND CALL PROF! SENSE FINALLY FUCKING DID IT!” She heard some sort of response but didn’t really pay attention as she grabbed the armor and weapons she left inside. As soon as it was all re-equipped, she went back onto the balcony and scoured the skies.

It was easy to spot the avian in the sky, having gotten closer if anything. True drew her bow and aimed at the moving target, trying to follow his path. Then when she was sure her aim was right, she fired the arrow, watching it sail in the air.

Mumbo had been looking in every building he had come across, which had been harder than it sounded since the land of the island was damaged beyond belief. Rubble was everywhere and creeper holes littered the terrain. He kept looking up at Grian, hoping he would find something so that he wouldn’t need to bother with the buildings.

The redstoner was just climbing out of another building through the mostly blocked up door when he looked up in the sky. Grian was still flying, but he watched as one moment an arrow hit the avian and the next he was covered in fire and falling to the ground. Immediately Mumbo started running in Grian’s direction.

A few minutes before, Grian had finished looking at yet another section of the island from overhead and turned around to view the next one. He was so focused on the ground below, he wasn’t paying attention to the airspace around him until suddenly an arrow struck his wing. Fire from the arrow spread to his wings and the rest of his body, making it feel even worse.

Grian tried to flap his wings and move towards the water. He wasn’t sure what that stuff was, but he hoped it would put him out. The problem was that the arrow had hit his wing in just the right place that even twitching it slightly felt like agony. And since he only had use of one of his wings, the avian started plummeting to the ground. He at the very least managed to twist his body so that way his wings were below him so that the feathers helped soften his fall.

“Don’t worry. I got you Gri.” Grian heard Mumbo say and a moment later he could hear a bucket of water get spilled out, dousing the fire that was covering his body.

“Th-Thanks. Ow that hurt.” Grian thanked Mumbo and stood up to brush himself off. “I didn’t even notice that- mmph!” Grian was cut off as suddenly Mumbo’s lips met his in a kiss. His eyes widened in shock, especially as Mumbo tried to deepen the kiss. At that point Grian pushed him away. “Wh-What?!”

“Sorry. Just been a while. And with that just happened…” Mumbo gave a half smile. Grian sort of knew where he was coming from, but this hardly seemed like something to warrant a kiss like that. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks for the water. Won’t be able to fly for a bit though. I got shot right in the wing and even potions are going to have trouble with that.”

“Well I can help you with that later. That arrow came from the castle, so we should be careful about any more from there.”

Grian nodded, but then paused. If anyone was going to be shooting at him, it might be because they didn’t want him getting to Jrum. And if that were the case, then Jrum was in the castle. “Well then we should be going to the castle, right?”

Mumbo smiled. “Of course. Lead the way.” Mumbo gestured towards the castle and Grian rushed off, not hearing the words that were added on at the end. “My dear.”

Mumbo followed along behind Grian, heading towards the castle. He didn’t bother picking up the water that had been placed down. Who would care about that? In fact, he even threw the bucket behind him, not watching where it landed.

The bucket sailed through the air before finally landing with a thunk. Mumbo rubbed his head, glad that the item had been empty. “Who would throw an empty bucket?” He asked no one in particular before finally getting to the top of the hill. Sitting there was a water source, likely from the bucket. This should have been where Grian landed, but the avian was nowhere in sight. “I didn’t realize he had a bucket of water on him.” He then realized it was red instead. “Wait, this is water from here… Who placed this?”

Mumbo continued to look at the surrounding terrain and noticed the water had made the surrounding mycelium a bit muddy. There seemed to be two sets of footprints, and in one print, a feather had been stepped on. Said feather was a bright red, which could only belong to one person. Mumbo’s eyes followed the prints, watching as they went towards the castle. If Grian was anywhere, he would be there, so he started walking in that direction.

Grian raised an eyebrow as Mumbo held his hand, but he supposed it made sense with what just happened and them going into a dangerous area. They carefully walked through the halls of the castle, checking every room. So far there was no sign of Jrum, but there weren’t even signs of anyone. But then they were turning down one hallway and ran into someone who looked like Tango, except his skin was a lavender color, his hair even darker than Mumbo’s and his eyes glowing purple rather than red.

“It was easier to find you two than I thought.” The not Tango spoke, pulling out an axe of some sort of pink colored metal. He ran towards Grian and Mumbo, ready to attack, but then Mumbo pulled out a piece of TNT. Immediately not Tango stopped in his tracks, and then Mumbo was pulling Grian another direction, placing the TNT down and causing not Tango to scream.

“How’d you know that would work?” Grian asked as they ran.

“Didn’t, just had a slight hunch.” Mumbo replied. “Let’s go up those stairs.” And Grian looked over where Mumbo pointed, the two of them then turning to go that way.

Behind them, the not Tango tried to find another path. He didn’t get far though before running into Mumbo. In an instant the axe was out in front of him, ready to attack. “Gah! Don’t take a step closer or-” Not Tango looked around, surprised to not see Grian. “Where’d the bird go?”

“You saw him? Which way did he go?”

“You two already got separated? That’s so unlike you.” Not Tango answered. Mumbo looked away from the helsmit, who took the opportunity to attack. The redstoner noticed just in time and was able to dodge the attack, running to dive behind the block of TNT nearby. It obviously wasn’t the safest place, but it was still cover. One that happened to repel the not Tango, who freaked out at the block.

When Grian reached the top of the stairs with Mumbo, the redstoner pulled the two of them into a nearby room. It was thankfully empty, and Grian watched as Mumbo locked the door behind them. “Well, they know we’re here now. It would probably be good to deal with your wing, hmm?”

Grian nodded. “Yeah, it would be good to do that so I’m not hindered at all. We’ll probably need all the help we can get with this.”

Mumbo came over to Grian as he was busy climbing onto the table in the room so that Mumbo had a better platform to treat him on. Just as he was settling down, ready to shift his wings back into existence, Mumbo grabbed him from behind, the redstoner’s mouth suddenly on his neck. Grian gasped, not sure how to react, and before he could do anything, Mumbo was off him again, leaving a purplish-red mark on Grian’s neck.

Grian turned to face Mumbo, only to be kissed again. Grian wanted to complain, but Mumbo’s hand found the sweet spot on his back, right between his shoulder blades, and Grian couldn’t help but melt into the redstoner’s arms.

Mumbo panted as he reached the top of the stairs, having been chased by someone that almost looked like Zedaph. He had been cornered and nearly killed, but then the not Tango showed up and the two of them started fighting each other instead. Mumbo used the opening to run, getting up to the next floor. At the top of the steps, he thought about just standing there a bit longer to catch his breath, but then he heard what sounded like Grian behind a nearby door.

It sounded like he might have been hurt, so the redstoner rushed to the door and tried to open it, only to find it locked. Another noise from inside worried Mumbo, and he immediately had a pickaxe in his hand and broke down the metal door. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this. In front of him was himself and Grian. The avian was sitting on a table as he kissed him, hands working on pulling the red sweater off. “What in the world?!”

Grian opened his eyes when Mumbo spoke, looking to see what the problem was. They then widened to the point they were practically bulging out of his skull as he saw Mumbo in the doorway as Mumbo was also currently kissing him.

Grian pushed Mumbo, the one kissing him, away so he could say something. “Mumbo?!”

The Mumbo who had been kissing Grian turned around to see the second version of him in the doorway before looking back at Grian. “Wait. You’re not Grifter.”

“Uh, no. I’m Grian? W-Which one of you is Mumbo?”

“I am!” Mumbo spoke up, attempting to go to Grian’s side, but his hels counterpart stopped him.

“And I’m Sense. Are you sure you’re Grian though? Because your body is just the same as I remember Grifter having~. The same soft lips and strong muscles. And I’m sure you have the same-”

Grian felt Sense’s hand start to move down his back as he spoke, so the avian shoved him away. “Nope! We are not doing this! Absolutely not!”

Sense pouted and gave a huff. “Fine, then what are you doing here?”

“We’re here looking for our son.” Mumbo replied. “I’m guessing since you didn’t realize this was Grian, you haven’t seen him.”

“What would that have to do with it?” Sense replied. “Though didn’t realize he was your son too. Anyway, of course I’ve seen him.” When Grian opened his mouth, Sense stopped him by continuing. “Oh, but I won’t be telling you anything just like that. I need something out of it.”

“Oh ew no!” Grian replied, moving behind Mumbo.

“Oh please, I wouldn’t want that. Okay maybe if you were offering… but no, if you can get here from your little Hermitcraft world, you might be able to get to the last season of Helscraft.”

“And why would you want that?” Mumbo asked.

“Grifter got left behind, and none of us can go back there ourselves. I mean, there are a few here who can, but no one who’s willing to actually free Grifter.”

“I’m afraid we can’t either. Xisuma’s the one who brought Grian and I here. And I doubt he would want to send us anywhere else.”

Sense scoffed in irritation. “Fine, then I have one other option, but you’ll need to help me out Grian.”

Grian winced, clinging tighter to Mumbo. “Wh-What do you want?”

“I’m really a fan at how True is running this place. I would have loved to be emperor, but without Grifter, I didn’t have a chance. However, if you’re with me, I can make a bluff for the throne.”

Grian hesitated, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed. “Okay. Fine.”

“Grian, you don’t have to say yes.”

“If it’ll help us find him, I’m going to do it.” Grian stopped hiding behind Mumbo. “I’m in. Just as long as any contact from you stays above the waist!”

Sense frowned at that. “Really? Because-”

“Touch anything below that, and you won’t have hands to try again with.”

“Alright, alright. I won’t!” Sense replied, actually smiling slightly. “In fact and attitude like that should help sell it. Now let’s go find True. I’d stay in here if I were you Mumbo. Wouldn’t want you ruining things and not be able to get that information.”

Mumbo wanted to argue, but Sense was already out of the room dragging Grian behind, leaving the hermit to find a place to sit and wait.

“There you go. Th-Those wings should work fine for you.” A pig hybrid spoke, putting down a clipboard.

NPG helped Jrum down from the examination table he had been sitting on. “Thanks Prof! Let’s go test them out Jrum!”

“O-Oh, by the way, you two should be careful out there.” Prof stopped the brothers before they could leave. “I g-got a message from True. A-Apparently she saw Grifter. I would th-think she mistook you for him again… e-except you’ve obviously here.”

“Oh! Then I suppose we will need to be very careful as we attempt to fly.” NPG replied, starting to leave again, but this time Jrum stopped him.

“Um, NPG? How long have I been here exactly?”

“Hmmm… Maybe half a day? Not too long.”

“But I was out for a while trying to get to that place in the nether… So I’ve been gone longer than that. Maybe that’s not the Grifter person, but maybe that’s my dad looking for me?”

“Oh! That’s probably it! Even more of a reason to try flying! So we can go over to the castle and see if that’s him!”

“Well i-if you’re going to do that, stay safe.” Prof smiled and waved goodbye to the two robots before going back to his other work. “Hmm… l-looks like Xannes is trying some new scheme. G-Guess I’ll have to go over there now to stop him.”

Xisuma woke up with a literal jolt as something shocked his arm. He tried to move to see what it was, only to find himself unable to move anything, being tied down to a chair. “Mind telling me why you brought Grifter here?” A deep voice spoke, one X was very familiar with.

“Evil X? Where am I?” Xisuma tried to turn his head around even a little to see where his brother was.

“You happen to be in my base. I coded in something so that you would be brought here if you ever came to Helscraft. I never expected it would actually be used. But right now I’m very grateful for it.” Now Evil X walked into Xisuma’s line of sight. He was surprised to see that his brother wasn’t wearing a helmet, then noticing that he himself wasn’t wearing one either. “Where’s my helmet?”

“Oh you don’t need that. I know it helps you access all your fun little admin powers like mine gives me my hacks. The air here is breathable so you don’t need to worry about that and we can have a nice little chat. Now. Why did you bring Grifter here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Evil X smacked Xisuma with a shovel. “Wrong answer, try again.”

“No, I’m serious. I don’t know what you mean. I came here with two of my Hermits, that’s all!”

“You? Bringing hermits with you? Why?”

“Someone from here kidnapped one of their sons.”

Evil X cursed. “You brought Grian and Mumbo. That’s not going to end well. NPG’s got the kid so I have a clue of where he might be. The question is how fast we can find them.”

“Who’s NPG? And you still haven’t explained about ‘Grifter’.”

“NPG is the closest thing we have to Grian here. Technically, that title would go to Grifter, but none of us can deal with him. We locked him up and left him behind in our old world. Look me in the eyes brother.” Evil X stared at Xisuma, waiting until the hermit was looking back. “I want to destroy your server. I want it to burn to the ground. I wouldn’t mind if all your hermits died and couldn’t… well okay, maybe just had trouble respawning. We grief and steal and have actual wars here. But I would never, not in a million years, ever want you to deal with Grifter. That’s how bad he is. And right now, it seems like the others here think Grian is.”

Xisuma immediately tried to stand up, only finding himself struggling in his bindings. “Then we need to stop that.”

“No, we don’t need to do anything. This is my server, I’m dealing with it.” Evil X started to walk away, but Xisuma heard him stop walking for a moment. “Plus, I wouldn’t mind having you own me in the long run.”

#hermitcraft #jrumbot #npg #npc grian #helscraft #grian #avian!Grian #mumbo jumbo #Hels hermits #helsmits #hels!Mumbo #hels!False #hels!Tango #hels!Doc #evil xisuma #xisumavoid #My writing

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sailtoafarawayland · 3 years

Text

The Choices We Make (the words that matter)

He sighed into the darkening emptiness, knowing every mistake he'd made in his thirty-nine years had simply been practice for this one, for the one that would haunt him with every breath he took until he took no more. She was gone, and it was entirely his fault.

Rating: G

AO3 - FF

An angsty, Silver Hook birthday present for @the-darkdragonfly

Chapter 1/1

The soft, morning light glanced into the room, capturing each mote of dust and illuminating them with an otherworldly glow as they spun through the air, clinging tenuously to the march of cracked spines that lined the bookshelves from ceiling to floor.

Killian swallowed heavily, his pulse thumping in his ears like the panicked breaths of a freed beast begging for the security of its cage once more.

She took another confident step forward, long swathes of hair golden and shimmering. The pale expanse of her hand rose to splay against his chest, a soothing comfort where his heart was beating wildly. Her fingertips just brushed the curls of gray hair peeking from the neck of his shirt – silver, she'd told him once, her lips caught between her teeth as she brushed a stray lock from his face, silver like the moon.

“Swan,” he breathed, his own hand moving to cover her own, each scar and callous, each mark of his age a glaring reminder of why this couldn't happen, “we can't, love.”

“Why not,” she sighed, tension lining both of the small words as her green eyes met his, each freckle scattered across her cheeks calling out to be studied, mapped and memorized, “because you think you're too old for me, that you don't bring anything to this?”

His frustration echoed her own, but it was tempered by years of familiarity. He stepped down carefully from the rolling ladder, his back protesting only slightly as he bridged the gap between them, her palm still pressed warm and insistent against his chest. Their bodies were that much closer as she stubbornly refused to step back, a single eyebrow arched defiantly.

“My failings are reason enough, though the least important among them. You're young, and brilliant, Emma. You've so much to offer the world. Don't tether yourself to me instead of seeing it.”

She opened her mouth to speak, and he knew he would hear the same words she'd said to him so many times before, sometimes borne of frustration, and other times carrying the heavy promise of steel – I don't care that you're older than me. I want this, and if seeing the world means that I can't have this, that I can't have you, then forget the damn world – but he silenced her with a look, reaching for the book he'd left balanced on the rung of the ladder above him.

It was a book he hadn't seen in decades, but today, knowing how their paths would diverge, he wanted her to have it.

His fingers closed around the binding and pulled the nondescript book into the space between them. He did his best not to linger over the difference in how it felt all these years later. With his damaged hand, he could no longer feel the rough scratch of the cover, or the indented, gilded lettering, the small tufts of fabric that sprung from the endband – just one more failing that spanned the distance between them.

“Stop it,” she whispered, her smooth, lithe fingers folding solidly over his own, stiff and scarred, somehow knowing exactly what he was thinking.

“I read this very book quite often when I was a lad,” he mused, the words leaving his throat far more roughly than he intended as he studied the soft silk of her skin against his. “Captain Blood – a tale of a man who was once a slave, but he dared to make his own fate, Swan.”

They'd spoken late one evening of his past – of his mother who'd left too soon, his father who'd traded his sons as labor for his debts, and his youth spent under the thumb of people it took him near his entire life to finally be free of. She knew of his losses and heartaches, of every wretched decision that had led him to the small, haunted peace he'd finally found.

“It's a classic adventure, take it.” he added unnecessarily – because she knew him, knew the escape and hope it had given him over the years in the same way she'd lost herself among the pages of her own stories.

“Killian...”

“It was a comfort to me on many difficult nights, Emma. I'd like you to have it – use it as a coaster for your hot cocoa if you must, but keep it all the same, as something to remember me by.”

“I'm not taking the job offer, Killian.”

“Nonsense, Swan,” he parried, pressing the book into her grasp and swallowing back the solid lump in his throat. He replaced it with a wan smile, knowing she'd see right through it. “It's an opportunity you'd be foolish to pass up – a job like that, it will open any door you could ever hope for in life. You'll go far from this old bookshop and the old man who runs it.”

The bell at the front of the shop tinkled, the sounds of a bustling, midday main street encroaching upon the silence between them as it swung closed and a voice called out for assistance. Knowing that another moment spent at her side would be the end of his fortitude, his smile already fading to something that hungered with desperation, he ducked his head and stepped around her, missing the warmth of her presence as soon as he walked away and left her standing alone in his office.

“Don't go missing that train to Boston now, Swan,” he called back, his voice traced with a bravado he was no longer familiar with, years and disappointment having beaten it out of him.

He listened politely to the woman who'd entered his shop, nodding at intervals as she explained what she was looking for, but his eyes and heart were trained on Emma as she crossed the shop from the back room, her head bowed and flaxen curls swaying around her as she left, casting one last, confused glance in his direction.

It landed in his gut like a knife, her lips tight as she shook her head and disappeared, closing the door soundly behind her.

Killian busied himself in the main area of his shop for the rest of the day, filling his moments with menial tasks that did as much to assuage his loss as the last, frantic swipes of a drowning man for light. The air no longer stirred with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla, and though there were times he had been tempted to return to his office if only to breath in the ghost of her once more, he knew he didn't have the strength. In there, the memories were too many, each of them a shadow of the woman he'd just let walk out of his life – for her own good, he reminded himself.

He'd lived his years changed by many things – tragedy, love, loss, hope – he'd served other's needs and then his own, traveling the world and leaving misery behind as soon as he was able. He'd lived stories that had left their marks on both his body and his spirit, and yet...he'd been entirely unprepared for the way his world had shifted on its axis when she'd walked into his shop all those months ago.

The bell had chimed on the door no differently than it always did, and he'd pulled himself from the repair he was working on, glasses that he'd started needing a few years prior slipping down his nose as he leaned around a stack of books to see who'd entered – and there she stood, all gold curls and high cheekbones, determined eyes alighting on him with a strange pull that snapped every facet of his world into perfect clarity.

The floor had swayed beneath him like the sea and he'd never felt his age more keenly, the soft lines etched around his eyes and the grey that had steadily stolen away the inky darkness of his hair. The silence stretched between them like the world drawing a breath, and then she'd laughed, his eyebrows jumping skyward in response, a glimmer of something he hadn't felt since his youth rising in his chest.

It was a search for obscure references for her work – a thesis that would bridge her joint areas of study in psychology and criminal justice – that had brought her to his door, and once she'd entered, she slipped so easily into his life, arriving on an inhale and falling seamlessly into the rhythm that kept air in his lungs.

He avoided examining the reasons why he'd offered to let her work in his office, perhaps telling himself a little too firmly that it was simply because she had three flatmates and no quiet area of her own – and with the library undergoing renovations, even that option was gone – but it didn't take many sleepless nights for him to acknowledge that there was more to it than that.

There had always been more. From those first confident steps she took through his door and into his life, they'd both known there was something more.

Killian was used to silence in his life – loss and solitude had gifted him with a familiarity for its echoing vastness – but the quiet that stretched between he and Emma as they worked on their own projects was never awkward or heavy, it didn't ring with hollowness or chew at his heart. Instead, it was punctuated by the whisper of pages as she flipped back and forth between books, taking notes with a furrowed brow and her bottom lip caught in her teeth.

Her presence was a soft wind that stirred life back into the stale air of his shop, and he found himself far more attuned to her every movement than someone nearly twice her age should be. He spent every night reminding reminding himself of that fact as he readied himself for bed, washing the day from the gray stubble on his cheeks and folding his glasses neatly on the bedside table. She made every effort possible to get to know him, and he'd had enough experience in his life to see the obvious interest she held for him, but he did what he could to discourage it, pushing down that same calling that he himself felt.

He answered her questions as easily as she shared her past with him, trying to show her through the stories of his past that he was far from the person she imagined him to be – that he was a man broken and beaten down by a life filled with poor choices and pain, barely deserving of the small, lonely life he'd scraped out for himself, let alone the grand things he knew she was meant for.

Perhaps he should have pushed her away more resolutely back then, suggested she return to the library rather than continue to join him at the shop, but he was weak and hungry for the companionship she so readily gave – the small notes she'd leave, the pastries that began appearing on his desk from the bakery down the street. At first they'd been shared quietly between them as they started their work for the day, but as time passed, cups of tea and hot cocoa became their new routine.

He'd taken to keeping a box of the sugary packets in his desk for her, and as he finished helping customers out front, he'd often hear the soft whistle of the electric kettle singing. Just knowing that she would have left a fresh cup of tea for him at his desk was more than enough to warm him.

Killian shook himself from his thoughts, pulling himself back to the present that no longer included that warmth or the woman who'd managed to return it to his life. It wasn't until the last customer of the evening left, the light on Main Street slowly dimming, that he finally gathered the courage to go back into the space that he'd come to think of as their own – never for anything more than a brush of fingertips against heated skin, a lingering embrace, and that one, life-altering kiss that had made him certain she was the one he'd been waiting for his entire life – but he'd never allowed it to progress any further, had felt the guilt of even desiring it every moment that they spent together.

The shop rang once more with that echoing silence, his footsteps swallowed by it as he crossed the floor and eased the door to his office open, everything just as he knew it would be – empty of the one thing that had made his life full. He moved to the desk, plucking up his worn jacket from the chair and fishing for the keys in its pocket, wanting nothing more than to lock up and find a place that wasn't swimming in memories, a place where he could truly drown his misery, at least for the evening.

“Bloody hell,” he growled, tossing the jacket back to the chair when he found nothing but lint in its pockets, his hand rifling through his hair in frustration.

This wasn't what he needed right now. What he needed was to find the nearest bar and find some relief in the bottom of a bottle, to forget that for a few measly months in his life, he'd been content – he'd been truly happy.

What he needed was his bloody keys so he could lock up and get away from everything surrounding him – the memory of how she ran her fingers along the worn edge of the shelves, the pale slice of her hip as she stretched on the ladder, reaching for something just beyond her fingertips in a way he knew was anything but innocent, the way she sipped her hot cocoa and then ran her tongue over her lips, catching the sweetness left behind...the way he'd always held himself back from doing the same.

What he wouldn't give to feel them pressed against his own just once more, and in the cloying silence of the shop, his heart was screaming that he was the most foolish man who'd ever lived.

He loved her – gods, if he didn't love her more than he'd ever though possible – and he'd chased her out, practically thrown her through the door and told her to move on.

“You're a bloody fool,” he groaned, his head falling into his hands as he leaned across the surface of his desk.

It was then that his eyes caught sight of something unusual left among the clutter and invoices, something metallic reflecting the low glimmer of lamplight from the shelf – no, that that – a delicate, silver chain lay in a serpentine pile against the dark wood, an all too familiar ring nestled in its center.

“Take it, Emma, something to keep you safe when you move on from our small town to the big city.”

“I'm not taking your brother's ring, Killian,” she'd whispered. “It's all you have left of him.”

“Aye, and it's kept me safe all these years, but I think I'd rather the comfort of knowing you had at least this small part of me when you leave...”

She was gone, and it was entirely his fault.

“You're a fool, Killian Jones,” he muttered, “an old fool.”

“You're not a fool, just a little stubborn.”

“Emma,” he gasped, papers flying from the desk as he spun around, his chest tight with confusion and disbelief and hope that pressed so hard against the back of his throat he thought he would choke on it. He took a hesitant step toward where she was leaning in the doorway, but the ring she'd left behind was solid in his palm, and he clenched his fist tightly around it, wondering if hoping at all was just one more thing a fool would do. “What are you – you came back, why?”

“I didn't go to the station to get on the train, Killian,” she said, smiling softly. “I told you I wasn't taking the job. Turns out the only door I'm interested in opening was yours.”

“I don't understand,” he started, needing to desperately, because she couldn't possibly be standing here choosing him after how callously he'd pushed her away.

“I gave my ticket to August a week ago. He's got plans to do the whole starving writer thing in a place with more than one starving writer, so I went to say goodbye – and then I just, I needed some time, so I sat for a while down at the docks.”

“You were never going,” he echoed, aching to close the gap between them, but still uncertain of the small weight in his palm and what it meant, his fingers worrying the slip of its chain. “Then why leave the ring I gave you?”

“Because, when you give it to me for a second time,” she spoke quietly, closing the distance between them and brushing her fingers along his graying stubble, “I want it to be with a promise – no more running, not for either of us. I'm here, choosing my own fate, choosing to be a part of something. This is it for me, you're it for me – and if you feel the same, then you can go ahead and give me that ring back, and one day we'll make good on it.”

“What have I done,” he breathed, his fingers trembling as he wove them through the loose strands of her hair, “to deserve you, Swan?”

“Well, life can be infernally complex – ”

“It sounds like you acquainted yourself with Captain Blood while you sat at the docks,” he chuckled, tilting her head back and sinking into the depths of her gaze as she finished her thought.

“ – but it can also be really, really simple,” she whispered, pushing onto the toes of her boots, her words ghosting against his lips, “and right now, it's as simple as I love you, Killian Jones, I love you – ”

The ring nearly slipped through the fingers of his damaged hand as he pulled her against him, his lips claiming the promise of her words, her warmth washing over him. She pulled him closer, hands knotted in his shirt as their breaths became one, hungry and desperate before settling into something so like a heartbeat he could feel it in his bones.

“I love you, Emma,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers as he whispered the words into the space between them, knowing that out of all the words surrounding them, the ones they'd shared were the only ones that mattered.

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54

#Captain Swan #CS fic #cs fanfic #emma and hook #silverhook #sailtoafarawayland #killian jones #emma swan

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sneakydraws · 3 years

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Well, here it is - a lengthy explanation of each card in my mdzs major arcana deck and what I meant to convey/what i would have changed in retrospect/what alternatives i considered! It’s a bit messy and my typing style is lazy but hopefully it will be an interesting read to some of you :)

And so you don’t say I didn’t warn you - jiang cheng’s section (11 justice) is absurdly long lmao

0 the fool I elaborated on this in the post itself but yeah basically jin ling is kind of representative of all the damage and trauma caused by the past, and there’s a kind of danger there of him falling victim to the same vices as the older characters and repeating the same mistakes and perpetuating the cycle of war and misery (the cycle that we already see with how the jin sect became the new wen sect, and later with how jgy became the new wwx) and he has a lot of room to grow! He grows so much over the course of the novel, comes to realise the complexities of the past and gets a harsh life lesson in how nothing is as black and white as it seems. But ill save talking about his progress for the end, for now whats important is that he has room to grow and also a dog. I don’t really have a justification for the sun, i mostly just thought it looked sick? It made its way to the next card as well, where it makes a bit more sense, but then i realised it was a dumb motif to include 1 the magician I still very much like wwx for the role, and that illustration would have probably had him raising a corpse on his left and pointing threateningly to the sun on his right. I considered including the table as well, with some mdzs relevant items replacing the card suits. Anyway, like i said wwx got a few cards to himself already so i went with the alternative wq design, since i think she fits the card as well. Both she and wwx are highly skilled people, extremely driven once they set their mind to something. The card to me symbolises the creative mind as well as a general drive for action, which fits them both - wwx was famously a prolific inventor, and wq came up with a previously unheard of surgery, after all. This card strays pretty far from the rider-waite deck design, largely because i was still figuring out how i wanted to approach this series, but you can still see the influence. 2 the high priestess I was actually going to skip this card at first because I couldn’t think of a fitting character, but once i considered a qings character post death, it all fit pretty well. She was already a highly intuitive person in life, and in sharing her memories with wwx she is, in a way, relaying a kind of secret knowledge. Anyway she’s one of my fav characters so im glad i got a chance to include her. The coffins could be interpreted to be xxc and sl or xxc and xy 3 the empress Theres other mother figures in mdzs who got to be mothers for a longer time, but jyl definitely embodies the positive aspects of this card the best. She’s nurturing, kind, emotionally supportive, she already mothered wwx and jc quite a bit when she was young. Plus i liked that the rw card had both water and flowers, making an easy lotus connection. In retrospect the stars look kind of out of place and i should have replaced them with something more relevant... Also, i should have had her hold a lotus seed pod instead of a flower, haha 4 the emperor Like i said I considered jc for the role but hoching bullied me into admitting that nmj was better… they’re both more of an inverted emperor than an upright one but then again theres hardly any character in mdzs who would fit upright emperor so. Jgs was also considered but he’s even uglier than nmj so i couldn’t bear to draw him 5 the hierophant It was pointed out to me that lqr would have fit this card better and the truth if that statement haunts me to this day. Unfortunately I have no space in my brain for lqr so lxc got the role instead. My main reason was his role during the wen destruction of gusu lan, when he ran away with the contents of the library - this is why there’s bookshelves behind him. The keys, take, from the rider-waite deck, are meant to represent the gusu pendants that allow you to enter 6 the lovers Im sure many people would have chosen wangxian here but I uhh don’t really care abt wangxian personally? And also their love story is so convoluted that jyl and jzx seem idyllic by comparison lol. Also i didnt really have an idea for who to put in the angel’s place for wangxian… mme jin certainly did not get these two together in the end but undeniably she and mme yu did initially give them a chance to fall for each other so. Thats something i guess. Anyway the trees became their sects’ flowers and the mountain became the burial grounds - an omen of their tragic fate, basically 7 the chariot There might have been other characters who fit this card better but i couldn’t really think of another card for lwj and i thought it would be weird to not include him… anyway i don’t really care for current timeline lwj BUT i do like that he was clearly influenced by wwx to walk his own path in life based on his moral convictions rather than follow his sect’s rules blindly. The chariot is to me a card of self control, self determination and focused action, so it seemed fitting. The composition felt kind of empty without the actual chariot so i padded it out with the guqin, the cloud recess in the bg (it doesn’t look great but i tried to replicate the drama design….) and the bunnies which conveniently fit the colour scheme of the sphinxes in the rider-waite design 8 strength Like i said before, my interpretation of this card is more… morally ambiguous than the quote unquote official meaning, so i thought about manipulative or duplicitous characters more than kind characters whose strength is expressed through gentleness (though i did consider jyl briefly for the latter interpretation). As such, i considered both jgy and nhs, but ended up going with jgy largely because i couldn’t pass up the opportunity to put the nie sect’s beast as the lion. 9 the hermit My thoughts immediately went to bssr lol. It may be an overly literal interpretation but whatever, i like it just fine. And i like that i managed to echo the rider-waite silhouette in the mountain and the tree (and even in bssr herself) 10 wheel of fortune God i love the parallels between these 2… this card to me is about how you cant trust your current situation, good or bad, to last forever, and these 2 embody that perfectly imo. Wwx went from son of a well off servant and a powerful cultivator, to street rat orphan, to adopted son of sect leader jiang, to double orphan, to MIA, to terrifying but admired warrior, to terrifying and despised traitor, to dead, to, at the very end, suddenly respected and trusted again. The dishonesty and cheapness of whatever the public’s current opinion of him is is portrayed beautifully as far as im concerned. And jgy of course claws his way up to power only to instantaneously become public enemy number one, to the point that he’s probably blamed for stuff there’s no reason to believe he had a hand in. Wei wuxian’s silent astonishment at how quickly the cultivation world turns against jgy and towards him again is a delicious moment of thematic resonance. 11 justice I settled on this card for jc after he got booted from the emperor seat but i do think it fits, in a somewhat convoluted way. I turned both the sword and the scales into visual representations of the golden core transfer (can you tell im obsessed with it). According to biddy tarot, the justice card is partly about searching for the truth, and the scene where jc finds out about the transfer is of course a big deal. I was also very influenced by the reversed meaning again - which is about being reluctant or unwilling to face or accept the consequences of your actions. I feel on an intuitive level that this fits jc but I’m not sure how well i can explain it - it’s something about how he’s a little too comfortable scapegoating wwx for things that were also, if much less so, influenced by his actions, and also something about the way he keeps wwx at an arm’s length emotionally but still leans on him and accepts his support when he really needs it, and somewhat hypocritically expects wwx to put the needs of him and the jiang sect before the needs of others. And also something about the core exchange is the consequence and proof of wwx’s deep - terrifyingly deep, even - love and care for him, which is something jc doesn’t seem to let himself acknowledge. Maybe even something about how you could argue that the way all of the jiangs acted around wwx - jfm’s favouritism that left him with the feeling of a debt he needs to repay, mme yus insistence that he be a servant more than a brother to jc, prepared to give his life for jc, and jc’s own unwillingness - or inability, he was a child after all - to clearly acknowledge wwx as an equal to himself, enabling wwx’s self sacrificial and protective tendencies - that all of this was what caused wwx’s complete and unquestioning willingness to do whatever it took to protect jc, and therefore paved the way to the golden core transfer. And i don’t mean this to be scapegoating jc - especially considering how young he was when this all went down, it wouldn’t be fair to expect this level of emotional perceptiveness, awareness and maturity of him - but i think adult jc has to grapple with the fact that the chain of cause and effect was not as simple as wwx fucking everyone’s lives up to be a martyr, and that both jc and his parents had a role in that story as well. I don’t even necessarily think this is something that jc only realised in the current timeline - i think it’s something he felt on some level this whole time, and it probably led to a lot of feelings of guilt - but the suibian reveal definitely puts it in sharp focus, and i think he’s now better equipped to handle this introspection than he was as a recently orphaned, traumatised teenager, lol. ANYWAY the window with the fabric is both a nod to the rider-waite design and a reference to the destruction of lanling - i actually did some basic ass research for this, and it seems that in ancient china fabric would indeed be hanged in a window if the normally used paper was damaged. The design of the window, as well as the very idea to use it to imply the reconstruction of lanling, was taken from this great piece of jc angst by my pal moroll1! Oh yeah also the covered window kind of works as a denial of forgiveness for jc because it’s like a halo but covered up... Also I completely forgot to put a blindfold over his eyes which would be perfectttt because blind justice and the core exchange......... ok moving on 12 the hanged man I always have issues with this card because i cant find a satisfactory summary of what it’s really about. Best i can tell it symbolises a need to hit pause, surrender or let go of something… ive also seen it tied to sacrifice? So mo xuanyu doesn’t fit perfectly, but sacrifice is definitely there in a surface level reading kind of way, and the idea that you have to surrender or let go in order to achieve your goal does fit the whole deal of getting revenge but giving up your life in exchange and not being there to see it 13 death This is probably one of my favourite cards, definitely not because I have huge issues with change or anything…. I see this card as signalling the necessity of change or putting an end to something / leaving something in the past in order to start anew? At first i considered putting past wwx, mxy and current wwx here as a kind of transformation and one cycle flowing into the next... But firstly, I’d already used mxy in the very previous card, so putting him in again would feel like overkill, and secondly, the longer I thought about it the less convinced I was that this would even fit with the card’s meaning? Because coming back from the dead doesn’t like... trigger an internal transformation within wwx or anything? Anyway, fun fact: the design I ended up going with was actually originally intended for judgement! I thought I was being very clever with the whole “figure plays an instrument and the dead rise” parallel, but apparently I’d just completely forgotten that the judgement card had a completely different composition... Truly I was boo boo the fool... But yeah anyway at the end of the day I figured the design would kind of work for death as well, with Wen Ning and the theme of transformation, (since in his case coming back as a fierce corpse does actually mark a certain transformation in behaviour) and Wei Wuxian’s protection of the Wen people essentially signifying an attempt to break the cycle of oppression if that makes any sense? Like, wwx is trying to revolutionise the way the world works a bit, if you catch my drift 14 temperance The centrist card! Again this is probably going off track from the “official” interpretation, but to me this card has a certain “don’t commit fully; do everything in moderation; don’t take either side” flavour to it that i personally find infuriating irl and that i very much assign to lxc. It’s entirely possible that I’m misinterpreting his character because i didn’t really pay him (and the 3zun in general) much mind while reading, but hell, I’m allowed to pick favourites and choose who i want to interpret deeply vs shallowly. Again, i wish id chosen lqr for hierophant because its so annoying for a character i don’t care about to get two cards…. But oh well 15 the devil My alternative idea for this was jgy as the devil and lxc plus nmj as the figures, but since all three had been featured already (multiple times, even!) i figured I’d go with xy instead, especially since he’s among my faves lol. I think the devil signifies something along the lines of unhealthy attachment, obsession or addiction, which isn’t 100% accurate in the case of xxc and a-qing, but if i stretch it a bit to cover toxic relationships in general, and especially manipulation or negative influence, i don’t think it’s half bad. My main struggle here was to choose who amongst the xxc/sl/aq trio to choose for the human figures. 16 the tower Arguably jin zixuans death and the following massacre of nightless city were the final and most direct reason for the siege of burial mounds, and the tiger seal is good shorthand for wwx’s loss of control over his powers, which led to the deaths of jzx and jyl. When reimagining major arcana i like to feature some kind of building in this card (spoilers for a possible future project but in my rose of versailles major arcana set the tower is bastille) and even if it’s not a tower, the image of wwx looming over the gathered crowd from atop a rooftop is so good i couldn’t resist 17 the star Struggled with this one - considered both jin ling and lsz for it, as symbolising a hope for the future, but that was kind of covered by the world so it wouldn’t make sense to include here as well... As usual when I struggle with interpreting a card (as opposed to understanding it but struggling with matching a character to it, like with death or moon) I went to biddy tarot and read all the details about its meaning. What i got was that this card signifies an incoming period of introspection and inner peace following a time of turmoil, as well as a general moving on into a new, better phase of one’s life or finding new meaning and purpose. The figure also suggests someone vulnerable, but possessing a keen sense of intuition as well as a good degree of practicality and common sense. Given all those, I settled for mianmian because IM LOVE HER..... I also kind of see her as a prelude to the “just one person is enough” theme present in tgcf!! And i think her decision to abandon her sect because she saw the toxicity and corruption in it is a very inspiring action - even if it didn’t make a large visible impact, i think the appearance of her and her idyllic family at the very end of the novel - paralleling and mirroring wangxian - implies that at the end of the day, it was a meaningful one 18 the moon Another card i ALWAYS fuxking struggle with - this time less because i can’t grasp its meaning and more because I can never find a character that fits it well. I usually get fixated on the “dreams and subconscious” part, but if i lean more on the “disguise, deceit, anxiety and fear” part, i eventually figured the whole yi city arc wouldn’t be a bad fit. I say the entire arc because it really does encompass all those themes if you include both the past and the present - xue yang’s disguise, his tricks with the villagers, a-qing’s lies and even xxc’s reluctance to talk about his past as well as xue yang pretending to be xxc all fit the disguise and deceit angle, and the general mystery and creepiness of the current timeline yi city work well with the anxiety and fear - the mist, the slow uncovering of the past, even a-qing being revealed to be an ally after scaring the shit out of the protags. I definitely struggled with including all the elements and characters, and even moreso with making them vaguely fit the rider-waite composition, but i think it ended up okay ish. OH and i completely forgot to draw mist swirling around them :( 19 the sun I was considering mianmian’s family for this one, but since I used her for star, I ended up with wwx and his parents instead. Once again I’m reinterpreting the card a bit - normally I think it symbolises incoming times of pure happiness and abundance, as well as a connection with the inner child, but I gave it more of a nostalgic or sentimental twist - wwx looking back at the brief glimpse of his happy childhood. 20 judgement another card that i struggle to interpret a bit... Here i actually used the tgcf tarot zine as a reference! In it judgement is summarised as “rebirth, following duty, absolution” SO i figured that nhs, mxy and wwx all together would fit pretty neatly... wwx achieving (public) absolution through clearing his own name after being reborn, and nhs sort of calling on wwx to expose jgy’s crimes... It’s a bit messy but not bad I think! 21 the world This ties very closely to my read on mdzs as a story - which is that it’s, at the end of the day, largely about cycles, and about how hard it is to break them, but how we gotta keep trying and have hope anyway. Or maybe more precisely, that the people directly involved with and influenced by the trauma of the past might not be able to get over said trauma and that the hope for healing from it will be shouldered by the new generation. Or something like that… Basically what i mean is that jc and wwx and lwj and lxc and nhs and jgy and all these people who were in the thick of the sunshot campaign and the siege are so profoundly affected by it that it genuinely feels by the end of the story like there is little hope for them to ever truly overcome that trauma and build a better future without repeating the same old mistakes - but there is a glimmer of hope in the new generation, specifically in jl and lsz. And it’s a bit paradoxical, because they have also been directly impacted by the past tragedies - lsz having his entire clan wiped out after wwx failed to protect them, jl losing both his parents to wwx’s mistakes - but despite that loss, and despite coming from arguably the two opposing sides of the past conflicts, they are both, in the end, capable of moving past that tragedy, of recognising the complicated nature of those conflicts (jl’s moment of clarity at the end is both heartbreaking and hopeful) and forging friendships between clans in the process. I honestly think that the extra where jl is struggling to assert his authority as sect leader, to treat his subjects well and to cooperate with other sects in a truly amicable way is the single hopeful ending note for the larger themes of the novel - it allows us to imagine that maybe these kids can learn from the mistakes of their elders rather than getting sucked in by resentment at those mistakes, and actually build a brighter future for the cultivation world. And sidenote, this is also why i have a soft spot for jin ling and lan sizhui as a ship... speaking of which their poses were directly referenced from the lovers card ehehe

Looking back, I’d like to add some symbol of jin ling’s trauma so that it mirrors baby wen yuan in the tree stump... maybe his father’s sword?

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #tarot

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spacecadetcity · 3 years

Text

prompt 6: “didn’t we already have this conversation?”

words: 1047 fandom: original (original loz storyline) characters: link (or sunspots), zelda (original loz storyline version)

link peered around the corner of the castle hall, looking back and forth to see if there were any incoming guards. he held his breath to listen for the sound of clanking boots, or idle chatter from guards standing at their posts, and turned the corner when he heard nothing. he tiptoed down the hall, pleased with his choice to keep his slippers on instead of his daytime shoes as the soft material made barely a sound on the stone floor.

distantly, a bell rang to signal the passage of an hour, a total of nine times. he would be expected soon at his first class, but he was rarely on time, so he wasn’t in a rush. no, link had something more important in mind than learning letters or numbers (though if he had a music lesson today, he’d have seconds thoughts). link was headed deeper into the castle than he’d ever been, even with queen zelda, who was happy to tour the large castle with him.

now in unfamiliar halls, his steps slowed, and link looked around in wonder. the stone walls here seemed scarred, with large scrapes and portions of the walls filled in with newer stone, as if at one point they’d all but crumbled away completely. he looked in a doorway curiously, going in when he realized there was no one there.

the room was filled floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves, and a glass case in the center of the room held clearly damaged relics- a broken magic rod, an ocarina that looked as if it was a touch away from dusting, even a large black and gold shield that looked bigger than he was. link stared wide-eyed at the contents for several moments before turning to the bookcases to see what treasures and wonders they might hold.

disappointingly, the books seemed to be heavily burnt and damaged- several had chunks of missing pages, charred covers and spines, and even some that were nothing more than a carefully bound pile of loose papers. others seemed to be so old that the text had long since faded, or written in hylian forms that hadn’t been used in hundreds of years.

finally, the young boy came across a book in better condition than the others, on a shelf just barely too high for him to reach. he stretched, pulling himself up a shelf and grabbing at it the best he could. it fell from the shelf and hit him on the head before landing with a heavy thud on the stone floor.

link froze as the sound reverberated though the room and down the halls. after several moments without anyone appearing, or the clang of metal boots stomping on stone, he relaxed and picked up the book and sat with his back to the bookcase.

like the others, the words in the book were old and somewhat faded, but the pictures were still viewable, and he found himself drawn in by the depictions. sword-wielding heroes in green faced down monsters that threatened their homes, drawings of different races that were similar to those that he learned about in his classes, a set of triangles that shone with golden light- he so deeply engrossed by the pictures that he didn’t hear the footsteps enter the room.

“ahem.”

link froze at the sound, and slowly looked up from the book to find not his instructor, not his personal guard- not any guard, in fact. stood in front of him, with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow was queen zelda, and link felt his heart drop.

“um.. good morning, queen zelda..” link said weakly, and she sighed. he prepared himself to be scolded quite fiercely and to be sent to his room until dinner, and was quite surprised to see her come to sit by her side.

“didn’t we already have this conversation, link- about both my name and the rules about off-limit rooms?” she asked, gently taking the book from his grasp and closing it, reading the cover before turning her attention back to him.

“yes ma’- yes zelda, ‘m sorry zelda,” link apologized, looking mournfully at his lost book. zelda seemed thoughtful for a moment, and then waved him closer. he hesitated, unsure of if she really wanted him closer, and then inched closer until he was pressed up against her side.

“you may call me queen zelda if you’d really rather, link, but i find the title to be so formal and i’ll tell you a secret,” she leaned in, “i really only have people call me that at stuffy meetings. some of the shop owners still call me zelly from when i was a little girl your age.”

“really?” link asked, feeling somewhat doubtful. he couldn’t imagine the regal woman as a kid like him, running around in the halls and begging the chefs for sweets before dinner.

“really. ask the baker for zelly’s favorite treat if you don’t believe me! now, tell me about this book you found?” she carefully brushed away some dust from the cover, revealing the faintest picture of three triangles.

“i was looking at all the pictures in it- there are ones of the heroes, and there are monsters, and there was a picture of that old music ‘corina over there in the box! did one of the heroes use that one? do you know the songs from it?” link asked eagerly, nervousness at being in trouble gone at the prospect of getting to know more about the book, and the idea that a hero of old could have played a little wooden ocarina like the one he’d started practicing with.

“well yes- many heroes of old used magic mixed with music on their journeys. i suppose you might like to hear about them?” zelda asked, and link nodded his head so quickly he almost knocked into the bookshelf behind him. zelda laughed, and carefully opened the book to a picture of the old ocarina.

“well, many, many centuries ago-”

“how many?”

“so many that we still don’t know how long it has been- it’s honestly nothing short of a miracle that the ocarina over there has survived, though not likely that it is the original. now, listen and don’t interrupt link. as i was saying, many, many centuries ago…”

#taylor made this #fictober21

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keys-to-the-kinkdom · 3 years

Note

Head empty, just lactation+medical examination+(oh idk *spins wheel*) yennefer or ciri or eskel, someone with lovely tits

Wish I had something better for you for an inaugural prompt set but my brain clocked out early for the weekend - 💛

Your prompt is wonderful even if your brain took off early because it has been living rent free in my head since I got it. I hope you enjoy this filth <3

Eskel squirmed on the hard wooden chair. The door remained firmly shut, no matter how he stared at it. They were using one of the old tower rooms having decreed that Yennefer’s room was too familiar and the old medical suite held too many past terrors. Instead, they’d set up this room. Eskel had helped her to carry in a variety of furniture then left her to it. Really, he had very little idea what lay behind the door and every minute he sat waiting to find out was another moment of torture.

The door opened and Yennefer stepped out. She was wearing a very plain black dress with practical boots and no jewellery. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She looked even more intimidating than normal.

‘Eskel?’ she said, sounding bored.

He stood and made his way through the door behind her. The room was brightly lit by torches and there was a cheerful fire burning in the hearth. One side of the room was taken up by a large, paper covered desk with an uncomfortable looking chair behind it. There were a couple of bookshelves that were filled with esoteric texts on medicine and anatomy. On the other side of the room was a bed, covered in a sheet of linen that had been treated with beeswax to make it water resistant. It was something he’d only ever seen court physicians use. Beside the bed was a table with a tray of various implements resting on the top. Other implements were arrayed on shelves around the room. He swallowed thickly.

‘Take a seat,’ Yennefer ordered, gesturing to the bed.

He sat.

‘So. What are you here for?’ she asked.

‘Umm…’ Eskel murmured, ducking his head so that his fringe flopped over his face.

‘Spit it out. I have other patients to see. I doubt it’s anything I’ve not heard before.’

‘Well, it’s my chest,’ he said, trying to spit the words out as quickly as possible. Even though they’d spoken about this, even although he knew she knew what he was going to say already, a tendril of humiliation still snuck through him.

‘What about it?’

‘It’s… well, it’s odd. I seem to be… well… I seem to be lactating.’

‘I see,’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘I assume there’s no chance of pregnancy?’

‘No, I mean, I don’t really have the right plumbing.’ To his embarrassment he let out a ridiculous stangled laugh.

Yennefer simply looked at him until he flushed and bowed his head.

‘So, I am to understand that you are a male, with a penis and testicles and you have begun experiencing lactation?’ she asked.

He felt a burst of embarrassed arousal at the clinical way she discussed his body. He nodded at her, temporarily unable to find words.

‘Well, that is unusual. Perhaps this won’t be a complete waste of my time then. Take off your shirt and I’ll have a look.’

He had known he was going to be asked for this. He had specifically worn a soft, loose shirt that was easy to remove, just for this purpose. Yet, still his face burned as he undid his buttons and pulled the shirt over his head. He sat, twisting it in his hands. Yennefer looked down her nose at him.

‘Set it on the chair,’ she ordered, waving a hand at a low stool that sat by the bed.

He folded it carefully and set it down. She was kind enough not to call him on the fact that he was blatantly stalling for time. He felt suddenly too big for the room. He hunched over, trying to avoid Yennefer’s gaze. His chest ached lightly and there was a slight draft winding its way under the door making goosebumps shiver into life along his arms. Yennefer stepped closer to the bed and adjusted the thin pillow that lay at the top.

‘Lie down,’ she said. ‘Have you experienced any pain? Swelling? How often would you say you are discharging?’

He kicked his boots off and lay back on the bed. The sheet was cold and a little tacky under his back. It was surprisingly difficult to resist the urge to cross his arms across his chest. It was an incredibly vulnerable feeling, lying half-naked under Yennefer’s penetrating gaze. For all she was slight, she wasn’t a small woman and his position only emphasised her height.

‘They ache a little,’ he admitted. ‘They’re larger than they were, but there’s no lumps or anything. I need to discharge at least twice a day, but…’ he trailed off for a moment. ‘Sometimes they leak a little, in between,’ he whispered.

‘Hmm.’

She stepped closer to the edge of the bed, close enough that he could feel her warmth against his arm, even although she wasn’t touching him. He drew in a lungful of her scent, warm and feminine and overlaid by her characteristic perfume. It was familiar, but not particularly comforting. He had no expectation of her being kind.

Her hands were cold when she placed them on his chest. Her fingertips were like little points of ice that made him hiss in a breath through his teeth. She was unsympathetic. First, she palpated the skin around his collarbone, moving out towards his shoulders and down. She worked her way towards the soft mound on his chest and he groaned as she touched them. The coolness of her fingers felt good against the light ache of being overfull. She pressed, gently at first and then harder, and he watched as small beads of milk welled up.

She pressed her finger to one, sending and electric jolt through him, and then lifted it up. She smelled the liquid and rubbed it between her fingers.

‘You do, indeed, appear to be lactating,’ she said. ‘How odd.’

She returned her hands to his chest and pressed against the nipple. He groaned. She pinched it between two fingers and pulled. It did very little, other than causing his cock to begin filling in his breeches. She did something, changed the placement of her fingers in some way and tugged and Eskel felt the distinctive sensation of his milk letting down in a stream. He whimpered.

‘Doctor Vengerberg,’ he protested.

‘Hush. It is necessary for me to see exactly how your body reacts to stimulus in order to give you the most accurate diagnosis.’

Eskel rolled his shoulders against the sheet, which had quickly warmed to his body. He endured as she pinched and pulled and tugged and occasionally wiped up a stray drop of milk that threatened to get too near her neat sleeves. Otherwise, she left them to run down his chest and make a wet, sticky mess of his stomach. He breathed through it, trying desperately not to show how much it was affecting him, but there was no way she hadn’t noticed the tent he was pitching in his breeches. Every tug of her fingers felt like it went directly to his cock.

‘I believe I may have discovered the problem,’ she said eventually, standing back and staring down at him. ‘When was the last time you engaged in intercourse?’

‘Pardon?’ he squeaked. That wasn’t what he had expected her to say at all.

‘When was the last time you engaged in intercourse?’ she repeated, in a voice that implied she thought he was simple. ‘Have you ejaculated recently? Been fucked?’

The sound of the word ‘fucked’ in her perfect, calm voice nearly undid him, but he held it together long enough to answer.

‘It’s been… some time,’ he admitted. ‘Three months or so,’ he continued when she simply raised an eyebrow at him.

‘As I thought. You are putting your body under undue strain by not attending properly to your needs. It is expressing those needs to you in unconventional ways. I can cure this, but you must make sure to pay more attention to yourself in the future. I will need to drain the lactate and I will also need to stimulate the prostate in order to clear the build up of hormone that is causing this. Stand up and remove the rest of your clothes.’

His head spun with the technical terminology. He peeled himself off the bed and stood, ducking his shoulders and averting his eyes. Yennefer busied herself over by the shelves of medical supplies while he stripped out of his boots and breeches. He hesitated with his hands on the top of his underthings. It was ridiculous, but he didn’t want to take them off. It felt like clinging to his last little piece of safety.

‘It’s nothing I’ve not seen before,’ she called over. ‘Hurry up.’

He swallowed hard and slid them down his legs. He folded his trousers and placed them on top of his shirt. He paused for a second, then hid his underwear underneath, face painted red with shame. He’d thought he was long past any body modesty he’d once had, but now, for some reason, he felt keenly every little imperfection of his flesh. She was going to be looking at him. Worse, he knew she was going to see him.

She sauntered back over with two pieces of glassware and a tin in her hand. She looked him briefly up and down and put the things she was holding on the table.

‘Good. Now, I’m going to need you to bend over the bed.’

He stepped up to the bed and bent, so that his elbows were pressed into the tacky sheet and his arse was pointing up. He tried not to think about how stupid it must make him look to her.

‘Can you hold that position without allowing your chest to touch the bed?’ she asked. ‘If not, I will need you to adjust so that you can. It will damage the equipment if you do.’

He wriggled a little until he knew he could manage what he was asked. He locked his muscles and pressed down into his elbows, determined not to move, regardless of what she did to him. She reached over to the little table and picked up one of the glass things. It looked a little like one of their alchemy flasks, but not entirely. The bottom was a bulbous sphere which tapered into a narrow cylinder with a thick, round lip. She held it in front of his face.

‘I will attach these to your nipples in order to drain the lactate from your breasts,’ she explained. He flushed at hearing his chest referred to in such terms. ‘It should not hurt, but it may feel uncomfortable. If you experience pain at any point, it is imperative that you tell me at once. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ he mumbled into the silence.

‘Good. Now hold still.’

The glass was smooth and cold against his skin. She reached underneath him and rubbed at one nipple until it was standing at a stiff peak. Then she slipped the opening of the flask over it and held it in place. Her fingers flared briefly purple and he felt a tight suction as it adhered to him.

‘Do try not to dislodge it,’ she said flatly.

He understood the order for what it was and held still as she repeated the process on the other side. Once both were attached to her liking, he saw another brief flare of violet chaos and then he inadvertently moaned as they began milking him. He didn’t know how it was doing it and he didn’t much care either, but he could feel his milk let down as the suction increased and decreased rhythmically, pulling at his nipples and draining them into the empty spheres. He had never quite felt relief like it before.

‘Excellent,’ Yennefer said. ‘Those will drain your breasts. As they work, I will need to perform the prostate massage to release the build up of unnecessary hormones. It is liable to feel pleasurable. There is no need to be embarrassed if you become erect or even ejaculate. It is a perfectly natural reaction.’

He nodded, still a little distracted by the tugging sensation around his nipples. It felt almost like a mouth, latched on and drinking from him, except it was missing the warmth. Somehow that tiny bit of impersonality made it even better. He was so focused on that feeling that he flinched when Yennefer touched his thighs, encouraging him to spread his legs. Her finger brushed his hole, dragging something slick and silky over it to create a smooth glide. She rested it there for a moment as he consciously untensed his muscles. He wanted this and he trusted Yennefer, but having someone at his back when he had been forced into such a vulnerable position was terrifying. Especially knowing that she was looking at him. His cock twitched and her finger pressed forward. He choked on a groan. It felt so good. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her it had been a while. The Path had been long and hard that year and he’d been reduced to the company of his own hand for much longer than he really wanted to admit. The feeling of her pressing her long, slim finger into his most intimate place was a heady one.

She pressed gently for a moment longer, then began working her finger in and out, thrusting slowly. The drag of skin on slick skin lit up his nerves and he felt the tip of his cock begin to drool with precum. He felt the tightness beginning to ease, his body accepting the intrusion as pleasurable rather than something to be rejected. Once her finger was moving steadily inside him, she added a second, making him whine and push back against the stretch. She repeated the process of slow thrusting and stretching until he had relaxed enough to take them easily.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now, I will begin the prostate massage. Remember, you must stay still.’

He nodded. He had no intention of doing anything to disrupt the perfect pressure around his nipples. He’d never before considered them particularly sensitive, but ever since he’d started producing milk, the barest brush against them could get him hard. This focused suction was driving him insane. He wanted more. As Yennefer’s fingers pressed deeper inside, he got it. She crooked them and pulled, pressing forward and finding his prostate unerringly. A garbled noise of pleasure fell from his mouth without restraint as she pressed insistent circles into it.

The torment seemed to go on forever. The suction around his nipples was steady and predictable while the pressure on his prostate was constant but varied in both pressure and speed. He could feel his pulse in his cock, could feel it dribbling a puddle of precum onto the floor beneath him. He wanted to blush, wanted to hide his face and pretend nothing was happening, that he wasn’t getting off on a necessary medical procedure, but it was undeniable. It would have been easier if Yennefer were a less attractive physician, or if he were less pent up and desperate, but she was gorgeous and he needed. The pressure and pleasure built and built until all he could think of was the desperate ache between his legs and the hard press of her fingers deep inside. He could hear the constant dripping of his milk as it splashed into the collection device and it just spurred his pleasure higher. It was all he could do to stay still, to not give into the trembling of his limbs and fall forward or give into his instincts and thrust back, fucking himself on her fingers until he came. He had to do as he was told and hold still though.

In the end, it was inevitable. One hard press of Yennefer’s fingers, combined with a well timed increase in suction around his nipples and he was lost. His vision whited out in a flurry of sparks and he shouted, his muscles locking up as his cock emptied itself across the flagstones. Yennefer gentled him through it, one small hand pressing between his shoulders, the other continuing to finger him gently. She stopped pressing on his prostate, but left her fingers in his arse to give him something to clench on. As he started to come down he groaned at the feeling. Her fingers were so long and slim and competent. He loved watching her work with her hands, the purple of her magic sparking around them and limning them with light. It accentuated the delicate strength of them. He burned with the knowledge that her hands, hands that casually wielded the power to topple cities and burn empires, those hands were being turned to his pleasure. As the aftershocks of his orgasm rolled through him, he bent his head forward and panted.

‘There now,’ she said, ‘No doubt that will feel much better. Stay where you are for a moment and allow me to properly detach the lactation aids.’

She withdrew her fingers slowly and carefully and he heard her cross the room to the small basin and pour some water out. There was splashing as she cleaned her hands of the slick. He focused on following her movements to distract from the tugging on his chest that was slowly edging from pleasurable into painful on his oversensitised nipples. It didn’t take long before she was back by his side and the pressure ceased. She detached each one with another quick flare of chaos. They were around three quarters full with his milk, the white liquid sloshing slightly as she set them aside. He whimpered and reached one hand up to press at his chest. It was flatter now, no longer quite so full, but it was still tender and aching from the stretch.

‘You can get dressed again,’ Yennefer said, crossing to her desk.

He stood and began the process of putting his clothes back on. His underthings were first, covering his rapidly softening cock from her sharp gaze. As he redressed, she continued speaking.

‘It seems that the problem is slightly worse than expected. Your breasts are producing a large amount of lactate and your prostate was rather engorged. It is likely that you will require repeated treatments to deal with the issue. You should take care to drain your own breasts at least daily, if not twice daily and you should engage in frequent masturbation. I would like you to return again next week for a follow up appointment. I will assess your condition then, but it is likely that you will require at least one further prostate massage at that point. I would recommend that you take better care of your sexual health in future to prevent issues of this nature arising,’ she said, staring at him over the pile of papers she was looking at.

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ he mumbled.

‘Yes, quite. Now, off you go. I have other patients to see today.’

He nodded and let himself out, closing the door firmly behind him.

#keys writes #keys prompt fill #keys lactation cw #keys medical/examination kink cw #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #yellow heart anon

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whentommymetalfie · 4 years

Text

Breathe Again -Chapter twenty-one

-Track of time-

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six//seven//eight//nine//ten//eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen//sixteen//seventeen//eighteen//nineteen//twenty

Chapter Summary: Tommy continues to struggle with the news from Birmingham. And finally admits something to Alfie

Wordcount: 3,9 K

Warnings: suicidal ideation, disordered eating, discussions of mental illness, suicide and self harm,

”Go on, the weather’s lovely. No snow yet, but it could happen any day now,” Esther says cheerily as she helps Tommy sit up on the bed. It’s one of those days when he needs it. Alfie has left the room, and he can hear him pacing in the hallway. Heavy, impatient steps.

“Come on, get your scrawny arse out of bed, Tommy, or I’m coming in there to fucking drag you out by the hair. Don’t think I won’t.”

Esther huffs and rolls her eyes, but chooses not to comment. He sits there on the bed with her arm still around his shoulders, held by the secure weight. She’s not very tall, Esther, but she’s strong and sturdy. Perhaps it’s out of pity, this embrace, but he can’t reject the touch. Starved, craves it.

Tommy rubs a hand over his stomach. He tried to eat breakfast but the mud was in the way-

Esther squeezes his shoulder.

“How are you feeling?”

It’s too difficult answering questions like that, Esther knows and rephrases it. “Are you feeling sick?”

“He was sick, for a long time,” Michael Gray tells us when we meet him at his new office, “We’ve of course decided to keep it private, for the sake of the family. I took over more of the day to day work-“

Michael’s voice has become clear in his mind, an as real and solid presence as any of the others these past few days. It’s his own fault for reading the article so many times. Compulsively scratching a wound and refusing to let it scab over.

Esther asked a question.

He swallows thickly and manages, “No.”

Esther keeps rubbing his arm but he barely feels it.

Rumours have spread of Shelby’s deteriorating mental health, something Michael Gray only briefly touches upon-

“Are you sure? You’re looking quite pale.” She touches his forehead gently. The lines on her furrowed brow are blurred, everything around him seems to be enveloped in fog.

Michael’s voice continues to recite the article without missing a beat, “Unfortunately, the war left him with damages not even time could repair. And it began catching up with him. Which is how one can explain some of his less… rational decisions as of late.” One of these less than rational decision might be the choice to ally himself with Oswald Mosely, which-

He shakes his head, trying to erase the words, wishes they’d blur and fade like so many of the memories. They’re lodged like sharp pieces in his head. The worst parts he’s managed to wrap in enough fog to soften the edges. But bits and pieces still slip through.

“One has to remember they started with nothing, from an unfortunate background, so it’s no small feat, what Thomas has managed to do. Even if it’s been through questionable methods. Which of course is not something I can stand behind nor endorse, but it was before my time. Things are changing, now.”

Esther gently moves his hand away from his scar and places it in his lap instead.

“Are you sure you’re not feeling unwell?”

He shakes his head. Tries to say something reassuring, something that will make her happy, but the dirt is in the way and all he manages is a croaked ‘tired’.

Esther holds him closer. “I know, love. But it’ll do you good, getting some air.”

“We’ll go look at that tree you like so much, if you can manage it that far,” Alfie calls from the hallway. Heavy footsteps approach and soon he pops his head in through the doorway. Raises both eyebrows expectantly. His gaze softens when it takes in the sight.

“Just a short walk, to get some air. You’ll feel better,” he says and comes to stand before the bed, towering above him in his large black coat. “One step at a time, eh?”

Why is it so fucking hard? it’s never going to be better, it’s too hard, all of it-

“Alright, up you go then. And let’s see if we can put some more clothing on you because pyjamas are entirely inappropriate attire in this weather.”

When he’s pulled upright, he stumbles on unsteady feet. But Alfie doesn’t let him fall.

It does help, going outside. There’s no snow yet but the air is crisp and a layer of frost has encased the branches and the grass, making the world glimmer in the sunlight. It feels strange and nice, noticing it. And after smoking two cigarettes in quick succession, he can finally breathe. The mud has almost cleared away from his chest, his stomach, and instead there’s just frosty air with a smattering of salt. As usual, Alfie talks enough to drown out the sound of Michael reciting the article over and over again.

The sun is shining. And it’s daylight, many, many hours until nightfall when he has to lie there in the darkness and the voices become so much louder.

Alfie has a pleased smile on his face, as if this whole thing is a personal victory. Tommy likes it when he smiles. The realisation puzzles him. He glances at Alfie again, to make sure he isn’t mistaken. Watches as he scratches his beard absentmindedly, the rings glinting in the sunlight. His one good eye glints in the light too. Like this, he radiates peace and safety and Tommy wishes he could huddle into his coat, wants to be so close that his body melts together with Alfie’s.

When they get as far as the chestnut tree he’s so exhausted he has to rest. The past days inability to stomach anything at all hasn’t made him any stronger.

He promises himself to try harder with dinner.

“There you go, nice and easy, did so well, didn’t ya´? Didn’t faint or even swoon the tiniest bit,” Alfie mutters as he leans against the trunk of the tree.

He steps back to give him a onceover and Tommy’s hand instinctively shoots out grasp his coat sleeve. The moment his fingers close around the fabric he’s flooded with regret, but Alfie doesn’t seem to mind. That pleased smile is back on his face.

“Look at that, quite nice innit?” he says and nods upwards, where the sun is shining down between the branches. he closes his eyes and focuses on the rays warming his face.

When he opens them again, Alfie is watching him.

Alfie has a way of looking at him that makes something flutter in his chest. The scrutiny can become uncomfortably intense sometimes. Especially on those days when he’s all too aware of what he’s been reduced to, when he looks down at his awful hands and the ugliness seems to cling to his skin- But not when Alfie’s eyes are soft, like this. When he looks at him as if he’s-

“The same way you’d look at an abandoned fawn you found in the woods, with a broken leg,” Grace muses. “And you’re considering whether to shoot it or not, to end its suffering-“

Alfie’s hand comes up to cup his face. His rings feel cool against his cheek, but his skin is warm.

“You alright? Seems like something crossed your mind just then.”

“I’m fine.”

He wishes he could be more for Alfie. That he could do something to earn the affection he desperately craves. He’s not enough.

“You’ve never been enough for anyone. Never been able to offer anything-“

He closes his eyes, like a child trying to hide. As if he could disappear.

“Why do you think they never came to see you?”

“Tommy, hey,” Alfie holds his head a little firmer. “Eyes on me. Go on.”

He obeys, clings harder to his coat and tries to focus on the warmth of his hands.

“Whatever they’re saying, I suggest you try and listen to me instead. Yeah?”

Alfie accepts the tiny nod he manages as the only answer. Rubs his thumb up and down his jaw. Frowns. Tommy tries to count the creases on his forehead in search of distractions. They smooth out a little when Alfie makes up his mind and says, “Think that’ll have to be enough for today. Let’s get you home.”

He wraps an arm around his waist (“Just to keep you steady, eh, Tommy?”) and sets off down the path towards the house.

The sun still shines. Alfie lights another cigarette for him and then he tells him the intricate details of how swallows build their nests. Tommy leans in, ducks his head until it’s almost resting against Alfie’s shoulder. His coat smells like pipe tobacco and salty air. Alfie squeezes his waist.

Right then he wishes he could freeze the moment and stay in it forever.

…

He still takes refuge in the living room at night, when the nightmares wake him up. The past few days it’s happened too often.

Alfie tells him to wake him up instead, but he can’t. Reaching across the mattress and shaking him feels impossible, asking, demanding too much. He’s promised he won’t get angry but people lie, don’t they? We’re only trying to help, Tommy, we won’t hurt you, we’ll take care of you, you just need to rest, Tommy, rest, sleep, and it’ll get better, there’s no bullet there, all healed, see, look for yourself, nothing there, you just need to rest-

“This is why you need to listen to me.” Grace’s soft voice is clear among all the others. “You can trust me.”

It’s childish and naïve, thinking he’d be able to hide from her, from any of them, simply by leaving the bedroom. They follow, always know where he is. Grace is stood in the corner, by the bookshelves. The crow is behind her, on its perch on the shelf, still now, staring at him with glassy eyes,

still and dead.

“It’s not real,” Alfie reminds him. “Or well, it’s real, innit, but it’s not alive. Alright?”

And Grace is not real, he knows, he knows and still it doesn’t help because in the dark it’s hard to know for sure- and does it matter, when he knows she’s telling the truth? Real or not.

The darkness makes everything worse.

The darkness, knowing everyone else in the world is asleep, the sheer loneliness of it all. Even if Alfie is only seconds away. Esther too. He could be the only one left in the entire world and it wouldn’t make a difference.

“Please come wake me up if you need to, Tommy,” Esther keeps saying. A bit like Alfie, but gentler in her insistences. “It’s fine. I’ll sleep better knowing you feel safe.”

He usually nods, yes, he’ll come wake her up, even if he has no intention to. He wishes he could.

“I’m trying to care for him, but nothing seems to help,” Lizzie’s voice comes from the corridor, through a tiny gap between the door and the frame that casts a thin strip of light onto the dark bedroom floor. “I only seem to make things worse.”

“Not to worry, mrs Shelby, this is why I’m here. To help. Your husband is very sick, and it’s difficult, caring for someone in that position.”

“I can’t get him to eat. At all. Barely get him to drink either.”

“That is concerning, of course, but there are measures we could take-“

“And it seems like he never sleeps. He just lies there, staring at nothing and-”

He can’t wake Esther up either.

He’s already a burden, doesn’t want to make it worse. Knows because of their tired eyes, each time they have to lead him back to bed, the same tired eyes Lizzie had, they

“-don’t understand, don’t know how to help you, Tommy-“

That’s why they were sending him away, to that place the voices spoke about behind the door, where they don’t have to see, don’t have to be bothered, they can safely forget and move on. Build their lives back up, bricks upon bricks, it’ll be easy to fill the hole until it’s as if he were never there they’ll be happy to be rid of it

The pain is fresh and raw, torn up again by the words in the paper, the glimpse into a life he doesn’t have anymore, perhaps never had, just clung to with a white knuckled grip

“For how long can you keep doing this?”

How long? Imagining the rest of his life stretched out in an endless string of days has installed nothing but terror in him for so long.

The pain makes his body seize up and his fingers close around something smooth. He looks down to find the chestnut there in his palm.

And he thinks of Alfie. Of falling asleep curled up in his arms as he reads, walking in the snow, sitting outside when spring comes, the way Alfie talked about. That would be nice.

Maybe he still wants things that feel nice.

The thought sparks a tiny, flickering light that warms the empty cavity in his chest.

“What do you think he gets out of this? Having to care for someone like you, without getting anything in return. You don’t deserve any of this.”

The answer comes instinctively, “I know-“

But he wants it-

“Haven’t you gotten enough of the things you’ve wanted?”

“But-“

“Stop questioning me.” A twinge of cold steel creeps into Grace’s voice.

When the urge to dig his nails into his skin comes over him he squeezes the chestnut harder. Tries to focus on the smooth surface.

“I want to stay.”

Wants to stay, wants to be here with Alfie. It feels so strange to want anything at all, he’s not allowed to. For so long there’s just been this void inside of him. How could he want anything, then?

But he wants to be here with Alfie.

Grace’s eyes glint with ice in the dark.

“He’s going to hurt you. How can you not see that? When he finally realises how much it’s cost him, all of this”

He nods, hopes to appease her, can’t stand that voice. Even if the tiniest part of him wants to protest. Alfie wouldn’t hurt him.

“You know you deserve to be hurt.”

The chestnut lands on the floor with a soft thump. Instead, his hand grips a green vase that glimmers on the mantlepiece. The glass is cool underneath his fingers and it rests heavily in his hand. Shimmers blue in the faint moonlight from the window.

“It’s so easy, Tommy,” Grace’s voice is soft again. “So easy. With me you’ll get to rest.”

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, fingers convulsively tight around the vase. Tries to will himself to put it back on the mantle.

“You can’t stay here.”

“I want to.” His voice cracks pitifully and the hand holding the vase is shaking, shaking wonders if his bones will crack before the glass does

“Evening Thomas. Thought we’d gotten an unannounced visit, but it’s just one of your ghosts again. Suppose they might classify as one, still.”

Alfie is standing in the doorway, seems to fill it entirely with his broad frame and Tommy wants to fling himself into his arms and cling to him but he’s lost control of his own body, gaze flickering back to Grace who is still watching him with cold eyes. Alfie walks up to him without another word, takes the vase away from him and puts it out of reach on the mantle.

He was so angry, that time when he broke the vase, even if it was an accident. Yelled and looked at him with hard eyes full of accusation. Now, Alfie just strokes his cheek. His fingers are rough and warm against his skin and he leans into the touch.

“ ‘s alright, hm? Yeah, you’re alright,” he says. “Look, I brought your blanket. There we go- c’mere” He wraps the blanket tightly around his shoulders, pulls Tommy into his arms, into folds of sleep-warm fabric, solid muscle anf softness that he can bury his face in. He’s been holding his breath for so long it starts coming out in harsh hiccups against Alfie’s chest as he rocks him back and forth. Slowly slowly, until he eventually says, “A’ight, let’s get you back to bed and away from the ghosts, eh?”

When Alfie tries to move him, Tommy finds himself frozen on the spot.

“No? Not ready to go back to the bedroom? Do you want to stay here for a bit?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t know- what does he want? Wants to be close to Alfie. But in the dark bedroom, there’s the expectation of sleep. Sleeping feels impossible, his heart is still thrumming so hard in his chest. Hammers against his ribcage, sending vibrations through his whole body. He looks at the floor, searches for the chestnut he dropped. Alfie’s gaze follows his and he soon finds it, picks it up and presses it into Tommy’s hand

“There you go. Now, you just sit right here-“ He leads him over to the sofa and plops him down onto the soft cushions. “And hold onto that, while I light a fire. Think you can do that?”

The surface is smooth and familiar under his fingers. He nods and pulls his feet off the cold floor.

Alfie lights a fire that chases the shadows into the corners of the room, bathes the room and his face in warm light that breathes life into everything. Then he seats himself next to Tommy on the sofa and pulls him into his arms again. Tucks his head under his chin.

“There we go. Suppose we’ll just sit here for a while, then. Can’t read anything I’m afraid, seeing as I left my glasses in the bedroom, but we can, yeah, we can just sit here and relax.”

He never realizes just how cold he is until he’s close to Alfie. Alfie is so warm. Warm and strong. Safe. Like this, he doesn’t have to believe the voices. Not any of them. Like this, he feels safe. The fire crackles softly and melts together with Alfie’s breaths into a soothing hum.

“Who is it that you see, hm, Tommy?” Alfie asks once he’s stopped shaking.

It’s not the first time he asks. They all ask. The answer is always lodged in his chest and too hard to get out. But now it floats dangerously close to the surface. His breaths tremble as he pulls them into his lungs. He worries the fabric of the blanket under his fingers, rubs the pad of his other thumb over the chestnut. It’s warm now from resting in his palm. He buries his face deep in the fabric of Alfie’s nightshirt. Until he can pretend he won’t hear him.

“Grace.” It’s surreal, saying it out loud. Even if he whispers it so quietly it might as well have been the wind. As if it’s not his voice, as if the reply is separate from himself.

“And she speaks to you? When you see her.”

A hum is all he can manage.

“And what does she say?”

He shakes his head. No no he can’t, he’s not allowed-

“Go on, you’re doing so well.” Alfie mutters into his hair. “Yeah? What does she say?”

“Bad things.”

“Like suggesting you put a gun to your head, or break my glassware to potentially do harm to yourself? Or walk into the bloody ocean.”

Perhaps Alfie can sense that he’s sinking with every word because he holds him tighter.

“See that’s important, innit? Granted I don’t fucking know your wife, but it seems highly unlikely she’d be so fucking adamant that you hurt yourself. So I think we can safely say whoever keeps pestering you isn’t really her. Does that seem like a reasonable theory?”

He doesn’t have an answer. Grace, the real Grace, has gotten oddly blurred, the warm, rosy memories faded at the edges. It seems so long ago. And he was different then. Maybe a bit more deserving of her love. No, he never deserved it but at least he wasn’t… this.

The good memories hurt too much. He locked them away, tried to forget. And now it seems like he has.

“It’s my fault. My fault that- that she’s dead“

Alfie’s fingers wind into his hair and tugs it backward until he’s forced to meet his gaze.

“Did you hold the fuckin’ gun, eh? Logic like that is useless once you get into a business like ours. How many times do I have to fuckin tell you?”

“I might as well-“

“Don’t argue with me. See I’m a wise, wise old man, not to mention, a quite recently instated God. I’d be deeply hurt and offended if you decided to not treat my advice and wisdom with the utmost respect.”

“There are others,” Tommy says, still having to tear the words from throat to get them out. Alfie hums. Allows him to hide in his shirt again.

“Suppose it’s hard, having so many people in your head all the time But, I’d say that all things considered, you probably shouldn’t pay too much attention to what they are saying either.”

“Why?”

“Well, to put it simply, if they tell you to hurt yourself, you shouldn’t fucking listen. Or if they tell you- fucking hell, whatever it is that make you wander off in the middle of the night, or stare into the distance with that horrified look on your face.” Alfie pauses his increasingly agitated monologue and huffs out a harsh breath through his nose. He combs his fingers rhythmically through his hair in the way that always makes Tommy feel as if he could melt. Now, it at least soothes his wracked nerves. Alfie sighs. “Whatever they’re saying it’s not worth listening to.”

“They’re right.”

Grace might’ve loved him, even if he didn’t deserve it. Maybe Lizzie did too. For short while, at least. Before he destroyed that too. There’s something wrong with him, something ugly and black and broken that makes it impossible to love him. Even Ada said so, everything he touches-

Alfie’s eyes glint in the light of the fire as he grasps his chin and nudges his head up. He focuses on the clear one, the one that isn’t a reminder of-

“They don’t fucking matter,” he says, voice sharp. “Fuckin’ ghosts and spectres. They’re not real and they don’t matter, you hear me?”

“It’s hard. Knowing what’s real.”

Alfie nods and guides his head back against his chest, his touch gentle again. His head is cradled in his palm, warm breaths in his hair as he whispers, “This, this is real.”

And with the sound of Alfie’s heartbeat and the crackling fire in his ears, Tommy closes his eyes.

…

The next thing he becomes aware of is that he’s floating. At least it feels like that at first. But he’s anchored in a set of two strong arms, head still propped against a familiar chest. Floorboards creak underneath heavy steps. He tries to open his eyes, but they’re too heavy. Shifts the tiniest bit to bury his face in soft fabric.

“Shh, shh, settle down. Settle down, I’ve got you.”

Alfie hushes him and rocks him ever so slightly, pulling him slowly back into sleep as he’s carried through the house.

The voices and the mud can’t reach him here, in Alfie’s arms.

#Tommy/Alfie #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #peaky blinder fanfic #breathe again #suicide tw #self harm tw #disordered eating tw

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maprron · 3 years

Text

Mystery in the Woods - Chapter 4

[I can’t find the chapters so if you are new to this story or just want to remind yourself of what happened like 5 months to update my fanfiction.net is @/maprron :)]

Summary: Lucy's father moves them from their home in Colorado to rural Maine but this small town, despite only having a population of less than 500, has secrets especially in the woods. Will Lucy listen to Natsu and never go into the woods or will the longing get to her? Mainly Nalu with, Gruvia, and Canajane (I will add but those last two are already together in the start)

A/N: sdflkdfjbs I forgot to save this so let's try again. I'm so so so sorry about updating since like... September(?) I really dislike proofreading also please forgive me if there is any mistakes I think I might have dyslexia and I really don't have the energy or time to read this over again because then I will probably change so more things up. So any way I hope you enjoy and I promise I won't take as long next time... probably

I laid awake all night stressing over my plan in which I was going to ditch school in the morning. I had never ditched school and I was troubled with the thought that I might get caught but I needed answers.

The night prior Natsu had suggested that I come over and play some games with his friend and this is where the idea was sparked.

Juvia made a comment about a library that she had heard about before, she heard others had mentioned that it was haunted although she didn't believe them. Natsu's answer was simple, that yes there was a library east of town but it wasn't haunted, he even mentioned that the library belongs to his dad's friend. He also mentioned that she studies the woods and at that moment something told me to go.

"Don't" Natsu pulled me towards him as soon as I began to leave

"Don't what?" I dropped my bag back down at my feet

"I know you were thinking about going to the library" he looked me dead in the eyes with a knowing look, I gulped at his stare

"I wasn't" I lied, it was a shitty lie but a lie nonetheless. The look he gave me knew that I was lying but he let me go

"I'm driving you home" he grabbed his coat and keys and pushed me out the front door with him. This action might have been a way to make sure I didn't try to go right then but even I wouldn't do that, I'm sure if the midnight thing is true but I'm not going to be the one to find out. But I also should have listened to him but at the same time there was something inside me that was telling me to go, that the lady who owned the library would be able to answer all my questions that I have asked ever since I arrived.

The deeper I went into the woods the more I felt the odd feeling I had felt every day since arriving in this odd town. But the scary part was that I was convinced someone was walking right behind me. I could hear the crunch of the snow behind me even when I would pause, they weren't hiding their existence. I was afraid to turn around this time because I knew that this time they were closer than when I first met Natsu. This time they could reach out and grab me, so I walked faster. I knew they were there, what else could have been breathing down the back of my neck. No person would be out here except for me. So I started walking faster which eventually turned into me running through the woods

I soon came upon an old Tudor style mansion. It felt strange as if it didn't belong there but a sign in the yard suggested otherwise.

The sign told me that the home was the place that I had been looking for. I would have been hesitant to walk inside however if it wasn't for the car parked outside of the home and the few toys in the yard that made it look lived in. I was kind of expecting an old rundown home but the only thing that made it look rundown was the ivy running down the walls but even that seemed intentional.

I swiftly made my way inside the library, a bell ringing as I entered.

I looked around at the surprisingly small library "for a house this big you'd expect it would be a little bit bigger" I mumbled, taking a look at the bookshelves which had carvings of dragons and other mythical beings.

And when I turned around I was met with a little girl. She had short blue hair and I noticed that her ears were pointed almost like she was an elf. She held a small white kitten in her arms which had a pink bow tied around its neck. She herself wore a dress that made it look like she was from the 1800s and considering this town she might as well have been.

"Hello?" She tilted her head slightly "mama wasn't expecting any visitors I don't think" the young girl looked around as if she was looking for said women

"Oh uh… sorry I was just told there was a library here and I wanted to see if it is true" I crouched down to her level "I'll leave if I am intruding"

"Aw don't worry you are quite alright" A woman spoke as she walked into the room. This women wore a dress that was a blue-gray color. The sleeves of the dress were loose and almost went past her finger tips. The final part of her dress was the thin ribbon tied around her waist a couple of times, making a crossed pattern, she was dressed as if it was the middle of spring instead of the freezing last days of fall. Her hair which was solid white was tucked into a braid and her skin was much lighter than her daughter's. You could barely tell that they were related but nonetheless they were. And then she looked up and her face it seemed confused and the words that fell out of her mouth confused me as well

"Layla?"

"Um… my name is Lucy" I smiled at the woman. Back home I would be confused for my mother all the time, it was understandable since we look so much alike, but here? I brushed this comment off as maybe she knew another Layla that look a lot like me

"Sorry you just… it's just that you remind me of an old friend that is all" she then dusted her hands off on her dress "now what brings you to these woods? We don't get many visitors and the ones that we do get are usually old friends of mine"

"Well I heard about this library from a friend and I was wondering if you could help me out with something"

"And what is that dear?" She smiled at me

"Well ever since I moved here I have been having these strange feelings" I giggled a little at how strange this was

"A strange feeling?" She flipped through a book

"Yes and well I feel like I am being watched and followed everytime I go close to the woods"

"You…" she looked up at me suddenly

"Have you ever heard of something like this before?" I twiddled my thumbs

"Yes I have but only from certain people and they left years ago" she responded looking back down at her book but her happy face quickly morphed into a face that I could only describe as fear "unless…" she whipped her head up to look at me again "honey what did you say your name was?"

"Oh it is Lucy" she stared at me as a way to tell me to continue "uh… Lucy Heartfilia"

"Heartfilia… no wonder… Layla?" She mumbled every word and I could only catch a few. She seemed confused and concerned and I was equally confused as her. When she called me Layla earlier I didn't think much about it but she actually did know my mom? It's no wonder she mixed us up. But how? How would she know my mom?

"Tell me? Why are you back?! Your mom was supposed to be the last!" She pressed her hands onto the counter as she leaned over it

"My mom has been dead for two years… why are we-"

"What..." she threw her head up and stared at me

"Who are you and how did you know my mom?"

She didn't respond for a moment "I'm Grandeeney, I was your mom's mentor"

"My mom's mentor?" I laughed at her "nothing you've said had made any sense, my mom was born and raised in Colorado"

"Oh so that's what they told you?" She raised up from the counter

I nodded and quickly backed away from her as I noticed she had a new look in her eyes. Of course in such a confined space there is only so far that you can go and I was quickly stopped from going any further by a bookcase. As I hit it a few books fell off the shelf. One of these books opened and a piece of paper fell out. I couldn't make out what the paper said, it was almost as if it was in a different language, but I have studied all kinds of languages and I have never seen these kinds of characters.

I bent down to try and clean up the mess I made and as I reached for the paper my body suddenly was unable to move and before I could understand why my body was flung backwards into the book shelf, this time causing all the books to fall onto the floor

"You're only causing damage, Lucy" her words sounded more like a growl and her eyes… they were different, her eyes were light blue and peaceful when we first met but now they had glossed over and looked deadly. That wasn't the only change in her appearance as I also noticed that her soft white hair had somehow got loose from the braid and now looked spikey, similar to how Gajeel's was. But the strangest thing was that I could have sworn she was covered in feathers and scales.

"What?" But before I could get a good look at her the door was flung open and the room strangely grew warmer. As I looked over to the right of Grandeeney there stood Natsu. He was panting and he looked panicked. His hair was more messy than usual and right under his right eye there seemed to be a couple scale outlines. How he found me may forever be a mystery… maybe

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME HERE," he panted and similarly to Grandeeney his words came with a growling noise "SO TELL ME WHY THE HELL AM I FINDING YOU HERE!" he walked closer to me, if I could have backed away I would because for the first time since we met he scared me and for the first time I truly realized that I should have just gone to school this morning.

"I-" I choked struggling to find the words and then I broke "I'm sorry" I started crying, finally gaining control of my body as I fell weakly to the floor.

As Natsu crouched down in front of me a cool breeze blew into the room and it instantly got colder. The heat I felt seemed to vanish as if it never existed.

"Lucy, why are you here?" He grabbed my face and looked me dead in the eyes, wiping my tears with his thumbs

Another change in his appearance that he had moments ago where snake-like eyes but like the faint outline of scales they were gone, maybe I had imagined it all "something told me to come here…" I tried to lean away from his grasp but it was no use

"Why did your father move here?" Grandeeney was back to her normal self when I looked at her, it was almost as if I had imagined the whole incident

"I...don't know" I admitted to her "but we left Colorado in a rush"

"What did he kill someone" Natsu chuckled under his breath

"What exactly happened to your mom?" Grandeeney decided to ignore Natsu's questions as she crouched down beside me, grabbing my hand

"She got sick but no doctor could figure out what she had"

"She...failed?" She fell backwards at the realization that she didn't dare to believe earlier "no...but… we did everything right" she rested her hands against the wood floor

"Grandy?" Natsu rubbed his hand on her back "what happened?" He was quiet which is nothing like him, he seemed to be quiet for once because he himself was scared...

"Acnologia… he was supposed to be sealed away" her face went pale white

"That is where my dad has been… hasn't he?"

"Huh?" she seemed to be struggling to breathe

"My dad has been gone for a month"

She looked up at me "how long have you been here?" A piece of her long, white hair fell into her face

"A month…" I bit my lip nervously worried that maybe I wasn't insane and something was actually after me

"I met her the day after my dad left" Natsu swallowed roughly

"This isn't good" she grabbed Natsu's shoulder as tears rolled down her face "Layla was our only hope"

#nalu #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #nalu fanfiction #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #wendy marvell

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missblissy · 4 years

Text

Rebirth (Chapter Eleven)

Alastor x Human!Reader ((Reincarnation!AU))

Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven

It was unnecessarily dark. You looked around at Alastor’s bedside and did your best to lighten it up. You moved to a window and began to pull open the drapes, hoping the daylight might help. You were instead met with a red sky with permanent overcast and endless screams that seemed to vanish into silence as you closed the drape back up. So much for that idea…

You found some extra light switches to flip and in an instant the darkness vanished, aside from the shadows in the corners. You found yourself in a room so otherworldly, you weren’t sure it was entirely a room. The walls were decorated from an era long before your lifetime, with the majority of its color in a deep shade of red and black with gold to compliment in details and outlines. Everything about this room shared a reoccurring color pattern. Bookcases littered one corner, making it into a makeshift office of sorts with desks and cabinets as well. A bed stayed in the other corner where Alastor laid now, then a fireplace in another corner and the last one had several doors, however one of them poorly stood out. It looked like a shabby ply wood door you’d find on a hut or a cabin.

Pictures littered more than half of the wall space. Most of them were small and yellowed, with no color to them other than shades of brown. There were pictures of mostly people and larger paintings of places aside from one large portrait above the fireplace. It was large, definitely larger than you. The colors were faded in some places, while the paint had only started to crack in the smallest of fissures. It was like looking in a mirror, you saw yourself painted stoically onto the portrait hanging high above your head.

You took a deep breath in as you stared at your demon self, perfectly captured in oil sitting in a chair with Alastor who was off to the side and standing behind you. You both had smiles, but they were small, baring no teeth and relaxed. You were in a golden gown that looked straight off the red carpets of hollywood. It was long, with embroidered patterns all along the skirt and torso with long lace sleeves. Alastor didn’t look any different than how he did now, the only thing different about you was just your clothes at this point. You looked exactly like the demon staring back at you.

The sounds of Alastor’s soft snores fizzled in the air due to his static nature. You looked over your shoulder at him, watching him sleep for a moment before you looked back up at the painting. A breeze drifted by your shoulder, through your hair and caused the low fire to flicker only slightly more. Did someone open the door? No, it was still closed.

You looked over to the windows, nothing about them changed. As you turned your head, looking around the room slowly, you felt the breeze again…

“Scared yet?” Smoke started to encased you and you nearly screamed before a foggy hand slapped itself over your mouth. How could… smoke have mass? How could you feel it’s wispy skin? In a swirling whirlwind of shadows and smoke, it took the form of a dark body that looked very similar to Alastor’s own shadow… “Forgot little old Eon?” You could see his hollow eyes and mouth from the lack of mist in those areas. It moved and shifted as he spoke, “How are you?”

He moved away, floating wherever he liked while staring at you. It took you a second to respond, the Xanax was still in your system and it made you more and more groggy as time passed, “I’m fine,” You paused, “What do you want?”

Eon flicked a smokey ear and you could have sworn you saw the flash of an earring dangling away, “Clever girl,” He clicked his tongue once then rolled his eyes with a grin, “So smart! Gets straight to business!” He started to float around the room with crossed arms, “But I’m just dropping in, my vessel,” He paused and looked at Alastor’s sleeping figure, “Has taken on a lot of damage it seems. I haven’t seen him passed out like this in years,”

You weren’t sure what to say, “That’s nice of you… I guess,” That made him laugh. You’ve never heard such a hollow and empty laugh before. It was so small, quick and short.

Eon shrugged his shoulders and gazed at you with a sharp and toothy grin, “What about you? Why are you still here?”

“Because I look like this,” You held one of your arms up then gestured to all your new demonic features.

“Oh! That’s what’s different! I could hardly notice!” Another hollow laugh, it was a few seconds longer than the last one, “Is that it?” He asked, “You seem like you might be.... Looking… for something?”

You narrowed your gaze and pointed a look at Eon, “No,” You said quickly, “Stop trying to get in my head,” You walked past him and towards the fireplace. You stood there and held your hands out flat, taking in the warmth of the fire.

“I’m not trying anything,” Eon said with a false sense of innocence, “You’ve been asking questions all day about him,” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Alastor, “You’ve been obsessing over a diary with nothing but him in it,” Eon moved his ever twisting and smoking body into the large chair resting beside the fireplace, “Seems like to me you’ve been given the perfect chance to finally answer all those questions once and for all,” He gave you a look, a smile, a lifted brow and some kind of twinkle in his empty eyes.

“Are you telling me to go through his stuff?”

“Maybe?” Eon shrugged and his grin only grew larger, “I mean, who knows how long he’s gonna sleep like a dead baby? Last time he was out for about a month or so. And the diary can only tell you so much, and Alastor doesn’t want to tell you anything at all.”

He had a point. You looked around the room again, trying your best to avoid eye contact with the portrait. Maybe you could just… look around a bit. Where would you even start? You looked back to Eon, you couldn’t believe you were waiting for his wicked influence to push you further down this hole.

As if he could read your thoughts, he chuckled lowly and got up from the chair, “I’d start with that,” He pointed to the corner of the room that looked like a neatly chaotic office space. Everything was in its place, but there was just too much of everything in the way to make it look any nicer than a cluster fuck of personal items.

The thing that stood out the most to you was a stone bird bath crammed into the corner and wedged between two bookshelves. Other wall shelves hung above it within the corner. They were littered with photos, jars, plates and other personal items. You tiptoed over, like Alastor could hear you walking despite being totally knocked out.

“What is it?” You asked Eon. He was still wandering around behind you, floating here and there like a leaf lost in the wind.

“It’s called a Water Well,” Eon explained smoothly, “It’s what demons used to use before phones were invented. It also can be used for other things as well,”

“Like?”

He chuckled slightly, “Why don’t you touch it and find out?”

You looked at him with a raised brow, “This thing isn’t gonna kill me, right?” Why were you even asking? And why would he tell you the truth? He just shrugged and smiled at you and waited.

You peered into the Water Well, it’s water slowly rippled from within, creating small waves that lapped at the edges of the bowl. You reached out then paused with great hesitation. You were scared something bad was going to happen, and yet at the same time you didn’t seem to care all that much, maybe that was from the help of the Xanax.

Eventually you hovered your hand over the bowl filled with water. You quickly dipped a finger into it’s chilly embrace then yanked your hand away as if you expected to be attacked. Instead you were met with a faint blue glow that sparkled underneath the surface of the water.

Soon you could clearly see the image coming through. You found yourself staring into a one way window. One side was you, peering into the depths of the well, and on the other side was your family. Your mom and your dad. They were in the hospital and you could see them through one of the hospital windows. Your father was sleeping while your mother sat beside him, holding his hand and reading a book with the other. She must have been reading to him because her lips were moving but you couldn’t hear anything.

Suddenly you heard Eon’s low voice right beside you, “Interesting…” He paused then dared to dip his own finger into the water. It quickly changed and you saw the view zooming out. You could see the city, then the state, then the country, then the entire planet. It finally stopped on a picture perfect view of earth in the daylight.

You didn’t understand, what exactly was this Well trying to show you? By that point you were almost certain Eon could either hear your thoughts, or he was just really good at reading facial expressions despite the lack of his own.

“It shows what the heart desires the most,” He explained, “It’s gifted, and the only Well of its kind. It doesn’t show you what your soul wants, nor your mind. The heart is an incredibly tricky manifestation of many emotions, some find it very hard to listen to their heart,” You watched as Eon turned his gave slightly to Alastor.

For the first time you could just make out all the features of Eon’s face. That’s when you took a closer look at this smokey spirit. It was like he was here and somewhere else at the same time. His body was nothing but shadows and fog spinning around constantly as if they were covering up what was underneath. Every once and a while you could see colors peak out from behind the smoke, you could see skin or piercings for half a millisecond. It made you wonder, who was he? Or more so, what was he?

All you could remember was the rushed words Vanderlinde told you not long ago, that Alastor harbored an incredibly powerful spirit from another realm that no one could comprehend. And now apparently his heart desired the earth.

“Who are you?” You asked, your question surprised him enough to float away some and put a little distance between the both of you, “Really,” you went on, “Who is Eon supposed to be?”

He gave you an odd look, then smiled, “Me? You’re asking the wrong person, sweetie,” He tried to brush your question off but you weren’t having any of it.

You shook your head then pointed a finger at him, “No, I want to know who you are before I dig any deeper into this. I know you’ve got something to do with him. If you’re a part of Alastor then I need to know who you are too.”

Eon was fairly surprised by your demands, but he didn’t deny you, “Okay, fair point,” He shrugged then then gave a quick nod of his head, “Alastor summoned me many years ago, when he was alive. He sold his soul to me in exchange for power in the afterlife. All I asked for in return was that he give me more souls, because I do so love eating them!”

“Then what exactly are you?” You lifted a brow at him while looking him over for good measures. He didn’t have any feet, his legs just ended with little wisps for tails when they got too close to the floor. His form was just a black cloud in the shape of a tall limber body. He had a little devil tail that flicked around like that of a cat’s, with his puffy ears to match and sharp toothy grin.

“I’m just a spirit without a body. My soul is attached to Alastor’s by the laws of our contract, but I can’t have his body, because he also doesn’t have one, he’s dead!” Eon smiled at you and shrugged as he started to float circles around you, “That’s pretty much it,” He said, “There isn’t all that much more to know about me,”

“I’m sure there is,” You said with your lips pressed thin, “I doubt you’ll tell me, though,” His laugh only made you roll your eyes, “What about him then? What does his heart want the most, or does he not have one at all?”

“Oh he does,” He nodded his head. Eon wandered back over to the Water Well and stood right beside it. You stood in your spot and watched as Eon snapped his ghostly fingers and you watched a manifestation come to life in his hand.

You inched closer and watched a machine put itself together out of the smoke that was Eon’s palm. It ticked away, humming a pulse and formed into what looked almost like a radio, “It’s very broken,” Eon said with a nod of his head, “There’s not much there anymore beside wires and bolts,” That’s when you put together what he was saying.

“That’s Alastor’s heart…” You walked up to the Water Well and watched as Eon put the radio heart in a dark purple bubble of safety. He let it float around the Water Well for a moment before it slowly drifted in the slow current of the whirlpool. It didn’t take long for you to see a third person view of yourself. When you looked behind your shoulder towards this hidden camera, you were met with a familiar face instead.

Buck, your orange tabby cat was sitting neatly in a chair with his tail resting on his paws. You took a second glance into the Well, then to Buck, then to Eon. As soon as he took Alastor’s heart out of the well and made it vanish, so did Buck. He flew away in a cloud of smoke in the wind, gone from your sight and to God only knows where. It didn’t take you much longer to realize that you were what Alastor’s heart wanted the most.

You weren’t sure how to handle that information. You looked at Eon while you began to run a hand through your hair, “Okay,” You let out a shaky breath, “Who is he?” You looked up at Eon with a wary gaze. He was right, there really wasn’t anything else to know about Eon anymore. Alastor was the one who wanted you.

And Eon was going to point you in the right direction, literally. He lifted a finger and jabbed it to the bookcase behind you. Though he was pointing to the top shelf where several large folders, maybe six or seven total, sat neatly collecting dust. You narrowed your gaze and read the hand written notes on their spines.

1926 (1), 1927 (3), 1929 (9), 1930 (11), 1931 (12), 1932 (14), 1933 (XXX)

Each folder had a year, then a number on it, besides the last one, which also happened to be the smallest of them all. When you looked over your shoulder, Eon was gone, though you knew he was watching from whatever corner he was hiding in.

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