#screaming and crying and sobbing and living in the bog | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nightowlfandom · 3 years

Text

Kanato Sakamaki- I’m Sadistic For You

FINALLY SOMEONE REQUESTS DIABOLIK LOVERS CONTENT AAAAHHH THANK YOU BESTIE! I GOT YOUR OTHER ONE AND I’M DOING IT TOO!

CHECKOUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!!

So ANON ASKS

For Kanato from DL ( I haven’t seen much done for him and it makes me sad because he’s a favorite ). (: I could Lowkey do some more if you’re not super bogged down I had another idea BUT I ALREADY SUBMITED ANOTHER BEFORE THIS SO IM NOT GONNA OVERWHELM YOU LOL but- anyway Fee free to be as nsfw with my prompts (if you do them) as you want. I dont have any triggers so- writing them super accurate and sadistic won’t bother me :3

Bruh....Jesus is my helmet...but NOT TODAY let’s fucking go! Okay readers, you heard, they aint got no triggers. So if you do...move it along.

52- “You can’t call me cute!”

80- “Shut up! I’m not blushing!”

31-“You need to be taught a lesson…”

81- “You look so...inviting all tied up.”

84- “What’s the word I’m looking for?....Pet!”

Also in this you and Yui are BFFs because she isn’t some cold hearted bitch (homegirl trips over oxygen, plus I love her lol)

I was legit about to have him spit in your mouth....I’m so shameful...maybe next time.

Leggo!

I’m turning into a Yandere account and I am totally okay with that.

...

“You know living here isn’t that bad.” you mused to Yui. “When no one is talking.”

Your friend laughed as she cut up some carrots. Yui turned to look at you as she prepare to peel some potatoes. “So living here is terrible every day other than right now?” she replied.

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. She wasn’t wrong.

You and Yui were making dinner for the house. After a ambush that landed everyone injured except you and her (thankfully). You had offered to make soup and stew for everyone. They were all in their respective rooms healing while you had prepared everything.

“They really fought hard today, I thought Kanato was about to rip that vampires jaw off. He’s really protective of you, Y/N.” she winked. “I think he likes you more than he lets on.”

Kanato and you had a very strange relationship. He hated you, but he didn’t HATE you. No one could lay a finger on you, no one could even look at you, even if he said he didn’t care. Reiji tried to and Kanato almost murdered him.

“He then told me that Teddy said I was ugly.” you reminded her flatly. “Yeah he so cares.” you snorted.

“Maybe he has trouble telling you his feelings”

“I wish everyone was as optimistic as you.” you shook your head. “Looks like the soup is finished.”

“I’m just saying Y/N, just think about it.”

...

You only had one bowl of soup left to deliver, to Kanato’s room. You grumbled as you stood outside the door.

“Kanato? It’s me.” you knocked on the door. “I’m coming in okay?”

Before you could wait for an answer you opened the door and walked in with the cart.

Kanato was laying on his bed when you entered, groaning in what you assumed was boredom.

“Teddy, tell Y/N that I don’t want whatever she made.” Kanato turned away from you. The scars he had suffered on his back said it all. All for you...

Your recalled the terror in your voice as you had screamed for help as the rogue vampire wrapped his claws around your leg. Kanato’s name was the first to escape your lips as you had tried to crawl away to Yui. You remembered reaching out to Kanato with your strongest hand, begging him to save you.

The look in his eyes was feral as he screamed your name too, grabbing you hand and pulling you to him. You were sobbing into his chest, clutching onto him for dear life for a good ten seconds before Yui replaced him, hugging you tightly in her small arms too. Before you knew it, the rogue’s head had been thrown through a window...

...

“Y/N, Look at me! You’re safe now...you’re safe with me...”

...

“Teddy, could you please tell Kanato that while his pouting is very adorable, it won’t get him out of this?”

“Don’t call me cute! You can’t do that.” Kanato glared at you through hooded eyes. “If I wasn’t so weak I’d-”

“Well let me take care of you.” you cut him off, taking the bowl to him. “For me?”

Kanato paused, his glare softening.

“You must be in love with me if you’re so insistent on me getting better.” he grumbled, sitting up. “Y/N is in love with me Teddy!”

“Kanato.” you felt your face heat up violently. “Don’t say things like that.” you groaned.

“It’s blushing teddy, how cute!”

Kanato’s use of the word ‘it’ wasn’t new to you. In fact when he wasn’t calling you names, chasing you around with forks pretending to stab you, or worse, it was denoting you to objects.

“H-hey! I am not blushing!” you pouted. “My face just looks that way.” you lied. “S-shut up.” you grumbled.

“And what if I don’t feel like it?” he challenged, knowing you wouldn’t say a word back. You were kind of like Yui. You wouldn’t dare challenge any of the Sakamaki brothers. It was a death sentence in every sense of the word.

“Kanato, I just want you to feel better.” you looked down at your feet.

“There’s one thing you can do.” Kanato used his strength to stand to his feet. Despite his looks, he was tall, and under that cute exterior was a mean and feral beast. He staggered over to you, a sick smile on his face. That couldn’t be good, not by a long shot.

“And what exactly would that be?” you asked. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t wanna know what he was planning. You were positive that it wasn’t gonna end well either.

“Get on your knees.”

“My knees?” you repeated. “Why do you want me to-”

“Now Y/N.” he spoke over you. You felt his hand on your shoulder. “I don’t like repeating myself.” his nails dug into your skin, causing your knees to wobble under the pain. “On. Your. Knees!”

Your feet gave out, practically sending you crashing down to the floor. You looked like a dog, on your hands and knees. You appeared weak and pathetic.

You found it in yourself to look up at Kanato. Teddy was perched on the bed, ‘watching’ you two. You felt his fingertips creep under your chin.

“Aww...” he smiled. “You’re like a little...What’s the word I’m looking for...PET!. It’s cute.” He caressed the side of your face. “Too bad I kill all my pets...they can’t handle me...can you handle me, Pet?”

“Yes, Kanato.” you found yourself saying. You felt like you didn’t have a choice...

and you loved every second of it.

“Bullying you has made me regain my strength! Isn’t this wonderful?” he wrapped one of his hands around your neck. “You’re so fun to torment” he laughed.

“K-kanato.” you coughed.

“Is it hard to breath. Y/N?” he asked sinisterly, that crazed smile gracing his lips. His words were terrifying although his actions said otherwise. He loosened his grip on your throat, allowing air to flow more freely. It was those small things that made you think he didn’t hate you as much as he loved to preach.

“Y/N...when that vampire came...I thought I was gonna lose you for good this time” he said sadly, allowing his arm to return to his side. “I thought I had-...that you were gonna die.”

“You saved me though.” you replied. Kanato knelt down to your level, still slightly above you.

“Yeah...because if anyone is gonna break you, it’s gonna be me.”

“I care about you a lot, Kanato.” you finally said it. “I like you too much.” you exposed yourself. “I want you stay by your side.” you said pathetically. “Even if you hate me.”

Before you could say another word, Kanato claimed your lips in a kiss. He held the sides of your face in his hands. It was the first time he had ever kissed you. He hummed thoughtfully, pushing you down to the floor so you were laying on your back. He crawled over you, not breaking the kiss.

“K-kanato.” you whimpered.

“You need to be taught a lesson. If your gonna be my girlfri- I mean pet, you’ll have to learn.” he kissed down your neck.

Suddenly, Kanato ripped the seam of your jeans all the way up your left leg, leaving it completely exposed to the air.

“Oh look, your clothes are messed up, guess we’ll have to take them off.” he smirked. In another swift motion, your pants were torn to shreds. The fabric fell in a circle around you both.

“Teddy look! Y/N is wearing such cute panties.” he cackled maniacally. “Her naughty place is leaking.”

You trembled, waiting for him to do whatever it was he was planning.

“I heard blood tastes better when it’s from your naughty place.” he ran his tongue along the top row of his teeth. “Y/N” he moaned, running his index finger along your clothed heat. “You smelled so much better here...I just want to- ungh.”

He suddenly drove his fangs into your right thigh. You gasped, arching your back. He violently grabbed your legs, holding them down. His tongue lashed against your freshly made wound.

You could hear him whimpering, cursing under his breath.

Kanato would deny it with his life, but everything about you was like a drug to you. Tasting your blood was even sweeter than every dessert he’s ever tasted. Feeling you whimper and plea for him did things to him that would make a sailor blush.

Forget Yui, forget his brothers, forget it all.

“Fuh-” Kanato couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stop himself from ripping off your panties and driving his tongue into your most sensitive parts. Hearing you moan for him, cry for him.

The rumors were right, vampires were godly lovers. It was like Kanato knew what you wanted and where. He lashed his tongue against your heat, grabbing your legs.

“Wrap your legs around my head,” he demanded. “Not like it’s gonna kill me.” he laughed manically. “

Knock knock

“Y/N, are you in there?” Yui’s small voice caused you to panic a little. As you tried to get up, Kanato pushed you right back down, growling into your pussy,

“FUCK!” you whined, making it very obvious what you two were up to. “Kanato, I can’t-”

“Then don’t.” he grunted, not ceasing his movements. “Cum, cum for me.”

“K-KAANAAA!” you cried as you came. You thrashed and writhed under his touch, but he didn’t stop. His tongue never stopped moving. “fuh- fuck! Kanato, t-too much!”

“I said cum for me, I didn’t say I’d stop.” he thrust his fingers into you to add insult to injury. “You’re so fun to fuck with!” he spat.

“Kanato!” you sobbed. You couldn’t stop moving, you couldn’t stop thrashing. Th epleasure had gotten to you so much, you were drooling.

He finally withdrew his mouth from you, smiling evilly at the mess he left.

Kanato had grabbed one of his ties that had left on the floor and bound your wrists together.

“You look so inviting tied up for me...” he shuddered as he bit his lip. He licked his fingers clean of your blood and juices. “Good thing the night is young...because I’m not done with you.”

...

705 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

Remember that Beast!Reader fic with the yandere prince? I loved that one! Can I please request ‘Tears’ from your prompt list for this please?

I was thinking that maybe a few years pass by while the reader is still stuck in beast form, but during that time the person appointed as an alternative caretaker for the reader (obviously the prince can’t be around ALL the time if he has to maintain his kingdom and keep up his image) slowly starts forming a friendly relationship and with even something as small as a forehead kiss to the beast, it is enough to break the curse. But the two don’t get enough time to celebrate before the prince barges in👀

I’m uncomfortable with nsfw and anything too sexual but I enjoy the creepiness and horror that follows a yandere character so I hope you can write it like that please😭🥺 Oh! And please let there be some hope that the reader will either be saved or she saves herself. Even better if the reader decides that she wants to save herself and the boy who broke her curse🤩

Thank you! So sorry if I’m requesting a lot😭🙏

Oh, my sweet little anons, when was the last time I gave you a happy end, huh? But thanks for requesting a continuation, I am glad you all enjoyed it so much ^-^ What a good idea you had there!

Tears - “Sweetie, don’t cry.. they didn’t love you as much as I did.. I’ll help you over the heart break.”

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Panting, you urged your legs forward, always one step further than you made at a time. The chilly night air burnt in your lungs, and your bare feet were icy and wet from the forest ground, but neither you nor the person holding your hand so gently in his thought about stopping. Only wrapped in a big rag, you should have been cold, but when he squeezed your hand encouragingly, you believed you could manage it all.

It hadn’t been too long since you started your way on foot down the hill the old castle sat upon. Sooner or later, the prince would find out you escaped, and surely, they would also notice your Beloved having fled the scene. There had been no reason for him to stay. Losing you was enough to get sentenced to death, his lifeless body thrown into a bog rather than buried. So why wouldn’t he leave with you? There certainly was no reason for him to stay in the wretched service of the king.

But sooner or later, they would come for you, that much was sure.

So, you two had to hurry, but even so, you couldn’t keep from smiling, especially when he looked back over his shoulder, his warm, green eyes shining without any regrets. You two had known each other far too little, but he never once hesitated to show you his affection for you, even when you still were the hideous atrocity that you had turned into to escape the prince for the first time.

Perhaps, everything that happened was fate. Even if it had been harsh and awful, it happened so that you two could meet and start a better life together somewhere new. Even if you wished now that you two could have met under different circumstances, now, you didn’t regret your life from before anymore. Now, you could simply look ahead to the future that waited for you.

Or so you thought; you should have known better.

The soaring of arrows pierced through the silence of the night. One hit the bark of the tree before you, fire spreading from its alcohol-soaked peak. Your eye widened, as did you’re companions, and you soon found yourself ducking as another one flew over your heads.

You couldn’t spare a second to look back over your shoulder as you two urged onwards, picking up the pace. Your legs were tired and shaking, but you knew that you had to go faster and faster, or else you or he would get hit. It were moments like these in which you wished you were still a beast. One which could run faster than any arrow. One that could fight and protect what was important to you. But that was no longer, true love’s kiss having sealed that specific fate already.

It was too late when you realized that the arrows so far had not been to stop you two from getting away. Instead, as they began to light up tree after tree, you realized they were there to banish the secrecy of the forest and make the dark disappear. At the same time, they made you two run into the directions your followers wanted you to go. If you looked back now, you knew who you’d see, no robbers smart enough to roam the forest around the prince’s castle, so there really was no reason for any other armed party to hunt you down.

And yet, you did, too afraid that if you didn’t, things would go way worse.

The moment you looked over your shoulder, another arrow flew past you, grazing your cheek. You knew where it would hit way before your companion cried out in pain, his hand letting go of yours as a reflex. He sank to his knee for a moment, cursing under his breath as you hurried to his side, seeing the arrow lodged in his shoulder. “Oh god,” you stammered as you sank next to him, hands hovering over the wound. “W-We can fix it, I’m sure, we just have to--!”

“There’s no time!” he interrupted you firmly as if he hadn’t just been shot with an arrow. Without wasting even another second, he got up again, grabbed you by the wrist, and moved forward. You caught a glimpse at his face, determination brimming from his features, but pearls of sweat collected at his forehead. He was clearly in pain, showing it in the way he held his own shoulder with his free hand, but he hadn’t given up yet. He would move on until you two were safe, and though you sympathized with his pain, you were so thankful he didn’t give up yet.

You two ran as fast as you could, but soon you couldn’t ignore the sound of armor behind you anymore, hooves trotting closer while torches lit up the forest more and more. It was almost spooky that no words were muttered, and you expected someone to call orders every now and then, but you had seen the clothes of your followers briefly; you knew who they were. The prince’s guards, clad in the finest silver and trained to the point of being nothing more than human dogs. They ceased speaking if not absolutely necessary, their eyes were soulless, and their hearts without a hint of benevolence. Them being after you could only mean one thing.

The prince wanted you back.

Another arrow getting stuck in the tree you just passed. You knew everything they did wasn’t fun but coldly calculated tactics. They wouldn’t hurt you. They couldn’t. Your cheek bleeding would probably cause one of them to get degraded to a chair for three months at least, so they really couldn’t afford to hurt you more seriously. But they did know who they could hurt you with. Someone whose pain would hurt you more than your own.

The next arrow missed completely, lost in the leaves on the ground. You two were running out of all the adrenaline you had, slowly and surely having exhaustion catch up to you. No! Please no! You begged the entities above that this wouldn’t be the end! There was so much more to live for, so much to see and experience! You wanted to be with your former caretaker, the only one who ever took you and your feelings seriously enough. You two could build a house and keep far away from the hustle and bustle of the cities, farming and taking care of livestock until the end of time. So please! Don’t let this be the end of it!

However, against your expectations, the one to collapse first was him. This time, the arrows didn’t miss, one hitting him in the lower back, one scarily close to his spine. Teardrops pearled from your cheeks as you fell into to mud with him, your hands scrapping along the roots and stones of the ground as you crawled back to where he laid, softly whimpering. Reaching for an arrow, you wanted to pull it out in desperation, but he began to cry out in pain before you could even start pulling.

“LEAVE!” he screamed. “LEAVE AND RUN!”

You couldn’t hold back the sobs hearing these words. “Please...” his hand reached for yours as he tried his best to look up to you. “Go, find a safe place to hide! Leave for another country and never come back!”

“No...” you sobbed, bringing one hand covered in mud and blood to your face. “I don’t want to leave you...”

“They are after you, not me,” he tried to reassure you, but you knew better. The sounds of their heavy footsteps drew closer and closer, and finding him, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill this ‘traitor’. If you went, then he’d die. But if you stayed and got caught, he’d die as well. No choice you could make would end happily for the both of you. “Please, go. I want you to-- ARGH!” Interrupted by his own scream, you began to panic, calling his name and shaking his arm, only to look up as a shadow was cast over you.

“[Name],” the prince sighed, relief showing in his face. He had this small, exhausted smile on his lips, happiness in his features as he looked at you. However, the moment he looked down at your companion, his face began to contort into a hateful grimace, his leg lifting once more to give your Beloved’s back a not-so-gentle kick. “No! Stop!” you cried, latching onto his leg as the kicks came down, your partner’s screams echoing through the forest.

“Don’t worry, I will get rid of the scoundrel who kidnapped you. I will save you! Just like I always do!”

“No! You’re hurting him! Stop it! Please... Please stop!”

Never had you imagined that you’d ever find yourself so low again that you’d beg the prince for something. Before, it had been for your life, but now, it was for the life of the only person that really mattered to you. “Oh, Sweetheart,” the prince cooed, his fingers finding their way under your chin, pulling your face up to meet his eyes. “Don’t cry... he didn’t love you as much as I do. I’ll help you over the heartbreak once we’re done here.”

The prince let go roughly as he pulled his sword from his sheath as you fell to the ground next to your partner. For a moment, time seemed to stop as you stood up in a matter of seconds. Panicked, you decided to throw yourself in front of the sword instead, but a hand grabbed yours before you could. Looking down at your Beloved, smiling warmly and encouraging as he muttered the final words you’d hear from him.

“Go.”

It was like he set you free, even if your definition of free originally included him. “Eh, Darling?!” you heard as you took off in a second spurt of adrenaline, the prince screaming your name after you. But your mind completely shut off the moment you passed the last lit-up arrow, sinking back into the darkness. Everything was blurry, your vision stained with your tears that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you rubbed your eyes with your dirty hands.

Your feet must have started bleeding as you kept running faster and faster, but you gave them no mind, not even feeling the pain. All you felt was the wound in your throbbing heart, something that the prince couldn’t heal no matter how much he believed he could. You wanted to understand your former caretaker’s action, telling you to go rather than defend him. If you had been in his place, surely, you had done the same. But it was as if you were the one who got betrayed by yourself by running away. By giving up on something hopeless, you felt like you were betraying everything you had ever stand for. How pathetic you were, running, trying to get the better future you had hoped to build with him.

Next thing you knew, you stumbled as the ground gave away to a slope before you, your body tumbling down the wet leaves and sturdy roots, your skim getting scratched by the branches of bushes all around you. It was pure luck that your fingers closed around one big tree root the moment they did; otherwise, you surely would have fallen from the cliff that opened up beneath you, instead of just hanging on to it now.

Only now your ears regained their function, the rushing of waves sounding far too deep and far too rough beneath you as to simply be a river. Had you run all the way to the shore? Was it the big sea beneath you? Either it had been closer than you thought, or you did develop some superhuman abilities after changing into a beast.

Groaning, you tried to pull yourself back over the edge, the slightly forward-leaning stone not being any help in rescuing yourself. Even more so, you had to realize the light of torches drawing closer and closer by the second, while you still struggled to escape the death by falling into the unruly water from a great height.

“[Name]!” you heard the screech of your name, genuine worry resounding from it. The prince’s face was the last thing you wanted to see, especially as he looked so damn horrified at the sight of you barely holding on to the cliff. “Don’t move! I’ll pull you up!” he called as he slit down the slope as best as he could without falling himself until he reached you. It was strange. You should have been happy that you wouldn’t be dying. That someone would save you from this horrific fate.

But all you felt was pure despair.

If he pulled you up, then that would be it. He’d take you back, lock you up again and do as he pleased with you. Who knew if you’d ever get a chance on escaping again, especially if he made an example out of your previous companion about what would happen if anyone ever helped you. You’d have nothing left but to live your life as a mere plaything, captured by the prince that was so beloved by everyone, and you didn’t want to think about all the things he’d do to you now that you were human again.

His hands reached out, and you noticed them faintly in your vision. Your decision fell only seconds before he could grab you by the arms. It was too dark to see, too dark to even speculate how deep it was, but you decided it was better than becoming an empty shell of a person if you stayed with the prince.

No matter what would await you in the depths down below, it couldn’t be worse than being a subject to his twisted, self-righteous love, you decide. Letting go was easier than you thought, making you realize your body must understand this situation very well even if it might cost it its life. The face of the prince as you slipped from his grasp was a priceless last sight to see before you closed your eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

Until your back hit the water, engulfing you wholly like the hungry, desperate maw of an animal. Deeper and deeper until it was everywhere, and only then you opened your eyes again for one last glimpse of the blurred light above.

#prince #yandere prince #yandere!prince #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #lovelove prompts #Anonymous

295 notes · View notes

pretty-face-breaker · 3 years

Text

Emir Says Nothing

c.w. brutal whipping, punishment, abuse of power, forced to watch, implied past torture, public humiliation, military whump

—

“Gentlemen.”

Levkin’s eyes are hard as he stares down the healed-over back of the man leaning against the wall, his fingers splayed across it. The welts on his skin are faintly red, ghosts of the not-so-distant past. They had been a gift for speaking up and out of turn, for disrespect and what a relief it had been to think the little soldier had learned his lesson.

He hadn’t.

“I would like to demonstrate, today, for all of you,” he starts in thick consonants, “my feelings towards disrespecting those who are in charge of training you, leading you.”

Emir keeps his face perfectly still against the awe of the men gathered around him that stare on and on. In his stillness, he finds the most security. There are few ways to look into a man’s soul when he refuses to let one look at all, and this he does. Now, with Levkin’s monologue, all he can do is fix his eyes and fingertips to the cold wall and breathe evenly.

To breathe and await the demonstration.

Levkin paces with the coil of leather in his hand. He can feel the steely, anticipating looks on his wrist. “Suleiman, when I asked you how well you had been getting along with your fellow soldiers, what was it that you responded with?”

The garden of eyes washes over his skin with every word. Emir says nothing. His lips are pressed, not uncommonly, in a resilient line and he leans against the wall with focus on a little, dark groove. If he had turned around, he could have sworn that the ice in his stare would have made the General think twice about whipping him again and chosen instead to beat him senseless.

“I s-said,” he mutters.

“Louder, Suleiman. Do not mumble under your breath.”

His inhale stutters audibly. “I said that we were getting along as well as one could with his captors.” Laughter rolls through the onlookers. They had heard him say it and when he had, they had listened with annoyance first and then went still as he fixed his back spat at the General.

It had landed on his cheek. Clinically, if Emir remembered well through the memory of the absolute dread he had felt at that moment, Levkin had moved his palm and wiped it away. During the motion, his eyes had become overcast. He swears that the General had fought down a little smile that had begun to bloom at the corners of his mouth.

Now, he rolls his wrist in absentminded preparation. “I cannot blame you for that comment. What I can blame you for is what you did after.”

Emir’s pulse can be felt through his throat and the pressure of his heart slamming against his ribs disorients and thrills him all at once. A giggle escapes. “I spat at you—.”

He hears the whip sooner than it crashes down onto him. His fingers curl into the wall as he only grunts, breathing quickening just slightly. Murmurs can be heard among the men that Levkin won’t bother hushing, evaluating the force, whether it was his first time or not. Buzzing lightly, he can feel the welt light up his back and notices just how perfectly it fits over the memory of the previous one.

Levkin winds his arm back again, eyes blazing. “Repeat yourself without laughing.”

“I spa—agh.”

His repetition is cut off with another deafening crack that has one of the soldiers flinching. Even tighter now, Emir squeezes his eyes with his mouth agape. It feels like another body has barrelled full force into him where his only support is the wall, forced to endure in front of a crowd of two dozen. That was the worst part, knowing that when he hobbled back to his dorm, hardly able to stand, that they would all know.

The marks on his back from the first week here had been speculated upon by a few—maybe it’s from prison, or maybe the General got time alone with him. I wouldn’t be surprised. He likes breaking the new ones in with the leather.

Now, there would be no speculation. As if looking them in the eyes had ever been easy, it was only going to serve as further torture. Christ, the idea of what Pavel would say after he saw him, what he would do.

“Spat at you,” he finishes tightly, just in time for the next. This one makes his arms quake and he locks his elbows on instinct to stop himself from hitting the wall. Once, a memory lit up. Three times now, he was starting to feel the aftershocks, the throbbing. He wonders through his focus whether other people screamed or if they opted for silence like him.

“I should have you gagged as you train, for that.” Levkin hits him again, grunting on the impact. “It’s about time you learn that this is conditional. Learn that you will not live if you keep this up.”

The whip hits him a few more times in rapid succession, crossing over itself until a faint quiver can be seen in Emir’s wrists, starting to protest. Nearby watchers can see the resolve in his jaw start to give and his eyes, almost undetectably, start to cloud.

“Now, count. Maybe if you had counted the first time…” The General trails off, smiling as the man breathes slowly in preparation. A moment’s wait, and then the tail lunges again, slamming into him and leaving behind a precise, beautifully livid welt. Then, it happens. Emir whimpers.

“Odin,” he says, clearing his throat. Crack. “Dva.”

Crack. Hiss.

“Tri.”

A chuckle and a quick murmur to the crowd. Crack.

From the front of the crowd, Pavel watches his stoicalness fade in little movements and how they wane like a shore’s wave. Admittedly, he admires the force that the General puts into each hit, how the resounding crack from each flick of his wrist spells obey, and how the shallow defiance of the little foreigner fades and fades.

He admires how the General runs things, deals with issues in a way he aspires to. It’s efficient and, when done enough times, orderly.

Watching the boy’s body glisten and struggle silently under the command of the leather is a sight for sore eyes and he can feel his chest swell with content when his voice breaks a little on the half-contained whimpers, the shaking of his fingers he’s trying so desperately to stifle. It’s something he wishes he could inflict with matching intensity.

Emir Suleiman. The name of his tongue sounds divine to break. A broken cry of pain snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Agh—” His shoulders are shaking like his hands once were by themselves. “Tridsat pyat!”

Pavel’s eyebrows prick up in surprise that he has taken that many already, having seen others collapse screaming and wailing for mercy before thirty with the brutality of the General’s demonstrations. Their backs would look just like his does now, lacerated with stray drops of blood, perfect for a brine solution to be poured onto later in the dorms.

He smiles to himself.

Emir’s cheeks are tear-stained. As low as he hangs his head or tries to shield it with his quivering arms, the sight is unavoidable. Shuffling forward slightly, Pavel stares on, intrigued with his agony. It’s something close to foreign.

He snakes his way through the crowd amidst the snaps of the whip, as if generously moving to allow someone to take his front-row seat, and moves to the side of the half-circle where the boy can properly be seen.

Pausing for a breath, Levkin pipes up again. Pavel could shiver at the fire in the man’s typically cold eyes. “When a soldier snaps his tongue at me, I do not deny him this very same treatment. Foreign or homeland, it means nothing. Do you understand me?”

The crowd answers in near perfect unison, Pavel making sure his voice is neither too quiet nor trampling the rest. Seeming satisfied with the answer, the General turns and resumes the beating.

Incredibly, even through his tears, the boy manages to count out each one, only stumbling for a moment. Probably learned to keep count from me, Pavel’s mind supplies and he can feel the onset of a smirk as that lovely voice, rough with a sob, sounds again.

The crowd departs some time after the General has left after the final controlled show of slowly cleaning his whip and tucking it back into his waistband that leaves some awestruck. Emir has crumbled to the ground and only a single, shivering hand remains slack on the wall as the eyes roam him. His mind is too bogged with pain and the instinct to scream another number to recognize that the punishment is over, so he stays.

“Disperse immediately!”

All obey but Pavel, remaining enamoured with the remnants of the scene. The soldier stays far longer after the command is brayed, watching the collapsed man whose short breaths can just be heard. When he feels it’s been enough time spectating, he approaches slowly and self-consciously crouches to his level.

A quick look around. I’m out of sight anyway.

“Nice job there, Suleiman,” Pavel mimics the voice.

Emir says nothing.His eyes roam the wounds which would be perfect to abuse further now but doesn’t follow through.

He clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, help you to your room. Come on.” Again, he says nothing, likely afraid his voice wouldn’t work anyway. Annoyed with the continued silence, he tsks quietly and hooks two arms under him, heaving him up and catches him before he can hit the wall.

There’s a distant, pained look in Emir’s eyes that Pavel could look at all day.

—

Tagging: @straight-to-the-pain @heathenville @quirkykayleetam @yet-another-heathen @undertheburrow

Ask if you’d like to be added/removed!

#whump #whump writing #whump drabble #military whump #torture #defiant whumpee #stoic whumpee #sadistic whumper #forced to watch #beating #crying #ussr #soviet union #captivity

76 notes · View notes

fuckallthegood0nesweretaken · 3 years

Text

New World CH. Three

Title: The Barn

Words: 1,887

Warnings: Strong language, canon-typical violence, SOFT Daryl

A/N: Chapter three is here! Hope y’all enjoy!

If you’d like to request something, send me an ask. I’d love to write for you!

If you’d like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Daryl Dixon Masterlist

Walking Dead Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

[Y/n]

Once Sam and Rick got back from talking to Hershel, you started talking about where to look for supplies.

“Where have you looked so far?” You asked.

“All over this area here. Maggie says the town has basically been picked clean but there are other houses and farms we can search too,” Rick said.

“Are you going with us?” Andrea asked.

“I’d like to.”

“Rick,” Hershel said, approaching you.

“Hershel. We just have our guns out because we’re planning on going on a run,” Rick said.

“Before you do that, I could use your help with something. Sam too. Shouldn’t take more than an hour, maybe two.”

“Count me in,” Andrea said.

“Just Sam and Rick. But thank you.”

“I’ll be down at the barn, keeping watch until you’re ready,” Andrea said.

“I’ll keep looking at the map. See if there’s anywhere else we can look,” you said to Rick.

“Don’t go wandering off,” Sam said to you.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” You bent over the map again after kissing Sam’s cheek.

---

Sam

Sam and Rick followed Hershel and Jimmy through the woods and to a little bog. Two walkers were stuck in the water and Sam frowned as he walked up.

“That’s Lou Bush,” Hershel said.

“You knew him?”

“Lou as in Louise. She has a farm just up the road and grew sweet corn mostly. Worked at the bar in town on the weekends. The man I don’t know, but I recognize the coveralls he’s wearing. I’ve been to where he worked.” Hershel looked at Rick and Sam. “How many have you killed?”

“Too many to count,” Rick said.

“Me too,” Sam said when Hershel looked at him.

“Could you stop?”

Rick and Sam shared a look, Rick making eye contact with Hershel after. It was clear that both the men were hesitant in saying something and Hershel knew it.

“There are people out there who haven’t been in their right minds. I think that they can be restored.”

“You’re not talking about the walkers, are you?” Rick asked. Jimmy handed Hershel a snare pole, getting it ready.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t think the same or if you even see them as human beings anymore. But if you and your people are going to stay here, that’s how you’re gonna have to treat them. My farm, my barn, my say.”

Hershel handed Rick the pole and after glancing at Sam, Rick took it.

---

[Y/n]

It had been a few hours and the two of them still hadn’t gotten back from the errand with Hershel. You were getting a little worried and was pacing around the porch. Adeline and Sophia were sitting with Carl and Beth, Beth playing a game of chess against Patricia. Andrea, Dean, and T-Dog were walking up from the barn. Looking up when you heard them, your brow furrowed.

“What’s going on?” T-Dog asked. “Where is everyone?”

“You haven’t seen Sam or Rick?” You said, worry in your voice.

“They’re still somewhere with Hershel. We were supposed to leave hours ago,” Andrea said.

“Yeah ya were. What the hell?” Daryl said, coming up to the house, Carol in tow.

“He said they’d be back soon, two hours at most. It’s been almost four.” You were chewing on your lip and Carol rubbed your back soothingly.

“Fuck!” Daryl said. He was upset and when he looked out towards the field, he spotted Shane. “Oh here we go.”

You looked up too and saw that Shane had the gun bag in his hands.

“What’s all this?” Daryl asked.

“You with me, man?” Shane said. Daryl nodded and took the rifle Shane handed him.

“Time to grow up.”

“What’s going on?” You asked.

“I thought we couldn’t carry?” T-Dog said.

“We can and we will. It was one thing sitting around, picking flowers when we thought this place was safe. But it’s not.” Shane looked at Glenn. “How ‘bout you? You gonna protect yours?”

Glenn took the gun with a nod and Shane turned to Maggie.

“Can you shoot?”

“Can you stop? You do this, my dad will make you leave tonight.”

“We have to stay, Shane,” Carl said. Lori came bounding around the corner of the porch and you made eye contact with her. You shrugged your shoulders, just as confused as she was.

“We ain’t goin’ anywhere. Now, Hershel, he’s just gotta understand. He- He’s gonna have to.” Shane knelt down in front of Carl and held out a gun. “I want you to take this. You take it and keep your mother and the girls safe. Do whatever it takes.”

“What the fuck are you thinking?” Lori seethed, grabbing the pistol and getting in between Carl and Shane. “You can’t just give a gun to a twelve year old! And Rick said no guns. This is not your call! This is not your decision to make.”

You were looking between Lori and Shane before T-Dog said something.

“Oh shit.”

Looking where he was, you saw your brother, Rick, Hershel, and Jimmy leading two walkers towards the barn. Shane took off running, you and everyone else close behind.

“Shane!” You yelled. You were hot on his heels, trying to catch him before he did anything stupid.

“What the hell are you doing?” Shane yelled as he crashed through the gate.

“Shane, back off!”

“Why do they have guns?” Hershel asked Rick.

“You’re kidding me! You see what they’re holding onto?” Shane was in an angered frenzy.

“I see who I’m holding onto.”

“No, man, you don’t.”

“Shane, just let us do this then we can talk,” Sam said, raising his hands.

“What is there to talk about, man? These things aren’t sick and they’re not people. They’re dead! Ain’t gotta feel nothing for ‘em ‘cause all they do is fucking kill!” Shane was basically frothing at the mouth and you put your hand on the gun in your waistband. Looking behind you, you saw Lori had a hold of both Adeline and Carl.

“They killed Amy! They killed Otis! And they gonna kill all of us.”

“Calm down, Shane!” You said. One of the walkers got a little close to you and you pulled out your gun, pointing it at the walker.

“Hershel, lemme ask you something. Could a living, breathing person survive something like this?” Shane cocked his gun and proceeded to shoot one of the walkers in the chest.

“Shane, stop!” Rick yelled.

“That’s three rounds to the chest. Could someone who’s alive take that? How is it still fucking standing?” He shot again, and again, before shooting it in the head.

“Enough risking our lives for a ‘safe place to live’! Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to fucking kill us! Enough!” Shane walked closer to the barn and turned to Rick. “Rick, it ain’t like it was before! If y’all want to live, to survive, you have to fight for it! Right here, right now!”

Shane ran to the barn and cut the chain holding it shut. Rick was begging Hershel to take the snare-pole, but he was still on his knees on the ground. He seemed to be in shock. Everyone was yelling at Shane to stop, but you knew he wouldn’t listen. When Shane threw away the last thing holding the walkers back, you readied your gun, standing next to Daryl and Dean.

When they started walking out, you started shooting them down. Even though you knew this was the wrong way to go about it, you wouldn’t let anything hurt your family. Behind you, you could hear Maggie and Beth sobbing. You felt bad for killing their family a second time, but if you had to do it to make sure your daughter stayed alive you would do it again in a heartbeat.

After the final shot rang through the air, you heard Beth let out a sob as you approached Lori to grab a crying Adeline from her.

Beth had managed to get out of Jimmy’s arms and had ran to her mother. You heard voices tell her not to go near them, but she ignored them all. Crying, Beth turned her mother over and knelt by her head. She wasn’t dead yet and Beth screamed, trying to get away. The walker had her by the hair and everyone went to save her. Andrea stabbed it in the head and Beth was safe in her father’s arms.

“I can’t believe Shane did that,” you muttered to Dean while you calmed down Ada. “It could’ve been handled differently.”

“You’re right. But what’s done is done. You should get some rest.”

“Can’t. Need to make sure Adeline’s okay.” You looked at your big brother. “I’m worried about the kids growing up in this new world. Ada already would’ve grown up with carnage around her, but Carl, Sophia, and Beth shouldn’t have. This isn’t a good world for children to grow up in.

“It’s not. But what can we do?”

“They need to be able to act like a normal kids. Their childhoods are being stripped away and I feel helpless in knowing there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Shaking your head, you walked off towards the house as your brother watched you go, worry in his eyes.

---

Later that day, you had a small funeral for Annette and Shawn. You had helped dig the graves and when it was time, you had the service.

At the funeral, you stood in by your brothers, hand held tightly by Sam. Adeline was in your arms, head tucked into the crook of your neck. When it was over, everyone went their separate ways. Adeline stayed with Carol and Sophia, and you found yourself walking to Daryl. He had started setting up his camp away from everyone else and you couldn’t say you blamed him. Things were getting hectic and you found peace in the quiet away from everyone. You sat down next to him and the silence was broken after a few minutes.

“Thank you,” you said softly. Daryl looked at you.

“For what?”

“Bringing me back to my family. I really appreciate it.” The atmosphere was slightly awkward, but you looked at him nonetheless.

“It was nothin’.”

“But it was something. I’m practically just a stranger to you but you helped me out anyways. So, thank you.” Hesitating slightly, you kissed his cheek and stood up. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

As you started walking away, he grabbed your wrist. Stopping abruptly, you looked back at him. Daryl stood up and cupped your cheek. Eyes fluttering shut, you basked in the softness of his touch. He got closer to you and he kissed your cheek softly.

“The same ta ya.” With that, Daryl walked away and you knew the conversation was over. Smiling to yourself, you walked back to the house and about half way there, you saw Lori running towards you.

“Daryl over there?” She asked you.

“Yes, why?”

“Beth collapsed from shock and Hershel’s missing. Rick took Dean and Glenn to go get him but they’re not back yet.”

“Beth in the house?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll go see what I can do to help.”

“Thank you, hun. Now I gotta see if Daryl will go out to find them.”

“Alright. Good luck.”

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfiction #daryl dixon #The Walking Dead #twd #supernatural #spn #x reader #xreader #reader insert #winchester!reader #New World

48 notes · View notes

thegreatestofheck · 4 years

Text

Little Village＊Outer Banks＊

Word Count - Warnings - Synopsis - As the oldest of the Pogues and John B’s big sister, June always acted as their mother. She helped with assignments and studying, helped pay bills when it was needed, made dinner, reminded them about hygiene. But then she got pregnant and her boyfriend left and suddenly she found herself unable to do all those things she was once able to. When they say it takes a village, she wasn’t entirely sure they meant a bunch of teenagers. A/N - This idea just popped into my head, I’m not sure how it’s gonna play out, but here goes nothing! There’s definitely angst, but I want a lot of it to be fluff and just the Pogues being one big happy family. Let me know if you want a part two! You know the drill; stay safe, stay healthy, stay groovy!

***

June Routledge spent the morning in the bathroom, vomiting. Tears rolled down her cheeks, large and fast, partially from the hurling and partially from the pain that had settled in her chest.

The argument with her boyfriend played through her mind. He was screaming, she was crying, he was kicking her out, she was crying, he was angry, she was crying.

June guessed that it didn’t matter to him that he was the one that got her pregnant. She had been afraid to tell him and it once she did, she wished she hadn’t. He took no time to kick her out of his house. It’s not like she was really living there anyway, but he made it clear June wasn’t welcome back.

When she made it back to the Chateau, it was only 10 o’clock. Her younger brother, John B, was still in school, which meant she had the morning to herself.

She was still sitting on the bathroom floor when the front door burst open. June turned her head, scowling. There was no way John B was back from school already, unless he ditched. But last time he did that...

She heard the sound of humming first. John B never hummed, not like that at least. June knew it was JJ, her kid brother’s best friend. Sure, she was only a year older than John B, but it felt like a life time of difference. Especially when it came to JJ.

Ever since they became friends when she was in fourth grade, June had been fighting to keep them alive. It seemed like JJ wanted nothing more than to do everything to get on every one of her nerves. But she took care of him anyway. When Big John threw himself into his Royal Merchant research, John B needed someone to look after him, and that meant looking after his friends too.

So, when June heard JJ humming from the front room, she had to compose herself, and quickly. There was no way she was going to let him see her like this. June pushed herself to her feet, wiping away her tears. She opened the door and stepped out of it only to find JJ smoking on the futon.

Raising an eyebrow, June leaned against the wall.

When he caught sight of her, his eyes widened and hid the joint behind his back.

“Uh, hi,” he said. She smiled her disappointed mom smile.

“What are you doing here, J?” She asked him. “You should be in school.”

JJ sighed and leaned back against the wall.

“I failed that test,” he said. Her eyebrows pinched together and pushed herself off the wall, walking toward him. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

“J, I’m sorry. I know you worked hard on it.”

He shrugged and took a long drag from the joint.

“Doesn’t matter.” He looked at her. June would usually say something about how important school was, how she knew that it did matter, that she would talk to the teacher about extra credit. But she didn’t say any of that because she felt like emptying her guts into the toilet again. “Jue, are you good?”

June looked up at him and forced a smile.

“Yeah, J. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it.”

She had a habit of not telling the Pogues the things that went wrong in her life simply because she knew that there was so much going on for them, it didn’t feel right to bog them down with her own shit. But JJ was here and she were upset and she just really needed someone to hold her hand and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

“I, uh-” June looked down at her hands. “Me and Fred broke up.”

JJ scoffed and breathed out a puff of smoke.

“Finally. I mean, c’mon, his name was Fred.” She almost laughed, but she couldn’t. “Jue, what is it? You weren’t that into the guy.”

“No, I wasn’t, but the problem isn’t that we broke up, it’s why we broke up.” June cringed to herself. She shouldn’t be telling him this. He was just a kid. He didn’t need this dumped on him. She was just a kid. She didn’t need this dumped on herself either.

“We just weren’t a good fit,” June said finally, smiling at JJ. He looked like he wanted to say something, ask a question, but she stood up before he could. “I’ll get you something to drink if you throw that joint away. It’s not good for you.”

JJ laughed as he jammed the unfinished blunt into an ashtray.

“And underage drinking is?” June shrugged, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

She shook her head and plopped herself back on the bed, handing him the beer.

“Haven’t been feeling well today,” she said. “Don’t think that it would be good for the...stomach.”

JJ looked at her out of the corner of his eye, popping the beer open.

“So, J, tell me about the rest of your day.”

***

June looked at the mirror from the side, running her hand over the small bump. It had been a few weeks since she found out. She still hadn’t told anyone. She wasn’t entirely sure how she was supposed to. The only family she had was a bunch of kids a year younger than her; there wasn’t much they could do.

The door opened suddenly. June dropped her shirt, but not fast enough. Kiara Carrera, one of John B’s best friends stood in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob.

June looked at her, eyes wide as she stared at her now covered stomach. Kie’s mouth was hung open.

“Kie-”

The girl stepped into June’s room and shut the door as quietly as she could.

“Is that why Fred broke up with you?” She asked, her voice in a whisper. June put her head in her hands, starting to shake ever so slightly. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Kie didn’t say anything else, but instead she crossed the room and enveloped June into a hug.

June tried to keep herself from falling apart, but with Kie’s arms around her, it was nearly impossible. A single sob came out of June’s mouth before she allowed herself to reciprocate Kie’s hug.

“It’s okay,” Kie whispered, rubbing her hand up and down June’s back. “I’ve got you.”

June curled her hands around Kie’s shirt, wrinkling the perfectly ironed fabric. It didn’t matter then if June wanted to cry then or not, she couldn’t. All she could do was dry heave and sob. It took a few minutes, but June was finally able to pull herself back together.

Kie let go of her slowly, unsure of whether or not June could stand.

“Did you tell John B?” Kie asked, hands on the side of June’s face. June shook her head. “You have to tell him, okay? You have to tell him.”

June nodded her head a few times. She pulled her head out of Kie’s hands, trying to compose herself even further.

“I was going to,” June said, glancing at the door. “Will you come with me?”

Kie nodded her head, taking June’s hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Of course.”

It wasn’t just John B sitting outside when Kie and June came out. Pope and JJ were there, staring up at June as she walked up. June opened her mouth to say something, but promptly shut it. Kie squeezed her hand again.

June had to remind herself that she wasn’t actually talking to children. After everything they had been through last summer, she knew that they could handle anything that she threw at them. She just had to let them in.

June sat down quickly, looking dead in John B’s eyes.

“I’m going to tell you boys something and you have to promise to not tell anyone, no matter what. It stays between us.”

John B nodded his head.

“Of course, Jue.”

June glanced over at JJ and then to Pope and they both nodded, a promise to keep it quiet.

“Alright, here goes.” June sucked in a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

#little village #outer banks #obx #john b routledge #jj maybank #kie carrera #pope heyward #john b obx #jj obx #kie obx #kiara obx #pope obx #angst #fluff #sibling au #john b's sister

133 notes · View notes

creepy-crowleys · 3 years

Text

Once upon a time, a story started with love. Then the black rider came. Love was covered over in pox and lumps and pustules. Good fortune is sometimes ugly. The dead do not take kindly when the living beg for beauty. Sometimes vanity smells like sizzling flesh.

Index << | < | 6 - 7 | > | >>

She washed herself thoroughly and then uncapped the flask and rubbed it into her skin. She started with her arms, her breasts and then her face.

A tingling warmth began to radiate from the places where she had rubbed the ointment. Using a cloth, she rubbed at the skin of her arms, and the pox scarred skin sloughed away, revealing a layer of shining new skin beneath.

Scarlet began to cry, great sobs of joy which shook her entire being. She cried out to her mother and father who came rushing into the room.

"Look at me!" She cried. "I am beautiful!"

Her mother screamed and covered her eyes. Her father, hand trembling pointed towards the large full length mirror in the corner and Scarlet turned to look.

Scarlet had become scarlet in truth. The acid in the flask had eaten away the skin from her arms and chest and her face, her once beautiful face was melting into ruinous goo.

She screamed and fled the house, into the night. Later, they followed her trail. The pitter patter of her blood on the snow led them into the Moon Bog, a treacherous place to walk at any time of the year. They followed her trail right up until the point where the ice was cracked, as if something heavy had fallen through. After that, there was no trail to follow.

The community was devastated and a memorial was held. Solomon Priest himself said a few words. But Samuel Towne wasn't buying any of it. He didn't believe she was dead, how could she be? After all, she spoke to him every night! She would come, just outside his window and talk to him through a crack in the curtains. He knew her voice even though he never saw her face, he knew it was his beloved Scarlet.

Samuel became a shut-in, never leaving his room. He grew pale and drawn and his parents worried about him.

#.TRANSMIT #.MISSION LOG #:The Lantern Man #.horror #.gore

1 note · View note

hypmic-writings · 4 years

Note

Hi ho hello! Can I requests if Jakurai’ s s/o was diagnosed with a terminal disease scenario? :,D good luck with your blog 😘

I’m not crying, you’re crying!! This is angsty and long and hurt my heart to write, but I hope it’s what you wanted! Thank you for the support~

TW: Death

When you first got the news of your disease, you had expected to feel something. The world as you knew it would be ending in a year, but all you could do was sit there and exist.

And you felt nothing.

Jakurai seemed to feel things though. He felt things in the mornings when he made you a nice, warm cup of tea and wrapped a scarf around you. He felt things in the autumn afternoon, when he helped solve the issues of his patients, but realized he would never be able to solve yours. He felt things at night when he would lay beside you in bed, holding your hand in his own and humming you to sleep.

Nothing seemed real, and you wondered if you had convinced yourself and everyone around you that it was all one big nightmare.

After a month, however, you began to feel things too.

At first it was anger.

You felt angry at everything around you all the time. It wasn’t fair that you were subjected to sickness and pain while everything else moved normally. You hated being weak and you hated needing others.

“Darling, please, let me help you with that. It’s heavy and I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Jakurai had said once when you were attempting to move a rather large box up to your apartment. You had dropped it halfway up the stairs with a loud clang and spun around to your fiancé.

“I don’t need your help!” you had shouted, continuing to lug the box up the stairs until finally reaching the top, despite the cold, winter evening.

You hadn’t told him that you passed out from exhaustion in the kitchen shortly after that little escapade.

You wanted to hate Jakurai for helping you – for being by your side throughout all of your outbursts and tantrums. You wanted to scream at him and yell that you didn’t need him around all the time.

But you did.

And Jakurai never left. He never stopped helping you cook food, or clean the apartment, or any of the other things that had once seemed so ordinary, but now just seemed arduous.

After a few more months, you felt as though you had done a complete turn.

Then, you never wanted Jakurai to leave. It seemed that every night you were sobbing into his arms, crying your heart out as he wrapped his arms tightly around you and lovingly stroked your back. It began to dawn on you that this was real, and that in nine months, you would be dead.

All you wanted to do was hold the man you loved, and in fact, it was hard to bring yourself to do much else. Whenever he would leave to go to work, you would hold yourself close under the sheets, sometimes crying, sometimes feeling to exhausted to even have any tears left.

As soon as he returned, you would throw yourself into his arms, and would feel the smallest bit of fire return to your cold soul. Jakurai was your comfort. He was the only thing you could count on.

Jakurai was all too knowing of your situation. He would never admit to you just how many hours he spent pouring over countless books and getting in contact with doctors from every country, desperately trying to find a cure to your ailment. Even someone that had survived your disease; but he found nothing.

There was no way to reverse the effects of your illness.

So Jakruai did the only thing he could do – be there for you. Whatever you needed and whatever you wanted was yours if it was possible. He loved you too much to waste what precious time you had left together doing anything less.

He had expressed this to you one night during a particularly bad bought of depression.

“It hurts…it hurts so much, Jakurai,” you had stuttered through tears pouring down your face and into his shirt. The two of you were lying in bed together and Jakurai had his arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you into his chest and cradling your chest.

“I know, my love. I know,” he had whispered, hushing you lightly as he kissed the top of your head sadly. You allowed the tears to run, sobbing hard until you had exhausted yourself as you seemed to be doing every night now.

The room was cool then. The cool spring breeze blowing in through the window as you clutched onto Jakurai for dear life.

“Please…don’t leave me,” you whispered, your eyes tightly closed as you felt his steady heartbeat. Jakurai gently ran a hand through your hair before humming in agreement.

“I will never leave you, Y/N,” he said, strongly and firmly. You nuzzled your head closer to him if possible, your throat scratchy from the crying.

“Stay…until the end…” you whispered, barely audibly as Jakurai rubbed circles on your back and nodded.

“If it is your wish, I’ll stay with you forever.”

And so, with only a few months left, you were doing everything you had ever wanted to do, and you were doing it with Jakurai. He had asked if you wanted to be married, but you had refused him with a sad smile. You wanted to live out your life to the fullest while you still could, not bog his life down with anything else.

Taking Jakurai’s hand in your own, you travelled as much as you could. First around the globe, then around the country, and finally around your city until you were bedridden with the disease.

You saw all of your friends as often as you could, taking them out to all of the newest places to eat and go as possible. You spent time with your family – as much as possible until you felt content.

On one of the last days, you were resting in bed with a book on your lap and the summer sun shining through the window. Jakurai had just come into the room with a tray of water and some sandwhiches which he set down before promptly sitting on the chair beside your bed.

There was a brief moment of silence as you looked your fiancé up and down, remembering all of the loving, intimate moments you had ever shared with him

“Thank you, Jakurai,” you said, gazing over at him with love filling your heart. Jakurai brought his eyes to you, his face melting into a warm, gentle smile.

“What are you thanking me for?” he asked, taking ahold of your hand and lacing your fingers into his. You smiled longingly at him and sighed.

“…for everything, I suppose,” you stated, chuckling a bit as you bent over to place a light kiss on his lips. Jakurai’s face momentarily broke into surprise before calming once more.

“Then I ought to thank you too,” he said, playfully smiling. He brought his lips down on yours again in a gentle, loving kiss. “You’ve made me particularly happy, Y/N.”

You had exchanged words then, making him promise not to let you or your memory hold him back. That if he found love again, he should pursue it, and that nothing you do or have ever done should stand in the way of his happiness. To you, it just felt right to say those things.

But to Jakurai, your words were breaking his heart again and again. He had spent so much time wanting to love and cherish your final days, that he was unsure of what would happen when the time came for you to go.

However, the time did come. Within moments, you were gone, and although it had been a full year, it only felt like minute to Jakurai.

Because he was alone now, and nothing would change that. The love that the two of you shared had been strong and passionate, but it hadn’t stopped fate. The cruel world had taken you from him and he felt himself grow cold.

Jakurai would always be content. He would put on a happy face and wear the mask of normalcy, convincing everyone around him that he lived his life in peace. But he would never be able to convince himself. When you died, he was sure that a part of him, his heart, or his soul had gone with you, and he could never forget you or the love you shared.

He had loved you much too deeply for that to ever happen.

#jakurai #jakurai jinguji #hypmic #hypnosis mic #jakurai x reader #jakurai jinguji x reader #imagines #drabbles #scenarios #hypmic imagines #hypmic scenarios #hypmic drabbles #jakurai jinguji imagines

96 notes · View notes

beyondconfessor · 4 years

Text

Principle Decisions [9/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: Entering a beautiful woman’s house, cold and wet, then having her clothes disappearing to where she wouldn’t be able to have access to them. Whatever was a woman to do?

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief.

Sabrina did not come down for breakfast. It was raining, heavy outside and Zelda was willing to push her anger aside to ensure her niece was taken to the school safely, but while she was drinking her morning coffee over breakfast, she heard the noise of someone trying to quietly sneak their way down the stairs, before the door opened and shut.

When Zelda walked around, an aching sensation gnawing at her stomach, she peered out of the foyer’s windows and noticed that Harvey had picked up Sabrina.

She hardly trusted a teenager to drive safely on the roads. Still, despite her frustration that her niece was clearly trying to sneak her way around her, it was nonetheless sweet to see the boy come to the door the Spellman home with an umbrella, so Sabrina didn’t get wet from the short distance between the veranda and the car.

As it was, Zelda had a meeting with Prudence that morning and needed to leave early anyway, this way at least, she didn’t need to drop Sabrina off on the opposite end of the town on her way to work.

It was raining heavily, and she pulled up at the parking lot, she grabbed her own umbrella to make her way onto campus as the rain continued to wash down.

Sometimes, with the rain they were heaving like this, the main road would flood and block her from coming in. She was already considering cancelling classes for the day unless it let up, but would review how many people actually lived off-campus before making that decision.

Setting her computer up in her office, she removed her coat and sat her umbrella aside before sitting down just as Prudence turned up. “Professor Spellman,” she said with a tight surprise. “Have you read your emails this morning?”

Zelda fixed her damp hair, opening her laptop up as she settled in her chair. “Not yet, should I have?”

“It’s just that…um, the grades you put up are wrong.”

Zelda paused, “How so?”

“You gave Dorcas, Nick Scratch’s results and Agatha now has Nick’s, which works in her favour, I suppose. But…it’s like that across your entire class.”

Zelda’s stomach clenched as she saw a dozen emails from students, questioning their marks. Flicking into the system, she opened it up and reviewed. She wasn’t sure how that had occurred. She wasn’t even sure how many it affected but knew that it was going to be an absolute pain to undo.

Once a grade had been placed up in the system, it wasn’t something easy to undo. It was far easier to screw up the system and adversely affect a person’s weighted score than it was to undo it––the easiest way to fix it would be to manually work out what everyone’s weight score should be and then add in extra credit to move the weighted score up or down, but that would take hours of work.

Literal hours that she could not place onto Prudence’s plate.

Zelda combed her fingers through her hair, feeling a wave of dizziness rush over her. On top of this, she would have to go to Faustus and advise as to what had occurred, explaining the error and what she planned on doing to fix it.

Given that she was apart of the Liberal Arts, there were fewer scholarships that would be affected, but she wasn’t entirelywithout scholarship students. After all, Prudence was one herself.

“I see,” Zelda, wishing she could scream. She swallowed back the frustration and anger, feeling it turn into a lump in her throat. She needed to fix this fast.

“Professor?” Prudence asked softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“This is my mess, Prudence. I will fix it.” She paused, drawing in a tight breath before noticing that the woman remained hovering in her office. “Do you mind if we reschedule this meeting, I need to fix this as fast as possible, before any of the scholarships are adversely affected.”

“Of course,” Prudence said. “Did you want me to take your first class this morning?”

Zelda looked to the time, and then out at her window to the heavy rain. “No, I think classes should be cancelled, given the weather. Are you okay to make it back to your dormitory?”

“I’ll probably go to the cafeteria,” Prudence responded. “But you have my number if you need me?”

Zelda nodded, gesturing loosely in agreement. The truth was, she didn’t know what was easier. A part of her wanted to double down on the mistake and affirm that it was correct––absurd as the idea was––and another part of her wanted to just up and quit, never to be seen again. The amount of work it would take felt overwhelming. She’d been stressed before, but this, after everything else, felt near impossible.

She began by putting her anxiety aside and sending out an email to Faustus to let him know what had occurred before any complaints were raised. Then she sent out a following email to the affected classes, letting them know she was aware of the error and would rectify it by the day’s end.

She cleared her schedule, pulled out her calculator and tried to remember basic maths before setting to work.

She didn’t eat, didn’t bother taking so much as a cigarette break. Instead, she had a pot of coffee made and set to work, moving from her desk only to attend the bathroom.

It seemed almost a saviour that the rain had occurred, allowing her a reason to cancel the classes and focus on the task at hand.

Once it was done, only then did she take the time to look at the clock and notice it was the end of her office hours, with nothing completed but a rectified mistake and half a dozen emails assuring the scholarship students that were any questions to rise, she would personally fix the issue herself.

Zelda packed her bag up, switched her heels for flats as a heaviness weighed on her shoulders before she made her way through the storm, back to her car, feeling as if the day was wasted. She sat in her car, sitting back in the leather seat as sheets of rain ran down her windscreen.

She wanted to cry or scream or do something, but she didn’t have the energy for any of it. Instead, she put her seatbelt on, turned on the engine, removed the hand brake before reversing out of the parking lot.

The rain narrowed her vision, and as she went to return home, she found herself notably blocked by flashing lights, warning her that she couldn’t take the main road.

Side road it was then—typical of today.

Zelda grew up by the forest. She knew forest roads better than most––though her time dating a ranger and firefighter (separately) certainly added to that knowledge––leaving her to use the mud slicken paths to find her way home.

But it was dark, and it was storming, and she was prideful, eventually finding her car inevitably bogged in a puddle deeper than she’d estimated.

She stepped out of the car, pulling out her umbrella to look at the wheels and knew there was no way in Hell she’d be able to get the wheel out herself. Especially in the rain, the mud was too thick; even now her shoes were sinking in the ground.

No, instead she was stuck having to climb back in her car, soaked from the rain and see if she had service (she did not, because of course the storm was interfering with that).

It left her with two options. Option one was to stay in the car and wait for the storm to recede, when she could go and get help. Option two was to go out and get help now.

It was likely safer to keep with option one, far more practical, but it’d been a shit day. If she was honest, a masochistic part of herself was hoping that something else would go wrong so she could truly scream out at the world and just let out all the frustration and anger she was feeling.

Pulling her coat firmer around herself, she took out her umbrella.

The flats she wore were only markedly more practical for the weather than her heels, but not by much. Zelda climbed out of her car, clicked the doors locked (though if she was going to get robbed, may as well being in the middle of fucking nowhere) and then made her way eastward through the forest on the fire trail, knowing that it would lead to one road or another, where she could try and signal down a driver.

The forest was wet, and the foliage was slippery. More than once, she slid, catching on a nearby tree to stop herself from falling into the mud. But with all the shrubbery, it didn’t seem to matter. Her stockings were soaked and mud-splattered (ruined forever, and she’d barely worn them, so that annoyed her too), her dress clung to her, completely soaked even with the protection of the coat.

It was all too much. She could feel the tears pricking in her eyes, a sob making its way up her throat.

She knew she should turn back. Go back to the car and wait for the storm to clear—however long that would take––but didn’t. Instead, her stubbornness kept her walking through the forest until she saw a flicker of light.

Gold and red, perhaps headlights, or a home. If it was a house, she might be able to request some neighbourly help and hope to God that they were home and would let her use their phone. Otherwise, she was uncertain as to what she was going to do.

The house was a cottage, alone on the old highway. But the lights were on at least.

Zelda made her way up the wooden step, happy for cover from the rain as her back spasmed with shivers, freezing as she knocked on the door.

There was a pause inside, and Zelda knew it was likely someone not expecting any company. And then the door opened, and Zelda found herself face to face with the last person she expected to live in a cottage.

“Lilith?”

“What are you doing here?” Lilith asked at the same time.

Zelda shivered from the cold, feeling the wash of warmth come through from the house with the smell of a wood fire going. “I got bogged. I didn’t know you lived here. I just need to use your…your…” she shivered again, teeth chattering and suddenly the door was being opened wider and Lilith was ushering her inside.

“Bogged?”

“The road was sh-shut due to the r-river o-over f-flowing,” Zelda said, allowing herself to be tugged towards the fire. There, she stripped off her jack, water still dripping off her in a puddle around her feet––embarrassing if it weren’t for how dreadfully cold she felt.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling it wetly stick to her face.

“Where did you get bogged?”

“F-forest road. I k-know the roads,” she said, kneeling before the fire.

“Not that well, it seems,” Lilith muttered as she took the jacket. Zelda didn’t see where it disappeared to, only that Lilith returned and began unzipping Zelda from her dress.

“I’m fine,” Zelda insisted. “I just n-need your telephone.”

“Well, the lines are down, and I don’t get service out here,” she admitted. “So you’ll have to wait, now stand up and let me undress you before I get cross.”

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“My crop is never too far away,” she warned.

Zelda turned and shot her a look, “I thought you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“You don’t listen, do you?” Lilith sighed, unzipping the black dress and helping Zelda to get out of it.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a clever girl, work it out,” the words were spoken sharply, and Zelda realised that the events still hurt the woman.

No, that wasn’t necessarily true. She was hurt by what Zelda had said.

Taking the dress, Lilith wrapped a towel over her and gave her a heavy look before she disappeared with the dress. Zelda huffed, turning back to the fire and feeling the shaking ease. Her muscles remained tight, a bone-chill holding onto her as she tried to inch closer and closer to the hearth to feel the warmth.

“I’ve run you a bath,” Lilith said, returning suddenly. “We can try the phone lines again after you warm up.”

“I don’t need a bath.”

“The fact that you’re still shaking tells me otherwise. Now it’s either this or I bend you over my knee and give you an enema to stop you from getting hypothermia,” Lilith said, her brows raised. “Is that what you want?”

Zelda rose to her feet, disgusted at the implication and allowing herself to be led down the hall, where she was shown to the bathroom. The bath was positively ancient-looking, and the water had been run halfway, deep enough for her to submerge herself into.

Zelda removed her slip and then with clumsy hands began to try and undress herself. Lilith worked faster, unclipping her garter belt and helping her to slide out of stockings before she undressed her.

It was terrible intimate, and twice Zelda slapped her hands away only for Lilith to arch a brow and step back, allowing her to fumble before she took over again.

Finally, Zelda was able to climb into the bath.

The heat scorched her body, but pushing past it, she submerged herself in the heat and felt it slip over her, watching as Lilith picked up her clothes and disappeared with a short, “Don’t get up to trouble.”

If Zelda was honest, this was traversing a fine line between fantasy-nightmare. Entering a beautiful woman’s house, cold and wet, then having her clothes disappearing to where she wouldn’t be able to have access to them. Whatever was a woman to do?

Sinking in the bath, she thought about the implications of it. Truthfully she doubted that Lilith had any bad intentions, no matter how snide her comments were. And yet a part of her couldn’t admit to hoping a little bit for wicked intentions.

She could hear the shuffling around, telling her that Lilith was up to something. Zelda felt the heart of the water soothe her aching muscles, the cold drifting from her bones at the very idea of what could occur. After all, she had stumbled across Lilith’s cottage, her sanctum, so to speak. Likely the woman wouldn’t be terribly pleased…

And yet, as lovely as the idea was, Zelda knew that realistically speaking what was likely to occur was Lilith having her clothes dried by the fire, as she tried the phone line again, unimpressed with the situation.

“Here,” Lilith said, entering the bathroom. “Your clothes were filthy––unfortunately your stockings were beyond saving, but I’ve put everything else in the wash so you’ll just have to wear this for the time being,” she said, setting down a nightgown with a dressing robe beside it and a new, fresh towel.

“Thank you,” Zelda said. “You don’t need––“

“To stop you from dying? Unfortunately, a duty of care is written into the law, and I could be charged with willful neglect,” she said. “Despite what you may wish.”

“I was hardly close to being pneumonic,” Zelda snapped. “It was a bit of rain, not a snowstorm.”

“You were half-drowned,” Lilith said, with an air of disregard, as if she couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Now out you get before you do drown.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Aren’t you?” Lilith said, her smile wicked. Though when Zelda stepped out of the bath, Lilith hands came out and patted her dry with the towel, brushing over her body in a way that Zelda felt the woman enjoyed doing too much if the wicked smile was anything to go by.

Then Lilith was stepping back, and Zelda was finally allowed to dress in the gown and dress, a warm flush dropping over her as Lilith hand her the towel to dry her hair.

The water was murky from the mud and dirt, and more than a few leaves floated in it as Lilith pulled the chain from the plug and set it aside to drain, leaving the bathroom in such a way that Zelda’s eyes followed her movement, familiar with the walk leading her up to her bedroom floor.

“Are you following?” Lilith sang down the hall, and Zelda hated how her heart skipped and an urgency to follow filled her.

Despite her frustration with her, the woman remained to hold a tight control, in a way that was utterly freeing at the best of times and entirely frustrating every other time.

Nonetheless, she followed down the hall, shutting the bathroom door behind her, its lights clicked off.

Lilith led her into the kitchen, where she’d already made a pot of tea, setting it down before her, not unlike their aftercare sessions. Zelda looked to the stove, where it was clear the woman had been halfway through cooking her tea when she’d interrupted her.

And on queue, her stomach gurgled. Zelda flushed, looking away, thankful for the tea.

“Sit down,” Lilith said, shooing her to the kitchen table. And then Zelda watched as she set out two dishes and opened the oven, pulling out a small casserole dish.

“I don’t need––“

“Don’t be impolite. I wasn’t joking about finding my crop, and if need be, I will pull out the wooden spoon if you continue to be rude,” she looked over her shoulder, giving a purposeful look. “Now sit there and wait for dinner to be served, like a good girl, and then we can check the phone lines.”

Zelda didn’t see why she couldn’t check them now, but she sat obediently at the table, her finger pushing at the fork with disinterest. She was embarrassed overall by the situation and further humiliated by the fact that she was just sitting here, waiting for this like it wasn’t her own fault for being here whilst Lilith treater her like a temperamental child.

It didn’t ease the urgency in her to apologise, and there was still a part of her that wanted to stomp off, back to the woods to find her car. She wouldn’t because that was stupid, but the feeling remained there.

Lilith took her plate and began serving the meal. “If I didn’t know how utterly stubborn you were, I would never believe such a story as you getting bogged on the fire trails. Most people would have turned back and waited until the storm passed,” Lilith said with a look.

“I’m not most people,” Zelda said, hating how the woman made her feel like a child under the scrutiny of a teacher. “The fire roads go directly to the Spellman house, and usually it’s fine. I’ve driven it through rain before.”

“But this time you were unlucky.”

“Yes, well, the hole was significant. I would argue it was man-made, but it could just as easily have been created by an animal, digging for something,” she said. “And then the rain just happened to be getting worse.”

“Yes, well, here you are. You’re lucky I live here. Not so long ago, no one lived here, and it was just an old, decrypted house.”

Zelda rose her eyebrows. “So you haven’t always lived in Greendale, then?”

“No. I moved about…oh, a year ago,” she said with a soft hum. There was a softness to her face. “But I was familiar with Greendale. I used to have a few regular clients from here and Riverdale that would pay me to come to visit them for a weekend.”

“Why?” Zelda asked.

Lilith looked at her, tilting her head, “and why not?” she asked.

Knowing she’d overstepped, Zelda felt like she should apologise, but as the woman’s expression stared at her as if waiting for her to argue, Zelda couldn’t hold back from her comment. “Why would someone need a whole weekend of sex and kink?”

“For many reasons that include the fact that it’s not just about sex and kink,” Lilith said, setting Zelda’s plate down before her as she took her own dish to her side of the table and sat down. “You should try it out for yourself and see.”

“Is that your sales pitch?”

“It is,” Lilith said, her eyes sparkling with humour. “Now, explain to me again what occurred. You were coming home from a day of work, saw that the main road was cut off and decided…to go through the fire roads, even though there was a storm?”

As if on cue, thunder roared outside with a flash of light.

“Yes,” Zelda agreed. There was little more to it than that.

“And…you had no idea I lived here?”

Ah, Zelda realised. “You think I drove through the forest road, and intentionally got bogged and decided to traverse through the storm to your cottage? That’s counting on a lot of things to occur at the right moment.”

“Your story is that you got bogged, for all I know, your car is parked a little way up the road.”

“For what purpose?” Zelda said. “Certainly you don’t think that I would be so insecure as to manufacture a moment.”

“I’m never certain about these things. Comes with the territory.”

Zelda quirked her head, studying the woman’s expression. If she had to make an educated guess about what the woman was inferring to, she’d say that there had been a time someone had come across her private residence under false pretences.

“I have better things to do with my life than chase after a woman,” Zelda advised shortly. Privately adding that she was not interested in anyone who had terminated their services because she had some moral compass to show off.

“And what does a woman like you do to occupy her time––outside of soliciting the services of a dominatrix?” Lilith enquired

Zelda smirked. “I work at the university, as you know.”

“Mm, there’s more to it than that.”

“Yes. I complete my own academic papers, but I’m behind on them at the moment.”

“What are your papers on?”

“Language. I had one on the context of language and how it shifts with religious texts, changing the meaning. But my most recent one is more-so about the development of language in cultures and how it shifts––mostly around youth culture, I suppose.” She sighed, thinking fondly upon all the academic books she’d lost when the technician had accidentally deleted all of her stuff due to a virus on her computer––though he said it was more common with university students and suggested raising it with the school.

“Sounds fascinating.”

“In a sense,” Zelda said. “Most people would advise it’s dry. And I suppose it is in their own ways. The students I have hope to become translators or work for the EU in some capacity. Few of them would ever think to follow an academic path, so what I find interesting, they very rarely agree.”

“What did you hope to be when you studied?”

Zelda hummed, realising what the woman was doing, and yet she couldn’t help herself from revealing the truths, “I had an aptitude for language and followed it for that sake alone. I wanted to travel, so I did, spending much of inheritance and earned money travelling the world and learning different dialects. Then I returned home and took up studying for a PhD.”

“Why, Greendale?”

“Because it’s home,” Zelda said, but that was a lie. “Because Sabrina couldn’t live in the city,” she admitted with more honestly. “She deserved a good school and being able to walk home without fear of something happening.”

Lilith nodded. “Understandable,” she said. “When I used to live in the city, I was mugged once. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what that felt like. Though looking back, I don’t think he even had a weapon, just the threat of one and that was enough.” She tilted her head, and her eyes narrowed as if she was scrutinising a thought.

“So why did you move to Greendale?”

“Change of scenery,” Lilith said, her smile tight as she set the fork down. Zelda nodded, dropping the question there. Whatever the reasoning, it was still raw and tight, enough that it fractured the woman’s mask.

They chatted politely over the rest of the meal, Lilith enquiring as to her work, and Zelda asking about the school. The topic remained not dissimilar to what you might have over a work conference with a stranger because it was polite to network rather than taking an absolute interest in what the person was saying.

And when dinner was finished, Zelda rose, taking their dishes to the sink, before beginning to wash up.

Lilith watched her with interest, making no polite comment that she didn’t need to. Although Zelda knew it was an expected social factor to wash dishes if the other person cooked, she couldn’t help but feel annoyed by the fact that Lilith didn’t argue.

It was like when the receipt was placed down for dinner, and the other person doesn’t make a move for it, knowing you’ll pay. It was polite to do the social dance.

“You can try the phone,” Lilith said. “It seems to be back up, but I would suspect that you’re likely to stay the night.”

“And why is that?” Zelda asked, aghast at the woman’s presumptuous way of speaking.

“Because the road remains washed out, and I highly doubt that you’re looking to get your sister bogged on the same fire road as you did.”

Zelda pressed her lips shut and looked away. It was a valid argument. Though she was sure someone she knew had an appropriate car, it was far too late now to ask for such a favour and…

…she wasn’t entirely displeased at the idea of staying the night. It would provide her with more opportunity to…

She stopped the thought there, reminding herself that Lilith had terminated those services, demanding she see a therapist first. Huffing, she stepped away from the sink, pulling out the plug and drying her hands before walking over the phone like that hung on the wall.

It was corded, which seemed all the more ridiculous as she lifted the receiver and heard the familiar sound of a dial tone. Clicking the numbers, she heard the phone ring before it was picked up.

“Spellman residence, this is Hilda.”

“Hilda, it’s Zelda,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know––“

“Oh Zelds, I was worried when I heard the road was flooded. I tried your office, but it rang out.”

“Yes, well, I’m safe, but I likely won’t be home until tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know that I was fine.”

“Wonderful news. Are you staying with the Blackwoods?”

Zelda paused, torn between lying to her sister for simplicities sake, or admitting the truth. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, thank you, Hilda,” she said before hanging up the phone.

Lilith looked at her, brow’s raising but didn’t seem to argue either way. “Well,” Lilith said with a flutter of her eyes. “I suppose the question is…what did you want to do now?”

Zelda drew in a breath, feeling a low flutter in her belly. She knew what some part of her wanted, but there was no way she was going to admit that. Instead, she returned the question to Lilith, “And what are the options?”

“Hmm, I have some books, we could play a game. Otherwise, we could just adjourn to the living room.”

“And do what?”

Lilith smiled at her. There was demureness to it and were Zelda not so distrusting of the woman. She may have believed it to be genuine. Truthfully, the demure look only made her all the more suspicious. Nonetheless, Lilith led her to the fire and sat down on the lounge, reclining across in a way that had Zelda averting her gaze from her legs as she sat down in the armchair.

For the first time, she swept her eyes over the home. There was a strangeness to it in contrast to the other house. This house seemed smaller with the narrow rooms, though it was definitely twice as large given that it had more rooms. The furniture was old, and as Zelda’s eyes wandered over the mantle and strange collection of knick-knacks, she wondered how much of it belonged to Lilith.

Certainly, she wouldn’t have placed muted colours as a choice of the woman––especially with how modern and bright the other place had been.

“Is this your home?” she asked.

“As much as any other place I live in has been,” Lilith responded. “Why do you ask?”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

Lilith laughed. “No, I suppose it does not. I didn’t decorate it, but it suits me well enough,” she said with a tight smile.

“Did you decorate the other place?”

“Yes, and no,” she answered. “I chose the art and the bed, everything else just came with time.”

The answered puzzled Zelda. As she understood, Lilith had only been living in Greendale shortly. The wealth depicted in two homes cast a strong contract. Here, everything looked old, like it’d been owned for decades and whomever the owner was, had intentionally picked the pieces to match. In contrast, the other place had a more contemporary feel to it.

But Lilith’s answers were deliberately misleading, and Zelda knew that if she wanted to clarify, she would have done so already. Instead, she’d chosen to remain a mystery by design.

It left an awkward silence, one that provided Zelda with too much time to go over the other day, remembering Lilith’s words. Telling her that she wouldn’t engage in her alleged self-harm––and yet, she’d gone out of her way to flirt with her today, to the point that it left no mystery that should Zelda return it, the woman would happily engage in a service.

Right now, she was lying on the lounge in a way that was intended to look casual, but Zelda knew very well was posed, having done similar acts of seduction herself. While she appreciated it, it left her confused.

“What did you mean by earlier?” Zelda asked. “When you said that I don’t listen.”

“You don’t listen, what is there to interpret in that?”

“I listen quite well,” Zelda countered. “You’re just vague, which says more about you than it does me.”

“That may be true, but you don’t listen. You half listen and then extrapolate whatever answer you want from that––in this case, it seems to cast yourself as the victim.”

Zelda’s jaw clicked, a fit of furious anger rising inside of her. “And what in God’s name do you mean by that?”

Lilith smiled. “Why haven’t you booked another appointment with me?” Lilith asked.

Zelda blinked, taken aback by the comment, “You said I couldn’t.”

“I said no such thing. In fact, I offered to leave your last session as free given that we didn’t finish it, which was awfully kind on my end, despite how rudely you stormed off.”

“I was not rude, and you said that you wouldn’t complete the requested services anymore.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I said I wouldn’t engage in your self-harm; there’s a difference. We can still engage in BDSM. It just means that if I say it’s over, it’s over. You don’t get to push your limits without negotiating them with me first.”

Zelda’s chest tightened as she looked away. “I wasn’t trying to push my limits.”

“No, you were trying to punish yourself. I won’t engage in that, the only person who gets to punish you, is me. When you engage my services, you’re mine, do you understand?”

Zelda flushed, staring at the fire. The words your mine rolled through, echoing softly. She quite liked the way that sounded. “I don’t want to punish myself.”

Lilith sighed, sinking in the chair like she was terribly bored. “The therapist I gave you is good. I used her services myself.”

“And what did you need them for?” Zelda asked. “Were you punishing yourself?”

“Don’t do that,” Lilith said, looking her sharply in the eye. For a moment, all humoured had failed, and the woman was looking at her intently. “You’re better than that.”

Zelda shifted, biting back the seething comment. “And who made you the authority?”

“I did by being a dominatrix, and you placed yourself as the submissive.”

“I didn’t appreciate it.”

“No,” Lilith agreed and then she drew in a tight breath. “I will admit, I went about it the wrong way. When I went through…something similar, it was difficult to see that I needed help. You don’t need to see a therapist if you don’t want to, but I do ask that you consider it.”

“I have, and I’ve elected not to.”

Lilith nodded, her expression tight. “Then I won’t push again. But should you ever want a recommendation to a therapist, I will provide it to you.”

“Thank you.”

“And now just comes the matter of you storming off and being quite rude. Are you going to apologise for that, or should I find my cane?”

Zelda shivered and looked away to the fire again, not wanting the woman to see how intently she would enjoy such a thing. The idea of being bent over a surface and feeling the cane crack over her skin. It was enough to make her deeply aware of the lack of underwear underneath the gown.

“Unless that is something you want?” Lilith said, a low, soft laughing ringing from her lips as she sat up.

“No, I––” Zelda said, but her voice was swollen with arousal. All she could think about was Lilith’s hand running over the welts, telling her how good she was being.

Her face felt hot as she bit her lip.

Lilith was standing in front of her before Zelda was even aware of standing. And then, as Zelda looked up, into her eyes, she watched as Lilith bent before her, hands on either side of the armchair, so Zelda sat up straight and pressed back in the seat, watching as the woman’s eyes came to level with hers. “You don’t need to lie to me, if you want me to spank you, all you need to do is ask me nicely.”

Zelda swallowed, staring back, afraid that if she blinked, the woman would devour her.

She could smell her perfume––faded, but sweet coming from her skin as one hand lifted and seemed to curl under her chin, tilting it up. “Ask me nicely,” Lilith said. The words were softly spoken, but there was no mistaking the authority in the command.

“And what would ‘nicely’ look like?” she asked.

“You’re a clever girl, I’m sure you’ll work it out,” Lilith grinned, and it only fed into the situation as Zelda found herself growing bold.

If Lilith wanted to play, she could play. She’d had enough of being seduced––Lilith may have experience of ruling her authority over others, but Zelda had never had a complaint with her own techniques.

“Do I just say, ‘please, Principle Wardwell, won’t you bend me over your knee’?” she asked, grinning as she watched the woman’s smirked falter, her pupils dilating. Zelda leant closer and felt Lilith’s fingers slide down her throat. “Or should I just get on my knees and beg?”

Lilith’s eyes darkened, and she gave a wolfish grin. “I like the idea of you begging.”

“You’re going to need to try harder to get me to beg for you. I’m sure a clever girl like you can work it out.”

“Disrespectful,” Lilith said, her hand coming to slip around Zelda’s throat, holding it steady but not painfully. “You can try to wind me up all you want, but you still need to ask me nicely.”

Zelda drew in a deep breath, knowing she was already under the woman’s skin. “Please, Principal Wardwell,” she purred, and Lilith smirked at her, her fingers tightening as she leant forward and kissed her. Zelda’s eyes fluttered shut, her mouth soft and pliant as she felt the woman climb on top of her, one leg on either side, effectively pinning in her place as she used both hands to cup her face, kissing her softly, and then hard, her teeth coming out to catch against Zelda’s bottom lip before she sucked on it until Zelda moaned.

And then Lilith was kissing down her throat, and Zelda didn’t know how this was going to end up with her getting spanked, but she could feel the flickering warmth in her belly as lips kissed over her neck, each one soft and tender until the woman’s teeth sunk against her shoulder.

Zelda’s nails dug in the woman’s thighs as she rocked forward,

Lilith laughed as she pulled away, giving the spot a lick before she stared into Zelda’s eyes, flicking between them as if she was trying to read her thoughts.

“I’m going to punish you in a way that you’re not going to like,” she said. “It won’t be what you want.”

“And, pray tell, what do you think I want?”

“I think you want me to pull you over my knee and spank you until you’re absolutely soaked, and then you want me to fuck you while you squirm in my lap and listen to me tell you what a good girl you were for taking such a punishment.”

Zelda shifted at the words, feeling the flush brush over her. She swallowed the words, afraid that if she tried to deny it, she’d only make a fool out of herself.

“Don’t worry, I’m still going to spank you, but you were very disrespectful for me in my own home, and naughty girls get punished before they get treats,” she stepped away then and then Lilith was taking Zelda’s hand and tugging her out of the armchair, up the steps to the second floor and into Lilith’s bedroom.

Her real bedroom, that had a simple bed, with simple covers and a thick, fur throw strewn over it to keep the heat in.

Lilith shut the bedroom door behind her and then grinned at Zelda. “What’s your safe word?” she asked.

“Music box.”

Lilith smiled, her fingers running over the satin collar of the dressing gown Zelda wore as she pushed it off her shoulders. “I’m going to make you beg, Zelda Spellman. You came into my territory, in my home. You’re mine.”

“Am I, now?” Zelda asked, feeling her heart flutter.

Lilith’s smile only widened as her fingers played with the straps of the nightgown, pushing them off Zelda’s shoulders too, so the dress fell, catching over her hips before Zelda tugged them down, standing obediently before her.

Lilith leant forward and kissed her again, and Zelda pressed into her, her fingers settling on Lilith’s hips. She didn’t understand how the woman could threaten her and make her feel safe at the same time as if she was in complete control and giving it all up at the same time, but Zelda softened against her, mouth parting to slip her tongue over Lilith’s.

She was eager and nervous, uncertain about what was to follow.

And then Lilith was pulling away and tucking hair behind her ear before she whispered. “On the bed, in the centre for me, please.” And then she stepped back and watched her, teeth biting her bottom lip as she nodded for Zelda to get into position.

Zelda climbed onto the bed, sitting in the centre.

“Oh no, on all fours, facing the head of the bed.”

Zelda drew in a breath, her heart beating faster. It would leave her exposed. Very exposed. But Lilith just waited where she stood, eyebrows raised as she waited for her to either obey or disagree.

Those were her two options. She could do what was asked of her, or she could refuse, demand something she wanted.

She didn’t want anything else.

Zelda obeyed, rolling onto her hands and knees, back straight as she stared at the head of the bed.

“That’s my girl,” Lilith said, and then Zelda could hear her walking around the bedroom, liking admiring her position. “Scooch back a bit,” Lilith said. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Zelda bit her lip, manoeuvring herself backwards. There was no graceful way to do it, and she suspected that that had been Lilith’s plan, to humiliate her just a bit as she was crawling backwards on the bed.

“Stop.”

Zelda paused and then looked over her shoulder, feeling the heat rush across her face, down her body despite how the cool air felt against her naked body (especially to where her sex remained exposed).

“Eyes ahead. Good girl,” Lilith said, and Zelda felt her hand slip down, over her back, across her backside. “Now, stay right there, don’t move,” she said.

Zelda shivered as she felt the hand lift away, listening as Lilith walked around the room, opening up a drawer and pulling something that sounded reasonably heavy out from it. And then, Zelda felt Lilith touch over her ankle, a cuff wrapping around it but Zelda felt what was like a bar press over her other leg, and then Lilith was moving her other ankle, adjusting it, so her thighs were quite wide apart.

“A spreader?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” Lilith confirmed, buckling her other ankle into a cuff. “It leaves you so beautifully exposed before me.” And then when all was done and buckled, Lilith’s hands were dropping over her waist, sliding down her backside and thighs as she ran her nails bluntly over the skin.

Zelda shivered, but try as she might, the bar kept her legs spread and she was unable to press her thighs together.

She was just open. The woman could do and see as she pleased.

Zelda drew in a deep breath, calming her beating heart as Lilith hand’s continued to run over her, petting her softly. It was both patronising and yet calming at the same time, and Zelda wished that she could find it annoying.

“Now, I would say…five for each infraction, does that sound fair?”

“Yes.”

“Yes…?” Lilith prompted.

“Yes, Principle Wardwell.”

Lilith laughed before Zelda heard her draw in a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever tyre of hearing you say that.”

And then Zelda felt her hands running over her again, pressing across her lower back and drawing her nails down the muscles. “Five lashes for each infraction, I’ve counted your rudeness three times.”

“Three?”

“Mmhmm. Three times I threatened to spank you, so here you are. Fifteen lashes that we’ll do in lots of five.” And then she was quiet again, and Zelda was taking a deep breath, waiting for the first strike to hit.

It came sudden and firm against the left cheek, and Zelda squeaked, surprised by it but otherwise fine. The second was as firm on the other side. She bit back her sound, digging her hands in the fur throw and waited. Another strike came, low and managing to hit both of her upper thighs, stinging it enough that Zelda gasped.

Three strikes.

Was she meant to be counting them? She couldn’t remember.

Another strike came, and Zelda felt it rock over her. Her ass was warmed already by the strikes, a heat pulsating across it that paused as she felt the cane gently kiss against her. Holding her breath, she wondered briefly if that was meant to be number five.

And then she saw the shadow flicker, giving her enough time to brace as the strike hit her hard and true on her upper thigh, stinging across it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking in a deep breath as she breathed through the pain, feeling it pulsate over her.

“You did well,” Lilith advised, her fingers coolly pressing over the marks, running across the welted lines.

Zelda squirmed at the touch, feeling her own wetness grow slick––it was somehow all the more embarrassing to know how on show she was, how easily Lilith could see how wet she was getting it.

Zelda ducked her head, staring at the fur throw and drew in a tight breath. As humiliating as it felt, she still squirmed at the sensation, wanting to feel Lilith’s fingers continue to draw over, mixing plain with pleasure.

“Ready for the second lot?”

Zelda nodded, and then squeaked too late as she felt Lilith pinch a welt in warning, “Yes, Principle Wardwell.”

“Good, you’re learning.” Lilith stepped back and drew over her thighs. “Let’s see, shall we. I could be very, very cruel but I don’t think I will. I think I’ll be nice.”

Zelda whined.

“I know what you want, but this isn’t about that,” Lilith said, her hand running over her back, stroking across the curve of her skin. And then the next strike came, and Zelda’s eyes squeezed shut as it cracked over her ass, hitting the very edges of her vulva with deliberate intention. It stung enough that she felt tears prick into her eyes, but Zelda’s fingers curled into the throw, breathing out hard as she pressed against the spreader between her calves.

She couldn’t lie. It hurt, but it hurt good. Like she could feel the impact and the pain rolling over her, but also the endorphins flooding through her bloodstream.

“Would you look at that,” Lilith teased and then her fingers were sliding over the outer labia, and Zelda was whimpering at the light touch, feeling the woman spread her wider. “My, my, you do enjoy a good spanking, don’t you?”

“Yes, Principal Wardwell.”

“Mm, perhaps I should get creative, think of other ways to punish you for rude behaviour. Maybe make you––“ she was cut off as a ding sounded, far below in the home. “Excellent, the washing machine’s done. Do be a dear and stay where you are. I’ll be quite cross if I’ve seen you’ve moved.”

“Yes, Principal Wardwell.”

Zelda held her position, waiting, and then feel the faintest touch on her back, before she felt Lilith’s fingers comb through her hair, moving it in place. And then she was gone, feet padding out of the room.

Zelda could hear the stairs creak with the weight on them, before that too faded, leaving the house quiet.

There was the sound of a door opening, and then there was silence, and Zelda waited and waited and waited. Feeling seconds tick as the heat and sting on her skin turned cold and then faded to a dull ache. There was only quiet and her thoughts.

And all she could think about was that if anyone walked in except Lilith, she would be terribly on show. Every part of her naked and exposed for view. Realistically, she was safe. It was unlikely that someone else would make their way to the house, be invited inside and then make their way up the stairs to Lilith’s bedroom.

And yet, despite the knowledge of this, Zelda couldn’t help but feel the prick of anticipation. It wasn’t entirely impossible, just improbably. It could happen. Someone could come across the lone house and visit her.

A stair creaked, and Zelda felt the anticipation break across her skin. She was almost helpless.

What would happen if someone were to––

“Look at that,” Lilith said, and Zelda prided herself in the fact that she didn’t jump, despite her surprise. “You remained perfectly in position. Aren’t you just an obediently little woman?” Zelda could hear her steps down, listening as they stepped over her to behind her, taking the cane from the bed.

“Are my clothes––“

The cane struck low, on the side of her thigh and Zelda gasped, surprised by it. “Subordinates are quiet unless spoken to,” Lilith reminded her. “Now, where were we?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Zelda refrained from allowing a response to be pulled from her as she felt the woman walk around the bed, seeming to take her form in. “I think two more lashes should do it.”

Zelda’s brow pinched. She was certain that there was at least eight outstanding.

But Lilith’s fingers touched over the welts and Zelda hissed at the touch. Two spots were more painful than the others, and Zelda felt Lilith’s fingers glide over it, rubbing the nerves raw. It twisted painfully inside of her, and although there was certainly enjoyment to be found, for the most part, she felt the pain act like pins against her emotions, pricking her pain until she felt like she was going to cry.

“You’ve done well,” Lilith said. “I’m reducing them because your skin's a little more delicate than I anticipated. But I’m proud of you, so don’t think that’s it’s for any other reason.” And then the weight shifted, and Zelda felt her head bow. The strike came, hard and firm, pressing over one of the smaller welt and Zelda moaned, feeling it spark up her spine. Tears were pricking in her eyes now.

And she wasn’t sure if it was from the strike or the words I’m proud of you that were running through her head. It was absurd to get so worked up over the phrase. Absurd to feel them prick sharply into her, harder than any strike. Anything at all.

Proud of you.

God have mercy; she ached.

The last strike came, and like a crumbling damn, Zelda’s body bent over. She wasn’t going to cry; she was determined not to cry.

And yet Lilith’s fingers were fast, and the spreader was unbuckled and removed, and then the woman was on the bed, and Zelda was pulled into her lap. And Zelda hated it, hated how the woman’s fingers drew over her hair, how she hushed her and ran hands over her body and whispered how good she’d been.

Because it hurt, it hurt more than it should, and Zelda wanted it again. She wanted Lilith to whisper into her ear and press kisses to her shoulder, and tell her that she’d done really well, even if it wasn’t true. She wanted it so badly.

She closed her eyes and felt the combing stop, but Lilith’s hands remained on her, one settled on her head, the other curled around her body, pressing against her chest, steadying her.

And then when the pain was over, Zelda drew a breath and rose, feeling the embarrassment wash over her again, just as it had in their first session.

She licked her lips, trying to think of a dry comment to make or something to say to soften what had occurred but Lilith only looked into her eyes, and all the words died in her mouth.

“I’m going to insist this time that I put cream on it since you’ll be staying the night.”

Zelda made a noise of disagreement but shifted away, winching as she pressed against a welt. “Fine,” she agreed. “Only because I won’t have access to my own.”

Lilith gave her a look and then shifted off from the bed, going over to her dresser when she shuffled through the drawers, before pulling out a container of cream.

She returned to the bed, and tugged at a pillow, pulling it down next to Zelda, “Lie down, and I’ll place it on,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Zelda obeyed, rolling onto the stomach and resting her arms over the pillow, placing her head on it in a way she was comfortable.

And then she settled, feeling the fur of the throw press against her as the cream was unrolled and the woman’s fingers were dipping in it. “Do you do this for your clients, too?”

“I do,” Lilith answered. “Some, like you, are stubborn, which makes it harder to provide adequate care. But I usually find a way.”

Zelda hissed as the cream touched over a welt before she softened again. The woman’s touch was firm, rubbing it into the skin, and she felt her stomach twist at the intimacy of the situation. It came at no surprise to herself that sex and kink were easier than allowing someone to rub cream into the welts.

“None of them have broken,” Lilith said, as her fingers drew down her thighs, both hands rubbing over her left, the thumb firmly rubbing it in––and yet despite how intimate it was, it didn’t feel like foreplay. It felt like what it was, aftercare. As if Zelda was an invalid needing cream for bedsores. “They won’t scar, but they’ll sting for a few days.”

“Wonderful,” Zelda responded dryly.

“Oh, yes,” Lilith said. “One of my favourite things is knowing that even after you leave, you’re going to think of me,” she said, drawing the cream on the other side now. “When you get in your car, when you sit in your office when you’re at the dining table, you’re going to feel it press, and you’re going to think of me.”

“They won’t be happy thoughts.”

“They will be,” Lilith said. “You’re a masochist, Zelda. Try as much as you like. You do like this.”

She felt a bite rise in her. “And yet you said that it was self-harm.”

“Mm, there’s a difference,” Zelda felt Lilith's fingers draw away, and despite how much easier it was to relax when they weren’t there, she missed the touch, the feeling of her drawing over the skin. “What you wanted the other week was complete destruction. You were pushing yourself, refusing to stop. This was different.”

“I didn’t cry last time.”

“Crying isn’t always a sign of pushed limits,” Lilith said. “I think you know the difference between today and the other day and are trying to be deliberately obtuse, so you get what you want.”

Pushing up, Zelda felt a flare of frustration rise at the woman’s words. “Which is what?” she asked, her jaw clenching as she anticipated the woman’s indifference to her fight.

But Lilith only smirked at her. “you know what, Zelda. I’ll play with you on negotiated terms, but I’m not your partner. I can’t be the emotional support you need.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Zelda huffed, pushing up onto her hands and knees before she paused, wincing as she felt the pain sting over her. The welts hurt differently than before. This was a dull ache that throbbed, rather than the sharp sting.

But she pressed on, moving to push off the bed. Not that there was far she could go. She was stuck in the woman’s house until the storm ended––or, more realistically, until tomorrow. A part of her wanted to seduce the other woman, dominate her in a different way that she’d been until Lilith was left wet and wanton against her mouth, but she had a sneaking suspicion that sex was off the table for the moment.

Taking the nightgown from the floor, she placed it on, before pulling on the dressing gown and drew her hair over her shoulder.

Lilith remained sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with mild interest as if she wasn’t sure what might occur next.

“What time is it?”

“Relatively early,” Lilith said, “though I have some administration work to do. Did you want a cup of tea?”

“Please,” Zelda agreed.

_________________

#lilith #zelda spellman #zelith #madam spellman #caos fanfic

14 notes · View notes

tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

The Tale of Scotty-Bear

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott Tracy, John Tracy, Virgil Tracy, Gordon Tracy, Alan Tracy

And another fic for @gumnut-logic‘s #irrelief! The prompt used here is “Any aged bro – The missing Teddy Bear.” from @fictivekaleidoscope

When Lee Taylor bought a bog-standard teddy bear for his best friend’s baby, he probably didn’t expect it to be quite so popular.

He was, rather unimaginatively, named Scott. That was all Lee Taylor, the man who after much debate and hair-pulling over what, exactly was an appropriate toy for a new born baby (a build-it-yourself rocket was vetoed by Lucille before he could even suggest it), had appeared with a bog-standard fluffy teddy bear and presented it to a two hour old Scott Tracy.

You didn’t need two new names to remember, he reasoned. Scott the boy, and Scott the bear. Simple.

(It would have been more convincing if he hadn’t started calling the baby ‘Sam’ the next time he saw him).

Why no-one ever changed the name before baby Scott was old enough to recognise that his favourite teddy shared his name, no-one ever knew. Perhaps it just never occurred to them that they didn’t have to go along with Lee’s idiosyncrasies, or maybe they couldn’t pick a better one. Whatever the reason, his name was Scott, and Scott it stayed.

Scott the bear, eventually nicknamed Scotty-bear after one too many occasions of a too smart toddler with an attitude ignoring his parents because “I thought you meant him!” despite knowing perfectly well that the scolding for scribbling on the wall was for him, became the heart of one brotherly tradition as the Tracy clan began to grow.

Scott the boy was four when he realised Scotty-bear wasn’t in his bed. Lucille promised that she hadn’t moved him while he’d been out at kindergarden, making friends and already showing his future colours as a leader, but the fact remained that Scotty-bear was missing.

A thorough search of the house ensued, Scott running up and down the stairs with reckless abandon during his search and about ready to scream at Jeff when he walked in through the front door. Luckily for Jeff, he didn’t return home from work to an irate Scott with accusations of bear-napping after a suspicious search into his younger brother’s room revealed an unlikely culprit.

Two year old John was curled up in his bed, taking a nap. Around him were various stuffed toys, as usual, but in his arms Scotty-bear was tightly clutched. Scott was furious, waking up his younger brother with a shove that almost knocked him off the bed and wrestling him for control of the bear until Lucille stepped in to stop him.

“Why did you take Scotty-bear?” she asked her sobbing ginger son gently, holding Scott at bay as she gathered him into his arms. “You know it’s not nice to take things that aren’t yours.”

“Scott not here,” was the hiccupped reply. “Wanted Scott.”

Scott stared at his brother before walking out of the room, and that was how Scotty-bear changed hands for the first time.

At this point, the tale of Scotty-bear is probably already clear. With a toy passing down from the elder to the younger, it was a given that the pattern would continue for as long as there were more youngers.

Virgil’s acquisition had occurred with less temper tantrums, but that was probably more to do with the milder dispositions of both boys involved, as opposed to their eldest brother and his fiery temper.

At four years old himself, John was no less willing to part with the bear than Scott had been, but Virgil was enamoured with his biggest brother, and found it highly unfair that John had a bear called Scott and he didn’t.

“There can’t be two Scotty-bears,” John said bluntly when Virgil declared he would get his own. “This is Scotty-bear, and he’s the only Scotty-bear.”

Scott himself, now six, was away at school and didn’t hear the exchange. Jeff was largely ignorant to the events that had transpired for the original handover, barring the fact that however it had happened, Scotty-bear now lived in John’s bed, but Lucille saw the signs and gave a subtle prompt to her second son.

“You can share Scotty-bear with Virgil, can’t you, John?” she asked, gently. John thought about it, defensively holding the teddy close with a frown on his face. In front of him, Virgil employed large brown puppy dog eyes and a quivering lip.

Just as Scott before him, John caved, and thus Scotty-bear once again changed beds.

Virgil held Scotty-bear for the longest time yet, a larger age gap between him and the eventual next younger sibling giving him plenty of time to drag the little bear everywhere with him, and drag him around he did. Virgil and Scott-bear were inseparable, to the point that Scott himself began to sulk that he’d been replaced by a ‘stupid stuffed toy’ when Virgil had tried to give Scotty-bear the last sweet from the packet rather than his actual brother.

Lucille had to intervene more than once when Scott’s temper started to flair, convincing Virgil that Scotty-bear would be just fine without his attention for a few minutes and “Mommy will look after him, so why don’t you play with your brother for a bit?”

However, all things must come to an and, and so did Virgil’s time with Scotty-bear.

Gordon was a monster. Loud, inquisitive, and determined to follow Virgil around like a limpet as soon as he could crawl, there was nowhere for the dark haired brother to escape from his blond shadow. Attempts to palm him off onto John were met with a raised eyebrow – John had learnt that one young – and Scott was reaching the age where he was always busy with friends, and rarely in the house for any length of time.

It was an act of despair, Virgil determined to shake the nuisance once and for all, that he turned to the stuffed toy equivalent of his elder brother. Scott might be too busy to play with little Gordon, but Scotty-bear had no such restrictions. Two years older than either of his brothers had been when they had surrendered the toy, and markedly less selfish than either to boot, it was a more mature boy who hugged Scotty-bear goodbye and quietly snuck him onto the blond menace’s bed during one of the toddler’s naps.

Gordon stopped following him around immediately, the cut-off so abrupt that the thought crossed Virgil’s mind that, somehow, the bear was all Gordon had wanted. Lucille was quick to comfort him as the idea upset the kind-hearted boy, assuring him that Gordon was just distracted by a new toy and would still want to play with his brother.

As always, mothers knew best. After a week of insistently playing with Scotty-bear (to the amusement of John and Scott, who both shared amused ‘join the club’ looks with Virgil), Gordon decided that actually his brothers were cooler than a stuffed toy who by that point had seen better days, and started to trail behind them all again.

Still, Scotty-bear was never relegated from Gordon’s bed, and was found once or twice stuffed inside a swimming bag smelling of chlorine and in need of a wash. Lucille swore the toy had never needed so many washes in the hands of his other three brothers combined.

The fourth handover, Gordon to toddler Alan, was a far more sombre affair. Despite his penchant for sneaking the toy with him wherever he went, amid claims that Scotty-bear was no more special than any other toy – transparent claims that no-one believed but no-one called him out on, either – when the time came, it was without any hesitation at all.

Alan was crying.

Mommy was gone, Daddy was somewhere off planet, Scott was trying to get the microwave to work with help from Virgil after John hurt his hand with water from the kettle, and Alan was crying. Gordon wasn’t allowed to pick Alan up until he was bigger – Mommy had said so, and Gordon was going to be a good boy for Mommy in case that would help her come back – so he did the next best thing.

The appearance of a teddy bear seemingly from nowhere had Alan pausing mid wail, staring at the coveted, tatty bear Gordon made dance towards him. Alan knew the bear – of course he did, the stories of hand-me-downs had been recounted several times and even young as he was, he’d known that meant that one day it would be his.

He’d been scheming to steal it with Mommy just last week. Now, Gordon was holding it in front of him with a sad smile, and Alan wanted that bear. He snatched it, and Gordon let him.

Scotty-bear was Alan’s faithful companion for many years. Kids laughed at the threadbare toy when it was found in his school bag, and harder when they found out it was named after his biggest brother. Alan refused to be dissuaded – Scotty-bear was special and if they didn’t understand that then that was their problem. Known troublemaker and big brother Gordon stepped in from time to time when Alan’s classmates got too raucous, and word quickly spread that it wasn’t worth picking on the teddy bear.

With no younger brother to pass Scotty-bear down to, Alan believed that Scotty-bear would be his forever. First the death of his Mommy, and then the world-shattering loss of Dad had him clinging tightly to the toy. His brothers doing the same thing Dad had been doing when he’d disappeared terrified him, and Scotty-bear was the keeper of his fears as he listened dutifully with fabric ears to Alan’s confessions in the middle of the night when he was the only one home.

It was only once he joined their ranks that Scotty-bear was set aside, a childhood toy not suitable for the launches into space and beyond, and the well-loved old toy ended up in the bottom of his closet, out of sight and, eventually, out of mind.

But that was not the end of Scotty-bear’s travels. For the cycle of brother-to-brother to complete, there was one more transition to make.

Scott, a young man who had owned the bear for all of two years and barely remembered that it had ever been his past stories and photos, found Scotty-bear in Alan’s closet one day in the weeks leading up to the launch of the Zero-XL. A fine layer of dust had settled over his fur, adding to the illusion of age, but Scott made no move to clean him.

Life was stressful, with the piles of responsibilities on his shoulders growing ever heavier, and the realisation that soon they would be chasing after Dad, to whatever end that might lead, just another one to add to the pile. He was a fully grown man, and had no need for childhood comforts, but Scotty-bear looked at him with chipped beads for eyes and almost without realising it, Scott took the toy back to his own room.

John noticed, because of course he did, but it wasn’t until Dad was home and safe and recalling, amongst many other things, Alan and his favourite bear, that Alan discovered Scotty-bear’s disappearance.

Before it could get too out of hand, Alan threatening to tear the villa apart for the sake of a teddy bear he hadn’t looked at in years, John pointed the finger and stopped all arguments in their tracks.

“He was always Scott’s. We just borrowed him.”

Scott wasn’t the only one dumbfounded at the admission, but it didn’t take three devious younger brothers long to agree that of course the old-age teddy belonged to the old-age brother, and why didn’t they see it before?

Jeff watched with delight as four sons (John declared guilty by association) found themselves thrown into a pool by an older brother trying and failing to feign offence, who himself ended up dragged in when he didn’t back away from the edge fast enough. It was good to be home.

(If Scotty-bear ended up back in Scott’s bed again that night, no-one commented.)

#irrelief #irrelief2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #fictivekaleidoscope #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #lucille tracy #jeff tracy #lee taylor #teddy bear #wee tracys #adult tracys #i finished this super late it can go to AO3/FFN tomorrow #thunderfluff

78 notes · View notes

celery8705 · 4 years

Text

Clartz 100 Theme Challenge: 73. I Can’t

Cloud's heart tightened in his chest with a sense of trepidation. Bartz had pulled him aside for them to talk in private, away from the curious eyes and ears of their allies; they didn't need to know what was going to occur between them. Now, here they both were, standing in the middle of a clearing in the forest. There was a dense aura surrounding them, as Bartz stood before Cloud, fidgeting and shifting his weight from one side to another.

"What's wrong, Bartz?" Cloud asked, looking concerned. He refrained himself from hooking his fingers underneath Bartz's chin to look into tourmaline eyes, those same gray pools filled with so much life and joy. Instead, he stood still in front of the nervous wind warrior, the tension growing with each passing moment.

"Cloud…I…" Bartz started, his voice meek, a blush tinting his cheeks. The swordsman found it unusual to see the wind chaser this anxious; it just wasn't in his character to act this way. Bartz was happy, carefree, and he usually didn't reserve what he said to anyone. Cloud admired him for his direction of natural living, and how he never seemed to let anything bog him down.

Bartz scratched the back of his head, taking a shaky breath. "I uh…this is harder than I thought. Okay, I'm just gonna come out and say it, but I…I've fallen for you. I love you, Cloud."

Cloud's breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat. There it was, those three little words holding so much weight, those words that encompassed the feelings he developed during his journey with the other. Cloud never intended to fall for Bartz, considering they were from entirely different worlds. It just kinda snuck upon him. But the more time he spent with the wind warrior, the harder it was to resist his blossoming feelings for him.

But, with Sephiroth coming after him again, he can't let anyone get close. Cloud didn't want his arch-nemesis to take another person he held dear to him. The swordsman mustn't let Sephiroth come close to Bartz; it would be too painful to bear if he lost the wind warrior as well. Or even worse, Cloud would lose control over himself and end up hurting Bartz. He would never forgive himself if that happened.

Cloud stared into those tourmaline grays as the young traveler eagerly waited for a response. I love you too, Bartz. I love you. Those words were on the tip of his tongue, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, the adrenaline rushing in his veins, temperature rising in his cheeks. His lips parted, feeling torn. What should he say?

He swallowed the lump in his dry throat as he searched for the words to say. "I…I'm sorry, Bartz. I…I can't return your feelings. I…can't," Cloud said, turning his gaze away from the younger warrior, his words getting softer. He couldn't bear to see the other's expression, and he didn't want to see his crestfallen look, especially when he was to blame. It was the most painful thing he had to say, his heart beating painfully in his chest as those words left his lips. Cloud wanted to take those hurtful words back and instead shower Bartz with words of love and wrap his arms around him.

Bartz whimpered, followed by sniffling. At that moment, Cloud felt like the biggest asshole in the world for making the person he held dear to his heart cry. He dared to shoot a glimpse in Bartz's direction and instantly regretted seeing the shattered expression the freelancer exhibited. The usually cheery and carefree wind warrior before him sniffled and wiped the tears rolling down his cheeks, taking in shaky breaths in an attempt to calm himself down.

The swordsman desperately wanted to take Bartz in his arms, kiss those tears away from his cheeks, and tell him everything was okay. Instead, he stood there, clenching his shaky fist, and gritted his teeth.

"I…I have to go," Bartz croaked. The brunette choked on a sob, turning on his heel quickly as he ran off.

"Bartz—" Cloud reached for him, but the other already ran in the opposite direction, disappearing from his sight. Go after him, Cloud. Run after him. Tell him how you really feel, his mind screamed at him.

Cloud's feet felt heavy like they were cemented to the ground, his heart crumbling in his chest. His body trembled, mako eyes burning with tears, his thoughts lingering on the wind warrior he had to let go. I'm sorry, Bartz, he thought. The swordsman didn't expect the other warrior to forgive him, but it was for the best, to protect him from harm. Still, it didn't make it easy for him. Cloud fell to his knees, his emotions getting the best of him, and slammed his fists on the ground with an agonizing yell.

#Cloud Strife #Bartz Klauser #Clartz #Kurabatsu #7/5 #5/7 #Dissidia #Dissidia Final Fantasy

4 notes · View notes

ko-fanatic · 4 years

Text

Only Five Yen (part three)

Rating: Teen and up

Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club, Noragami AU

Trigger Warnings: Bullying, mentions of suicide

Summary: Shiro didn't know what to think, having one of the biggest secrets of the universe revealed to him so casually. But that was only the tip of the iceberg, and it was finally getting better...

Other parts in this series: Part one | Part two

Shiro had to wonder why this only ever happened to him, out of all the people in his class. Crying in the bathroom, yet again. The second time that day.

Fuck, this was a pathetic pity party, but it wasn't as if he could just stop the tears. The buttons were pushed, his emotions rubbed raw, and he couldn't stop them leaking out from beneath his eyelids. Perhaps, if he were a little stronger, a little better at controlling himself, this shit wouldn't happen. The problem was that, if he had the ability to control it, he would, but those fucking comments wore him down. He just couldn't deal with it.

The logical part of him tutted, reminding him that he could have it a lot worse, but... Couldn't he also have it much, much better? He just wanted to be treated like a normal fucking human being, not this psychopathic school shooter. He wasn't that violent. He never actually hurt anyone. He just... got angry.

But the more he got angry, the more people talked - and the more people talked, the angrier he became. It was a fine little destructive cycle he'd gotten himself trapped in. If he was truly a smart kid, he'd have surely worked out how to get out of it already -

"So, here again, huh?"

He jumped, recognising the voice of the auburn-haired pretty boy from earlier way too easily. However, it was a little softer than before. Not without its harshness, but... sympathetic. Like he could relate in some way. Maybe crazy people really do flock together...

"You know, crying never solved anything -"

"Shut up!" He snapped, cutting the other boy off before he got any further into that stupid cliché, and rising to his feet. He all but kicked the door open, the slam echoing through the bathroom and startling the two other crazies – who were still creepily hanging around a high school bathroom, “Yeah, I’m fucking crying. I always fucking cry, and you want to know why I can’t hold it in? My classmates are all assholes who love nothing more than being cruel to me. Just me! I didn’t fucking ask for this! I didn’t do anything wrong! I just…”

His breath shuddered, tirade coming to an end, the two young men waiting for him to stop patiently, not butting in or trying to speak over him. How long had it been since someone did that? Well, no one had since she left, but here they were. Three crazy guys in a bathroom stall, one sobbing about his stupid problems, like an idiot.

“I just get angry sometimes… And I don’t know why…” He nearly whispered.

The air was still for a moment, the others seeing if he’d actually finished, before there was a statement that cut through the silence like a knife.

“Big mood, my dude.”

“Hikaru, shut up,” The blond sighed, taking a few steps towards him, “Look… I could give you a million condolences, a million lines people have come up with over the years to try and make people in your situation feel better, even though they have no idea what it feels like. Human emotion… It’s like fire. Beautiful and warm, necessary, but keep it bottled up too long and you burn yourself and everything around you. Look over there.”

Shiro turned to where he pointed, freezing as he laid eyes on some monstrous, black apparition. It oozed out of one of the stalls like black tar, but less tangible. Smoke was the wrong word, everything looking utterly viscous and disgusting.

He wasn’t embarrassed to scream, to fall on his ass and scramble back further. He could hear its growls, which twisted and brokenly formed into rancid words.

Drop… de…ad. Slit wri…sts… Kill… Kill… Hurt them…

“It’s called an Ayakashi,” Tamaki informed, kneeling down to his level and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “It’s been following you for a while now. If it attaches itself to you… Let’s just say it’ll do bad things. To you and those around you. It wants to just pounce on you, take advantage of the anger you desperately try to bottle up.”

It didn't come any closer, but it didn't have to. Fuck, why?! Why was this happening and why here and why now? He squeezed his red eyes shut, a few more tears falling from his lashes, and almost shit himself when he heard the same strange chirping he'd heard in class.

His eyes snapped open yet again, that weird thing back on his ring. Fuck, if the black thing was dangerous, who's to say that it wasn't? Tamaki said about things pouncing on him. He flailed, completely stressed and freaking the fuck out.

"Hey, hey, it's alright," Tamaki assured, taking a gentle hold of his arms in an effort to avoid being hit in the face by his gangly limbs, "These things are usually invisible to humans, hiding in the blind spots created by the unwillingness to look at and acknowledge death. You can't have life without it, but whenever you guys refuse to see, it creates a place for us, for demons, for Ayakashi, to hide. It's a space between the near shore - the land of the living - and the far shore. I guess the most apt comparison for the far shore is the afterlife..."

Tamaki took a breather, letting all that information - which was a lot - sink in.

"Right now, you're standing right between them, just like Hikaru and I," He finished, and Shiro didn't know what to think. If this guy really was a God, if he was actually seeing these things in reality, then... He was basically just told a fact of the universe. That was... a lot. Too much. But he didn't really have time to think about that now, not if he wants to fix whatever the hell was going on with him.

"You said... bad things happen..." He began, voice trembling, "Like... what, exactly?"

“When you’re weak, when you can’t take anymore and you just want to give up, those things cling to you,” Tamaki sighed, “And once they get you, the evil inside you – and there’s evil inside everyone – takes over.”

The chirping, again, only this time he didn’t flinch. He felt too heavy, limbs bogged down with the weight of everything he’d been told. It crushed his shoulders, forcing his lungs to work harder to draw in each ragged, unsatisfyingly shallow breath.

“That ring on your finger – it’s special,” Tamaki smiled, taking his limp wrist with a smile, a bird-like creature – about the size of his thumb nail – perched on top of the silver band, “It’s blessed. You have someone on your side, even if you can’t always see them. They’re going to protect you from these gruesome, horrifying things.”

The dark creature growled, backing away as the bird-like chirping grew in ferocity. It turned tail, and ran away, because somewhere out there… She was still on his side. Perhaps she still thought about him with all the tenderness he thought about her, and this distance wasn’t a sign that she hated him. It was sad, and unfortunate, but they weren’t five anymore. As people grow, distances can begin, but it isn’t always a bad thing.

The epiphany really could’ve come sooner, or at a better time. Here he was, on the bathroom floor, between two worlds, and he’d had the realisation that could’ve helped him grow beyond the angry boy he was now.

“Hina gave this to me before she went away… She said it would keep me safe…” He breathed, blinking back yet more tears. It felt like he’d cried enough for a lifetime in a single day, but this was the first time in a while that they’d fallen because of… relief. It was always bitter, angry, but all he could think of now was the pressure relieving from inside his skull, the slight sweetness of old love, and gratitude. Thankfulness for her because, well, without that ring he definitely would’ve fallen victim to these Ayakashi sooner.

“A good luck charm,” Tamaki nodded, “She must’ve cared for you quite a –”

The other boy cleared his throat, causing both him and Tamaki to jump.

“Not that this isn’t cute and all, Tono, but aren’t we supposed to solve a problem here?” Hikaru shrugged, almost seeming to glide over to the single window looking over the school, “While the ring protects him from Ayakashi, it doesn’t protect him from humans – which are kinda the problem here. It’s not even like that’s it, either. I mean, just look outside… The wind’s picking up.”

“Oh.”

That was all Tamaki said before he stood, walking over to join the other boy at the window. Shiro only sniffed in response, rubbing at his eyes as Hikaru’s words brought him down to earth. He was right, after all; the ring was a constant, and practically unrelated to everything going on – even if it was a nice thought to have.

“I see what you mean – the storm’s picking up, and the air wasn’t good to begin with. Exams do that to humans, I guess…” Tamaki hummed, and at this point Shiro levered himself off the ground to go to the window, see what all this fuss was about for himself, “It’s never good.”

Shiro felt himself go cold when he saw the Ayakashi the two were staring at, his jaw hanging agape. It wasn’t that the creature looked threatening – not like the one oozing smoke, telling him to slit his wrists, all teeth with an aura of ancient evil. No, it looked kind of like a sting ray, but the different was the size alone, and the fact it wasn’t in a shallow pool kids were encouraged to stick their hands in.

It wrapped itself around the main building of the school several times, it’s voice loud yet contrastingly soft, murmured in a growl that seemed to echo.

Drop dead…

If he were stupid, he’d probably yell that someone – anyone – had to be seeing this thing other than the three of them. It was big, and loud, and spat disgusting words over and over.

So drained…

But they already told him. It seemed these blind spots could get pretty fucking big, and that people were more affected by these things than he could’ve imagined.

I hate entrance exams…

Was this the source of his utter misery? The ring could keep away the smaller ones, but there was no way it’d help something like that.

So pissed…

It murmured acrid words they all thought they couldn’t hear, and it turned them all on a convenient target – loud, unruly, angry him.

I just wanna have fun…

His shoulders were trembling, unable to steady himself in the face of… all this. Secrets of the universe, the embers of her love still glowing, the reason for his isolation and the hate his classmates felt for him.

Stupid Takaoji… I wish he’d die…

“Tono,” Hikaru began, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, “Do you think they’d stop picking on the kid if we killed that thing?”

Shiro’s ears perked up at that, turning over what Hikaru said in his head. Was it truly that simple? Well, not simple – that thing was huge – but… So comparatively easy to anything he’d thought of before. Surely this was easier than standing on the roof, leaning forwards and forwards until he began to fall…

“P-please Tamaki-sama,” He choked, too overcome to even feel ashamed of the desperate plea in his voice. Because he was desperate by this point, and he didn’t want to die, to throw away her gift of protection and wish for him to be safe. He even got on his knees, bowing so low that his face touched the grimy bathroom floor, “If killing that thing’ll make the bullying stop, then please!”

“Wow,” Hikaru snorted, “Grovelling like that, how can you deny him, Tono?”

“Hikaru,” Tamaki warned, voice curt, before turning back to him and pushing on his shoulder, prompting him to sit up, “We’ll definitely try to help you, Shiro, but there’s something that we need to address first…”

He nodded, biting down on his lip, willing to listen and just go along, the idea that all the shit in his life finally being cleaned up was too close to give up on now. His fingertips were brushing it, almost managing to curl it into his palm to hold close.

“Down payment, please.”

Well, that cut through the atmosphere with all the subtly of a record scratch. He sputtered, not knowing how to respond, given that nothing about payment had entered the conversation beforehand. All he could do was choke back his own spit, eyes still closely resembling a deer’s in headlights.

“Down payment?” He parroted, hope of relief from his torment dying in his chest, “You… You didn’t mention anything about charging me! How the hell was I supposed to know you charge for this?!”

“I can’t exactly grant wishes for free, you know,” Tamaki smiled sympathetically, “I mean, I am a God, after all.”

Right…

“I’ll do it for this!” The blond exclaimed cheerfully, holding up five fingers, and Shiro froze.

“Five thousand?! Five hundred thousand?!” He blurted before he could stop himself, something cold wrapping around his lungs. He was only a broke high school student, and he didn’t want to even attempt asking his parents for the money.

A grim thought murmured that it would certainly be more cost effective to just give in and kill himself, but he quickly shook it away.

“I’m a God!” Tamaki scoffed, “Everyone knows that the monetary offering is five yen!”

Oh. Oh.

Hikaru was chuckling in the corner, making it too obvious that it was something to do with his reaction to the news, but he ignored that. Didn’t he kind of get himself into this by relying on violence in the first place? Best not push it by punching… whatever that guy was. He simply dug around in his pocket for the small, gold coin.

Tamaki grinned when he handed it over, twirling it between his fingers, and throwing and catching it, playing with it like a child would with a toy.

“May you be blessed with good ties,” Tamaki smiled, finally putting the coin away, and turned to look out of the window, at that giant behemoth he’d agreed to slay, and immediately took off. He easily vaulted through the open window, causing Shiro to actually rush after, but not out the window. He leaned heavily on the sill, trying to discern whether the guy was actually just crazy and had gotten seriously injured.

Or worse, dead.

However, rather than some macabre, awful scene, it was almost like the so-called god could float along the breeze like a sakura flower. It was almost beautiful, in a way, but he was just too focussed on the sheer impossibility of all this to process it properly.

"Grasping thy true name, I bind thee here. With borrowed name, I dub thee my servant," Tamaki recited, and Shiro could only watch on, spellbound, "The name answers, the vessel to sound. I call thee my divine instrument..."

"Welp," Hikaru shrugged, shocking him out of his state of... shock? Awe? Probably both, "That's my cue."

"Come, Aoi!"

Before Shiro's eyes, Hikaru was engulfed in a bright, burning light that flickered and morphed into something he couldn't recognise at the time. It hurt his eyes, and he was forced to turn away and shield his eyes, the colourful blotches of retina burns disturbing his sight. It stung, but he blinked it away forcefully, ignoring any lingering pain to redirect his attention on the fight in progress.

Rather than fighting empty-handed, in Tamaki's hand there was a pistol that almost seemed pearlescent in the afternoon sun, tones of blue clear despite the distance. Beautiful, but not exactly the first thing that sprung to mind when one thought of what could be a "Godly" weapon.

Still, it definitely seemed to work. The God wove and evaded the beast like a dancer - beautiful and strong, confident in his movements. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it, and the man's marksmanship was incredible.

Gone was the dolt who'd surprised him in the bathroom, blond brows drawn in concentration and eyes sharp, mouth a tight-lipped line. He actually seemed... dangerous, in that moment, but he didn't dwell on it. After all, the guy was fighting in his corner, so why worry over nothing.

It was fair to say that he made short work of the beast, the man - God - standing in the centre of a cloud of dust, victorious. He couldn't help but clap and cheer, happier than he'd been in months, and Tamaki gave him a wide grin in return. The glowing returned, and the gun was gone, Hikaru standing beside him and straightening out his rumpled clothes.

He got his wish for once, it seemed.

A/N: Hope you're all enjoying, as this is a chapter I've been trying to finish for literal months, and comments would be much appreciated.

#ouran high school host club #OHSHC #shiro takaoji #tamaki suoh #hikaru hitachiin #only five yen series #my fanfiction

4 notes · View notes

lostinfantasies38 · 4 years

Text

Promise Me - A DA:O fanfic

Tamlen/Mahariel angsty/romance one shot

TW: major character death, mention of suicidal tendencies, no actual suicide or attempts

Creators, her entire body hurt. It was worse than the pain that caused her to black out when she’d been Blighted by the damn mirror. Duncan and Alistair were both hovering over her prone form on the stone and she idly wondered how long she’d been out. It was hard for her to look at the grizzled older Warden – it brought back too many painful memories. She was grateful that Alistair was the one who helped her stand.

Duncan asked how she was feeling and then informed her that her presence was requested at a meeting with the King. Alistair gave her a shy smile and a pendant of blood on a leather cord to remember her Joining. The sentiment was sweet and honorable, but right now as every fiber of her body, down to her teeth, pulsated with residual pain she just couldn’t find it in herself to care much about memorializing this experience.

Dragging her lead feet to the King’s council, Lira took her place as Duncan’s apprentice, graciously thanking King Cailan as he praised her joining the Grey Warden’s ranks. She inclined her head when the King demanded that she and Alistair be the ones to light the beacon to signal for Loghain to flank the enemy on the field. He may have been a shem, but he was the literally the King of the Shems and she was not stupid enough to argue and risk losing her head when she’d already survived so much to get here.

Of course, nothing went as planned during the battle in the ruins. It seemed that nothing could go right, if she was involved. The tower they were supposed to climb was overrun with darkspawn that had clawed their way in from underground. Lira shivered – it was too similar to the circumstances that brought her to the Wardens, so she distanced herself from it and fought the darkspawn like a woman possessed.

“It…it saw me! Help! I can’t look away!”

Lira screamed with equal parts anguish and rage as she sliced the hurlock’s head from his neck and then ducking into stealth she ran up behind a spellcaster and slammed both of her daggers through his lungs. She used her foot to kick his body off her wicked Dalish daggers, not even sparing a look at her fellow Warden and the Circle mage, who stared at her in wide-eyed horror. Twirling her daggers, Lira led the way up the tower and massacred everything that stood in her way. By the time they reached the ogre, she was pissed and ready to dance.

Dropping into stealth, she let Alistair tackle it head on and she prayed that she would be able to take the beast down. She remembered all the lessons he taught her – step lightly, strike and then roll, attack the next weak spot before they even know you have changed positions, don’t get bogged down with a frontal assault, stealth, stealth, stealth.

Lira sliced its ankles and watched with satisfaction as the blood poured and the massive creature slipped; it seemed that one of her cuts severed a tendon. She darted around the ogre on the ground, digging her blades into all the weak points – kidneys, lungs, abdomen. It roared angrily and struggled to stand, but the right ankle was useless, preventing it from standing to fight. Alistair dodged the arms that it flung wildly for protection while the mage hit it with fire and lightening. Finding an opening, her fellow Warden charged in between the giant swinging arms and took a running leap to bury his longsword into the ogre’s neck with a snarl. The darkspawn fell backwards and tried to rip the man off him, but Alistair twisted the blade in the neck and severed the artery. When he yanked his sword from the ogre’s throat, arterial spray bathed a swath of the stone floor with black blood. The ogre’s arms fell to the floor and it never moved again.

Alistair jumped off the darkspawn and turned to Lira. “Maker’s breath, woman! No wonder Duncan recruited you.”

She twirled her daggers dangerously and shrugged, “You watched me fight earlier in the Wilds.”

He laughed a little nervously, eyeing the way she handled her blades. “Uh, yeah, but you didn’t fight like a cornered wyvern. That…was a surprise,” he jerked his head down the stairs to indicate her rampage through the tower, while he wiped the brackish blood off his sword before sheathing it. “Come on, we should light the beacon. I’m sure we missed the signal.”

Wiping her own blades of the gore that covered them, Lira watched the mage light the tower beacon and decided to see if the ogre had anything worthwhile on him. She was bent over with her back to the stairs and she didn’t hear the sound of the darkspawn in her head until it was too late. Arrows rained around them and she saw the mage fall with the fletching of an arrow where an eye used to be. She felt one strike her in the chest and another lodge in her shoulder. The force of the arrows threw her against the blood drenched floor and she heard Alistair fall with a cry beside her before everything went dark.

Things seemed to happen very quickly after that fateful day. Ostagar was an unmitigated disaster thanks to Loghain’s betrayal. The King was dead, the Wardens were painted as traitors, which at times made the task of gathering allies daunting. Alistair, thankfully, had been given possession of the treaties by Duncan, so after the Witch of the Wilds saved them and foisted Morrigan upon them, they set about traveling the country using the documents and collecting other companions along the way. Alistair had been decidedly unhappy about Zevran’s presence and the two of them tried to outdo each other in an attempt to woo her. Leliana only shook her head sadly at both men’s feeble attempts to catch her eye. Neither of them seemed to have realized that her heart was already someone else’s.

They saved Redcliffe at Bann Teagan’s request and then rushed to the Circle to bring back aid for the Arl’s son, only to discover that the tower was on the verge of being annulled. So, Lira twirled her daggers and fought through a second horror filled tower in order to recruit the mages for the Blight and to save Connor. Once back in Redcliffe, the boy was saved by Morrigan in the Fade and then it was off to Haven in the Frostback Mountains to search for a fable. The elf rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of human religion, but they desperately needed Arl Eamon’s support, so it was worth investigating. She almost wished they hadn’t.

Two words: The Gauntlet.

“Tamlen? Is it really you, lethallin?” Tears filled her large eyes and Tamlen smiled in the tender way he reserved for her when they were alone, as her hand reached out and cupped his cheek. He was warm and Lira could almost believe that he still lived as she touched him.

“I am Tamlen and yet, I am not. I am part of the Gauntlet – part of you.”

Lira choked back a sob, now both her hands were somehow holding his face, anchoring herself to him. “You will always be part of me,” she whispered. She wasn’t even aware of her companions as they watched their usually suicidal leader cradle a dead man’s face.

Tamlen stared at her with a crestfallen expression. “Lethallan, I am so sorry. I should have listened to you and gone back to camp. You were always smarter than me.” Lira gave a weak chuckle, startling her companions who never heard her laugh.

“You were always so mischievous. I had to keep an eye on you.” The elven man brushed a stray hair from her ponytail and tucked it tenderly behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the nape of her neck and the tears she had held in check, poured down her face.

“If I had listened to you, we would be bonded by now.” Zevran hissed quietly in the background while Alistair expelled all the air in his lungs, as though someone punched him. Leliana gazed at both men with pity.

Lira was sobbing openly now, her hands slipping from his face and clutching his leather cuirass. “Lethallin, lethallin, I’m sorry I couldn’t find you. I searched for you! The whole clan searched for you. Forgive me, vhenan.”

“I must go and you cannot follow. The living can’t mourn the dead forever, lethallan.” He tilted her head up and kissed her sweetly through her tears. “Goodbye, Lira,” he whispered before his form dematerialized. Her legs gave out underneath her and she collapsed onto the cold stone floor with a gut-wrenching cry.

Leliana fell beside the distraught elven woman and pulled her into a fierce embrace as she sobbed for the man she could never have. The only one she’d ever wanted. The one she grew up believing she would share her life with.

Once she cried all her tears, their crazed leader returned, her daggers twirling viciously and now Alistair understood what drove her suicidal tendencies on the field. Her heart was shattered – she didn’t care if she fell.

Lira was surprised to discover that the Urn of Sacred Ashes actually existed and after they pocketed the small pinch they needed to heal the arl, she prayed that if something as unlikely as a prophetess’s ashes were real that Tamlen might still be alive. It was the only thing that kept her going.

After curing the arl, they next traveled to Orzammar and gained the aid of King Bhelen, after numerous favors and destroying the Anvil of the Void. She neglected to tell the Assembly that she was responsible for killing two of their Paragons in one day. Oghren joined the team and even Lira questioned the sensibility of allowing his recruitment, but he was a Beserker and they could use that against the darkspawn.

The time finally came when she was forced to face her demons and locate a Dalish clan for aid. Walking into the camp, even though it was not her clan, brought a rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Her eyes darted continuously around the camp and the forest because she could see his impish face out of the corner of her eyes everywhere she looked. Her hands shook madly as they fought sylvans, darkspawn, corpses, and werewolves.

By the time they ended the curse that freed the forest spirit and the werewolves and gained the promise of the Dalish that they would join the fight against the darkspawn, Lira was an emotional wreck. She just wanted to return to camp and drop into Uthenara. Maybe when she woke up a thousand years later, Tamlen would be there waiting with a smirk, asking her what took her so long to realize he was only sleeping.

They met up with their other companions at the camp outside the Brecilian Forest – the place that until recently she had called her home. Leliana regaled them with a lovely rendition of a lullaby about the dreamless sleep of the elves before they all retired for the night.

As Lira was about to clamber into her tent, she heard the scritch, scritch of the darkspawn in her brain and flicked her daggers from their sheathes. She twirled, she parried, she stabbed as she danced with death and avoided the shriek’s talons that could easily eviscerate her. Once they all lay scattered around the campfire, a figure shuffled to the back edge of the camp. In the flickering firelight she couldn’t make out facial features, but by the way it moved, Lira knew it was a ghoul. She dashed towards it, but pulled up short as she neared the creature.

“Lethallan,” Tamlen’s hoarse voice whispered past ruined lips. Her blades fell from numb fingers to the ground and a hand shakily covered her mouth in horror. His skin was black and peeling off in chunks, his hair had fallen out, his once velvety voice now snagged like burlap over dull razor blades, and his moss colored eyes were obscured by blown pupils. She fell to her knees in grief and he slowly lowered himself to the ground, as well.

“Oh, Tamlen…forgive me, please, lethallin. I’m sorry we couldn’t find you and save you.”

“Too late, lethallan. I took…most of the impact. Poisoned beyond hope…immediately. I dragged you...out of the cave…hoping someone would find you. I’m glad I did something...right that day.”

Lira cried and took one of his hands. He was still wearing his armor, including his gauntlets and they protected her from touching his putrid flesh, but she couldn’t resist sitting so close to him and not touching him in some way.

“You...must end this…end me.” She shook her head frantically.

“I can’t kill you, Tamlen. I love you! Don’t ask this of me.”

Tamlen smiled sadly, the skin of his face tearing when he did, causing Lira to recoil slightly. “If you love me…let me go. Please, let it be your blade…not theirs.” She glanced behind her and for the first time noticed that her companions were crowded behind her.

“Tamlen,” she whispered and closed her eyes.

“Always...loved you, lethallan. Since we were…children. Wanted to…be with you. Only you.”

Lira sobbed harder and nodded. “I know, vhenan. Since I was eleven and you were twelve and you –“

“Knocked you out of…the tree,” he finished. Lira nodded. “It was...accident. My foot slipped…you fell…couldn’t grab your arm…in time. Broke your ankle…I felt terrible.”

She laughed softly and squeezed his hand. “You came to visit me every day that summer while I healed and we were inseparable after that.”

Tamlen shivered and yanked his hand to claw at his head. “No, no, no! Lethallan, please…do not want to hurt you. Song is so loud…end me. Please, Lira.” Her name sounded almost normal or maybe she only wanted it to, so that’s how her ears interpreted it. Either way, she closed her hand around the handle of one of her daggers and scooted closer to him. He lifted his head and bared his neck for her. She raised her blade and barely kissed his skin with the edge.

“Vhenan, ar lath ma,” he whispered softly enough that only she heard him. Fresh tears filled her eyes and her hand shook infinitesimally, but she steeled her resolve in the face of her love’s plea.

“Ar lath ma, Tamlen. May the Dread Wolf never find you in the Beyond.” He smiled and closed his eyes as the sharp edge sliced cleanly across his neck and freed him from the song. With a shrill scream Lira hurled the blade away from her and pulled his ruined body into her lap, crying and rocking him, unphased by the black blood that was seeping into her armor and the ground around them.

“Say, weren’t you supposed to be helping Master Ilen today? How did you end up coming with me?”

“I wanted to be with you, of course.” Lira smiled shyly and cast her eyes to the ground in embarrassment at having answered so directly.

Tamlen smiled softly and lowered his voice, “I thought that might be the case. I’m glad.” As they turned and started walking through the dark hallway again, his fingers brushed against her hand, ever so slightly and Lira’s heart soared.

A little further up the hallway a small patch of wildflowers grew where the tiles were broken or missing on the path. Tamlen bent down and picked a cheery yellow bloom and with a subtle tint to his cheeks, presented it to her. Lira took it with a bright smile and tucked it behind her ear. He turned to keep moving, but she snatched his wrist and tugged gently on his arm. He swung around and wrapped his arms around her, his eyes asking permission even as his lips hovered millimeters above hers, and she closed the gap.

It was only their second kiss, but it burned through her soul. His lips were soft and gentle. He was savoring this moment as much as she was – they didn’t want to rush it because when they returned to camp, they would have to go back to keeping a modest distance between them. They clung to each other in the dark ruins and she no longer cared about the giant spiders or undead that roamed freely. In that moment all she cared about was Tamlen. He slipped his tongue haltingly into her mouth and she readily accepted it with a breathless moan. It was his turn to moan when she moved her tongue along his and the hand on her waist tightened.

A strange noise startled them into separating. She drank in his green eyes, hooded with desire, his slightly swollen lips, and his rapid breathing. “Lethallan…Lira,” he cleared his throat. Lira nodded in understanding and stepping back she took her daggers from their sheathes and held them at the ready.

“Lead on, Tamlen. I’m right behind you.”

Lifting her forehead from Tamlen’s chest, she implored her companions. “We can’t leave him like this. He must be buried. Please, help me.” None of them even considered denying her request and asked what she needed of them. Even Morrigan seemed pained by Lira’s loss and offered to help her prepare Tamlen for burial.

Alistair and Zevran found a clearing, ringed with trees, a little further behind the camp, just on the edge of the Brecilian Forest. They grabbed the shovels they used for digging latrines and instead, they dug a hole six feet down for Tamlen. When it was done, they scrambled out of the pit to tell Lira it was ready.

They returned to camp to find that Tamlen had been cut out of his armor and washed before being wrapped in Lira’s own blanket. The smell of darkspawn was masked under the linseed oil and juniper berry mixture smeared onto his skin and Alistair suppressed a shiver at the thought of Lira rubbing it onto his half-rotted body.

Without a word, Alistair gently picked up the sad elf’s corpse and led them all to the place he and Zev had chosen. Lira cried silently as she took in the picturesque resting place, watching as the men who loved her from afar carefully lowered the only man she could ever love into the hole. There was a pang of regret that she wasn’t able to reciprocate either of the men’s affections, but she couldn’t help that her heart had been spoken for since she was a little girl.

Morrigan passed her an acorn that she had quickened with magic, so it would sprout despite the tainted flesh under it. Lira took it, unable to speak, and with halting steps she laid the seed over the blanket that cocooned her love before stepping back and sinking to the ground.

Oghren joined the two men in filling the grave and halfway through their task, a small, clear voice rang in the quiet and it slowly dawned on everyone that Lira was singing. No one even knew she sang, much less that her voice would be so angelic for such a violent person. She continued to sing the dirge for Tamlen, since the clan was not there to do it for him, and as the last scoop of dirt filled the depression in the ground, she finally let her voice trail off into silence once more.

One by one they left her to her grief with mumbled apologies and gentle pats on her shoulder. She wanted to grow roots on the spot and guard his resting place, but Lira knew she still had a job to do. If she did not take care of the Blight, how many other people – elven and human – were at risk of Tamlen’s fate? He would not thank her for neglecting her duty and she did not want to shame his memory. On wooden legs, she returned to camp and demanded they pack up. She needed to be away from this…ruination.

Now, that all their allies had been gathered, it was time to see the arl. So, they marched to Redcliffe and then joined Arl Eamon’s retinue to Denerim for the Landsmeet, where she was forced to jump through more political hoops to win the trust of the human lords. But it was finally done and she respected Alistair’s wishes and did not make him King. Anora would be a great Queen, even though her father had been insane, and Lira wanted it done so they could focus on defeating the Blight.

They returned to Redcliffe to regroup and strategize, only to discover that the darkspawn were tired of waiting and had sacked the village. Heads rolled, guts spilled, blood saturated the ground where Lira walked – taking her grief and using it against the very creatures that robbed her of Tamlen, of her vitality, and the life they were meant to have. Once the village was free of darkspawn, she spun her daggers and marched up the hill to the castle.

Riordan informed them back in Redcliffe Castle that whichever Grey Warden struck the final blow against the Archdemon was killed in the process. Lira closed her eyes and smiled slightly. This was her way out. The senior Warden thought her declaration that she would kill it was noble, but Alistair knew better. He turned his head away from her – slightly disgusted that she was so intent on sacrificing herself.

Morrigan offered her another way. If she would convince Alistair to bed her, her ritual would spare their lives when they killed the dragon, but Lira only shook her head sadly as she turned down the witch’s offer. Morrigan had been angry, even as she understood the reason the elf denied her, and swore that she was leaving so she wouldn’t have to watch her friend die.

Lira hugged herself in the oppressive silence of her bedchamber and stumbled to her bed to cry. Alistair’s hand paused mid-air to knock on her door and he turned away at the sound of her ragged sobs pulling another man’s name from her lips, and returned to his own room to brood.

The march to Denerim, where the Archdemon was currently sowing destruction, took longer than the two days they planned with all the darkspawn and corrupted animals they were forced to fight along the road. Now that the horde was on the move above ground, black ichor seeped into the greenery around them, tainting the very soil and poisoning the wildlife and the people who came in contact with it. By the time they reached the capital, it was barely standing.

Her suicidal tendencies were not on display today, but her attacks were vicious as Lira mowed down the darkspawn that dared stand in her way of reaching the Archdemon. Riordan fell before he could finish the beast, falling from its wing to his death miles below, but his attack did ground it to the top of Fort Drakon. With one ruined wing the Archdemon could not fly and that meant Lira had a chance to end this – to end it all.

They finally burst through the doors at the top of the fort and watched in horror as the massive dragon crushed men beneath its giant clawed feet or raked them over the edge of the tower with its tail. Lira spotted the ballistae along the tower and told Alistair and Zevran to each grab one and the three of them would pelt the monstrosity with huge bolts to rapidly cut down it’s health. The men nodded and fought their way through small bands of darkspawn to reach the machines. Lira dropped into stealth to evade the warband ahead of her and turned her ballista to face the Archdemon.

Every now and then they would have to fight off stray darkspawn that rushed them, but Lira kept the majority occupied by calling in her allies. The dwarven contingent was hacking the darkspawn on the main level, while the elves scaled the turrets and rained arrows from above. The mages were weakest so the Redcliffe soldiers acted as barriers between them and their enemy, to allow them to throw well-timed fireballs or healing spells, when needed.

Hours passed and more of their allies fell to sword and claw, the ballistae would jam or they’d be forced to defend their positions, but eventually the Archdemon collapsed – hanging onto the final threads of life. Alistair had already abandoned his machine and was standing close at hand. He did not speak; it would have been fruitless to even try. Instead, he yanked a greatsword from the hands of a deceased soldier and passed it to her, wordlessly. Lira gave him a small smile. It broke his heart all over again and, not for the first time, he wished he could have known her before the taint destroyed every bright thing about her.

Straightening her back and gripping the heavy weapon, Lira hoisted it behind her with the last of her strength, and ran towards the weakened dragon. Her feet slipped in the blood and ichor that covered the stones, but she never stopped racing to her goal. When she neared the creature, it reared its head for a final challenge, but she used the blood coating her boots to her advantage and dropped into a skid with the point of the sword held aloft. The blade sliced along the length of its neck, pouring rivers of black, putrid blood across the tower and when the head finally fell to the ground, Lira popped out of her roll and slammed the weapon through its brain.

White, blinding light enveloped her and fire raged in her blood, but she held on with gritted teeth and closed her eyes tightly to block out the pain.

“We both have our vallaslin, now.” Tamlen’s hand reached out and gently caressed the healed tattoo of halla horns that graced her forehead. Lira nodded breathlessly. It was the first time he had done more than simply hold her hand, and even those incidents were rare, since the clan kept close watch on their children.

Tamlen swallowed nervously. “Now that we are considered adults, there will be new responsibilities. I’ve been made a full hunter and you will soon replace Master Ilen as our craftmaster. It’s time to start thinking about…bonding and starting a family.”

Lira’s lips parted slightly and her ears burned. She prayed this was going where she hoped it was – she’d only waited most of her life for him to ask her.

“Is that something that you want, lethallan?” Tamlen’s brow was permanently furrowed, but she had always been able to read the differences in his scowls. This was one was nervous, afraid of rejection, unsure if he had overstepped his bounds with his best friend.

“With the right person, of course.” He smiled slightly, a quick tilt of his lips, before it was gone and the anxiety returned, doubt clouding his usually bright eyes.

“What about me? Am I the right person for you, Lira?” She leaned into his hand that was still hovering near her face and stared at him warmly.

“I’ve never even considered someone else, Tamlen,” Lira whispered. He grinned broadly, the curve of the vallaslin at the corners of his mouth making it look even bigger. It was the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen and she swore to make him smile that way every day.

He cupped his hand around her neck and slowly wrapped his other arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. Lira held her breath in anticipation, staring up at him with her wide eyes, as Tamlen inched his way towards her mouth. She tilted her head higher in invitation and his lips finally found hers. It was tender and full of promise – of a life filled with love and laughter. Promise of a life that no matter where they roamed, he would be her home.

“I’m coming, vhenan. Wait for me,” Lira pleaded right before the explosion that shook the entire city and sent her flying into blissful oblivion.

The world was saved and a young Dalish elf hailed a hero. Alistair overruled everyone’s objections to have the Hero of Ferelden buried according to her traditions. “Build a monument to her, but don’t rob her of her customs in death simply because you want a morbid tomb as a memorial!” His words shamed the Landsmeet and they allowed him to take her body. He left in the middle of the night so he would not be followed and returned to the Brecilian Forest.

Things had changed in the last few months, but he was able to find the clearing and set to work digging a second grave beside the first. He worked out his grief and his anger in the process until he realized it how deep it was; he wasn’t sure how he was going to get back out. Tossing the shovel topside, Alistair managed to grasp the edge of the grave with a leap and using his considerable upper body strength and pushing with his legs against the sides, he was able to climb out of the depression.

He rolled on his back with his arm slung over his eyes while he caught his breath. The wind whispered through the trees and the rustling leaves rattled out a familiar tune. He could almost hear her ghostly voice singing the dirge for Tamlen. A knot formed in his gut that no one would be able to sing it for her.

Moving over to the litter behind his horse, Alistair gingerly unstrapped the wrapped body of his fallen companion and used the same straps to gently lower her into the grave. Well, as best as he could since he was alone and the damn hole was deeper than he meant for it to be. He sighed in resignation as he was forced to drop her the last few feet or risk falling into the pit again. Wincing, at the unseemliness of it, he moved to the pile of dirt and slowly began shoveling it back in again. The entire day had passed by the time his task was finished.

Alistair downed most of his canteen of water, but poured the final dredges over his head to cool off. Heaving a sigh, he dried off with a clean saddle blanket and changed into a dry tunic. He needed to eat, but he wasn’t going to eat here. This was sacred ground now.

He quickly repacked his saddle bags and tied the litter to his horse with some rope from his pack, since he sacrificed the straps. He planned to chop it up as kindling when he made camp somewhere. Pulling something from his pocket, Alistair walked sadly to the freshly dug grave. Using one of his own dirks he kept in his boot, he shoved the blade into the mound and draped a pendant on a leather cord around the hilt. The light caught the crimson liquid inside and it glowed ethereally in the quiet wood.

“Goodbye, Lira. I am so sorry for everything. I hope you and Tamlen have found peace together.” He stood and mounted his horse, steering it out of the clearing and towards Amaranthine, leaving the lovers to their well-deserved rest.

#promise me #original fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age origins #tamlen x mahariel #heavy angst #romance #character death #ultimate sacrifice #my writing #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer

3 notes · View notes