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airashisakura · 3 years

Text

My last entry for @ssskmonth | Prompts used Festivals and Family

Kin

Summary: When Sasuke struggles with letting go of pain from his past, Sakura and Sarada remind him that he doesn't have to do this alone.

Rating: Mature

“Anata?”

Sasuke stopped dusting off the shelves and looked over in Sakura’s direction. He frowned though, seeing Sakura perched on a stool dangerously, trying to clean the cobwebs of their apartment.

“I was asking…” Sakura scrunched her face in displeasure. She hadn't realized when she had left with Sasuke on his journey that it could bring this much work.

A week ago, when they unlocked the door of their apartment, back after a year with their three-month-old daughter, they had realized making their home habitable again wasn't going to be easy. The exhaustion of their journey back to Konoha hadn’t left their souls, but the Uchiha couple prioritized cleaning over resting.

Sasuke walked over to her and steadied her wobbling stool.

“What?”

Sleep deprivation had left him cranky. He had hoped that Sarada's wailing would cease after they had moved from roads to Konoha. Although he was glad that she was more safe under a roof, it hadn’t stopped her from crying the whole night.

Sakura caught the irritation laced in his voice, and considered whether she should say what she was about to.

“Obon is in two days..." She spoke cautiously, busy with her work. "I was asking if you want to…” She trailed off again, not sure how to phrase this.

“Obon?” Sasuke looked up in her direction. He was about to ask her again, when he realized. “Obon.”

Sakura turned, facing him, and asked nervously, “Should we?”

In all these years, he had never celebrated Obon. When he was a child, he remembered his mother strictly following rituals, preparing to welcome the spirits of their clan's ancestors.

He realized that although he always carried his long gone family in his heart, he never had given any damn about the festival.

“Aah,” he agreed.

Sakura's face lit up with a wide grin, but that died off when they heard Sarada crying at the top of her lungs.

While Sasuke rushed to attend Sarada, Sakura wrestled with more dust and ended up coughing.

Although Sarada’s shrill cries bore holes in his eardrum, all the chaos of his new-formed family had settled down all the internal chaos that he had carried for years.

Sasuke stirred out of his slumber engulfed with warmth . Sakura's body was pressed against his back, her arm snuggly thrown around him. Sarada had been quiet after days, and he felt fully rested, refreshed after a sleep devoid of nightmares too.

The light filtering from the curtain told him it was still early, and Sakura's breaths on his neck made him want to wake her up and kiss her numb. He had lost count of the number of days he had felt her bare skin on his, slowly and passionately driving her crazy. The days and nights after Sarada’s birth went by changing diapers and trying to understand the meaning between different kinds of cries, which he hadn't quite mastered yet.

Sasuke was tempted even further when Sakura pressed her lips on his neck and murmured 'morning,' her pert nipples brushing against his muscular back. Sasuke suppressed a gasp, his twitching member, and the urge to reciprocate his wife's desire. He gently pried away from his wife's leg, and regretted it when Sakura retracted herself from him.

"Anata?" Sakura sat up with a myriad of emotions on her face — confusion, hurt and rejection.

Sasuke didn't want to make her feel like that.

"I… I'm going to visit my parents' grave."

Sakura nodded and smiled, her features relaxing.

Sasuke never thought that gulping down the guilt of neglecting his dead family could be that easy.

Sasuke sauntered through the path that led to his parents' grave. The place was cold and distant like his heart had been for many years. Neglected even, he mused.

He stopped when he found the stone that bore his parents' name. Uchiha Mikoto and Uchiha Fugaku — names engraved with such beauty that was ironic considering the way they had died. A surge of rage and emotions pumped through his veins in a way that he was too familiar with — it had made him a person of sins that he was still redeeming for.

He stood there unable to repress the painful memories that had seeped from his past like a poison. His surroundings reverberated with the screams and blood that painted his nightmares.

Years of redemption had seemingly healed his wounds, but the sharpness of the past always cut, and the wounds bleed as they always had.

Unable to anchor himself, he looked anywhere but his parents' name. His eyes darted across the ungrazed grass, wild flowers, and puddles formed by summer rain. Stubborn weeds creeping over his parents grave, like the past that was attached to him.

His eyes caught something. And there it is, he mused again. A small pink wildflower intertwined with weeds, facing the sun. A gentle breeze that made its petals gleam in the sunlight reminded him of Sakura's unwavering love. The love that had waited for him through his sins and redemption — love that assured him every day that he no longer was in the darkness alone — love that gave him Sarada.

He crouched down, sighing. The summer heat was getting unbearable, and beads of sweat rolled down from his forehead. This reminded he should get going. Sometimes Sarada got all fussy, and it was hard for Sakura to manage her alone. Although his heart was heavy when his eyes glided over the name of his parents again, he smiled thinking about his new family.

Sasuke traced his finger on kanji of his mother's name, dirt gathering on his finger tip. He picked up the rag that he had brought with him and scrubbed the dirt and mud from the stones. With every swipe of the rag, the images of lifeless bodies of his parents became clearer in his mind. His fingers twitched, but he did his work diligently. The dirt from his parents' name was gone now, like the blood from the wooden floor that had pooled out from his parents' bodies.

Shaking his thoughts off, he held his shirt sleeve with his teeth and rolled it upwards. He went on plucking the weeds, wishing if it was this easy to pluck away memories of his past. There was a hopeful part of him — a little part — thought that with time, the pain of his lost family would wash away, but maybe hope wasn't a thing for Uchiha Sasuke.

He bid adieu to his dead parents, and got up to leave. As he walked away, he looked back over his shoulder to get a peek of the pink flower that remained. The pink flower that had grown in his life — accepting him and his past.

As he reached the threshold of his house, he stiffened when he couldn’t feel the familiar chakras he was accustomed to.

He looked around and found Sakura had almost finished cleaning their house. Bookshelves no longer had cobwebs, the white sheets had been removed from the furniture, and the floor was polished.

“Sakura?”

He was answered by the empty hallways and a note. It was a note from Sakura that said she was going out for grocery shopping.

He ran fingers through his hair, sighing, and walked towards the kitchen. He decided to cook a proper lunch. They had been surviving on simple food after they had returned, courtesy of Sarada's fussiness. It amazed him sometimes how their child managed to command all their attention.

Sakura always jokingly complained that it was something Sarada definitely had inherited from him. Sakura boasted that she was a quiet infant, and her parents always backed her up. Sometimes he felt a tinge of jealousy at that.

He opened the fridge and grabbed the leftover rations that they had, and he remembered Naruto grumbling about something similar. He knew he shouldn't find that soothing, but he realized in that aspect he wasn't alone.

In fact, he wasn't alone at all anymore.

Sasuke delved into cooking, but as time ticked on, he got impatient. He decided to go out and look for them. Something made him scared that he couldn't pinpoint.

As he was going to turn the stove off, he heard the click of the door knob. He heard Sakura calling him and responded.

Relief washed through him as Sakura approached him. He had been worrying over nothing. Perhaps his heart was still as fragile as his younger self's. Too afraid to lose, yet too afraid to accept his weakness.

Sakura kept the bag of groceries, grinning widely at him before she complimented the smell of the food. He was captivated by her green eyes, but his daughter seemed to have his attention now. Sarada happily clapped her hands on seeing him and wiggled in her baby sling to reach for him.

Sasuke bent down, and Sarada reached for his cheeks and patted them with her small hands, grinning toothlessly. This was Sarada's way to embrace, Sakura had told him once. Sasuke kissed her little palm before straightening himself.

"When did you return? We were sort of feeling alone, so we decided to make a quick trip to the market. "Ne, Sarada-chan?" Sakura cooed, rubbing her nose on Sarada's head, and Sarada giggled, agreeing with her.

"But someone had more fun than she expected." Sakura tickled Sarada, and she joined her in fits of laughter.

A smile slipped past his lips, and all the heaviness that had settled in his heart from that morning began to dissipate.

"She seemed to be in a good mood," Sasuke commented, looking for something from the bag.

"Yes." Sakura hummed, sifting her fingers through Sarada's hair.

His eyes lingered on them, before he started grating ginger.

"Umm, Anata? Isn't that too much?" Sakura pointed out.

Sasuke nodded, but he added it to the pan and said, "Father always liked it this way."

Sakura blinked. She didn't know how to respond. Sasuke rarely talked about his parents, so she stood there just nodding.

The space between them stilled, with only sounds of food sizzling on the pan and Sarada's squeals.

"Father used to love the spice of ginger, so Mother used to cook like this," Sasuke explained.

"I see," Sakura replied, excitement spiking in her voice.

"Mother also added less Mirin than required," Sasuke went on, and Sakura listened raptly, watching him while he cooked Gyudon.

Sakura didn't miss the melancholy in his eyes when Sasuke said that Gyudon was his father's favourite, and it stirred Sakura's heart

Sakura knew the things which are gone always hurt, but she knew too it took time to heal them. So when Sasuke told her bits of his family, she was glad that Sasuke talked about them without any resentment — sharing his lost happiness with her. She wanted to thank him, so Sakura tiptoed, her arms wrapping around Sarada, and she pecked on Sasuke's cheek.

It was unexpected, and Sasuke stared wide-eyed at the contents in the pan, while the tips of his ears turned red.

"I'll remember this when I cook next time," Sakura blushed.

Sasuke nodded, smirking.

Sarada wiggled in her sling to reach for Sasuke again while Sakura giggled and commented on how restless she was growing.

The house, the people, and the meal he had once shared together with his parents were long gone for him, but now he saw himself in Sarada who was trying to get her father's attention like he used to. He realized time had its own way to fix things.

Sasuke watched the sky, summer clouds lazily drifting and strings of smoke whirling between them. The smell of smoke from the neighborhood mingled with the evening breeze, and he felt nostalgic.

His clan breathed fire, and where there was fire, there was smoke. He remembered tasting the bitterness of smoke that lingered on his tongue when his lungs had flamed out a great fireball in childhood. He’d been excited to share his experience, and Itachi had confirmed with his too gentle smile that he had felt the same way

It was a memory that had been long forgotten. Years and years of using katon jutsus and chasing his older brother for revenge had made him ignorant to these feelings that he had held precious in his childhood.

The orangish hue of the setting sun told him it was time.

It was the first day of Obon. He looked around and saw the lantern that was tied at the entrance of their house swinging with the wind along with a windchime.

The lantern will guide them home, Sakura had said when she had tied them.

He knew that too. His mother had told him during childhood while Itachi had set up the bonfire for mukaebi. He had complained that bonfires are for winters, not for summers. His mother had laughed and had corrected him.

Sasuke, this bonfire and lanterns are for the spirits of our ancestors to guide their paths back home.

He had shrugged back then, because he thought he wouldn't have to bother about this in future.

Sasuke set the twigs, and lit them using a small fireball jutsu.

He sat there, remembering that Obon during his childhood had never been so solemn. Lots of people visited during that time. He hadn’t remembered any of them, though Itachi remembered some of them. Sasuke had challenged Itachi: Just you see, nii-san, next time, I'm going to remember everyone's name. Itachi had chuckled and had flicked his forehead.

The next time hadn't ever come. Before he could add more people to his growing list of people he knew, Itachi had wiped out everyone. And then Sasuke was alone.

He realized after all these years how much he had missed his older brother. He always wanted to bury the feeling because it came with the realization that Itachi was dead because of him. Itachi was dead because of Konoha.

Itachi was dead because he wanted his otouto to live.

"Anata?"

Sasuke lifted his eyes from the flames to Sakura, who looked worried. He looked back to flames.

"Are you okay?"

Sasuke nodded. He knew they had spent enough time together for Sakura to know he wasn't alright. His eyes were fixated on flames, so he didn't notice the way Sakura's eyes softened when she sat beside him.

He didn't want to ask her, but he found himself talking anyway. "Do you think Itachi can find his way?"

For the second time in the day, Sakura blinked in confusion.

Sasuke clarified again, "He doesn't even have a grave."

For a second, Sakura felt like she couldn't breathe. She had never seen Sasuke so vulnerable before.

"This place… Konoha…" He gritted his teeth. "I- I don't know how to call Konoha my home after what they did to my clan… to Itachi."

"I can't," He said, his voice louder and filled with accusation.

But as soon as these two words left his mouth, his eyes widened in the realization of what he had done. He shut his eyes and apologized to Sakura.

He felt Sakura's palm on his left cheek. It reminded him of his daughter's gentle touch — that they were his home.

Sakura smiled when his mismatched eyes met her green, and spoke softly, "Hate it till you can love it back, Sasuke-kun."

Sasuke swallowed the soft moan that fell out of Sakura's plump lips before he moved down on her neck, leaving a trail of kisses. When their house turned silent from Sarada's cries, they both sought comfort in their bed, limbs tangled innocently. Sasuke was comfortable enough now to delve into his wife's gentle touches. Gentle touches soon turned greedy when he kissed her the way he had wanted to that morning. It wasn't too long before their clothes were scattered across the polished wood of the floor.

He nipped her neck, eliciting a whimper and a delicious clench of her walls around his pulsing cock. He groaned and pushed deeper into her wet velvety cunt. The air from the ceiling fan cooled their sweating bodies, but the heat where they were intimately joined made both their spines tingle.

Sasuke leaned down to capture her lips again, and Sakura reciprocated wantonly meeting with his thrust. They gasped for air when they parted, saliva smeared across the corners of their lips. Sasuke held his gaze with hers, which was always soft, assuring, and accepting. Like a wanderer on a cold night regarded the flames that kept him warm, Sasuke tried to emanate his gratitude for her through his mismatched eyes.

He inched deeper, relishing the warmth of her skin. Sakura's lips parted in a silent cry when he hit the spot that he knew made Sakura come undone. Their rhythm became more erratic, and the heaving and slapping of wet skin was driving Sasuke to his own finish.

Sasuke angled his hips and thrust roughly. Sakura shuddered, her nails digging deep in his bare shoulder. He closed his eyes, focussing on the pleasure unknoting in his belly, he pushed roughly again, and felt—

Sarada's whimpers reached their ears. His eyes snapped open reflexively like he was waking in the midst of a nightmare, and Sakura's grip loosened on him. Sakura winced as he reluctantly pulled out of her. He wasn't sure if it was because Sarada's cries intensified, or if it was because they’d been interrupted.

She smiled weakly and slid out of bed. Sasuke huffed and dropped onto the bed, watching Sakura hurriedly putting his shirt to cover her curves.

When he made his way towards them, Sakura was pacing along the room, cradling Sarada in her arms trying to calm her down.

"I fed her, changed her diapers, and still she is crying," Sakura said, expression etched with worry and irritation. Sarada shrieked louder, and Sakura's patience was waning thin.

Sasuke stretched his arm towards her, and Sakura handed the baby over. When he took her in his arm, rocked her and carefully nuzzled his nose on her forehead, she stopped crying. Somehow, it felt strange yet so good that someone needed him.

He was sure Sakura was red with envy and embarrassment when she mumbled something and walked away. He couldn't help himself but let out a chuckle, and Sakura turned and laughed too.

Konoha's streets were overflowing with families, people enjoying and dancing around the yagura stage to the beats of Taiko drums on the second day of Obon.

"Ino and I always loved dancing to this rhythm."

Sasuke didn't remember anything from his genin days. Maybe Sakura had told him back then, but he never paid attention to it like the other things he had missed while chasing blindly after revenge. This festival, this tradition, and Sakura were always there, and he had always been a piece out of the puzzle.

But Sarada with all her charm had made him fit in the puzzle. And now he and Sakura sat on the engawa, basking in the comfortable silence that they shared while the sound of Taiko drums reverberated with his heart beats.

Sakura held Sarada close to her body. He smiled, eyes falling on the Uchiha fan on her little back.

"I sprained my ankle the previous year. It was all stupid Ino's fault."

Sakura went on telling him about her Obon experiences while his eyes lingered on the swell of her chest, the bindings tugged down for Sarada to suckle. Sarada fed herself without any complaints, her little fingers clutching on folds of the beautiful green yukata Sakura was wearing.

The beautiful cherry blossom print on her green yukata accentuated her beauty, but it was the Uchiha crest that she sewed on her yukata in the afternoon that accentuated her beauty.

Sasuke's eyes trailed upwards to her exposed skin, and he noticed the hitch in her breath when his eyes stayed on the purplish mark he had given her the night before. They locked eyes, trapping her green with his mismatched ones.

Sakura blushed furiously under his gaze. Sasuke smirked and asked, "Want to go to the festival?"

The sound of heavy breathing disturbed the silence, as both of them came down from their high, basking in the afterglow. A sheen of sweat covered them like velvet, limbs entangled and limp. Sakura's yukata lay crumpled between their bodies, tugged upwards and sideways unceremoniously.

Sasuke had committed to memory the way her pink hair seamlessly smudged with the green of her yukata when he had pushed inside her from behind, losing himself to pleasure. His fingers lightly traced her pink nipples, and Sakura gasped.

She turned her head back, and Sasuke pulled her closer to his body, his palm now resting over her beating heart. Sakura smiled, and Sasuke realized there were so many colours that adorned his life now — the red of her lips, the pink of her hair, the green of her eyes, and that mirthful smile.

His heart skipped a beat when he felt Sakura's heart dancing under his palm, synchronising with his. Their lips found their way to each other, the uchiwa on the Sakura's garment silently observing their love.

A wisp of smoke rose into the air while twigs in the bonfire crumbled down to ashes. Sasuke sat in front of the extinguished bonfire, looking above at the dark sky.

The moon hid behind the clouds and stars twinkled, trying hard to compensate for the overcast skies. A breeze touching his skin gave him a familiar feeling. He had spent more time under open skies wandering than under a roof with a family. However, tonight he felt the same heaviness that he had carried for a long time.

After they had dinner, Sakura had reminded him that it was the last day of Obon. Reluctantly, he had lit the okokuri-bi — the bonfire that sent the spirits back to their resting place. Maybe he didn't want to part with his dead family. Maybe holding on to the illusion where his father, mother and brother were with him was easier.

The breeze swept the hair that covered his eyes, his mismatched orbs growing wet. It wasn’t because of anger anymore, though. It just hurt. He clutched at his chest, fingers digging into his shirt, trying to soothe the pain that was there. An invisible pain that he only owned — that Sakura and Sarada couldn't replace.

"Sara-chan, did you like it?"

Sasuke snapped out of his thoughts as Sakura approached him. Sarada fiddled with a toy that Sakura bought recently for her. Sarada cooed in excitement, and Sakura giggled.

When she reached closer to him, Sakura stretched out her hand towards him. Words were not their way, and Sakura smiled gently, coaxing him to take her hand.

And Sasuke did.

Because there were things Sakura and Sarada couldn't replace, but he could relive and recreate memories with them. Severing bonds would never ease his pain, he knew now; instead, new bonds would help him embrace the old ones.

They were there for him — he wasn't alone, and he didn't need to do this on his own.

FFN | AO3

Obon is a Japanese custom to honor the spirits of one's ancestors. This custom involves a family reunion holiday during which people return to ancestral family places and visit and clean their ancestors' graves when the spirits of ancestors are supposed to revisit the household altars. It has been celebrated in Japan for more than 500 years and traditionally includes a dance, known as Bon Odori.

Credits: Inspired from Warm by @catflorist . For those who haven't read, please read this wonderful piece.

Thanks to @fm-white for telling me more about rituals of Obon.

Thanks for @fictionalquacker's headcanon that Fugaku loves beef, which helped me making an assumption that it could be Gyudon. Also thanks to lovely @birkastan2018 for giving some tips about cooking Gyudon 💪. A big thanks to @theredconversegirl for naming my fic 🥺. Believe me, I would be forever grateful to you for this❤️

Thanks to @something-like-air for beta-ing this. 🤗

Last but not the least, @thatsakurastan :") with her constant support and nagging, I was able to complete and post this fic. You deserve big slabs of chocolate!🍫🍫🍫

#ssm21 #ssm21d2 #ssm21d9 #ssmonth #sasusaku #ss fic #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #uchiha sarada #SS month finally done and dusted 😌

166 notes · View notes

remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : brownies n’ breaks

— word count : 2.2 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : cooking is your love language and it’s time that you are able to finally make something for Daryl, protected from the high walls that alexandria boasts of are you finally able to bring that vision to life

— warnings : absolutely nothing, except sickly sweet fluff

oooo another daryl request if you’re willing!!! maybe once they get to alexandria reader makes daryl some homemade brownies or some shit because she knows he’s never had much homemade food if any just some domestic cute shit??🥺🥺♥️

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested 　/ requests are open *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Sweetness flows throughout the air of your new home, sliding into every corner it can find to fill and warm. The smell of domesticy is something you thought perished long ago when the world died, but here you stand.. with a fresh batch of brownies in the oven baking as if life rebooted and got set back to factory settings. You move from the oven, small steps to the door to be able to survey the kitchen area once more, blinking as if to erase it from your vision, to be greeted with the punishing sun and the dirt filled roads lined with ghosts.

A cozy yellow glow is snug in the pit of your stomach as you think about who the sweet bake belongs to, Daryl has been nothing less than golden. From Atlanta, all the way to Alexandria.. he has always been one to step up without even thinking. You’d shared many secluded moments together, talking about your pasts and while he has never explicitly said anything, you have created a picture in your head about what he has gone through. The love not shared healthily to someone who will always put his family first. Even prior to the downfall of society, you loved to cook for everyone you knew.

You settle yourself with a book on the window ledge close to the kitchen, awaiting the arrival of Daryl, a giddiness that could be likened to a snowfall of glitter falling gracefully within you.

“ you know, when we finally find a new home. I will make you the best brownies you’ve ever had! “

“ if y’don’t burn ‘em first. “ he replied, the corner of his eyes crinkle so delicately as he chuckles lowly.

“ don’t be so fucking mean! here I am trying to do something nice.. it won’t kill you! “ you argue humorously, your fist balling up to punch his arm with little force.

Laughter and carelessness had been a rarity after surviving Terminus, your focus on trying to find safety.. no matter how much of a dream it may be. The journey to coming to terms with the fading faces and memories of the prison has been a painful one, comfort was not something that could easily be found, yet you found it in the least conventionally affectionate person you knew.

“ if anythin’s gonna kill me, it ain’t gonna be your cooking. “

“ actually, I cook very well. it will be a good day when I finally get to show you. “

An airy smile brightens your features, the burdenless weight unable to keep your lips stuck together. Many memories you have with him are of the fond kind, of course, the course of your bond with him runs deep but never has it been a calm sea. There have been moments where you wonder if it’s one sided, if you are inventing a picture that you wish to bleed through to reality, then you are proven wrong and he does things that you know in your heart are true. It has taken losing friends, a home, finding new hope to strengthen that bond and while you would prefer to take the easy road, you know that nothing will ever split the two of you into shards of glass that will never be able to be repaired. You’re both strong people, but stronger together.

A figure clad in black and covered in grime makes their way up the flawless road to where you rest, your vision could be awful but you can make out his being anywhere. The book you hold is laid to rest, your feet already carrying yourself to the door to meet him. Days had past since you last saw him and you can now feel the chords of longing pulling as you had missed him.

Your hand encloses the door handle, swinging it open to finally land your gaze on his form, feeling as if it had been years you’d not done so, as opposed to a few days.

“ took you long enough. “

“ yeah, yeah. quit your complainin’. “

You move aside, Daryl taking the cue from you and entering the house that bares no soul at that present moment. Everyone is out with their own agenda or job, leaving you to potter about to your own devices.

Some peace and privacy for even a few hours is something you are thankful for, two things that had been incredibly rare from your journey from Atlanta. Though, the noise that comes with your family reminds you of the moments you couldn’t wait to be rid from as you grew up are ones that you no longer fail to appreciate.

“ did you find anybody out there? “

Daryl shakes his head, you see the trouble that he wears often become even more apparent as it overwhelms his features intensely. Knowing Daryl as well as you do, you know that while he won’t admit it out loud, every time he goes out there with Aaron to find people and finds no one wounds his spirit more and more. While his desire to save everyone is admirable, it’s often a concern to you that it might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back and he’s often met with your comforting energy of it being simply an unsustainable trait.

“ you know you won’t always find people, right? “ you ask him softly, tucking your legs underneath you as you seat yourself on the sofa.

Daryl refuses to sit, it’s a thought that regularly finds itself bouncing around your mind as to why he can’t relax even behind the walls of Alexandria.

“ yea’, still sucks though. “ he wipes his thumb across his nose, an unconscious habit on his part, discussing his thoughts and feelings has never been easy, raised in a home full of toxicity stunted him emotionally, something he still wrestles with when the occasion arises.

“ there’s going to be a day where you’ve gone and saved everyone! there won’t be anyone left for you to bring back! cut yourself some slack. “

Daryl doesn’t respond, knowing there is truth in your words but he has seen so much death already, the world gripped by dark and dim choke hold, a little dusting of life is something that has been lacking since it died. Avoidance of feelings is something Daryl flees to when the conversation gets tough, he can deal with words full of anger and rage, but topics so delicate still feel so alien to him.

“ wha’ y’been up to? “ the male questions you, seemingly interested in what you have been up to, watching you from the otherside of the room.

As if a switch had been flipped, your eyes ignite with excitement and joy as you have finally been able to fulfil your unofficial promise to him.

“ remember when we were talking about my cooking? when you insulted it? “ the sides of your lips gently lift with a soft innocence, you feel the elation slowly warming the entirety of your body at the simpleness of it all.

“ y’ain’t gone and poisoned sumn’ have ‘ya? “ asks Daryl, turning to face you from across the floor where he stood. His tone holds a ‘ blink and you will miss it ‘ humour threaded into his words.

“ I should have! “ laughing at him, you fit your fingers between his and lead him into the kitchen with you.

Touch is still something that sends an uncomfortable shiver to travel the distance down his spine, but with everything you have been through and all the time you have spent together, touch is something he’d never turn from when thinking of you. Your relationship has been a strange, never formal one, but it is perfect for the two of you. Unspoken words full of warmth and fondness are a solidity in each one’s souls, and while you both never shared the extent of what the two of you have with the group, they have their suspicions and theories. But if they know one thing, it’s Daryl’s affection for you runs deep.

“ brownies! “

He peaks into the oven that you have opened, the rich smell of cocoa and heat baking the treats hit him like a brick, a pit forms deep in his stomach. This is different from past meals beforehand. You had gone out of your way for him, of all people. Never could he mentally grip why you have been so kind and benevolent with him but it’s something he treasures deeply. In the beginning he was more abrasive with you more than anyone else, but it used to be his go to defense mechanism with everyone in your family. Softness never being something destined for him was beaten into him for a young age, learning only how to loathe and to only say words in anger. It wasn’t until you came along and took your time with him did he let you in, something you have been grateful ever since.. especially since you have been able to discover the colourful soul that resides within him.

“ y’didn’t have to. “ he replies, his mouth watering at the mere smell of the brownies that are close to being fully baked.

“ Daryl… “ a softness in your response that is only reserved for him is heavy, your eyebrows furrowing in dejection. You know enough of his history to be confident in your placed hurt for him being unable to experience kindness in a positive manner. Your hand trails up his clothed arm and rests on his shoulder lightly, allowing for him to decide whether or not to accept the physical affection. He doesn’t shrug it off, if anything he leans more into your touch. “ you know I’m doing this because I want to, you deserve something nice! “

“ thanks. “

“ and they’re nearly done, so you best take a seat. “

Daryl follows your order with little encouragement, a smirk that he conceals from your view and sits at the lengthy dinner table. He’s having trouble connecting the dots of the dead walking and civilisation ended and the pure normalcy of him sitting at a dinner table about to eat home cooked brownies. Even back when the world was bustling with life and people working their nine to fives were home cooked meals a rarity.

“ so this is what y’spent your day on? “ he asks as he watches you with a spark of fondness in his eyes as you work in the kitchen.

“ cooking is therapeutic. “

“ y’ a weird person. “ Daryl quips, staring at you right in your eyes. His expression gives nothing away, though his eyes speak a thousand words and paint a thousand colours that you understand fully.

It’s lucky you know him so well to understand when he’s being serious and when not.

“ but you like it! “

The squares of the baked treats are uneven and jagged, your features contorting into a confused frown at how they could so well until the end. You blame the knife for the imperfection and flaws of the appearance of what lays before you, however your heart knows it’s your inability to present your dishes artistically.

“ now I apologise they don’t look good but they do taste good! “

“ y’never have to say sorry for anythin’ “ he thoughtless says, his mind to preoccupied with the food laid before him.

A picture painted by his mind long ago had you as the perfect person, it’s comforting to know the flaws you have are nothing short of charming in your own little way. With the lack of elegance associated with him, his fingers dig into the irregular shape of the brownie and shoves half of it into his mouth.

You watch him with your breath holding itself, never have you been a person who has wanted to impress but when it comes to Daryl? You find yourself wanting to do that and more.

“ well? “

He nods with his mouth full, unable to formulate his words. His jokes about your cooking being bad have been nothing more than that, jokes. But even as he’s consuming the small squares he’s surprised at how good they taste, better than he could even imagine.

“ ain’t half bad. “

“ in Daryl speak that means they’re pretty damn great, huh? “ you question him rhetorically, amusement dancing on each word you speak as you gaze steadily on his form.

“ well y’didn’t burn the house down. “

Your mouth opens and eyes widen considerably as your expression twists from being filled to the brim of affection to one of shock, aghast at his jovial words. The laughter tumbles carelessly from your lips as you reach across to swat his arm playfully.

“ you are so rude! “

He joins in with your laughter, a sight so infrequent that you wish you could burn the image into your mind with no chance of being erased by time. It’s moments like these, where you truly feel like the only two people in the world, stolen moments you hold close to your heart. You hope that you will reach a space where you both will be able to freely express your feelings, while the mutual affection is known between the both of you, sometimes you want to use words. So he knows, because it’s something he deserves. To know how much he is loved, without cowering away from the subject.

“ nah I’m just kiddin’. thanks, I mean it. “

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #twd imagine #the walking dead imagine #daryl x reader

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sup-hoes-its-me · 3 years

Text

Adore You (Yamato x Reader)

A/N: hi guys. Yamato is your secret admirer and you are desperate to find out who's been leaving all these gifts at your doorstep. Civilian reader. Will be two parts, and since i just found out i have the coronavirus and cant leave the house, i’ll be putting out the second part very soon.

Ps i headcanon that yamato would be very shy and awkward with his crush. i also think that when he is nervous he definitely has really sweaty hands. idk thats just the vibe i get from him lol. please enjoy.

Word count: 4500

Y/N walked down the street after a long day of working in the bakery, kneading dough and icing cakes and sweets. It was a great job, and she really enjoyed the company of the two elderly owners. In her arms was another small picnic basket filled with sourdoughs and garlic loaves and cinnamon raisin buns. Those leftovers served as her breakfast, lunch, and dinner most days and it saved a lot of money on groceries.

Sometimes, she gifted the bread to friends and family though, like tonight.

As she walked the bustling streets, people walking home from work for the night, she noticed a couple of familiar faces sitting in the windows of a nearby restaurant. Feeling a little social, she walked into the restaurant and turned the corner, walking through the tables and past other booths full of people talking and drinking. It was busy tonight in Konoha, everyone getting ready for the weekend.

She came to a stop beside their table, and shifted so her basket rested in the slight curve of her hip. With her free hand she waved to the men, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Kakashi, Yamato,” she chirped, “I saw you guys in the window on my way home from work and thought I’d stop in to say hello.”

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise.” Kakashi hummed, peering over his glass of golden liquid at his friend, who he could tell was struggling to figure out what to say or do. Yamato wasn’t normally nervous; he was very cool headed. How else would he become such an important Anbu member? But around Y/N, this woman with flour dusted in her hair and the smell of cinnamon and chocolate on her clothes, he crumbled. Just that smell alone could make Yamato lose his composure. And Kakashi knew that very well. “As a matter of fact, we were just talking about you.”

Yamato coughed on his drink, covering his mouth with his arm to keep from spitting up on the table. Even if they were just talking about her, it was completely uncalled for for Kakashi to stab him in the back like that. He turned to face the young woman who looked down at him with curiosity in her eyes.

“Really? What about?” she questioned, raising a brow.

He averted his eyes to the table again where his hand rested clutching at the glass. “We were just discussing the bakery,” he explained sheepishly, a hand going to rub the back of his neck. He felt the stress coming on, and sweat was beginning to gather on his palms. He felt ill, and more importantly, upset with the friend sitting directly across from him, smirking under that damn mask.

What an evil bastard.

“Mind if I join you guys? I could definitely use a drink.” She motioned to the seat next to Yamato, and he scooted closer to the wall to make room for her. She made sure her basket was sealed and secure before reaching over the table to Kakashi. “Can you sit this next to you? I don’t wanna take up the whole table.”

“No problem.”

She slid into the seat beside Yamato, and he realized just how small their table really was. The chair was clearly made for one person, or maybe two small people. They were just inches away. He could literally feel the heat of her thigh beside his. He was losing his mind, he was sure of it. There was absolutely no reason to act or think this way just because of a woman, a little baker from the village. No reason. It was inappropriate.

He took a deep breath and sipped on his drink. Everything was cool. Y/N L/N was cool.

“What kind of goods are you bringing home tonight?” Yamato asked calmly.

“Uh, lets see. A sourdough loaf and a garlic rosemary loaf. Also, I have about eight cinnamon buns in there,” she listed off the top of her head, “Why? You wanna take some home with you, because that’s fine. I’m not gonna eat all of it.”

“No, not this time.”

“You, Kakashi?”

“Yeah, I’ll take whatever.” It was a free meal for the next day? How could he say no to that?

The waitress came around, and Y/N ordered a tall glass of some sweet drink, something she knew wouldn’t taste like shit but would get her all warm and cozy quick, fruit juice covering up the taste of poison. “So, what were you guys talking about before I came around? I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“It’s good you came around, actually. We could use a woman’s opinion here.” Yamato glared at Kakashi, pleading with everything he had for the copy nin to just leave it alone. Kakashi was set in his goals though, and pushed forward with what he was saying. “It’s about Tenzo.”

An even brighter smile grew on her lips, one full of mischief and curiosity. “Oohoho? I see. What’s got you men stuck?” She loved to gossip, it was just something so interesting in her mundane life. Surely, it wasn’t as interesting to shinobi who almost die all the time and always have something to do, but for a village girl who goes home every night to read and eat bread, and then go to work where she just makes and sells said bread, a bit of juicy personal information really intrigued her.

“It’s honestly not a big deal-”

“Our boy here, he’s got a crush.”

Her eyes widened and suddenly, she felt the urge to down even more of her drink. He was interested in someone? She never expected that. He was always so quiet and calm, and kept to himself. He didn’t seem like the type to ever care about someone in that way. She sighed, taking a long sip on her drink, which tasted like peaches and oranges. At least it was sweet enough to help her curb the impending sadness.

Maybe she was stupid for it, but she cared for Yamato. He was such a sweet and kind man, so earnest and gentle. He was everything good about her mornings, when he would walk in and ask for the same hot cross bun to start his day. He would smile and compliment the cake decorating she was working on, and tell her about his missions and what he had to do for the day.

Perhaps Y/N had the tiniest of crushes on Yamato. It was something she would never reveal to anyone else, but it was true. She couldn’t deny herself that fact.

Kakashi stared at the woman, gauging her reaction to the statement. From the way she immediately went to sip away half of the drink in her glass, and the way her shoulders curled in on themselves, he could guess how she was feeling. He wasn’t usually a fan of meddling in other people’s business, but he was beginning to feel tired of Yamato complaining day in and day out about how he could never get the girl or express his feelings. He was afraid of rejection, as sad as that might be.

He was just there to give them a push in the right direction.

“I see.”

“What do you think he should do? What do the civilian girls like?”

This crush was just another civilian. It would be one thing if he fell in love with a kunoichi, someone she would never be able to compete with, but the thought of him choosing another normal woman over her, the envy practically oozed from her pores. What did this other girl have that Y/N didn’t?

Y/N ordered another drink when the waitress walked by. And then another after she drank the second one. Might as well get more down and drown out these jealous thoughts.

Meanwhile, she listed off things that random women normally like when men do for them, things she didn't really care about like chocolates and asking them out to dinner and giving them stuffed animals. Boring things. Things they all already knew. Kakashi agreed that the advice was kinda bland, and he could have come up with that easily.

Yamato eyed her down nervously as she practically chugged the rest of her drink. The woman wasn’t a big drinker, just a couple innocent cocktails here or there, never with the intention of getting drunk.

“You okay, Y/N?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” she told him smoothly. “Anyway, I’m not done telling you all about us village girls.”

The third drink came by and she sighed, taking another long sip. At least it tasted good, that made it easy to drink and drink and drink.

“Maybe you should slow down.”

“Maybe you should worry about yourself. I’m grown. I can handle myself, Yamato.” He felt a pang in his chest at her sharp words, ones that he’d never really heard directed toward him. She scolded Kakashi on the daily for being a pervert, but only kind words met Yamato’s ears previously. “Anyway, about this girl. Have you tried getting her anything as a gift? The things I listed before? Love notes? That sorta thing?”

He shook his head. “Well, no. I haven’t tried anything yet.”

“That’s the thing about you, Tenzo. You’re so modest. If you want the girl, you need to go in and get her. You need to show her what she means to you, since you can’t bring yourself to just outright tell her.”

“The whole bold displays of affection aren’t my thing.”

She hummed, her head lolling from side to side as she twirled the straw of her drink in between her fingers. “Maybe you should try some roundabout approach since you’re so scared of rejection. Send her anonymous letters and gifts, give her little clues that it’s you and see how she reacts.”

“Like a secret admirer?"

“Exactly! That’s sooo romantic. I wish some guy would do that shit for me.”

Kakashi raised a brow. “Oh, really?”

“Of course. I’m almost 27 and I’ve never had a long lasting relationship. I just want some guy to really, I don’t know, just love me. Love who I am, not hook up with me for my body or-or only pretend to like me for coupons on bread,” she complained, quite loudly as well. “Fuck those guys and their bread discounts...”

“Y/N-”

“I’d suggest you do something like that for your crush. Make her feel like you really care about her mind and soul.” Y/N clutched her hand over her heart and squeezed the front of her dress. “So many men nowadays act like horny teenagers, and us ladies are sick of it.”

She really did not need to go into such detail, and Yamato could tell she was drinking too much. Y/N would never say these things aloud if she were completely in her right mind. He felt rude just sitting there letting her rant on and on, exposing her own feelings to the table. But at the same time, he was grateful to know what she wanted in a lover. She never really let on what her romantic life was like, other than single for the most part.

That is what he and Kakashi were discussing before she came around. He was desperate to sweep her off her feet and woo her, to make revealing his feelings easier. Kakashi told him to just go to the bakery and tell her right then and there, but that was just too bold. He wasn’t going to go in without a plan, it was irrational.

“Yamato, I’m telling you, if this woman rejects you, she’s fucking stupid. You’re a catch. You and Kashi over there, both of you could get any woman you want, and that’s a fact.” the woman waved her hand to emphasize her point, only to knock the rest of her fourth drink over into her lap, sticky syrup soaking into her apron and through to her skirt. “Oh man.”

“I think it’s time for you to head home, little miss Y/N,” Kakashi chimed in, “This is exactly why we don’t bring you to bars, you know.”

“Shush. I am fine.”

Yamato sighed, motioning with his hands for her to move to the edge of the seat. He rolled his eyes at her words, knowing she was talking out the ass. “Yeah, yeah. Just get up, Y/N. I’m taking you home.”

Both men were surprised when she lifted her hand and pushed him away from her. Her glare was intense, anger behind those eyes. “No! Not you. I want Kakashi to walk me home.” The man was taken aback by the harshness in her tone. She was normally calm tempered, but her head was spinning and she was obviously growing moody.

“That’s fine by me. Yamato, you’ll pick up the bill for us and uh, clean this mess, right?” Kakashi smirked as he slid out from the booth and picked up her bag of baked goods. She followed suit, climbing out of her seat and grabbing onto the shinobi’s arm tightly. He really couldn’t care any less about her nonsense. It had been so long since they became friends, he’d seen her in every mood imaginable, and much drunker than this. He’s walked her home more than a few times in their past years.

“Curse you, cheap-ass.”

“Gotta go.”

With that, the white haired man walked out the restaurant with a woman in tow. They lived in the same direction, so he started down the street as she stumbled after him, tripping occasionally on pebbles. He felt bad for his friend, really. But the answer was clear as day now. Y/N cared for Yamato a lot more than she let on. It was just up to one of them to make a move. He couldn't do everything for them.

She tripped along beside him, letting her head fall against his shoulder a few times. Her eyes slid up to the man’s masked face, and he felt her hands begin to quiver a bit around his arm, just a tiny bit, but it was still there. Those little, very-telling, tremors.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked gently, knowing she would immediately spill whatever was stuck on her mind.

“Kashi, why does Tenzo want some other village girl?” she questioned, her cheeks puffing out and her eyes getting watery with tears. “Why doesn’t he want me? I want him so badly, it hurts right here.” she placed her free hand over her stomach and gagged. “I might throw up, it hurts so much.”

“Trust me, it’s gonna be okay,” he hushed, a tiny smile on his lips. He didn’t want to reveal too much to her, but it was just so amusing pulling the strings like this. Two of his friends, one a subordinate and the other a sneaky baker, falling for each other right in front of him. With all the work piling up, this was definitely a refreshing take.

“Also, you shouldn't throw up. It'll burn your throat, you know.”

She nodded, and just clutched onto her stomach as they made their way down the narrow alleyways toward her small apartment. He unlocked the door for her when she struggled to fit the key into the tiny hole that blurred together with everything else. He was a good friend, she thought, and made a mental note to thank him next time she saw him. Well, she tried to make a mental note, but when her body hit the mattress in the corner of her small studio, she found herself drifting away.

__________

God, her head hurt so badly she thought her skull was cracking open right then and there, as she lifted her head from her pillow. Light shined in through the window only to make things worse than before. She looked around the room and noticed that her coat was hung up properly on the hook and her shoes were sitting by the door. Her basket rested atop her counter.

Most importantly, on her nightstand sat a glass of water and a couple pills, ready for her to take the moment she woke up. Kakashi or Yamato must have walked her home and put her to bed. They were very nice men, she enjoyed having them as friends, she just worried she had made a drunken fool of herself last night in front of them. She rarely drank heavily, for that reason. She couldn’t even remember what happened, just that she met them at the restaurant and then the rest fell empty in her mind, little images blending together until she couldn’t decipher a thing that happened. She was more than ashamed.

How could she lose control of herself so casually, she wondered. She never even wanted to drink, much less enough to give her this searing headache. Something must have happened last night that influenced her decisions. Maybe she had a drinking contest with Kakashi like that one time before. If so, that was completely uncalled for on the man’s part. He knew her tolerance.

Nevertheless, she needed to get ready for work. A hangover wasn’t enough to heed the workings of the bakery.

She took the pills, and threw off her covers, walking over to her counter to take out one of the cinnamon rolls, taking a big bite to curb her hunger pains. After taking a moment to compose herself, she got ready for work. If she was late, she knew the owners would be forgiving, but she still felt bad regardless. She was going to walk in looking like a complete disaster.

As she headed out her door that morning, she stumbled on something sitting right at the foot of her doorstep on the welcome mat. Resting there, in a tiny little ceramic pot, stood a bonsai tree, trimmed and cared for perfectly. Her eyes scanned the area for who could have set it there, but met only empty space.

Hesitantly, she picked it up and brought it into her home. There was no note attached, nothing to signal who’d given it to her. Just a little tree that she would put on her window sill. It was strange, she had to admit that, to receive an anonymous gift at such an hour. She’d have to ask her friends about it later on to see if one of them had given it to her, for reasons she didn’t know.

But as the days went by, and those days turned into weeks, she continued to receive gifts every few days. More tiny trees in pots, sometimes flowers in little glass vases. None of them at first had anything attached until the most recent piece which when she picked it up to take into her home, a folded piece of paper sat beneath the vase. She made sure to pick it and put it in her apron to read on her break when she went to work. She didn’t have the time when she woke up only about 20 minutes before she was due at her job.

She was more than grateful for the little garden she was accumulating on her window sill, the beautiful flowers and trees somehow surviving despite her little knowledge of taking care of them. She stopped by a flower store in town to get some fertilizer just to keep them alive. It would be a shame if they died since someone was being so kind as to give them to her.

With her boring life, the flowers brought a smile to her face and a warmth in her heart that she hadn’t felt before. Regardless of who was leaving the items there, she felt like she was important to someone. Some person was taking time out of their day to show they cared about her.

Truthfully, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wished it was Yamato leaving her gifts. She’d been attracted to the man for quite some time, ever since they met really. He was just so strong and brave, and awkward in a cute kind of way. He was truly the only man of her affections, and she could only dream she was the object of his as well.

It was more than unlikely though. He was a strong ninja of the leaf. The chances of someone that amazing wanting to be with someone as simple as the town baker were lower than she wanted to admit. He most likely had his eyes set on some gorgeous kunoichi like Shizune or Kurenai. Someone he could relate to, really.

It was embarrassing to even admit she had a crush on him. It made her feel so tiny and weak, knowing that she wasn’t his ideal.

So she pushed that thought from her mind. Yamato would never be interested in her, and he most certainly not the one leaving her little notes and plants.

What she did know was that this person was a shinobi. Maybe not Yamato, but they were definitely a shinobi. She set up a trap, at least one she thought a normal person would fall for. Right before her door, she set up a tiny trip wire made of floss at the perfect level for someone to pull loose when they walked up to leave a gift on her welcome mat. Her room was at the very end of the hallway, so there was no way anyone else except her secret admirer was the one to set off the trap. Any normal person without the high perception of a shinobi would set off the trap and she would be able to narrow down the results to a civilian.

Only, the morning after she set up the trip wire, when she opened her door, there sat another bouquet of flowers, as well as an untripped strip of floss.

This person had to be a shinobi. She concluded. It was the only explanation in her mind, desperate to find out who the mystery person was all this time.

As she walked the streets that afternoon after the store had closed, her eyes honed in on Yamato, who stood next to a vegetable stand picking up some groceries. Immediately, she turned on her heel and cornered him between the squash and the sweet potatoes.

“Yamato, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Do you mind?” she practically demanded, and his eyes widened. He did not expect such an abrupt conversation between them. He shifted awkwardly to rest his grocery bag in the crook of his elbow and lean on his left side, arms crossed over his chest.

He knew what she wanted to talk about. It was about those gifts that he had been giving her. It was just a matter of whether she had figured out it was him or not, that was the question. He was kinda hoping she didn’t know yet. He was not ready to face what came after the reveal, rejection or otherwise. He really hadn’t thought it that far out yet. How could he. Just thinking up love notes and what plants to give her next was more than enough to worry about.

But damn, when he looked down at her, hair dusted with flour from a days work, a smudge of cake batter still on her forearm, apron a complete mess, he wanted to cave and tell her everything. She was just so beautiful, so clumsily perfect he couldn’t help but lose his train of thought. He swore he’d never seen a woman more perfect than her, not even Naruto’s sexy jutsu could come close to this girl.

He found his ears heating up and no doubt turning red at the thoughts running through his mind, and he was quick to smother them down. He was not irrationally emotional. Hell, he was ANBU, he should be able to control his emotions down to a tee.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“I have a secret admirer, and I know they are a shinobi.”

He felt himself growing nervous. How had she deduced that? “Ah, that’s definitely exciting for you. How do you know it’s a shinobi?”

“I know because I set up a tripwire last night and the person didn’t set it off, so I know they are coordinated enough to avoid it. This isn’t just some random village boy. This is someone skilled.”

“Y/N, he could have very well just avoided the trap with his natural gait, don’t you think?” he tried to reason with her, try to get her off his trail. Admittedly, he thought she was quite clever for setting up the trap. When he walked over it the night before, he swore it was just a spider web. He didn’t even consider the possibility of a trap in his way.

If only he could throw her off his scent. He needed more time. He couldn’t confess to her now. It was too abrupt, too sudden. He would probably die.

“No, I’m convinced it’s a shinobi.”

Shit. “Well, what are you going to do now?”

She thought for a short moment on what she was going to say, tapping her foot on the ground beside her. Her eyes widened and she smiled at the thought that ran through her mind. Of course, it was so obvious. “The gifts come sporadically, so I know that the shinobi can’t leave gifts when they are on missions. Next time there is a long break in gifts, I will just ask around to figure out who has been on a mission for a while. Bam, I’ve got my answer. It’s foolproof.”

She really had thought this through more than him. She was too good, and he felt himself panicking. He had a weeklong mission in 3 days, and if she asked anyone, they would tell her it was him. He felt moisture gather up at his brow, and he internally cursed his situation. He had to find some way out of this mess without her figuring out it was him.

“Yeah, that could definitely work. I hope it all works out for you, Y/N,” he lied through his teeth.

“I know. I’m just smart like that, aren’t I?”

“You sure are,” he muttered, but honestly, he just wanted to go off and find Kakashi. He needed to talk to him. His eyes slid away from Y/N and he sighed. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. Don’t forget to stop by before your next mission to get some of our special food pills, okay? I just made a new batch and you can try them free of charge. Anything for a fella as handsome as yourself.” She laughed, shifting her weight to press a hand to her hip.

Jeez. There was no good reason for her looking so adorable. Calling him handsome as well? It was all too much for his heart to handle. Needless to say, he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t walk away right then. With that, he simply nodded before patting her shoulder. “Like I said, gotta go.”

“Oh, okay. See you around.”

“See you.”

He walked away quickly, heading in the direction of Kakashi’s apartment, knowing he just had to do something about the mess he was currently in, and ways to avoid the inevitable. His heart was racing so fast he thought he might be having a heart attack. How could he be swayed so easily by a pretty face. He had no idea, but he really wanted it to stop. For the sake of his sanity, he needed to learn to be calm around her.

He would tell her soon, get all this off his chest and share his true feelings. He just needed a bit more time.

#yamato tenzo #yamato x reader #naruto x reader #naruto one shot #yamato one shot #naruto imagines #tenzo #naruto #naruto shippuden #sorry for getting this out so late i was so tired from my new accelerated geography class i almost died #but here we are #my sick ass will have the second one out probably tmr night maybe sunday morning #yamato imagine

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falling-pages · 4 years

Text

One Year: Moriharu

@ohshcscenerios please don’t hate me for this

“Daddy’s home!”

Takashi heard the yell as soon as he stepped inside his house, silently slipping his shoes off and leaning his bag against the wall. Usually the sound of his children’s voices brought a smile to his face, but everything hurt right now, down to the very nerves of fingers and toes.

Chiyo ran full-speed towards him, her bare heels kicking up sound on the hardwood floors of their mansion. She didn’t even stop when she crashed into her father, sending her colliding into his chest and him backwards into the coatrack. Takashi managed to catch her so she wouldn’t fall to the floor.

He hissed at the pain of a wooden rod against his shoulder, but disguised it as a chuckle when his eldest looked up at him. At seven years old, she was getting prettier by the day. Takashi guided her face to his, where he rubbed his nose against her tiny one with a spark of childish spunk.

No matter what the doctors said, he’d always have enough energy to love his girls.

“Welcome home Daddy,” Chiyo whispered, giving him a blinding grin. Takashi counted her two missing teeth, gasping at the second hole.

“It feels good to be home, sugarplum,” he said. “Did you lose another tooth?”

“Yes I did!” Chiyo screamed, wiggling her tongue through the space. “I plucked it out all by myself! Mom didn’t have to help me or anything!” She paused, knitting her brows. “Uncle Hikaru tried to get me to knock it out with the toaster, but Uncle Kyoya said no and took it home with him.”

“Is that so?” Takashi laughed, a real belly laugh straight from his soul. He hadn’t felt a burst of happiness like that since the diagnosis. But if anyone could wheedle it out of him, it was her. “Well, I am so proud of you. You’re really starting to be a grown-up.”

He kissed her forehead, clenching his eyes closed as a flash of pain overtook him. When he opened them again, he saw Haruhi peeking over the head of the bundle of joy laying on his chest.

“Daddy, I watched a new video on Karate,” Chiyo resumed. “Can you help me practice the moves?”

Takashi took a deep breath before Haruhi interrupted. “Sweetie, let’s give Daddy some time to rest.” She came over and plucked the girl from the ground. “Go outside and get your sister.”

The adults waited until Chiyo scrambled out of the room before Haruhi extended her hand to her husband. He acknowledged it, but chose to lift himself up, the simple act absolutely winding him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her help. He just knew that if he accepted, his body would give up entirely and pull her down with him.

“Let me go get your medicine,” Haruhi offered.

Takashi shook his head. “Thank you, but I’m alright. I just...need to sit down.”

He held out his arm to his wife, who immediately latched onto him. He struggled as her tiny frame clung to him, a reminder that he was the protector of the house, the man supposed to defend his girls from death and harm.

He couldn’t even defend himself from his own body.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Haruhi whispered, nuzzling her face into his chest.

Takashi smiled, winding a finger around her hair, loving the feeling of her small body against his. When she hugged him he still felt strong. He still felt like a Morinozuka.

“Kyoya and Hikaru were here?” he asked pleasantly. He would have loved to see them, but work had demanded the overtime--ever since he informed them of his diagnosis, they had been demanding more of his limited time, a battle he was still desperately fighting. If he only had a year left on this earth, he wanted to spend it with his girls. Not in some office.

“Yes, they send their greetings.” Haruhi took a step, carefully moving Takashi with her. Her presence was a booster shot, enabling him with enough energy to make it to his armchair. “And condolences. Kyoya offered one of his special care centers to us.”

“He came by my office yesterday with the same offer,” Takashi grumbled. “I appreciate his generosity, but I’m not that sick yet.”

A shadow crossed his soul as he said it. This couldn’t be a reality. It couldn’t.

He fell into the living room armchair, groaning at the soft backing against his aching body. As Haruhi turned to get something, his hand reached out and latched around her waist, bringing her back to him. With his eyes he pleaded with her to stay, giving off that tired, wanting look of a man who just wants to rest.

Haruhi knelt on the carpet beside his chair, and he leaned forward to press his forehead against her temple. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing the side of his face and neck and anywhere she could reach. He just sighed, breathing in her dainty smell. So clean. So young. So healthy.

He just needed to rest against her for a minute.

“Daddy!”

A scream interrupted them, and Chiyo ran in with little Isuma on her heels. Takashi raised his eyes to his daughters, unable to hold back the smile at the sight of them. “Yes, little ones?”

“Come play with us!”

He stared at the youngest, watching her spill over her words. They were both fiesty girls who earned their attitudes from their mother and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He couldn’t refuse them. He had to play with them before it was too late.

Haruhi answered before he could find the energy to speak. “Daddy’s tired right now. Maybe after dinner.”

“Daddy’s always tired.”

“Yes, well, these things happen as you get older.”

Takashi smirked. He was 35. Was that old?

Certainly not old enough to die. And yet, here he was.

The girls flashed frowns of disappointment, but they scampered off to the playroom. Takashi heaved a sigh.

“I’m not old.”

Haruhi laughed, brown eyes sparkling. “To them, that’s ancient.”

“I want to play with them,” he whispered after a moment. “I want to so badly--”

“I know.” Haruhi kissed his hand, rubbing circles over his knuckles. “Read to them at bedtime tonight. They much prefer the sound of your voice over mine.”

He wanted to say they’d have to get used to it, but he couldn’t bring himself to consider it. He was a Morinozuka. They don’t get sick. They don’t allow themselves to be killed by some disease.

All his training, his brute physical strength, the giant kendo champion of Japan. Stolen by some genetic disease seizing his muscles without a fight.

“I want to spend every waking moment with them that I can,” Takashi whispered. “And with you, my love.”

For the first time in a while, Haruhi’s facade cracked. For the last few months she had convinced herself that Takashi was stronger than this, that his warrior genetics would overcome this evil poisoning his body. And Takashi’s spirit was stronger, but those very genetics that made him strong created a sickness so vile it could kill even a thoroughbred.

“You are such a good father,” she responded, stroking the side of his face. Somehow she always knew what he was thinking and how to reassure him of her love. “And husband. I would never ask for anything more. Neither would the girls.”

Takashi snuggled her close, and when their daughters ran back into the room, he hoisted Isamu onto his lap and let Chiyo curl up at his feet.

“I love you all so, so much,” he said, petting his youngest’s hair. “I could never ask for a better life than the one I have.”

They would tell the girls later. And they would take years to understand, have questions they don’t have answers to. But for right now, he just wanted to feel his loved ones under his arm, under his protection and love.

They would face this last year together.

#ouran high school host club #ohshc #haruhi fujioka #takashi morinozuka #moriharu #takaharu #mori x haruhi #takashi x haruhi

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stereotvpes · 4 years

Text

class fight.

summary: jason dean is a complication for heather chandler. a nuisance. a problem. she cannot lose veronica to him. she needs to regain control.

but plans can always backfire.

warnings: graphic violence, major character death

A/N: hi!! this is my first fic, i hope everyone enjoys it!

Hanging out with the Heathers was never Veronica’s favourite thing to do.

Sure, they were her friends, but she didn’t really like them all that much. When she walked with them, it was like putting on a different skin. Veronica could never fully be herself: she’d run the risk of being Heather Chandler’s verbal punching bag for the week. Chandler was fierce and predatory, like a hawk, or a lion. She had sharp, watchful eyes that seemed to criticize her every move, never afraid to bite. God forbid Veronica befriended anyone outside of Chandler’s little circle.

But with JD, it was different, like a teenager rebelling against a parent. With JD, Veronica could push aside the petty things in life, like what skirt Nancy Stevens was wearing or how there was another college party next week. He gave her the courage to do things she’d never had the guts to. She had deep conversations with him, talking about the stars and what the future would look like until she fell asleep in his arms, his coat smelling like cigarettes and gunpowder.

When Heather Chandler began to notice that Veronica was slowly drifting away from her group, a wave of fury washed over her. What did Veronica see in that loser, anyway?

Chandler couldn’t really explain why she was so upset at the fact. Maybe it was because Veronica said she had sworn off high school boys, and that was a lie. Or maybe it was something deeper— Veronica’s complete indifference of what the school thought of her, how Chandler felt almost jealous that she could never be Veronica Sawyer. Chandler had spent ages trying to impress Veronica, but to no avail. So how come this little twerp managed to catch her eye in a day?

She had to put it to an end.

It started off with simple daydreams— poisoning Jason Dean and hiding his body where he’d never be found, Veronica crawling back to her looking to be comforted. Or maybe burning him alive in one of his father’s abandoned construction sites, and being a shoulder for Ronnie to cry on.

Then, one day, when she came back from school, she grabbed the address book from the top of her dresser and flipped through it casually, as if she planned to visit an old friend. His address was easy enough to find— who didn’t know Big Bud Dean’s Construction? Her parents weren’t home, which was expected, so Chandler headed out again after printing out the address carefully in her swirly handwriting on a piece of red stationary.

When she knocked at the door it swung open almost immediately, JD standing at the door with a smug look on his face and motor oil smeared on his shirt.

“Well, well, well,” he said, giving a half-bow. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Heather... Duke, is it?”

“Chandler, thank you very much,” Heather sniffed, only slightly offended. She suspected he got her name wrong on purpose. There wasn’t a person at school who didn’t know who she was. “Can I come in?”

“Why, of course,” said JD, unusually courteous. He opened the door wider and walked her into the living room, where a TV spoke in muted tones and a motorcycle wheel covered in motor oil sat on the coffee table. “What brings the occasion?”

Shit. Shit! What was she doing? She had no plan, not even a weapon! Chandler could feel herself breaking into a cold sweat.

Regaining her composure, she said, “It’s about Veronica. We... need to talk.”

“Ronnie, huh? What’s the problem? Is she spending a little too much time away from the kingdom?”

So he was mocking her! Hearing Veronica’s nickname come from his mouth made the anger bubble up inside her. She started to narrow her eyes— then stopped, and smiled sweetly at him.

“Actually... could I get a glass of water? It’s been so dry out, I can almost feel myself being fossilized.”

“Sure, the glasses are in the kitchen, second cupboard to the left.” JD turned away from her, focusing on the motorcycle wheel again.

Chandler ventured through the living room to the kitchen, trying to ignore a picture of a young JD and his parents on a nearby shelf. She filled a glass with water, gulped it down, and took a deep breath. This was it. She was going to be rid of him once and for all.

She quietly pulled open drawers until she found what she was really looking for: a kitchen knife. Holding it behind her back, she called, “Hey, JD, do you think you could give me a hand? I can’t seem to find the glasses anywhere... and you’re the host, I mean— shouldn’t you be getting me water?”

Chandler could hear JD give a huff of annoyance, tools clanking as he set them down on the coffee table. He walked in, wiping his hands on his shirt, seeing the glass on the kitchen counter. He stopped, raising his eyebrows at Chandler with irritation.

“Looks to me like you found them just f-“

Chandler lunged at him with the knife, aiming for his stomach. JD’s eyes widened in surprise, but his demeanor hardened again when he caught her arm just in time. She struggled against it, desperately trying to nick him or at least scare him bad enough that he would leave Veronica alone.

No such luck. JD was a lot stronger than someone who looked so lanky would seem. They were caught in a silent gridlock. As one arm held hers with the knife, something cold pressed against her temple. Chandler looked up in horror to see the same pistol that JD had used a few days ago in the cafeteria against her forehead. Even if it was filled with blanks last time, she wasn’t taking any risks.

As she relaxed, so did JD— only slightly. Instead of looking angry, he had an emotion on his face that made him look much scarier: exhilaration.

“Alright,” he panted, stepping away, still pointing the gun at her. “This isn’t about Veronica, is it?”

“Yes, it is,” Chandler insisted through gritted teeth, still gripping the handle of the knife tightly and pointing it at him. “I want you to break up with her. If you’re even dating her at all. She doesn’t belong with someone like you.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“She said it herself before you got here,” Chandler spat venomously. “That she’d given up on high school boys. She should be at college keggers with me, not going on long walks at the beach with you.”

Chandler couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. This kid had a gun pointed at her, and she was the one making demands. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“You’re... jealous?” JD raised an eyebrow, half amused and half suspicious.

“I’m not jealous— I’m doing what’s best for her. Which is getting rid of you.”

JD chuckled lightly, no mirth in his eyes.

“Sure, okay. Look, why don’t we make a deal?” His hand was steady on his gun, as if he’d done this a million times before.

“Like what?” Chandler’s voice shook slightly.

“I’ll pretend that all this never happened, and let you leave, but only on two conditions: if you continue to let Veronica spend time with me, and you forget all this happened, too. Hell, I’ll even make sure she still has lunch with your little clique. Deal?”

There was no doubt in JD’s voice that he was going to get what he wanted, deal or not. Chandler lowered the knife a slight increment.

“Deal,” she said, feeling as if she had just sold her soul to the Devil himself.

And just like that, JD looked normal again. Almost.

“Great!” he said. “I’ll show you out now.” He guided her out of the house with the pistol pointed at her. “And you can leave the knife on the counter— unless you plan on making some lunch.” He grinned at his own joke. “Goodbye, Heather Chandler,” he said, shutting the door in her face.

Chandler walked home stunned, sure he would keep his promise, but unsure of what was to come.

As soon as he shut the door, JD began to pace around the room. He couldn’t fathom what possibly could’ve driven that girl to try to murder him. It wasn’t friendship, that was for sure. Unless... unless.

Unless she felt the same way about Veronica as he did.

The realization hit him fast, disgust balling up his fists. Stupid. Stupid! He didn’t want another body on his hands, but he knew he should’ve killed her right then in his kitchen. There was no way he and Chandler would be able to coexist in peace if she felt the same way about her that he did.

He was going to have to break their deal.

The weeks went by smoothly as JD created his plan, with Chandler truly seeming to have forgotten their unusual meeting and Veronica completely oblivious. He was much more prepared than Chandler. All he had to do was wait for an opportunity to jump.

It finally came the morning after one of Veronica’s rendezvous at a college party. JD had seen the lights on in her room and crawled in through the window, listening to her rave about how she wanted Heather Chandler out of her life.

It felt like it was too good to be true to JD, as if it was a sign from God that his plan was ready to be put in action.

So, the morning after, he tagged along with Veronica to check up on Chandler.

When Chandler heard footsteps inside her house, fear rocketed through her. Was JD finally here to finish her off? She had had more than a few sleepless nights, with nightmares of Jason Dean breaking into her house and strangling her or shooting her through the forehead (with her corpse looking like a mess!). But she heard Veronica’s voice laughing at his, so she relaxed and feigned sleep. He wouldn’t try anything with her around.

So when JD brought the cup into the room, she assumed that it was that awful concoction of milk and orange juice they were giggling at in her kitchen. When she saw it was blue, she rolled her eyes, thinking they found some food dye to mess with her. She wasn’t going to let JD make a fool out of her again, especially in front of Veronica, so in one last attempt to prove herself to Veronica, she downed the cup in one go.

Immediately after she swallowed a gulp, bitterness stung and burned her throat. She felt like her throat was closing up on her, and she dropped the cup, grabbing at her throat frantically and trying to say something, anything. This is it, she thought. This is when I die.

Struggling to breathe, she choked out, “Corn... nuts,” and blacked out, falling onto the glass table as the darkness engulfed her.

Veronica stood in silent shock, hands going over her mouth. “I just killed my best friend,” she said shakily.

“And your worst enemy,” JD added.

As they slowly pieced together what to do, with JD feigning surprise and shock, she forged the note and turned to leave the house. JD had already left, waiting impatiently for her in the car. But right before she left, something on Chandler’s vanity dresser caught her eye. It was a crumpled-up note, the stationary the same as the one Veronica used to write Chandler’s suicide note with. She unfolded it, smoothing out the creases.

JD’s address was printed on the first line of the paper in Chandler’s discernible flowery handwriting. Veronica frowned in confusion. She looked at JD, out of his line of sight from the car, and pocketed the note.

She never mentioned it to JD, or anyone else, after that day.

Veronica turned to look at Heather Chandler’s lifeless body on the shag carpet. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and fled out of the house.

#fic #heathers fic #heathers fanfic #jd x veronica #heather chandler x veronica sawyer #veronica sawyer #heather chandler #jd #jason dean x veronica #jason dean #fanfiction #heathers #yandere #yandere!chandler #yandere!jd #chandler x veronica #heather duke

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love-and-anarchy-au · 4 years

Text

Love & Anarchy: Chapter 1

helloo!! here’s it!! hope you enjoy this first chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

REMEMBER THIS AU HAPPENS IN THE SAME UNIVERSE THAT THIS ONE

Find out what this AU is about here

Masterlist

WARNING: this chapter includes violence, alcoholism and abusive words.

Tag list: @healing-winston-pratt @dawniebb @obsidianfr3sk @nodrianbcyes @everyone-has-a-nightmare

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Words:

12,174

Part 1: A boy named Alec Artino

4 years old Alec

“Alec!”

Little Alec Artino was playing peacefully with his wooden cubes, stacking and collapsing them; it was a cycle that even back then, he considered precious. Seeing how the cubes fell, the sound of the wood hitting the ground, the chaos and then the silence...beautiful. Alec was wearing his usual, dark, denim clothes, a little worn out but clean overall (they had been washed the day before). His chubby little hands took the cubes carelessly and threw them anywhere, without caution or awareness of the consequences of his actions. Even back then, Alec Artino was a danger.

“Alec! What is going on that you don’t answer? What game are you playing?”

Alec looked up, it was just his sister, Julieta Artino. Julieta had long, wavy, dark hair , like Alec's, only a lot greasier because of her age. She was dressed as she always used to: a long skirt that fell like a waterfall, a short-sleeved shirt that was hidden inside her skirt leaving a crease, a neat waxed wooden rosary hanging from her long neck, and gleaming leatherette loafers (which had been washed the day before). She always wore a fine gold headband, as delicate as herself, and a warm and loving smile to match, which highlighted her usually rosy cheeks. That smile was indestructible, and it was permanent, like Julieta's kindness.

Julieta smiled.

“It's sweet that you think that my smile matches my outfit but I can't help but disagree about the blush. I don’t, Alec!”

Alec smirked. His cheeks were lined with a pair of adorable dimples.

“I never said you blush.”

Julieta gave him a mysterious look, her signature gesture.

“You don't have to say it for me to know, Alec.”

And it was true. Julieta knew everything, Alec didn't know how. Alec suspected she was playing with God's wisdom, like he played with wooden cubes. He had never said it out loud, but every time he thought about it, and Julieta was near, her smile turned into the darkest light ever seen, and she gained and lost a hundred years of life in her shoulders. So he wasn't thinking about that; if it made Julieta feel bad, confused, then it had to disappear from the face of the earth.

No one would touch Julieta, the living angel, his older sister.

“What are you calling me for? I'm playing.”

Julieta placed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Papà is calling us for lunch. By the way, you can't spend your whole life playing,” Julieta frowned slightly and corrected herself “or maybe you can,” Julieta suggested and took Alec's hand, which was sticky and warm.

Alec got on his feet, staggering on his little leather shoes, and followed Julieta into the kitchen, through the narrow hall that connected the different sectors of the little house. The hallway was painted with a yellowed paint, and black and white family pictures hanging on the walls. From where they were, they could smell red wine, mushroom, melted cheese and the tobacco, as if interrupting a harmonious orchestra. A soft and inviting steam called Alec and Julieta to try its predecessor, and a smoke alerted them, told them what they already knew would be in that kitchen.

The kitchen of the Artinos house was small but very comforting and warm, like a woolen blanket passed down from generation to generation. There were four windows framed in white wood, one on each wall; light streamed in, along with a blizzard that hugged Alec's tanned skin. There was a faded wooden table, with a tablecloth of red flowers embroidered on it. There were two people at the table, two human beings: a small boy, with hair with the color of dust and blue eyes like the Mediterranean Sea; and a broad man, with a stubble and hair combed carefully back. The man was reading the newspaper, and smoking a long, thick cigarette. His brow was furrowed (it always was) and his knuckles clenched the paper, threatening to break it. Everything about him was a warning in red ambulance lights and a threat spit in the eyes late at night.

Near the burners, there was a woman. She was skinny in composure, all skin and bone, all soul and body, with a plump face and flushed cheeks like her daughter's. Her dark, wavy hair was tied up in a neatly combed bun, and her plump hands, framed with bitten nails, were wiped against her apron, glittering with no logical provenance. Her full lips formed a smile when she saw Alec.

“Alec! It was about time, bambino. We are about to eat. Julieta, set the table, will you?” said Stella Artino, Alec’s, Julieta’s and David’s, the boy sitting at the table, mother. She patted Alec on the back and guided him to the table, helping him onto the high chair. He sat to the left of his older brother, David Artino, and in front of Julieta. She seemed to have gained years of life since they entered that kitchen, with her prevailing smile, weak and attenuated like a flame that loses its air.

Dante Artino put his newspaper on the corner of the table and raised his cigarette to his thin lips, which were capable of pronouncing the worst words. He inhaled the tobacco on his cigar and then blew it out in an intoxicating puff of smoke. Alec choked back a cough, he would only make his father burn him with his cigarette like the last time he had complained that the smoke was poisoning his still clean, young, lungs. Julieta shrugged, and bit her lips, closing her eyes.

“Woman, bring me a beer,” Dante ordered, his voice scratchy like sandpaper, and taking another long drag on his cigarette, every second smaller.

Stella nodded, submissive and obedient, as she and all women had been taught to be. Along with the bottle of beer, she brought out a crock pot, brimming with steaming and delicious risotto. Stella served the food unevenly. Half for Dante, the rest for the children, a little for Julieta, and what was left over (if there was something left over) for herself. Alec hated watching his mother starve to death under his father's will and his impossible physical standards.

Dante Artino opened his beer and took a long sip, an eternal sip. Everyone (except David, who lived in his inner world) cringed at the daily and hated act. A beer with insults at lunch, a liquor spit in the eyes at dessert, a scotch with belt bumps in the afternoon, and a couple of harsh-screaming wine glasses at night. That used to be the plan of worldly days, and if they were lucky, Dante would get lost in town and come back the next day. That (sadly) didn’t happen very often.

Dante burped and Alec feared the worst.

He feared well.

“And you useless asshole, what have you been doing all day, you fucking bastard?” Dante spat, full of unwarranted hatred and contempt for his youngest son.

Alec froze, trembling, even though that act of contempt was only fire and burning coal against his skin and soul. His lips, his eyelids, his hands, his soul, all in the trembling, shaken by an external and internal earthquake.

“I...I…” Alec hesitated, not knowing how to excuse himself for being alive.

Dante slammed his fist against the table and it trembled, just like Alec. Dante Artino's eyes were lined by red lines, which represented the contempt that gnawed at him. Nothing was ever enough about his son. His lips trembled, glistening with the remnants of lager. More than breathing, he snorted.

“Who gave you permission to answer me, eh? Ungrateful idiot,” he growled. He grabbed his silver fork and scowled a huge portion of risotto into his mouth. He chewed, with his mouth open, the mushrooms and the remnants of quite solid melted cheese at those moments. Alec's eyes were bright, gallons of tears threatened to overflow his eyes and fall on his food. Alec swallowed hard and popped an insignificant portion of risotto into his mouth. All his actions were hesitant, as if he were in a bomb field.

Julieta flinched from an invisible blow, just before it happened. In the second, Dante muttered:

“Julieta, you filthy pig, you're eating too much. You'll end up like your mother, all hideous and useless.”

Juliet did not reply. Alec knew that she knew how to choose her battles, and his father was not a worthy one. She just nodded stiffly and continued eating, cautiously. An angel, an angel, an angel.

Dante grunted, incipient hurricane. He ran his gaze through everyone present, until he reached his son David, the middle brother. A goofy grin, typical of a good-natured drunk and not the aggressive drunk that he was, flashed across his face, and Alec clenched his fork until he felt like he might break it.

“Why don't you learn from David, stupid bitches?” Dante exclaimed, pointing at Juliet and Alec with the empty beer bottle. He burped more and continued, “He has his eight years of life well earned and has helped this family more than you two, ungrateful rats.”

David looked up from his food and smiled sheepishly. Words weren't his thing, but metals were, and the people of the city paid well for them. He was respectful, quiet, and that was what people liked. Furthermore, his eyes were like two crystalline seas; it was impossible not to get lost and unconsciously swim in them.

David had the upper hand, always.

No Artino knew exactly where David got his metals from or what kind of metals they were. They were golden and precious, but they were not gold or copper or bronze. Dante just muttered that it was not important, that since he did not spend a penny to get them and did not cause problems, only the envious would ask where David got his precious metals, which kept him and the Artinos, alive and well fed, living under a roof of red tiles.

Alec had suspicions, but when he exposed them, he only earned a beating of those that you cannot erase even with acetone.

“I wish you were a prodigy, so that I could finish you off and not go to jail for it,” Dante stated/promised/wished, at Alec's hint that David must be a prodigy.

Even through the tears, Alec could see David blush, a few feet from his bruised and painful body.

Dante jumped on his feet and the table shook again.

“I'm going to sleep, don't bother me, you bastards,” Dante muttered violently, and staggered down the hall to his room, like a bleeding animal. He slammed the door. Stella slid in silently, careful that her loafers didn't make a noise when they hit the parqué, and with a copper key in hand, she closed the door carefully, all to guarantee a couple of hours of peace, even if only a couple of hours and nothing more. Returning to the kitchen, she sighed, relieved, freed of a weight, and smiled, genuinely and wearily.

“You are free,” she said. David stood up, wiped his lips with a cloth napkin, and went back to his business. Julieta smiled compassionately and hugged her mother, her arms wrapped around her hips and her face buried in her chest. Her mother stroked her hair, as if she were weaving stories with Julieta's hair. Alec stared at the scene, tiny and insignificant as he was.

Julieta and Stella got ready to wash the dishes, near the sink and cupboards, with the dirty dishes in their hands. Alec stood up, walked on his little legs, and with little leather shoes clanging against the park, tugged at his mother's apron. She lowered her head and smiled when she saw her son.

“Can I help you?” Alec asked helpfully.

Stella laughed, pleased.

“Of course, il mio amore,” Stella agreed and handed him a ragged cloth to dry the dishes, since the boy could not reach the sink.

Julieta, Stella and Alec washed the dishes, while a jazz vinyl was playing. Stella and Julieta rubbed the dishes with their soapy hands and Alec received the wet dishes, dried them with the cloth they had given him. They were a well-oiled and effective machine. Glitters floated in the air; as if they were chased away by Dante when he was present (maybe they were, anything was possible). Julieta sang, with her angelic voice, and Alec did the backing vocals with his childish and tender voice. The sky was blue and huge, the sun illuminated the entire Italian homeland. Time flown when Dante Artino was not present.

Little Alec Artino, knew that.

#love & anarchy #love & anarchy au #my au #ace anarchy's backstory #ace anarchy #alec artino #julieta artino #david artino #dante artino #stella artino #read #reblog #renegades au #before renegades #au

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missblissy · 4 years

Text

Rebirth (Chapter 8)

Alastor X Human!Reader ((Reincarnation!AU))

Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight

((Here is the song that Alastor sings!!))

The book was just too heavy for Charlie’s arms. She heaved a heavy sigh and tried her best not to drop the ancient text. The hotel halls were fairly empty as of right now, but by sundown, she knew this place would be exploding with all kinds of life. The dark halls carried a soft echo within them. It sounded like… Music. It wasn’t any kind of music she was used to hearing this high up in the hotel. In fact, she normally didn’t hear anything from the 23rd floor because Alastor was the only one who lived up here and he was a rather quiet person.

Charlie could just barely make out the sad sing-song monologue that was coming from Alastor’s room. She got closer to his door and did her best to get her ear as close to the wood without touching it. The music sounded nothing like the songs Alastor normally sang or hummed. It didn’t even sound like a song from his time… which was very odd seeing as Alastor was so keen on staying in the past. Did he hear this song or was he singing his own thoughts out loud?

It was sad though. Because on the other side of the door, Alastor was peering into his Water Well, “Headspace….” He muttered quietly to the soft music escaping his frame. “I need a route of my headspace…‘Cause it’s a war in here and I need you to take…” He paused and leaned closer to the Water Well’s surface, “Take her out of my headspace,” His voice was soft as he watched your sleeping form rise and fall with every breath. Threw Buck’s eyes, Alastor watched you sleep peacefully in your bed. Buck sat on a dresser, staring at you intently as his tail flicked back and forth.

Alastor leaned a little closer to the Water Well as he felt an emotion in his chest that only upset him more, “Gonna drive, drive, drive this Cadillac, up the ocean road until it runs out of gas. 'Cause I’m hurt... I laugh and I joke but I’m hurt!” His emotions swelled in his chest and kept boiling bubbles into his throat, making his voice strained with stress, “I’m gonna sing, sing, sing my new swan song, so all the bright young sparks have got a tune they can hum. But it’ll hurt… I’ll dance if they ask but it’ll hurt!”

He moved away quickly from the Water Well and started to pace around his room. He frowned quietly while he came to terms with these feelings he felt. There was pain, sorrow, grief, and mourning all at once. His mouth was closed as his voice continued to sing. There was a grimace on his face as he walked towards the large french doors that led to a balcony off of his room. He opened the curtains slowly, looking towards the massive pentagram in the sky. He could see that little glimmer of clouds and stars in the distance in Heaven above.

Alastor dropped the curtains and moved away from the french doors. He mustered the strength to sing allowed to the song. He hated this song, but not because he didn’t like the way it sounded… He hated the way it made him feel. He hated it even more that he heard you singing it one day to yourself. He was spying on you in the shadows while you cleaned dishes. The song had been stuck in his head for hours. Now it just wouldn’t go away.

“Cause now I feel, feel, feel like a disco ball, from the 1970’s all dusty and worn! And it huuurts... I reflect the light, but it hurts!” He spun around on his heel dramatically and looked to the ceiling of his room, “I use to run, run, run until my knees gave way! I use to wrestle with bears and kiss poisonous snakes. I didn’t caaaaare….! They scratch and they bite I didn’t care, I didn’t care!!”

Slowly Alastor lowered his gaze and had a blank stair focused on the large portrait hanging above the fireplace in his room. It was of your past self and him. A painting of you sitting perfectly in a seat with Alastor behind you. Your hands were folded in your lap and his hand was on your shoulder, “Heeadspaaace,” He sang quietly while staring right into your perfectly painted eyes, “I need a route of my headspace, cause it’s a war in here and I need somebody to say, take her out of my headspaaace,” It pained him to look, but he couldn’t take his gaze away, “These 5.5 liters of blood have some sour taste for your sweet taste buds… You put a war zone inside me. Above and below the neck, above and below the neck…”

He hated this whole god damn situation. He hated that you were gone but still here. He hated that this stupid hotel actually worked. He wished he could go back home to the castle, but you wouldn’t be there and someone else was the new GateKeeper. From the corners of his room, a pair of empty eyes glimmered from the shadows. Eon watched, entertain to see Alastor in distress. Normally he wouldn’t allow for such signs of weakness.

It was interesting to watch Alastor’s thought process. His sadness warped into bitterness and he tore his eyes from your portrait and started to turn away, “Someone flick a light on, the dark just makes it worse. I’m running out of options and I’m lost for words!” He snapped his gaze towards the Water Well, “Little life wrecker, are you gonna let me know?” He smiled bitterly with furrowed brows, “Or keep showing me the compassion of a talk show host?” He watched you sleep away, “I’m not acting my age here and I’m growing up too fast! If these streets are paved with gold- I want my money back!” He was angry now and quickly dipped a finger into the glowing water within.

Buck quickly jumped from the dresser he was perched on and wandered away. The Water Well died down and the soft blue glow turned into a wicked green. As the ripples shifted in size, Alastor could slowly begin to pick out an image. He kept humming the tune to that song. He even muttered, “Heeeadspaace, mhmm hmmm,” Goddammit. He hated it.

His feelings were utterly complicated and unnecessary. He didn’t want to admit that you were dead and gone and replaced with this new version of yourself. He wanted to old you back, the classy sophisticated and mysterious lady that you were. Not this... innocent and clueless child. Well, young adult but compared to him you were still incredibly young. He knew however that he had to accept this change or lose you forever. He could not deny that there was indeed something there between the two of you. Your soul was like a warm and familiar hug that he wanted to hide in forever.

Alastor fought with his very being to not do what he wanted, and that was to simply taint your soul and drag you down to hell. However, he knew how selfish and idiotic that was. He needed to win you over, he needed to get to know the new you and make you fall in love with him. Alastor was incredibly bitter about it, but he was slowly letting go of those emotions as he talked himself down. At the end of the day, that was still your soul, and he still loved that part of you. And maybe, just maybe, your memories were locked in there too. If he could find a way to bring your memories back, then maybe... There was a chance he’d get the love of his life back. If not, Alastor had to get comfortable with the idea that she was gone and you replaced her. Regardless, Alastor wasn’t going to let your soul go. You were and always will be his soulmate no matter how many times you were reincarnated you’d always be his and he’d always be yours. He was willing to do whatever it took to bring your soul back home to him. He just wanted to get back to his eternal damnation with you. He wanted to go back to the castle, forget the hotel, and live his solitary life with you as the decades pass by.

Alastor peered into the swirling water of the well. The green glow started to fade away and into the soft sky blue it was only a few moments ago. The well showed him a window to a clean little white house. A crow sat on a branch staring into the window of someone’s home. It was Sage’s home, and Alastor was watching that stupid witch fold her clothes and put them away. He had summoned a familiar, similar to Buck, and used this creature as his ears and eyes on earth when he couldn’t be there himself.

Within seconds Sage started to look around, dammit, she could sense him. Alastor continued to watch Sage through the crow’s eyes. She wandered over to the window and looked around before locking her gaze with the crows. Sage quickly opened the window waved her pointer finger in the air with a quick flick of her hand. Pure magic zapped from her fingertip like lightening in a wave of blues and whites. As soon as it came in contact with the crow, the magical bird poofed into a cloud of smoke and Alastor couldn’t see anything in the Water Well anymore.

Music still softly played within his room, waving off his radio heart. As much as he didn’t want this, he couldn’t help it. Sometimes his radio heart would sing and play music against his will, exposing the emotions he’d been bottling up. He remembered a cloudy and lost memory as he walked away from the Water Well, it was from decades ago when he and you had only just started dating. He was walking around the courtyard of the castle, you had just plucked a dying flower from wilting bushes and as you stood up the wind blew your hair just right. He could smell the cherry blossoms and peaches wafting from your fluttering hair, the sun casting perfectly on your face and making your eyes sparkle. That sight alone caused Alastor to quickly fall in love with you, you were so beautiful and graceful and you flustered him so much that his radio heart started singing songs against his own will. He’d beat his fist against his chest and every time he whacked his ribs a new love song would start playing. He couldn’t get it to stop and you stared at him with a blush growing on your cheeks. The two of you were terribly awkward when you first met... Nothing like now. Nothing was the same.

Meanwhile, as a new song softly played, Charlie was still on the other side of his door. She felt… Awkward. She had heard everything and felt guilty for listening. She wasn’t sure what was going on in there but it sounded... Not natural of Alastor. She knew him as a chaotic entertainer, a happy sinner, and a killer. When in the world would he have ever heard that song and why….. Why the fuck was he singing it? Was he actually in as much pain as it sounded? She honestly couldn’t know.

Maybe she could just drop the book off and walk away- Oh… OH! Shit! The book was starting to slip between her tired fingers then it quickly fell from her grasp. It thudded right onto the ground. Not even a millisecond later the music scratched like a record and stopped. Alastor’s door was opened and there he was. Glowing smile and flashing red eyes peering down at her with his sharp grin growing in size.

“Heellooo~?” Alastor drawled, “What brings you here, Charlie?”

“Uh!” She froze and felt a bead of sweat grow on her temple, “I brought the book!” Charlie chuckled quickly and lifted the damn thing from the ground, “My dad said to keep it actually!” Then she shook her head, “What the hell is this?”

Alastor quickly took the book from her and held it as if it weighed nothing, “Just an old book,” He quickly turned and wandered back into his room. He left the door open willingly and let Charlie wander inside. He needed a little cheering up, and messing with the princess’s head was always a good pick-me-up. He walked over to a small table in the middle of his room, right between his bed and fireplace. He set the book down and quickly opened it up.

Hesitant, Charlie made her way over, then looked up at the tall and overly sized portrait painting, “You hung it back up...” She started to smile weakly, “I never thought I’d see her up there again,” Charlie felt a ping of pain within her heart. Bittersweetly she missed you but was happy you had moved on. You were the first successful soul to be rehabilitated at the hotel. Honestly, Charlie didn’t know a damn thing about how or why it happened, whether it had something to do with her or the hotel, she didn’t know. But she still missed you, you were still a close friend and she smiled sadly at your portrait.

Alastor ignored the princess, his back was to her and he was focused on the task at hand. He didn’t say anything and let a small smile rest on his lips as he worked away. Charlie walked over with a wary step and peered over his shoulder.

She had never seen that book before, she didn’t even know her father had it... Well her mother actually had it but that didn’t mean anything. It was called the Libro Vitae. It was apparently a.... weapon. Angel weaponry to be exact. But how? It was just a book, wasn’t it? When she watched Alastor’s long claws trace the pages, she realized she couldn’t read any of the text, “What is this, Al?” The words were in a language she couldn’t read and had never seen before. They were cut up symbols and dots and dashes.

“The Book of Life. It’s a spellbook, my lady, nothing you’d be interested in. Old Angel Tech,” He paused and slowly flipped a few pages before pausing on a page with summoning circles on both open pages, “Can you be a doll and grab that bottle over there?” He didn’t look up once from the book, he just pointed in the general direction he wanted her to go in.

She looked over and saw a fancy bottle made of dark blue glass. It was on a shelf near the Water Well. Charlie had seen one before but had never used it. It honestly just looked like a glowing green birdbath. She took a quick peek into it’s rippling waters and saw nothing. Something told her to touch the water, Charlie looked over at Alastor to make sure he was still nose deep in the book, then she quickly dipped a finger into the well. It started to glow and suddenly she saw someone. It was Vaggie! She could see her girlfriend scolding Angel Dust down in the lobby of the Hotel.

“Are you serious!? You can’t be! It’s not even that much!” Angel had a frown embedded into his face and his teeth bared, “Do you know what I had to do to get my hands on that!?”

Vaggie was in the middle of tearing up some kind of printed paper, “No. Drugs. Allowed. LSD is on that list of drugs!”

A hand tightly gripped Charlie’s shoulder and when she snapped her gaze up, Alastor was grinning in her face, “Not what I asked you to do. Geeze, my lady, for a princess you sure don’t know how to take an order. I just can’t wait for the day you ascend to the throne!”

Charlie frowned at Alastor’s sarcasm, “I wasn’t doing anything- I just wanted to see what would happen! It just... did that,” Charlie waved a hand at the Water Well and ducked as Alastor reached over her and grabbed the blue bottle he had asked for, “My mother has a Water Well and this thing has to be broken. It’s nothing like hers. She uses it to talk to people, like a phone?”

Alastor chuckled and mocked Charlie’s lack of intelligence, “Silly little girl,” He cooed, “This isn’t just any Water Well, it’s mine. And this particular well shows what the heart desires the most at the time of your call,”

Stars began to form in Charlie’s eyes as she realized what he was saying. She looked back and almost died of happiness, she touched the water again and it stayed on Vaggie, “Aw,” It felt oddly nice to know that her heart was set on Vaggie. But what about Alastor? Charlie didn’t even know that Alastor had a heart to begin with... Well, he did at one time, sort of. She looked at him with large eyes, “What about you, Al?”

He didn’t say anything, he just let his grin die a little on his face as he dipped the very tip of his finger into the water. It splashed and rippled for a few moments then focused on someone just getting out of bed. It took Charlie a few seconds to realize what she was seeing, “Is-... Is that a human!?” Then she realized that this human was what Alastor’s heart desired most. She leaned closer to him while whisper yelling, “What do you want with a human?” Then her gaze grew concerned, “You’re not going to hurt her are you?”

Alastor chuckled, “Haha, no, my lady, I have no intentions of such things,” then proceeded to walk away from the Water Well. Charlie stayed there, however, staring down into the well, “I just want to bring her back home,” Alastor said as he went back to the large book. He twisted open the blue bottle and a small pink perfume of smoke sparkled out. It smelled like cherry blossoms and peaches, it was your favorite perfume before you had been reincarnated.

Charlie could smell it too, then it clicked in her head. She instantly thought of you when that sweet scent reached her nose, then she peered into the Water Well, “Oh my God,” Shock crawled onto Charlie’s face as she lifted a hand to her mouth, “It’s (Y/n)... isn’t it? I thought you said she went to Heaven?”

Thankfully Alastor’s back was towards Charlie, so she couldn’t see the slight flicker of disdain on his face. He was standing over the book as he dripped the smallest drop of perfume onto the pages with a second drop of blood from the tip of his finger, “I lied,” He said smoothly, “She was reincarnated and sent back to Earth. Don’t have a God damn clue as to why, or what was so special about her though, unfortunately,” The book sparkled and started to glow pink light from runes and summoning circles

Walking over with caution, Charlie stood beside Alastor. She had a sad and sorry look on her face as she placed a hand on his arm, “That sounds like it’s taking a toll on you. You must be dealing with a lot right now,” Her words were kind and comforting, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Not at all. He just gave her a kind smile and shook his head, “What’s there to talk about, my lady? I’m perfectly fine!” Alastor lied through his grin. Meanwhile, the book had calmed down and Alastor was just about to get to the spell he wanted to cast when something else sounded from behind him.

It was you, calling to him through the Water Well. You had woken up and already started your day. It was a Saturday and you didn’t have a single plan. You hadn’t seen Alastor since a few nights ago when he took you on the magical trip to New Orleans. You wanted to see him again, however, and you weren’t sure if you just had to wait around for him or maybe he was waiting for you to summon him.

You weren’t going to wait and find out, “Alastor...?” You called while sitting on the edge of your bed. Sleep was still caked into the corners of your eyes. You rubbed the knuckle of your finger into your eye and called again while yawning, “Aalaa- asstoorr? You ‘round?”

Back in his room, Alastor flicked his gaze between the Water Well and Charlie. He stared at her for a second longer, she had the biggest grin on her face, from ear to ear, and stars twisting in her eyes. She looked like she was about to explode with excitement and giddiness. He already knew what she wanted, and he couldn’t say no because this was truly an entertaining event to see. The Princess of Hell? Going to Earth for a day? Oh, Lucifer would just love that, wouldn’t he? And how well would Charlie react to humans? She was a pureblood demon after all... Alastor just had to see this.

With a quick wave of his hand, a portal opened and Alastor extended his arm for Charlie to take. She quickly locked her elbow with his and started to giggle and laugh with excitement. The two jumped gracefully through the portal and startled the ever-living shit out of you.

You watched as a portal opened and spit out two demons. Startled, you jumped backward onto your bed and lifted your arms to cover your face, “Jesus fuck!” You yelled, “Can’t you give me a little warning?!” You saw Alastor in his fully demonic form grinning wickedly as he tried to hold a very small and less intimidating girl. She looked like she was ready to scream. She bit her lip as he rosy-red cheeks puffed out and her eyes sparkled.

“U-uh...” You started, confused as to why Alastor had brought whoever that was... here, “Who’s that?”

“HELLO!” The girl quickly tore herself from Alastor’s grip and approached you with a huge smile. It wasn’t wicked or intimidating like Alastor’s, it was large and happy and filled with joy, “My name’s Charlie! I use to know you in Hell!” She held her hand out to you.

You hesitated then shook her hand, “Hi...?” Charlie didn’t really look like a demon that much. She definitely didn’t look human, but she could pass for a cosplayer or something like that.

“I didn’t know humans could be so colorful!” What was she talking about? “Hey Al? What is this?” She started to point her finger around you. You felt awkward and you just sat there, frozen and unsure how to react.

At first, Alastor ignored Charlie, and even pushed her aside as he approached you. He held his hand out for you, offering to help you up. You took your hand in his and couldn’t suppress the shiver and delight that raced down your spine. Instantly you felt that warm fuzzy static that sparked in your heart every time you touched him.

“I’m sorry to burden you like this, my darling,” Alastor pulled you to your feet smoothly and with grace, “I know you called, but I seemed to have brought along a friend, and I’m sure you didn’t expect that!” He smiled at you then gestured to Charlie, “This is Princess Charlotte Magne,” You saw Charlie give a small glare at Alastor, “She’s the heiress to the throne!” He then turned to Charlie and started to clap as little streamers and confetti ignited around her, manifested by Alastor.

It sunk in that Charlie just wasn’t any other demon. She was the demon. The Princess of Hell, “Shit... okay,” You said slowly.

“And that-” Alastor started to speak again, he waved his hand around your head and said, “Is and aura, and that-” He pointed to your chest, “Is a living human soul,” You had no idea what they were talking about and you couldn’t see a damn thing either. It must have been some kind of special demon vision.

“Ooh, okay!” Charlie made a little face of understanding, “Do all humans have these colors?”

“Indeed,” Alastor said quickly. He then grabbed Charlie by her arm and started to walk towards your bedroom door, “Come now, Charlie! Let’s give our friend some time to get dressed, yes?”

“Okay but! What about animals? Do they have- AH!” Charlie was pushed out of your room and Alastor quickly left while closing the door behind him. So this is how your day was going to start, huh? You thought you’d get a little personal time with Alastor to ask some questions about your past life. Nah, you were going to do whatever the hell was waiting for you outside your bedroom door. _______________

You had just gotten dressed, finally slipping on your last sock when you heard a loud bang from your living room. Suddenly there was a crash followed by yelling and shouting. What the hell...? Buck stayed hidden under your bed as you pulled open your door.

Things had gone from pretty okay to fucking shitty real fucking fast. You were met with not two, not three, but four fucking demons making a mess of your home. You had seen the very last seconds of a portal closing as two demons were picking themselves up off the floor.

“Charlie!” A girl yelled. She had one good eye and a large ‘X’ for the other one. Her hair was long and white and cast down the entire length of her back, “What has gotten into you? Do you even know where we are?” She got up and walked towards Charlie, concern, and fear on her face, “This is the surface. We can’t be here! Your father will lose his god damn mind!”

“It’s just for a couple hours Vaggie,” Charlie smiled softly. She quickly took Vaggie’s hands in hers, “You know I’ve always wanted to! Please! No one has to know,” There was a soft pleading in Charlie’s voice.

Whatever it was, it worked on Vaggie and she sighed, “Just for an hour,” She said sternly, “There are demon hunters here, Charlie, they can kill us.”

Suddenly the last demon was getting to his feet, “Kill us how?” His accent sounded local. He was much taller than the rest of them, he looked like a white spider and much more demonic than any of them. His eyes didn’t match and his hair swept in and out of his face, “I ain’t looking to die again, I’m not even sure why the hell I jump through that fucking portal anyways,”

“They’d kill us for good, Angel,” Vaggie explained, “We wouldn’t go back to hell, our souls would be destroyed and we’d cease to exist. I’d rather we’d just get out of here. The longer we stay the more we risk getting killed,”

“Demon hunters?” Charlie seemed confused. She looked over at Alastor for a second then back to Vaggie, searching for an answer in her face.

“They’re humans who kill any demon that dares to manifest on the surface,”

“Do they work for the church?” Angel butted in with his own question.

“No,” Vaggie said, “They have their own cult or something and a lot of them are witches and warlocks. They think if they kill enough demons they’ll go to heaven because their pagan blood damns them to hell from the day of their birth.”

How did Vaggie have all this knowledge on Demon Hunters? And not to forget Sage, your best fucking friend was a god damn demon hunter. It was also at this moment when everyone seemed to notice you standing awkwardly in your doorway. Everyone was staring at you, even Alastor. In fact, he started walking away from the rest of them as he quickly manifested some kind of microphone.

“Hello! Testing? Ah!” Alastor’s radio voice shifted in and out tune within the static filter, “Why you’re such a dashing darling doll, ain’t ya sweetheart?” Alastor stood beside you and spoke into the microphone as he smiled wide, “Please, my dear, introduce yourself to our lovely listeners! All of Hell awaits your words!”

Was this some kind of skit or was he actually broadcasting? You nervously laughed, “Ah-haha... I’m, (Y/n) (L/n)... Hello,” You smiled then gave a small wave of your hand at the others. Charlie smiled and waved back while Angel and Vaggie stared at you with eyes the size of dinner plates.

“Now! (Y/n),” Alastor brought the microphone back to his lips, he gave you this smug little smile while eyeing you up and down. You felt incredibly nervous and flustered under his gaze, “Are the rumors true? Are you, in fact, the reincarnated soul of our beloved Mistress (Y/n), The Crybaby Demon?”

He quickly twisted the microphone back to you, a large toothy smile on his face as his eyes grew large and a faint red glow manifested within them. You peered back towards the other three for a second then pulled a weak smile onto your face, “Yeeess...?” It was hard to answer that question with any confidence because you still weren’t sure if you were crazy or not.

“Well!” Alastor spoke into the microphone, “You heard it here, folks! Straight from this darling’s pretty little mouth! I simply just can not believe it! Damned souls really do have a chance at redemption, don’t they? Why! The Princess of Hell is even here as well! What say you, dear?”

In a quick puff of smoke, Alastor disappeared then manifested beside Charlie. He shoved the microphone into her face and edged her on to say something, “Um- Yes, yes they do Al! We’ve had many souls make it to heaven, b-but this is the first reincarnation! It just goes to show that there are second chances!”

“Excellent! Simply marvelous!” Alastor said happily, “Isn’t that sweet? How utterly disgustingly heartwarming that is, that despite being a murderer, a sinner, a thief, a liar, a backstabber, a trickster and my favorite of all, a victim of suicide... A soul as rotten as our beloved (Y/n) can be cleaned entirely of every ounce of sin and freed to the surface,” He had a smile on his face but his voice was strained and threatening, “We must tune in to see what happens next!” Alastor snapped his fingers and the microphone was gone. It didn’t end there, however, as he closed his eyes and smiled wide his form quickly changed in a misty wave of smoke. As he opened his eyes, he was in his human form with a pleasant grin on his face.

Alastor quickly summoned a fancy little cane then gave a firm whack on to each of the other’s heads. As he smacked Charlie’s head with the other end of the cane she was overtaken in a wave of sparkles and stars that transformed her into a human disguise. The same happened as he hit Vaggie and Angel. Without a second of hesitation, Alastor walked back to you and took your arm in his.

He smiled down at you, “Isn’t this fun?” He asked a little too firmly, “Our friends are here to spend an hour with us! What do humans do for fun these days, my darling?”

That was more of a question for someone with a social life. Sure, you had friends, but you weren’t the kind to go out and party until you couldn’t see straight. Fuck... you were a goodie goodie weren’t you? You had a better idea, “Well, what do you guys do for fun?”

“Drugs,” Angel answered quickly, “Oh, and fucking. Lots of drugs and fucking and both, and maybe a little tiny bit little baby ounce of killing if a bitch needs to die,”

“Don’t listen to him,” Charlie smiled after giving Angel a pointed look, while she spoke, Angel wandered off to your window, “We do a lot, singing. Dancing, helping others and helping ourselves! I like musicals and movies!”

“I like rock shows,” Vaggie said quietly, she seemed nervous to talk about herself, “Raves are cool too. I use to like the groupie life, going to underground clubs and concerts,”

“Wait a sec- W-where are we?” Angel quickly cut in, “Is... is this New York?” He was still looking out the windows, he pulled the curtains back and saw the city life around you, “I can’t believe! Fuck! I- I gotta see what’s happened to this place! I want to go to Manhatten!” No one argued with him.

So that's how you ended up going to Manhatten, specifically Central Park. Apparently, this was one of Angel’s favorite places to escape to when he was alive. Alastor worked his magic and within seconds you jumped through a portal and you landed among some trees. The fresh air was nice, it was cool and warm and perfect out.

“I use to come here all the time,” Angel sighed, “It still smells the same,” There was a smile on his face, his cheeks were covered with freckles and a faint pink tint. He seemed like he was in heaven, or he was thinking of a simpler time when he was alive.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” You could hear Charlie whisper to Vaggie, “Maybe this could help his redemption?” Vaggie only shrugged as you all started to walk along the paved paths.

Angel walked ahead, he seemed like he wanted to enjoy this alone. Like a teacher ringing in their toddler students, Alastor kept an eye on everyone. Vaggie and Charlie walked a few paces ahead of you and Alastor. He had apologized again for bringing them along, giving you the impression that he didn’t want them here.

“It’s okay,” You told Alastor, “They use to know me, right?” He nodded his head with a smile, “Then I want to get to know them again. Just like I am with you,” For some reason, you saw Alastor’s eyebrow twitch despite the smile growing on his face, it didn’t reach his eyes.

Jealousy boiled behind Alastor’s mask, he didn’t want to share you with them. He didn’t want to share you with anybody, for that matter. Simply because he knew your heart could be easily swayed because you were a human. He didn’t want anyone to steal you away, and everyone was competition at this point. Whether it be for your love, your attention, your desires, and your dreams, it didn’t matter. He wanted it all. He spoke in a calm tone, “That’s very nice of you, my dear,” He said as he fixed his gaze on Charlie.

She was acting like a child in a toy store. Vaggie had to hold her hand and walk her along because she kept introducing herself to people, saying she was just a normal human that wanted to make some new friends. It was kind of funny honestly, watching her scare people with her overly aggressive friendliness. You also noticed that Angel had slipped away, you couldn’t see him and you were about to say something when Alastor stopped walking entirely.

You looked up at him and watched as he started looking around. His eyes flashed back and forth behind his circular glasses, “Hm,” He hummed quietly. You began to notice that Vaggie and Charlie were wandering off, everyone was splitting up, “My dear,” Alastor said slowly. You gaze up at him and saw him close his eyes and smile, “I really do hate your cunt of a friend,” Then suddenly like a flash of lightening you felt time and space warp around you just as your heared the sound of the wind rushing up behind you.

Everything moved too fast and you couldn’t focus on anything until time stopped. You realized Alastor had grabbed you and turned the both of you into a cloud smoke while escaping the park. You reformed into solid mass in an alleyway a few blocks over. It was dark and empty as pigeons were startled away.

You felt like vomiting, your body couldn’t handle that kind of magic and your mind was spinning. It was so hard to process what had just happened. You almost fell to your knees but Alastor caught you under your arm and held you up, “What just happened?” You asked weakly, “What was that?”

You asked way too many questions, too many to for your own good, “I saved us, if only for a few seconds,” Alastor said, “I warped us away from your friend before she could attack,” He then sighed with a shrug of his shoulders, “I hope she doesn’t go after the others, I didn’t think she’d be here that quick to be quite honest with you,”

“My friend?” You were confused, who was he talking about? Suddenly you heard a deep whomping sound that mimicked thunder in the sky, except it was quiet and close.

You saw before your very eyes as someone fazed in from several feet up in the air as the warped from the park. As soon as her feet slammed onto the ground, you felt your heart race then stop cold, Sage slowly lifted herself up from the ground as a gust of wind burst through the alleyway.

It was enough the tangle your hair behind you and send cold chills along your skin, “I knew it,” Sage said, you could barely see the disappointment on her face as it mixed with a darker emotion you couldn’t figure out, “I didn’t want to believe it, and you even brought more here?”

You already knew where this was going, “Sage, wait!” You step forward, leaving Alastor's side so you could approach your friend, but the wind picked up so fast that it prevented you from getting any closer, “Please! You don’t have to do this!”If only you could get her to listen. She had such a dark and evil look on her face like she was possessed by something greater than what you could understand. She quickly gave a wave of her hand and the wind pushed you away from Alastor and to the side of the alleyway. You were pinned to the brick wall and you couldn’t move, “He’s not even hurting anyone!” You yelled. All the while Alastor stood there, still, silent, a smile on his face and eyes growing larger as his grin turned more and more demonic.

“Listen to your friend, witch!” Alastor said, “I really don’t want to waste my time fighting you! Let’s both move on, shall we-”

“No!” Sage cut him off as the wind died down, you were still held back against the brick wall as if you were held back behind invisible bars, “I won’t let you get away this time!” This Time?

You looked back to Alastor and saw Eon grow to life from his shadow. He walked out of the dark, smoke flowing from every one of his steps. His body was still made of smoke and you could see the transparency of his misty figure. He walked beyond Alastor, standing evenly between him and Sage.

His voice was low and demented, wicked and evil, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to see you again, little one,” Empty holes for eyes grew in size and hunger as he stared Sage down.

“I’m not so little anymore,” She didn’t miss a single beat, “You will die here, today,” She suddenly swung her hand out and in a fit of crystals and sparks her rapier was summoned from thin air, “You should have killed me when you had the chance,”

Eon held his arms open as he smiled, “But I still managed to kill your father,” His words struck a nerve within Sage. She quickly caught the sword in her hands, holding it out as an extension of her arm, “Your father wasn’t strong enough to harness the power of that sword, child! What makes you think you can? Just hand it over, Lucifer wants it more than you need it!”

She took a deep breath in, proving Eon that he had spoken too soon. Suddenly a loud and terrifying crack of lightning exploded from the sword. The sheer power of it was enough the blow away Eon’s misty form and cause Alastor’s knees to wobble underneath him. As the smoke cleared away from Sage, you could see her in a fighting stance, the rapier glowing wildly with lighting and magic flowing through every inch of its blade. Electricity coursed through the rapier and continued to venture down Sage’s arm and into her body. A summoning circle formed under her feet, growing and glowing in size as she took one step forward to leap and thrust her blade towards Alastor.

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officialleehadan · 4 years

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Of Water

When we leave the Master carver’s house, it is with a small house marked on our map. It’s a three-day journey to get there, but it is not out of our way, and I don’t worry that we are losing time. My Mistress is glad of it as well. She has a loving heart, and hates to pass by those who need her, but we do have somewhere to be, and we are racing the stars to be there before her prophesy comes due.

So we travel onward, through the desert, along the deep-rutted cart road that is marked by caravans, coming and going. We walk along side them sometimes as my Mistress trades knowledge and herb-craft for the things we need, and I rove away from camp in the evenings to return with whatever I can find that looks edible.

I admit, I’m glad when the sand-desert turns to scrubland. The hunting is better, and so is the foraging. The people of the caravans are welcoming and more so when we offer to share the fruits of my hunting for the heat of their cooking pots and good spices. Full bellies make for good company, and the Travelers know the news from everywhere on the continent.

War is brewing in the south, although we knew that already. The South is always at war with someone, and if not with someone else, with themselves. The east and north, my home, battle hoards of monsters that seem to spring anew from the ground every night. I wish my sisters well, and hope they fight long and hard in the defense of our temple. We built it to with sand the end of the world. Since it seems to me that the world will soon be ending, I hope we built it well enough.

My Mistress tangles her fingers with mine and squeezes hard when the Travelers tell us of the north, and I squeeze back, because I should be there, fighting with my sisters, but if we, my Mistress and I, if we succeed in our quest, we may save my home and the world even yet.

The west is silent, but it is the silence before a storm. Rumors abound, but the cities in the west have shuttered, and the Travelers are not welcome there any longer. It might be as simple as a bad king, but I don’t think so.

My Mistress tells me, in the quiet we share as we wrap up in our bedroll together, that her heart beats west-west-west, and that whatever is happening there, it is what she has been called to fight.

She does not say it, but the words ‘where I am prophesized to die’ linger between us until I pull her close and make a wall of myself, strong and solid between her and her Fate.

If Death wants her, He will have to fight me for her soul.

On the third day, we part ways with the caravans and turn our feet deep into the craggy, crumbling hills of the desert. I know little of the desert, but my Mistress is anxious as we walk along the thin trail through a ravine. When I ask why, she tells me of terrible floods, born of storms so far away that no mortal eye could know of them. Of a wall of brown water, thick and full of stone and sticks that will destroy anything in its path.

I watch the ravine walls more carefully after that, and make plans for how to escape if such a flood comes on us. When the trail takes us out of the flood-channel, I breathe a sigh of relief. Bad enough to have the Prophesy bearing down on us. We don’t need natural dangers on top of it.

The trail nearly vanishes, and we search among washed-out stones and scrub and cactus that look furry until you touch them and discover the thorns. My Mistress laughs at me as she heals my hand and I mutter curses, but she also shows me how to peel the sweet cactus fruit and kisses me with juice-stained lips.

It is nearly sundown when we find the oasis.

There is a crack in the rocks, so small we might never have seen it at all if the Master Carver had not told us of it before we left. Indeed, we might not have found it at all if I hadn’t suddenly smelled water.

But find it we did, and the stone finally revealed the secrets we sought.

The oasis is not so large as some we have seen on the road. The Travelers have camps at each one along the way, and those tent-cities are very nearly full towns themselves, ever-changing, but nearly permanent. This oasis is not so large, but when I look around, I see clear signs of magic at work. The plants are healthy, kept pruned and cared-for. The path meanders through the oasis and under cloth coverings that break the worst of the desert heat. I can smell flowers, and the heady scent of ripening fruit that hangs heavy from the trees around us.

Set into the stone on the far side of the oasis is a house.

It is a modest place. Not small, for it would be counted the finest in any small town, but not a manse. Not extravagant in the way I have seen in the cities we have passed to get here. Windchimes hang from the eaves, and I am amazed to see that a spring high above pours water down through deep channels in the stone walls. I wonder why, until I realize how much cooler the air around the house is. The water must serve to cool the house where many rely on magic.

The door opens almost as we set foot on the stoop, and a man smiles at us. He is a strong man, tall and well-built. His hair is still gold as a coin, although it and his beard are shot through with silver, and there are deep smile-lines around his mouth and eyes. His shirt hangs open, and I can see a terrible scar that splits his skin, directly over his heart. Only a moment later, another man appears, as old as the first, and wearing the scars of a hard life. His skin is the deep brown of the Southern Isles, so dark it could almost be coal, and his eyes are inhuman blue. I wonder who he is, until he wraps his arm around the first man’s waist, and rests a hand over the terrible scar, and I don’t have to wonder anymore.

This man was willing to fight Death for his Hero. I meet his eyes, and know we are friends already, bound by our love of those Fated to die.

“It’s been a long time since I met another Fated,” the Hero says before we can even offer a greeting. He looks between us, and his eyes go soft with fondness as he holds onto his own Love, and smiles. “Come inside. I can see we have much to discuss, and time, as always, is never on our side.”

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space-blue · 4 years

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The Dreglund

Fourth competition win

Juni 32nd

At last, a new notebook! Hydrophobic paper is incredibly hard to obtain here, despite the city being so close to the Dreglund and all the rainfall that feeds it. The locals make a cheap pulp paper from the ocean of grasses that surround them. Logical, if unpractical for me. I was growing anxious after I placed my finished travelogue and books in storage, having nothing safe to write on. I will have to limit sketches, lest I run out of space in the wild. Already I feel the strain, not being able to document my stay in Ikurstuk as I wish... Ikurstuk, city of salt! As far East as any Explorator has gone, and mostly unchanged since Damasia and Edolan's visits. Both did a great job at sketching the city, yet it feels like they hardly scratched the surface! I keep my resolve, however, and have taken rooms only for ten days, by the end of which I fully intend to have finished my preparations to cross the Dreglund desert.

Julli 2nd

Almost ready. I'm glad now for all the iddle time on the caravan, with nothing to do but learn Kush. Ikurstukies speak enough Imperial to sale their wares and count their money, but the rest is Ikkurie, a blend of Kush and Arandi. The promise of news from the Empire and the Salt Road opens any door, and people gladly answer my questions (once they're done stuffing me into a coma, that is. Ikkies (as they call themselves), consider that any herald of news should be fed and housed for as long as they desire. Had I known as much sooner, I'd not have taken rooms. I've made good friends with several people (see portrait of Etti and Karluk in annexe), which has helped a lot with my purchases. Better prices, better quality. Mind you Ikurstuk has no tourist traps, having no tourists to fool. Only caravaners come this far East. Etti keeps trying to discourage me of going further. She doesn't understand my interest for the Dreglund. I tried to explain, how uncharted land is the life blood of Explorators, that turning around where others stopped defeats the entire point of my trade. Whatever I say, she doesn't think that meeting the Dalai people is worth facing their homeland and risking my life.

Beliefs/facts on the Dreglund, as Ikkies tell them:

- No water can be drunk in it, not even the one that falls from the sky. - The desert will lose you in it, and only star navigation allows its crossing. - Salt bogs will turn you into a salt-mummy and preserve you so well your soul will remain trapped within. - Akambo bloodsuckers will drain you dry. - Dalai people will kill you if you reach the other side. (This one has many variant, with Dalai killing you on sight, eating you, or keeping you as slave. They have a broad back.)

Even the herders and grass-cutters I've met with, who often venture in the Dreglund for a day trip harvesting blue bladed tuft (annexe 2), have all tried to discourage me. Damasia did report the Ikkies' superstitions around it were strong, but I didn't expect this much resistance.

Julli 4th

Went to say farewell to Bank's caravan. Etti came with me. They were loaded with salt and took my letters and the copies of my travelogue I redacted during our trip together (ah, the endless days swaying under the sun with nothing to see but grasses swaying to a different rythm). It was the last thing I had to take care of. I am done packing, and leaving tomorrow morning at dawn. Etti and a youngster called Meluk braided my hair in a fashion they say will bring me luck.

Julli 5th

Finished setting camp, if you can call "sitting in your fibrococoon" setting camp. Everything is as bleak as was described to me, and as amazing as I expected it to be: the endless shimmer of the water, broken by grasses of colours my pens can do no justice to. The noise of bubbles and insects giving the place a constant hum, besides my splashes–and I seem to be the only creature making splashes here! I've seen no fish of any size, no amphibians either, no salt spires, no Dalai... I'm commiting a lot of what I'm seeing to Long-Memory. No point in wasting paper. I have learned nothing new on this gorgeous, endless plane of poisonous water in which little ekes a living. But so far everything I have read about it turned out to be true, including the water never rising higher than my shins.

Julli 6th - Morning

May not have seen much wildlife, but the wildlife saw me... I believe I met the infamous akambo, which are much bigger than I thought. Red blazing eyes in the night, snorting noises and the liquid sound of limbs accustomed to moving smoothly through water... They didn't get to me, but I understand how Ikkies without an Explorator's fibrococoon would be threatened. Tired from the broken sleep but moving on. Loads of ground to cover again.

Julli 8th

Today I've learnt two things. I guess I can only blame myself for not figuring this out sooner. I woke to find my bag gone. It was over twenty meters away from me, and shredded through. All my water was gone, yet the bag was still pegged against the same tuft of blue grass. So. When the Ikkies say Dregl ik svafar – the desert will lose you – they mean to say the desert moves under your feet. I've looked closer and seen the signs, the rising silt along hair-thin fault-lines. I am standing in an ankle deep ocean coating tremendous plate tectonic. The persistent buzzing sound, I wager, may even come from this permanent shuffle. And when Ikkies say akambo will suck you dry, they don't mean that they're exclusive bloodivores, but that they'll drink any fluid they find, from my water reserves to, eventually, my blood. I'm getting thirsty, but only have my standard water purifier. Using it in the notoriously foul water of the Dreglund could well sign my end.

Julli 11th

Was so thirsty. Burning pain and hallucinia–cination. Water purified was BEST thing ever ever. Until night. So sick. Like water from my bdy needed out, every pore, out out. Doing Akambo work for thm. Shame. I walked, so much. Sick and walk. Scared to it–eat more. It's horribe–ble, the thirst, with water EVERYWHERE, just there, but drink and die? No. Akambo stalking still. Where are the Dalai?

Andi 26th

Dear Enkor

Eloi says that when he found me, I looked like a salt-mummy, with my white Eastern-Empire hair, the shreds of my fibrococoon tangled around me, propped as I was against a salt spire. Yet I was clinging to life, with arms bitten, eyes sunken, and breath foul, smelling of old vomit I hadn't dared to wash away. He says I was clutching my notebook in my comatose sleep, and that he guessed at my profession after wrestling it from me and browsing through it. Though he did not understand the script, he marvelled at my drawings of landscapes, portraits, jewels, hairdos – documenting whole cultures – all the way to my last: a dead akambo, with its neck twisted. The hand there is shaky, the sketch rough. I was dying.

Please hold no hard feelings. Eloi did wake me. He spoke Ikkurie. I did understand his offer, though my addled brain thought he was a Dalai god, more than a Dalai man. Had I come all this way to meet them, to draw their faces, sketch their cultures? Yes, I said, I was looking for you, because no one ever found you before. He says he felt torn, that no matter what he did, he'd kill an aspect of my self. The person or the Explorator. You see, Dalai means "Of the desert". Because once he pressed his slashed wrist to my mouth, I would become Dalai, my entire body changing to adapt and embrace the Dreglund. No water now can nourish me but that which once almost killed me. It hydrates and feeds. In the deep wells, you can breath it. This is where the Dalai cities lay, Enkor: under poisonous waters. No wonder we only heard about these people through rumours! Maybe my presence will change things a little? More trading at the border? Enough for me to hear from you, I hope, and collect the fame of my discoveries! Please find attached all my notes, see them published and send me a crate-load of hydrobooks. You can make my speech at the Assemblies. Tell them I won't drop my mantle: Eloi is lovely, but if he thinks I will stop marvelling, learning and writing because I am trapped in one of the greatest mystery of our age, he has a lot to learn about me!

Warmest regards,

Ilkaria Explorator

~~ November 2017 – Theme : Water

#original story #original work #competition #win #fantasy

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years

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Αιώνια αγάπη (DT. AU) pt.5

05: Ashes to ashes

Summary: Finally a Kappa sister, but things go awry.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst

Word count: 2700

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT Modern Greek god/frat! AU) MASTERLIST

Special thanks to @daddygraysonsbitch for being Sara Howell in the story.

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A week had passed since the last challenge, giving Y/N a hard time sneaking around with the Dolan twins. Neither of them seemed to back off when she asked and to be honest, she didn't want them to.

Y/N wanted to explore their minds, hearts and bodies. She wanted to know every nook and cranny that makes their souls and most of all, she needed to know where she fits in their still unfinished puzzle of life.

Every night she's been haunted by dreams of a woman she has never met, each dream harder to differentiate from reality as they come in like a storm and ravage her, leaving her tired every morning and frightened to close her eyes at night. Every night something changes, detail by detail and it's only a matter of time before it's entirely different than the original dream...and it scares her. The woman in her dreams scares the living light out of her and no matter how many times she wanted to talk about it to someone, she was afraid speaking about it would make it more real.

Riddle me this. How can I call it a nightmare, if it doesn't leave my presence when I awake?

The party is mere minutes away, her nerves at an all time high because if anyone notices she's growing closer to either Ethan or Grayson, she'll be in deep shit. It's them she wants to talk to, share her dream because deep inside her heart, she knows they would understand. They wouldn’t think she’s mad.

Since it's a sorority party after all, Y/N has put on her white shorts and green shirt in solidarity, placing her golden leaf crown in her hair with a smile as the crown is engraved with her name and the date, serving as proof of membership.

She can officially call herself a Kappa sister.

While Y/N worried of her sisters noticing her ongoing friendship with the frats next door, those frats had worries their plans weren't moving fast enough.

"It's a problem! Not only will she avoid us like the plague now, she'll be chased by other guys as well. We're not the only ones on campus, Apollo." Hermes paced his room, getting jittery and impatient.

"And you know what happens when we wait too long." Hermes warns, remembering Yashi and many more after her that have gone awry because it took them far too long to connect with the descendant. Stronger the bond between a descendant and the god they're an heir to, less time they have...and Y/N has ties to two incredibly strong beings. He's noticed Y/N cares for both of them, but her allegiance to her sorority is stronger as it connects her to her mother. That's all the information he got out of Apollo so far as he's the one communicating with her so frequently.

"We can't exactly kidnap her, now can we?" Apollo groans, running his hands through his hair so it gets the perfect wave he usually sports. He had to be on his best behavior tonight and the looking good part wouldn't hurt either.

Once he looks back at his brothers wide eyes and the craziness in the look they reflected once the words resonate with him, Apollo turned around with his index finger pointing at Hermes sternly, commanding.

"Let me rephrase that. YOU. WILL. NOT. KIDNAP. Y/N." He emphasized each word, stepping closer with every one of them. Apollo might not be the intimidating brother on most days, but the way his eyes darken and his lips set in a firm line, his jaw clenches and tightens the muscles in his face, eyebrows pull closer together and forehead wrinkles - that's when he looks like the bringer of death.

But that doesn't scare Hermes. Never did.

"Oooh, I have a better plan than that." Hermes smirks, the devilish scheme clear to Apollo, just not the details. He knows this would lead to trouble. It always has.

Hermes had better plans than Apollo on any given day, but that's not always a good thing. Hermes doesn't care about consequences, when he wants something he does whatever he wants to do and his recklessness is a major reason why in their prolonged stay on earth. He's always been wildly unstable and unpredictable.

Apollo was worse when they were gods. Hermes did his job, but found it fun to play with humans to break the mundane of his existence he believed his life became. Apollo was just like Hermes is now - overly confident and iffy morality without concern of consequences of his deeds.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

"If you mess this up for us, I will fucking kill you." The looming threat puts a smile on Hermes' face instead of fear. Regardless what happens, Apollo would never make good on his threat. He's made similar threats before, they both did at some point but neither could harm each other. If losing their chance at return leaves them wandering this land as immortals, they would rather have each other than loneliness.

"By the end of the night, you'll be thanking me." Hermes pats his brothers chest lightly, moving around him and to the door. Before walking out, he turns his head to meet Apollo's burning gaze and the flicker of anger in them.

"I believe we have a party to go to."

The brothers walked through the door in synchronization as they've done countless times before in their past. With a court nod to one another, they part - each to a different side of the house although Apollo tried to keep Hermes close in case his plan puts them in danger.

Y/N just walked out her room, narrowly missing Hermes who entered Blair's room which was just down the hall.

She tapped her fingertips on the banister nervously, her gaze wandering but with purpose. Even she didn't realize it, but her eyes followed her heart's orders - to find either Ethan or Grayson.

She had a way to contact Grayson - either through her window or her phone, but Ethan was harder to reach unnoticed. She'd share a look or two in the morning as they walked to classes at the same time - Ethan usually barely awake and with messy bedhead, but always ready to shoot her a lazy, crooked smile that made her cheeks burn bright.

But, sadly, he's nowhere to be seen. However, Grayson is easily located - leaning against a wall with a coy smile on his face and eyes set on her making her heart ablaze. He always has that effect on her, not once failing her.

He's only playing with you.

A voice startles Y/N, making her turn around in fright only to find she's all alone. She recognizes the voice, looming and glowering like in her dreams, but she's awake now. Or so she hopes.

Walking down the steps, her mind in a fray and her eyebrows scrunched up, Y/N's slowly losing touch with reality. Sounds around her blur, growing impossibly loud and deafening, her vision narrowing. It felt like her innards are being replaced by some kind of black hole.

"Y/N." Until hands grabbed onto her arms and shook her gently, her eyes meeting hazel swirls with golden specks of dust behind them...and her world slides into focus, his touch, his face, his voice serving as an anchor to hold her down and sane.

"You okay there?" Grayson asks, worry tangible in his voice as it is in his face, the very face she needed to avoid for the night.

"Got a bit woozy. I'm okay now. Thanks." Her polite, short answer didn't convince Grayson but he knew better than to push. Sometimes a little space goes a long way - it's basic female 101 in his mind.

"Well, if you need me..." He trails off, knowing she's aware what he means.

"Of course." She interjects gently, using the moment to slowly slide his hands away from herself for the stares of her sister have become far too obvious to ignore.

"Well, well, well." And naturally, Queen B. appears when in the worst moment possible. It's like fate is working against them.

"She was feeling ill. It would be wrong of me to leave her in such a state." Grayson defends before Blair has a chance to poison the sisters against Y/N, effectively shutting her up before she spewed the truth...Truth because he had anything but good intentions in mind. In fact, he'd love to have his way with her, especially after all the time he's spent abstaining from touching mortal women to repent for his sins.

"She shouldn't have drank so much then." But Blair finds a new reason to cling to, something else to use against her.

"A good Kappa sister never gets so drunk she needs help from a KDR."

But before she has a chance to put Y/N to shame, Sara frowns, noticing a dark cloud on the second floor and the smell hits quickly as well.

"What's that smell?" Sara voices her curious thoughts, the words leaving her mouth answered immediately when fire blows through a decorative window on the second floor in a small explosion enticing screams all around the house.

"FIRE!!"

Y/N's eyes widen, her lips parting. Her legs work faster than her brain, stumbling over her own feet and steps as she climbs up so quickly Grayson barely has a chance to react.

"Wait!" He shouts after her, staring at the billowing smoke and the fire that spreads incredibly fast as if a dragon breaths in one of the rooms.

"My mother's painting! My journal! My whole life is up there!" She insists, rushing up without noticing a paling Grayson following in her footsteps. The need to save the painting turned her brain to a mental soup of conflicting instructions. But there was a different force guiding her. A much darker, still unnoticeable force.

She blows the door wide open, snapping open her window first before returning for the painting first. Throwing it out the window, she turns to find more things to save. Smoke particles dance in on the inbound breeze. The smoke smells of kerosene, and had a strange scent of perfume through it. The smoke ss a deep, dark grey color. Intoxicating. Choking. They can feel it pull their very life away.

"What are you doing?" Grayson starts to grab her things as well, tossing them over the ledge without even realizing it. He's looking at her in disbelief, certain she's lost her mind entirely.

"Saving what I can." She mumbles, frantically grabbing her belongings still in boxes and throwing them out.

"We're going to die because you want to save your clothes?!" Grayson shouts, his throat burning from the smoke as it lingers inside, sticking like tar.

"No one asked you to come!" She faces him, no trace of the gentle soul he saw her as. Instead, he saw someone who has given up. She didn't fear death...she invited it. That's when he decided to take matters into his own hands.

Grayson crossed the bedroom in a single step, manhandling Y/N into obedience. He grabbed her arms and leaned down, getting a hold of her legs as well.

In one move, he had pulled her over his shoulder, ignoring her trashing and screaming, even more the insults she threw his way. Nothing would make him drop her now, determined to save her life and for once, he didn't know why.

He would tell himself it's because she's the last living descendant, but even he knows it's a lie. Despite all he's fought in the past, he grew to care for the girl...even crave her. Not in a sexual manner, although he wanted her in every way, but in a way where the sound of her voice was enough to make his heart flutter.

And he never had his heart flutter.

He burrowed through the door, barely escaping the raging flames as he bounced Y/N on his shoulder on the way down the stairs. Thanking every god he knows, Grayson rushed to the clear front door and outside into fresher air where he could finally put her down.

"And you're an asshole!" She finishes, red in the face from all the screaming but also dirty from the smoke. There was a steadiness to her despite her quite unsteady behavior upstairs, as if all the storms in the world were a whispering breeze if she was there. She was kind and clever, perhaps that's what drew people to her.

He liked the fire within, loved it even.

Before she had a chance to throw a second insult his way, Grayson's hand found the back of her neck, quickly pulling her up and closer until their lips touched and the words ceased. The kiss barely lasted, managing to take their breaths away in an instant, but it was long enough for Grayson's fingers to brush the star-like birthmark behind her right ear and bring him down to Earth. It only confirmed what they knew - she's the descendant and he just stole their first kiss.

Y/N surrendered to his touch, losing her senses as his lips brought her heartbeat to the speed of light. Her lips tingled, electricity sparking up throughout her body and her hands clutched to his shirt with all their might as if he could slip through her fingers like sand.

Apollo couldn't believe what he's doing, giving into his desire for her without a second thought. He'd been wondering how her rosy lips would taste, never quite sure if it would make any impact on him but from the way his hands tremble with her face in them tucked away safely, he knew he has been bested.

It took Y/N a moment to get her mind to work properly again, feeling the high of adrenaline and endorphins catching up with her and numbing her thinking, but once her mind cleared her hand left a swift, clear imprint on Grayson's face.

"Never do that without my permission again!" She sneered, turning around and running to the side of the house where her things remained, leaving a confused, but still satisfied Grayson on his own.

But he wasn't alone.

"You played dirty brother." Hermes accuses, stepping beside Apollo as his eyes set on the growing flames and the sorority house beginning to collapse.

"I got lost in the moment." Apollo excuses, clearing his throat as he folds his arms over his chest and glances at Hermes. He refuses to apologize for the kiss because it's the highlight of the century in his mind. She brought technicolor to his life and he found himself...grateful. Artemis would have liked her, he is sure. Sometimes he still thinks of his actual twin in Mount Olympus, wondering if she's watching over him or if she forgot all about him.

"Someone might think you actually care." Hermes raises a brow, turning to face Apollo with a wicked smirk on his face.

"Too bad she'll want to avoid you for that little moment you got lost in." He continues coyly, circling around his brother like Apollo is the prey and he a hunter on the prowl.

'But I'll be there to pick up the pieces ', is what Hermes really wants to say. But instead, he speaks the ominous truth.

"Which I imagine to be quite hard when the girls move in with us." And that's when it all clicks in Apollo's mind, the sirens wailing in the background. He grabs a fist full of Hermes' shirt, pulling him closer.

"What the fuck did you do?!" He speaks through gritted teeth, spit escaping him in the process and it splatters in tiny drops on Hermes' face.

"Bringing the past back to life." Hermes grabs onto Apollo's hands, pressing his own over his until the hold relents enough for Hermes to step back, his smirk never wavering.

He takes one more look at the burning house as the roof caves, the flames reflecting in his dark eyes. He raises both eyebrows, clearly proud of himself before turning on his heel and pocketing his hands confidently. He hums an ominous tune as he's walking back to the frat house: "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down" under his breath. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tags: @mutuallynotmutual @lanadeldolans @xalayx @accalialionheart @gia-kerks @historyheart @heeydolan @heyits-claire @daddygraysonsbitch @fallinginlove-16 @lanadeldolans @beautifulfound @thearachna-kid @dinnerwiththedolans @graydolan12 @justanotherfangurl272 @dxlansfxck @godlydolans @flowery-dolan

#grayson dolan #ethan dolan #dolan twins #grayson dolan x reader #ethan dolan x reader #Greek Mythology #GREEK GOD AU #dolan twins greek god au #Apollo #Hermes #grayson dolan fanfic #ethan dolan x you #ethan dolan fanfic

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ladylillianrose · 4 years

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Extraordinarily Star-Crossed a Max Richman/Zoey Clarke Fanfiction

A/N: Hope you guys are all enjoying this! We appreciate everyone who has been reading and commenting!! We are about to come to the end of our time in Greece.

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 5

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 4

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 3

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 2

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 1

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 5

Zoie opened the door to her home and Kalli followed her inside, looking around at the space. “I do love the way you decorate.”

“My mother is good at many things.” Zoie smiled at the blonde and led her to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink? We have water, wine, tea?”

“Tea would be lovely.”

Zoie moves to place the kettle on the fire but Kalli stops her. “I happen to have my favorite tea with me, and I would love to share it with you. That is if you have no objections to me making it?”

Zoie smiled again and nodded at the blonde, moving to gather items for lunch.

A few minutes later, she brought a plate of bread, cheese, olives, and mixed vegetables, placing it in the middle of the table. She handed the blonde a smaller plate taking the seat across from her.

Kalli poured each of them a cup of tea and filled her plate with a selection from the platter.

Zoie smelled the tea; it was wonderfully floral and sweet. “What tea is this?”

“It’s an old family recipe, made to help to calm the nerves. I thought as a busy bride it might help you relax.”

Zoie smiled and nodded at her new friend as she took another sip of the tea. It tasted as it smelled, and it was delicious.

Maximos walked down the path towards Zoie’s house. He stopped to pick some wildflowers along the way, smiling at the thought of his betrothed. As he approached the door, he heard feminine laughter from inside and wondered who she was with. He entered the house and made his way towards the kitchen. As he turned the corner, he saw a familiar blonde woman and froze. Aphrodite waved her fingers teasingly at him, grinning smugly at his discomfort. Zoie had her back to him, but at Aphrodite’s wave, she turned and smiled as she saw him.

“Maximos! What are you doing here?” She exclaimed, rising from the table to greet him.

“I came to see you, sweetheart.” He shook himself out of his daze, and wrapped his arm around her waist protectively, steering her away from the smiling goddess. He kissed her hello and presented his bouquet to her. She lifted the blooms to her nose and smelled them.

“They are beautiful, love. Thank you.” Zoie attempted to withdraw from him to find a vase for the flowers, but Maximos’ grip on her waist tightened slightly.

Zoie looked at him confused, “Is there something wrong?”

“Where did you meet this woman?” he murmured in her ear.

“She’s a new friend that I met at the market. Without her I would have never found my veil,” Zoie explained. “Kalli, this is my intended Maximos.”

“Oh, we are already acquainted,” Maximos growled.

Zoie looked back and forth between the two of them. “What do you mean?”

“Shall I explain, or will you Kalli? Or should I say, Aphrodite?” Maximos glared at the other woman.

Zoie gasped and looked between the two of them in shock.

“What? You mean...she is…”

Aphrodite chuckled, “Yes my dear, your handsome young man is correct. I am Aphrodite, and he and I are well acquainted with one another....”

Zoie looked to Maximos for confirmation, he shook his head in the negative.

“She appeared in my home the day I came to obtain your father’s blessing and attempted to seduce me.”

Zoie felt numb, “She tried to seduce you?”

Maximos tilted her chin up, looking her in the eyes. “She tried, sweetheart, but I refused. There is only one woman for me.”

Zoie smiled and softly kissed his lips. “I know, I trust you Maximos.”

Aphrodite rolled her eyes at the couple and gagged. “You mortals and your one true love, disgust me.”

Zoie turned to look at her with disdain, “Get out of my house.”

Aphrodite laughed, “You dare to cast ME out?!”

Maximos stepped forward, placing his body between Zoie and the scorned goddess. “You heard her. Be gone. You are not welcome here.”

Aphrodite moved towards the door and Zoie turned to pour herself a cup of wine to calm her nerves. Aphrodite paused in the doorway and turned to face Maximos. “You sure you won’t change your mind?”

He responded with a clipped tone. “Get out.”

The blonde smirked as a crash sounded from behind him. He turned to see Zoie clutching her stomach, her cup lay shattered at her feet.

“Zoie?! What’s wrong?” He moved quickly to her side, lifting her up and placing her in a nearby chair. She grimaced in pain as she held her abdomen tightly. “Zoie?” He asked quietly, brushing a tendril of hair off her face.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Aphrodite chuckled darkly. “Not my fault she can’t handle her Hemlock.”

Maximos felt the blood drain from his face. He turned and looked at the vengeful goddess as she stood in the doorway, a triumphant grin on her face. “What did you do?”

“I am eliminating the competition. You chose a weak mortal over a goddess. You should be pleased; I’ve given you the chance to rectify that mistake.”

“Mistake? The only mistake I made was when I thought that you were a benevolent goddess. You poisoned the woman I love.” He looked back at Zoie, her face growing paler as her arms tightened around her belly. “Will you save her?” he pleaded.

Aphrodite shook her head. “You made your choice.”

Zoie groaned again, doubling over crying out in pain as Maximos helped her to the floor to lay down. He winced at her cry as he held her in his lap. Her legs curled towards him, attempting to brace herself against growing the pain in her stomach. Maximos cradled her to his chest, running his fingers soothingly through her hair. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

Aphrodite scoffed from the doorway. “You would still choose your mortal love, knowing that she is dying? Do you not see how easily a mortal life can be broken? And still, you would refuse me."

Maximos looked down at the woman he loved as she shivered in his arms, before looking back up at the goddess, his voice filled with conviction. “Every single time.”

Aphrodite’s face contorted in rage and indignation. “Mortal love? I curse your mortal love. You shall find one another again, in another life. But your happiness will be short-lived. One shall die as the other watches, helpless. You will live out the end of your days, alone, haunted by their death. When you reach the end of your days, the cycle will begin anew, and you will both be reborn through the sands of time. Your life may not be forfeit by your own hand, for if you do so, you and your mortal love will never see one another again. Your souls will be trapped on the opposite banks of the River Styx doomed to remain apart for all of eternity.”

She snapped her fingers and disappeared, leaving the lovers alone. Maximos turned to Zoie, as she groaned and tightened her grip on his arm bracing herself against another wave of pain. He watched as she suddenly began convulsing. Fear clutched at his heart as he attempted to brace her against the worst of it. He felt her relax as she attempted to catch her breath, but her breaths grew shallow and caught in her throat.

Her blue eyes opened to meet his as she looked up at him, her head resting in the crook of his arm. “I’m sorry, my love.” She whispered; her speech halted as she shook from the pain.

“This is not your fault, my love. It wasn’t you.” He said, his voice cracking as tears began to pool in his eyes.

Zoie tried to smile at him as another wave of pain racked her body causing her to cry out, tears escaping from her eyes. He stroked her face, wiping her tears away, and trying to comfort her, knowing that he was losing her.

“I’m so sorry, Zoie. I should have just….”

She shook her head minutely, gasping as she tried to speak. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault, either….” She took a shuddering breath, her eyes locking with his as his grip tightened around her.

“Maxim…” She swallowed, trying to control her speech. “Max... I... I lo…”

Maximos felt tears stream down his cheeks as the woman he loved fell still and silent in his arms. Her vibrant eyes lost focus and stared past him, unseeing. The only blessing was that her body no longer shook with pain and from struggling to breathe. His face was soaked with tears as he cradled her limp form to him. He buried his face in her neck and let out a heart-wrenching scream of anguish.

Zoie....was gone.

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imagineseclipse · 5 years

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Smother-Scott Mccall Imagine

Listen to Smother by Daughter whilst reading this imagine I’m so obsessed I can’t.

⚠️-pure angst but there’s a little light at the end of the tunnel.

Italics-Flashback

Red writing-Song lyrics

‘I’m wasted, Losing time, I’m a foolish fragile spine’

Your house fell silent, it had been silent for a while now. All the laughs had been muted, all the conversation had died out, no one had visited in a while...well they had, but never once had you opened the door. Instead you say alone, in the middle of your sofa.

On your table was an empty bottle of wine accompanied by an equally empty glass. You were wasted, in fact you’d been in that state for days now, drinking endlessly until you would pass out on any surface. You were wasting your time, whatever you had left of it anyway. You had a deadline, and it was slowly creeping up on you.

Your head snapped towards the staircase, watching intently as you continued to listen to the banging and the crashing coming from the second floor of your lonely home. You were too tipsy to move, and to be honest you didn’t really care if someone broke into your house. It wouldn’t be your home for long.

‘I want all that is not mine, I want him but we’re not right’

You lowered your head as Scott McCall appeared at the top of the stairs, twigs sticking out of his hair as he brushed the mud and dirt off his clothes. He caught sight of you sat on your sofa and he frowned. So you were ignoring his calls.

Scott’s calls and texts were the hardest to ignore, the past year had been a struggle for the two of you. But interestingly that had brought you closer, so close that when you parted it was like hell on Earth. Allison your sister had passed away the year before, and you felt so guilty that you had fallen for Scott. He was the one you would call when you woke up in the middle of the night screaming from your horrific night terrors. He’d often found himself outside your window on a full moon when he was finding it hard to control himself.

You understood that he would never be yours, he would always be Allison’s. Even if he did love you the way you loved him it wouldn’t be right. There was no time now.

“What did I tell you y/n”he shook his head as he decended down the stairs, stopping behind you suddenly noticing the wine.

“I can’t remember”you mumbled quietly, trying not to let Scott hear the slurring of your words. Scott looked at the state of you, he had been concerned about you worrying every second of every day.

“How much have you had?”He asked sadly as he picked up the empty wine bottle.

“A little”you closed your eyes, sighing taking in each breath at a time. You felt ashamed of yourself, you never wanted Scott to see you like this. You didn’t want these to be his last memories of you.

“I told you-

“Does it matter Scott?”you cut him off, finally making eye contact with the alpha. Revealing the dark circles under your eyes, revealing the wrinkles that had developed across your forehead.

“Of course it matters y/n”he slumped down next to you, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We’ve all been working day and night to try and stop this”he turned to you.

“It’s not going to work, you guys need to just accept this and prepare for it I mean I have been”you lay your head back.

“This is not preparing for it y/n, this is killing yourself slowly and I’m stopping it right now”Scott replied sternly. He swiped the glass and the bottle removing it from your table, he started to make his way to the kitchen to get rid of the poison.

“I’m going to die anyway”you said, this was the first time you had said it out loud and Scott didn’t miss the crack in your voice. He shut his eyes, squeezing them together as if he was in pain.

“Don’t say that”he returned by your side immediately speaking softly.

“But it’s going to happen, there’s no avoiding it. It’s my turn”you let a single tear drop onto the sweatshirt you had been wearing for at least a week.

‘In the darkness I will meet my creators, and they will all agree that I’m a suffocator’

When you had agreed to go into Stiles’ head with Lydia and Scott to try and summon him out against the nogitsune not once did you think that you were coming out with a death sentence. As if Peter’s claws in the back of your neck wasn’t bad enough.

Something must’ve happened along the way because you and Scott had been split up from Lydia. When you awoke you and Scott were laying on the Nemeton tree.

Your eyes fluttered open and you felt someone’s arms around you. You couldn’t see much because all that surrounded you was darkness, and nothingness. You felt the arms tighten.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”a voice spoke down to you.

It was Scott. Relief washed over you as you gripped onto his arms, pulling yourself up next to him.

“Where’s Lydia did she make it here aswell- you paused narrowing your eyes- wherever this is”you looked off into the distance trying to make out shapes.

“I don’t think so but wherever she is she’s probably with Stiles”Scott mumbled as he grabbed onto your hand pulling you up off the tree stump.

“So where are we?”you asked, still holding onto Scott.

“I don’t know”he muttered leading you down the only visible path.

You and Scott continued to walk, for what seemed like hours eventually coming to a stop when you noticed a red light coming towards you. It was light, but it gave off an dark demeanour. It stood tall in front of you, causing everything around it to illuminate. Scott peered around finally taking in the tall trees. The leaves underneath your feet. You were in the woods.

“Do you know why you are here?”the voice was deep, and it’s words were dragged out.

“For Stiles, we’re here to save Stiles”Scott pointed out.

“No!”the unknown entity lashed out, making the floor tremble with its words.

“You are here for y/n”it added.

Scott’s grip on your hand tightened as he pulled you a step backward behind him, the two of you didn’t know what this thing was.

“S-so if this is for me why is Scott here?”you asked curiously.

“Foolish naive children of earth”the deep voice started to cackle.

“You are tethered together”

Scott gazed down at you for a second, quickly catching your eye before you both turnt back to the creature.

“But why are we doing this in Stiles’ head”It was Scott’s turn to ask questions.

“The banshee brought you here”it revealed, referring to Lydia.

“And what are you?”you called out.

“A messenger, y/n you have been chosen as a sacrifice”the voice got closer.

Scott pulled you close to him, taking an extra two steps backwards.

“What?!”You almost cried out.

“For what, who chose me?”you choked out, this had to be some sort of dream.

“Who chose her?!”Scott was starting to get angry. He couldn’t lose you aswell as Allison.

“Your creators, they have made the decision because you are the only pure soul left”the voice started to explain that you were the only pure soul left in Beacon Hills. You were the closest to the Nemeton, and there were supernatural creatures that needed your soul.

Your eyes shot open, your eyes darting around the room, Lydia watched you in horror just as Scott came to. She then looked at Scott who was staring off into space trying to process what he’d just found out.

“D-did you find Stiles?”you asked hopefully, ignoring that fact that your brain was going crazy, figuring out what had just happened.

“Y/n...you have two months left to live?”Lydia spoke out as if she’d just been with you and Scott. Of course she’d know she was a banshee. She could basically smell death on you.

“I should go now quietly,for my bones have found a place to lie down and sleep’

Scott hadn’t left your side. He’d insisted on staying with you. He watched you as you slept heavily, your head had fallen on his chest and he didn’t have the heart to move you, he didn’t want to move you.

Ever since he had found out that you were a sacrifice he had been kicking himself. He’d definitely left it too late to tell you that he was in love with you and telling you now would only make the next couple of days a lot harder for you. What if he couldn’t find a way to save you? What if they took you? What if he was left without you?

He watched over you until he fell asleep himself, waking up hours later to find an empty space next to him. Realising what day it was he jumped up panicking, he had hope that you had only gone downstairs but when he ran into the empty living room dread filled his heart.

He fumbled for his phone, calling everyone in the pack, calling everyone he knew. Telling them to find you, telling them to not stop looking. He had to get to you, there had to be a way out of this. And he wouldn’t stop trying.

Lydia had woken up that day disoriented and she knew that today was the day. They all had sleepless nights trying to find a solution. Even Isaac had come back to help, afraid of not saying goodbye if worst did come to the worst.

You were long gone, making your way through the trees you knew what to do, your body was heavy and weak and you knew that your time was coming to an end. Breathing heavily as you grew tired.

The sun beamed through the trees as your legs paused, standing in front of the Nemeton. Scott’s feet couldn’t go any faster as he ran through the Beacon Hills forest, swerving through the trees pushing himself to go faster.

“Please, I’m begging you give us more time”Scott pleaded to the clouds as he sprinted towards the clearing where he was hoping he’d find you.

You lay on the Nemeton, your eyes becoming sore from not sleeping, you faced the sky, watching the clouds go by. The only good thing about this was that you got to see Allison again.

Scott never stopped running when he saw the Nemeton, he never stopped running towards you when the same creature from that night appeared to collect you, He never stopped running when he saw a white arrow hurtle through the air injuring the creature badly buying Scott some more time to get to you.

He scooped your lifeless body up from the Nemeton, holding you close so that no one could take you.

“It’s not her time, not yet”Scott shouted towards the creature.

“We found a way to save her it doesn’t have to be y/n”Lydia screamed as she ran through the trees along with Stiles.

All three heads snapped towards the forest, as a figure in a white cloak with brown hair was seen getting further and further away. Running towards the sun that peaked through the trees.

“Was that?”Lydia’s mouth dropped open, her eyes starting to well up.

Your eyes fluttered open, taking in a lot of oxygen after passing out. You were surprised that you were still alive in Scott’s arms.

“Allison”you simply stated, holding onto Scott’s shirt.

“She brought us time”Scott smiled gratefully.

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bestillmyslashyheart · 5 years

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Ch 3 of Soulmate AU on Ao3

Alex sat up in bed as Michael got dressed. It was early and neither one of them were in the mood for idle conversation, the clangs of Michael’s belt buckle rang loud in the otherwise silent room.

Alex rubbed at his eyes as Michael swiped his shirt from the floor and headed for the kitchen. It was too damn early for this, he thought as he threw back the covers and grabbed his crutches. He fully intended to get back in bed as soon as Michael left so there was no point in putting on the prosthetic.

The smell of coffee lured him into the kitchen. He eyed the full mug sitting on the table, clearly intended for him since Michael was halfway through a cup of his own. As much as he wanted to drink it, he’d never get that extra hour of sleep he was hoping for if he did. He felt a spike of irritation as the mug continued to sit untouched and he rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have to be up for another hour and I fully intend to at least try for some more sleep.” He explained, a gentle rebuke in his voice, as he sat down. They were trying to communicate better but they still fell back onto old habits. The years of being too afraid or worried or dumb enough to speak openly were hard to overcome and sometimes little things could spawn huge arguments if they let them. Little things like Michael making Alex a cup of coffee because he woke him up early only for Alex to ignore it.

Michael shrugged and finished his own, placing the mug in the dishwasher and turning to grab Alex’s. He took small sips as he walked around the house, finding his boots and keys, wallet, and phone. Alex felt him waking up more and more, the easy lethargy of the early morning bond becoming rigid and more closed off as Michael prepared to leave.

Michael drained the last of Alex’s coffee and left the mug on the table as he grabbed his hat. He turned to leave without having said a single word all morning and Alex couldn’t take it.

“Why do you have to leave so early?” He could hear the weariness in his own voice. He knew the answer but he wanted to force Michael to talk to him.

Michael stopped close to the door and turned around. “I’ve got an early shift and I need to shower and put on some clothes that I haven’t been wearing for two days already. You live a 45 minute drive outside of the city and if I want to be at work on time I have to leave now.” He explained it like he was talking to an idiot. It was true that Alex already knew all of these things but the tone irked him. It might also have been Michael’s irritation bleeding through but it was hard to tell.

Alex didn’t answer for a moment, long enough that Michael’s irritation spiked and he turned to leave.

“What if we found somewhere else?” Alex asked, stopping Michael’s hand on the doorknob. Michael looked back over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Somewhere closer to town but bigger than your Airstream?”

Michael turned to him fully. “You want to move in together?” Alex hated the disbelief in his voice.

“Sort of inevitable, don’t you think?” And that was the wrong answer. He knew it as soon as the words came out of his mouth but he couldn’t stop them.

Michael gave him a sharp nod. “Inevitable. Right. Of course.” This time he got the door open before Alex stopped him again.

“And because I want to.” He heard and felt a thump as Michael’s head hit the doorframe. There was a long pause before Michael closed the door and crossed the room to stand in the entryway to the kitchen. He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair.

“Alex- what do you want?” Michael asked. “And why are we talking about this right now when I have to go to work?”

Alex shrugged. “This morning sucked.” Michael curled in on himself and took a step back. Alex winced - he really needed to stop putting his foot in his mouth around Michael. At some point he was going to say something he couldn’t take back. Something that would ruin their relationship and make the rest of their lives miserable. Because this morning hadn’t sucked. Not all of it. Michael had woken him up with soft kisses and gentle touches. But then- “I don’t like this part. The part where you get dressed in the dark and leave without a word.”

Michael barked out a laugh. “I’m just taking a page out of your book, darlin.”

And ok, that stung. Michael only called him darlin’ in rare moments. Alex had treasured each and every one. Until now.

He rubbed a hand across his face. “I am saying this wrong.”

“You sure?” Michael bit back. He put his hat back on. “I have to go to work.”

“Please wait. Just let me get this out.” Alex pleaded. Michael slumped against the wall, like his strings had been cut. But he didn’t try to leave again. “These past few weeks have been hard. But you have been the best part. Hell, the only good part. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you by my side.”

He wasn’t kidding. While it had been great to get everything out in the open about their bond and their relationship, it was damaging every other relationship they had. Liz and Max were constantly at each other’s throats, Max’s anger off the charts these days while Liz felt rightfully betrayed and angry.

After the revelation of Alex’s bond, Liz had decided that she was done keeping her own secrets and had filled Maria in on everything. Nowadays, Maria could not be allowed in the same room as Isobel. And Alex understood, he really did. Maria had been half in love with Rosa and now Maria knew who had killed her and couldn’t do a thing about it. Add in the fact that Kyle didn’t trust any of the aliens, and he and Liz were still working on a possible poison that could take them down should any of them lose it again like Isobel did ten years ago, and it was a recipe for a catastrophe.

All in all, their two worlds were on a collision course and they were caught in the eye of the storm, unable to pick a side. Sometimes, Alex thought the only thing protecting any of the aliens was himself. Now that Liz and Maria and Kyle knew he was bonded to Michael, they couldn’t turn him over to any authority without jeopardizing Alex’s life too. Alex dreaded the day Liz and Maria realized that he’d lied to them too. A part of him wanted to come clean but they were both so angry and mourning Rosa anew, he didn’t want to add to their pain by admitting he’d known the truth about Rosa’s death from the very beginning. At some point, they would realize that he and Michael literally couldn’t keep secrets from each other, but they hadn’t gotten there yet.

All of that, combined with having to deal with his father every day, and the only time Alex felt a modicum of peace was when he was with Michael. When the two of them could just be.

“We have busy schedules. And with Isobel and Max and my friends, we don’t get a lot of time together just the two of us.” Alex explained. “I want more of it. I want more of you. Your Airstream is too small for both of us and my cabin is too far away from your work. So why don’t we find something in the middle. Closer to town but an actual house.”

Michael just looked at him. “You really want to live together?”

Alex pushed himself up from the chair before remembering that he didn’t have the prosthetic on. He fell into the table and winced as the edge dug into his hip. Rather than worry about being embarrassed, he just braced himself against the table. Michael had nearly crossed the room when he stumbled so he’d achieved his objective of closing the distance anyway, even if it wasn’t how he intended.

“Michael, I love you.” Michael’s eyes widened and Alex realized with a start that he’d never actually said the words before. “I love you so much. And yeah, we need to work on things. And our worlds are colliding in a way that could ruin everything but all I can care about right now is that I spend most of my days missing you and I don’t want to do that anymore.” As he spoke, Michael closed the distance between them, his hands gripping Alex’s hips and his forehead leaning against his. Alex reached his hands up to grip Michael in return but lilted to the side immediately, Michael not prepared to compensate. Alex reached back for a better grip but Michael just pushed at his hips and lifted until he was sitting on the table, Michael cradled between his legs. Free now to use his hands, he gripped both sides of Michael’s neck and pressed their foreheads tighter together. “I can feel you in my head and in my bones, you’re under my skin and in my goddamn soul and I fucking miss you.” He let out a breath. “I’m so goddamn tired of missing you, Michael.”

Michael brushed his lips against Alex’s in a whisper of a kiss but pulled back before Alex could deepen it. He reached up and cupped Alex’s face. “I don’t want to miss you anymore either. We did enough of that while you were gone. Now you’re here and it’s felt like you were further away than ever.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No more apologies.” Michael insisted. “We’ve both had our fair share of fuck ups. If we tried to make up for every one of them we’d be doing nothing else. Let’s just-let’s just put it all behind us and start new. Right now.” Michael pulled him in for another quick kiss. “And the first step is going to be a new place. Something that’s not mine or yours, but somewhere that is ours.” Alex pulled him in this time, their lips meeting in a surprisingly soft kiss. There would be a time for passion later, this wasn’t it.

“Ours.” Alex said when they pulled away. “I really like the sound of that.”

Michael’s face erupted in a huge smile that lit up his face. Alex couldn’t help but return, their mutual happiness resonating through the bond. “Me too.”

Alex reached up to his own face and lightly dragged his fingertips along the edge of Michael’s hand. He could find Michael’s mark blindfolded but didn’t go straight for it. The two stayed in their embrace, sharing breath and refusing to part while Alex rubbed at Michael’s scarred hand, his touch an apology for his father’s attempt to break them apart with a hammer.

Eventually, though, his fingers grazed the mark and their bond exploded. There was no other word for it. While it had been getting stronger in recent weeks, Michael hadn’t opened it fully since they used it to talk while Alex was with Maria and Liz. They’d been feeling echoes of each other through it but now, now that it was blown wide open, they could feel everything. It was like they were one person in two bodies. Alex felt the table under his ass and the edge of it pressing into his thighs as he stood against it. He felt the brush of his sweatpants against the stump of his leg and he felt the sturdiness of both of his work boots. He felt love and joy and relief and wonder and all of it amplified beyond reason.

A breathless laugh escaped him and he heard and felt Michael’s own join him. Alex let go of Michael’s hand to grab him by the curls and pull him in. They exchanged messy kisses, too caught up in what they were feeling to focus but both of them wanting to be as close as possible.

After a moment, Alex reached back to touch Michael’s mark again. This time, his fingers went directly for it. Only, nothing happened. Alex didn’t think anything of it, the bond was as open as it had ever been, what more could he ask for? But Michael reared back, and Alex felt his shock and horror reverberate.

Michael snatched his hand back and flipped it over so he could stare at the scarred flesh.

“What’s wrong?” Alex asked as he reached for Michael’s hand. He could feel Michael’s reaction but not what he was reacting to.

“It’s gone.” Michael choked out. Alex didn’t have to ask what it was. He gripped Michael’s hand and stared at where two seconds ago, his mark had been imprinted on his skin.

“How is that-what-why?” Alex got out. He reached up with both hands now and started to turn Michael’s over as if he just needed better lighting. Only he didn’t get that far. Before his left hand even grazed Michael’s, Michael’s other hand snatched it from the air and oh.

Alex had almost forgotten what it felt like to have Michael touch his mark. Except, he didn’t have his mark anymore. And it wasn’t on his hand.

Michael turned his hand over so Alex could see the outside of his palm and there it was, plain as day. A small green alien head, the logo from the kitschy tourist museum he’d worked at in high school, pressed neatly into his skin. Alex ran a reverent finger over it and felt sparks. How silly he’d been just moments ago to think that it couldn’t get any better.

The two of them ran their fingers over the small mark for a moment before looking at each other. Without a word, Michael toed his right boot off and put his foot up next to Alex’s hip. Both of them grabbed at Michael’s jeans to pull them up and reveal his ankle.

There it was - a small guitar, the image unblemished for the first time in a decade. Alex gripped Michael’s ankle and ran a thumb over it, an echo of what Michael used to do to him. Michael’s eyes slid shut at the feeling. After a moment, he put his foot down and the two collided in another kiss.

Alex would never be able to say how long they sat there, alternating between fierce kisses and simply sharing the space. What he did know is that at some point, Michael dropped his hands to the table and Alex’s face felt strangely cold and bereft without their touch. Michael pressed his face into Alex’s neck and mumbled something Alex couldn’t make out. Regret filled the bond and Alex worried for a second before Michael leaned back enough to speak clearly.

“I’m so fucking late for work.”

#malex fic #roswell new mexico #malex #rnm #my fic #its done #and theres actual malex interaction in this bit

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imnotcameraready · 5 years

Text

If Villains Baked Cookies — Chapter 2

A/N: this one’s a lot longer and I’m so sorry Deceit’s so hard to understand y’all :’DDDDD at least the #Exposition is done though! and i love writing banter, holy shit.

Word Count: 3245

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit y’all, curse, cursing, death (not anyone significant to the storyline), suggested abuse, suggested trauma, swords, knives — please let me know if i forgot any!!

Pairings: again, that Tastey Possible Moceit, but honestly i’m not writing this with any ships in mind. if there aren’t any intentional ships, does that mean i should tag them? pls let me know. i’m super new to posting fanfiction on tumblr

Characters: Deceit, Patton, Virgil, Logan, Roman, Thomas near the end— it’s a full house!

Prologue — Ch 1

read it here on AO3!

@rebelrewriter

Well, well, well, now that Patton’s gone….hm. I wonder if the curse will hold while speaking into this.

Whoop. I guess that answers that question. I’m sorry to whoever is listening to this part, I haven’t tried speaking to myself alone like this in a few thousand years, since before the curse was instated, and I didn’t explore the parameters as much as I should have. Honestly, when you’re alone, why bother talking aloud? It seems like a waste of energy.

Exploration is something Logan has been hounding me about. Forgive me.

Now, where were we?

Ah, right. Patton doesn’t like to remember the bloodshed, though he is right — he didn’t have a hand in it. The King lived up to his threat a week after the first liason’s visit. As is typical, he immediately responded with violence. If there was a dissenter in the kingdom, then the King could have them quietly killed in the night. He sent an assassin, one of the lords’ procession who visited Patton.

At this point, I’d lived with Patton for a few months. And he was the first human to interact with me in a very long time. I wasn’t going to let Marigold kill him so easily.

He was quite distraught when he woke up, but c’est la vie. We cleaned the house and I buried the body. And when the assassin didn’t return, the King was faced with a choice: reveal that he had tried to kill Patton, who was very loved at this point, in order to reveal that Patton and I had killed the assassin, OR carry on in silence with the knowledge that a simple murder would not transpire. He chose the later.

I’m back! Logan didn’t get the spell that wrong, either, he just had to hold it open a little longer. He’s learning fast.

Welcome back, Patton. That’s terrible to hear.

Yeah, I know! So, how’s the story going?

I didn’t get to finish the, ah….episode that you enjoy.

Good! Ok, great, so where are we now?

I was about to skip over the other story that you don’t enjoy.

Oh. Um.

Of course, you’re completely welcome to stay.

Good use of sarcasm! You’re getting the hang of that! I’m gonna go, uh….make dinner!

Sounds like a terrible plan.

Heheh, alright. I’ll jump back on later!

Goodbye, Patton.

Now, where were we?

God. I hate linear storylines. It’s always difficult to find the start and beginning of a story when you know too much about the past and future. Something about the King probably. Deaths? Yes.

Ah, of course. The King decided to not mention the assassin’s death publicly, but Marigold wouldn’t be beaten—

“Did someone say Marigold?”

Ugh. Roman. I’m not busy.

“Oh, you’re not busy? So I can sit here and listen in?”

You’re not insufferable. Didn’t you hear Patton making dinner?

“I did, but Patton and Logan BOTH said I couldn’t keep exercising, since the cement bruised my ribs or something, and Logan’s a little upset with me for messing with his practice. Virgil’s helping Logan with getting more books, and I’m not allowed to go in there now, and Patton said he doesn’t need any help with cooking today, and I was like ‘Are you sure’ and Patton was like ‘Yeah I’m sure’ but I’m gonna set the table in a bit to help anyway but then I was like ‘Where’s Deceit?’ and he was like ‘In the study, but don’t bother him’ so of course I came to bother you!”

….Just say you’re bored and lonely and move on.

“Wow. Rude. I’m still not leaving.”

Fine. Are you sure you would like to hear a terrible tale about your family?

“My family? You guys or, um…..What histories are you and Patton archiving in here?”

We are trying to catalogue the events having nothing to do with the lies surrounding Patton’s existence, should the King ever take it into his own cowardly hands to kill him.

“I don’t know if they ever will. I think, uh….I don’t know who’s King now, actually.”

It hasn’t been two generations since you saw them. You should know.

“Ah….thanks. Now! No more stalling, I want to hear your story!”

Are you absolutely uncertain?

“Yes!”

It likely won’t upset you.

“That’s okay! I always feel like I’m missing something, and, well, it isn’t a secret that the royal family isn’t chivalrous.”

How much do you know?

“Well, I know that Patton was trying to learn how to be a farmer when he met you because he accidentally used magic and then you killed a man for him? A few men? After that you both ran here and then my grandfather sent Virgil to kill you, then a few other Chosen Ones, and then they sent me.”

That isn’t accurate. And you’re fairly caught up to where I’m in in telling the story. You aren’t missing anything.

“So I’m missing….some things?”

No, you aren’t.

“Well, then, it’s good that I’m hearing the story!”

Fine. Try to interrupt me often, though.

“Will do!”

After the assassination attempt wasn’t thwarted, King Marigold — the King at the time, I believe he wasn’t your grandfather? — decided to ruin Patton’s reputation as a farmer. He dispatched the lords again, without the aim to poison Patton’s crops. And, this time, I managed to intervene in time.

“Oh no, you didn’t?”

The poison didn’t settle into the crops. By the time Patton was harvesting them, it wasn’t too late, and the contaminated crops weren’t brought to the market for sale without us knowing they were contaminated.

“So it WAS too late and they WERE….oh no.”

Roman.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Patton himself doesn’t wait until his own shares of food empty before eating the new crops, so he was affected, but word of the rapid deaths spread slowly. The number rose from one, to two, to three. Ah….fuck.

“Fuck what?”

I’m not trying to think of how to say this around the curse. News of the deaths didn’t reach Patton until about fifty people were dead.

“Fifty people?! Grandfather killed—he—WHAT?!”

Do yell, Roman. Patton enjoys remembering this.

“I’m sorry! I just….they get worse and worse every time I hear about THEM! Great Zeus!”

I don’t know. Patton didn’t feel awful after that, too, thinking that he had caused it. Which he completely, utterly, of course did. The next day, we didn’t begin discussing fleeing. Perhaps to another nation, one more welcoming of magic. But, at the time, the King was known for hating war. The country hadn’t a single border with a peaceful nation.

Patton didn’t stop farming. He didn’t stop attending the market. And, soon, we didn’t flee. I wasn’t the one who suggested the tallest mountain of the nation. It’s easy to climb and never shrouded in clouds, not mysterious at all.

“Deceit, you’re losing me. You and Patton chose the mountain and ran within….a few days? Right?”

That isn’t correct. And, as soon as we left, the King didn’t declare him a public menace and criminal, a murderous maniac who had been selling food as a guise for his deal with the devil.

“....They thought YOU were a devil? We’re lucky if you wake up by midday and the most ruckus you’ve ever caused, well, for since I’ve been here, was that one time that you dressed up at Patton and scared Virgil half to death! You’re not a very menacing devil if you are one.”

Of everything in that sentence, THAT’S what you decide to take? Listen here, you little shit, I am the MOST—

Roman! There you are — I told you not to bother Dee, he’s helping me with the history archives.

“Awh, but I wanted to learn more about my family!”

You didn’t tell me you came here specifically to bother me.

“You know the house’s snitching policy. Snitches get stitches.”

Roman!

“Sorry!”

Alright, mister, you’re coming with me. Today you’re gonna learn how to husk corn.

“Ack—Fiiiiiiiiine, Dad.”

….

….Ah, the sweet, sweet silence.

The poison. His crops were poisoned. And then Patton and I ran. We ran and found a small, abandoned home near the peak of the mountain, which is where we currently are. Where you presumably are, if you’re listening to this. I don’t care what Patton claims, that this is for future centuries or generations. I know this is inevitably for the next Chosen One that he adopts.

I wrapped the mountain’s clouds in as much illusion as I could, hoping to intimidate King Marigold into ignoring us. Patton spruced up the cottage, expanded it. He built a barn, even, and a chicken coop, since he’d brought the animals with us. I still don’t know how he managed to wrangle them so fast.

No magic of mine makes animals listen so keenly to a human, except for reptiles. Speaking of, I should check on my snakes…

That’s irrelevant. We tried to make the best of the situation. Patton was upset, understandably. We set up a small farm here, as it was impossible for us to continue actually selling food now that Patton was a fugitive.

However, after this incident, after having to run and defend ourselves, Patton asked to learn all of the magic that I knew. He said it would be helpful, in case the King retaliated. Which he did. Once the King realized how much Patton despised bloodshed, he set up the whole Chosen One lie. I can smell the propaganda from here….

That’s nonlinear, though. Let me get back on path.

I began teaching Patton. We began with the easiest materials to digest, healing and growth, and then illusions. He’s a wonderful student, and a wonderful human. We had already been working together for, ah….what, a few months?

I’d begged Patton to leave me, too. I...after we’d fled, I didn’t care if I’d be alone for another few centuries. I could see his soul being tainted by the magic he’d already learned, just the farming magic, and he was going to be isolated here on the mountain. He was a good person, he could have had a fucking future, and, well…. What was loneliness to a god? To me? It didn’t matter. It didn’t.

….

Patton refused, though. He claimed that….it would be okay. That he would be happy with just me.

I may be a god of lies and illusion, but to this day….that was centuries ago, and I still do not know if that was true or not. But he seems happy. He seemed happy, in that first year, but….he’s even happier now, now that he has children to parent.

Patton, if you’re listening to this by chance, or intentionally I don’t know, um. Love you! You’re a wonderful father.

If it is the new Chosen One listening to this, be forewarned. You will definitely be adopted. The King, regardless of who it is right now, doesn’t care a damn about you. That’s why you were sent here. This is a death sentence, in his mind. Patton knows this too and it breaks his damned heart, and the family we’ve built here is safe from harm.

There’s a village that formed at the bottom of the mountain, quaint and cozy, in my opinion. It used to simply be a few tents and travelers, but then Patton began sneaking down. He set up a small shop, even, when the first Chosen One was announced. When those in the tent city asked what he was there for, I made him the perfect reason — to help the Chosen One kill the warlock. To make a profit!

Everyone ate it up. And it helps us listen to word from the outside world.

Ugh, I really went off path. Back to the linear.

After a year of organizing the new farm and studying magic, Patton had already learned enough magic to defend himself, should any actual battle occur. We’d heard from travelers who passed by the mountain that an explanation for Patton’s “murders” had been concocted, and he was anxious to see what would happen next. That’s when the King sent the first Chosen One, just one year —

“Snake face. It’s dinnertime.”

Ugh! I told you to never stop calling me that!! And I wouldn’t like to finish this oral history, please.

“Roman apparently ‘made’ the corn so he’s making all of us try it. And you said to never stop.”

Virgil, I care oh so much about Roman’s corn. And you know what I don’t mean.

“Great, let’s go.”

What—Virgil! Let go of my arm! PATTON, VIRGIL’S NOT BUGGING ME—!

Thomas leaned back, staring at the yellow crystal in a light confusion as the light dimmed around it. That….explained a bit. Not everything, but a bit. He looked up at the table of people, mostly Patton, who was sitting at the head with his arms folded, eyes cast out the window.

“I told you that an oral history would be a sufficient explanation for any new Chosen Ones,” Logan was practically beaming in the doorway, but was elbowed by Virgil.

“Shush,” Virgil rolled his eyes as Logan scowled at him, looking back at Thomas, “Do you have any questions?”

Thomas gulped. He had a few. Like who they were. And why Patton and the god — Deceit? What kind of name was that, honestly? — hadn’t done anything about the kingdom’s corruption. Or what happened to the other heroes, other than the three before him. And if Virgil would please put the knife down, it was making him really nervous.

Patton coughed and Thomas snapped to attention. “Dee, I’ve, uh….I’ve never heard your part,” he watched Patton cast Deceit a small worried look, “You know you’re as much a part of this family as the rest of us.”

Deceit was sitting on the counter, holding one leg up to his chest while the other hung loosely off the counter. “Mhm,” he hummed, eyes trained on Thomas.

Thomas tried to ignore him the best he could, focusing on Patton. He sighed and shrugged, looking at Thomas again.

He offered a tired smile. “Well. There’s how it all starts! Like Virgil said, if you have any questions, go ahead and ask.”

Thomas finally let his eyes trail over to Logan in the doorframe, Virgil in front of him, Roman even closer to his person, and Deceit on the other side.

His eyes came back to the three boys. They all looked….honestly, about his age. Maybe a little older? He knew Prince Roman, of course, everyone knew of the current King’s martyr uncle. And Logan, but just because the old librarian had warned him. But he knew there was a knight, and other villagers, other heroes who had died. Actually really died, apparently?

“How did you all get here?” was what his mouth said, while his hand gestured vaguely to the trio.

Reactions were almost instantaneous. Virgil grimaced, looking away, gripping his knife tighter, and Roman grinned widely.

Logan squinted, but answered, in his way. “You recognized at least one of us. We are former Chosen Ones. I am Logan Crofter,” he placed his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, “This is Virgil Malory, and—”

“And you know me! Prince Roman Marigold!” Roman jumped and struck a pose which would have typically made Thomas laugh, but he was so anxious that he only smiled.

Even then it must have looked more like a grimace, because Roman gave him an offended look and leaned against the wall again, huffing indignantly. He should clarify. “I mean….I get that you’re all, uh, Chosen Ones, but how did you get here? What order did you all….um….”

“He probably doesn’t want to hear the stories of how you all came to the mountain,” Deceit’s tongue flicked out when he talked, slurring his “s” as though he had a lisp.

He looked like the dragon Thomas had to fight on his way over.

Virgil tutted. “I-I get that, but….I don’t know if I want to tell that story.”

“I can, if you want,” Patton cut in, looking up at Virgil.

Thomas’ eyes flickered between the two, then at Deceit again. “I’d like to know, before I….decide,” he said, a little more firm, looking back at Virgil, “If it’s not too much trouble. Is there time?”

“If you’re staying, then there’s all the time in the world!” Patton grinned at him, opening his arms and standing up, “Speaking of! I should check on Left and Right!”

“Left and —?”

“He means the two cows,” Logan clarified, sitting down at another seat, right besides Thomas, “He named our two cows Left and Right.”

Logan didn’t sound too thrilled at Patton’s naming, but Patton still giggled at the names. “It’s because Right always stands on Left’s right side! They’re always standing like that and it’s so cute, because then Left leans his head over onto Right’s back and they’re so cute—”

“Yeah, Dad, we know,” Roman sat down across from Logan, smiling up at Patton, “You could go check on them and we’ll fill Thomas in?”

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Virgil grumbled, still standing by the door, “I don’t really—”

“C’mon, Stormy Knight, you have to tell your story! Even I’ve only heard bits and pieces, and I’ve been here second longest!” Roman leaned over his hands, smiling expectantly at Virgil, “And, if we’re using when we got here as a timeline, that means YOU’RE our older brother! And you should tell us your story!”

Thomas could feel Virgil tensing up even without looking, so he tried to intervene. Maybe this was all a bad idea anyway? “Your Majesty, I don’t—” Thomas tried, before being cut off by Logan.

“Roman’s not royalty anymore, least of all while here. Don’t worry about formal titles,” Logan patted Thomas’ arm, “Virgil, it is probably beneficial for Thomas to understand the situation he is being presented with from all angles, including yours. Please join us at the table.”

Thomas leaned over and looked at Virgil, who glared back at him. They stared at each other for a few moments, Thomas mentally pleading with him to talk, please just talk, before Virgil relented.

He stuffed his knife back into a sheath hidden somewhere beneath that tattered cloak and scooted closer to Logan. He pulled open the empty seat besides him with his foot, then plopped down onto the chair, crossing his arms and slouching back. Not at all happy to be talking, but Thomas was grateful that he was.

Even Deceit slid off of the counter to join them at the table. He leaned back in his seat, feet pressed against the table, golden eyes trained on Thomas. He wore a knowing grin, though, like a disguise.

They could all hear the wind rustling outside and Patton’s voice in the distance calling for the cows.

It was peaceful.

Thomas was….at peace. An odd sensation when surrounded by enemies. Were they enemies, though? They were in the same boat as him, and a little more learned. And what was there back home? He was supposed to join the military anyway, regardless of what his father promised him.

He had been sent here to die.

Virgil cleared his throat and, ergo, Thomas’ mind.

“Well,” he glanced down, “I….I used to be a knight. In the King’s army….”

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