#tricswriting

[noctxj]

hanahaki disease “… in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies…”

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

agent who slowly withdraws from poly!tf141 after the first episode of bloodied flowers (realising they’re in love), from declining offers to relax in the rec room, accompany them to the local pub, or even working out in the gym to sparring.

agent knows that they’re not being subtle, see’s the guys try and figure what is going on with them. but agent refuses to let them find out—never.

agent who finally manages (after ensuring they wouldn’t hack up another flower) to file a notice, a formality really, to john— captain price, for their absence in the oncoming month or two. as there are no current operations needing agents’ immediate attention, its an opportunity for agent to get their other affairs in order after months being on base with the taskforce. 

john— captain price, briefly glancing at the document before focusing his ocean blue eyes to search agents (tired) face, a frown creasing between his full brows.

pleasedontlookatme—

whatdoyousee—?

the captain getting up from his seat to circle around his desk to stand before agent, his scrutinising gaze trying to catch agents downcast eyes.

pleasejohndont—

“this wouldn’t be about you pulling away from us recently hm?”

bullseye— 

agent could feel a thorn piercing the walls of her throat, their jaw tightening in response. a reaction john notices, his face softening as he reaches out to tip agents chin back to finally see his now gentle imploring eyes.

soblue—

“just don’t forget to come back to us, okay little love?”

little love. a pet name that simon (proudly) started to refer to agent amongst the taskforce (and no one else, lest they meet ghost in the middle of the night) while the others also followed suit—

“or would you rather shorty? or tiny even?” simon had smugly responded after seeing agents offended (blushing) face.

ugh that big oaf of a man, not everyone needs to be the size of an industrial fridge—!!

johnny and kyle chortling in the background, seemingly forgetting they’re suppose to be supervising the recruits’ training.

the pinch of another thorn dragging up their throat throwing agent back into the present.

“of course, captain.”

lies.lies.lies.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

agent whose kept a mental list of contacts who owe them favours, a debt that is finally being repaid: to find a cure for hanahaki disease. from the highest level of power and prestige in society, to the lowest trenches of the underworld. over the course of a few weeks, one by one, each contact falls short of delivering. but agent keeps digging. keeps searching.

there is never nothing. there has to be something somewhere. someone must have at least thought— until finally a contact (old friend) provides them with a lead. 

a doctor whose dedicated their life in medical research of hanahaki disease, searching for a cure— whispers that there is a cure. they’re located halfway across the world. but that doesn’t matter to agent, they’re leaving within an hour; flight booked and travel bag already packed.

washing the remnants of blood down the sink drain, tears wet on their cheeks. the episodes were happening more frequently.

agent is running out of time.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“… it can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear…”

agent feels drained as the doctors words echo in their mind even hours after agents abrupt appearance in the doctors office. one look into agents (desperate) eyes and the doctor already knew why they had come, offered tea to soothe their throat (wash the metallic taste away, even if temporarily).

agent immediately coughing out both the tea, then one bloodied rose— then two— three— and finally four, as agent reaches to rip the tangled thorns from the back of their throat, ignoring the screaming pain of thorns dragging out of their mouth and past their stinging pale lips. 

the doctors face stricken with worry and sadness, trying to wipe the blood from agents face and hands; disposing of the thorny flowers in a sterile bin. the doctor concluding that agent does not have much time to deliberate if they wish to proceed with the experimental procedure. an incredibly invasive surgery that may not completely cure the victim; follow up surgery’s may be required. 

being split open from larynx to diaphragm, sown back together, only to be split open again if a single flower is coughed back up.

agent acknowledges this. pain is pain after all—

whats more to add to the pile?

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

added some dialogue in this part compared to the first part. unedited, also like the first part. i know nothing about the complexities of surgery (google images my saviour) so don’t try to make sense of it haha.

thanks for reading!! ♡︎♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username!)

[noctxj]

hanahaki disease “… in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies…”

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

a disgruntled poly!tf141 who don’t want to work with one of laswell’s personal contacts. and ���agent” who thinks poly!tf141 are by far the most amusing bunch to work (annoy) with as of late. agent who impresses and frustrates poly!tf141 at every turn. and poly!tf141 who don’t know whether to scream or throttle (kiss) agent for their antics. 

poly!tf141 and agent who work so seamlessly well as a unit (much to laswell’s smugness). poly!tf141 and agent who spend countless hours together; the good, the bad, the boring, the exciting— the vulnerable moments. and for the first time in their life, agent feels unsteady, confused, afraid (loved). 

their reassuring words, soft gazes, the feeling of safety— 

agent who doesn’t like the steadily growing weight in their chest, or the (ever)tightening of their lungs when in close proximity. agent who doesn’t know what love feels like. doesn’t want it, has no use for it. whose only known it as a weakness; something to be ripped out of someone for valuable intel, to cause pain. a means to an end.

agent who scoffs at the thought of it (love), so juvenile. denies it; they do not feel love. least of all for a group of soldiers. men dutiful to their country, their family and friends. honourable. unlike agent— spy. assassin. a contract for their skills, bound by money (and laswell’s persuasiveness). dishonourable. the worst of humanity.

so why does it feel like agent can’t breathe? suffocating. there is something in their throat.

agent who coughs out bloody petals and sharp thorns. eyes tearing and throat burning (agony). a desperate sob, and with it another flurry of beautiful petals and mangled thorns comes up.

nononononono— 

stupidstupidstupid— 

this isn’t how its supposed to be— 

they will never feel— 

agent feels love. 

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

i’ve had this rotting in my head for a couple months now. so enjoy this dumpster fire of words. also this is my first time deep diving into this type of writing so yehaw better late than never.

i plan to do a part ii, just dunno when it’ll be posted.

feel free to scream in the comments - would love to know your thoughts! feedback is always welcome and appreciated ♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username!)

[noctxj]

hanahaki disease “… in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies…”

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

warm.

too warm.

a scorching heat—

this isn’t what agent imagined being dead would be like, but they guess the fires of hell weren’t called fires for nothing. 

…

no, thats not it.

the engulfing warmth slowly cleared up the haze within agents mind, finally allowing them to properly assess their physical state. 

nothing broken… nothing torn… so far so good…

… throat remains sore though…

an instinctual habit they’d adopted during their early days, particularly after a gruelling contract gone sideways or a bumpy operation with the taskforce—

they’re here. they came.

agents’ mind screeching to a halt as all of a sudden the events of the last few (?) hours flashed behind their closed eyes.

the bloodied flowers.

painpainpain—

the doctor.

savemesavemesaveme—

their initially slow and aching climb to consciousness now shattered as their inner turmoil translates to abrupt stirring of their limbs. agents’ brows furrowing in discomfort; panic and fear steadily fuelling the turbulence of their memories and emotions clashing against one another.

scheduled to carve them out of agents body—

to heal them. make them better.

so that—johnsimonjohnnykyle—would never find out—

undeservingundeservingundeserving—

agent didn’t feel the comforting warmth shift beneath—around? them, too lost in the storm brewing within their mind. slender, tanned fingers anchoring itself firmly to the back of agents’ neck, as if to gently coax them to stay in the present little love.

a gentle huff exhaled through agents’ lips, as if their body instinctually understood that command, trying to respond with an exasperated I’m trying, to only which an even more exasperated tutsounding beside—in front? of them. only for a new snap of blurred images of the taskforce spill through agents’ mind; all of them surrounding agent as they vomited out bloody flowers. the cause of their absence, the reason why agent (desperately) distanced themselves from the taskforce. agents’ secret now literally spilt out in front of them—

nononono— 

theyknowtheyknowtheyknow—

pleasedoneleavemepleasedoneleavemeplease—!!

agents’ eyelids slowly blinked open, the effects of the anaesthetic still present in their system; but not impossible for their restless panic and fear to demand control of their body. a soft gasp escaping their lips as they (thankfully) register the dimmed lights of the seemingly familiar room—bedroom? yes, their private living quarters within the clinic (and for any subsequent visits, per the doctors words). the soft hues of browns and deep greens evoking a comforting ambiance. however, agent wasn’t able to appreciate this as their senses seemed to finally catch up to their distressed minds’ demands—

agent was lying on top of someone.

ah shit.

their cheek pressed against a solid chest covered in a soft cotton shirt. the stranger—

no. not a stranger. they smell—

like comfort (home). 

earthy. a tinge of sweetness.

a brilliant smile—

kyle. 

they were lying on top of kyle of all people.

this time agent feeling a different sense of panic— an embarrassed one; their cheeks heating up. agent now forcefully trying to pump their blood through their body faster. getting ready to bolt—

strong, rough fingers gently interlocked with one of agents’ squeezed as if being able to read their train of thought now now, none of that lass.

johnny.

agents’ vision sharpening in clarity after each blink, their eyes trailing from their interlocked fingers, up a strong arm and shoulder to electric blue eyes peering into agents’ own, from a seat besides the bed they were lying upon. a soft smile stretching across johnnys face as he placed a chaste kiss upon the back of agents’ hand.

whatthefu— 

“there’s our wee little bon’, had us scared for a bit there. but now we ‘ken finally see those beautiful eyes of yers!”

always a fucking flirt—

“johnny, behave”

a gravelly, tired voice sounded out from the back wall closest to the door.

positioned like a big, scary guard dog— 

simon.

of course, the human equivalent of a (double-layered) brick wall was always prepared. focused. agent redirecting their wide eyes to simons’ intimidating mass, only to meet dark whisky pools behind a plain black balaclava already boring onto agents. johnny only humming in response as he continued to lightly brush his lips back and forth over agents’ hand.

whatthehell—

“johnny”

“soap, stop being such a shit”

“oi ‘am not bein’ a shite—“

“of course the first thing our little love is subjected to upon waking up, is you lots’ clucking like hens” a deep, smooth voice intercepts the sergeants’ bickering. johnny immediately pursing his lips in defiance, with kyle cracking an awkward, sheepish smile at the captain. meanwhile simon seemed content to continue blending into the shadow of the wall.

john.

standing in the seemingly minuscule doorway with his burly arms crossed over his chest and a bushy eyebrow arched, unimpressed. his clear azure eyes flickering between johnny and kyle, as if daring them to bite back.

agent, now definitely wide awake, rips their hand from johnny’s and immediately moves away from kyle’s comforting warmth as if burned, their legs now dangling over the side of the bed, intent to stand before the captain in their already disgraceful state. only for a wave of queasiness to slam across their body.

moved to much too fast—

was agents’ fleeting thought as their upper body lazily swayed forward, the taskforce swarming to them. kyle gently grasping one shoulder, johnny planting both hands on agents’ waist, simon’s broad palm curling against their collarbone, and john gently cradling agents’ face between his rough, calloused hands.

“shhh, hey easy now. take deep breaths for me love”

john rumbled as he ducked his head down to keep eye contact with agents’ wide, frantic eyes. the close proximity, the gentleness, washing over agents’ skin in waves.

“c-captain--“

agent finally managed to warble out from between their stinging lips, johns gaze softening further as his thumbs swept gently across agents’ cheeks.

“—why are you here? why are you all here?”

john didn’t appear phased at all with the question, seemingly content to continue rubbing soothing motions across agents’ touch-starved cheeks. only for the uncomfortable (yet familiar) drag of something sharp at the base of their throat to slowly unwind.

no—

please—

notrightnow—

“tryin’ to find you ‘f course”

agent’s brows furrowed in disbelief, as they had informed him— the captain, of their absence—

“had somethin’ important to say. all of us had’ ta’ tell ya’ somethin’— it just couldn’t wait”

they had had enough of me—

the vicious thorns continuing a slow and continuously deepening drag against the walls of their throat.

a liability to the taskforce—

luscious plumes of soft flowers causing a suffocating sensation.

notenough—

“we love you”

john— the captain of taskforce 141’s voice seemed to bounce against the walls of the room. 

what—

“all of us love you, lass” johhny crooned gently. 

lieslieslies—

“we didn’t know it in the beginnin’— buncha’ muppets we all were”

simons’ rough voice interjected agents’ twisting thoughts, his gaze so so soft as they mapped the corners of their face in reverence.

how—

“didn’t know then, but we know now—“ kyle softly continued on from simons words.

they couldn’t be—

“— that all of our love belongs to you” he murmured against the back of agents’ neck, his soft lips and warm breath feeling so right—

“our little love” john murmured, moving even closer to rest his forehead against agents own, a shudder rolling through them, “ours to always love.”

agent felt something within them break.

they could finally breathe—

a desperate sob spilling out of agent as their tears dripped down onto johns hands still cradling their cheeks, grabbing onto his wrists as if to remove them from their mess, as if in apology, only for the captain to wipe away agents’ tears with a tenderness agent didn’t even know existed.

theylovemetheylovemetheyloveme—

“i—“ they hiccup, voice interrupted by their sniffles.

itsokayitsokayitsokay—

“i love you to”

imsafeimsafeimsafe—

“I love all of you”

im home—

agent squeaking out in surprise as john connects his nose with agents, half lidded eyes unwavering from agents’ own. johnny resting his head upon their thigh, a look of pure adoration shining in his sky blue eyes as they gaze upon agents’ sweet face. simon replacing his palm resting upon their collarbone with his cheek, tucking his nose against the crook of agents’ neck. and kyle fully resting his lips against the back of agents’ neck, softly inhaling their addictive scent. 

the agonising pain of the thorn and flowers gone from agents’ body. the cuts on their lips, both fresh and old disappearing as if they hadn’t haunted agent for weeks whenever they looked into the mirror. the suffocating struggle of breathing now absent from agents’ lungs and throat. everything appearing so much clearer, brighter—

and for the first time in their life, agent felt weightless, felt warm. 

and it was all because of them that

agent feels love.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

anddd we’ve made it to the end!! thanks to everyone whose read and enjoyed this story! ᡣ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶𐭩 ♡

this is my first completed fanfic series so feel free to leave feedback and comments, i'd love to hear your thoughts (o´〰`o)♡*✲ﾟ*｡

crossposted on ao3 (same username!) 

[noctxj]

the reaper | part i

as far back as human memory can recall, the origin of flower marks remains unknown. if perhaps they came during or after the birth of humanity, or are benevolent gifts from the gods to aid ones navigation in life— milestones to remember and learn from, a north point on a compass lest you stray from your path. regardless, they have always been. and while flower marks remain an important aspect of ones journey, there is none other more significant than the soul flower mark. wherein the moment someone is born, this mark blooms above ones heart, as it is considered a pure reflection of who that person is and will be.

part i / part ii

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

so it was no wonder that during a gloomy winter evening, stricken screams of hysteria and the shrill wailings of a newborn baby echoed off the walls of the cold estate in a coalescing manner. the head midwife having no choice but to hurriedly pass the tiny squirming bundle to a reluctant nurse and focus on trying to placate the madam’s delirium— 

"that is no child of mine! keep that accursed child away from me! nurse--!" 

flower marks are a language all on its own, one that humans do not need to learn. rather, it is an inbuilt knowledge and understanding. and in the case for this newborn child, their soul flower mark had already predetermined their fate as forsaken.

as amidst the turbulent mess of bloodied towels and blankets, death had just been born. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

initially mesmerising in its opulent visage, its only when the mind catches up and registers its meaning that its beauty is quickly replaced with fear and alarm. 

a blooming grandiflora rose of black petals mixed with subtle hues of reds and haunting purples rests above the girls heart, with bramble-like stems arching up across her frail collarbones to ensure it is there to stay.

a black rose, promising the bearer as the omen of death.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

even at such a young age, the cruelty of fate had already determined that little flora would not be given mercy or reprieve from the reality that is her cursed existence. a forsaken trail of purple anemones had lightly entangled itself amongst the thorny stems of her soul flower, almost as if to placate its loneliness. 

a swath of lilies of the valley sprawl from her left shoulder over and down her shoulder blade, the burning trail of pain and suffering almost numb to her senses. 

and then upon the delicate skin of her left wrist lay a singular bloom— a moonflower, reflecting little flora’s most earnest thoughts, dreaming of love from her own mother.

all these marks permanently etching themselves into little flora’s skin before her third birthday.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

despite living under the same roof as her mother, rarely did little flora see her; instead following in her late grandfathers footsteps as a ruthless businesswoman, silver spoon in her mouth and all. instead she herself was always surrounded by staff always heeding to her mother’s orders, to "always have that child within your sights", with an ever rotating door of tutors and nannies.

“madam, miss flora is an intellectually gifted child, it is quite remarkable! she has just—", 

"… so?" her mother had sharply interrupted, “a high level of intelligence is a common trait within this family. i expect you to provide the girl with more difficult material to not only accomplish but also excel in; anything less than perfect and dare i say failure to meet my— this family's standards, will not be tolerated. or are you stating that you are not competent enough to fulfil your tutor roles' duties and responsibilities?"

"i— no— my apologies madam, of course there is no problem. if you would allow me, i have colleagues who would be thrilled to assist in miss flora’s academic—"

"do as you please. now, i have an important meeting with a gentlemen flying in from st. petersburg. a mr. z it appears… the estate staff will assist with your queries about the girl. so do refrain from contacting me any further-"

so as determined as a young child her age could be, she promised she'd keep being good to strive for her mothers praise, be an obedient and perfect daughter that her mother would realise is worthy to be loved— despite her soul flower.

“a curse that should never be shown to anyone lest she receive punishment,” her mother would often remind her.

a punishment that envelopes the expanse of her back as raised scars. milestones just as permanent as her flower marks. more lilies of the valley creeping down her back. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

little flora never knew who her father was, had asked her mother once and received a harsh slap across her cheek, her small body whipping to the carpeted floor from the force. 

the silent burning of nightshade on her right pointer finger ironically mocking the hush motion.

she never cared to ask again. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

little flora remembers the day she believed her mother had finally saw value in loving her. barely eight years old and still holding onto that naive hope— and she foolishly believed she finally did.

waking up early in the morning as per her routine, only to see her mother sitting in the chair beside her bed, happiness written across her usually severe expression, looking at little flora herself. blinking once— twice— then rubbing her hands across her eyes to make sure what she is seeing is real and not a dream.

“good morning flora,” what is going on— “you and i have an agenda for today, so please come downstairs for breakfast once you’re ready.”

is today the day? did she finally do it? is her mother finally learning to love her—

“as it is a special occasion, i’ve taken the liberty of selecting your attire. now, off you go to wash up.”

little flora had been ecstatic, her heart thrumming like a hummingbird out of excitement to prove that her mother would not regret placing value on her. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

little flora’s only ever seen her mother’s soul flower once, only by chance of course. her evening robe slightly loose across her shoulders, her motions lax from the glass of wine she was nursing— a far cry from her usually sharp and elegant appearance. 

a beautifully victorious gladiolus cradled upon her chest. she envied it, a blessing to be born with. unlike herself. however, it wasn’t until later that she understood why her mother despised her existence so much.

as victory and death are eternal enemies— always on opposing sides. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“it is the perfect place for you to grow in flora, a place for you to finally thrive in,” her mother’s words had echoed in flora’s ears.

she doesn’t know how long ago that was.

she didn’t even feel alive.

flora’s small body strapped down to a cold metal table, no longer wearing the attire her mother had especially picked out for her. instead wearing a customised medical gown, allowing an unobstructed view of her accursed soul flower mark to the blurry shapes her dull gaze had tried to focus on.

the harsh clinical smell of the room burning her nose, and the glaring overhead lights further disorienting her senses. flora couldn’t move her head if she tried, a strap also tightly bound across her forehead attached to the metal table. 

what is this place? why would mother send me here? this is wrong, they must of got it wrong, i shouldn’t be here, i—

flora could feel the burning of a new mark directly below her soul flower. almost the same in size she guesses, if only she could move her head.

the agonising pain of a broken heart flourishing as a vibrant yellow rose.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.✦ . ˳

tric’s notes

this highkey spawned from my hanahaki disease fic. flower meanings/symbolism was a bit difficult to grasp (ie. countries, cultures, time periods), so don't take this too seriously lol. 

i was hoping to make this a oneshot but it just kept going ugh. this is unedited. part ii may be more backstory, part iii the boys will appear (no promises though, just a rough idea).

i recommend listening to “my flower” by ladies code. it’s a korean song but i think it matches the mood of this piece - so i encourage listening to it.

thanks for stopping by!! ♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username)

[noctxj]

the reaper | part iv

as far back as human memory can recall, the origin of flower marks remains unknown. if perhaps they came during or after the birth of humanity, or are benevolent gifts from the gods to aid ones navigation in life— milestones to remember and learn from, a north point on a compass lest you stray from your path. regardless, they have always been. and while flower marks remain an important aspect of ones journey, there is none other more significant than the soul flower mark. wherein the moment someone is born, this mark blooms above ones heart, as it is considered a pure reflection of who that person is and will be.

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv / part v

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

the freezing siberian cold, a bullet still lodged in her person, and now indirect orders to head into enemy fire for the relief of evac on the other side, with the (useless) konni soldiers 7 minutes out from their location. 

ugh

the reaper had dealt with a lot worse with a whole lot less, however, that didn't mean she couldn't feel annoyed at the hard deviation her handler so graciously handed her—

silence.

the shooting had stopped.

perfect.

they must be spreading out to try and search for her, now that their prisoner had finally bled out. in their eyes, capturing the shooter would be the next best thing for a failed op. as much as she’d find it amusing to tango with the notorious taskforce, the reaper was no fool; her energy reserves were running low already with blood loss. 

taskforce 141 and their close associates were no average soldiers. not just a bunch of meatheads from the dossiers she’d memorised of each operative, each lethal in their own respects. and then there was commander farah karim, a far more resolute and clever individual her enemies failed to give her credit for. but alas, war is war. and the reaper knew she was capable of handling any of them.

as if sensing what was to come next, the now absent burning of a new rhododendron returned. albeit as a warm thrumming sensation; no new flowers to add, rather it was in anticipation of how it earned its place on flora’s skin. or as her teachers liked to call them, “reassurances” that this is what she was born to do. 

time to move—

combat suit partially blending into the stark whiteness of the snow, save for the deep crimson staining the lower half of her suit. the reaper opted to handle one of her well-used karambit blades, the handles’ ring fitted reassuringly around her pointer finger, the steel blade reflecting the blinding white surroundings; a weapon superior in close combat.

stealthily creeping through the increasingly denser landscape of trees, the reaper kept a crouched position, as the the unforgiving wind whistled through the trees and over her (tired) body. the reapers steady breathes filtered out in faint white puffs through the hard cover of her face mask.

another step—

and then the reaper was but a handful of feet away from the commander herself, comically paralleled crouches. both of their heads snapping to one another at the same time, the commander also seemingly sharing her wild disbelief from the widening of her dark eyes. only for them to steel over and swivel her guns’ aim at the reaper, yelling into her mic—

"!!—ON ME! HOSTILE IS—"

now that wouldn’t do~

the reaper immediately ducked out of the commanders range of fire as she took a shot that flew by the reapers shoulder.

close—

the commanders brows scrunching in determination—

not close enough though—

the reaper using the downward momentum of her dodge to sweep the commanders legs right from under her; abruptly landing flat on her back in a flurry of snow, a grunt escaping the commanders clenched teeth as her gun now laid a little more than an arms length away. only for the reaper to continue pushing forwards in a violent thrust, the blade in her hand arcing through the air, aimed towards the commander’s exposed throat—

— only to stop short less than a centimetre away. the woman's gasping breaths the only sound ringing in the otherwise frigid air.

plumes of lilies of the valley trickled from the direction of her left collarbone, up towards the underside of her jaw. a lifetime of pain and suffering, so much of it—

just like little flora.

"... you're not the target."

passed the reaper's usually still lips, the mask deepening her usually soft voice. but the meaning of her words were still understood if the confused and disbelieving expression of the commander’s face were anything to go by.

as if sensing the change, the reaper felt her own tapestry of pain thrum louder over the now hushed state of the rhododendrons.

... she does not deserve any more pain

no longer moving, the reaper was now able to register the renewed pain her injury was screaming at her; that moving too fast and too much out of her already limited range was definitely not optimal.

... but the commander is still a threat

just as quickly as her injury reminded her of her limitations, the reaper flipped the blades handle in one smooth move and butted the end against the commander’s temple; her eyes fluttering shut and the tension of her body immediately disappearing. the reapers eyes drawn back to the overtly familiar flower mark decorating the commanders throat; and then unbeknown to her own reasoning, flora gently covered the commanders exposed throat (flower marks) with her loosely tied neck scarf. 

the distant crunching of snow under multiple pairs of heavy boots in multiple directions broke the reaper out of her thoughts, the world snapping back into sharp focus. the taskforce heard the commanders yell through their comms and were closing in on her— the reapers location, and fast—

“Сосед по сбору, вы некоторое время не перемещались со своего места.” (“compound to reaper, you have not moved from your location in some time.”)

the fucking patience—

“преследование вражескими силами, конец.” (“multiple hostiles in close proximity, over.”)

they didn’t need to know the reaper had gotten distracted on the field. 

slightly swaying to her feet from her kneeled position, her eyes still locked on the commanders relaxed face, the reaper willed her focus back onto the present; the thrumming of rhododendrons surpassing the lilies’ cries of (familiar) agony—

it was too quiet—

the reaper closing her eyes and inhaling a deep breath of cold air through her concealed nose—

they’re here—

.

.

*crunch*

—only for the reaper to release the expanse of cold through the hard mask covering her mouth, her body twisting a perfect 180 degrees to face the bearlike form charging at her—no weapons in his hands, with the intent to knock her down to the ground and immobilise the reaper with sheer force. which would have been quite effective, given the reapers current (bleeding out) state, however—

you’re too loud captain—

and by the surprised look on his face as the reapers’ marble-sized smoke bombs connected to the center of his dense tactical vest, he figured it out a second too late as well.

*BANG*

        *BANG*

   *BANG*

The sharp cracking of the bombs’ shell shattering immediately followed by thick silver plumes of smoke covering the captains entire front and line of sight; momentarily stunning the captain— 

until he continued charging forward, albeit with less coordination.

not bad—

a flicker of intrigue passing the reapers mind, as most recipients of the reapers’ petite smoke bombs succumbed to disorientation and coughing fits, thus a perfect opening to strike.

although, captain john price isn’t like many other captains after all…

but just as fast as the intrigue came, it was immediately replaced with the reaper ducking onto the ground to deliver two swift round kicks to the captains jaw, finally collpasing to his knees in a disgruntled mass of surprise and anger:

“what in the bloody hells—“

the reaper securing the glock in her right thigh holster into her hand, intent to eliminate the captain of taskforce 141; good news for her handlers allies if what her eavesdropping of their whining was anything to by.

only failing to move out of the way of the mountainous mass with skeletal features barreling directly towards her. one large hand entirely encompassing the hand holding the glock, roughly rearing it towards the ground, away from serious harm, squeezing it into submission as the reaper felt the delicate bones in her hand and wrist creak in protest—

but the reaper knew better than to drop her weapon - least of all within close proximity of lieutenant simon riley, the infamous ghost.

and by the increasingly livid —and disbelieving— look in his dark eyes, ghost also figured out the reapers (stubborn) resolution.

so the lieutenant grabbed the reaper by her tactical belt with his other hand, lifted until they were almost eye level, and threw her against a tree several feet away. far out of reach of the captain and the commander— the latter being attended to by one of the sergeants..? with another blurred figure running to the ghost and reaper, gun at the ready, the reaper observed from her jilted sight.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“.” (“again.”)

“.” (“weak.”)

“.” (“disappointing.”)

“.” (“doctor, increase the—“)

“.” (“needs to be better—“)

“.” (“the expectations—“)

“.” (“you are nothing—“)

“.” (“the reaper—“)

“.” (“you are the reaper.”)

“.” (“it is your fate.”)

“.” (“no one can love death.”)

“.” (“you’ll never be loved.”) 

flora broke.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

they’ve all come out into the open—

a sharp exhale of air escaping the reaper as she roughly landed in a flurry of snow at the base of the tree, the bullet wound yowling in protest. however, a weak pulse from the lilies of the valley at home on her skin whispered that this kind of pain is easy, and that it was not the current objective.

quickly crouching onto one knee, hands loosely curled by her sides, the reaper peered up at the skull masked solider.

“that was a mistake lieutenant.” she murmured softly.

the tensing of the lieutenants shoulders almost impercible at the reapers voice, her words — a grunt of disagreement cutting through the cold air from the armed sergeant with the bright glacial eyes— johnny mctavish… or just “soap”.

“i dun’ think lt makes mistakes—“

the ghosts’ bottomless eyes darkening into bleak anger as the familiar glint of one of his knives makes itself known within the reapers (semi-uncrushed) hand. lifting his gun to aim at her a millisecond too late as the reaper deftly flicked the knife at the sergeant - lodging straight into his thigh.

the scotsman reactively staggering back and releasing the grip on his own gun in pain and surprise. this, combined with the wavering of ghosts own weapon as he lost against the temptation to check on the sergeant, who was now on one knee hissing in pain.

another mistake—

the reaper lunged forward despite the pain blanketing her limbs, grabbing ahold of the lieutenants outstretched hand to use as an anchor to slam her boot behind his knee, quickly followed up by a knee to the face. an outraged growl resounding through the now soaked balaclava and slightly crimson stained skull faceplate.

“you wily little—“

“ghost, move!!”

*crack!*

a split second and then a bullet lodged itself into the frame of the reapers’ tactical goggles. head unwittingly snapping to the right, allowing ghost enough leeway to slam his stained faceplate onto her goggles. sending the reaper sprawling back a few metres, her vision fragmented from the goggles’ now cracked lenses—

*crack!*

         *crack!*

— along with the shattered frame digging into one of her cheekbones from the vicious slam of the skull face plate.  

how annoying.

the reaper swiftly reorienting themselves into a crouch whilst ripping the goggles off her now bleeding face with aching fingers. the world around them almost blinding them with the brightness of the snow and pale sky.

ah yes, sergeant kyle garrick if i remember correctly… 

pretty.

despite the cold anger twisting his features into a snarl, as well as the gun still aimed at the reaper. blood now slowly trickling down their cheek and onto the still secured bottom half of their face mask. 

“now put your hands up where i can see them.”

“zhnets, otchet.” (“reaper, report.”)

perfect timing as always.

“don’t make me repeat myself.” sergeant garrick continued.

the reaper acquiesces, ignoring the screaming pain now rippling across their abdomen while slowly raising their hands above their head.

“соединение с жнецом, отчет.” (“compound to reaper, report.”)

a beat as the reaper maintained eye contact with the dark eyed sergeant.

“.. ghost, hows soap?” gaz —  the reaper further recalled, asked without breaking eye contact or lowering his gun. 

“alive—“ grunted the lieutenant as he was now by the scotsman’s side; in the process of stemming the flow of trickling blood.

“am still conscious y’know, ye coulda asked me—” piped up the scotsman who had a somewhat offended expression, his attention now focused on the reaper with their raised hands— and the patch of blood pooling beneath them.

“—little lass o’er their don’t seem to be lookin’ too good though.”

the smoke now cleared of his system, the captain redirected his attention to the reaper. his calculating gaze minutely taking in her still open wounds with a cock of his head.

… did that idiot soldier just call me short of all things?

it wasn’t the worst thing they had been called. however, the reaper didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended and aim to stab him in the other leg so it could match—

all of a sudden, a flurry of bullets flew from behind the reaper; immediately dropping down on to her front with a pained grunt to crawl to cover and away from the taskforce now also huddling behind cover of their own. 

“Отряды 5 и 6 вышли на связь с вашей позицией, жнец. oтчет о состоянии, сейчас.” (“units 5 and 6 have made contact with your position, reaper. status report, now.”)

took them long enough.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

sorry it ended a bit abruptly, but it started to get a bit? too long. but also hello! im backk (dw this series is not discontinued)

this chapter focuses more on the meeting rather than the flower aspect so much. the meeting can be summarised as: first= price getting his ass handed to him, and then second= the rest of the lads (except gaz bc he smort) getting fucking decked. we love a strong woman in this house yehaw

feedback and comments always appreciated ♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username)

[noctxj]

the reaper | part iii

as far back as human memory can recall, the origin of flower marks remains unknown. if perhaps they came during or after the birth of humanity, or are benevolent gifts from the gods to aid ones navigation in life— milestones to remember and learn from, a north point on a compass lest you stray from your path. regardless, they have always been. and while flower marks remain an important aspect of ones journey, there is none other more significant than the soul flower mark. wherein the moment someone is born, this mark blooms above ones heart, as it is considered a pure reflection of who that person is and will be.

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“конвой в пределах видимости. 13 кликов к юго-западу от текущего положения. мониторинг.” (“convoy within sight. 13 clicks south-west of current position. monitoring.”)

all this gear and still cold.

“утвердительно, жнец. в режиме ожидания.” (“affirmative, reaper. standby.”)

it was cold back then, and still cold now. not sure why she would think differently.

the blindingly white snow of the siberian mountain ranges reflected off the reapers’ combat goggle lenses and sniper scope; sitting motionlessly atop her snowmobile hidden amongst the creviced mountainside and tall pine trees. her attentive (bored) gaze never straying from the four vehicle convoy moving over the frozen lake.

to be fair the reapers handler had ordered her to be on standby since she situated herself in her current position. that had been 3 hours ago.

“утвердительный—” (“affirmative—“)

KA-BOOM!

the deceptively frozen surface of the lake violently shook and gave way from the pressure of— explosives? 

— and it was now only getting interesting.

“жнец, отчет о состоянии сейчас.” (“reaper, report.”)

all four vehicles toppling over on the fractured slates of ice before succumbing to the glacial water of the lake.

“Маршрут был перехвачен в самом слабом месте, как вы и предполагали; весь конвой затонул в озере. Подозревается использование взрывчатки.” (“route has been intercepted at weakest point per your predictions; entire convoy has submerged into lake. suspected use of explosives.”)

the reapers’ focused gaze zeroing in on the 1… 2… no… 4..? figures through her scope, as they clambered up and out of the lake. three in unfamiliar, but climate suitable diving gear— not konni soldiers, her gloved fingers gently increasing her scopes clarity in an attempt to identify the three hostiles currently manhandling the now free prisoner. 

“жнец в лагерь: враги захватили пленника.” (“reaper to compound: hostiles are in possession of prisoner.”) 

she spoke into her mic, scanning the tree outline and immediate surroundings for anymore hiding.

“Только трое держат пленника. Я могу их вывести и забрать пленника.” (“only three have the prisoner. I can take them out and retrieve said prisoner.”)

“отрицательно. Два отряда были отправлены в течение 3 минут к последним известным координатам конвоя. Держите пленника в поле зрения и сохраняйте дистанцию, не вступайте в бой, пока я не отдам приказ. Давайте посмотрим, хороши ли в бою новые друзья победителя, хорошо?” (“negative. two units have been dispatched eta 3 minutes to convoys last known coordinates. keep prisoner within your sight and maintain distance, do not engage until i give the order. let us see if mr. z’s new friends are any good in a fight, shall we?”)

mr. z

or as he likes to proclaim himself as, her father, even though they were far from being family. rather, he was the man that gave her biological mother an out from flora’s existence. the man that gleefully handed her over to the institution as a gift. proof that him, his father and their organisation were worthy allies to the institution (and their resources). 

through the many layers of thermal fabric and body armour, the luscious tapestry of rhododendrons and begonias blooming from the reapers right palm, up to her forearm as a bouquet of danger and caution, she still felt them throb warmly at the anticipation of a hunt.

“понял, сэр. выезжаю.” (“understood, sir. moving out.”)

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

you fucking fool.

was the only thought that passed the reapers mind before lodging two bullets straight into the prisoners' chest, midway through piteous begging to his captors to not kill him, he would tell them everything and blah blah blah—

the same song and dance—

hence the immediate command for his elimination, lest he blurt out sensitive information of interest to mr. z.

it was times like these, that the reaper felt a surge of calm stillness burn within her chest, right where her soul flower mark is. as if that this is exactly what fate had intended for her. 

mr. z’s new friends however…

the reaper thought with mild disinterest, 

their bottomless pit of dogs could be trained better—

“4 минуты, жнец.” (“units 5 and 6 eta is 7 minutes, reaper.”)

“копия.” (“copy.”)

however, the minute the prisoners body fell to the unforgiving siberian ground, the biggest of the team— 

a beast of a man wearing a skull mask—

immediately swivelled to her general direction and knelt to one knee, eye already peering into his scope, as his comrades dragged the prisoners’ body with them behind cover.

sniper, with fast reflexes—

only to shoot once, then twice—

and for the reaper to feel a white hot burning flash of pain tear through the lower right side of her abdomen.

agh— 

pivoting on one foot to slam her back against a tree out of direct eye line, the rough surface of the tree dragging across her back and adding to the uncomfortableness of the situation.

how annoying—

the reaper would have been impressed, if not for the bullet still lodged in her body and her current priority to immediately stem the bleeding. the peculiarity of a skull masked sniper landing an almost lethal hit to her didn’t exactly improve her mood either.

skull masked sniper. now why did that sound familiar to her?

“жнец в соединение: я был скомпрометирован. пуля в правый нижний квадрант, активно останавливает кровотечение, не смертельно.” (“reaper to compound: i’ve been compromised. bullet to right lower quadrant, actively stemming the bleeding, non-lethal.”)

“копия. статус миссии?” (“copy. mission status?”)

“заключенный получил две пули в грудину. Его оттащили из поля зрения, прежде чем снайпер в маске-черепе нанес ответный удар. Точное состояние не подтверждено, визуальных данных нет.” (“prisoner received two bullets to sternum. dragged from view before skull masked sniper retaliated. cannot confirm state, no visuals.”)

the scattering of timber chunks from the side of the tree she was resting upon appeared in her peripheral.

trying to flush me out into view huh

“настоящее время под обстрелом.” (“currently under fire.”)

“Копия. Рипер, мне только что сообщили, что противники - это не только силы освобождения Урзикстана, но и их известные сообщники, оперативная группа 141. А именно: капитан Джон Прайс, лейтенант Саймон Райли, сержант Джон Мактавиш и сержант Кайл Гаррик.” (“copy. reaper, i have just been informed that the hostiles are not only the urzikstan liberation forces, but have been identified as their known associates, task force 141. specifically: captain john price, lieutenant simon riley, sergeant john mactavish and sergeant kyle garrick.”)

a pause while more bullets sent more pieces of bark flying within her view.

seems like more than one shooter now—

“… лейтенант — это тот, кто носит маску-череп.” (“… the lieutenant is the one wearing the skull mask.”) 

ah, right. the reaper can now actively recall reading the profiles of the known associates of the ULF as potential enemies to appear on the field.

“копия. разрешение на ликвидацию оперативной группы?” (“copy. permission to eliminate the task force?”)

“отрицательный, они помеха, а не приоритет; приоритетом было устранение предателя — с такими ранениями он долго не проживет. Я ожидаю, что вы немедленно вернетесь на базу. Однако эвакуационный пункт находится к северу от вашей позиции.” (“negative, they are a nuisance not a priority; the priority was eliminating the traitor — he will not survive long with those injuries. i expect you to return to the compound at once. however, evac is located north of your position.”)

the reaper sighed as she could now feel the uncomfortable stickiness of her uniform cling to her front, understanding her predicament. the bloodied wound positioned at just the edge of the wrathful red tulips decorating her right hip and waist; now a tangled mess of coagulated blood and vermillion petals, a terrible mix. 

“копия. Жнец выдвигается, вступает в схватку с враждебными силами.” (“copy. reaper moving out, engaging with hostile forces.”)

the burning of a new rhododendron blooming on her skin going unnoticed by her. 

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

the reapers not so meet cute with the 141 is almost here! for those who have played the games, any clues as to the inspo of what mission reaper hijacked in siberia?

used google translate, so apologies to those fluent in russian if it seems like i horrendously butchered the language gahhhh

thanks and cya in the next one!! ♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username)

[noctxj]

the reaper | part ii

as far back as human memory can recall, the origin of flower marks remains unknown. if perhaps they came during or after the birth of humanity, or are benevolent gifts from the gods to aid ones navigation in life— milestones to remember and learn from, a north point on a compass lest you stray from your path. regardless, they have always been. and while flower marks remain an important aspect of ones journey, there is none other more significant than the soul flower mark. wherein the moment someone is born, this mark blooms above ones heart, as it is considered a pure reflection of who that person is and will be.

part i / part ii / part iii

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

flora grows older.

learns (is subjected to) the seemingly endless cruelty humanity possesses. learns (witnesses) that the ugliness of humanity is contagious; better known as war. learns (loses to) the monster carefully nurtured within her chest— her very being, her soul flower mark of death.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

the championed student of the notorious institution; a place whispered within the intelligence community as nothing but a myth, a hoax riddled from the remains of the USSR’s fall. a secret institution that had been slinking along the deep shadows of their former glory as a house of murderers flittering across the globe as agents of chaos and terror.

pulling undesirable girls into their maddening shadows to try and reclaim their bygone prestige and notorious skill to level world powers to the very edge. but the undesirables’ bodies were too weak; unformidable, seeping like sand through the institutions enraged fingers. unable to mould them to their benefit, their creed.

until the arrival of flora changed everything for the institution.

flora’s soul flower mark viewed as a blessing—

the beginning of a new era for the institution.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

lily of the valley’s remained a constant companion for flora throughout her early years in the institution. their abundant trails having far surpassed halfway across the left side of her back. she found no need to address them, nor look at the new ones that would burn themselves into her skin after another day being struck down.

the strike of a fist across her head was bearable, she just needed to grit her teeth, breathe, and refocus on her assailant.

the slash of a knife across her skin was something she did not flinch or blanch at, the littered scars across her back a testament during her formative years at her mothers estate.

the unmistakable crack or fractured bone only giving flora a second of pause. not from being immobilised, but to mentally assess if the damage will be detrimental to the fight.

flora found that the superficial pain brought on by her mentors’ physical training was something she was able to learn from and prioritise accordingly.

by the age of ten, rhododendron’s freely flowed from the palm of her right hand down to the skin surrounding the delicate bones of her wrist; a silent warning to those vigilant enough to look, to beware of her.

it didn’t matter how broken her body was, especially during a mission; first and foremost complete the objective, then and only then she was granted permission to return back to her private quarters, one of the many nameless medical staff already waiting to tend to her "mistakes".

there was no such thing as injury at the institution. only calculated and miscalculated choices, the difference between surviving and getting killed prematurely.

like a porcelain doll being mended by a dollmaker, the sterile gloved hands of the medical staff would expertly smooth over her bleeding and fractured body with pills, serums, needles and eternally crimson bandages.

the plume of purple hyacinths crying forgive me forgive me forgive me, from her right hipbone eventually quickly pattering out after only months at the institution.

instead, the burning of vivid red tulips bloomed beside them on flora's right hip and waist. throbbing with so much wrath, as if trying to wash away the naivety of the purple hyacinths' plead for forgiveness. as if she had lost hope for better, for someone (her mother), anyone, to come and save her.

consequently, the institution delighted over this change in character; as finally, what they had been waiting for, hoping for would finally come to fruition—

flora becoming a little less human and a whole lot more of a monster.

the institutions prodigy student—

the reaper.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

apologies for the wait for part ii + it being a little too short ++ if it also wasn't what you were imagining ಥ‿ಥ i have so many things i'd love to do with this story (bouncing around in my head and random notes ugh) but writers block literally has me by the throat

so please enjoy this filler? chapter while i try and kick writers block ass !!

thanks for stopping by!! ♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username)

[noctxj]

down, down into the mountain | part i

“and what is it that this curious little fae hopes to find hm?” 

the last dragon laena had crossed paths with had asked. his question had stumped laena, no one had asked her that before.

“… i’m not hoping to find anything.”

“the word travelling suggests you have a destination no?” he’d cocked his big head to the side whilst peering down at her from his great form.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

in which the curious little fae laena exploring a long abandoned mountain kingdom (accidentally?) stumbles across a hungry dragon.

pairing: dragon!john price x fae!ofc

mdni. future adult content.

it was a devastatingly beautiful sight, the once ornate archways of a forgotten ancient kingdom now lay silent and still. carved into the side of a rocky mountainside, stories spoke of the impossible depths its original inhabitants had dug; always searching for more minerals, crystals, and gold to fuel their appetite for new knowledge and innovation. an appetite that would eventually lead to their doom; attracting the impertinent eyes of a dragon— or at least that is what is believed to have happened. almost a millennia has passed since then, the echoes of time notorious for warping stories of calamity into exaggerated fables and poignant legends.

however, laena wasn’t interested in times long gone. the concept of time and immortality was nothing to flitter about as one of the long-lived fae, only second to dragons themselves.

although as long as laena had been alive, she had only ever come across a handful of them. a secretive race who dedicated themselves to their own kin. 

wise. intelligent. and especially kind to her whenever she crossed paths with them. often mistaking her for being lost, having strayed too far from her clan. had offered laena refuge with them and their kin until such time they were able to track down her own, as it was rare for the fae to leave the comfort and protection of their own clans. instead each dragon-kind chortled in surprise and confusion when laena explained she was a lone travelling fae.

“and what is it that this curious little fae hopes to find hm?” 

the last dragon laena had crossed paths with had asked. introduced himself as nikolai, and was far more boisterous and reckless than any other dragon she had come across. his question had stumped laena, no one had asked her that before.

“… i’m not hoping to find anything.”

“the word travelling suggests you have a destination no?” he’d cocked his big head to the side whilst peering down at her from his great form.

another question that had stumped her.

“… then i am exploring the realm.”

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

nikolai had ended up accompanying laena for several decades, stated that she needed his “realm rich knowledge!”, even if she had been travel—exploring for a few centuries at that point. it was an odd pairing, but laena enjoyed the company, forgot how drawn into herself she had become, as if she was just a soulless spirit moving across the many plains of the realm. had forgotten the fulfilling feeling of connecting with someone.

until finally, fate decided that their travels as a “dynamic duo” (nikolai's words, not hers) had inevitably come to an end. nikto finally confessing his long-drawn yearning to return to his kin. laena had berated him for not returning to them sooner.

“you tryin’ to get rid of me, eh?” nikolai had drawled in half-hearted (fake) hurt. wiping away an imaginary tear from below his bright reptilian blue eyes for good measure while lounging back against a rock in his human— albeit intimidatingly very large, form. laena now use to his antics, just directed a flat look of annoyance at him.

“that is not the issue you big oaf, they are your kin. your family. they must miss you as much as you miss them. you should have returned to them sooner.” laena had snipped back. nikolai just waved his hand in response, an exasperated sigh spilling from laenas lips. sometimes she found it hard to believe he was several centuries older than her.

“i’ve always known i would return to them, child,” nikolai had huffed, interrupting her thoughts. the humour now absent from his glowing eyes— instead, sadness? regret? stained them, “i’d just hoped that whatever you are searching—i mean “exploring” for, would be found; that i would be there for you.”

laena hadn’t ever heard nikolai speak in such a serious tone. the sincerity of his words had caused a tiny pinch of sadness to throb within her chest, his words also resonating with laena. she already would miss him. she had secretly hoped he would be around for longer. 

“… so that I may rub it in your face that you’ve been playing treasure hunter, minus the map, of course”

never mind. 

this cracked out dragon could crawl back to his kin like a worm after laena wrapped his wings in some sticky vines—

“wait laena i was just kidding! hey— wait, no—!!”

laena considered nikto a good friend, perhaps even as an (overbearing) older brother. it had only been a few months since they bade each other farewell, errant tears had escaped laenas eyes as nikolai enveloped her in one of his crushing bearhugs. his cocooning scent of comfort and safety now just a fond memory.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

standing in the middle of the vast hall with her back to the outside world, laena could feel nothing but the cool still air; the light of the moon and stars only illuminating a limited capacity before her. despite the ruin that surrounded her, she couldn’t deny the surviving details of grandeur reflecting a time long gone— forcibly removed from existence.

which begged the question of what this now desolate kingdom did to garner the ferocity of a dragon.

a curious thing… what did you do to deserve their wrath?

a hmph and then a gentle whisper of a simple command flittered into the otherwise quiet air. a beat, a low hum, and then an almost appreciative sigh could be felt all around as the old fluorescent minerals embedded into the walls lazily flickered brighter and brighter, until warms hues of light coursed throughout the space; down corridors and up stairways. the once desolate halls 

now able to clearly see, laena felt a delighted giddiness spread throughout her form, her wings fluttering in excitement at the prospect of exploring this untouched place. discovering what she may learn, what she may find—

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

what in the gods was that sound?

another great crack vibrated throughout as laena quickly swept under a slight alcove as dust and slight debris fell deeper within the mountain.

laena wasn’t sure how long or how far deep she’d travelled into the cavernous mountain kingdom, wasn’t sure how long it would take her to get back out.

this is definitely not ideal.

laena thought as she gritted her teeth, settling her feet onto the shallow shelf of the wall to properly ruffle off the errant dust that managed to land on her wings. 

perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to get out now before she got smothered by rocks—

all of a sudden, a fleeting glint of bronze and gold refracted upon the corner of laenas eye, her attention now snapping down below to pinpoint the origins of the object

… but not before she figured out what that was, of course…

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

a poor lapse in judgement, laena later decides as her body is now seemingly frozen in place. a colossal figure—

larger than nikolai if possible—

was just a short distance away, encapsulated in shadow, a pair of bottomless azure eyes crackling with electric bolts of crystalline blue, regarded laena with an unchecked ferocity she wasn’t sure what to make of.

… those eyes—

the stranger pulled in a deep inhale, eyes fluttering and the expanse of his broad, bare chest expanding, holding, and then releasing— along with a trail of smoke, and the shifting of enormous bronze and gold wings behind hus figure.

a dragon, in their half-shifted state—

“curious little fae~” the unknown dragon purred, his now half lidded eyes trailing across laena’s form with a starved glint, “‘ave been waiting so long for you,” the deep timber of his rough voice akin to the rumbling of thunder.

… what?

for the first time in her long life, laena felt the foreign feeling of confusion and fear trickle down her spine. she was always sure of herself, knew herself to be capable in every situation. one doesn’t stay alive, alone, for this long without some level of preservation instinct and self assuredness in your own knowledge and skills after all, immortal or not. but this was different— 

felt dangerous—

felt as if she was the target, as if she was being hunted. but the question was: why?

“come now, no need to be shy,” the dragons rumbling voice interrupted her disoriented thoughts.

one side of his mouth quirked up in amusement, a sharp canine peeking from beneath his upper lip and surprisingly kempt facial hair. especially given his state of- or lack there of, of his dress; a poor excuse of navy blue trousers which had definitely been through the rigours sat lazily along the dragons' hips. the powerfully corded muscles which make up the dragons' thick thighs 

this condescending brute—

her initial disoriented state of the unknown now replaced with a strike of indignation as she narrowed her eyes at the stranger before her. 

“my introductions with most dragons don’t often begin with them claiming i’ve 'kept them waiting’” she snipped in a cool tone, as if what he had been spouting out of his dumb mouth up until now had been a waste of her time—

why in the hells was he smiling?!

an amused huff and then a hearty chuckle, the apples of his cheeks lifted upwards— fully showcasing the extent of his deadly canines, but also highlighting that while he was a senseless dragon, laena couldn’t deny he was also a devastatingly handsome one at that. feeling her own cheeks growing warm; from embarrassment or realisation, she wasn’t completely sure—

wait, what kind of thoughts—

laena, not right now—!

all of a sudden the dragon took a step forward— laena automatically taking one backwards, still wary of his intentions. a steadily growing rabid hunger prevalent in the dragons cerulean eyes as his breathing seemed to pick up, his eyes refusing to break away from laena’s own, as if the thought of losing sight of her would cause him pain. 

“afraid little one?” heaved the dragon, his form seemingly expanding in mass due to his heavy intakes of breath; as if trying to breathe in laena’s very essence.

not good.

as laena took stock of her surroundings; almost at the very edge of this walkway. she couldn’t hope to escape this stranger dragon’s grasp if she tried to take flight out of the mountain— impossible. she had to try and outsmart him in the tunnels below, even if she didn’t know what he wanted, she sure wasn’t in the mood to find out so quickly.

“never,” laena haughtily claimed, taking another step back; the edge of the rocky walkway now immedaitely behind her feet— a fact that made the dragon just a few metres away from her growl in discontent.

the volatile (handsome) dragon taking another heavy step forward, nostrils flaring.

laena wasn’t going to wait to find out his next move (despite his addictive disposition).

she took one final step backwards and let herself fall, the wind breezing through the delicate nature of her wings. the feral roar of the dragon following as she pivoted mid air and folded her wings tight to her back, the goal of escaping the seemingly dangerous dragons’ attention paramount, the cool air rushing against her body.

down

down

deeper into the mountain

the curious fairy and the hungry dragon went.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

posting this while drunk bc might as well HEHEHEHE

this was suppose to be purely smutty, but i am a hoe for The Lore™ (• ε •) of anything and everything - including whatever this is hehe. also, not sure if its obvious but said lore is heavily inspired by the hobbit and skyrim? kind of. unedited as always.

thank you for reading!!! mwah ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

crossposted on ao3 (same username!) 

[noctxj]

mdni. adult content. ➊➑＋ only gang. ⇢ ⇢ ⇢ ⇢

slow + inconsistent updates. no taglists. crossposted on ao3.

✧ call of duty

✧ across the spiderverse | coming soon

✦ call of duty

[noctxj]

mdni. adult content. ➊➑＋ only gang. ⇢ ⇢ ⇢ ⇢

slow + inconsistent updates. no taglists. crossposted on ao3.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

✧̣̇ hanahaki disease | part i / part ii / part iii / part iv poly!tf141 x agent!ofc | alt title: these flowers hurt me. heavy angst. pining. unrequited love. tw: self-worth issues, blood, vomiting.

✧̣̇ the reaper | part i / part ii / part iii / part iv / part v poly!tf141 x ofc | heavy angst. tw: child abuse, torture, human experimentation. winter solider + black widow inspired. 

✧̣̇ down, down into the mountain | part i / part ii dragon!price x faerie!ofc | smut. fluffy(?). soulmates. possessive price. dubcon. nikolai and his shenanigans of course.

✧̣̇ crimson dynasty | coming soon crimesyndicate!poly!tf141 x crimeheiress!ofc | angst. pining. (over)protective 141. tw: murder/death, torture, blood/gore.

✧̣̇ [untitled] | coming soon bodyguards!poly!tf141 x ofc | so many wip's haha help.

✧̣̇ pretty bunny ears | oneshot poly!tf141 x sergeant!ofc | just smut lol. sex toys. shibari. overstimulation.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric's notes last updated 26 January 2025.