#[-*but I plan to check more regularly now that I know it has a thread on it*-] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thedoublingcenter · 3 years

Text

College Days in a Haze

[ @kingofthecon || Pulled from here!]

Stanley wasn’t about to question it or his imagination’s penchant for weird things. It must have been a side effect of trying to bring light to his and Ford’s childhood. Fat lot of good that did him, considering that he and his brother were no longer on speaking terms. It was funny and stupid how much he thought of his brother when he made it clear that he didn’t want to even be in the same zip code as him. His brother was self-centered despite how self-conscious he was. It was laughable, really–and there he went thinking about Ford. Ugh, feelings were stupid. He was supposed to be holding a grudge. He was also supposed to be helping out his inner weird with a Valentine’s day present. Yeah, that was apparently his life at the moment. “Yeah well, I’ll jus’ take your word for it.” Mainly because he didn’t know WHAT was going on at the moment. Setting the con-artistry and…other questionable comments aside, he decided to take everything he was hearing with a grain of salt even if he wasn’t one to judge. After all he’d been sort of fixated with the occasional dead animal in his childhood. He’d even told Ford all about the dead rat he’d seen floating in a bucket once. He’d been sort of fascinated by things like that, though that’d all been squashed when Shanklin had been hit by a car. He’d been attached and watching something close to him die had hurt. Some people dealt with death better than he did. He knew about taxidermy, courtesy of his twin, but that hadn’t made him feel better because it cost money and their Pa didn’t even want to dish out cash for his sons let alone a pet that Stanley wasn’t supposed to have to begin with… “Maybe hold off on the heart for when ya get hitched or somethin’?” He wanted to say never, but honestly whatever weird stuff was going on it probably would be rude NOT to present a still-beating heart after a certain amount of time with them dating? Is that what this was? He was assuming that since it WAS Valentine’s Day that they were at least, on some level, more than friends? W-why was he putting more thought…nope, the sooner he got this over with the sooner he could pretend that none of this weirdness, minus his time well spent with Fiddleford, out of his system. No need to get invested. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll pass on that invite, Tri-Guy. But maybe during Halloween?” A time that was appropriate for wanting to be freaked out despite the absurdity that came from people dressing up and trying to scare the mess out of someone i.e. one of his favorite holidays ever. “I wouldn’t mind teaming up for some sort of haunted house–no! A hut where dumb teens get murdered for making stupid choices like running up the stairs where they’ve blocked themselves from getting out of two story building without twisting their ankle or breakin’ their leg or something.” Just thinking about it…the scams he could pull, the suckers he could relieve of their hard earned cash. Maybe there was something to this whole con artist thing? …nah. “Wait, I actually helped?” The surprise was more so because it seemed like a really basic idea with all the things laid out in front of him like that. Maybe it was some sort of moral or lesson…that he shouldn’t overthink things because sometimes the most obvious solution was just as good as something super convoluted. It would certainly tie into him trying to talk with Fiddleford. He should just be himself. That’s what he was wanting to do when he came to college after all. He wanted to get out of Ford’s shadow and be himself, and yet here he was incapable of trying to just…talk to his crush like he had with Carla. It shouldn’t have mattered if Fidds was a guy or not. People were people? “Eesh, I do NOT want to know the story behind the soggy animal purse.” Luckily the information wasn’t coming anyway, and he was due for a wake up call since Mr. Top-Hatted Triangle was dismissing him with some…pretty interesting…conspira– Stanley sat up with a start, momentarily forgetting where the heck he was which was very unfortunate since he was sitting at his desk. Joining the waking world was disorienting already, but still being slightly sick didn’t help matters especially when he toppled over and onto the floor taking his chair with him. It clattered, loudly, and the most he could do was groan out a curse that might have impressed his old man. He had no idea what time it was nor did he have any idea of whether or not Fidds was even in their shared dorm. Hopefully it was early enough for him to be in class and not late at night like he hoped it was. He fumbled for much longer than he would have if he was completely sober and managed to right the chair before fumbling his way towards the bathroom - hand in the bird nest he called his hair while muttering about weird dreams though there was a pleasant feeling in his chest because he certainly remembered talking to Fiddleford, even if he didn’t really recall what it was he’d said…though he did vaguely recall laughter…? Weird dreams indeed.

Of course, Fiddleford had already been up for a few minutes- but seeing Stanley suddenly jolt awake had nearly caused him to ram his head into the wall as he started, words just barely catching in his throat out of surprised confusion. He finally managed to regain his bearings, re-adjusting his ruined glasses long enough to see Stanley basically bumbling towards the door to their shared bathroom. He spotted the chair, heard the mutterings.. Weird dreams? His own mind was still filled with fleeting images- many of them involving Stanley, and-- well-- a few... Things... That had his cheeks coloring as he thought back on them.

But even as he tried to grasp those memories, they started to flicker and waver- ghosts in the dead of night. He turned his head, spotting his alarm clock- which read a very painful ‘3:33 A. M.’. Early.. Very, very early. Too early for his first class, but late enough that he didn’t want to go back to sleep... But it was tempting, even as his memories grew foggier, fainter with each growing second. He was trying to grasp them, but they continued evading his grasp- dashing into the dump for thoughts as he tried (in vain) to hold on. That was when Fiddleford finally stood, mouth still moving slightly to try to figure out something to say.

“Didja have ah... ‘Weird dream’... Too?” He wasn’t even sure what he could qualify it as. Thoughts dashed through his head every time he tried to think back- a confession, a kiss, a steady light in the core of his very being that grew at the mere sensation of what he thought he remembered. He wanted to go back, but a paralyzing fear held him in the present. “... Ah jus’... Ah jus’ woke up...” He breathed out. Was Stan even listening? Should he even be trying? He wasn’t entirely sure.

One thing was certain: he probably wasn’t going to get any sleep the rest of the night. It was too late for anything more than a power-nap, given how alive he felt. It was strange, his body was all at once chilled to the bone with exhaustion and wired down to every last nerve with energy. He wanted to run and scream, and at the same time pass out on the bed and wake up in two weeks.

It occurred to him then that he probably shouldn’t be trying to ask Stan what was going on- after all, the other was going to the bathroom, clearly- conversation was probably the last thing on his mind. So Fiddleford slumped a bit in his bed, staring at his banjo resting beside the bed, the strings waiting for a good pluck while he tried to figure out what to make of his jumbled mind. There were only faint impressions now- but enough that he could piece together a general idea. A general idea around Stan, around love- and the thought worried him. Had something manifested in his dreams? Had he just... Had a wish-fulfillment dream? Maybe a nightmare? It would explain the fight-or-flight response he was feeling... If it could be called that.

Faded afterimages of sunlight drifted from the curtained window (they really needed thicker curtains), the faint blue a reminder of just how early it truly was. Although really, ‘early’ and ‘late’ were subjective at best... He readjusted his glasses, before silently taking them off with a hint of a laugh. He hadn’t needed to adjust them... But it had been done out of habit. He looked them over, the cracks still quite visible- so small, so hard to spot from a distance... But up close... Clear words and images.

“... Di’ som’ne break m’glasses?...”

#[banjos and robots: fiddleford]#kingofthecon #[-*I hope you like it!*-]#[-*lemme know if I need to change anything or make it longer or shorter or whatevs*-]#[-*may wanna msg selfrp tho since this blog-- I don't really check often--*-]#[-*but I plan to check more regularly now that I know it has a thread on it*-]#[-*also trying to use a more southern accent lemme know if I should dial it back*-]#long post

1 note · View note

hxseok-honee · 3 years

Text

sundress || part 17

written portion under the cut!

sundress [part 17] || the jealous girlfriend card

previous || masterlist || next

a/n : [and it's hard to keep my cool // when other bitches tryna get with my dude] streets x doja cat

taglist [open] :

@deepseavibez @thetrueghostqueen @reddeathraven @dingzerenistall @skyrro @unadulteratedlyunique @ramyagovindraj @itismochirice @wwhseokjin @drpepperobsessed @monamone @thekookiecorner @army-moa75 @burningupp-replies @lele-bb @pb-n-juju @red-kebab @heonsbebe @peachyyoongs @superloverpielamp @marifujioka @butterflylion @heyitsgigi @lochness-butmakeitsexy @miki-chi @cahowlkook @worshiphoseok @lilacdreams-00 @bongsbeforebibles @miriamxsworld @oasiswithmyg @peonyplace @annewrighthglc @calling-dips-on-j-hope @yoongiofmine @loveyoongles @instantspot @missmadwoman @x-xjaeminx-x @luvtaeha @vanillxangxl @renhold-nightspear @taeshuworld @lvrseok @supahumbreon @a-noona-mous @echointhelibrary @secretlycrazyhummingbird @simpinforyoongi @ireallylikeyourwriting

___________________________

Thursday, 21 October, 5:08pm

“I just want to know what you were expecting to accomplish with that--”

“I regret coming back to talk to you.” Yoongi laughs with his entire body, bending over at the waist to put his hands on his knees as Y/n approaches him. With a roll of her eyes, she’s handing him the coffee she’d bought him, almost tempted to drink it herself now that she’s seeing how much fun he’s having with her embarrassment.

He’d been waiting for her in the Entrance Hall, a smirk gracing his features when she’d turned the corner and made eye contact with him. It had taken everything in her power not to turn right back around and go upstairs to her room.

“I’m sorry for laughing at you, it’s just -- I’ve never seen you be so impulsive. I was hooked.” He leads her out of the castle and through the courtyard, Y/n almost tempted to cover her face in embarrassment at the memory of the events that had occurred here no less than two hours ago.

They cross the grounds, making their way to a small bench down by the lake. They aren’t alone, small groups of friends sitting in the sand and strolling along the shore all around them -- but it’s a private enough spot to talk. Yoongi sits down with a sigh, waiting until Y/n’s seated next to him to scoot in toward her, one arm around her shoulders as he sips at his coffee.

“So? Start talking, Loser. I wanna know everything.” Y/n rolls her eyes, because this feels like an interrogation and she’s not entirely sure she has the answers. When she doesn’t respond, Yoongi looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You know I’m fully aware that you weren’t just acting out of the good of our ‘relationship’, right?” She keeps her eyes trained solely on her lap, picking at non-existent lint on her pants while she thinks.

“I dunno -- I’ve just never really seen you hanging out with other people before.” He smiles, because that was vaguely insulting, but he finds it amusing mostly because it’s true.

“That’s fair… but she wasn’t some random girl, Y/n -- you know that I know her -- that was Selene? We’re not close, but we share most of our classes.” Y/n nods, having seen the girl around Slytherin common room before. She’s also aware that this is someone Yoongi talks to regularly -- not often in person, but Y/n’s seen him texting her frequently enough to remember her name. She doesn’t want to admit that might have something to do with how she’d reacted, but Yoongi’s already seeing it in her face.

“You know we text mostly because we’re both really bad students and we need to share notes a lot?” Y/n nods again, feeling dumber by the second. Yoongi only sighs. “Can you please say something?”

“She’s pretty.” It’s the only thing that comes out, no explanation offered afterward. Yoongi purses his lips to hide his smile, turning to look at her.

“You’re prettier.” She rolls her eyes, hating that she’s unable to stop the corners of her lips from turning up, because Yoongi’s objectively cute when he’s being gross and cheesy.

“I didn’t say that so you could compliment me.”

“But I did, anyway.” They’re quiet for a moment, people-watching all the clusters of students around them as they think of how to continue this conversation. And then Yoongi’s leaning forward, setting his elbows on his knees and staring out at the lake as he passes his coffee cup back and forth in his hands.

“You’re not worried, are you?” It’s quiet, mostly lost in the wind, but she catches just enough to know what he’s really asking -- if she still trusts him and his commitment to her, no matter how fake of a relationship this is.

“It’s not you I don’t trust, Yoongi.” He looks back at her, eyes serious.

“Then?” Y/n sighs, rolling her eyes before gesturing discreetly out to a group of 7th years not far away. He looks over at them, finding that two of the girls are whispering to each other and glancing in his direction every few seconds. He can’t help but smile, because Y/n is genuinely annoyed by the constant attention he gets, but he hasn’t noticed a thing since they formed this little arrangement. And he always noticed.

Unable to resist teasing Y/n and lightening the mood, he sits up, leaning back against the bench and scooting in until he and Y/n are huddled together. He tilts his head in her direction, whispering conspiratorially to her.

“What’s the problem with a couple girls checking me out? The entire school thinks we’re together, so they know I’m taken.” She leans in similarly, her voice laced with irritation.

“That’s the problem. It’s like everyone’s just watching us and waiting for you to be single again.”

“Okay, but I’m not single, and I don’t plan on being single for a long time -- they’ll get bored of watching eventually.” He reaches out and takes her hand when he says it, pulling it into his lap and threading their fingers together. When he looks, the two girls are still staring, gossiping to each other as they gawk at his and Y/n’s joined hands. He sighs softly, because now he’s understanding why Y/n’s so bothered.

“Alright, it’s a little annoying.” She snorts humorlessly next to him, and he’s turning to her with a smile, trying to calm her. “Any way you can just ignore them?” She nods, reassuring him that she’s fine, even though it’s technically a lie. She’s not going to be able to ignore them, but she can do her best to get used to them.

She feels bad, if she’s honest -- it’s not like it’s Yoongi’s fault that he’s still getting attention even after this month or so of being in a fake relationship with her, and she’s fully aware that he’s not once even glanced at another person. She feels like she’d taken her insecurities out on him today, entirely on impulse, when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Hey.” Her eyes flick over to him, and she sees that he’s watching her, a knowing smile on his face. “Look at you -- you look so guilty.” His eyes have that teasing glint to them again, but she’s feeling too embarrassed to play along, so she looks away, pouting out at the lake while she tries to figure out how to apologize. It only makes Yoongi more fond.

“I’m sorry I pulled the jealous girlfriend card… you didn’t deserve that.” She doesn’t see Yoongi’s smile growing, too stubborn to meet his eyes again.

“So you were jealous.” Immediately, she’s turning to him, eyes wild.

“No? I was not? That was just the act I was doing.”

“So then what were you feeling?” He’s openly mocking her now, wide smile on his face while he looks at her playfully. She huffs once in annoyance.

“I don’t know -- insecure?” The smile drops from his face at her response -- he hadn’t been expecting something so candid.

“Insecure…?” Y/n turns away, face warming at how seriously he’s looking at her. It’s embarrassing. This conversation is embarrassing.

“Hey.” Yoongi squeezes her hand, and her eyes flick quickly to him and back again. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut down like that.” Knowing she’s being unreasonable -- this is Yoongi, after all -- she turns to him, grimacing when she sees the reproach in his eyes.

“It… feels like no one’s taking our ‘relationship’ seriously. That everyone thinks I’m just… your temporary plaything.” Yoongi blinks, shocked. He’d barely even noticed the people staring at him, so the realization that Y/n’s been thinking about this long enough to have come to such an unsettling conclusion… it bothers him.

“Have I… given you a reason to feel temporary?” He knows the answer. He knows she’ll say no. But he can’t help but need the confirmation. He needs to hear it, or else this is going to eat at him.

“No-- Yoongi, no.” He’d been looking away when he asked, but he’s pulled aggressively back to her, so he turns his head to meet her eyes. She’s frowning deeply, upset that he’d even ask. “It’s not you, I swear. You’re perfect.” He can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips at the unexpected compliment. She pushes further, drawing that playful smile out of him again. “I promise it’s not you. Never you.”

She’s so cute, he thinks, because she’s looking at him like she’d do anything to get him to believe her, and that alone eases any anxiety that had been crawling up the back of his neck. He bites at his lip in contemplation, blinking back at her and pursing his lips with amusement when her frown only worsens with his silence.

And then he’s leaning in, pressing his lips to her cheek and staying close to her when he pulls away.

“I don’t like it when you’re focused on other people. Just look at me from now on.” Eyeing him carefully, Y/n nods, but he can tell she still feels guilty, because her pout hasn’t gone away. With a fond smile, he slides his free hand to the back of her neck, pulling her back in.

His kiss is soft and easy, like he’s in no rush to pull away. It makes her heart flutter, because she knows why he’s done it -- she knows he’s still aware of the girls watching them, that he’s trying to ease her mind with a display that’ll solidify to everyone watching that he’s taken. That he’s hers.

When he pulls away, he lingers near her, nudging his lips forward into hers lightly a few more times until he sees the ghost of a smile on her features -- and then he’s planting one more full kiss on her lips, because that’s the one that’ll bring out her smile the most. The one that reaches her eyes and makes her nose crinkle with embarrassment. He likes that one a lot. Only when he sees it does he back off, leaning away to look at her with a fond smile. She nudges him with her elbow, because he’s being really cheesy right now and she hates that it’s so endearing to her.

“You’re an idiot.” He nods easily, humming pleasantly at her assessment.

“Yeah. I am. But, lucky for you, I’m your idiot. No one else’s.” With a roll of her eyes, Y/n’s pulling their joined hands into her lap, playing idly with Yoongi’s fingers while they fall into comfortable silence. And then she’s snickering, thinking back to everything they’d talked about. He hums with interest as he reaches for the coffee he’d set down next to him on the bench some time ago.

“You know, you called me ‘baby’ a lot today. You never do that.” He blinks when she says it, realizing that he had in fact said it a lot while they were texting and on Twitter. With a tilt of his head, he’s looking at her.

“I guess I did… maybe I knew something was up with you. I’m feeling really soft for you today.” Y/n scoffs at him, rolling her eyes. Someone passes by behind them, and she wonders how they must sound when people overhear them — probably a lot like a real couple.

“I feel like… we had this entire conversation like two people actually dating.” Yoongi lifts a brow, remembering how this whole talk had gone as he sips at his drink, now lukewarm. And then he’s chuckling, because she’s not wrong.

“We’re nothing if not convincing.” She smiles, nodding along. They leave it there, only staring out at the lake together, not even realizing that if they’d just continue this conversation, they’d probably end up somewhere dangerous -- in a place where things would change. Or maybe they do realize it, and they’re just not ready to change. Maybe they like it here a little too much, and they’d rather stay a while.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“I actually really liked the jealous girlfriend card.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… It was kinda hot.”

“… I’m leaving.”

#bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts texts #bts hogwarts au #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi texts

238 notes · View notes

arts-and-drafts · 3 years

Text

Reconnaissance (Hermit Tommy AU)

(hooo boy here comes the start of a very long project, in which wrongs try to be righted in more worlds than one. This is a slight continuation of the fic Vulnerable, so maybe check that out of you're confused. Enjoy!)

TW: Death

Legend has it that the End connects all worlds.

There is countless spawns, countless new worlds created every second, but there is only one End. The End connects all threads of the wide, wide universe, and if you go far enough, you can see the start of other civilizations on pale islands farther out than the fabled badlands. If you go far enough, if you traverse the End more than any have before, you can start to see beginnings.

Xisuma knows this is all talk. But all legends start in truth. The End is where the admin begins his search.

He's surprised to find Tommy's old world very quickly.

There are few worlds that are completely closed off from the End, and of those few only one is still actively inhabited.

The Dream SMP. The name can't be a coincidence.

Xisuma turns to the world's history now, the hardest part of locating the world now over. It's then that Xisuma learns the best news; the world is regularly open to MCC, and that means a way in.

He tells only Tango of his plan, prepares him for the worst. If Xisuma leaves and doesn't return, Hermitcraft won't have an admin, and the world will die. It would be irresponsible to leave with that much responsibility on his shoulders, but Xisuma would not ask any of his hermits to go in his place, and he reminds Tango firmly of this when the mod protests his decision.

Xisuma spends the next month teaching Tango how to take up the mantle of admin while Xisuma is gone, and before the night of MCC he relinquishes the power in its entirety to his closest confidant. The transfer of administrator leaves both Xisuma and Tango out of commission for quite a while, Xisuma's body struggling through the sudden withdrawal of magic and Tango's attempting to adjust to the influx of power that came too quickly for him to process.

Xisuma departs while Tango rests, leaving the unsure promise of return in his wake in a book and quill before he steps through the portal to MCC.

Xisuma knows where to go. The portal to the Dream SMP has been reignited since the scare last time, and the former admin easily slips through the gateway during the hubbub of the event.

xisumavoid joined the game

<FoolishG> o/

<Ranboo> who

<ItsFundy> wait what

<xisumavoid> Hello. Do any of you know a Dream?

<awesamdude> Who are you?

Xisuma stared at his communicator screen. He chose to not disclose his reasoning for his arrival, on edge because of Tommy's state he was in when he found Hermitcraft. These people could be extremely dangerous.

<xisumavoid> I'm Xisuma, I'm not going to stay long. I just need to speak with Dream. This is his world, correct?

Silence.

Xisuma nervously tucked his communicator away. This world had set him on edge enough; his ability of perception was not as heightened as it used to be since his admin abilities were passed over, but he could still feel that the magic of this world was strained and warped.

The magic of Hermitcraft that he was used to felt light, warm, like a summer breeze on a perfect day, with small snaps of explosive energy that came from volatile and powerful players all in one space. It was generally pleasant.

This world felt...dull. Dull and stretched out too far, as if there wasn't enough magic to go around. What little there was felt tainted somehow, wrong in a way that Xisuma could not describe.

It was suffocating. Xisuma wanted to be out of there as quickly as he could.

The former admin looked around, cringing slightly at the awful mess of cobblestone and dirt and wood planks that made up a wall all around spawn. Besides the crude structure, spawn was abandoned and uninhabited.

Odd.

Xisuma chose not to dwell on it too much, and turned to a crack in the wall where he could leave the box.

He ventured out to a forest of spruce, nothing to be seen for 10 chunks in every direction. All that was in Xisuma's render distance was untouched trees.

The hermit tried his communicator again.

<xisumavoid> Where is everyone? There are no structures close to spawn. Can someone offer coordinates?

"Why are you here." Came a voice in response. Xisuma jumped out of his skin, whipping around so fast he nearly fell off the wall.

A creeper hybrid stood a few blocks from him, clad in ornate golden armor that Xisuma could tell was imbued with enchanted netherite. The look on his face was as cold and intimidating as his netherite sword clutched firmly in one of his paws.

"Uh--hello! I'm here to see Dream." Xisuma replied warily. "What's your name?"

"Sam." The hybrid offered bluntly. "And I can't let you see him."

A flicker of confusion disrupted the growing unease in Xisuma's mind. "I'm unarmed, I promise-"

"It's not for him." Sam cut him off, and Xisuma swallowed his words.

"...I don't understand." Xisuma said, getting the feeling that his wariness of the new server was not nearly enough as it should be. It was then that the hermit noticed Sam deflate, only barely, but enough for Xisuma to see that the hybrid was crushed with guilt.

"...He killed the last person that tried to talk to him." Sam explained lowly. Xisuma blinked. "For your safety and the server's, I can't let you see him. I don't know you, and I don't know if you're here to break him out."

"I'm not worried about dying, I--why is it a big deal?" Xisuma asked carefully. Sam's head snapped up to stare at him with hollow eyes, sending a shiver down the hermit's spine despite how close he was with Doc.

"...It was his last life." Sam said, slowly and deliberately, speaking as if it was terrible taboo to utter the words.

"You can't respawn here?" Xisuma asked, his unease pitching. There was respawn magic here, he could feel it, this wasn't a hardcore world.

"We can." Sam explained curtly. "But if we die and it's important, it's...that's it. We only get three lives."

Sam then looked down, and Xisuma noticed how tired the hybrid suddenly seemed. His paw clenched the hilt of his sword so tight that it shook in his grip.

"Tubbo only had one left." Sam muttered thickly, his voice full of regret and bitterness. Xisuma's stomach dropped.

"...Tubbo is dead?" The hermit realized, slowly. Sam looked up, his eyes now very suspicious as he looked Xisuma over again.

"Who are you? Why are you talking like you know Tubbo and Dream?" Sam interrogated, lifting his blade. Xisuma didn't even blink, his mind fuzzy with the static of shock and disbelief. Tubbo...was dead.

"I...came here for Tommy." Xisuma answered distantly. "He...I wanted to bring Tubbo back to him."

The color drained from Sam's face, but in Xisuma's state he really didn't have the energy to process the look of shock.

"Tommy's alive?"

"Tango, look into my eyes, only my eyes."

"No, nope." Tango jerked away from Keralis's hypnotizing stare. "Nice try."

"Tango," Keralis said again, his voice a disappointed purr. He really was laying it on thick. "I just want to know where Shishwammy is."

"He's doing important admin stuff, I told you!" Tango said, his bark having no real bite. Xisuma instructed him exactly; no one was to know where he went. X didn't want any of his hermits to follow him into that world of destruction.

Tango kept it locked, just as he promised, but Keralis was making it so difficult.

"Look, Keralis, I'm really tired. Can I please go back to resting." Tango tried. Keralis's huge eyes stared through him for a couple seconds, but then the hermit visibly backed off. Tango breathed a sigh of relief.

"...Get well soon, sweetface." Keralis hummed reluctantly, turning and shooting out the opening to Toon Towers. Tango watched his silhouette get smaller and smaller on the horizon before turning back to his bed.

What he told Keralis wasn't a lie. His bones felt like they'd been individually hit by a ravager from all the magic that now flowed through him. The humming of every life force in Hermitcraft had been giving him a nonstop headache.

He'd definitely gained more respect for Xisuma's role in their world after experiencing what that truly meant, but he always worryingly came back to the reason the power was given to him in the first place.

It'd been radio silence from Xisuma's end since he left for the SMP, but Tango could still feel his life force pulling at his mind, distantly. It was a very odd sensation, but knowing his friend was still alive and connected to Hermitcraft gave him comfort.

Still. Tango was out of his element, and he hoped Xisuma would return as soon as possible.

Splashing sounds of water gradually became louder and louder to Tango, making him throw an arm over his face in annoyance. He just wanted to sleep, void's sake.

"Tango, my friend! How are you, big man!" A punch to the arm startled Tango into nearly falling out of bed, Tommy's signature loud 'pah-HAH' following his scrambling attempt to get upright.

"Oh, shut up!" Tango said, a traitorous smile growing on his face while Tommy giggled.

"What do you want, Tommy." Tango sighed exaggeratedly. Tommy shuffled in place, a poorly hidden look of mischief in his eyes.

"...You have any TNT?" Tommy reached, and Tango pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. "What for."

"I wanna scare Zedaph when he goes to bed with an explosion noise!" Tommy grinned, all coyness instantly abandoned. Tango locked eyes with the excited kid.

"Tommy, get your shulker boxes." Tango ordered, and Tommy gave a cheer, bolting for the ender chest in the corner. "All right! Gonna do fucked up shit, we're wrongens!"

"Hey, no swearing in front of the kids." Tango chastised goodnaturedly, prepared to say "you" when Tommy asked what children were around.

The question never came. Tango turned away from digging through his chests of gunpowder to check if Tommy had heard him, all humor fading away when he noticed the kid frozen in place looking down at the contents of his ender chest.

"Tom?" Tango asked, approaching with enough speed to not startle the boy. He peered over Tommy's head when there was no response, and found what looked to be a lodestone compass gripped in Tommy's scarred hand.

"...Tommy?" Tango tried again, hesitantly laying a hand on the kid's shoulder. "What's up?"

"It's." Tommy choked, and Tango tensed in alarm when he noticed tears threatening the boy's eyes. "It's not moving-"

"What?" Tango asked, and a stake was driven right through his chest when Tommy looked up with the most crushing expression of despair Tango has ever seen in his life.

"Tubbo's--" Tommy's face screwed up, the tears finally falling. He turned back to the still compass, caving in on himself to press it to his chest. A pitiful, grueling wail grew in the boy's throat, and Tango's eyes widened as he put the pieces together all at once.

That was a soul compass, and it was still. Whoever was on the other end was still as well.

Tommy's best friend was dead.

#to be continued :)c #reconnaissance #hermit tommy au #hermitcraft fic #dream smp fic #meraki post

232 notes · View notes

amedetoiles · 4 years

Photo

@suibian-chenqing ME TOOOO!!! It is my ultimate endgame in any version of cql/mdzs. Just Lotus Pier in some way, shape, or form being the home where everyone returns to.

So please consider a universe where everyone makes better choices, has healthier conflict resolution skills à la conversations over soup, and lives happily ever after. Hear me out:

We all know that the chaotic Jiang disciples are the unsung heroes of the story, always merrily dragging their grumpy grape sect leader from danger and picking up after his dramatically discarded capes across various parts of the country.

What if after that staged fight while Jiang Cheng angrily copes with brozilla wedding planning (they hear him crying yelling multiple times at all the notebooks full of wedding ideas Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng have jotted down over the years), they decide that this is just not conducive to the happiness of their two favorite Young Masters?

Or equally important, the continuation of their beloved tradition of monthly Lotus Pier lake parties. A Jiang pool party without their resident chaos king and undisputed champion for the highest caliber splash swan dives? This Will Not Stand!

Obviously it is their Duty and their Right as the protectors and purveyors of Jiang culture for a few of them to secretly stow away while Jiang Cheng is having an epic meltdown over fabric.

“800 thread count? Are you out of your goddamn minds? My only sister, and you expect us to throw her a wedding with disgraceful eight hundred thread count fabric?! Do we Jiangs look like barbarians to you?!”

The Jiang disciples go to Yiling, rush up the Burial Mounds, and shout very convincingly, “Da-shixiong! Da-shixiong! Zongzhu, he – he –”

Wei Wuxian, war-torn, living with ten thousand ghosts, and constantly on edge, panics immediately, jumps to the absolute worst conclusion, and doesn’t even clarify before he rushes down the mountain because oh god, oh god, no, not again, didn’t he leave so his siblings would be safe, didn’t he promise to keep Jiang Cheng safe?????

Wen Qing warily agrees to come along because they clearly now have this well-established ongoing unspoken agreement to constantly save each other’s little brothers.

If the Jiang disciples have caught Jiang Cheng brooding over a pretty redwood comb wrapped in a silk handkerchief more than once, then they don’t say anything. Just share silent looks of glee when no one is watching.

By the time they reach Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian has worked himself up into such a state of frenzy that he bursts through the doors of Lotus Pier like a black thundercloud of overprotective fury and worry, screaming, “JIANG CHENG! JIANG CHENG!”

.... Jiang Cheng is sitting on the floor of the Sword Hall, surrounded by a mountain of square fabric samples, with bits of thread stuck in his hair, totally gobsmacked at the sight of his windswept big brother.

Wei Wuxian, still panicked, falls to the floor in front of him, grabs Jiang Cheng by the arms before he can even react, and frantically checks him over. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened – I thought –”

Jiang Cheng stares at him. Wei Wuxian blinks. The Jiang disciples have all conveniently disappeared.

Behind them, Wen Qing heaves a big sigh, slow and long through pursed lips. She bows respectfully, says “I will be outside,” and gets the fuck out of there.

There is a tense silence. Wei Wuxian realizes he’s been tricked, but he is so overcome with relief after all that soul-crushing fear that he doesn’t even get mad, just sags forward with his face in Jiang Cheng’s chest as the adrenaline leaves him all at once. He pretends he’s not shaking.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know if he wants to shove Wei Wuxian away, hug him back, or wrap him in as many blankets as he can possibly find until a-jie comes home. He does none of those, just demands, half-strangled, half-something-like-worry, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“They said – I thought you were in trouble or – or –”

[long pause] “You – came all the way here shouting like a possessed lunatic because you thought I was in trouble?”

Wei Wuxian hunches a little defensively and starts to move away. “Of course I did.” He makes sure to add, with emphasis, “Idiot.”

It doesn’t matter if Jiang Cheng can’t make up his mind because apparently his hands can, and they grip both of Wei Wuxian’s elbows to keep his brother from pulling away. They stare at one another.

”You said you didn’t want anything to do with the Jiang sect.”

Wei Wuxian looks away, grumbling. “How else was I supposed to keep you and shijie safe? Besides, you’re the one who stabbed me.” He is very pouty about this.

Jiang Cheng, immediately incensed and indignant, shouts, “You broke my arm! I had to be in a cast for a whole month!”

An almost smile flashes over Wei Wuxian’s face. “Hey, it was only your left arm. You were still able to write.”

Jiang Cheng glares at him and shoves his shoulder. Wei Wuxian instinctively shoves him back. They stare. Wei Wuxian scrubs his face tiredly with his hands. Jiang Cheng has to push away the urge to motherhen with blankets again.

He says, “I never asked you to protect me.”

Wei Wuxian gives him a look. “I don’t need to be asked.”

Jiang Cheng grits his teeth. “I don’t want you to protect me, idiot.”

Wei Wuxian heaves a very resigned sigh. “Then what do you want?”

Several answers come up, all too serious and too revealing without the support of a-jie’s soup and copious amount of alcohol. So Jiang Cheng just throws a handful of fabric samples at Wei Wuxian’s face. “Help me pick through these until a-jie comes home. You should have fucking heard Jin Zixuan’s suggestions last week. If we let the peacock plan a-jie’s wedding, it’s going to be an absolute disaster.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile this time is real and genuine and lasts the entire afternoon of bickering over fabric squares until Jiang Yanli rushes into the pavilion with many Jiang disciples in tow and hugs both her brothers for the first time in months. They manage to not horribly cry all over each other.

Jiang Yanli insists Wen Qing has dinner with them. There’s plenty of soup after all. Jiang Cheng is awkwardly stiff and doesn’t look Wen Qing in the eye the entire time, and Wei Wuxian pokes him repeatedly with silent what the hell is wrong with you.

They talk about growing turnips, purifying rice wine, that the scariest thing about Wen Ning is his ability to create a disturbingly large variety of dishes from turnips, and how Wei Wuxian has essentially adopted baby A-Yuan as his own.

Later, Jiang Yanli tells Wen Qing, with a smile, her eyes alight like a flame, that she will take care of it. Wen Qing has no idea what this means. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian share a look as only little brothers with intimate knowledge of their big sister’s stubbornness could and wisely choose to remain silent.

Jiang Yanli enlists the help of both Jin Zixuan and Madam Jin and somehow does indeed take care of it.

Many back door conversations occur between Jiang, Jin, Lan, and Nie sects. Jin Zixuan is the sole Jin representative. Nie Mingjue is initially leery but comes at the behest of Huaisang and Xichen.

At some point, Wen Ning tells Wei Wuxian that if they are going to do this, then it’s best if they have no more secrets. Wei Wuxian glares and tries to pretend that he has no idea what he is talking about, but neither Jiang Yanli nor Jiang Cheng allow Wei Wuxian to run away this time.

There is an emotional golden core reveal, followed by an equally emotional I didn’t go back for their bodies, with lots of shouting, shoving, crying, and clinging. In the aftermath, the Jiang siblings form an even stronger co-dependent unit around each other.

Jiang Yanli coordinates with Lan Xichen (and a begrudgingly cooperative Jiang Cheng) to bring Lan Wangji to Lotus Pier to help Wei Wuxian control his powers. Wangxian are desperately cute, and Jiang Cheng makes pointed gagging sounds whenever he’s around them that leads to several incidents of lake shoving, an excitable gaggle of Jiang disciples swan diving into the water after them, and a very, very confused Lan.

In the end, Wei Wuxian refuses to hand over the Stygian Tiger Seal to any of the sects, but he does agree to destroy it if Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and the remaining Wens are granted clemency and allowed to live freely without persecution. Jiang, Lan, and Nie sects agree.

Jin Guangshan tries to make an uproar, but in a surprising turn of events, Jin Guangyao (grateful for Jiang Yanli’s non-judgmental kindness over the past year) reveals all of his father’s treacherous secrets, including ordering the slaughter of Wen civilians, pardoning and releasing Xue Yang, and purposefully fueling the mob against Wei Wuxian to acquire the seal for himself. Jin Guangshan is shamed, sentenced, and dies imprisoned some months later.

Jin Zixuan formally recognizes his newly renamed brother Jin Ziyao.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian decide that their sister is even scarier than they had believed.

The Wens leave the Burial Mounds and build a small village together in Yiling where they branch into farming non-turnip crops much to the delight of Wei Wuxian. Jiang disciples are dispatched to help with the construction of several buildings, including one extremely beautiful apothecary. Jiang Cheng is seen in Yiling fairly regularly.

Jin Zixun, the most vocal opponent against the pardons for Wei Wuxian and the Wens, tragically falls off a cliff one day. Sect Leader Yao tries to pin it on Wei Wuxian, but Jiang Cheng shuts him down with scathing ferocity.

Someone also puts a Silencing Spell on Sect Leader Yao and keeps it going. Every Lan swears it was not them and thus cannot remove the spell. It lasts for two glorious months. Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji get along disturbingly well from that point on.

Wei Wuxian is there when Jiang Yanli gets married in a magnificent splendor of red and gold. He is there to see Jin Ling born, to watch Jiang Cheng tie a purple bell to their nephew’s robes, and to gift little A-Ling a bracelet on his first month birthday. He is there to watch Jiang Cheng rebuild their sect with unending grit, respect, and loyalty. He is there to see Jin Ling and A-Yuan grow up underneath a sky he helped clear, loved and adored by all the different parts of their family. And some years after he and Lan Wangji are happily married, Wei Wuxian is there when his little brother dons red robes and bows to the heavens, to the earth, and to a woman with a redwood comb in her hair whose life became entwined with theirs so very long ago.

#the untamed #mdzs #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #yunmeng sibs #陈情令 #[ ask eve ]#suibian-chenqing #!mine #!meta #!fic #ok i lied asks are still being a shit on tumblr so i made a new post sorry for my ocdness #anyway this really got away from me lmfao but i effectively entertained myself very thoroughly #so i hope you enjoy this too #i love my jiangs #JIANGS ALWAYS AND FOREVER #long post

2K notes · View notes

thesewordsareallihavetogive · 4 years

Text

no body, no crime - allison argent x reader

(gif source)

Summary: When y/n disappears after confronting her husband about his affair, Allison takes matters into her own hands. Based on “no body, no crime (feat. HAIM)” by taylor swift [x]. You can find the mood board for this fic here

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: cursing, infidelity, implied kidnapping, implied murder, murder, alleged murder, alleged/implied death of reader, reader is married to a man with a j name 🤢

a/n: hi everyone! it’s been a hot minute since i posted a new fic & this is why. i’ve been working on this since late december of 2020, so this is the longest i’ve ever spent on a stand-alone work. i’ll include more gory details about the writing process at the end if you’re interested :)

dedicated to: elle (@demxters) for all of her help and ideas! this fic literally wouldn’t have gotten finished without her, send her some love <3

this is also dedicated to caoimhe (@free-pool-trash) for not murdering me after i gave her a preview several weeks ago and then just ✨stopped writing✨

master list

Este's a friend of mine

We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine

“Hey!” Allison greeted cheerily as she met y/n at their usual table tucked in the corner of their favorite restaurant. y/n returned the brunette’s smile as she stood up to hug her friend, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Allison saw through y/n’s facade and furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” she asked as concern spread across her features.

“I think Justin is having an affair,” y/n admitted. The statement dropped like a bomb between the two women, causing Allison to nearly spew the wine in her mouth all over the table. She coughed a few times and drank some water to clear her throat before she composed herself enough to ask questions.

“What happened? Did you see something?” Allison asked hesitantly. Her mind was still reeling from the mere concept of y/n’s husband cheating on her. Sure, Justin had never been Allison’s favorite guy, but it was normal for girls to think that no guy would ever be good enough for their best friend. Right?

Her husband's acting different and it smells like infidelity

She says, "That ain't my merlot on his mouth"

"That ain't my jewelry on our joint account"

y/n explained what had been going on over the past few weeks. Justin had been acting distant, which wasn’t too abnormal, but when he started coming home from work much later than his shifts ended and disappearing at odd hours of the night, y/n got concerned. The day that she had planned to approach him about everything and ask if anything was wrong, she got a call from her bank while driving home from work.

“Hi Mrs. y/l/n, this is Kathy from the bank. I’m calling to inform you that there have been a few large cash withdrawals from your joint account recently under your husband’s name, as well as a pretty expensive purchase yesterday at the jeweler,” the rest of Kathy’s words sounded muffled to y/n. It was nowhere near her birthday, Valentine’s day, or their anniversary, so y/n didn’t know what he could possibly be spending all their money on.

The next incident came a few days later when both y/n and Justin were home. y/n’s husband was in the shower and his phone buzzed with a new text message alert. Typically, y/n was never the type to snoop on her husband’s phone, but she figured she should check in case it was a work message. At least that’s how she justified it in her head. Justin had saved the sender’s number under the contact name “Spam Risk.” It was clever, y/n had to give him credit for that at least. Upon further inspection, y/n quickly realized that those texts weren’t sent from a telemarketer bot.

6:24 p.m. I can’t wait to see you tonight, baby - Spam Risk

6:25 p.m. Don’t keep me waiting too long ;) - Spam Risk

y/n thought the messages were strange, but the picture that followed the messages was definitely what threw y/n for a loop. There, on her husband’s text message thread, was a racy photo of a woman’s body that definitely wasn’t hers. y/n was quite literally stunned to silence as she dropped the phone back down onto the dresser. For the rest of the night, y/n was numb and quiet, not that Justin noticed. Then, like clockwork, he left the house at 11 p.m. with no explanation of where he was going or when he would be back.

By the end of y/n’s story, Allison’s mouth was open so wide she was sure her jaw would hit the table.

“What are you going to do?” Allison whispered, still in shock. y/n grimaced before clearing her throat and speaking her next words with finality.

No, there ain't no doubt

I think I'm gonna call him out

Este wasn't there

Tuesday night at Olive Garden at her job or anywhere

“Hi, there should be a reservation for two under Allison Argent or y/n y/l/n for tonight,” Allison greeted warmly as she approached the hostess stand at their go-to girl’s night restaurant.

“Right this way, ma’am,” the hostess said with a smile as she grabbed two menus and led her towards their usual table. Two menus. That must mean that y/n wasn’t there yet? Allison thought it was strange, y/n almost always was the first of the two to arrive. Allison brushed off the thought as she thanked the hostess and sat down. She had intended to look over the menu, but the strangeness of it all wouldn’t leave her mind. y/n was late. She was never late. Allison pulled out her phone to text her best friend, and it then occurred to her that she hadn’t heard from y/n since last week. Allison had been away on a “work” trip with her dad for the past six days and had just gotten back into town. After 30 minutes of sitting at the table alone, half a dozen unanswered text messages, and even more calls sent straight to voicemail, Allison dropped a few bills on the table and left.

As Allison pulled out of the parking lot, she turned on the radio in a futile attempt to drown out some of her racing thoughts. Between songs the radio host took to the mic to make an announcement.

“Hello Beacon Hills, we now interrupt your regularly scheduled listening with an urgent message from the Sheriff's department. Speaking now is Sheriff Noah Stilinski,” the host trailed off before there was a brief crackle as the audio transitioned to the Sheriff’s press briefing. Allison turned up the volume as the Sheriff’s voice carried across the radio.

“Thank you all for attending and tuning in. It is with great displeasure and a heavy heart that I inform you all that y/n y/l/n has been reported missing. Shortly after 8 a.m. this morning, we were informed by her husband that she didn’t show up for work yesterday morning and also didn’t come home last night,” Sheriff Stilinski continued speaking but it all began to sound like white noise to Allison. It took everything she had in her to focus on not veering off the road so that she could head to the Sheriff’s station and speak to Stilinski in person.

Conveniently, her route took her right past y/n and Justin’s house. Allison didn’t know what to expect as she sped by their house, but the fact that Justin’s normally filthy truck had been cleaned and waxed definitely caught her eye. The truck and driveway were soon out of sight due to the speed she was driving at, but at first glance, it looked as though his tires and grill had been replaced.

He reports his missing wife

And I noticed when I passed his house his truck has got some brand new tires

About a week had passed since y/n had been reported missing. Allison wasn’t sure how many search parties had been held, but they all resulted in the same thing: nothing. There wasn’t a single trace of her best friend, in fact, everything in Beacon Hills looked completely unchanged and normal. Allison’s focus and appetite seemed to have left with her other half, try as she might to desperately hold onto them. Her marksmanship had even been affected, something that hadn’t happened since high school.

Allison started driving around town during her free time. She wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, she mostly did it to try to clear her mind, though most times she was unsuccessful. She’d been mindlessly taking right and left turns and before she realized where she was, she passed y/n’s house.

Allison hadn’t planned to slow down as she passed the house, it was a mindless act if anything. Seeing a moving truck backed up to the house while Justin and some unfamiliar blonde woman were unloading boxes ensured that her decision to park her car where it couldn’t be seen and spy on the pair wasn’t mindless. Despite her gut telling her not to, Allison decided to give Justin the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he needed a roommate now since y/n couldn’t pay her share of the rent? Allison tried her best to keep all of her judgments and suspicions at bay as she watched the otherwise uneventful event unfold while biting her fingernails.

A few boxes later, Justin pulled the blonde in by her waist and kissed her with a fervor that would make most people blush. Allison’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she sat there in shock with her mouth wide open. It took a while, mostly because the kiss lasted for an obnoxious amount of time, but Allison finally regained control of her body. It was like her brain had to go through a hard reset before she was able to face the reality of the situation.

y/n was right. Justin was cheating on her. Not only that, but Justin had cheated on y/n, spent less than a week grieving her disappearance, then allowed this to happen.

And his mistress moved in

Sleeps in Este's bed and everything

Allison found out that Justin Smith’s mistress’s name was Rebecca Baker. She was a few years younger than y/n and she worked at the same company as Justin. It didn’t take long for Allison to hack into both of their iCloud accounts. A few hours of scrolling later she was really regretting her decision, especially when she got to Justin’s messages to Rebecca about y/n.

2:47 a.m. What about your wife? - Spam Risk

2:47 a.m. What about her? - Justin

2:48 a.m. Are you going to leave her or kick her out or something? - Spam Risk

2:48 a.m. It’s been taken care of. - Justin

2:48 a.m. Taken care of? Justin, what does that mean? - Spam Risk

2:49 a.m. Justin??? - Spam Risk

Each new message ensured that bits of Allison’s fingernails had been gnawed off while her left hand fidgeted anxiously in front of her mouth. Allison decided that those messages were probably the most incriminating thing she’d find digitally, but the time and date stamps caught her eye. The texts were sent early Monday morning, the day that y/n allegedly left home and then didn’t show up for work or return home.

A chill spread from deep within Allison’s bones up to the surface of her skin, making goosebumps appear. Allison didn’t know what exactly, but she knew something terrible had happened to y/n and Justin had something to do with it. She shut her laptop a little harder than necessary as a resolved look spread across her face.

No, there ain't no doubt

Somebody's gotta catch him out

Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen

Allison regularly accessed her personal armory, whether it was to prepare for a job or pack for a trip to the shooting range, but it had been a while since a powerful and unforgiving feeling hung over her shoulders. Allison carefully ran her fingers over her custom silver arrowheads as she considered her options. Her father’s words from one of her adolescent archery lessons rung in her head.

“The type of bow and arrows you use doesn’t matter. As long as you use them right, you’ll be able to make any shot. Don’t get hung up on the technicalities.”

Not too long after, her bag was stocked with her essentials: a bow, her trusted black leather archery glove, as well as a handful of arrows, though these ones lacked the silver heads she typically reserved for more exotic expeditions.

The rare dark clouds in the California sky at sunset were reflected in Allison’s cold eyes. The drive to her target’s house was familiar, the turns she made were almost instinctual. Normally these roads reminded her of her coffee dates with y/n and nights they spent talking for hours until sunlight crept through the windows. Now, her mind was blank and her heart was devoid of all emotion.

Even though Allison had disabled her car’s GPS earlier, she parked her car about a mile away from his house. When she was done, there wouldn’t be any evidence that could be traced back to her. She memorized his schedule; at 5:00 p.m. his shift ended and recently he’d been getting home by 5:20. His girlfriend got home sometime between 5:30 and 5:45, but she would leave for her pilates class around 6:30 and wouldn’t get home until 7:45. Allison had just over an hour window to get the job done, but it wouldn’t take that long. If everything went according to plan, she’d be off the property within a few minutes of taking the shot.

When she arrived her target had just come home from work and was alone in the house. She waited patiently, hidden by the trees that the property backed up to. She watched as he moved around through the open curtains and then as his girlfriend entered the house and kissed him with a passion that made Allison’s stomach churn. She watched as they ate dinner together, as her target’s girlfriend got ready for her gym class, and watched as she got in her car and drove away. When Allison checked her watch it was only 6:25 p.m., she had far more time than she needed.

The plan was simple, really. Under the cover of darkness, she’d flip the breakers, effectively cutting the power. When her target came out to investigate, she’d let him fumble around in the darkness for a while. He’d always been a paranoid individual, so it wouldn’t take much to get him on edge. A rustle in the bushes here, a small snapped tree branch there, and then something that would get his attention. Allison wanted his eyes to be on her when she took the shot.

Allison’s target was watching TV so he knew immediately when the power went out, plus the fact that the once illuminated house was suddenly bathed in darkness. The high-pitched yelp that escaped his throat almost made Allison laugh. She had to keep quiet though, at least for now. As expected, the dopey man scurried around to the side of the house where the breakers were located in no time. The batteries in the flashlight he held were on their last leg, that much was evident in the way the light beam flickered every few seconds.

Just as he opened the door to the circuit breaker panel, Allison moved. A rustle here. The sound practically echoed in the silence of the night, causing the man to whip around and shine his flashlight directly at the source of the noise. There was nothing there. It’s just the wind, he reasoned before getting back to work. After a few switches had been flipped - none of them for the outdoor lights - he heard another noise. This one was much louder than the last, a small snapped tree branch there. Again, the flashlight’s flickering light beam uncovered nothing, but it was enough to make all of the hairs on the back of Allison’s target’s neck stand up straight. He hastily flipped the rest of the breakers and the outdoor lights finally came on.

When yellow light from the backyard fixtures flooded the area, both Allison and her target were revealed. Allison stood a considerable distance away from the man, but she was close enough to see the blood drain from his face and his Adam's apple bob. When his eyes darted to the bow hung by her side, realization dawned on his face. He began to turn away with the intention of running, but Allison’s voice held him frozen in place.

“Don’t move,” she ordered quietly without any aggression behind her tone. Her face wasn’t threatening, she just looked calm and focused. Allison’s smooth features and peaceful expression was what scared the man the most.

“I- I’m sorry- I didn’t-” he stammered out, his arms and legs beginning to tremble.

“Shh,” Allison chastised as she raised her bow, loading it with an arrow. Her fingers moved with precision, her muscles knew this routine well.

“Please don’t- no, you can’t, you can’t do this!” the man pleaded. He wasn’t above begging on his knees, but Allison wasn’t about to give him the chance. Her gaze was sharply focused on her target, the view of her tightly grasped bow in her peripheral vision.

“Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.”

When Allison’s fingers let go of the bowstring the arrow flew smoothly through the air. The only sounds heard were the arrowhead piercing skin and the man wordlessly falling to the ground. The arrow went straight through his heart. Maybe Allison’s shot landed right where she intended. Maybe there was a metaphor in there. Allison checked her wristwatch, the numbers 6:45 shining back at her. An entire hour to spare.

Time to take out the trash.

I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene

The job didn’t take long at all and it was definitely one of Allison’s least challenging ones, but it still felt nice to take a hot shower and sit in front of her fireplace with a cup of tea. The fire served a dual purpose; the crackles of the burning wood soothed her like a lullaby while the flames licked around and destroyed her bloody clothes from earlier. All of her equipment had been cleaned and put away, positioned exactly as it had been before. Everything was the same, nothing changed or out of place. There was just one less heartbeat in the world that night.

Good thing Este's sister's gonna swear she was with me

On the second day of the trial, Rebecca Baker’s lawyers were throwing whatever they could against the wall to see if something would stick. That morning they began to argue that Allison Argent might’ve abducted and murdered Justin Smith in retaliation for y/n’s disappearance. It was all speculation at best, but the theory unfortunately made sense to the jury. Before things could get too far, the prosecution called its first witness of the day to the stand.

“Mrs. Martin, where were you on the night of Mr. Smith’s suspected disappearance?” the prosecution lawyer questioned calmly.

“I was with Allison at my house. We were having a girls night in, you can check my security cameras,” Lydia answered confidently. Lydia still had a pocketful of favors from her MIT days, so when the jurors were shown the clips from Lydia’s home security cameras, they saw exactly what they would’ve expected based on Lydia’s testimony.

Truth be told, Lydia didn’t know anything about what happened that night; including Allison’s whereabouts and any details related to Justin’s alleged demise. All she knew was that Allison called and asked for a simple favor - an alibi for just a few hours. Lydia didn’t ask questions and Allison didn’t give answers.

Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy

On the third day of the trial, Rebecca Baker took the stand. Her lawyers tried to help her as best they could, but the prosecution was ruthless. All of the evidence was circumstantial at best - all parties, including the judge and jurors, knew that - but it was enough to make everyone reconsider the spotless image the defense had tried to create for Ms. Baker.

“Ms. Baker, is it true that you knowingly engaged in a romantic relationship while Justin Smith was married to and living with his wife?” another one of the prosecution’s attorneys began.

“Yes,” Rebecca replied meekly. Allison internally scoffed from her seat in the gallery. She found irony in the fact that Rebecca didn’t find any humility or shame in sleeping with another woman’s husband until she was under oath.

“Is it also true that within approximately a week of Mrs. y/l/n’s disappearance, you moved into Mr. Smith and Mrs. y/l/n’s house?”

“That is correct,” Rebecca said as she began to wring her hands together anxiously. The judge tapped his wrist watch and shot a stern look towards the prosecutor. The man nodded in response and continued to his final points.

“I’ll wrap up my questions for you, Ms. Baker. Can you confirm that shortly after moving in with Mr. Smith, multiple legal and financial arrangements and adjustments were made? And these new arrangements make you the sole beneficiary of Mr. Smith’s life issuance policy, assets, and investments?”

By the end of the prosecution’s final question, every jury member and spectator sat up straighter and waited to hear Rebecca’s response with bated breath. The blonde ball of nerves sighed defeatedly before turning to face the attorney directly as she answered his question.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“No further questions, your honor.” As the lead prosecutor returned to the plaintiff’s table, Rebecca’s attorney stood up to address the judge.

“Your honor, the defense would like to request a brief recess,” the defense attorney nearly pleaded. Though his poker face was much better than his client’s, it was clear that he was getting nervous.

“We’ll reconvene in 15 minutes,” the judge ordered with a stern glare cast towards Rebecca.

They think she did it but they just can't prove it

It soon became clear to Rebecca that the recess her legal team requested was nothing more than a “kiss your dignity goodbye” meeting. If she hadn’t been queasy before the recess was called, she definitely was upon re-entering the courtroom.

The rest of the trial seemed to move in slow motion for Rebecca. A few more witnesses were called to the stand, more lackluster evidence was presented, both sides made their closing arguments, and the jury left to discuss the verdict. After what felt like an eternity, the jury returned with an official decision.

Silence settled over the room as a single juror stood to address the court.

“The jury finds the defendant not guilty on count 1 of murder in the first degree based on lack of sufficient evidence. The jury finds the defendant not guilty on count 2 of kidnapping based on lack of sufficient evidence. The jury finds the defendant guilty on count 3 of insurance fraud based on…”

The rest of the jurors’ statement sounded like white noise to Rebecca. She was just barely coherent enough to hear the judge deliver her punishment a few minutes later. $50,000 fine and 200 hours of community service.

Allison stuck around to the bitter end of the trial to hear the verdict in person. In all honesty, Allison didn’t want Rebecca to go to jail. It wouldn’t be right for her to serve time for a crime she didn’t commit, but Allison did find satisfaction in the fact that Rebecca would soon be picking up garbage in a fluorescent orange vest.

After the majority of the spectators had vacated the courtroom gallery, Allison leisurely gathered her things. Justice had been served to Justin, she personally made sure of that, and now justice had been served to Rebecca. The blonde and brunette women briefly locked eye contact as Allison made her way towards the exit.

“You did this,” Rebecca whispered to Allison. Suddenly, it was like a flip switched within her. One moment she was numb, yet calm and collected, and the next moment she was screaming (literal) bloody murder and had to be held back by her lawyers.

“YOU DID THIS! YOU KILLED JUSTIN, YOU BITCH!” Rebecca cried, though her words fell on deaf ears. Allison exited the courtroom with her head held high as the courtroom deputy and defense lawyers did their best to calm the hysterical woman.

She thinks I did it but she just can't prove it

A week later the court case was still on Allison’s mind but the emotional scars had begun to scab. Healing was never a straight or smooth path, Allison had learned that the hard way over the years, but this was a start.

y/n’s landlord had been generous enough to allow Allison to gather y/n’s things before he cleaned out the house for new renters. As Allison walked through the home she once considered to be an extension of her own, she felt her throat dry out and tighten up. She hadn’t realized she was crying until she was wiping salty tears off of the picture frames she’d carefully picked up. Each photo unlocked a new memory, some even elicited a chuckle out of Allison amidst her tears.

A photo from y/n’s wedding day stood out among all the rest as Allison’s eyes jumped from frame to frame. It was a candid shot Lydia had taken while they were in y/n’s dressing room before the ceremony. y/n looked as beautiful as ever in her flowy white gown and Allison’s mulberry maid of honor dress complemented it well. As Allison put the final touches on y/n’s hair and makeup, y/n fastened the clasp of a custom necklace behind Allison’s neck. On a thin, medium-length chain hung an arrowhead from the first time Allison had ever tried to teach y/n how to shoot a bow and arrow. y/n failed miserably, but it was a cherished memory for both girls. Since that day, Allison had only taken the necklace off a handful of times.

Allison smiled bittersweetly at the memory and wiped a fresh tear off of the decorative frame before pulling her necklace out from underneath her shirt. She pressed a gentle kiss to the cool silver arrowhead and then to the photo frame, right above y/n’s styled hair.

A feeling that Allison couldn’t quite explain flowed through her body just then; it was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being stuck underwater or seeing the gentle rays of the sun for the first time after a hurricane, it felt like freedom. Allison felt almost as if y/n was right there next to her, with her head resting on Allison's shoulder and wrapping her arms around the brunette’s torso. In that moment, Allison somehow wordlessly knew with every fiber in her being that y/n was finally at peace.

No, no body, no crime

I wasn't letting up until the day he died

a/n: AHHHH DID YOU LIKE IT? it was kind of a wild ride from start to finish and i definitely shed a few tears while i was writing it. please lmk what you think!

okay, now onto the writing process from hell: i started drafting ideas for the fic on dec. 21 or 22 of 2020, after i put together a mood board. i had written more than half of the fic when i decided i hated it and scrapped the whole thing on xmas eve (~3000 words 🤡). after that i was kinda in a rut and couldn’t decide how i wanted to end the fic so i ended up writing and deleting ~2500 words over the past month and a half. @demxters is an absolute GODDESS and helped me come up with the ending, so i am eternally grateful to her for that. if any of this seems a lil strange it’s probably because i finished writing it at 4:45 a.m. after working on it for 3ish hours straight. have a great day lovelies!

join my tag list!

@dashkana @rogershoe @basicbibitxh @sweetfairyprincess17 @samkysnks @ellxpsismm @pure-ghost @lilyspells @ineedyourskulls @loveheathens @plq-cid @linkpk88 @grace-wade-08 @brithedemonspawn @fanfichoex @wistful-chaos @silveralma @malfoysadore @miss-i-ship-it @sonnydoesrandomshit

150 notes · View notes

kitkatopinions · 3 years

Note

Is it bad that i want ironwood to be alive in the show and travel with the ace ops and have a redemption? I know most of his fans are happy that he is dead so they cant ruin him anymore but still, his ending is so wrong to me like they redeemed cordo, emerald, FUCKING HAZEL, but not james? I was pulled back into rwby because of james and the atlas arc. v6 last episodes pissed me off so much i didnt even watched the finale to this day but then i saw scenes of james and winter and the ace ops in v7... and now i just want him to swim up from the ruins and be the amazing character he was before v8. His death is so fucking sad to me even with how much they ruined the character... he deserved a redemption arc the most (and better writers, sorry the ask got so long but james ironwood gives me so much feels)

You know, I am right there with you, anon. Here's the thing about James. We didn't see an on screen death and the writers kept his semblance completely unmentioned in volumes seven and eight, but made it public. Yes, Miles Luna said 'rest in pieces' (the total douche) when talking about him in a cameo, but tbh, Miles Luna is sloppy and unprofessional, he could straight up say whatever to try and make the next 'twist' in RWBY surprising.

In fact SPOILER ALERT. I don't remember who, but after Avengers Infinity War when Loki died, people in the project 'confirmed' that Loki was good and truly dead this time, and of course no one believed them and of course no one was surprised to see some version of Loki escape alive in End Game. They had a better ability to twist a not-quite lie out there, due to multiple universes and time travel or whatever (idk the details, I stopped paying attention after I watched and hated Thor Ragnarok.) But still, it stands that if you want to make a character death believable in today's day and age when 'character death' is taken back so regularly and sometimes multiple times per character, writers should A. show the death/show a body (which they didn't do for Ironwood or Watts,) and B. Not leave any character threads hanging.

With Ironwood, they didn't delve into enough emotional responses to things (like Oscar/Oz getting shot off a cliff, or Qrow ever confronting him,) which leaves his story feeling like it lacks a solution and like there's still a lot to be resolved there already. But confirming his semblance outside of the show proper, which seems to act as a form of at least partial mind control, is obviously one giant thread too. Of course, this is MKEK, so the likelihood that they were foolish enough to give Ironwood a semblance that forced his actions at least in part and then not address it, kill him off, and expect everyone to just be happy with that on top of the lack of emotional depth they bothered to give other characters in regards to his 'fall' is high. However, that doesn't make James feel dead, he still doesn't feel like a dead character to me, yet, even if I know a lot of the reasons for that feeling stem from bad writing.

But on top of his semblance being a very big thread that was left untouched, his semblance also would be a very easy out if the writers did want to bring him back or if they wanted to bring him back and redeem him. His semblance could help him survive Atlas and Mantle falling, and it could easily be explained as having pushed him into his acts of villainy. It would still feel like a big ol' retcon (especially with how hard they tried to convince everyone he's pure evil,) but for once, I would like a retcon that actually goes my way in this show. XD

On top of that, you're absolutely right that in the show where Hazel can get 'death equals redemptioned' and tell life lessons to Oscar, Ironwood could be able to be redeemed even without the semblance. In the show where Hazel can beat a child while victim blaming the already-a-victim-of-abuse guy in the kid's head for *checks notes* training young women to be able to fight the soulless monsters who will devour anyone (four to six year old child or not,) and then get redeemed within 24 hours of that... yeah, Ironwood could be able to be redeemed. Emerald can murder Penny, try to kill everyone else at Haven, try to murder Penny again in Atlas, and then join the friend group enough that everyone good naturedly ribs her, including Penny who giggles over Emerald saying 'switched sides' despite the fact that Emerald never once apologized for literally murdering her in cold blood. So yeah, I don't think it'd be off brand of the show to have the 'does bad for good reasons' guy get redeemed even if they did make him express regret that he hadn't tortured children. Clearly, the standard isn't 'if they apologize they're worthy of redemption,' and the standard isn't 'if they only always had good intentions they're worthy of redemption' or 'only kids who are villains can get redeemed,' or even 'so long as they haven't tortured or tried to kill children they're worthy of redemption.'

However, here's where things get a little tricky. Because the standard in RWBY seems to have much more to do with what was done personally against the main group that made them mad or sad, rather than actual moral standings, harm done to the world, intentions, etc. I've talked about that idea in another post, that the show (whether intentionally or otherwise) is treating going against Ruby and her team as worse than actual criminal acts. Emerald's actions are easily brushed aside without her ever admitting she was wrong or trying to apologize, but Ozpin's act of not explicitly trusting Team RWBY with dire secrets months after knowing them is so unquestioningly bad that he has to give an in-depth and very serious apology while explicitly saying he was in the wrong, which the mains then begrudgingly and seriously accept (even though they were laughing with Emerald mere seconds before.) Which isn't to say that I don't think Ozpin had anything to apologize for, just that the framing of Ozpin's dialogue and reception versus Emerald's is ridiculous. Therefore Ironwood being redeemed after wishing he could torture, shooting a child off a high place, and threatening to destroy a town... In the narrative of the show, that can be brushed aside fairly easily. But both the show and the FNDM at large have constructed a narrative where going against the mains is what's treated as hard to come back from and worthy of all the ire and disgust in the world - unless the character comes crawling back, bowing to Ruby's whims in every plan, and regretting ever doubting Ruby's amazing simple soul and the protagonist approved goals she's decided on.

If the price of Ironwood coming back and being redeemed is him kissing up to Ruby and joining the gang of people who just pat her on the back and assure her she doesn't ever need to change or listen to others... I might kindly ask MKEK to keep him dead. Ironwood belongs to his fans now as far as I'm concerned.

They can bring James back, and they even have an easy way to redeem him in their back pocket. But I don't trust them as far as I can throw them, and with the way they've been writing their show, I'd just as soon let James rest.

#rwde #anti rwby #pro james ironwood #pro ironwood #ironwood defense #good ironwood #pro general ironwood #pro IW #IW antis please leave me alone #rwby hate #anti mkek #anti fndm #rwby bashing

25 notes · View notes

sprnklersplashes · 3 years

Text

hey who wants some good old fashioned early s1!bellarke fic?

The dropship is cold at night.

Clarke keeps telling herself that’s why she can’t sleep. Not because every time she closes her eyes, all she sees is Wells, or her dad, or Charlotte. She wakes up because of the cold, not because she’s choking on words she never said, or because her eyes are too filled with tears to stay closed.

No, it’s just the cold.

In fairness, it is freezing in here. The Ark really should’ve given them more supplies, but then she remembers with a silent groan that they can’t. The whole reason they’re down here is because they were already stretched thin. That doesn’t make it fair, of course. At least they have machines to make more blankets up there, and workers to run them. Down here they just spread them out as fairly as they can and wait for their turn. Or steal them, in some cases.

She walks in a silent circle, mindful of the others dotted around her. She turns around on her sock-clad feet-her boots might keep her warm but they’re far too noisy for this time-and looks at them. Monty is spread across two seats, his hand hanging off the edge and his lips slightly parted, his hair falling past his forehead. Jasper is next to him, because where else would he be, tucked slightly awkwardly beside the chairs with his back against the wall, a blanket around him. They both look so young when they sleep. They are young, Clarke reminds herself, but now they’re not pretending to be older. They don’t have to be. In sleep, they look like they did on the Ark, before they were arrested. There’s something unfamiliar about them like this, and so she turns away.

Octavia is on this floor too, wrapped so carefully in a blanket that it could only be Bellamy’s work. She looks different in sleep too, far less angry than she is during the day. But somehow, still tense. Clarke’s observed that she’s a light sleeper, and it makes sense. She can’t imagine how she could have lived like that for so long, her own existence deemed a threat. Bellamy may be an ass most of the time, but she can’t blame him for being so protective over her.

Hang on she thinks. Where is Bellamy? Not that she cares, but he was in here when she fell asleep. Just before she nodded off she saw him, whispering something to Octavia, who was half asleep already. She turns again, her eyes better adjusted to the near-darkness, but she doesn’t find him.

She shakes her head and hopes he’s not off doing something stupid. She has enough to worry about without chasing after him.

She pulls her jacket tighter around herself and watches as her breath appears in white smoke in front of her face. Seriously, would it have killed them to add a heater or something? A second layer of insulation? More blankets? Warmer clothes? Anything. Sure, they probably didn’t have much time to plan, and they didn’t know what climate they’d be in, but still. It would’ve been nice to cover all their bases.

She tilts her chin up, her fingers straying to her bare wrist. She probably shouldn’t, but her mind turns up to the Ark, to her mother, who thinks she is dead because she wanted to spite her. Was she ever this spiteful before? Ever in her life, had she gone out of her way to hurt someone the way she has. She doesn’t know. Maybe she’s changing. Maybe the ground brings out the worst in them.

She shivers, and this time it’s not from the cold.

“Morning, Princess.” She nearly jumps ten feet, her hands raised instinctively to fight. Funny how quickly habits have been built into their bodies. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, amused, clearly, his lips curled into a smirk.

He may not be a grounder, but maybe she’ll smack him just for this.

“Is it morning?” she asks instead. Bellamy shakes his head.

“I checked out one of the windows. Still pretty dark out,” he replies. “I’d say we have a couple of hours yet.” She nods and ducks her head as he eyes her curiously. Her first impulse is to storm out and find somewhere else to sleep, but she stays behind, feet rooted to the ground. His eyes stay on her, even if he pretends they don’t.

At least she’s not cold anymore, thanks to the hot flush on her face.

“So what are you doing up?” he asks eventually. He takes a step closer, not invading her space but not staying away either. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She shakes her head. It’s not his business, but there’s no reason to lie. She has a feeling she couldn’t lie to him, not with that sharp mind of his. Or the way he seems to see right through her.

“What about you?” she asks. “Do you regularly walk around the dropship at night, or is this a new habit?”

He laughs at that, soft and quiet. Different from how he usually is. Her curiosity is piqued, even if it’s just slightly.

“Only on nice nights,” he replies, and now it’s her turn to laugh.

They fall quiet again, listening, or at least pretending to listen, to the sound of their friends soft snores. It’s strange, living without the constant rumble of engines in the background, or the casual humming of lights and generators that used to lull her to sleep. Quiet means something new on the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches as his gaze moves to Octavia again. She sees the way his jaw clenches protectively, but also how his face softens, how his eyes fill with affection at the sight of her. It’s amazing, this fierce kind of love she sees in him, reserved for her and her only.

When she first heard about Octavia and her arrest, of course she was shocked. Who wouldn’t be; a family hiding another person in their unit was unthinkable. But she was curious too. In almost a century, no-one had known the kind of bond that siblings share. Not until them. They were unique on the Ark, just as they’re unique on the ground.

“We should try to sleep too,” he tells her. He looks back at her, and the mask is quickly restored. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“We always have a long day,” she says. “Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever stop.”

She doesn’t mean to say that part out loud. Her breath hitches, but when she raises her eyes to meet his, she only finds understanding.

“We will, Princess” he tells her, his voice both soft and firm. “We will. One day you’ll be sitting out on a deck chair with a drink in one hand and book in the other and you’ll be laughing about all this.”

She doesn’t think she’ll ever laugh about this, but she smiles all the same. It’s a nice thought.

“And you’ll be there too?”

His smile fades then, the bravado slipping away. Twice this has happened now, and both times it’s drawn her in. Like a loose thread on a sweater that she’s desperate to pull at. To unravel him until she gets to his core.

“Maybe,” he says, but there’s no conviction there. “For now let’s just get some sleep.”

He turns away from her, his clothes blending with the darkness surrounding them, making it hard to tell where he ends or begins, and settles himself against the wall. He leans back and closes his eyes, only to open them moments later.

“You going to stand there all night?” he asks her. “Or are you one of those people who can sleep standing up.”

A sarcastic remark dies on her lips and she crosses over, settling herself a little bit away from him. It would only take extending her arm to touch him, and the thought shouldn’t comfort her as much as it does.

Maybe she’s just lonely, she thinks to herself. She’s never alone. not with 99 kids asking her anything and everything, and certainly not with Finn hovering around her almost all the time. And there’s always something that needs doing, something that occupies her time. But lonely? That’s something she knows. The boy who was her closest confidant is dead in the ground, buried under mounds of dirt, and she spent the little time they had together hating him.

Oh God, the time she wasted.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice snaps her back to reality, his eyes wide when she turns to look at him. He’s pushed himself up the wall and into a half crouching position, one hand ready to reach out to her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says. She wipes at her face and buries herself in her jacket, her arms wrapped around herself. “It’s freezing in here, aren’t you cold?”

He hums in agreement. Even when she turns her head away, she feels his eyes on her.

“Come here.” The command catches her off guard, so much so that she’s convinced she imagined it. Until she looks up at him and finds his eyebrow raised and he’s once again sitting, but shifted to welcome an extra body. “Come here.”

“What?” is all she can ask.

“Come on, I know you’re smart, Princess,” he tells her. “Body heat and all that.” He shrugs, playing it off like it’s nothing. Maybe that’s what it is. Nothing. “We can keep each other warm.”

She feels like she should roll her eyes, reply with a quip about how not even in his wildest dreams, but she can’t. Maybe it’s the lateness of the hour, or the fatigue and cold creeping up on her, or the lack of an audience. But she can’t, and she doesn’t even try.

“Just for tonight,” she tells him.

“Just for tonight.”

She shouldn’t be wanting this. She can take care of herself, always could. And besides, he isn’t her friend. He’s done little more than antagonise her and risk lives and be an asshole since they got here. He’s made it his life’s mission to make her life more difficult. He’s selfish, and a dick, and the last person she should ever want to be with.

But he’s sitting there and she’s freezing and the way he’s looking at her is doing something to her. She’s not sure if it’s something good or something bad. It’s just something.

So she settles herself down beside him and ignores the way her heart skips a beat when his leg brushes against hers. Her position is awkward at first, the two of them struggling to get comfortable. The dropship isn’t meant for comfort. But his body is and when she rests her head on his shoulder, he doesn’t complain. And she doesn’t when he takes off his jacket and pulls it over the both of them, his arm around her waist. They’re both too tired and too cold to, and there are more important things to waste their energy on.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare her, being this close to him. Not in that way. Not scared of him, just of the proximity to him. Feeling his breath tickling her ear, or her legs slipped in between his. Or his heartbeat, steady and strong against her side. Doesn’t mean that this doesn’t confuse or scare her, this feeling of complete serenity washing over her. Only means that there are things to do, people to lead and she can only do so much.

Besides, serenity is hard to come by on the ground.

“Don’t think this means anything,” he says, his voice murmured. There’s the Bellamy she knows. “Like I said. Just for tonight.”

And despite herself, she smiles.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replies, but he’s already asleep.

******

She wakes later than usual in the morning, the sun already beaming through the dropship door and dragging her out of sleep. She groans and buries her face in her knees, for a moment forgetting herself and make believing she’s back at home, ignoring her mother’s morning greetings. But her instincts and the Earth’s sunlight are stronger even than Abby Griffin, and her eyes drag open of their own accord. And when they do, she finds the dropship empty, save for Jasper, who she believes could sleep through anything. She shakes her head fondly and pushes herself up, despite her body’s protests. Her arms and legs twinge and her back creaks like the ship’s escape hatch. She’s had her fair share of nights spent on the floor and yet the waking up never gets easier.

There’s a noticeable lack of a body beside her. He must have gotten up before, and a few seconds spent listening confirms her suspicions. He’s outside already, barking orders in that unmistakable voice of his. He carries so much authority in his words, when he wants to. No wonder he was training to be a guard. She considers going out and joining him, or more accurately taking over, but something in her holds back. He’s got it covered, and baring a grounder invasion in the next five minutes, she has time to wake up properly. Besides, he can’t do that much damage this early in the morning.

He must have slipped out quietly enough, she thinks. And carefully, because she didn’t feel a thing. If it weren’t for the heavy guard’s jacket carefully wrapped around her body, she’d have thought last night was a dream.

But it wasn’t. She didn’t dream at all last night. For the first time in far too long, she had slept soundly.

And who’d have seen that coming?

#the 100 #bellarke #bellarke fic #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #bellarke ff #*writes bellarke fic for the first time despite not having watched the show properly in 4 years*#unless u count the two episodes of s5 that I watched

19 notes · View notes

mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Grand ReOpening

Hubert x Reader 5,613 words

descriptions of violence, possession, Modern AU

You work at the newly remodeled and soon to be reopened Museum of History in Enbarr. A huge fire caused devastating damage to the old building, over half of the structure had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Donations pour in from private collectors in the form of money and items to replace those lost to the flames.

You finish arranging the items in the display finally locking the door on the huge glass case. Some items donated were questionable. Everything in this case is legitimate, you reassure yourself. You have already weeded out the fakes, the near perfect imitations. The director asks you how do you know? You explain to him the materials available for crafting such items, known specifics from inventories found in the locked away historical books, too delicate to be placed upon display. Sometimes you tell him you just have a feeling deep inside based on your experience and knowledge of the period. You can’t tell him the truth.

Whenever you touch one of these items, you close your eyes, the history of the item and its owners flash through your mind. It is easy to bypass the collectors, the ones that shove an item in drawers or hang it on a wall as a decoration for years at a time. The imprint left on the item when it was handled, touched, used is what you are able to see most clearly.

The small silver dagger in the upper left of the case. Its card reads: Dorothea Arnault owned this fine silver dagger. It is small enough to conceal in multiple places upon the body. Perhaps she may have concealed it in the curls of her hair for a ball or tucked it away in her corset or bodice.

They write the cards to romanticize the exhibit. People want a good story, not simply a display of stuffy items from long ago. Who would want to read a card stating she kept this particular dagger tucked into a pocket in her left boot for many years, which is exactly what you saw when you touched it.

Metal rimmed reading glasses belonging to the Imperial Spy Master, Hubert von Vestra. The card: Perhaps he wore them while brewing one of his poisons or when translating encoded messages during the war. Hah. He did not obtain these until fifty years old and mostly wore them when reading a book that struck his fancy prior to retiring for the evening.

Ferdinand von Aegir’s opera glasses. The Card: Fine mother-of-pearl covered opera glasses belonged to the Imperial Prime Minister, Ferdinand von Aegir. He may have used them when going to the Mittlefrank Opera house to watch Dorothea perform. Nope. Mother gave him these when he was but a child. Once he was older, after the war, he purchased a pair that much better suited his face, these were much too small for him as an adult.

Oh my, you’ve lost track of the time again. You scurry out of the building, making certain all doors lock behind you. Making it home just in time to change clothes, freshen up, you head back out for the Museum’s Grand Reopening Gala. Thankfully you are not on the front lines, that is the duty of the Curator, the Directors, those on the board and anyone responsible for schmoozing the rich guests, many who donated to the cause, keeping them happy. You put on your headset and have three laptops at your disposal, ready to answer any questions the staff has regarding particular items on display. You are literally fielding questions left and right. To the left are the searches for the director’s queries, to the right the Curator. In the center you follow on the security monitors where they are standing helping you to identify which particular item they need additional information about. Well past midnight you are finally allowed to leave. Security escorts you to your car and you head home for a well deserved sleep.

Two days later is the Grand Reopening. The tickets sold out three months in advance. The most devoted history fans always line up first to observe and breathe in the milieu. Listening to them mill about the displays, pour over the cases of preciously preserved objects is a joy for you.

“Look, this mirror belonged to the Emperor herself. I wonder what these items could say if they could speak. Did they reflect her face as she finished her makeup before one of the grand balls at the time, I wonder?” You knew the answers to some of their ponderings and could not hide your smirk.

A very tall dark haired male catches your eye. Dark suit jacket, black satin shirt, very nicely tailored. His jet black hair blocks the right side of his face from view. His fine leather gloves barely hover over the display case as he observes the items contained within. It suggests a hint of cosplay? Or perhaps he is attempting to channel the spirit of Lord Vestra? Your eyes sweep about the room regularly, spotting him in several different locations, each time it appears he is studying items that had belonged to the man he resembles. You wish you could see his face more clearly, however his back is turned or someone is in the way. You quietly move towards the end of the circuit the floor plan leads you through, close to the guard by the exit. There are three items of clothing belonging to Hubert this person would probably pause to examine, perhaps you can obtain a good look at his face then.

Finally, you glance through two panes of glass to see the face of the man. There is a strong resemblance to Hubert. Not exact, of course, but the cheek bones were close, the eyes are a similar shade of green. His skin tone is much darker, not nearly as pale. Your attention is taken away as the security guard a few feet from you is asked a question by an older woman.

Your focus is then called in front of you as a polite “Ahem” is noted. Standing directly before you and requesting your notice is none other than the tall dark gentleman that you have been secretively following for the last 30 minutes.

“My apologies. Not to be a bother, but I believe that you work here and would like to ask your opinion about something.” His long slender gloved fingers reach into his breast pocket, pulling out a golden box about the size of a cigarette case, barely a centimeter thick. His thumb activates a button on the case and the lid pops open revealing a dull yet clean looking folded yellowed cloth. The initials H.v.V. are sewn in black thread close to the bottom edge. The cloth is folded in a different manner than it normally lies in order to display the initials on top.

You raise your right hand up to the level of the box which is even with your chin. Touching the material with an index finger you feel the violence connected with the item, fainting straightaway.

You find yourself in the employee’s lounge with two security officers and the strange man. He is seated at a table nearby, you are located pleather covered chaise lounge, reclined. Bolting upright on the lounger, you gather your senses about you. The security officers called for EMT’s to check you out. Fortunately, you were unconscious for maybe a minute or less. You flush bright red and blame it on ‘female issues’. They insist that you remain and be checked out.

“I am terribly sorry. I assisted in bringing you back here and now that I know you are well cared for, I shall excuse myself.” The stranger stands to leave. You reach in your pocket, thrusting your business card toward him. He completes the exchange by handing you his. As he returns to the public areas of the museum the EMT’s arrive and begin their 1,000 questions.

After every possible vital statistic can be taken and recorded, they finally leave you to yourself and the security of the museum. They nod in agreement that it was most likely ‘female issues’ and you should increase your iron intake. Once you finally convince your boss that you are well enough to leave, you get in your car, grab some drive thru dinner and head directly home.

A warm cup of tea, comfortable clothing and your soft couch beneath you, you take a deep breath and begin to relax. You mull over what happened when you touched the handkerchief. That sort of reaction is expected when you touch weapons used in the war, used for self-defense, etcetera. You did not expect that from a handkerchief. The cloth was normally soaked in a strong smelling agent and held over the face of his target. Too early for ether, most likely mandrake root. Normally it would cause the target to quickly become unconscious, occasionally it would cause illness along with and possibly but not always death. One of Hubert’s weapons in the darkness, when silence was required.

You pull out the business card. Vincent H. Vestraegir. Hmmm. Possibly from the line of descendants. You enter his number and name into your phone, then text it.

You: I gave you my card at the museum. Do you still wish to discuss the

item?

Waiting for approximately 20 minutes you hear the notification tone.

V.H.V: Absolutely. Perhaps meet for coffee? Thursday or Saturday?

You: Thursday. Crown Café, 10am, after the morning rush has cleared.

V.H.V: Agreed. See you then.

Working on your day off, as usual. You log onto the Museum’s Employee website to check your email, the top notification is from your supervisor telling you that you will take a few days for yourself. The success of the reopening is greatly due to your hard work and you will take the rest of the week off. See you Saturday.

Well, well, you may get some sleep after all. After a fitful night of restlessness and strange dreams you awaken Thursday morning feeling overtired. It would be in poor taste to cancel the meeting, so you get up, showered and dressed. You decide that since you are doing this basically for free for this man, you have no obligation to him and refuse to dress up. Wearing your hair in a messy pony tail, GMU sweatshirt and jeans you head to the coffee shop a bit early. Hopefully you can get a full cup into you and wake up before he arrives.

You order a coffee double shot and finish it quickly. Bathroom, order new regular coffee, take a seat and it’s 9:50am. In the corner of your eye you see him walking past the café’s front window. This makes you smile, but you are not certain why.

He takes his seat across from you at 9:59am.

“Good morning” you greet him casually.

“Same to you.” He says, placing his phone face down on the table. He wears a long sleeve black turtleneck, fine dress pants, and black gloves.

“Please tell me what history you know of the handkerchief.” You request.

“Skipping pleasantries, straight to business, eh?” His lip curls at the edge of his mouth on the right side. “See if I pick you up off the floor the next time you faint.”

You roll your eyes.

He clears his throat. “There are several items that have been kept within the family. I do not understand the meaning behind them, why they are kept in separate or specific locations within the family residence or what significance they mean to particular members of the family. My family history appears to go through highs and lows, the most recent low is turning around, getting back toward recovery.” He pauses, enjoying his coffee for a moment. “My mother recently passed and I am now in possession of the family estate. I have not had much time to go through the property, my work is my priority. I have no intention of living there and have considered selling it. There are few things I plan on keeping for myself, the rest may go to the museum should you be able to find a use for them. I noticed at the exhibition there were some unusual items on display that I do not normally recall seeing in museum exhibitions.”

Quaffing your coffee, you take a breath. “I am sorry for your loss. The museum is changing its thought process. People are more interested in seeing the everyday life of those from history. The differences are always blown out of proportion, romanticized, too large to be true. The current exhibition is displaying the things of everyday life, to show these were not only persons held in high regard, but also humans with human needs, feelings, emotions. I agree with some of this, however there are personal items that I question if they would really want to have displayed.”

Mr. Vestraegir thinks on these last remarks, savoring the remainder of his caffeinated beverage. “Why are you concerned about the feelings of the dead? It is not as if they can come to you and complain.”

“Let us say this afternoon you are struck dead by lightning. The funeral is held in three days. Open casket. You are dressed in a white tuxedo, no gloves upon your hands. How would you feel about that?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Preposterous!” He blurts out. “I would insist on having gloves on and I have an ample amount of perfectly adequate black dress suits.”

“Why should be concerned with the feelings of the dead again? Why is it that you wear gloves? The weather is certainly warm enough they are not needed. You are extremely familiar with wearing them.”

“Hmm.” He nods in understanding, rubbing one gloved hand upon the other.

“You do have me intrigued. It is difficult to find pieces of history still standing today. It has been hundreds of years.” You wonder aloud.

“The original structure has been incorporated into the current structure. At one point walking through a corridor it feels as if you are stepping backward in time. Quite an unusual feeling.”

“When do you plan on returning there next?” You ask, thinking of your full calendar.

“In the next day or so. I want to go through some things personally prior to the movers bringing the more recently purchased furniture here.”

“I would like to accompany you to the estate. If you like, I can drive us there this afternoon. I need only to pack an overnight bag and a few items for research. My guess is you do not have internet there?”

“No.” He answers. You would have to use your phone. Not all of the house has electric, so you may wish to bring some flashlights or long extension cords as well.

Fantastic, less disturbance to the original structure you ponder. “I can pick you up in an hour if that suits you?”

He nods and it is a blur from there. Rushing home, packing, picking him up at the duplex at the address he provides. Stashing his items in the trunk you are headed to the highway.

Vincent as he prefers to be called, tells you what information he knows of the Vestra Estate. He had lived there for the first years of his youth. He and his father did not get along well and mother abided by fathers wishes. By the time he turns 12 he is sent to boarding school, graduating straight into college. Finishing his degree in law minor in accounting, he is an atty and CPA/Accountant.

There may be a few books at the property that have a bit of history in them, he’s never had much interest.

A brief stop at the store close to the house, you purchase groceries. Simple premade sandwiches, a few frozen dinners, drinks and snacks. As you wait in the car you suddenly realize you have driven far from the city with a perfect stranger, not even leaving a trail of where you are or who you are with. The perfect setting for a murder. How stupid! You quickly drop an email to your landlord, advising of your destination and how long you expect to be gone. You hesitate and do not leave Vincent’s name, that would only lead to more questions from her as she is determined to set you up with a nice bachelor.

Another 30 minutes and your car is pulling into the long driveway, the large house comes into view. He unlocks the door to show you in. He really doesn’t know much of the history of the place, it had never interested him. The two of you unload the car and he has you place your things in his mother’s old bedroom, located in a newer section of the house that has electric and running water. He goes back to the kitchen to work on groceries.

Beds are so personal. You take a breath and complete the touch. Trying to keep your mind focused on the edge of your vision. Fortunately, it is a newer bed and does not take long to complete. You will be fine sleeping here.

Vincent invites you to the more modern kitchen and the location of the food, coffee, and sundried items. He has a few things to attend to, leaving you free rein of the house to explore. He will get to specifics later tonight or in the morning.

He is absolutely correct about the corridor, they had built on to the house in multiple stages. You enter through the most recent and modern additions. The corridor seems to reach back further and further.

You slowly walk down the walls touching each section. Perceiving people passing through the corridors fill your vision, styles of clothing changing as you progress. You touch the doorframe of a small bedroom in an older portion of the house. The faces of the occupants quickly parade before you. You will the flow to slow, a young girl clings to a doll, nodding with tears in her eyes. Then the next owner, a young male perhaps ten years old with hair to his shoulders, citrine eyes. His brows are furrowed, and he is shouting, but you cannot hear what he says, anger written all over his face, his brows furrow deeply as if he argues with someone just behind you. The door appears as he is slamming it shut. Was that Hubert? Could this have been his room, you wonder. The room is decorated with old wallpaper with a feminine print. The coat of dust on the few furnishings reveals that the room has not been used or tended to for many, many years. The curtains on the window are of a thin lace, possibly being held together by the spider webs covering them, the bottom inches shredded threads.

The mantel of the fireplace and baseboards are the only pieces painted. The rest is left to the beauty of the original wood and bricks. Running your hands over the bricks at the edge of the fire box you see countless hands stacking wood, lighting the kindling, flames beginning to burn bright in the small firebox. Finally, you see older gloved hands, incredibly long fingers waving as fire bursts from their fingertips into the kindling. There are gaps until much younger but long spindly fingers cast magic into the wood creating flames.

Touching the firebricks making up the fireplace you reach out to the bottom bricks. On the right, the furthest one back is loose. A bit of maneuvering and you pull the block from its wedged in position. Three bottles lie on their sides. Without thinking you reach in to grab them. Hubert’s face comes into view, laughing with the bottles in hand. These are definitely his poison bottles, contents long dried. His handwriting on the side, coded of course, one is foxglove, the next mandrake and last is nightshade. A small paintbrush is also in the hollowed space. Removing the item provides visions of blades and darts being painted, and then the interior of a teacup.

Diabolical bastard. You admire him and hate him both at the same time. The Empire would not have won the war without him, however you did not need to firsthand witness his secrets. Sitting on the floor you catch your breath. The daylight is fading and you need to go back to your bag and set up lights and a flash light.

The room is different in the too bright halogen light. Rubber gloves in your pockets, in case something more lethal is found are at the ready. You begin touching the floorboards with your bare feet. You will notice if any has a special significance of course. Only after moving the bed and the rug that is beneath it do you find something. (the bed is approximately 300 years old, mostly for children, same with the rug.) A pocketknife blade at a corner edge and the board lifts quite easily. Several items are stashed between the supports for the floor. Gloves on and flashlight in hand you reach in and remove the items, placing them in a large clear plastic bag. You replace the floorboard and return the bed and rug to its normal position.

“Keeping yourself entertained?” Victor chuckles as he enters the room.

“Found a few things. Haven’t had a chance to look them over yet.” You say as you take the halogen lamp to the next room to inspect.

“I can make it easy for you as far as what few things I know.” He offers. “You’ve already been under the floorboard there. Next the master bedroom.” He turns that direction and you follow him with the light, dragging the extension cord behind you. He steps until he hears a hollow spot at a floorboard by the head of the bed, taking out his pocket knife, he lifts the board out of place, then steps back for you to see.

Bringing the flashlight you see a jacknife and several gold coins. You pick them up with your gloves on and place them into a separate plastic bag.

“That is all I know. I found the floorboard when I was much younger, so of course I had to stomp on every floorboard after that listening for hollow sounds.” He grins.

“Quite logical, actually.” You nod. “As a boy I am surprised that you left them here.”

He coughs. “There were more coins, I did leave some.” He looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You both decide to stop searching for the evening. You’ve not had dinner yet and tomorrow is another day. Besides, you want to investigate the floorboard items further as well as show him the items found behind the fireplace.

Dinner is quickly tossed into a microwave, coffee brewed and laptops pulled out onto the kitchen table, connected to the internet via the cell phones. Both of you sit quietly, only forks scraping plates or fingers tapping on keyboards for an hour.

Closing your laptop, you place a soft towel on top and the first bag with the items from the fireplace. Wearing a glove on your right hand you take each item out of the bag, placing them on the towel.

“There were owned and handled by Hubert. I believe them to be bottles of his own poison. The brush is used to paint it upon his weapons, mostly daggers.” You relay to your tablemate.

Vincent’s eyes go wide. “You’ve just seen them. How can you swear to their authenticity?”

“The appearance matches what you would find from the time. The writing on the bottles closely resembles his handwriting from the samples we have at the museum, and the code is correct for three different poison types. The brush appears to be animal hair that would be used at the time, stuffed into the end of a tube and then crimped to hold the hair tight.”

Taking a small box of plastic bags, you pack each item individually. As you reach for the third bottle it tips over and rolls off of your laptop. You grab it with your left hand and read its history. Your eyes focus as Vincent’s fingers are snapping in your face.

“Come on, are you all right?” He questions.

“Um, yes.” You shake your head a bit, placing the item in a bag and back into the larger bag with the other items.

“Are you epileptic? You spaced out there. Please let me know if you have health issues.” Vincent pleads, the concern is heavy in his voice.

“It…it’s hard to explain.” You want to tell him something. You’re never this open with people, but he makes you feel like it is okay to let him know.

“Go on.” He says waiting patiently.

“I can see some things related to a history of an item just by touching it. I see who used it, how long ago it was when used. Yes. I must be crazy.” You nod quickly after your confession.

“I want to see it work.” He frowns, two wrinkles between his eyebrows get deeper. He stands and goes to a drawer, pulling out a large spoon and a knife. Both appear to be silver, one more tarnished and scraped that the other. He places them on the laptop.

You grab the spoon. You see his mother’s hand stirring long yellow beans in a pot before pouring a creamy sauce onto them, then it changes to different people, an older stove, another older stove. A black ceramic stove stirring gravy in a large heavy skillet.

“Your mother liked to use it for cooking yellow beans. It has been here for several hundred years, at least 300 based on the dress of the last man who had a beard was dressed.”

He looks down at the table and thinks a moment. “She loved wax beans. They look like green beans but taste a bit different. She would cook them in a sour and creamy sauce. She said the spoon was in the family for a long time. Now the knife.”

Taking the silver knife in your fingers it shows she used it nearly every day to put butter on rolls with jelly. There was a lot of time in the drawer, different users. Clothing styles changed. The age of the silver butterknife is closer to 450 or 500 years old.

You share your findings.

“I’m still not convinced.” Vincent reaches into his shirt, and pulls out a gold necklace with a ring hanging from it. A simple gold band with its necklace is placed with hesitation on the laptop. As he places it there your hand brushes against his glove.

“Your gloves are four months old, purchased at Baers and the saleslady had red hair. Just saying.” You clear your throat and take a sip of now too cold coffee.

Reaching for the ring your fingers touch it softly. Your mind is filled with its memories. He has it with him all the time, takes it off for nothing, then you see the crash, blood everywhere. You fall headfirst into the table. Vincent helps you sit back up in your seat as tears are streaming from your face.

“I…I am so sorry for your loss.” You choke and gasp as the tears fall from your eyes. “M-motorcycle crash. Five years ago. He would bring you little yellow flowers he picked from the side of the road.”

Vincent’s face lost all color. A tear fell to his cheek as he nodded. He took the necklace back and put it around his neck.

After a while he took the cups to the sink, “I think it is time to sleep.”

You nod and head to bed. For hours you lay there, unable to sleep as your mind plays back the last nine years of Vincent and his husband’s lives, together and apart. You should have refused to touch it, but you wanted him to believe. And now…now. You shake your head, turn over and stare at the wall again.

The alarm on your phone wakes you. You want to flee, leave this place. It is one thing when someone shares with you tragedies in the past, it is another to have them thrust upon you. You push yourself out of bed. You can make it through today. Once in the kitchen the coffee has just finished you reach to grab a cup. Seeing the two in the dish drainer, you carefully pick out the cup you used yesterday.

You find a note on the table that he has gone for a walk and to go through the boxes he has left in the living room. Grabbing a muffin from the counter you head to the boxes. Wearing glove you begin. A few interesting books, certainly a possibility to go into a collection, many of them simply too modern or of no interest to the museum in their current condition. A box of random items haphazardly placed into a wooden box. Some woodworking tools, chisels, a pocket watch that did not work but was several hundred years old. A coffee grinder, you would definitely need to check that out. Taking that and the watch you sit at the kitchen table. One by one you experience the history of the items. The pocket watch came from approximately 1300. The coins from the floor and jack knife were owned by Hubert’s father, Marquis Vestra. The coffee grinder, broken by a child, had belonged to Hubert at one time well after the war, during his retirement.

The bags from the child’s bedroom revealed two very different groups of items. Vincent himself had placed items in a pocket next to the ones he had originally discovered. Thinking they were a time capsule, he created one of his own including a letter about his 9 year old self, a green plastic army man named Lt. Schwartz, a yo yo and a few baseball cards. The other group of items were from a young girl. A cloth doll with a few wisps of hair still left on its head. A tiny gold ring. A slate and stylus used for writing letters and numbers, the wax long eaten away. A small carved wooden horse.

Deciding to see if there is anything in the last room as well as completing your inspection of the master bedroom, you take your half cup of coffee with you down the hallway. Coming to the end of the corridor, you hear a sound behind you. Turning slowly, you see the countenance of Hubert von Vestra walking toward you. Outfitted in his full Imperial dress uniform, his large stiff collar extends several inches up from his shoulders. A ruby red brooch holds down his cravat. You drown in the sound of leather creaking from his belts on his clothes and the swish of the heavy material of his jacket. His boots create a deep a thunking sound echoing down the hallway.

“Finally.” He says with great satisfaction. “It has been an eternity.” His right hand, void of gloves, reaches out to you, fingertips softly stroking your cheek. His pale skin is cool to the touch, it has always been that way, you think to yourself. He opens his arms welcoming you to be wrapped within them. Burying your nose in his chest you deeply inhale the familiar scent of coffee, parchment, ink and dark magic. How you have longed for this.

“What of Vincent?” you ask him, looking up into his beautiful yellow-green eyes sparkling down at you.

“We have come to an agreement.” Hubert chuckles.

The vibration of his chest, his deep laughter sends chills down your spine. After waiting nearly a thousand years to have him back in your arms the reward is so worth it.

Epilogue:

Each lifetime you searched for him, but your journeys were fruitless. This girl was the most cooperative, the most willing. You found her worse than Bernadetta in some aspects of her life, especially social. She shared this body, watching from behind, creating stories in her mind. You take control and immediately begin your plan. The museum holds his property, perhaps by touching these items you can call to him. Send a signal that you are here. But they would not let you touch the things that belonged to him. The display items you could reach, touch, were not his, only beautiful recreations. Even items held in storage at the museum were not his. You had developed a spell to obtain the history of an item by touch.

It was awful that you had to burn down part of the museum, but you needed access and you needed legitimate items. What people wouldn’t do to have their name on a placard as a donor. From the items donated several very real items were found. You found yourself touching them frequently, just to catch another glimpse of him. Your cohabitant could not take the violence, she caused you to faint so frequently. Perhaps now she may finalize her agreement with you, being released and then you and Hubert can finally have the lifetime together that was stolen from you during that horrible war.

You spoke often of death, war does that. Both agreed to move on and live the best life they could. Finding out Ferdinand was at his side made you happy, especially since it made him happy. Still, he had promised that no matter what, he would find you again and finish what was started. And so the rest of your lives begins…

#fe3h #fe16 #feth #fe3h x reader #fe16 hubert von vestra #fe3h fanfic #fire emblem three houses #hubert von vestra

16 notes · View notes

pucksnsticksnhockeyboys · 5 years

Text

lover

request: Hi I was wondering if you’d write a Mikko Rantanen imagine thingy based off the song Lover by Taylor Swift. Thank you ❤️❤️

prompt: Lover by Taylor Swift

summary: you’re pretty sure you could never live without Mikko ever again, and he makes sure that you never have to find out.

warnings: mentions of drinking, drunkenness

word count: 1.3k

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January And this is our place, we make the rules And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

“Mikko, get up.” You groaned, trying and failing to keep your laughter at bay. You had been in the process of cleaning up the home you shared with your boyfriend when he picked you up and dropped you on the couch, laying on top of you to pin you down. Normally, you would love nothing more than to cuddle with your six foot four Finnish boyfriend, but he was crushing you and there were things around the house you needed to get done.

“’m tired.” He mumbled into the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin. You chuckled at him, threading your fingers into the blonde hair on the back of his head as his arms wrapped tighter around your torso.

“You’re only tired because I asked you to take down the tree.” You teased, tugging lightly on his hair before glancing to the fake Christmas tree that was half disassembled in the corner of the room. You wanted to get the apartment cleaned up before things got too busy with hockey once more, so you jumped on the opportunity to have Mikko help on his day off.

He, apparently, had different plans.

“Maybe. But we can just nap for now.” His words were muffled but you heard him clearly, knowing that there was no way you would be able to get out from underneath him. And really, you didn't want to move out of your current position, unless you were flipping so that you were laying on his chest because he was practically crushing you.

“Ten minutes, Mikko. And then you're finishing the tree.”

We could let our friends crash in the living room This is our place, we make the call

“Erik Johnson I swear on all that is holy I will make you walk home.” You threatened, though the grin on your face was evidence that you didn't actually mean your words. The tall, toothless blonde smiled sheepishly at you, carefully setting down the empty glass of water you had given him.

When Mikko had called and asked if you could pick not only him, but four of his teammates up from a local bar. He pulled his best puppy-dog eyes to convince you to let them spend the night and it took all of your self control to not explain to him that he was an adult and it was his apartment too. You had disappeared down the hallway to get extra blankets and pillows for only two minutes, returning to find EJ attempting to juggle the glass you had so graciously given him to help with the hangover he’d surely be feeling the next morning.

“Are you sure that none of you guys want to sleep in the guest room?” You giggled, shooing a smiley Tyson Jost off of the floor in the middle of the living room. The bed in the guest room was more than big enough for at least two of the boys, but they had all insisted that they wanted to sleep in the living room, on one big pile of blankets in the middle of the room.

“This is more fun.” Andre assured you, watching as you laid out a few blankets. You rolled your eye sat him, but your smile never faded as all of the boys rallied with his answer.

“Whatever you say, Burky.” You muttered. Once you finished laying down blankets for a base, you told them to pile on and you’d tuck them in. “Oh, I need a picture.” You chuckled, fishing your phone out of your pocket as five large hockey players snuggled together on your floor, all red-checked and droopy eyed from drinking. You snapped the photo, most of the boys cheesing their absolute hardest, except for JT, who was busy trying to get Tyson to switch places with him. You posted the photo on your story, certain that the fans would get crazy over such an image and that their captain would have a chirp or two about it at their next practice.

“Time for bed.” Mikko announced making you roll your eyes. He was currently the little spoon to EJ’s big spoon, the blondes looking as if they cuddled like that regularly. Honestly, you wouldn't be surprised with how this team was usually.

“You’re not going to sleep with me, Mik?” You questioned your boyfriend, a teasing grin on your face at the thought that he would be spending the night on the floor of your living room with his teammates. Your words made him sit up quickly, a grin on his face and you rolled yours eyes at what he thought you meant. “Not like that, Rantanen.”

“Still get to cuddle you, so I win.”

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

“Are you jealous?” The hint of amusement in Mikko’s voice caused you to glare sharply at him. Just because he was right, doesn't mean he had to say it. Of course you were jealous, you had just spent the past few hours at an Avalanche charity event watching a multitude of women fawn over your boyfriend, and though he has made it clear that he wasn't interested, it still made an ugly green monster grow in your stomach.

“No.” You lied in an attempt to save face. Mikko raised a brow at you, and you stuck your tongue out at him. It was immature, you knew it, but the simple action told your boyfriend that you weren't mad at him, but more so at the situation and and yourself.

He reached across the center console to thread his fingers with yours, his other hand keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel. As he drove through the Denver night, soft music flowed through the speakers and you studied his profile. Mikko was undoubtedly the most handsome you had ever met and will ever meet, and you knew that no matter how many times you had to suffer through attractive women throwing themselves at him, you’d stick by his side. Besides, you couldn't blame them, you’d shoot your shot with Mikko a hundred times over if it meant you got the chance to talk to him.

“I love you.” You muttered, lifting your conjoined hands to press a kiss to the back of his much larger one. Mikko chuckled at you, giving your hand quick squeeze before dropping it back into your lap.

“I love you, too. Even when you’re jealous for no reason.”

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover

“Mikko Rantanen.” You hissed, squeezing your boyfriend's arm as you sat next to him in a restaurant way too fancy for your wallet. At your reaction, Mikko tipped his head back and let out a booming laugh. “You’re trouble.”

“You like it.” He winked over dramatically, earning a shove to the shoulder. He had a habit of whispering dirty jokes and comments so that only you could hear, simply because he loved to rile you up and make you blush.

“You’re going to be sleeping on the couch.” You teased, though he knew you were kidding. You loved that he felt comfortable enough with you to make silly jokes like that to you, and sometimes it was nice to feel like preteen again by laughing at his comments.

“You wouldn't dare.” His smile was infectious, and soon enough you were giggling with him again. “You would miss me too much.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” You chirped once more before turning to Mel and asking her about her baby.

You heard Mikko chuckled beside you, before engaging himself with his teammates sitting on his other side. Though, his hand hadn’t removed itself from its spot on your thigh, gently squeezing it every few moments as if to remind you that he was still there.

As if you could forget the love of your life was sitting next to you.

Darling, you're my, my, my, my lover

#mikko rantanen #mikko rantanen x reader #mikko rantanen imagine #mikko rantanen imagines #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagines #colorado avalanche imagine #Colorado Avalanche x reader #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl #nhl imagine #NHL imagines

412 notes · View notes

everythinggeeky · 4 years

Text

Everything I Wanted | Obi-Wan Kenobi

Obi-Wan Kenobi x senator! reader

Warnings: NONE! lots of fluff, angst, longing, fuck the jedi code amiright

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Obi-Wan appears to the reader in a force projection after a long troubling day of debates within the senate, reminding the reader of her true purpose and comforting her. After settling her nerves until he can safely return, she gains the courage to continue the difficult debates.

A/N: requests are open!

masterlist

The debates have been going on what feels like for months. In reality, it was only a few weeks. Long, grueling senate sessions have become your new reality. By the end of the evening, you were exhausted and ready to collapse in your bed, overlooking the busy, bustling Coruscant traffic.

After the regularly scheduled senate session, you had met Senator Amidala to discuss your plan to convince the Senate that the upcoming bill wasn’t a good idea as everyone had originally thought. She and Senator Organa were assembling a notion to detract support from the bill and suggest an amendment to the preexisting policy. The discussion had been troubling, however. To amend the current policy would be an amendment to tradition. Without a doubt, this wouldn’t go over well in the Senate.

Ensuring senator Amidala that you would sleep on it, you returned to your quarters, enthralled by the wonder of the cityscape. There was a piece missing from this moment, the Jedi master that has quickly taken residence in your heart. Master Kenobi was away, engaged in battle on a planet unknown; a planet torn by the Clone Wars. Of course, attachments are against the Jedi code. However, you had both agreed that you wouldn’t let your connection come between you, him, and the mission at hand.

Gazing out over the balcony, plagued by insomnia, your thoughts wandered to the man. He had worked so hard in the last few months, difficult battles consumed his weeks and you had barely seen him. Obi-wan was to return in just over a week, the scheduled victory was critical to the war. Without a word from him, his current status was unknown. You were left wondering where he was and if he was okay, trusting in his word that he would return to you.

You swept your sleeping robes behind you, pacing slowly, with a shallow attempt to occupy your mind with something other than the lonesome thoughts of the handsome man. From somewhere distant in the back of her mind, a voice crept its way into her mind.

“Darling…”

“Obi…?” she asked into the void, the voice familiar.

“Yes, it’s me, turn around…”

You turn towards him, his figure a clear but distant shadow.

“What is this…? Where are you…?”

“The force, sweetheart, unfortunately, due to both of our positions on Coruscant, my location is disclosed, but I promise you, I am alright.”

“You better be..”

“And I will return to you soon, as scheduled, but I wanted to check in with you...I could sense that something was severely troubling your mind...what is it..?”

“Well… it’s the debates in the senate...Senator Amidala, Organa, and I are hoping to present an alternative, although, it’s not going so well. And of course, I miss you terribly..”

“I know, and I as well...but it won’t be much longer until we’re together again. And for the debates, I know that you and the senators are wise. Follow your instincts if you believe you are right. I’m sure the Senate will come around eventually”

“Thank you, Obi-wan.”

“Of course. Now, I cannot stay for much longer. Just know that in about a week’s time, I will be with you right there on your balcony; looking over the night’s sky as you do so often when your mind is troubled like this.”

You chuckled to yourself, knowing that what he said was true. It was a habit; a method of distraction meant to busy your mind with something else other than stress or loneliness. You scanned his form one last time, not wanting to forget him and how his robes decorate his stature and asserted his position on the Jedi council. The various shades of beige and brown complimented his hair and beard so nicely.

You remembered lying on your backs, facing the ceiling of your quarters. Limbs intertwined, robes covering your body as well as his as some sort of pseudo-blanket. The soft material was comforting and smelled like him, a peaceful reminder of the time you shared together. You tried your best to remember these moments when you miss him as you do now, treasuring the valuable moments spent together in between missions and council briefings.

“y/n…?” he sensed your mind drifting once again.

“Sorry...I’m alright...just thinking of you…” you said with a smile.

“Keep thinking those more pleasant thoughts, darling...I will be home soon.”

You nodded, bidding him goodnight with a sweet smile. Before you had the chance to speak up again, he was gone. You took a deep breath and centered yourself, nerves much more relaxed than they were before Obi-Wan had appeared to you. Returning inside, pulling the pale blue robe tighter around yourself, you slink into bed and pull the covers tight around your lonely body.

The next week seemed to drag on forever. The promise of seeing Obi-Wan at the end of the week provided a source of energy that did not go unnoticed. In the middle of the week, after a grueling day of negotiations, Padme pulled you aside.

“Have you been alright…? I noticed you’ve been acting a bit off in the last week or so..”

“Yeah..I’ve been alright. A close friend of mine has been away for some time, and I really miss them. But, they should be home soon.”

“I could tell that good news is coming, y/n. You’ve been enthusiastic in the last few days. Keep focused. We will get through this. The Senate will begin to understand why this is so important.”

You scoffed, “you’re starting to sound like him.”

“Who?”

“Obi-Wan.”

She gave you a look. Was this the friend you were referring to? Shamefully, you nodded slowly, looking softly into her eyes to ask for her secrecy. Of course, she knew the dangers of disobeying the Jedi code and sneaking around. She wrapped you into a warm hug to seal her promise to you.

“Just be careful, y/n. This is dangerous, but it can be worth it. If this is what you believe is right, follow it.” she spoke softly.

You nodded, breaking away from the embrace to pick up a piece of your dress, following the threads with the pad of your thumb.

“Thank you..”

“Of course,” She smiled softly, continuing “now...would you like to go and take a break..?”

“I would love to, but I really must go and assemble my claims for tonight’s session. I need to refresh my argument.”

She nodded to dismiss you, and you returned to your quarters. You evaluated the holograms of the past recordings of your claims for the Senate session. This was your big moment, the driving evidence for the new policy. This would change Coruscant, but it was a change that was for the benefit of everyone.

Out of the corner of your vision, the door to your quarters slid open. Before you could process the intruder, Obi-Wan greeted you with a sweet smile.

“Y/n”

“Obi? You’re early.”

“I just landed. I came right here, hoping you would be here.”

You whisked away the hologram, walking up to him.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I have missed you as well…”

Hesitantly, you pulled him into a hug, tucking your arms under the sheets of fabric that enveloped him.

“How did your mission go…?” you tilted your chin to face him.

“Well, there was a bit of a hiccup with Anakin and the inhabitants, but overall…”

“When is there not a hiccup with Anakin…?”

He chuckled, “very true.”

You released yourself from him, meeting his gaze with a kind smile.

“I was just rehearsing for the Senate session tonight. I think they’re finally going to come around.”

“I told you they would, darling. I know you can persuade them of what is best.”

“I hope so...will you be here when I get back..?”

“I must meet with the Jedi council within the hour, but after that, I am all yours.”

“The council…” you said, spitefully remembering the very thing that kept you from Obi-Wan.

“I know, sweetheart…”

“Just promise you’ll come back.”

“Always.”

He slipped through the door with a kind smile, heading off to meet with the council. You missed him terribly and just got him back, and now he was gone once again.

Hours later, the Senate session had gone terribly. Violent disagreement erupted in the middle of your address, eventually dissolving all control you once had. Frustrated, you left the session early and returned to your quarters. Changing into a more comfortable dress, you hid under the covers of your bed, blocking out any source of life or light. So, when Obi-Wan had returned to your quarters after the Jedi council meeting, as promised, he scanned the room for any sign of you. His eyes met the shape of your body from under the blankets.

“y/n…” he spoke softly, sitting on the edge of your mattress.

“No”

“Sweetheart”

“No, Obi, you don’t get it.”

“Well then, explain it to me. Help me understand.”

Throwing the covers away quickly and sitting up, avoiding his gaze.

“The Senate will never understand me or take me seriously. When I was up there… it’s like they were laughing at me. They never had any intention of believing what I was saying. I presented all the facts...I gave them the right arguments, just like you said…”

Reaching to pat your back soothingly, “first of all, I am proud of you. What you do is incredibly important to the function of this planet, the system, and the galaxy. And second, perhaps just give them some time, they’ll come around and understand why this is necessary.”

Standing, you scoff, walking away from him to the balcony.

You quickly turn to him to quip, “We don’t have time, Obi-Wan! If we don’t pass this bill now, more armies will be deployed and war will tear every sector of this galaxy! Who cares about tradition? What is old and outdated is not always right!”

He sighed, he knew you were right. His rationale drew him in to defend the positive.

“I’m sure the council never has these disagreements,” you said crossing your arms in defense.

“We have our fair share.”

Beginning to pace again, he stands to follow you outside. He catches you gently to stop you in your tracks.

“I’m sorry...it’s the stress...”

“It’s alright, I understand. Will you let me help…?”

Nodding softly, you looked up to his soft face. It was always surprising to see him after a battle, with the occasional scratch to his face, robes which smelled of dirt, and a singe from a lightsaber here and there. He pulled you into a comforting hug, drawing you close to his chest. Resting his chin on the top of your head, and leaving behind a soft kiss to your hair.

“Come rest, sweetheart.”

He broke away from the hug only to pick up your hand and lead you back inside. Climbing into bed, outstretching his arms to you. You tucked yourself into his arms, holding him close, not wanting to let go because he might leave again too soon.

“Obi...I had this dream the other night while you were gone...we were together...and happy.”

“I’m sorry sweetheart...I’m sorry I can’t promise you that future...you know it’s not possible.”

“But isn’t it…? What about Padme and Anakin…?”

“We can’t sneak around forever, darling…it’s not sustainable…”

“I don’t care about sustainable...I just want you..”

“I know...but you have me for now… let’s just enjoy this while it lasts.”

tagged: @hxldmxdxwn @takenbymyfandoms @amethystmoonprincess @whitegirlinstarwars @smokahuntis @kybercrystals @venusbarnes

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan x reader #obi wan x reader fluff #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan #obi wan kenobi oneshot #obi wan kenobi fluff #obi wan fluff #obi wan x senator reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars oneshot #star wars drabble #prequel obi wan kenobi x reader #prequel obi wan #star wars x reader #everything i wanted #everythinggeeky

149 notes · View notes

kpophours · 4 years

Text

Always You (M)

➵ SF9: Zuho x fem. reader / one shot, vampire AU, historical AU / fluff, smut / REQUESTED

➵ warnings: slight mentions of violence, explicit mentions of sex (oral: receiving, unprotected sex)

➵ word count: 3.1k

Night is falling again, and you know what this means.

He will come to you.

As he does almost every night.

You’re giddy with excitement, goosebumps rising all over your body in anticipation.

What will he have planned for tonight? Maybe you’ll finally see his castle, the home he always talks of so fondly. Or he’ll take you to see the pack of werewolves just a few miles away from the little château you grew up in. You also heard that sometimes, the elves are roaming the forests near by, their sweet songs enchanting every living creature around them.

Ever since meeting your vampire, a whole new world has begun to reveal itself to you, full of wonders and adventure.

Thankfully, neither of your parents have noticed your nightly absences so far - you don’t even want to imagine what they’d say to you. They would probably just marry you off to an earl or baron or whatever title seems appropriate. You yourself have no title, but your family is rich - the new kind of rich, the one that has made their money through trade and with the help of a little bit of luck.

You sigh, slowly beginning to brush through your unruly hair while looking at your reflection in the mirror. You’re dressed for bed, wearing a long silky nightgown of purest white, something your mother has bought for you just recently. It’s the first time you’re wearing it, and to be honest - you can’t wait for your vampire to see you in it. You suppress a giggle, eyes sparkling with mischief. There’s a sudden knock on your door and you jump, startled. “Yes?”, you ask, voice soft. Your mother enters, smiling at you and gently touching your cheek. She’s wearing a voluminous gown, shimmering in different shades of red which compliment her skin tone. Her hair is up in an elegant chignon, revealing her slender neck and without meaning to, you touch your own. It’s still free of marks, because your nightly visitor has been afraid of hurting you.

What if I can’t stop? What if I kill you?, he had murmured into your ear, his breath tickling you and sending delicious shivers down your spine, I will never risk it, I shall not dare.

You sigh at the memory of his arms around you, and your mother raises both eyebrows in a silent question. You just shake your head and smile, before getting up from your dressing table to wrap both arms around her. “Are you and Papa ready to leave?”, you ask and kiss her cheek, making her smile and gently pat your back. “Yes, my dear. I just wanted to check on you one last time before we leave you alone for the night.”, she answers and you playfully roll your eyes at her. “I’m not alone, Mama. There are enough servants in here to take care of a whole army.”, you reply and she chuckles, nodding in agreement. “I know, but still. You are my daughter and therefore, I worry about you. You will be alright, won’t you?”, she asks again, and cups your cheek, gently stroking it with her thumb. You nod again, playfully pointing at the door. “I will be perfectly fine. And now go, or else you and Papa will be late - and then, you’ll be the talk of society. We wouldn’t dare risk that, would we now?”

Now it’s your mother’s turn to roll her eyes, but she chuckles and murmurs a Got the cheek from her father under her breath, before kissing your cheek and leaving you alone. You stay close to the door, listening for your parents to leave. You breathe a sigh of relief when you finally hear the front gate close, soon followed by the noise of hooves and a carriage rolling over the uneven cobblestones.

When you turn around to face your window again, you jump and almost squeal, quickly pressing both hands over your mouth to stifle the noise. “Zuho.”, you breathe, looking at the man standing in the middle of your room. As always, he’s clad in dark clothing, perfectly tailored and clinging to his broad shoulders and long legs. His dark hair is cut shorter, and unlike the current fashion not bound in a ponytail at the base of his neck. Instead, it curls around his sharp cheekbones, always hiding some parts of his beautiful face. When the vampire smiles at you, his whole face transforms, melting away the sharpness and edges, and you run towards him to wrap both hands around his neck.

He chuckles, amused by your eagerness, but returns your hug nevertheless. “Missed me?”, he asks, humor coating his words and you nod, not even embarrassed by your feelings. He draws back a bit, hand sliding up your back and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He gently cups your cheek, leaving a soft kiss on your lips. You sigh, threading your fingers through his soft, black hair and tugging on it. He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and quickly pulls back, chest heaving. Zuho doesn’t really need to breathe, but it’s a natural reaction he has kept from his years as a human; before he was turned into the bloodsucking creature he is now.

“Sorry.”, you whisper, shyly ducking your head. He shakes his head. “You’re going to kill me one day.”, he just murmurs, tracing your cheekbones with one of his long, white fingers. You grin wickedly. “Technically, you’re already dead, so that’s actually impossible.”, you retort cheekily and he laughs again, deep voice rumbling in his chest and igniting a fire in your lower belly. He sighs, stepping away from you. You immediately feel colder, even though his skin offers no warmth, and wrap both arms around yourself, shivering in your thin nightgown. Zuho’s eyes darken when he takes in your white dress, a strange sound - half moan, half groan - tearing from his lips. He runs one hand through his dark hair, eyes darting around the room. A smile tugs at your lips and you tilt your head to one side, letting your arms fall to your sides to give his mind more to imagine. You know exactly what kind of effect you have on him, because even though he can look quite menacing and scary, Zuho has a very soft heart and gentle soul.

He takes in a deep breath, fixing his eyes on you. “Come on, my love. Let’s leave for the night.”, he finally says, and extends one hand, waiting for you to take it. When you do, he pulls you into his arms and tucks your face against his chest. You do not like heights, so flying with him is always a bit scary; even though you know he would never let any harm come to you. Still, you always keep your eyes closed, concentrating on his soft, unique scent and waiting for your feet to finally touch the ground again. Zuho carefully navigates to your window and presses a soft kiss against your temple, before fyling out into the night, you safely held in his arms.

Your flight doesn’t take long tonight, and when your feet touch solid ground again, you finally dare to open your eyes. You look around, curious. You’re not outside - instead, you find yourself in a dimly lit chamber. The walls are made from black stone, probably marble, gently reflecting the light of the candles. There’s a washing basin in one corner, and some clothes are dangling from a chair besides it. There’s a big, comfortable looking canopy bed standing against the wall in front of you, facing the windows. You take a careful step towards it, before turning around to look at Zuho. He is watching you with dark eyes, expression guarded but soft. “You brought me to your castle.”, you say, more of a statement than a question. The vampire nods and tilts his head to one side, licking his lips. “You said you wanted to see it many times and… I thought it was finally time to fulfill your wish.”, he answers and you smile at him, reaching out one hand. He takes it, long fingers curling around your smaller ones, and pulls you towards him, embracing you again. He buries his nose in your soft hair, inhaling while his grip around you tightens. “How come you always smell so good, my love.”, he asks, gently lifting your chin with one finger and looking into your eyes. You grin teasingly. “I bathe regularly.”

He chuckles at your reply and then, finally, his lips are on yours. You sigh against his lips, letting him slide his tongue into your mouth, and bury both hands in the waves of his soft, black hair. He walks you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed, and pushes you onto the soft mattress. Your kiss gets more heated until Zuho finally draws back, gazing down at you, lips slightly swollen and hair a mess. You see his fangs extending and he flinches when you try to touch them. “I’m sorry.”, he murmurs softly, lowing his eyes, and you lift one eyebrow, a questioning expression on your face. “I don’t… I just don’t want to lose control around you.”, he says, “I don’t want you to see the monster I truly am.” You draw your eyebrows together, shaking your head. “You’re not a monster.”, you reply softly, cupping his cheek and directing his gaze back at you, “And I want to see all of you. I love you.” His eyes widen at your confession and for a few seconds, he stays quiet. Until finally - “Y- you… love me?”, he whispers quietly, and you have to strain your ears to hear him. You smile and nod. “I do. I actually thought I made that quite obvious these past few months.”, you answer in a hushed voice and he gives you a bright smile, leaning closer to leave a soft, chaste kiss against your lips. “I love you, too.”, he whispers against them and you sigh, relieved, before wrapping both arms around his neck to draw him in for another kiss.

Your confession seems to have loosened the grip Zuho usually keeps on himself, because he suddenly doesn’t hold himself back anymore. His hands are roaming your body now, gently dragging your nightgown a bit higher, and you gasp when you feel his bulge press into your core. He breaks the kiss just to look at you for confirmation, and when you nod, he grins, gaze turning dark and predatory. He leaves small kisses on your jawline and chin, slowly making his way down to your neck, fangs grazing the soft skin above your aorta. Your heartbeat quickens under his gentle ministrations and you buck your hips, seeking some form of fraction, making Zuho chuckle. “Someone is impatient.”, he murmurs against your skin and you whine. “Well, it took you long enough to take me to your castle.”, you reply and he sits back on his knees, giving you a stern look that almost makes you moan and press your legs together. “If you continue to be such a brat, my love,”, he says in a dark voice, hands ghosting over your calves and slowly slipping higher, “I can always fly you back to your château.”

You press your lips together and shake your head, feeling frustrated. He smirks at your expression, hands slipping even higher and under your nightgown, feeling the wetness covering the insides of your thighs. He stills for a few seconds, and you cover your face with one hand to hide your embarrassment, but then, you hear the strangled sound he makes - half groan, half moan. You watch him close his eyes, apparently trying to calm himself. When he opens them again, his eyes are red and you see his fangs extending even more. You bite down hard on your lower lip, looking up at him from under your lashes, and whisper a soft Please under your breath. Zuho groans and seems to contemplate for a few seconds, before he finally slips his hand between your legs, touching you where you want him most. You close your eyes, and a breathy moan slips past your lips, when you feel one of his fingers gently circle your entrance, gathering some of your arousal, before he gently pushes one finger inside you. You’re so wet already that he enters you easily, and you moan at the sensation, hands gripping the soft sheets underneath you. Zuho groans when he feels your wetness and leans closer to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “God, you’re so wet already and I barely even touched you, my love”, he murmurs and you simply utter a small whine. He smirks and eases a second finger inside you, making you mewl. Finally, his thumb lands on your clit and he begins to rub gentle circles against it, making you pant. It doesn’t take long for you to start trembling and clenching around him, and when you finally tumble over the edge, Zuho kisses you, swallowing your moans and gasps.

When you stop shaking, heartbeat slowly calming down again, he sits back on his knees and extracts his fingers, gently sucking them clean while maintaining eye contact, making you whimper at the sight. He grins and cocks one eyebrow, which finally makes you sit up and place one hand over his bulge. His eyes widen and he instantly jumps from the bed, slowly taking a few steps backwards. You look at him in confusion, and tilt your head to one side. “Don’t you want me?”, you finally ask, voice small and Zuho groans, pushing one hand in his hair and tugging on it, clearly frustrated. “Believe me, my love. I do, so much. But-” You shake your head and interrupt him: “No but. You love me and I love you. That is enough for me. And now, come back, please.” You reach out one hand for him, and he only hesitates for a few seconds, before joining you back on the bed again.

“God have mercy on my foul, wicked soul.”, he murmurs and you roll your eyes at his dramatics, quickly beginning to unbutton his shirt and ignoring the pained look he gives you. You push his shirt off his shoulders and marvel at the beauty of his soft skin, glowing like liquid moonlight in the shadowy room. You leave soft kisses all over his chest, hands wandering towards his trousers to discard of them as well. When Zuho is finally fully naked beside you, you sigh in awe, hands traveling over his flawless body. “You are beautiful.”, you state in a hushed voice and he gives you a soft smile, cupping your cheek and kissing you sweetly. He helps you out of your nightgown then, and moves on top of you, slipping between your legs and hooking one of them around his waist.

“Are you sure, my love?”, he asks and when you nod, he utters a soft sigh and carefully pushes inside you. You gasp at the sensation of him filling you, eyes closing at the almost painful stretch, until Zuho finally bottoms out and gives you a few seconds to adjust. “Are you alright, love?”, he murmurs against your lips, pressing gentle kisses on your cheeks and nose, until you nod and he begins to move. Gently pulling out of you just to push his hips against yours again, he sets a steady pace, sitting back on his knees to hit you from a deeper angle. You moan underneath him, throwing one hand over your eyes and beginning to pant. “No, I want to see you.”, Zuho demands, gently dragging your arm away again and you lock eyes with him. His are red again, almost shining, and you clench around his length, making him hiss at the sensation, showing off both fangs. When his thumb lands on your clit again to rub circles against it, you quickly turn into a moaning, trembling mess underneath him, and it doesn’t take long for you to shatter around him again. He snaps his hips against yours, rhythm now almost punishing and painful, guiding you through your orgasm, until he finally groans and reaches his high as well, fangs grazing his lower lip in an attempt to stifle his groans. He stills inside you, and gently presses his forehead against yours.

You’re breathing hard, still trembling and feeling tired but blissed out. Zuho finally pulls out of you and walks over to his little basin in the corner, dipping a white cloth into the water and returning with it to help clean you. You wrap the soft bed sheets around your naked body, feeling yourself get more drowsy with every passing minute. After discarding of the cloth, Zuho slips between the covers as well and wraps both arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. His eyes are back to their usual deep brown and his fangs have vanished as well. You take in a deep breath, gathering all your courage and trying to ready yourself, before you whisper: “I want you to turn me.”

Zuho immediately stiffens, and when you draw back to look at his face, you see that his expression is dark and stormy. “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”, he says and you lift one eyebrow. “I don’t want to be married off to a stranger just for a title. I don’t want to be the wife of someone else. I want only you - always you. But I will never feel like your equal until I become like you.”, you explain, having thought about this often these past weeks, having made up your mind. But Zuho shakes his head. “You’ll have to drink the blood of innocents, Y/N. You might even kill someone during your blood rage. And what happens, if one day you will realize that I’ve turned you into a monster? Could you still love me?”, he murmurs, his hands beginning to rub small circles against the naked skin for your back. You cup his cheek with one hand, giving him a gentle smile. “I have thought about this for a long time, and I have made my decision. So now I’m asking you - do you love me? Do you want me to be yours, for eternity? Will you choose me, too?”

Zuho takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a few seconds. Finally, he opens them again and gazes down at you, eyes glimmering red and fangs extending.

“I will always choose you, my love.”, he finally answers, before burying his fangs into your neck.

[masterlist] | [requests]

95 notes · View notes

jarofrebuke-transcripts · 4 years

Text

Jar of Rebuke Episode 3 Unofficial Transcript

Season 1 Episode 3: Cherry Tobacco

INTRO

The following audio recording is classified documentation for Case [audio distortion] with the Enclosure. Unauthorized access to this information will lead to immediate intervention. Progress further if proper clearance has been given.

JARED

I really need to get into the habit of doing this more often. Dr. Daman keeps asking how this is going, but I rarely have anything to tell her that she seems to want to hear. She really wants me to do this regularly, but sitting at my desk with a sore back didn't sound too appealing, especially if I didn't have to. Even though my back is feeling a bit better after the snipe hunt tournament incident, I'm actually recording this from a bed and breakfast. And I'm tired. Not even a vacation, it's more of a work trip. Not terribly much has happened since my last update. Darius's birthday was recently. He had a little get-together with some friends and he even invited me along, which was really nice. I made sure to get there a little early especially since it was a day off of work for me. We met up at Waytooth, a restaurant that his dads and him frequent often. I got there and just sat outside for a bit fiddling on my phone, then Darius showed up. He was so excited for the party, I could tell. He smiled the second we made eye contact. He jogged over to me and we talked for a bit. The weather is still pretty nice, it's finally starting to get chillier, which is actually nicer, I prefer the layers. So we sat outside and enjoyed the weather as we talked until his other friends showed up. They were all nice, but I kind of stuck by Darius most of the day since he was the only one that I really knew.

After lunch, we all went to a drive-in theater that they've got set up here in town, which is mostly just a projector and a large painted brick wall, but it was still a nice time. His friends all sat in different cars as we watched the movie, but Darius and I sat in the bed of his truck and ate snacks that he had packed. Darius is a really good cook. He's learning a lot of cool stuff from that class he's taking. I gave him a little gift, of course. Well, two things. I got him a new wrench set since he'd been saying that he needed a new one, his old one's been a bit worn down for a while. Uh, gifts to give him in front of his friends, since he really plays up the whole inheriting the family farm shtick around them. But we, when we were in his truck, just the two of us, I gave him his second gift. He said he had really gotten into cross stitching recently and he seemed a little embarrassed about it. But I wanted him to know that I thought that was interesting, so I got him a little pack of stitching patterns and some thread organizers. I wasn't sure what kind of patterns he'd like, so I just got him a couple of different kinds. He was quiet for a few moments after he opened that gift and I kind of panicked for a moment honestly. But he then gave me a really big smile and put his hand on my shoulder. He gave me a really soft thank you and I told him it was my pleasure, as long as he made me something. It was an obvious joke, at least I hoped it was obvious. But he asked what I'd want. I told him I like birds. Birds have so much freedom to just fly around and always sing such pretty songs. Besides geese, I don't like geese. He asked me if I had any favorites. I said I like blue jays. Major assholes, but beautiful. He laughed and he said he'd give it his best shot, but I told him that I’d hang up anything he made me. And that was about it. We barely watched the movie, we spent most of the time quietly talking actually.

What else have I done? Well, Dr. Castillo and I went and investigated the energy signatures from the cornfields after Todd told us to do so and you know what we found? Corn. That's it. Oh, and more corn! No energy spikes, no signs of tomfoolery of the natural or supernatural kind, nothing. It was almost strange how untouched by supernatural energies it seemed. We investigated during the day and at night. No changes. So we've been keeping tabs on the fields but nothing that's been too notable has happened when we're out there. We've been passing a lot of our time in the labs reorganizing files going over the energy spikes that have been recorded and theorizing what we could possibly be dealing with there. But until we can further examine it, there is not much we can do. Ever since they replaced my old lab partner my workload has been much lighter. I actually prefer to be busy than bored, and I think Dr. Castillo isn't used to having idle hands either. They only ever give me small menial tasks and it's becoming more annoying than anything else. But I did recently see my old lab partner, Dr. Lomax in the hall this morning. I've seen them in passing a few times but we haven't been able to catch up much since the sudden change. Dr. Lomax also has no idea why they got suddenly switched to a different lab. Seems that none of us know why the change was made. All Todd said was “just had to rearrange some staff, don't worry about it!”

Speaking of, before I left work today, I got another email from Todd. Typically his emails are him asking us to do something and then him talking himself up for multiple paragraphs and making it seem like it should be a privilege to do what he's asking you to do. But this email was him actually giving me lodging information for the local inn, and explaining that I had to pack up a bag and go. They apparently planned to do renovations or something on my house due to a concern of faulty plumbing. I'd mentioned to Dr. Daman about the less-than-stellar heating system when I wanted to take a bath or do dishes, but I didn't expect anyone to actually do anything about it. But a night without weird tapping on my door sounded nice, and even though I replied to the email basically saying “oh no, you really don't have to, I can live with it”, Todd insisted. I could just see his smug smile on the other side of the screen. He'll subtly hold it over my head for later, but the rule of one denial for good polite measure then acceptance of an offer had been met and I was off home to pack a bag. And here I am now.

The Chronicle Inn bed and breakfast is run by an older married couple, Ester and Laura. I'd met them a few times before my stay here but I hadn't spent much time with them. This place is mostly a restaurant and homemade goods store rather than an inn, considering we don't get many outsiders who stay here any longer than to grab a bite to eat and get gas. But for times like these it's nice to have an inn available. Even if it's only a few rooms, it's much better than staying at the facilities that the enclosure has on site. Work would have likely put me into a temporary on-site lodging space if the inn wasn't available. To be honest I'm surprised they actually put me in the end instead of just tossing me into some temp lodging room for a night. Maybe they remembered how much I hate that place. It's nearly impossible to sleep with the buzzing lights and the beds really aren't made for comfort and the bathrooms are all so claustrophobic. I swear, they make that place as uncomfortable as possible so people want to leave. That, or they just skimped on the prices for a comfortable setup to focus the money elsewhere at the Enclosure. I'd believe that. Though maybe they booked me at this place to have me investigate something while I'm here. Can't even enjoy this nice little one-night getaway, huh? They expect me to work? Do they plan to pay me for looking into things overnight? Probably not, not like they ever pay me for the full work I do anyways.

The room I’m in is kinda known for weird happenings. The whole town knows but there's not a huge fuss over it. No one's died from it, so why be too concerned? Ester warned me about these weird happenings while I was checking in. There's word of a spirit that haunts the upper floor of the building. Been here for as long as anyone can recall. She explained it all to me with a smile and a jovial tone, so she doesn't seem concerned. After the literal run-in with the deer a few weeks ago, I really just wanted some rest. Her wife Laura told me that they serve breakfast at 7 am but they'll be at the desk to take my key as early as 6. Thankfully tomorrow my shift starts at 8 instead of the usual 6 so I might be able to actually get some real food in me before work.

Didn't take me too long to get up here and settled in. I decided to just relax today instead of going out into town. So I did some reading in bed. Not that I could really focus much, the bed here is nice and cozy, but there's definitely a vibe about it. The room, not the bed. The rest of the inn is very homey, lived in, but in a good way. But the second I got to the top of the stairs it was like the air got barely but still noticeably cooler. When I came into the room I saw a little baggie of homemade beef jerky that Ester made and gave me. She's known around town for her jerkies and her woodwork. She's always so hands-on with everything she makes, whether it's snacks or a new set of chairs. She may have actually made the chair I'm sitting in right now, actually. I sat outside for a bit. There's a nice balcony that looks over some gardens and in the far distance I can see the vast fields. The evening felt so nice and I could see the little lightning bugs flying around as I got darker. I've always liked watching their dances. I often watch kids running around catching them in jars and then letting them all go just minutes later, but I prefer to watch them do their own thing out in nature. I watched the stars and the flicking lights of the lightning bugs for a bit, sipped on some sweet tea that Laura had brewed and offered me, ate some of the jerky that Ester made, and relaxed. I let my mind wander to wherever it went off to which as usual was all over the place. But no tapping on the doors, no weird deer staring at me, it was nice. But I keep feeling like something, or someone, is watching me. I feel that pretty often but this is different. It feels closer, if that makes sense. Like right now I'm sitting in a plush chair by the window in the room looking over the nice herb garden out back. The stars are still twinkling, the wind is just slightly blowing, and I've been able to crack the window open for some breeze. But I feel like something is watching me from the doorway. I swear to gods if I turn around and someone is standing there... (deep inhale) nope, nothing.

When Ester was telling me about what I could possibly expect, she said that a spirit had been wandering around in the room I'm staying in. Sometimes the spirit watches people. Sometimes the spirit just walks around and ignores the tenants. Must depend on her mood. But apparently something about the blue lamp by the bedside table really draws her out. Considering my line of work, and that my boss sent me here, I'm obviously going to turn on the light. Even if she's not rumored to be particularly dangerous, if they're just wanting to keep me busy then I could see Todd throwing me here to look into it a bit more. Okay. Hold on, give me a sec, let me see what happens. [lamp clicks on] It's a pretty light. I don't think I've seen a light this shade of blue outside of some of the lights they put up around town in the winter. It's nice. Oh, uh... hello? I don't know if she can hear me but I do see someone standing by the door, on the other side of the room, and um, [sniffs] tobacco?

THE BLUE LADY

I can hear you just fine.

JARED

[startled] Ah! Sorry about that. how are you?

THE BLUE LADY

Why do you ask?

JARED

Manners, I guess? Should I ask- who are you?

THE BLUE LADY

I don't think it really matters now. Besides, it's better I ask who you are.

JARED

Oh, uh, Dr. Jared Hel. I'm a scientist with the Enclosure on the edge of town. I…

THE BLUE LADY

WHO you are, not what you are. I know what you are.

JARED

...What I am is a person who would like to get some rest.

THE BLUE LADY

No, what you are is different. At least different from what I remember.

JARED

From what you remember? Have we met before?

THE BLUE LADY

Not exactly. “Met” isn't the word I would use. But we've interacted.

JARED

How so..?

THE BLUE LADY

I've watched you from afar, I've seen what you do. I guess our paths have more indirectly crossed.

JARED

I've never studied you before. You're not exactly the kind of thing that the enclosure typically sends me to study.

THE BLUE LADY

Then why are you here?

JARED

Well, work decided to fix the plumbing in my house so they put me up here. To get some rest.

THE BLUE LADY

And yet you're not here to study me?

JARED

Well that's actually unclear, I guess. I mean, if they're going to book me in the most haunted room at an inn, I guess they're having me investigate. Or Todd's just messing with me. That seems like something he'd pull.

THE BLUE LADY

Messing with you? [scoffs] When did you start putting up with the antics of people like that?

JARED

Okay, I'm gonna be upfront- if we met more than two years ago I have zero memory of any of that time. So this vague, cryptic talk is going to get you nowhere.

THE BLUE LADY

What are you doing with that thing?

JARED

[rustling sound] This it's an audio journal. It takes less focus and energy than writing. Are you just gonna keep staring at me or..?

THE BLUE LADY

People don't usually understand me this well for full conversations, so it has been quite a while. It isn't as if Ester and Laura can clearly understand me, even if they have tried.

JARED

How long have you been here?

THE BLUE LADY

Longer than I can remember. The rumor is that I've been here since the establishment of this town, whenever that may have been.

JARED

And when did we meet? I mean interact indirectly.

THE BLUE LADY

For the first time? It was many, many years ago. But again, you've certainly changed.

JARED

But again, I don't remember. You keep saying that and, [winces in pain] oh god my head!

THE BLUE LADY

We won't be getting very far right now.

JARED

No wait wait wait no hold on hold on.... and she's gone. [slams fist on table] Damn it! Why won't anyone just tell me anything outright? Oh my head... it's always like this. They disappear for a while and then come back so suddenly. Oh I hate this flesh prison! I'm done recording for now I need to try and nurse this headache now and recover from whatever the hell… oh it seems she left a little gift. Some blue ribbon? It's maybe four or five inches long, a little frayed at the ends. It's the same color as the lamp. There's something written on it. The handwriting's a bit hard to read but it looks like “you need to remember”. Remember what? How am I supposed to remember if no one ever tells me anything? Everyone always pushes me to try and remember but there's nothing to remember if they're making me grasp at thin air! They say they support me, they say they want to help, but what do they do to help, huh? All of this performative support is getting me nowhere. [facing away from recorder] And how is this ribbon supposed to help? You couldn't have given me something a little less vague? [groans] Why is everyone always so damn vague? Are they scared to just say something concrete? Why can't anyone ever give me a straight answer! No, it's fine. It's fine. I'm just… I'm going to go to bed. Right. I'm going to get some sleep. No tapping, no knocking, just sleep. I'm gonna go turn off the lamp and get some rest. Right. Ugh. Whatever. This is Dr. Jared Hel, signing off, I guess.

OUTRO

Jar of Rebuke is written and produced by Casper Oliver, who is also the voice of Dr. Jared Hel. Voice of The Blue Lady provided by Misha Bakshi. The intro is read by Vanessa Rosengrant, and credits are read by Ashley Craft, who has created the podcast official graphics. Music was created by Luke Menniss, spelled m-e-n-n-i-s-s, who you can find and support on Bandcamp, Spotify and Twitch. Find us on Twitter, Instagram and anywhere else you get your podcast fix for more Jar of Rebuke and also to get updates on upcoming official merch for our show. Support projects by this crew on Patreon to further other queer-lead projects and get neat perks. All donations are appreciated and will grant further clearance to special Jar of Rebuke content. You can also make one-time donations on Ko-fi. And special thanks to our patreon supporters Becky Thompson, Perry Bruns, and Tristan Fraud.

#jar of rebuke #jar of rebuke podcast #jar of rebuke transcripts #jor podcast

8 notes · View notes

pressedinthepages · 4 years

Photo

Chapter 13: Amnesty

Summary: A plan is made and actions forgiven, but can they truly be forgotten?

Series Masterlist

Words: 1335

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: mild language, angsty, hurt a lil bit comfort, we’re on the right track folks

The dead of winter is suffocating, blankets of snow and ice isolating in its grasp. The rift that has formed between you and Eskel doesn’t help either. It’s clear that you’re both trying to keep the peace, but tension has settled itself in the air that separates you from one another. You’ve been civil though, and both of you have been attempting to lighten the atmosphere in your relationship.

You just hope that it will be enough, enough for him to forgive you.

After supper one evening, Vesemir instructs you all to meet him in the library. You all grab a tankard of ale and follow him, letting the warmth of the alcohol thaw your veins.

“So, I’ve made some progress on finding information on our elusive mage,” Vesemir says as he sits in a comfortable looking chair by the fireplace. The light it gives off only helps to enhance the deep wrinkles along his face, and a deep scar on his jaw. You’ve never found out where that came from, and by now it’s way too late to ask.

“You know his name?” Lambert perks up, his eyes locked on Vesemir. Eskel though, he is only looking at you, hope and fear and weariness and plenty of other things that you don’t have names for filling his weighted gaze.

“Hmm, potentially,” Vesemir hums, reaching into his jerkin for a small journal. He flips through the pages, finally finding what he had been looking for near the back.

“From what I was able to gather, he’s one of two people to have come out of Ban Ard; first, Irion, who’s been around for longer than I have. There’s also Stregobor, who seems to have written a few books on the subject of the Black Sun, but he seems to have disappeared about two years ago.” Vesemir reads from the journal, flipping back through the pages to see if he had written anything else down.

“Okay, that’s great and all, but what the hell are we supposed to do with just their names? Start going through every little town on the Continent asking for these two?” Geralt sighs, his arms clasped over his chest and his jaw clenched in frustration.

“Calm yourself, Geralt,” Vesemir hums, reading once more, “There’s a couple of different places that they had popped up most recently. It seems Irion regularly taught at Oxenfurt, so someone should check there. Also, one of you should go to Guleta, and another to Blaviken.”

Vesemir looks over to you then, snapping his journal closed. “I don’t think you should travel alone. Whoever this mage is, he’s dangerous. You should go with one of the others.”

Your eyes automatically turn to Eskel, a small smile gracing your lips when you notice the subtle nod he gives to you. “If you’re alright with it, I think we should go to Oxenfurt. I helped a professor there not too long ago, and she seemed friendly enough.”

Eskel hums at your suggestion, mulling it over before nodding once more. “She’s right, we can use all the help we can get, especially if this ends up involving the Lodge.”

“I’ll take Blaviken,” Geralt says, his arms relaxing a bit now that a plan is being formed. “There’s always a good amount of kikimores along that part of the Pontar, so even if I don’t find anything relevant, at least I can make a little coin.”

“Damn, I was going to take that one,” Lambert growls, “fine, I’ll go to Guleta, I hear they have a nice brothel.” Geralt rolls his eyes as he moves to leave before Vesemir stops him.

“Pups,” he murmurs, eyes drifting over the four of you, “this is not just some everyday contract. Please, exercise caution, and know when to walk away and send for help.”

You all nod, excusing yourselves to retire for the evening. As you push open the door to your room you hear your name called from the bottom of the stairs. You peek back around, spotting Eskel down below.

“Can I talk to you for a minute? About when we leave?”

You feel a pit form in your stomach, but you swallow it down as you step back to leave the door open. “Of course, come on up.”

You hear him bound up the steps, halting at the threshold of your room. You sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at him wide-eyed and a bit more nervous than you care to admit. You offer a small smile to him, patting the spot next to you on the bed in a gentle invitation.

Eskel hesitantly steps into your room, leaving the door open behind him. He sits next to you, his leg minutely bouncing and his hands clasped in front of him.

“I know you said I don’t have anything to apologize for,” he starts, not meeting your eyes, “but I feel like I should.”

“Eskel?” you shake your head in confusion, waiting for the inevitable news that sorry, Eskel changed his mind, he’s not comfortable with traveling with you anymore, you’re even more alone now than you have been for the last three decades.

“I’m sorry, for earlier,” he says, “I pushed you, trying to turn our friendship into...into something more, but I don’t even know what that is. But I cherish you as my friend, and I don’t want to lose that.”

You hum, conflicted. You’re hopeful, glad that it seems like he doesn’t actually hate you. More than a little heartbroken, since he’s deadset on your ‘friendship’ and how important it is. And a little lost, what is this ‘something more?’ And why does it seem like you know exactly what that ‘something more’ is, but you just push it down and pretend you have no idea?

“Gods, and I hate this, feeling like we’re both walking on eggshells around each other, we don’t need to do that, neither of us is upset, right?” Eskel looks over at you now, his golden eyes pleading and reassuring all in the same blink. You know what he’s doing, offering you an out while letting you see once more that he isn’t upset with you.

You smile at him, scooting closer and bumping his shoulder with your own. “No, I’m not upset with you, I think it just threw the both of us off, losing control like that. I’ve never really had that happen.”

Eskel hums in understanding, fiddling with a loose thread in the leg of his trousers. In a moment of great courage, you reach over and grab his hand, stroking your thumb along the long plane of his fingers. “Leave those here in the morning for me, I’ll fix them so that thread doesn’t keep bothering you.”

He squeezes your hand lightly, the both of you sitting in silence for a bit, listening to the soothing sounds of slow heartbeats and deep breathing and snoring from the floor below.

You lean your head against his shoulder, finally comfortable at his side once more. “Would you stay again tonight?”

Eskel leans his head against yours for a moment before rising, crossing the room to the door. He shuts it, coming back to you as he kicks his boots off. He settles in the bed, under the fur this time. It’s gotten terribly cold in the keep, and even the roaring fires can’t keep away the chill that sinks in your bones.

You shiver a bit before Eskel wraps an arm around your shoulders, turning you to face him and pulling you to his side. You carefully set your hand on his stomach, feeling the rise and fall of each breath he takes. You feel your eyes start to droop, almost asleep when Eskel leans down once more, fitting his nose against the crown of your head and taking a deep inhale.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he murmurs, almost too quiet for even you to hear. But you do, and it follows you to blissful rest.

#hollow things #eskel x reader #female reader #female witcher #oh boy #we found A braincell #they borrow it

27 notes · View notes